Chapter 49: The Notification

TRISTAN

Tristan had been super excited to show off his new gear the next morning, so he wore it all to his session with Jamal. He found the swordmaster lounging in a recliner in the middle of the training ground, which wasn’t at all unusual anymore, though it was strange that the man didn’t have a drink in his hand. Instead, he was holding an unfurled scroll.

As Tristan approached, Jamal looked up at him. “What, exactly, did you do to the Steelblood Guild?”

Tristan sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Well, someone hired a mercenary to fight me, and I ended up having that big fight in the middle of Smith’s Row.”

Jamal stared at him expectantly. He moved his hand in a small circle. “And? What else? You don’t get a strike for just fighting in front of their shops. Did you get caught stealing from them? Did you insult someone’s work to his face? When I got my first--”

“You got one?!” Tristan sputtered, not hearing whatever else his teacher might have said.

“Well yeah, mate. Obviously. But that hardly matters right now, because I’ve already made my peace with them. But you kicked the hornets’ nest, and now they’re sending me scrolls with bloody demands.” With a flick of his wrist, the scroll flew up into the air. An instant later, it was sliced in four pieces by the swordmaster’s greatsword, which hadn’t even been present before. It was also gone again before the quartered paper hit the ground.

Tristan stood a bit dumbfounded at first. “What... what were they demanding?”

“Nothing I’d give, that’s for sure.” He looked Tristan dead in the eye. “They wanted me to hand you over for, and I quote, ‘a proper airing of grievances.’” Jamal laughed loudly. “So I guess I’m just trying to figure out why I’m risking pissing them off again. I should tell you, mate, it wasn’t easy to appease them last time, either. They were right shits about it, all ego and no sense!”

Tristan held his tongue about how Jamal probably shouldn’t be talking about anyone else’s ego.

“I used an unguilded shop a few times, and then there was the fight.” He thought back. “I don’t think I insulted the dwarves in the shop I went to before Garrow’s. One of them even was kind of nice by the end.”

“Which shop?” Jamal asked. “Which dwarves?”

Tristan stretched his memory back. “The shop was called MidKnight Plate, and it was run by a brother and sister named--"

“Cor and Gorrek,” Jamal finished for him. “They run a fair business, and I’m pretty sure I know why you walked in. But I didn’t have you pegged for the whole dark and gloomy aesthetic. I need you to understand right now, you are not gonna start wearing all black when you leave here, all right? If you do, and you keep wearing my title, I will make you regret it. And I promise I’ll be creative.”

Tristan’s mouth hung open. He thanked the gods he didn’t actually have any plans of that nature, because he didn’t want to begin thinking about how Jamal might follow up on that kind of threat.

“So now that that’s cleared up, just let me explain why I’m a bit miffed. See, I was mid-Tier 3 before I pissed off the Steelbloods. You’re not even... wait, you hit level 14! Congrats, man!”

“Thanks?” Tristan replied, honestly struggling to keep up with the rapid change of topic. He tried to move the conversation back to his strike. “What did you have to do to smooth things over with the Guild?”

“Honestly? I made an apology, but it was punctuated with a shit load of platinum. I’ll leave you to guess which was more effective.”

“So should I go and talk to them? How bad could a formal grievance thing be?”

Jamal’s face scrunched up in disbelief. “Absolutely not, man. Did you miss my whole symbolic gesture earlier? They’re just using you as an excuse to throw their weight at me. Why do you think this place is invitation-only, and I rarely leave? Everyone wants a piece of Jamal.”

Tristan was about to say something truly witty in response when the notification came.

[Quest updated: Avenge the Brightshield]

“They’re here!” Tristan said before holding his breath and expanding the quest, where he found that one of its targets--one of his targets--now had a location listed beside its entry. And, as the quest had warned, it was the same zone he was in.

Remaining targets:

Curse

Red Blade

Shadow -- in Whiteholme

Timetwister

Venom

Tristan blinked. I have to go.

He wasn’t sure where Whiteholme was, or even what this Shadow person was capable of, but he was worried that if he didn’t go now, he might never have this kind of chance again.

That was when he felt someone shaking him by the shoulder.

“Hey, Tristan! Hey, mate, what’s going on right now?”

“My quest updated,” he tried to explain. “My Path quest, with the five people responsible for... Where’s Whiteholme?"

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Jamal began. “Whatever it is can--Did you say it was a Path quest?”

When Tristan nodded in reply, one of Jamal’s hands began to rub his temple. “We’ve been training here for, gods, how many months has it been? I can’t even recall, but why haven’t you told me about this before?"

