Mel Keel had never been a particularly ambitious person, nor brave, or confident. Truly, she was far from an ideal Adventurer. It was devotion that drove her, loyalty that sustained her. She was dedicated utterly to her service to the Primadola family; they had raised Mel and her family from poverty, taking notice of the skills Mel possessed. She had been the product of generations of work, a familial toil that had, in the end, borne fruit. Now, she was no longer the only member of her family with essences. Her mother and father had joined her within the central Spire, and in time they had brought her siblings into the world.
The comfort, that safety, had given the Keel family the chance to start anew. Their line would no longer end with Mel. For that opportunity, she owed House Primadola a debt of gratitude she felt could never be repaid.
So when Primrose came to her, early in the morning, and told her that they were to be leaving the city of Nefir, she did not protest. Mel packed her few belongings, and bade her family farewell. It was not the first time they had left the city, but from what Primrose had said, they would be away for some time. They may never return at all. Still, she did not complain. Mel was a dutiful servant, and a steadfast friend. No matter the situation, she would stand by Primrose. Even if the world were burning down around them.
…
Samson’s eyes opened slowly, and the large man rubbed sleep from them with the back of one hand. He rose slowly, groaning as he did, like a tree falling in reverse. He swung his legs over to sit on the side of his bed, clearing his throat as he answered the sharp knocks that had roused him from a rather pleasant dream.
“Yes?”
“Samson,” Primrose’s crisp, officious voice cut through the quiet of the early morning, and he straightened up immediately. “We are leaving the city. Gather your belongings, we depart in an hour.”
“Ma’am,” he replied with a nod she could not see through the door. Samson stood, opening his wardrobe. He dressed quickly, then reached further inside the wardrobe, withdrawing a prepared backpack. After his clothes and pack, he donned his armour. Heavy steel and solid stone sat on him like a second skin, and he flexed one gauntlet, making a fist. Satisfied with the snugness of the fit, he scooped Rocky up from his cushion, stuffing the soft pillow into his pack and tucking the familiar under his arm.
He felt Rocky shift in his grip and passed him into both hands, holding him up. Samson smiled at his familiar, who rolled from one side to the other.
“Not to worry, Rocky. Lady Primadola has everything under control. Whatever is going on, we’ll be fine.”
Several small pebbles clattered to the ground, and Samson adjusted his hold on Rocky, patting the top of the rock affectionately.
“There, there, buddy. No need to be scared. You’re safe with me!”
…
“I don’t like this.”
Atarah crossed her arms, glowering as she leaned back into the plush seat of the carriage. It was barely large enough to accommodate the five people sitting within it. Samson took up two seats alone. Primrose was squished up against her, with Mel packed like a sardine between the heiress and the wall of the carriage.
“It feels like cowardice,” she continued.
From her position on the floor, Delahaye waved a dismissive hand. The Outworlder lay sprawled on her side, supporting her head with one propped arm.
“Nah. Where I come from, we got a sayin’-- ‘Cowardice is the better part of Valour’... or it went somethin’ like that, anyhow.”
She sniffed, scratching her nose absently.
The five of them had been herded into the carriage by a contingent of stern-faced household guards. No explanation had been given; they had all simply been roused from sleep by Primrose and put into the vehicle. Within the hour they had been underway, and still no explanation had been given. Mel and Samson were keen to not question their lady; her Fiancée and Delahaye, on the other hand, were not so enthused with the lack of information. Finally, Primrose spoke.
“Lord Kenester is on the warpath, after what happened at the tavern,” she explained.
“He wants Samson’s head on a pike, for shaming his son so publicly. He’s bold and stupid enough to try attacking my family’s estate to get to him, so we acted before he could. We are leaving Nefir for a provincial city in a low-magic zone.”
Atarah scoffed, rolling her eyes. Primrose gestured for her to be quiet, and even though the woman visibly rankled, she complied.
“The city-state of Greenstone is… a less than ideal place, admittedly. But, for our purposes, it will do just fine. We will be able to take contracts without an escort, for one. We will not be at risk of being attacked by powerful monsters, either.”
