"Servant of Empire" - Ch 22

Dark woods - real wood, not the woody fungus planks many under-earth settlements use - and leathers were the theme of the place. I could smell fine tobacco, and I saw many bottles in a cabinet which I certainly would have appreciated a glass of.

Natha had brought me here under Truce terms. "The commander will see you in the Coil," she had said, and led me from the Skin Well to this place. It wasn’t a real pub or bar, it was a giant’s place. Where the Skin Well was constructed to deal with only human sized patrons, this place had two sections to its common room – one for giants and one for us little people. Looking at the twisted nature of the giants’ side gave me a mild headache.

Natha had led me into the back and up some stairs to a private room. The room was at a strong tilt, its floor leveled by being built in small terraces, giving the impression of a set of broad steps. The central table's legs had each been crafted to accomodate a level surface on this tilted floor, it straddled three terrace-steps and still came out even. The chairs around it were reasonably normal.

The interior reminded me of a very high-class tavern I'd once visited while I was still in the armed forces of Vorus. "Wait here," Natha said, and slinked out another doorway. She had legs like a human – a rather nicely-built human, at that – breaking from the legend that Medusae all had tails of snakes.

I remained standing, looking at the hangings on the wall and peering out the one window at the gloom of the city beyond.

“Natha said you wished to meet me, claiming to be Azrael of the Caern Jale. Pretty convincing to have this wine with you, the label is a surprisingly good forgery.”

I turned to face the voice, to see a tall, sturdy Shadrim holding the bottle I’d given to Natha carefully to a candle on the table. He was reading the label with squinting eyes.

“The Azrael I knew died a long, long time ago. I’m looking forward to hearing your reasons why you shouldn’t follow.” He looked up to me. “It isn’t just that you are claiming something to get to me,” he added. “The real question I have is why would you?”

He let the bottle drop on the table. It didn’t shatter, thankfully, instead clattering loudly. It rolled quickly towards me, and I snatched it from the air as it rolled off the side, parking it safely back on the table.

“Careful with that.” I eyed him. “Far as I can tell, it and its three brothers are all that’s left today.”

Minutes passed. I looked him over, carefully. He didn’t move. It was definitely him, although he’d lost a lot of color, and acquired a few extra scars. I was beginning to grow slightly nervous, when the door creaked again. The handle turned, and it opened.

Natha reentered the room, quietly taking station in the corner where she could view both of us.

“Glasses, please,” I said to her, gesturing at the bottle. She didn’t move, looking instead over at Mahar. After a moment he nodded and gestured with a hand.

She gave an imperceptible bow and vanished, to reappear a few moments later with three glasses. As she set them down, he glanced at them, then smiled faintly at her.

He was somewhat less than six feet tall, stocky with deep olive-brown skin and black hair streaked with grey. His horns were spun straight out from the back of his head, almost like those of an ibix, black horns ridged with numerous gashes and scars. Gold filigree created sigils of arcane and religious significance, and as I looked the ones at the base of his horns seemed to crawl, encircling them with a shining marquee. In fact, looking at them a second time, I realized they had changed. From what little I could read, I assume they spelled out a permanent binding that tied him to the Legion, to Hell.

His eyes were orange orbs, clear with blue flecks scattered around in them. The orange I remembered, the blue I did not. He maintained the hooked nose adorning his face, and small horny protrusions extended from his cheekbones and chin, one single silver earring hanging from his left ear. A battle harness covered with trinkets as well as several actually useful weapons clung to his torso, over a hide jerkin and fragments of plate armor on his right shoulder. A wickedly serrated bastard sword was resting on his hip, and I thought I could occasionally see whisps of crimson mist escape from the gap in the sheath. But perhaps that was only imagination. In the corner of the room, I noticed an old bone great-bow, engraved with runes, that seemed to wait patiently for its next chance to skewer the unsuspecting.

I remembered that bow. He’d had it when we served together.

I nodded to it. “Haven’t seen that in a while,” I said. “I’m surprised it’s lived this long.”

He eyed the bow, then looked at me, as Natha withdrew to her corner. He took the wine bottle in his hand. His eyebrows raised, he glanced between that, and me. His gaze settled on me. "I find this situation escapes words. It is...unsettling. You still haven’t answered me.”

