“…we called them spectres. We haven’t seen them since my mother ran this guild, but it looks like they’re back again.”

Geon, Deya, and Oren sat amongst the small group of mercs that hadn’t already heard this speech throughout the day, all of whom were wondering why all their work had just dried up.

As Glory went through the part of the speech relating to the spectres, though, Oren’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“Oh, man. That's a word I was hoping never to hear again.”

Deya looked at him and opened her mouth for a question, but Oren just held his hand up to stop her as Glory continued the talk.

“The most recent incident resulted in the death of a Scout,” Glory continued, “after he and the assigned mercenary stumbled onto a group of fifteen imps, a Forest Queen, and the spectre. Apparently, they're starting to coordinate with the more sentient monsters in the area, going so far as to call it a 'pact' when taunting the survivor.”

Oren sat back in his seat, stock still while he listened to the rest of the announcement.

“In light of that threat, and the jump in danger to these imp camp contracts, I’m up-ranking every single imp camp job into a Rank 2 patrol. For these contracts specifically, I’m going to allow groups of Rank 1 mercenaries to take them on, as long as your team can get my blessing. Fair warning: I will be very annoying about who is allowed to go.”

With that, Glory hopped off the stage, letting all the patrons return to their food and drink. She walked over to Geon and his group sitting near the bar.

“Hey, Geon. I just wanted to let you know, since you were on one of the jobs that a spectre showed up at. You can obviously go ahead and talk about them now, if you want.”

Geon frowned. “I guess I figured that. If there’s already been another surprise like this within the span of a week, then that means this is likely to happen more.”

Glory agreed, then turned her head and smiled. “I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair. Looks like you’ve got some company.”

Geon narrowed his eyes and turned around to see an odd assortment of mercs approaching them, as Glory passed them on the way back to the lobby.

The man out front towered over the group in their seats, shoulders broad and built enough to hold back a bull. A woman in blue robes behind him stood calm next to a charismatic man in all black leather. In the rear, behind everyone yet most visible of all of them due to her shining runes, was a woman with long black hair and a coy smile fixed on her face.

The tall man held his hand out to Oren. “Hi, my name is Midaan Torrel. We have a bit of a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

He went around, introducing Ciel, Vex, and Piera to the just-returned trio. They introduced themselves in turn.

Geon saw the man’s light up once Oren informed them that he was a Shield and Barrier mage, though he was visibly less excited about Geon being another Fire user like himself. Deya’s piercing Ice was at least interesting for a Lancer to use.

“I know you’re all just returned from a job, but we were wondering if you’d be willing to join us on one of these Rank 2 patrols tomorrow.”

Deya was shaking her head. “Not tomorrow. I’ve been waiting weeks to get these Ice Queen teeth. I’m going to the wand maker tomorrow in order to get something made.”

“And I need a day off,” Geon added. “We were just out for three days and I need to decompress for a bit. Plus I have some shopping to do next door.”

Oren smiled at the both of them. “If you lot are willing to wait an extra day, I have no problem joining you.”

Midaan chewed his lips, but he nodded. “That’s fine, then. We were hoping to get the jump on the listed contracts, but I suppose there should be enough of them to go around, even if she puts four or five into a single patrol. Those imp camps are everywhere.”

Oren nodded. “Alright, then, it’s a deal.”

Midaan and Oren shook, promising to meet there at the tavern the next night to take one of the contracts.

Geon raised his finger. “You all are going to want to run the team past Glory. Especially with me on your team now; she’s never been a big fan of my work.”

Midaan puffed a cheek out as he thought. “Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea. She did mention that seven people would be a fine number, ‘as long as the team wasn’t too weird.’” He looked at their groups and chuckled. “I think we’re in ‘weird’ territory.”

Glory was very reasonable, much to Ciel’s surprise. With Oren the Shield mage on the team, they had the sort of mitigation that would keep them alive on the long road, even if she didn’t like hearing that Geon was already signing up for another new job. It would be the longest quest he’d ever taken, and it would be Rank 2. At least he would have plenty of teammates.

Once the team received her blessing, Midaan and his half of the party left for the night, the four of them having been milling around the guild and tavern the entire day in search of party members. Geon, Deya, and Oren polished off their meal and ordered drinks from Aron up at the bar, toasting to a dead Queen and a sack full of teeth.

The other patrons made Geon re-tell the story of the imp attack now that Glory was allowing discussion of their new enemy, Oren listened close as he went into the details of the tall demon and his booming voice and his baiting threats.

Geon frustrated everyone, though, when his story deviated from that of the spectre, and Geon had to tell them that Vai had been chased by the thing, not him. Geon had some of those details, having spoken to Vai in private later that night, but Vai would be the one that knew more, and since he was a Scout; there was no telling when he’d be assigned to a Vane/Gloria’s route again.