Mel and Samson nodded, and even Atarah inclined her head, though she still looked rather miffed. Delahaye, for her part, could care less where they went. If it meant easier training, she was on board. If it meant being at far lesser risk of dying? Doubly so.
Primrose leaned back, massaging the bridge of her nose with a sigh. The heiress of Nefir held no sway beyond the towering walls of the City of Scales, but it was a welcome change. Less responsibility, more time for herself. Time to train, time to sleep. The journey was long, the better part of two weeks. That gave them plenty of time to bludgeon the basics into Delahaye, at the very least.
…
“To be a decent Adventurer, you need a good foundation. A grasp of the basics is essential, or you’ll die, and die fast. And likely in a very embarrassing, painful way,” Atarah said, standing opposite of Delahaye. The group and their carriage had stopped for the night atop a cliff overlooking the sea. The first thing they’d all done was stretch; being cramped inside a carriage for the better part of a day and a half did terrible things to even magically-enhanced muscles.
Then, Atarah had cordoned off a patch of sandy earth for use as an impromptu training arena. She had taken to training Delahaye with gusto since they had met several days before. Atarah was an effective, if brutal, instructor. She hammered her lessons into Delahaye like a smith hammered steel; beating the imperfections out of her with almost mechanical precision.
Delahaye pushed herself up on shaking arms, coughing. Atarah waited with crossed arms, offering no aid. Finally, Delahaye managed to get herself upright. The burly woman nodded to the Outworlder, adopting a fighting stance once again. After steeling herself, Delahaye mirrored the pose.
“Hmph. Begin.”
Delahaye was the first to move. She charged Atarah, sliding to a stop and throwing a wild punch. It was easily blocked, and Delahaye was forced backwards as Atarah kicked her leg high. She was far more flexible than her muscular frame implied, showing as much as her leg reached the apex of its arc, raised almost parallel to her chest. Atarah brought it down hard, and Delahaye grunted as her heel slammed into her shoulder. Every one of Atarah’s blows hit like a hammer fired from a cannon, and Delahaye was mottled with bruises. It made her feel like an abused piece of fruit.
“Find what works for you, Delahaye,” Atarah said, mid-swing. Delahaye ducked under it, barely. “Stop trying to mirror me, listen to your body!”
Delahaye scampered back, closing her eyes. Her posture shifted. She shifted from Atarah’s rigid boxer’s stance to a more fluid one, similar to what she had adopted in the tavern. Delahaye was unsteady on her feet, unused to the stance she was using. In the days since she’d awoken, she had had time to absorb the skill books she’d purchased from Badr Majid; including the mysterious blue Skill Book that the bookseller had described as “militant teachings of Ocean’s church.”
She hadn’t bothered to ponder that. What the book had contained, and imparted to her, was more than enough for Delahaye.
Delahaye shifted back on one foot, dragging the other in an arc. She held one hand palm-out, the other balled into a fist and cocked back. The tension drained from her body, confidence filling her. She had yet to attempt the use of the book’s teachings; she had the knowledge, but no practical experience. Despite that, it felt right.
Opening her eyes, she advanced on Atarah, who was observing her more carefully. She side-stepped the woman’s first punch, grinning. The fluidity of her movements, the surety of her steps– it was new, it was intoxicating. She had gotten by her whole life on undisciplined brawling, but the feeling of a style, a rigid, codified manner of fighting brought with it a sense of belonging.
Stars exploded in her vision as Atarah’s fist crashed into her face.
“Are you fighting, or dancing?” She barked, slamming her fist down on top of Delahaye’s head. The Outworlder crumpled, eyes rolling up into her head as she hit the ground. Atarah placed her hands on her hips, nudging Delahaye with her toe, but the woman did not stir. Atarah looked up at Primrose, who shrugged.
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Picking Delahaye up, Atarah dragged her into the carriage, laying her down across a seat.