“Yeah, me too. Not sure how I can prove it to you, other than shared memory.”

“How do I verify you? You look like the Shadrim I knew, but my memory is perhaps a bit faded with time.” His voice had changed - I could still hear the old Mahar, but there was an echo, a harmony, of a deeper voice now over it.

I thought it over for a few moments. My hand raised to my face, finger tracing above my eye to the scar that traveled up to the base of my right horn.

“You gave me this,” I said. “Remember? I addressed Lord Balenor out of turn, and you struck me down for it.”

He stared at the mark, then down at his hands. “I don’t reca..” then his eyes went back to it. “I do. Yes I do. I just can’t accept this.”

He walked halfway around the table, eyeing me through a squint. “But here you are. How is it that this is possible? How is it that I can believe you to be other than a faerie glamour?"

“Well, first I think we should drink that,” I said. “Before I lose it, too. Keep giving them away and there won’t be any more for me. After that, maybe you can come up with a few ideas on how to believe me.”

He held out an open hand towards the wine, an invitation. I opened the bottle in silence. He kept looking at me for moments here and there.

Pouring the wine, he slid a glass across the table to me, then held one out behind him to Natha, who leaned forward to take it from him without a word.

He continued to ponder, as a female Shadrim slipped into the room behind him carrying a few papers. She whispered in Mahar’s ear while laying them on the table before him with a quill and ink.

He looked them over, signed the pages and handed them back. "Ahh, my dear. Perhaps you can help me determine the authenticity of this individual. He claims to be Azrael of House Ashemdion, our old colleague - and he presents some compelling evidence.”

He turned and signaled the waiting medusa. “Natha, please bring another glass, and arrange for some food. Real food, not faewild. There shall be no question of an attempt to bind him. Not yet." This last with a smile.

He turned back to me. “Didn’t you have a relationship with him at some point?” He was now talking to the newcomer.

It was then that I realized the identity of the other Shadrim who attended him.

Miranda.

We’d been lovers less than nine months and over a millennia ago.

She’d always been very beautiful. A wide face framed by curled ivory horns, deep red hair and pale skin. Her eyes were yellow like a wolf’s, pure and clean. She could lock swords with the best of them, and still slide an evocation through clenched teeth while gutting her opponent. Her tail was smooth and unmarked, the same pale oak color of her skin, with a spade end that she occasionally waved like a cobra.

She also had a binding charm on her, but it was tattooed around her neck.

She’d also been my subordinate in the Caern Jale.

She looked at me, and her eyes widened a little bit in curiosity. “It could be him,” she said. “Certainly looks like him.”

She took Mahar’s glass and sipped from it. Smiled in appreciation of the flavor as she walked around me. “Hmm,” she said. “Take off your shirt.”

I stood back for a second, confused.

“Better do it, or we might be forced to kill you.” Mahar said. I couldn’t really tell if he was joking.

I carefully unlaced my front and began to open the jerkin I was wearing. Leather laces are surprisingly difficult to manipulate in gloves, but the ones I wore were thin enough that it wasn’t too much of a challenge.

Miranda grabbed the hem of my linen shirt and pulled it up to my neck, fast. A knife had appeared in her hand, and it rested its point beneath my left ear.

“Don’t move, now,” she whispered into that ear.

“Our Azrael was bitten by an Arollian nest-mother on his collarbone when we were being extracted from a recon mission gone bad,” she said. “That scar never went away.”

“No, it never did.” I smiled. “It still pains me on occasion.”

She slid her free hand under my shirt and up the left side of my chest. Her tail slid up my back, and into my hair.

“Ahem,” I cleared my throat.

She stopped and locked eyes with me.

“Other side. She bit my right shoulder. Left-handed, remember? I had my sword in my free arm and stabbed her through the eye, slit the back of her skull open. That’s why she didn’t just take my head off.” I shrugged my right shoulder at her.

She lifted up the shirt on my right side, and with a quick glance saw the long line of pink punctures that had healed over a few years back. She nodded once, and her tail twitched like an annoyed cat.

The knife vanished. “It’s him, or someone who knows enough about him that we probably shouldn’t kill him right away,” she said.

“That’s good to know,” I said, lowering my shirt and lacing my jerkin back up. “Still have that cute birthmark on your left…?” I waggled my fingers suggestively, sliding them up through the air.