He filled in the little bit he knew, that the spectre had chased Vai for hours, until the demon was led to the proximity of Vane Gloria, and it turned away.

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They wished that the survivor of the other attack had been here to tell her story as well, but from all that anyone had been able to get from Glory, it had been a bad day for the girl that escaped. She watched the Scout, Randu, die right in front of her. She hadn’t been seen around the guild in the couple of days since the job.

Once the stories made their rounds, the gatherings started to drift apart, wrapping up the long day with simmering chatter as the diners, drinkers, and gossips carried the evening into the late hours.

“Well!” Deya dropped her hands onto the table. “That’s it for me tonight.”

“Getting tired? You slept so late this morning.”

“Nah, not tired, I just want to skip tonight and go make my wand tomorrow. I’ve been waiting too long for this already.”

“How long is too long?” Oren asked, already having an idea of the answer.

“About two weeks. Goodnight, you all!”

Geon raised his glass in farewell and Oren chuckled at her retreating form.

Once she left, Geon asked Oren what his plans were for the next day.

“Gonna clean my house,” Oren grumbled. “I’ve been putting it off for months now. Ain’t healthy to leave it in that state; not if I’m actually trying again.”

Geon thought back to the plateau, when the golem fist struck him and flung him back. He remembered the look on Oren’s face as he charged over to him after the thing was dead. Stricken. Panicked.

“What happened?” Geon asked. He knew that Oren had been a Rank 2 merc before, he’d seen the man around with other groups on other jobs, but they were in different circles before this recent Ice Queen job. It wasn’t until after the fight, and the look on his face, that Geon remembered the time when Oren hadn’t been around the tavern, or seen in the guild.

Oren was quiet before he responded, his eyes flickering behind his eyelids as he considered whether to open the door to those memories or not. His voice was somber once he made his decision.

“Had a Rank 2 contract for a few different monsters. Rock golems, a cluster of harpies in the cliffs nearby, and then an imp camp at the end. We started with the golems; we knew they would be the hardest thing for our group to take down. There were four in all, and we killed two of them, maimed a third, but they ran away, and we needed some time to recover.”

Oren took a drink of his wine before he continued. “We went after them, and they led us to a clearing filled with the other monsters, the harpies and the imps together, far away from where the job reported their last location. The imps had doubled in that area, and the Scout was dead among them.

“We didn’t bother trying to finish the fight. We turned and ran, but the monsters got brave, gathered together like they were, and they gave chase. I did all I could to keep them back, but Barriers can only help so much when harpies can fly right over them. They were able to run us all down, drove us into a dead-end canyon. Stupid move by us, but they seemed…coordinated. In a way you don’t usually see out there.

“Once we noticed that we were in a dead end, we thought we were done for. We didn’t have anyone with strong Wind powers that could help us over the cliffs, or enough Stone mages to make a viable ramp up. Our only option was a desperation move: we had to turn around and charge through them.”

Oren stopped again, draining the glass of wine and motioning to Aron to refill it for him. He did so, invested in the story himself, though he tried not to show the extent to which he was eavesdropping.

Oren took another sip, thinking deeply about his next words.

“I can’t go into detail about that rush out. I barely remember it all. It was a mad dash for survival. I watched people get crushed around me. I saw imps explode, I saw friends get turned into pulp. I set up a barrier behind me that tripped the large golem; it collapsed right onto one of our rogues. Splattered him against the rocks. The harpies went mad after the last golem was killed by a lightning strike to the head. The mage that cast it used so much power that they weren’t able to resist when the harpies tore her apart.”

Oren’s hands were shaking as he held the glass of wine in his hand, some of it spilled over the rim of the cup and the red liquid ran down his hands. Geon felt supremely guilty. He wanted to reach out, let him know that he didn’t need to continue if he didn’t want, but when he moved his hand up, Oren glared at it, then at him, scowling as he rested the cup on the bar. Geon lowered the hand; stared back into the man’s quivering face.

Oh Gods, I don’t know how to handle this. He grit his teeth as Oren continued, his eyes unfocused as he delved back into the moment.

“When I got near the end of the canyon, the harpies were still after us. The party, the ones that were still alive, were right behind me. Our Knight was one of them. Young kid. Rich. Leader of the team. We were about to turn and make one more stand against the things, when the kid drinks a potion. I thought it was a health potion at first. But I caught his eyes, and I saw the…the death in his eyes. The sorrow. He thought he’d led us to that death, even though he couldn’t possibly have known.