“Maybe… don’t aim for the head from now on?” Primrose asked, and Atarah made a noncommittal grunt, stepping out of the carriage. She took a seat by the fire, which was tended to by Samson. The big man handed her a meat skewer, which Atarah hungrily tore into. None of them spoke, turning as one towards another aura entering their perception. They calmed as Mel reappeared from the brush, trailed by a dog-sized arachnid. The timid elf was giving directions to her familiar, which skittered about, connecting threads.
After a while, Mel took a seat by the fire, accepting another skewer from Samson, this one composed of roasted vegetables.
“T-The alarm threads are in place,” she said softly. The spider made its way over, and Mel held out a hand. It unwound, the threads that composed its body returning to Mel’s fingertips. She looked around, pouting.
“Where is Delahaye?”
The loud snoring that cut through the air was answer enough. They all looked towards the carriage.
“Oh... Uhm... N-Nevermind.”
…
The group spent over two weeks on the road, and Delahaye spent every night of it either getting beaten into the earth by Atarah, or practising her aura control with Primrose. One night, close to the end of their long journey, the two women sat cross-legged on a pair of sizable boulders, facing one another.
“Aura control is one of the most important things you will learn. To have no control over your aura is considered the stuff of a poor Adventurer, and at higher ranks, it can be dangerous. Luckily, you have already awakened an aura ability.”
Delahaye took to aura training much faster than she had to Atarah’s sadistic beatdowns. It helped that with Primrose’s lessons, she was not variably punched, kicked or slammed into the ground for getting something wrong. Primrose merely corrected her form, and they picked up where they had left off. Delahaye learned how to contain her aura, and earnestly impressed Primrose with the degree of control she exhibited so early on.
She also learned of the unique feel to each aura. Primrose’s aura was serene, and composed. With its presence came a sense of renewal, like she was witnessing fresh growth bloom before her eyes in the aftermath of a fire. In contrast, Atarah’s aura was regal, almost towering. It was absurdly arrogant, yet being within her aura felt as if she were granting her allies a favour, gifting them with her presence.
“Very good, Delahaye. I am impressed,” Primrose said, opening her eyes. Delahaye smiled, stretching as she rose from her meditative pose. That had been another thing instilled in her, this lesson by Samson. The quiet man had been an excellent teacher, even if his lesson had been brief. He had taught her the basics of meditation.
“It’s a pillar of adventuring. Reflecting on what you’ve accomplished, what you’ve improved on, where you failed. Consolidate your gains, and grow stronger from them,” he had said, before leaving her to meditate. It had taken hours for Delahaye to still her mind, but she had managed it. Reflecting on the past weeks, she went over her training. She committed every critique, and every bit of praise, to memory. Since then, she had meditated after every training session, no matter how bruised or battered she was. At the very least, Atarah had not knocked her unconscious again.
The two descended from the boulders. They were camped by a river, set deep within the delta that surrounded Greenstone. The others were used to the sea, but not to the marshy terrain of the delta. Delahaye, on the other hand, navigated it easily. It had been difficult to find a place to rest, but they’d finally found ground solid enough. As the group gathered by the fire, Samson handed out wooden bowls, each filled with stew made from meat and root vegetables, all save for Mel’s, which was entirely composed of vegetables and a separate broth.
“You cook her stuff separately?” Delahaye asked, sipping at her stew.
Both Mel and Samson nodded, both opening their mouths to speak. Their words jumbled together, and they both paused. The two started again, and once more talked over the other. They both shifted uncomfortably, Mel’s face turning a shade darker. Finally, with murmured apologies from both, the maid spoke.
“My family worships Nature. As a deity of the wild, it is against the tenets of my faith to harm any animal, or source anything I eat or wear from one,” she explained. Delahaye nodded thoughtfully, stirring her stew. After a moment, she raised a finger. “Monsters don’t count.”
“Aye, got stuff like that back home. Usually only for certain animals, though.”
She looked to Samson, tilting her head to the side. He avoided her eyes, as he always did. Delahaye wondered absently how he managed things without ever meeting people’s eyes; but he seemed fine.
