The mountain camp at gate seventeen had been a rugged kind of place, but it was a safe kind of ruggedness that reminded her of Earth. The town of Rosalie was definitely not such a place. Despite being several times the size of the logging camp, it lived and breathed behind its walls, confident that without them people would die from the dangers of what surrounded them.
They weren’t wrong. Karen’s walk from the coastal capital town of Anglet had taken days, and a large portion of that was due to the threat of, or fights with, aggressive wildlife. The first six legged boar thing that Karen had killed on the road had been an eye opener. It had been strong, brutal, and absolutely ruthless, having forced its way entirely down the length of her spear to get at her. But the worst part was she got almost nothing for it.
It had given her an increased appreciation for why the spirit insisted on monsters only. Wildlife, like people, would naturally invest source and increase their level. Once that new level has been achieved the source was gone. Used up. She’d barely gotten to sniff at source as a return for putting down this prehensile nosed bacon farm, but at least pork belly futures were up. Frozen concentrated orange juice futures were unfortunately down.
The climate was right for it, but citrus apparently didn’t exist here. The entire area on the eastern coast had a distinctly Mediterranean or coastal Californian feel, making her feel both homesick and much more comfortable than she had been in the mountains. The city of Rosalie in particular was situated on a lake that glittered gorgeously, nestled as it was in the scrubby hills and under the relentlessly sunny skies of the eastern coast.
She immediately discovered these things were the entire reason this town not only existed but thrived. Wine, made from a berry with a hilariously long name, which required not only the gentle weather but also something unique to lake Rosalie, or more specifically the river that fed it.
If Karen had known that amenities like this existed while she was churning turtle butter for hillbillies she would have run screaming off the mountain full sprint. The first day after arrival, she’d booked a suite near the waterfront for very nearly all her remaining money, even after her discount for active hunters. She woke in soft sheets, to open her French doors to take in a view of the sunrise over the lake.
The still hot cup of coustaffe she yoinked from storage, apparently named for the town that produced it instead of some mouthful of Harvess bullshit. It perked her up immediately. The drink tasted like bitter fruit juice, but it packed a stimulant a hell of a lot more powerful than bitter bean juice.
She bathed in an actual en suite, dressed in the clean, pressed clothes left by the laundry service, and generally felt like life was worth living again. It was a shame she’d have to go out and do so much killing today. Abandoning the comfort of her suite for the popular hotspot of the coalition felt like a betrayal, but it had to be done. She had precisely nine stones left on her person, plus a good deal more uninvested that she could directly transfer as a last resort. But broke as she was, the immediate job selection needed to reflect that.
Giant scorpion. It’s new, orange listing, barely a day away. Karen thumped a finger down on the board. It was much larger than the one she’d grown used to; large enough that it didn’t feel cramped with a pair of elves browsing near her.
What’s a Kreen?
I didn’t ask if it was a monster, I asked what it was. They’re so close, I could sleep in a real bed tonight. Another night in a suite in paradise was much more appealing than trekking through dust in the dark.
That was out. If she was going to get into the murder to get stronger game she might as well start here in town. At least then she wouldn’t have to spend so much time running.
What about these two? Orange and red, and they look close together. Wouldn’t mind skipping a walk to get two jobs in one. The scorpions again and something called a stone camel. Simple jobs, and ones Karen wanted to rock like a hurricane.
The spirit popped out into her vision, hovering in front a cluster of green papers.
A green listing? I’m pretty sure I couldn’t finish the yellow listing I’ve already ‘completed.’ I don’t know where this big confidence is coming from. Karen said as she parked in front of the more advanced listings. There weren’t many green, and there were even fewer of the two colors more advanced than that.
And I don’t use a mundane weapon.
I still don’t want to get zapped though. Karen said apprehensively.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The up to a point part is not inspiring.
Eighty-one days?
She studied the listing for a moment. It was close. Startlingly close, an hour or two on foot.
Karen was sold. The clerk she spoke with looked surprised at the newcomer putting down the green paper, but seemed to relax when he saw her token. At some level, they needed some trust that their members understood their own limits. If you didn’t, you stopped being a member pretty quickly.
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Lake Rosalie was shaped like a banana. On the inside of the banana’s curve sat the city, stretching deep across the shoreline. Split from the city was Rosalie Island, a big bite taken out of banana’s center and home to most of the winemaking operations. Said island connected by a single bridge, and was shore to shore with vineyards or bushyards or whatever it’s called when berries are grown instead of grapes.