Tristan looked a bit sheepish. “I tried to say something the first day, actually, but you were a bit, uh, distracted.”

Jamal scratched his chin. “I don’t remember that at all. Though, to be fair, I was a bit drunk that day. That week. Well, for a while.”

Tristan sighed. “So anyway, I’ve got to go.”

Jamal held out a hand, stopping him. “Not necessarily, Tristan. Chill a second. You need to understand something, alright? No matter how amped up you might be, you don’t have to do this right now. You probably don’t even need to do it this tier. Path quests aren’t required until you’re looking to push into tier 5. So if anything, it’s pretty awesome that you’ve gotten one already, but--”

“But what if it can’t wait?” Tristan interrupted. “It says I’ve got to avenge the Brightshield!”

Jamal tried to calm him again. “You’re going to live a long time with your rate of progression, and whether you avenge him now or in twenty years won’t really matter, just as long as it gets done eventually.”

Tristan felt his chest tightening with anxiety, his heart beat doubly hard with fear of Jamal’s reaction. “But this is my Path quest! What if they die before I find them again? Right now, my quest says Shadow is in Whiteholme, but what if I never find them again?”

As Jamal was about to respond, Tristan cut him off. “Stop trying to convince me not to go. I’m going to go. I need you to be okay with that.”

Jamal, for all his counsel of patience, stared at Tristan and bit his lip. “Gods, you’re serious, aren’t you?” He sighed, pulled a long, dark brown bottle out of his magical storage, popped the cork out with his fingers, and began drinking straight from the neck. “Whiteholme is only a few towns over. It’s closer to the mountains, but there’s not much else out there. What does the quest say?”

“That’s where one of the killers is.”

“Kid, that’s not all it says. You’ve got to read Path quests carefully. If you’re going to do it, you have to do it properly. Read--and do--exactly what it says. They’re bloody specific!”

“It just updated to add ‘in Whiteholme’ beside Shadow’s name.”

Jamal took another swig from the bottle. “You know we’re not even close to finished with your training, right? Just because you’ve got my title, you think you can run off and, what, kill this person that played a part in slaying Hesden blessed Brightshield? You hear how nutty that sounds, right?”

“I know, but...” Tristan began, but he struggled to put his thoughts in order, so he just let them all out. “I know that I may not be totally prepared yet. I know that I have so much more to learn from you. And I know that what I’m thinking about doing may be absolutely stupid.” He took a slow breath. “But I also know that I have to take this chance. Whoever this ‘Shadow’ person is, they’re in Whiteholme right now. They’re close enough that I can--"

He stopped speaking as a wispy purple arrow appeared in the corner of his vision. An arrow that pointed unerringly in one direction, even as he turned his head side to side. An arrow with a name on it.

“That I can do something. I’ve got an arrow directing me, with distance and everything.”

“...Of course you did. Gods among us, Tristan. Quest fuckery always gives those sorts of temporary abilities. But--and hear me out--just because you can find this person doesn’t mean you should. You’ve only fought three non-monster opponents before, right? Well, let me remind you about this Shadow person of yours. It’s not just Hesden Brightshield their group killed, but his whole party, too. That includes my master. What are you going to do that all of them couldn’t?”

Tristan stared through his own teacher, through the walls, eyes unfocused on where the purple arrow was pointing.

“Avenge them.”

Jamal stared silently for an unusually long time, especially for him. “Yeah, well, fuck me then. I guess you’re gonna go.”

Tristan blinked. “Just like that, you’re going to let me--?”

“If I tried to keep you here against your will--and I totally could, obviously--you wouldn’t be focused enough to make any real progress. You’d be like a blessed virgin, unable to focus on anything else. You’re going to have to get this out of your system, one way or another. But more than that, and I need you to hear this, I honestly think that what you’re thinking of doing isn’t a bad idea. It’s just suicidal.”

Tristan clenched his fist. “But it’s my Path.”

“Right. You’ve said that a few times now. Buy a thesaurus, mate. So I’m not going to try to stop you any more. But maybe you could let me help, or at least consider what other preparations you can make right now?”

“You could tell me a little bit about Whiteholme.”

“It’s just a tiny little town,” Jamal said with a shrug. “Normally the mountain beside it is the attraction. Not some ridiculous grudge quest. There’s not really much else there. Just fields and snow.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Then I’m actually feeling pretty prepared.”

Jamal laughed. “Really, man? In all the realm, you don’t think you need anything else? More gear, perhaps?”