“What about you? There a god of, like… rocks?”
Samson shook his head, chewing on a particularly large hunk of meat from his stew. His bowl was easily thrice the size of everyone else’s. Given the absolute size of the lad, however, Delahaye understood why.
“Earth is widely worshipped in Nefir, but I worship Soldier,” he explained, reaching under the high gorget of his armour. He extracted a medallion, a bronze medallion roughly the size of a normal sized person’s palm. It was embossed with the image of crossed spears, with a banner draped between them. It read simply ‘Duty.’
“She’s a subordinate to War. Where War is more focused on the large scale of war itself, and Warrior is dedicated to the prowess of battle, Soldier’s domain is that of duty, of a soldier’s responsibility to the people they protect.”
He returned the medallion to where it sat under his armour, and went back to eating. The existence of gods was something Delahaye was still wrestling with. They were as much a part of the world as anything else, not just myths or stories. They appeared before their followers, manifesting to the masses. She figured that if that had been the case back home, there’d have been a few less wars.
Oh, who was she kidding? There’d be even more. It’d become less of a “my faith is superior than yours” argument and more of a “my dad can beat your dad in a fight” type of squabble.
…
The group finished dinner, and were cleaning up their dishes when, as one, they felt something new pass into the range of their perceptions. Mel noticed it first, her alarm-webs triggered. They all looked off into the dark, eyes narrowed. Emerging from the brush were a trio of hulking, six-legged reptiles. Their growls rasped like a blade over a whetstone as they slowly approached. They lashed tails lined with vicious spines, which rattled independently of one another, filling the air with a low droning buzz.
Primrose made a few gestures, and the five fell into position. Alongside training, Delahaye had been included in the team’s drills. By the end of the journey, she’d eased into their rhythms. Delahaye was still an outsider, a new inclusion to their team, but the drills had made it easier to fit her in. At the very least, they would not be stumbling over one another.
Samson stepped to the front, and for the first time Delahaye was able to sense his aura. His control was, by Primrose’s admission, the greatest out of any of them. She was the superior teacher, however, which was why it had been Primrose, and not Samson, who had instructed Delahaye.
Samson’s aura was a wall. It felt impenetrable, an impregnable fortress in the shape of a man. Just being near him made Delahaye feel invincible. Samson raised one arm, and a shield of force formed upon it. It was a tower shield formed entirely from nearly-invisible energy, warping the air like a heat haze. He braced himself just in time to catch a barrage of spines launched from the tail of one of the reptiles. They bounced off, shattering, the pieces embedding themselves into the earth.
Primrose conjured her spear with a gesture, and Atarah smashed her fists together. The two women nodded, pressing back-to-back, before they surged upwards. Atarah’s wings were as beautiful as they were powerful, carrying her with flaps that sent buffeting gales downwards. Were it not for her enhanced balance, Delahaye was sure she would have been knocked from her feet. Mel held on to Samson’s arm, tucking herself against him. For his part, the big man utterly was unmoved by the powerful winds, standing like a boulder against a hurricane.
However, Atarah’s wings paled in comparison to Primrose. As she rose up, the entire clearing erupted with light. The heiress hovered upon fiery pinions, her eyes blazing, flames licking like tears from the corners. She was almost angelic, the picture of heavenly wrath. Delahaye swallowed, sweat prickling her brow from the intense heat.
As one, Atarah and Primrose flew towards the monsters, weaving around one another, passing within a hair’s breadth of the other as they swirled. As they neared their foes, Atarah took Primrose’s hand. She whirled around, slinging the smaller woman like a javelin. Aimed spear-first at one of the monsters, Primrose slammed into it like a meteor. As her spear plunged into the beast’s side, Primrose spoke.
“Become As Ash.”
An explosion of flame lit up both Primrose and the monster, engulfing the area around them. The monster wailed, spines clattering as it thrashed. Primrose launched backwards, untouched by the flames. The monster’s cries grew quieter, and quieter, until its thrashing ceased. When the flames died down, all that remained of it was a charred lump, still faintly smouldering.