Her tail almost vibrated at that one. “Yeah, it’s him.”

Mahar went from expressionless to a wide grin. “Absolutely unreal! Where in all the worlds have you been? And why did we never hear from you?”

“It’s been a bit of a hike,” I said. “Found myself lately with an adventuring group, trying to figure out how to get back home.”

“Wait, what?” His face showed he didn’t understand.

“A little while ago, right after I mustered out, I was kidnapped,” I said.

“By these adventurers? I’ll have them all killed,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, no no no, the kidnapper was some mad wizard named Goristro, the adventurers rescued me from him.”

“These wouldn’t happen to be the ‘Grey Wayfarers,’ would they?”

Now it was my turn to squint. “Yeah, afraid so. I’d heard your band here was looking for us?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. If I’d known you were among them I’d have had a bit more finesse in our attempts to halt you.”

I held up a hand. “Hey, before we start talking in earnest – ‘halt’ us. That mean what I think it means?”

He shook his head. “She said stop you, or halt you, in context to prevent you from reaching the city. You’re here now, so somehow you got here. Nothing to do about it now, the order is invalidated by the reality of your having reached the city.”

I shrugged. “That’s a good way to look at it.”

He tilted his head. “That’s my way of looking at it, which means it is the way of looking at it.”

Miranda finished her glass and set it on the table. “If you have no further need of me here, sir…?”

Mahar nodded and slid the papers across the table to her. “Dismissed, thank you.”

She disappeared behind the door again. I felt somewhat hurt, actually, that she didn’t stick around. I guess a few hundred years can let you put a lot of feelings away.

Mahar followed my eyes.

I nodded. “We had called it off several months prior to my leaving the Caern Jale, but I guess I still miss ‘us’. I’m surprised to see her.”

“Us? After so long?”

“Long for you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What does that mean? Where were you all this time?”

“It might sound a little strange, but when they rescued me from Goristro, I was pulled here, now. He wanted my blood for a spell or ritual.” My hands and feet itched faintly at the memory of being bound to that table.

“What do you mean, pulled here?” Mahar was quizzical.

“I mean, they yanked me forward, forward in time. For you, centuries might have gone by, but for me, the last I saw you was maybe nine months ago.”

His smile faded. He was silent for a moment. “So you never saw the Empire fall?”

I couldn’t help but glance down at my hand. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to bring up my new title in this context. I shook my head slightly instead.

“Better that you didn’t, I suppose. Those were hard days.” He held up his glass in silent salute.

I matched it, we drank.

After a respectful silence, I asked, “What really happened? I heard that most think we won the war, but I still saw an Arrollian recently.”

He nodded. “Yes, we won. We wiped them clean from both moons and most of the world. Only a few isolated populations survived. But at some point during the heat of the war, we lost the favor of the King. He withdrew his forces, his support.”

“But why?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “No one has said. I’ve never spoken with him, in all my service to him. Even if I had, I couldn’t have reached that question. The prevalent theory is that he was disappointed in us, that he didn’t see us as fitting children for his Glory.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’d be stronger if we fought our own battles, you know? We still carry his blood, and the power that comes with it, but we maybe had grown too reliant on his infernals and servants.” He gestured with his wine glass in a broad, nonspecific arc.

He paused and looked into the glass.

“This is really quite good,” he said.

“What happened next? Where did the Empire go?”

“We exhausted ourselves in the battle against the Arrol. We beat them down, killed almost all their Mothers, even pushed Horziolus off to his home domain.”

Horziolus. The Arrollian god of venom and strength. I let my eyes go half-lidded, imagining the scene of the battle. “As much as I would have loved to see that, I’m somewhat glad I wasn’t there.”

He grinned faintly. “It was not a pretty day, even if it was victorious. In fact, that little recon mission that almost got you killed was a key step towards our victory.”

I thought back, to a conversation a long time ago. “Maybe Balenor was right after all,” I said.

“About?”

“He recruited me, based on a prophecy he followed. Thought I was going to be very good for his fortunes.”

“Perhaps you were,” he said.

“Well, regardless, I’d like to think so. I ended up with more than I’d hoped to gain, even if I lost it all shortly after.”

