The walk to The Clumsy Satyr was slow. Despite everyone’s enthusiasm to get there quickly, everyone except for Val was nursing aches and pains from the last trial. When Reg asked how she’d gotten away unscathed, she explained that after the first round, she’d been paired with a training dummy, and then instructed to “hit.” She let out a small laugh after saying it, but her voice quavered a little bit, and Reg spotted Bartholomew rubbing her ear in a vaguely comforting way.

The small gnome was as clean as Reg had ever seen her; her face lacked its normal covering of dirt, and her messy dreadlocks had fewer twigs in them than normal. This lasted until Val saw a “a wee opossum who looked friendly as can be” and charged through a patch of berry-laden thorn bushes to say hello. The thorns seemed to bend out of her way as she squirmed through, but she still wriggled back to the group covered in berry juices and bark dust. Her robes and face got more and more grimy as they approached the city, as she hared off to “get a flower from that blue-spotted willow bush” and then to “help a lost kit.”

The rest of the group cleaned up well. Dugan, Trish, and Reg all wore leathers that had been cleaned by the servants at the guard campus. Yeva wore a simple wool dress, and had her trinket-laden braided gray hair bound up in a bun. Annise wore a blue silk skirt and a light weight blouse, her clothes a cut above the rest in quality.

They arrived in Ithilia a little before dusk. The crystals that provided illumination to the narrow, winding streets that Annise was guiding them down had just started to come on. At one point, they had to squeeze past a construction crew, as two construction druids cursed and blamed each other for not already being done repairing an herb store’s facade. Seamstresses, woodworkers, and artisans poured out of workshops, some heading home, others heading straight for a night out on the town. Vendors with carts and trays of food called out their wares, everything from roasted nuts, to goat kebabs, to fresh-baked vine bread. Reg had to exercise self control to not stop and sample everything.

The Clumsy Satyr’s entrance was understated, a small plaque hung outside its wooden door with its name and a carved satyr’s face drinking from a horn.

Inside, luminescent mosses and vines were artfully draped along the walls, and lit everything with a soft, blue light. A well-dressed elf waiter guided them through the curving druid-shaped halls that had been shaped into the branch and seated them in a comfortable nook around a low table. With a bow, the waiter said “Welcome to The Clumsy Satyr. A bar mage will be with you shortly to compose your drinks.”

The group settled into the nook. Reg stared around avidly, he’d never been anywhere like this before. His parents had taken him to the only restaurant in Willowbend once before: Nancy’s Noms was a small outdoor venue that served soup and mosswine. The Satyr was the fanciest building he’d ever been inside, and the groups they’d passed on the way in had all been dressed in silks and fine-looking wools; theirs was the only group with anyone wearing leathers.

The group pored over the menu: they didn’t serve simple things like moss-wine, mead, or cider here. Reg didn’t recognize the names of most of the drink ingredients, and after staring at it for several minutes, just resolved to blindly copy what someone else ordered and hope that it was better than Barkle’s purified moss-wine.

The nook was briefly illuminated by Yeva holding a handful of actinic sparks to help read her menu. She mumbled “misty eyes don’t work as well as they used to.”

After a few minutes, the bar mage came by the table. A floating table with a vast assortment of bottles, herbs, fruits, liquors, and other strange ingredients followed the stately bar mage, and with a flourish she set the legless table floating in the nook and stood behind it. With a wide smile, she introduced the special of the day, “a rich chestnut whisky brewed in flamewood barrels, lemon-touched, and topped with a blackberry cider liquor,” and then took their orders.

Annise went for the special of the day, Val asked the bar mage for the sweetest thing on the menu (“Erwa’s Kiss is a raspberry cordial mixed with a crystal-clear purified moss-wine and elevated by a dash of lightning walnut powder. You’ll love it dearie.”); Trish went for a deathbane-root infused whisky described as “peaty, fiery, and lingering;” Dugan gave an embarrassed smile and ordered another Erwa’s Kiss; and then it was Reg’s turn: he followed Annise’s lead and went for the special of the day. Finally, Yeva ordered a grape brandy with orange bitters topped with a drop of beithir blood concentrate.