Primrose wasted no time, rushing to engage another one of the monsters. Delahaye’s eyes were wide, the stench of burned meat filling her nose. Since the three beasts had emerged, they had been joined by a further four. Atarah had engaged two of them, and was actively using the refined technique of “beating a motherfucker with another motherfucker,” as she had put it, holding one of the beasts by its spiny tail and slamming it down on the other.
Delahaye let out a sharp hiss as a spine slammed into her leg. It pierced through the meat of her calf, grinding against bone. She conjured her hand cannon, turning to face the monster that had emerged from the river behind the carriage.
“More behind us!” She hollered, before she opened fire. Her first shot sheared the spines from one side of the beast’s back, whilst the second scored a deep gouge from the top of its head to its right flank. The enraged, wounded monster charged, maw wide. Delahaye limped backwards, but not before its jaws closed around her already wounded leg. She cried out, before aiming down.
Her third short scattered bits of scale, skull and grey matter across her legs and the ground. She pushed its jaws open, falling to one knee with a queasy feeling in her gut at the sight of her mangled leg. She held a hand over it, teeth gritted through the pain.
“Waters of Life!”
Her leg was bathed in cool water, and the wounds closed rapidly, the spine pushed free with a disgusting sound she desperately wished to unhear. The pain dimmed to nothing, and Delahaye pushed herself up. She turned back towards the fight, her astonishment at the skill and power shown by her allies pushed to the back of her mind.
Atarah had finished off the two monsters she’d been fighting, and was occupying herself with acquainting a third with the savage cleats of one of her boots. Primrose deflected a barrage of spines with her spear, her flaming wings gone. She ignored the spines that slipped past her defences to embed themselves in her flesh. As Delahaye watched, they pushed themselves out, Primrose’s body healing rapidly.
Right, girl’s a damn Phoenix, she thought, before turning her attention to Mel and Samson. The big man was fending off two of the monsters, his shield gone. One of them held on to his vambrace, dangling from his arm and wiggling helplessly as his fist slammed into its exposed underbelly over and over. The other was clamped down on his ankle, gnawing on his armour like a dog would a bone.
Mel made a swift gesture with her hand, murmuring under her breath.
“Be Entwined, and cut to pieces!”
Threads erupted from the ground around the monster chewing on Samson’s leg, closing around it like a net. It was a remarkably sinister incantation, but Delahaye could understand why. The threads grew tighter, and tighter, squeezing against the monster’s scales. As it tightened, they began to cut. Mel made a fist, and the net tightened rapidly. The monster released Samson’s leg as it was diced apart, just as he dropped the limp body of the other.
The group made swift work of the remaining monsters. What wounds they did sustain, even some rather severe ones on Atarah’s account, were healed rapidly by a combination of Primrose’s aura and her potent healing abilities. Her aura ability, Mantle of Renewal, affected any ally within her aura with a rapid, if minor, healing effect, and increased the effectiveness of any healing within it as well. It put anything Delahaye could do to shame.
In the aftermath, adrenaline surged through Delahaye. Her eyes were wide, breaths coming quick and shallow. Energy surged through her, the excitement she felt palpable. It was mirrored in Atarah and Primrose, who had done the bulk of the fighting. For someone who called herself a healer, Primrose could deal damage on par with most warriors. None of them had stacked as many bodies as Atarah, however. More and more of the monsters had appeared as they fought, bringing the final total to fifteen. Atarah had killed over half of them. She picked out claws, fangs and scales that had been lodged into the flesh of her fists and the soles of her boots, whilst Primrose extracted spines buried in her body and healed the wounds.
“That… was bloody amazing,” Delahaye said with an eager laugh. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The others nodded, and Atarah clapped her on the back.
“Your first true monster kill! You’re another step closer to becoming a full Adventurer! Don’t think I’ll be going any easier on you, though.”
Delahaye chuckled nervously, the image of Atarah turning a monster’s head to mush with her boot still prevalent in her mind.
“Great! Can’t wait!”