He leaned back into the seat. “After that, we’d spent almost all our military in the fight, and what followed was the worst slave uprising we’d ever experienced. What didn’t get destroyed during the uprising was shattered shortly after when House Goradrim broke from the council and attempted a coup against the other Houses.”

“Goradrim? The Flesh Spire?”

“Not any more. Cinder Spire, now. It was burnt in the revolt, its exterior still smolders, I’m told. What few of them survived in whatever undead form they chose are still trapped inside. Utrett wasn’t quite the strength they thought.”

I looked down at the floor. “So whatever the slaves didn’t destroy,” I began.

“…was broken when Goradrim tried to take control.” He finished for me.

I shook my head. “What is left?”

“A few pockets here and there, but for the most part our people have scattered. We are reviled in most places,”

“I noticed that,” I agreed.

He glanced sideways at me. “And although we occasionally have re-attempted to assert ourselves in an Imperial structure, there’s never been a successful establishment. There just aren’t enough of us left.”

“Of us, you mean? Not necessarily you.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, you’re Legion now, aren’t you?”

He sat silent for a little bit. “Yes, I suppose that’s true, but I still remember and I still have what I was. Once upon a time.”

“I always wondered about that. You’ve been Legion for over a thousand years now, longer than you were Voruscan or Shadrim. We had Legion in our household who had been servitors for over a millennia, little of their Shadrim selves remained. How much of you is still there?” I swirled the glass as I spoke.

I raised an eyebrow speculatively and continued. “I have always been this form. I know no other. Are you really the Mahar I used to know?”

“I understand your question. It’s a valid point.” He thought about it for a while. “Strangely though, I’m still largely what I was. I feel it so, at least. Not many degrade or advance to a point where they don’t remember what they were. The King doesn’t allow us to forget. I think mostly to remind us of our place in his Plan.”

“So there is a plan then?”

“I suppose. It’s what we tell each other. I don’t know the whole thing, or even a small part of it, I guess. I just know that where he says, I go.”

I looked into my glass. “I wonder why He never wiped House Goradrim out,” I said.

“Because they made us stronger.” He replied.

I scoffed. “We didn’t need their zombie regiments.”

“No, no, we didn’t. But their backstabbing made the rest of us stronger. Kept us alert. They were a destructive House, and anything the rest of us built would have to withstand their corrosion. It made all of us that much stronger, that much smarter.”

“That,” I sipped, “…is pretty dark.”

“But can you deny it worked? Look at what we accomplished.”

I shook my head. “Look where we are,” I said. “If I could go back, I would change everything.”

He squinted at me. “First, you can’t go back. Second, you couldn’t change it. The King made us, and the King broke us.”

“That’s awfully fatalistic.”

“No, it’s realistic. I’ve lived…well, existed through the time that has passed. Everything I know says it’s not going to change, even if you could go back.”

It wasn’t so much what he said as how he said it, that made a cold knot develop in my stomach. What if he was right? What if there was no return?

“I have to go back,” I said. “I don’t belong here.”

He frowned. “I’ve walked through the ashes of Vor Kanta. I’ve seen the crater of Vor Konatra. That world is dead, Azrael. This world is built upon its bones and tattered flesh. Hells, even what they know of magic is derived almost entirely from our relics. The bones and ashes we left behind are the treasured prizes these people use to light their future.”

I leaned my head back, eyes closed. “How can I live here? Our people, what can we do?”

“I’m sorry, Az,” his frown softened. “You have to live as best you can. Our people persist, but that’s the best they can hope for now. It’s the best you can hope for.”

“I can’t buy that. There has to be a win in this for us somewhere.”

He shook his head softly. “Maybe for you, Az. Maybe. For our people? I wouldn’t get my hopes up. For me, I have the Legion. I have Devil’s Due. We are here for each other. Maybe after all this affair I’ll have a place for you.”

It was my turn to squint. “I’ll give that some thought, but you know what my feeling is on joining the Legion. I never had a lot of desire for it, and less so now knowing that He pulled his support and let our people die.”

“Careful of blasphemy, now. Regardless, there’s always the point…” He stopped as Miranda re-entered the room. She crossed directly to him, not even looking at me. She bent and whispered something in his ear, then turned and left.

He was silent for a moment. “…The point,” he continued, “is that you are not alone.”

He stood up. “But now, you have to leave.”

“Why? I just got here.”