Karen’s first lesson of the day was that being situated at the center of a banana shaped lake that has deep river valleys at either end makes it rather difficult to get from one side to the other. After learning the ferry ran thrice daily and she’d missed the first one, her initial instinct was to kindly inform the two elves who ran the service how shit their policy was and the special ways in which they should cater to her august person. Smelling disaster, the spirit wisely talked her off the ‘banned for life’ cliff before tragedy could strike.
Her second instinct was to cross the island to where the distance was shortest and make the swim, feeling absolutely certain she could make the trip before the midday ferry even shoved off. This too was doomed. A combination of the spirit convincing her that there was no telling what lurked in the water’s depth and the bridge being closed to anyone who was not (the twelve-word elven description for) vineyard personnel scuttled the mission. Nothing personnel, kid.
Being trapped and penniless until noon had given Karen plenty of time to catch up on her bellyaching. Practice continued until someone took the seat next to hers on a bench where she had been studying the sparkling waters and distant, rolling scrubland hills.
“I saw you, you know. When you got your job at the coalition of people who are paid to do things.” The thin elf said.
Karen frowned. Her new ring was bigger but the translation magic didn’t always sync the mouth movements to the audible sounds. It was distracting seeing his jaw stop flapping as his speech was still going.
“I saw you sit down next to me. I guess we’re even.”
“Maybe not. I am A Man Destined For Glory.” He stood and bowed as the elves did in formal meetings.
Is this kid serious?
“I am destined for drinking. At this rate at least.”
The spirit sounded amused.
He continued, apparently oblivious or immune to snark. “Charmed. I suppose I should speak my business. My associates and I,” he motioned to a pair of similar looking youths who bowed when Karen looked at them, “have had some interest in that listing for a while. We would be pleased if you would decline it and leave it to us.”
“I’d be pleased to know why I would do that.” Karen adjusted her posture to watch his response and found only friendliness in the man’s eyes.
“If not as a kindness, then because we’ll pay you. Half the value here and now.” He produced a large seafoam green cube of source to illustrate his willingness.
Whoa. She eyed the brick he had produced. Something felt off about the offer.
What do you think?
Fuck these fancy fucks. Her mind had been made.
“I’ll hold on to it. I’ve already completed it mentally several times, you know? Would be a shame to not do it for real.”
The elf looked disappointed but still friendly, and disappeared the money he’d shown as he stood. “A shame. If you change your mind, we’ll be across the road. Even if you don’t, feel free to join us.” The ‘across the street’ in reference was some kind of fancy pants open air watering hole already copiously distributing the town’s main export even in the early hour.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The youth bowed again and left.
What the fuck was that?
Whatever the fuck that was, Karen was unable to get it off her mind. Even after the ferry reached the dock on the far side it stuck with her.
The roads on the non-city side were barely worthy of the name. Dusty paths looking like they were a couple weeks of sparse traffic away from the bushes, cacti, and dwarf trees erasing them and reclaiming total dominance over the land. But it was enough for one woman on foot, and the travel was easy without the view obstructing, nearly identical trees and swiftly flowing waterways of the mountains. Finding her way out was quick and easy. She’d spent more time on a bench that day.
The nest core, or its general location, was some kind of abandoned homestead. Centuries separated it from use but still it hung on with help from enchanted materials and the dry climate. It must have once been the home to a harder kind of elf than she’d met in the lake town, or maybe it hadn’t and that was why it was currently unoccupied. Regardless of the kinds of ghosts called this place home, the land outside was now occupied by magical squatters.
The main house was all that still stood, and only barely. The roof was gone, as were the doors and windows. A low, crumbling wall, more useful for keeping livestock out than anything dangerous, was all that that separated Karen from the elementals that stood like living statues around the building. They were the sentinel protectors of the ruin. Unmoving and impossibly patient, their swirling forms occasionally flashing with energy.
Do I run in? I haven’t exactly fought anything like this. The distant crackles were intimidating. Certainly not the kind of thing that Karen would volunteer to be hit with.
Blitz. Blitz, yeah I got it. A little nervous, just a little... The little flashes were mesmerizing. The crackling energy kept drawing her attention. She’d seen magic, just not like this. It was the kind of primal power that ancient humans created pantheons to explain and then only spoke those stories in whispers, fearful to let those deified beings overhear. She blinked hard, trying to clear her mind.
“Blitz.” She took a deep breath, answered with the single word, and jumped the fence.