With the final order, the bar mage began her work. With a word that left her mouth in a puff of smoke and a raised hand, a large glob of golden liquid poured out of one of the bottles and hovered in a rippling sphere in front of her. With her left hand, she tossed a lemon into the air that hovered in place while she took a knife in her right hand and sliced a long strip from it. The strip fell and rested gently inside the floating sphere of gold. With a twirl, she pulled a cup that looked to be made of a large egg with a carved wooden base from where it hung underneath the table, and captured the floating glob of liquid out of the air. She topped the drink with a lighter liquid that sparkled as she poured it from high above the cup. She handed the first drink over to Annise with a smile.

The bar mage danced her way through the rest of the orders. Her hands were a blur as she chopped strange herbs and roots, mixed and measured sparkling liquids, and cast quick spells. After each drink, the table cheered and applauded. The bar mage left with a bow and a promise that someone would be by shortly to take their food orders.

When everyone had their drinks, Annise raised her cup in a toast, “to surviving two miserable days!”

Cups clinked together and Reg took his first careful sip of the drink. It was sweet and rich, and burned pleasantly as it went down. He relaxed into the pillowed bench, took another larger sip, and let out a happy sigh.

There were a few moments of silence as everyone enjoyed their drinks. After each sip, Trish exhaled large clouds of smoke. Behind his beard, Dugan’s face turned even ruddier than normal. Yeva was the first to break the silence; she turned to Annise and said, “Got any clue about what our chances are? Figure you might seeing as you did Nest’eff.”

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Annise shook her head, “Not any more than the rest of you. I asked Professor Ashsprocket, and all he said was that Captain Merrin would make the final decision.”

Reg frowned, “she wasn’t happy about having us non-elves in there. I bet she takes one look at that written test and nixes me.”

Yeva and Dugan both nodded their heads in agreement. Annise looked unhappy, “I wish that examination hadn’t had so much old elven. I struggled with bits of it, and I’m familiar with it from some classes at Nest’eff.”

Yeva shrugged, “the blighted instructors probably just wanted an excuse to get rid of us. I’m surprised they had us go through the rest of the trials after it.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Annise said. “I have a cousin in the guard, and he said that Captain Merrin is harsh but fair. Called her Swift-tongue. Said she was decently famous in the guard for someone who never made it beyond captain.”

Everyone stared at her. Reg was the first to voice the question on all their minds, “Your… cousin?”

Annise blushed, “Oh, sorry. I’m used to people knowing.” She lifted her curly black hair to reveal a pointed ear, “My gramps on my dad’s side is an elf. My gram isn’t, but he fell in love with her at university, ignored what everyone said, and got hitched. Technically, I think Zane is my great-uncle or something, but high house family trees get messy, and you end up calling everyone a cousin. My gramps and gram are part of the reason I went to Nest’eff in the first place, they’re both professors there.”

Trish blew out a ring of smoke, then said “so, how’d you end up down here? Nest’eff graduates must have tons of options.”

Annise nodded, “I suppose so. I majored in evocations, and there’s honestly not that much that you can do with a five-year hat: tending bar, demolition, or combat is about it. I started pursuing a staff, but it was miserable. I spent all my time grading papers and trying to research. My advisor had me interviewing people up and down the Tree for his theory of ‘bough-based spell residue intensity’ and I was just losing my mind. I dropped out when I saw the notice: the Achivian Guard is one of the few places where evocation can really make a difference. The work I was doing at Nest’eff felt like it was only ever going to be read by about three people total.”

She smiled at Trish, “how about you?”

Trish smiled back, the scars on her face pulling her smile and giving her a slightly sardonic look, “honestly, it’s the rings. Down below can’t be more dangerous than hunting on the wild branches and the pay seems a ton better.” She paused to take another sip of her whisky, “but I’m leaning towards heading out even if they let me in. That Brilleye is a blighted twist, not letting folks use regular-sized bows, and any group that puts her in charge of anything is one full of mud-headed idiots.” She blew out more smoke from her nose, “how bout the rest of you?”