“We have received new intel and orders.” He said. “Flay Gaz has discovered that Zur Nav is alive and has returned to the city.”

He looked pointedly at me. “And that he has new allies.”

“I am under orders to find and kill you and your companions, so long as you are not under the protection of another contender for the crown.”

I slugged the rest of my wine and stood back, hand on my sword and summoning the power of my blood for a fight. Before I got too far with it, he raised an open hand.

“Easy, I can delay my response to this order for an hour or so.” He lowered his hand. “It will take that long to brief my troops and get them searching.”

I calmed down, but the shakes still got into my hands. “Thank you.” Was all I could muster up.

“You’re welcome. I’ll have Miranda escort you to your friends so you aren’t unduly molested along the way.” I swear he added some emphasis to molested.

“Thanks again.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Next time I see you I might have to kill you. Let’s hope not.”

“Yeah, I’ll hope for that. Be a shame if after all these years it was ‘Hi Az, welcome back, crrrrk!’” I drew my thumb across my neck to add emphasis.

He smiled thinly. “Okay, then let’s get you out of here. If I can, later, I’ll reach out and get back in touch.”

He stepped his foot twice, and Miranda re-entered the room. Mahar and I shook hands, old-style, gripping at the elbow.

“Take care, and see you soon,” he said.

“You too – I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know you are here. Oh, and by the way, your order is almost ready.”

“What?”

“Your order. Little trader down the street a few blocks from here. Old dwarf. Lots of trinkets.”

“Oh! Oh yes, thanks. You were there?”

“Yes, he seemed to think you were my commander,” I said.

He smiled fully at that.

Miranda grabbed me by the shoulder and steered me out.

The Coil wasn’t far away from the Skin Well, perhaps twenty minutes’ walk. The first five were silent between us, only the murmur of others’ voices around us as we made step after step on the cobbled street.

I finally broke the silence. “Do you even remember me?”

She didn’t look at me, just replied, “Vaguely.”

I didn’t answer immediately. It hurt a bit. Shouldn’t have. I am Shadrim, and we don’t do romance. To admit it would have been a sign of weakness, particularly in the face of the Legion.

“So how long did you serve the Cairn Jale before joining the Legion?”

“I spent twelve years in total. I was a Subcommander at the time of my Ascension.”

“So four more years after I left; you had seven years in when I last saw you. You weren’t that old, what happened?”

“I was mortally wounded in the battle of Three Peaks, an Arrol cut me open and left me for dead on the field.”

“And what happened?”

“What do you think? I died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

I thought it over. “I’m not sure. Dying seems like a loss to me.”

“That’s because you don’t understand the Legion. You were a follower of the Black Queen, the Morrigan, weren’t you?” She hooked her thumbs into her belt.

I nodded. “Yes, my father didn’t object, and it just felt right.”

“Given your name, I suppose I can see why.”

“Do you really not remember much of me?”

“No. You do understand how long it’s been? You know how many relationships I have had since I Ascended?”

“I never really knew how that worked…once you join the Legion, do you have real relations?”

“You mean sex?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Sometimes. Depends a lot on how far up the chain you go. The lower tiers haven’t any sense of individuality, it isn’t unless you reach command of at least a platoon.”

“Once there?”

“Interrelations are generally discouraged. Loyalty to the Legion is paramount, and close relations can lead to a conflict of interest.”

“I see.”

“You seem very preoccupied with the topic.”

“I just wanted to know how you felt, what you were allowed to feel.”

“Allowed? We can feel whatever we choose. How we act is what is permitted or forbidden.”

“I understand.”

“Is it because we had a relationship before?”

“Today, yes. I cared for you, and to me it was only a few months ago.”

“Ah, that makes it clearer. I’m sorry.”

“Why? For you it has been forever, and we were hardly married or anything.”

“I’ve made you uncomfortable, and you are a friend to Mahar.”

So you’ve revealed your weakness to her, Sybarron said. And you understand now she only has loyalty to her superior officer.

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” I muttered.

“What was that?” She asked.

“Nothing, I just remembered something.”

We were drawing up to the Skin Well. The orangey light played in a bit across the outside walls, making its fleshy structure seem to crawl.

“Guess we’re here,” I said.

“Yes,” she affirmed.

I turned to face her. “Thank you for seeing me to my destination,” I said.

