Darlow glared at the adventurers with every ounce of intimidating presence he could muster - which, given that one of them was still a nearly 7 foot tall werewolf, was… not much.
“So,” he rasped, his throat not fully recovered from having been half crushed by the Beast Knight’s opening strike, “would you like to explain yourself?”
“I’d like to go back to the inn and drink until I forget everything that happened past noon today,” Lucas replied dryly as he slowly shifted back to his human form. “Given that I just saved the lives of every person here I really don’t think that’s a lot to ask, but somehow, I doubt that I’m gonna get it.” Especially considering that his now conscious teammates were all doubtless going to be demanding explanations of their own.
“It is a bit difficult to let a confirmed werewolf walk free under normal circumstances,” the Captain agreed, “but then, these circumstances are about as far from normal as possible.”
“So… we can leave?” Jubel asked hopefully.
Darolw stared at the team for a long moment, and Lucas tensed, prepared for another fight.
Then, the Captain heaved a sigh and nodded. “I’ve never heard of a lycan able to control themselves while shifted,” the older man grumbled, “but you didn’t eat anyone, and you’ve shown yourself to be rather firmly on our side. Yes, you’re free to go - but don’t get caught transforming in public, you hear? I owe you all a debt for driving that bastard off, but I can’t save you from what’ll happen if the nobility hears about you, understand?”
Lucas nodded. “I don’t plan on spending all that much time in town, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. Now then, if you don’t mind-” he gestured towards the door - or rather, the place where there had once been a door - and after receiving a sharp nod from the old guard, swiftly strode towards it. He could hear Darlow shouting as he marched off, screaming at the men who’d managed to accomplish absolutely nothing during the attack.
“You’ll be running laps atop the walls for the next week if you don’t get somebody to clean this mess up now! I mean in full armor, too, you layabouts! And for the love of Domas, fix the fucking door!”
Normally, Lucas would’ve gotten a good chuckle out of that, but the panicked shouts of “Yes, Sir!” barely reached his ears as he made a beeline towards the inn. In fact, he was so lost in his own thoughts that it wasn’t until Damaia deliberately stepped in front of him as they reached the inn that he realized she’d been trying to talk to him.
“Huh?”
“I said,” the felblood said quietly, “are you ok?”
“Of course,” he lied.
None of them bought it, but they didn’t force the issue.
The matter of the pendant was a personal one. It wasn’t a story Lucas was eager to tell, but as they gathered in the small dining room that linked the various bedrooms of their suite to eat the first hot meal they’d had since breakfast, the shifter’s mask cracked.
Maybe it was because Damaia had finally put down the pendant that she’d taken from Beast Knight. Maybe it was because he’d finally had the chance to sit down and reflect on everything that had happened that day. Or maybe drawing too deeply on his own beast had made it difficult to control his emotions.
Whatever the reason was, for the first time since any of them had met them, the massive man broke down and cried.
At that point, he knew there was no way he was going to get out of explaining himself, which only made him cry more. Damn it all! Well, there was nothing for it; he was just going to have to bite the bullet and talk.
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“Grondyl’s a horrible place.” It was an obvious statement, at least to him, but Lucas thought that if he was going to tell the story, he may as well do it right. “When people see the sparkling cities run by the elite snobs and hear about the splendor of the countryside, they assume it’s a prosperous place, but for the average citizen, nothing could be farther from the truth. In other words, it wasn’t exactly a great place to grow up. Of course, when you’re born in a place like that, you don’t really have much choice. You grow up fast or die young - end of story. I liked living. Even if it wasn’t a particularly good life, it still beat the alternative. Besides… I wasn’t alone.”
Lucas remembered many nights that he went to bed hungry. He remembered many more, though, when his parents had insisted that they weren’t hungry.
It was always a lie. Even back then, he’d been too observant not to notice how gaunt his father looked, or how his mother’s stomach was constantly growling. He tried to call them out on it once, but they’d just ignored him, pushing their plates towards him and his brother, Resh.
“My twin brother, Resh, was… well, he was a wild kid. I used to think it was an act. We hated it when people mixed us up, so I thought, at least back then, that he was just trying to be as different as possible. It’s easy to know who’s who when one twin likes to pick flowers and pet bunnies, and the other one’s always looking for an excuse to have an adventure, getting into fights at the drop of a hat and coming home late covered in scrapes and bruises!"
Resh had driven their parents mad with worry ever since he was old enough to walk.
“Wait,” Damaia said, astonished. “You mean… you were the nice brother?!”
Lucas gave her a flat look.
“Damaia!” Vivi quietly scolded her. “Not the time!”
“Sorry,” she said quietly, clapping one hand over her mouth.
“Now, where was I? Right! Resh was the wild kid, and yes, I was the timid one. Real heart of gold sort, back then. Mom always said I took after her, and Resh took after Dad…” he shook his head with a sad smile. “He was a good brother, though. He dragged me into one mess after another, sure, but… he always made sure we got back out of them. I wasn’t joking when I said he’d come back from our adventures covered in scrapes, but somehow, I never got hurt. He was always there, looking out for me, catching me before I could fall into a river or a thornbush… he was the best.” He cleared his throat, fighting off a fresh wave of tears through sheer willpower - or at least, trying to.