Dugan was the first to answer, simply saying “Same reason for me. The pay means a lot.”

Yeva said, “I hear that. The reason I’m joining is to kill some rotten mist twists. Last storm,” her voice hitched, “last storm took my daughter, her husband, and their three children. They were on the trail to Ithilia to come visit me.” She glared at her drink, “I’m going to go down there and burn as many of the cankerous blighters as I can. If I can do it with the guard, all the better, but I’m going down there one way or another.”

Reg spoke slowly, “I’m so sorry. Last storm, we lost my mum, my brother, and my aunt.” He continued, “I don’t think it was the twists, but all the same.” He gestured with his now empty cup, “being part of the group fighting the twists feels right.”

There was a long pause before Reg turned to Val and asked, “So, how about you, Val? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Val looked a little uncomfortable after Yeva and Reg’s revelations, “I just find the down-below interesting. The flora and fauna down there are endlessly fascinating: there are echoes of ancient beasts and herbs that can’t grow anywhere but down there. Did you know that the withering can only be treated with a poultice of deathbane petals and fiery lotus root? They only grow down there. Same with the cure for scourge-blight; it needs the heart of a loss-hound.” She fiddled with the straw in her drink, “and I’ve always wanted to feel what standing on the ground is like.” Val shrugged and looked further into her drink, “don’t suppose it matters though. I don’t think they’ll be taking me after archery or arms. I was miserable.”

Yeva was quick to shake her head, “you did great with magic at least. I bet that’s worth a lot.” She laughed, “I’m still surprised they let me do the trials at all. Would have thought they’d look at my gray hair and send me off.”

“It’s an elf thing,” Annise answered, “for the most part, they think humans are all too young. They tend not to differentiate much between a sixteen-year-old and a sixty-year-old.”

Yeva chuckled, “Well, I’m glad of it.” She turned to Reg, “I know you keep saying you don’t have a chance, but by bark and bramble, seemed like you did well down in the circle.”

Reg shook his head, “even there, I got beat black and blue by Dun. I don’t think I’ve ever been that outmatched before. Doesn’t help that he’s so full of himself.”

Annise laughed, “He is at that, even for an Adat. You know, you made an impression on him. My circle was over by Captain Merrin, and he came strutting over to her after the first round,” she deepened her voice, imitating Dun’s slow drawl, “I dearly hope the peel boy makes it..” Annise covered one eye and twisted her face into a passable imitation of Captain Merrin’s scowl, “And why’s that?” She went back to the slow, high-class, drawl, “He got a touch on me. Anyone who can get a touch on me is worth more than almost all of my worthless cousins.” She sniffed exaggeratedly, “of course, that says more about the deficiencies of my cousins than about the lower branch brat.”

There was laughter at Annise’s impression of Dun and Captain Merrin. Reg ducked his head, unsure what to say. Trish piped up, “You know, that was a good enough impression of Dun that I almost punched you” and the table erupted in laughter again.

At about that point, a waiter came round to take their food order, and the bar mage followed soon after to make another round of drinks. The conversation shifted to throwball, circle dueling, and local bars. Trish told a few stories of hunts on the wild branches. Eventually, the night came to an end. Even with the prices on the menu, Reg was shocked at the final bill: the rounds of expertly crafted cocktails added up. Val and Annise headed off to find a place to dance, while everyone else headed back to the guard campus. It wasn’t late, but it had been a long, tiring day and Reg was grateful when he made it up the stairs to his narrow room.

Tomorrow he’d see if he made the cut. It was hard not to hope, especially after hearing he’d done better than he’d thought with the spear. Maybe there was a chance?

The thoughts and hopes tumbled over themselves in his head. He fell asleep and had nightmares of walking off of the branch. Captain Merrin followed him off the branch while lecturing him for showing up naked to another exam.