“Then the rage took him, and he turned and plowed back into the group. It was a Berserk potion. He ran in with his spear out front, plowed through the group of imps as they turned and fell upon him in turn. The harpies dove past his fight, towards the other, lighter fighters around me. I tried so hard to shield them, but Shields only mitigate damage, they don’t prevent it entirely. One by one a diving harpy would crash into one of my friends, in a suicide dive. Their bodies would slam into them at full force, no attempt to slow down.

“That sound of flesh and bones slamming into each other; shattering each other. I still hear that sound when I’m trying to sleep. For weeks after, I needed wine to knock myself out for the night. Still do, sometimes.” He stared at his cup again, then drained the last of it, and placed it down on the counter. He looked over at Aron, who was still nearby, listening but quiet. He pushed his cup towards him, almost pleading, but Aron shook his head as he took it. He’d had one or two too many cups now.

Oops, thought Aron. The story was coming out, but the drink carried Oren along with it, threatening to drag him down into the same place it had left him weeks ago.

Oren looked liked he might object – and for a moment, like he was going to lash out; throw something. But after a moment of quiet, he nodded, letting Aron take the cup.

Geon didn’t speak as Oren sat and breathed. He sat back in his own chair and thought over the story. He remembered the way Oren had been, on that cart ride out to the plateau: barely speaking at all, seeming to do everything in his power not to look at the two people sitting across from him. It was only in hindsight that he realized what a concerted effort it must have been for him to open up to them.

“Sorry about that.” Oren looked over at Geon. “Didn’t mean to spill all that onto you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I did ask.” Geon finished off his own cup, sliding it across to Aron. Kinda feel like an asshole now.

“Take it from me, Oren,” Aron said as he took both cups to his sink. “You’ll feel better now that the story is out there.” He tapped a rune on the back of the sink, and steaming water poured from the spigot. “The memory will still hurt; it always will. But once you tell the tale you can process it better.” He scrubbed the cups with a soapy cloth as he went on. “You can see things from a distance.”

Oren was quiet as he took in the words, solemn after the outpouring of emotion. “Still tastes a bit like failure.”

Aron nodded. “And it always will. But it wasn’t your failure. That’s not the story I heard. You were a man in a crappy position and did what you all had to do to get away. To survive; maybe long enough to save other people.”

Geon and Oren were quiet for a time, thinking over his words to the sound of clinking glasses and running water. To the sound of voices, quieter since the man by the bar had told such a harrowing tale. To the sound of a crowd slowly filtering out into the night of Vane Gloria.

Oren and Geon left at the same time. They walked in silence down the hill that Vane/Gloria’s sat upon, into the empty streets of downtown, passing by the Inn that Geon called home. He waved to Oren one last time before heading in, and Oren waved back with a smile.

He continued on, through streets that pulsed with the runelights of sleeping people, letting the stress of the night wash away.

He could feel the siren song of self-loathing as he made his way around the corner of his street, towards the building that had housed him in the depths of his depression. He pushed the door open, listened to the creak as it swung inside, smelled the rank air of piled trash and stale sweat. His nose crinkled. He could feel the drink pulling him in. It would be so easy to fall into that bed, to collapse into this mess and sleep the rest of the night away.

Instead, he stamped his foot on the dirt outside his door – tried to induce a bit of anger in himself. How could he have let himself live like this? Gritting his teeth, he shook his head and walked inside. No, he wasn't going to sleep. He lit candles and filled the rooms with light, revealing in full the heap he'd built for himself. He opened the windows and doors, letting the chilly nighttime breeze sweep fresh air into the house. He pulled garbage out and into his trash cart outside, filling it with all the old food and broken dishes and empty bottles of wine. Half of his wardrobe wouldn't even be suitable for use as rags, never mind clothing. He pulled out the rug of his living room, aged and tattering before he'd succumbed to grief and failure, now ruined with the stench of spilled wine and old vomit. He spent an hour scrubbing his floors.

It was well past midnight when he finished. He sat on the front stoop, struggling to stay awake long enough for the breeze to finish drying his floor, or close enough that he didn't mind falling asleep on it. The rest of his house could wait until tomorrow. At least he wouldn't wake up in filth the next day.

He got up and walked to the end of his walkway before the street. He looked out at the light of sleep cycles around him, and closed his eyes. He breathed out through his runes, and in through his core. He paid attention to the feeling of the mana that flowed back in and mingled with the rest, like a chill air in warm lungs. Breathe out, breathe in.

He turned and went back inside, dry enough to put down the sleeping bag he brought on the mission, and lay down. Satisfied, surrounded by the evidence of his few hours of work, sleep took him, and carried him through gently to the mid-morning.