“You know I just upgraded most of mine.”

“Right, but I have better--"

“I couldn’t use it,” Tristan said. “My Core, remember?”

Jamal grunted. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Want me to go with you then? Or maybe someone else?”

“I can do this, Jamal. I know this feels impulsive, but--”

“It is impulsive.”

Tristan nodded. “Alright, fair. But I can still do this.”

“Yeah, you say that, but when I look at you, you’re still just a little tier 2 talking about going up against a... Gods, I don’t even know what you’re up against. How strong this ‘Shadow’ person is. And now I’m praying that I won’t have to explain to your blessed parents, posthumously, why I let you go. And you’re wearing my name in your title, so for the sakes of all the gods, don’t fucking die. Really and truly, I don’t want to be put in that situation. I absolutely couldn’t pawn the job off, not even on Cherry. Shit, I’d have to go to... where in the gods’ names are you from again? You told me once. Woodstone? And I’d have to tell Cleo. And who else? How many countless lives have you already touched, man? Are you sure you’re doing this?” He sloshed the rest of his bottle into his mouth, then dropped the empty glass container on the ground.

“It’s Woodsedge,” Tristan corrected, “and yeah, I’m sure. There are only a few others, like--oh no. Sophie. She’s going to be coming here in a few days.”

Jamal’s ears perked up. “Sophie, huh? Who’s this now, and why would she especially care? Did you finally get a girl right when you're about to race off to imminent death?”

“Gods, Jamal, it’s nothing like that. She’s just a young astralist that I met in Rockmoor, and I’ve been helping her level up since summoners are so weak early on. We were going to run a dungeon together.”

Jamal nodded. “Astralists get pretty impressive, eventually. I’m kind of impressed, mate. Sounds like you were thinking long-term for once. You help her now, and maybe if she survives all the way to tier 3 or whatever, she comes back to help out. Is that about right?”

Tristan shrugged. “She just needed help, and I was there to offer a hand.” He thought for a moment, while Jamal seemed content to let him. “I’ll just have to make it up to her later, if I can. I gave her my word. But I might never get another chance at this. I have to do this.”

Jamal smiled at him. “Damnit, Tristan. I sometimes forget just how damned good you can be. Yeah, man, I’ll send someone to tell her you got busy training.”

Tristan grimaced slightly. “I, uh, don’t really know her full name, or where she’s staying. Or where she’s from for that matter. And though I met her at The Agora a couple times, she did say she had to go deal with family stuff, so I doubt she’d even be there.”

“Well shit,” Jamal said, “I guess I’ll just have to tell the staff to expect her in a few days and adjust the hedgeguard. So it goes. In the meantime, you need anything from me? Or should I send Cherry to help you pack, or Cleo, or...?”

Tristan shook his head. “I’ll handle it. And Jamal, thank you. I’ll be back to finish my training.”

“Sure you will, mate. Sure you will.” He sighed, thumping Tristan on the chest. His finger clanged off the new breastplate. “At least you’re finally somewhat properly geared, though I will tell you that this hunk of metal is going to feel a bit restrictive, especially compared to how you’re used to moving.”

For a brief moment Tristan looked down at his new gear. “I guess the timing couldn’t have been much better.”

“Pfft. It could have been in a year! That would have been better! But it is what it is. And for now, well, get on with it, man.” He paused, placing his hand on Tristan’s shoulder. “But if you somehow manage to avenge them. If you somehow do this thing, and you’re able to deal with this Shadow person, well, just know that you’d be giving a lot of people peace of mind. There’s nothing I can think of that would live up to the memory of your hero and my mentor more than that.”

Steeling himself, Tristan didn’t allow any of the turmoil he was feeling to show. “Thanks Jamal.”

“Now get back to your room and pack whatever shit you think you’re going to need. Go get ‘em.”

- - - - -

SOPHIE

It had taken nearly a week before Sophie had been able to properly extricate herself from the situation with her family. She’d been dreading the event from the very first moment, when the courier had handed her the sealed scroll with three silver rings around it. From the calligraphy and decorations on the outside alone, Sophie had known it was going to be a sizable gathering. When she’d opened the scroll, which was really a mandate disguised as an invitation, her stomach had plummeted.

> The Lord Alexandre Adrielle II and Lady Soledad

> cordially request the pleasure of

>

> Sophira Adrielle

>

> at the Third Tier Ascension of their son,

>

> Alexadre Adrielle III. . .