“That’s about all I really remember of my childhood. At least, the early stuff.”
Well, that wasn’t all he remembered.He remembered kind smiles, warm hugs, and weak, bony frames. He knew that his parents had both been smiths, although truth be told, that was only one of half a dozen occupations they held throughout the years. He’d probably have forgotten all about that, if not for the matching pendants that the pair had made for him and his twin brother on their thirteenth birthday.
“They told us it was some sort of family tradition,” he muttered as he mentioned the pendants.
“A sun for the younger twin, and a moon for the elder, designed to hook together, and able to be held in place with a small clasp in the back. A way to remind us that, no matter how bad things might get, we were never alone.”
At the time, he’d asked the parents why they hadn’t sold the pieces instead. They were, after all, made of real silver - they could’ve made enough off them to eat properly for a month!
He felt horribly guilty, not to mention ungrateful, thinking back to that argument. They hadn’t scolded him, but there was a pain in his parents eyes when he’d said that. How could he have known what they were planning?
“Grondyl was, after all, an awful place to live. My parents knew that. Hells, everyone knew that. But they were some of the few who decided to do something about it. Which is why, the next day, they led a group of about a dozen families into the Bleakwood, daring to dream of a better life waiting for them on the other side.” A life they’d never reach.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
He forced himself to keep talking, even though he could barely even hear what he was saying. “It was on the 3rd night of that trip that the werewolves had attacked.” He could see it all in his mind's eye.
One minute, he was sleeping, the next, screams of pain and terror had awoken him, and the fire they’d started to keep the wolves at bay had spread to his tent.
Then, he was running. Screaming. Pleading for his parents to find him. He was little more than a child, back then. He had no training, no weapons, no muscles to speak of… he was helpless.
And all around him, people were dying. His neighbors, his friends, his family. He saw his father, his pale, terrified father, slamming his hammer pointlessly into the skull of a werewolf a full foot taller than him. He watched as the beast laughed, a horrible, grating sound, and effortlessly ripped the man’s head from his shoulders.
His mother was dragged away by a pair of lycanthropes wearing twisted, toothy grins. He heard her screaming at him to run… but it was far too late.
Though most of the pack had already found their meals, the one that slew his father was out for blood, not food. It leapt at him, bloodstained fangs glinting in the firelight as it soared over the corpses that littered the ground.
With no other options, Lucas blocked the beast's horrid jaws with one arm, trying to keep it away from his face and throat. The pain was overwhelming, but he kept slamming his fist into the monster’s head over and over. He had to keep trying, to force it back, to buy himself enough time to-
To what? His father was dead. His mother, too, no doubt. What would he do? Run through the woods, armed with nothing but his wits and a half eaten arm? It was hopeless. It was over.
Then something changed. The pain on his arm faded ever so slightly as a small form climbed atop the wolf.
Resh.
Lucas saw the glint of metal in the boy’s hands, and something clicked into place in the back of his mind.
Why would a starving family spend money on silver instead of food? Why give these pendants, these amulets, to their children?
To keep them safe, of course.
The silver crescent moon gleamed in the light of the flames surrounding the trio as Resh, ever the hero, plunged it into the werwolf’s eye, forcing it to drop his brother. The werewolf snarled, thrashing around and eventually managing to hurl the boy into the flames, but even as he screamed in pain, Resh Lurant refused to give in. He leapt on the beast once more, stabbing it in the eyes again and again.
Then, the beast bit straight through his arm.
Lucas’ memories around that point were blurry. He remembered the pain, rage and terror that he felt. Remembered the burning pain in his wounded arm.
Remembered lunging at the werewolf, who laughed as it dragged his unconscious brother away, and left him surrounded by flames.
He remembered hearing the distant sound of a warhorn.
Remembered waking up the next morning, not believing he was alive, with a man in a crimson doublet standing over him, clutching the severed arm that had once belonged to his brother.
“Lucas?” Jubel muttered in concern. Lucas blinked. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d stopped talking nearly a minute ago. He gave them the best summary he could, not realizing how badly he was trembling until he picked up a cup of coffee and saw it splashing.
“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want,” Vivi offered.
“Then I’ll explain about the Order another time,” Lucas said, hoping his eyes conveyed his gratitude. In a strange way, it’d felt somewhat liberating to discuss his past… but it had also been painful, and he’d reached his limits.
“Wait,” Jubel said as he tried to stand. “Fair’s fair. You’ve shared your story - I think it’s time that I share mine. All of it, as best I can. Let me tell you where I came from, and what happened the night I left home.”
And he told them everything. How awful his life beneath his noble relatives had been. How his attempt to escape was foiled by his deranged cousin.