On it went for what would have been another page and a half, including a date, location, and rules by which all were expected to abide. Because gods forbid her mother allow a single celebration in which others weren’t constrained to her will. One rule near the bottom in particular frustrated Sophie more than the others, as it felt intentionally aimed at her:

> This celebration is intended for adults only, without the accompaniment of:

> small children, pets, or astrals.

While the majority of the rule might have been a standard inclusion in events like this, it was clear that the final forbidding of astrals had been added solely because of Sophie. It felt targeted. But of course her mother had always viewed Sophie’s astrals as pets, or worse. The woman had just never understood. In this instance, her prejudice might even serve to actually inconvenience countless other attendees, yet they’d excluded astrals anyway because it would be torturous to Sophie, who’d have to go hours at a time without the calming presence of Poof, Mister Biggs, or Sneakers.

She would have expected nothing less from her father; there would never exist an official proclamation from Lord Adrielle that didn’t at least inconvenience all recipients in a handful of ways, the least of which would be the wasting of several minutes of everyone’s time.

It hadn’t been lost on Sophie that her parents hadn’t bothered to personalize the standard invitation even for their own daughter. The slight had clearly been part of their intent, as it so routinely was. They hadn’t lifted a finger to help Sophie with the Path she chose, but here they were heaping more acknowledgement on her brother. To do so for this event in particular had just added insult to injury. The impression from the invitation was that the affair would be even more extravagant than the celebration they’d hosted for her older sister. Sophie also knew that there wouldn’t be a single acceptable reason she could provide for declining their invitation that they would accept, short of being dead.

Despite the injustice of the situation and the clear disrespect it demonstrated, Sophie had attended her parents’ little soiree, which of course ended up being the event of the season. The celebration itself had thankfully lasted only a single evening, and Sophie had managed to stay pleasant the entire time, donning the mask of expectation and propriety that was required of the Lady Sophira.

Beyond the Tier Ascension event, there had been dinners, breakfasts, a formal dance, and all sorts of other ‘occurrences’ Sophie had to attend. She’d been surrounded by old friends and acquaintances, as well as the people she’d struggled to forget. Once or twice she was at least able to catch up with her sister, but those moments were so brief and far between that they rarely resulted in anything more than surface exchanges. With everyone else, it took all her self-control not to be drawn back into the cycle of thinly-veiled insults and overt machinations that had once been her daily life.

It helped that she had a lifeline of sorts to focus on and look forward to: her impending dungeon run with Tristan. She’d wondered for days where he would take her. She remembered that he’d talked about doing research, but there was no possible way he’d done as thorough a job as she had. She’d spent a long time in tier 1, after all, and that had given her ample opportunity to dream about where she would like to go both with a group and once she was capable of going solo with either Mister Biggs or Poof.

As soon as she’d returned to her apartment every night, she’d summoned them each in turn, to just spend time around people she could trust.

With those thoughts she managed to survive long enough that she was eventually told by a second note, this time delivered very privately by a personal servant, that she was released from her obligations and was free to go.

She hadn’t needed to be told twice and was headed back to Rockmoor that very night.

The next morning, she was dressed and out the door of her usual suite in record time. She was even able to keep Sneakers perched on her shoulder until she’d gotten into the carriage she’d hired to take her to Jamal’s manor. It was about an hour’s ride with the two horses pulling them at a steady but unhurried clop. She’d been tempted to pay the driver more to spur the horses a little faster, but she’d seen her brother pull that move a few too many times in the last week. She wasn’t going to be just another Adrielle. She could be patient.

Sophie contented herself with trying to help Sneakers learn to shift the colors of his outermost feathers. She knew it wasn’t something that a scout-type astral could usually do until at least tier 2, but she was optimistic that her parrot-like friend might be an exception to the standard rules. She’d been working on it with him ever since that incident with the Vine Hydra in the mines, and the most they’d achieved was a slight darkening of the green near his wingtips. But that was still progress!

Outside the windows, the view of the monotonous open plains was finally broken by several stone towers rising from the center of what eventually turned out to be a sprawling, walled estate. Cresting a hill gave a better view of the expansive building, which was shaped like a spiral and seemed to have hardly a flat wall anywhere. It was odd but not even close to the strangest design Sophie had ever seen. Wealthy people tended to have eccentricities that often manifested in unique architectural choices.

Now with their destination in sight, Sophie stared out the windows and admired the view. The approach was punctuated by shrubberies resembling monsters of legend. The carriage stopped just before the final two, which were shaped to resemble dragons roaring at any approaching travelers. The message was plenty clear: Jamal was rich, powerful, and didn’t like visitors.

“It’s a good thing we were invited,” she whispered to Sneakers, who bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Are you as excited to go into another dungeon as I am?”

Sneakers flapped his wings just enough to lift his taloned feet into the air, bobbing up before lowering himself back to Sophie’s shoulder.

After confirming that the driver would stay a while, just in case Tristan hadn’t already arranged for transportation to the dungeon, Sophie walked slowly toward the towering dragon shrubberies. She patted Sneakers on the top of his head in an attempt at soothing both astral and astralist. “Well, here goes nothing.”

She walked past several tastefully-arranged lounging areas on the wide marble patio and approached the main doors to the estate. She stopped just short of the doors to compose herself, straightening her outfit, and then knocked three times.

The door opened surprisingly quickly, perhaps even faster than it might have back at her parents’ estate, where they had a doorman on staff whose job was literally just to open and close the primary entrance.

In this case, it was a pretty woman that Sophie faintly recognized. “Oh, hello!” she said with a smile that was either genuine or incredible acting. “You must be Sophie! I’m Cherry, and I’m kind of the liaison around here. We’ve been expecting you!” She bowed slightly again, this time toward Sneakers. “And who is this dapper fellow?”

Sophie was only slightly surprised by the woman’s courtesy toward her astral. “This is Sneakers, and we’re just here to see Tristan. We have plans to go to a dungeon together today.”

Cherry’s smile softened with what Sophie interpreted as a touch of sadness, perhaps a little pity, which put Sophie immediately on edge. Has something happened?

“Yeah, about that,” Cherry said, “I’ve been asked to apologize profusely to you, because Tristan’s actually not here right now.”

“I suppose I can wait,” Sophie replied, patting Sneakers gently. “When is he expected to return?”

The liaison extended a hand toward the nearest seating arrangement on the patio. “The answer to that’s actually a bit tricky, so why don’t we take a seat first? Can I offer you any refreshments? We’ve got an excellent kitchen, and--”

“I’m not hungry or thirsty, and neither is he,” she said tapping the tip of Sneakers’s beak with a finger. “We just want to run a dungeon with Tristan, like we’d arranged. And while your apologies are nice, they’re coming from entirely the wrong person. So why isn’t he here?”

“Because he went to Whiteholme,” a new, male voice answered, and based solely on the certainty and power projected by its tenor, Sophie knew who it had to be. She turned and saw Jamal--the Jamal--emerging from the main door like some bright-skinned, shirtless god.

It took Sophie a moment to remember to speak. “And why is he there?”

“Because he’s a man of his word,” Jamal continued cryptically, “and while that might seem hypocritical, since he’s kind of standing you up right now, believe me when I say that it’s only because of a preexisting obligation on his part.”

“I don’t understand.”

Cherry pulled her chair closer to Sophie’s side. “I know. We both do. But... What do you know about Tristan’s past, and why he came out here to train?”

The next half an hour was incredibly informative for Sophie. By the end of it, she strangely felt even more connected to the friendly swordsmith. And while she was definitely impressed by what he’d been through, she was also furious at him. “So he’s throwing his life away on this foolish quest--?”

“It’s not just any quest; it’s a Path Quest,” Jamal said, cutting her off. “And yes, I tried to talk him out of going now. But I saw it in his beautiful green eyes: he wants this more than anything else. It’s a part of who he is and who he’s trying to be. While he may not have to do it now, he would have to break his Path to not do it at all.”

Sophie leaned back. “And if he dies?”

Jamal’s reply was cool but firm. “Then he’ll have died walking his Path, and that’s worth our respect, too.”

Sneakers pecked gently at Sophie’s hand, echoing her uncertainty.

Frustrated, Sophie stood up. “So why are you both just sitting here? Someone should be going after him, or helping him, or--!”

“I would have arranged for someone to follow him, but he insisted that he was going to do it himself. So I decided to stay here and tell you what was going on.”

“And see what she looked like, I’m sure,” Cherry added conspiratorially.

Sophie fumed at their seemingly cavalier dismissal of her friend’s potential death. It rankled that they were practically doing nothing, and worse that they were suggesting she do the same. Sophie could at least understand why the girl was so agreeable with the man she’d chosen to live with. But Sophie wasn’t going to. She wasn’t just going to listen to Jamal because he was a higher tier.

Instead of engaging further with the pair, Sophie stalked off the patio and hopped back into the carriage.

“We’re going to Whiteholme,” she yelled to her driver. “And I’ll triple the usual rate if you get us there with [On The Double]!”