How Nihlus had saved him, accepting an offer he hadn’t realized he’d made.
How he still had nightmares of the moment his cousin died.
How there was a very real chance that the Heartfell family would be out for blood now.
Vivi listened avidly to every word, a whisper of guilt nagging at her all the while - not because she hadn’t told them her own tale, but because she was so grateful that they hadn’t thought to ask.
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The road between Invicta to Twinwater felt significantly shorter than it had the first time - partly because they knew what to expect at the end of it, and partly because they spent the vast majority of the trip playing with a very hyper Izzy. Having been left to her own devices by the ‘pet watching’ service that Jubel had hired to take care of her while they explored the dungeon, the tiny hawkbear was desperate for attention in a way she hadn’t been on the ride down.
Of course, the team was only too happy to oblige their feathered friend, given that she was the only real form of entertainment they had beyond Vivi’s half hearted attempts to get them all to sing with her - attempts which were abruptly ended by their revelation that Lucas couldn’t sing if his life depended on it.
The small but busy town of Twinwater greeted them cheerfully as they passed through the gates and made a beeline for the Winding Path, eager to deliver their goods and share their story with people they actually knew.
Speaking of which…
“Hey, furious four!” a cheerfully mocking voice called as they drew near the door to the inn. “Wait up!” Turning towards the voice, the homebound heroes were pleasantly surprised to see that their friends from the ruins were fast approaching. Each of the adventurers - and the scholar they’d been guarding, for that matter - were holding a large crate in their arms, though Niko seemed to be struggling to carry his. He sighed with thinly veiled relief as they reached the blacksmith’s forge, just across the street from the inn.
“How’s it going, Ignis?”
“Good!” Lucy said as Niko opened his mouth. The would-be leader of the group shot her a halfhearted glare for a moment, waiting to make sure she was done before trying to speak again.
“W-”
“We’ve been working with the town to dig up rare ore in the ruins and defend other workers,” Ferris casually interrupted.
Waiting and glaring once again, Niko cleared his throat. “We also -”
“- have been looking into the ruins themselves.”
“YOU TOO MONIKA?!” Niko shouted incredulously while both teams laughed.
“My apologies, fearless leader,” she said as seriously as she could manage, “but if you don’t wish to be interrupted, you should probably make your reactions to such interruptions less…” she trailed off, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Hilarious?” Lucy suggested.
“Exaggerated?” Jubel offered.
“Yes.”
“I hate you all!” the pyromancer growled. “Let’s just get inside. You can tell us how your trip went over a few drinks.”
“Our treat,” Lucas said with a broad grin, patting the heavy pouch of gold at his side. “We’re pretty well off right now. Who knew clearing a Dungeon paid so well?”
All of Ignis turned to stare at the mercenary with wide eyes. Niko cackled, clapping the massive man on the back. “A dungeon? Already? Either some crazy shit happened, or you’re full of shit - and either way, I gotta hear the story. How did team -” he froze, frowning. “Wait, what did you name your team?”
Jubel smiled as he pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to the man. Lucas wore an almost identical smile as the hotheaded fire mage stared at the official looking document.
“YOU JUVENILE HALFWIT MOTHERFUCKERS!” As the fake documents in the irritated mage’s hands began to smoke, the smiling duo thought back to how they’d obtained it.
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“Do you have time for a quick survey?” the cheerful receptionist had asked as she handed the team their official papers.
When Jubel nodded, she pulled out some blank paper to record his answers.
“How did you hear about us?”
“Uh… Ignis told us?”
The woman hesitated before hastily scribbling on the paper. “And what made you decide to join?”
“Free coffee,” Lucas answered.
“To help people!” Vivi chirped simultaneously.
“Because Ignis said we’d need to in order to properly report the bounty we’d earned,” Damaia replied honestly.
The woman’s smile faltered as they mentioned the other adventurers again. “Friends of yours, are they?” She asked delicately.
“I suppose so.” Jubel replied. “Why? You don’t like them?”
“Nobody does,” she replied honestly. “Their leader is… difficult to work with, and the dwarf is incredibly stubborn. The elf woman is well liked by most of the adventurers, but that’s probably more because of -” she cut herself off, flushing slightly. “I shouldn’t gossip about licensed Hunters,” she said guiltily. “It’s horribly unprofessional.”
“If we’re already being unprofessional, then,” Jubel said with a wide smirk, “how about you help us get one over on them?” He leaned in and whispered something the others couldn’t hear to the girl, who clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “You realize that if you tried to use this for anything other than a joke, I’d lose my job, right?” She said, pulling out a second set of sheets.
“Considering Niko’s temper, it won’t last long enough for us to even try,” Jubel pointed out as he scribbled his signature in the appropriate places once more. “But if these totally legitimate documents survive somehow, I’ll burn them myself.” The receptionist smiled mischievously as she stamped the second set of paperwork.
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The half elf and his mercenary friend burst into laughter just as the documents declaring their team name to be “Better Looking Ignis” burst into flames.