“I have, and you are welcome. I will return now.”

“I hope at our next meeting we will not be at odds.”

She eyed me over. “You seem competent with a weapon, if Natha’s report holds true. I hope that as well.”

She turned and departed. I’m proud to say I didn’t look back after turning to enter the building.

The Skin Well was aptly named – its outside appeared to be wrapped in flesh, stitched together as if some nightmare-inspired armorer had clothed the building in tight-fitting armor. Studs, spikes, rings, and various ornaments pierced its surface where it covered the walls. Window apertures were interspersed around it like hollow dry eyes staring out of a mummified corpse.

The interior held the theme. The walls were stretched rawhide, stitched together loosely. Oil lamps provided dim illumination, enough to see the various colors of skin that had been used to cover the space. Their sticky smoke discolored the wall and ceiling near them. The tables, thankfully, were normal. They appeared to be made from fungal woods, and stone or wooden stools were scattered liberally around the place. The patronage were generally human-sized, a mix of human, orc, and the occasional elf.

The Wayfarers were seated against one wall.

Nix saw me come in. “Azrael!”

I smiled back at her and waved. “What are we drinking?” I called.

Nix held up her cup. “Veltsch N’gregaia.” She said.

Rendo stood up so I could see him. “Yeah, none of us can pronounce that either, just go tell the bartender another round.”

“Did anyone mention you-know-who?” I asked.

“Who?” Rendo asked.

“Never mind, I’ll do it,” I said.

I walked over to the barkeep, who appeared to be a half-orc, half-human with one eye and three fingers on one hand.

“Evenin…what time is it?” I stopped myself a little late.

The bartender grinned over a big tusk. “Yer skin woulda told me even if yer words didn’t, Shadrim. Whatcha want?”

I looked back over my shoulder. “Is Rust around?”

“Maybe hap, and maybe hadn’t.”

I shuffled three silver crowns out of my pocket and spread them on the bar.

“How about now?”

“Yeah, whatcha want?”

“You’re Rust?”

He nodded.

“I’m looking for Sir Mad Jack. We have an appointment, and we’ll need to see him rapidly.”

“We?”

“They are with me.” I jerked my head towards the table.

“Some of them might need a little help.”

“We’ll manage, but I’ll take what help you can provide.”

He tapped a finger on the bar where the coins had been. I hadn’t even seen him take them up.

I spread five more where the first three had been. This time I saw his hand pass over them and collect the coins in a fluid motion.

The barkeep grunted something out in orcish, and two large men stood up on the opposite side of the room. He nodded to our table, and they started making their way there. I angled towards the table as well.

Cannon saw the two coming and stood up, balling up fists and grinning. “Didn’t even have to pay for the entertainment, this is my kinda place!” He cracked his neck left and right, shaking his head loose and winding up.

I held up my hands. “Easy, short stuff, they’re going to help us get to Zur Nav’s place.”

He looked disappointed, his hands dropping slightly. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “Some of you are a little worse for wear,” I said.

“Dammit, I was just ready for a little tumble!” He said.

“Everyone, time to go. We have less than an hour before Shal Rava starts combing the city for us, with orders to kill us. Our only safe place is under Zur Nav’s roof.”

“How do you know this?” Trust Sered to complicate things.

“Long story. Tell you when we get safe.”

He considered it a moment, and then nodded.

“Hey, just a second, did you call me ‘short stuff’?” Cannon turned his head slowly towards me.

“Yep, you can beat me later when we’re not going to get massacred.”

He thought about that, then shrugged. “Okay.”

Nix polished off her drink and set the cup silently on the table. Rendo, semi-conscious, was mumbling something and chuckling.

“What the hell was that you guys were drinking?” I asked. This gang had taken on a team of giants and put them down, and whatever this stuff was it had reduced our team to the level of muttering semi-functionals.

“Veltsch N’gregaia.” Nix said again.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Sered hoisted Rendo over his shoulder with a soft grunt and a few words of protest from the Halfling. “Elvish dialect for ‘spore liquor’. Made from fungal spores, I understand.”

Yeesh.

Nix watched Rendo, with a silly grin. Her voice slurred slightly as she spoke. “Yeah, they take alcohol spirit and soak mushrooms in it to make an extract. You get drunk and you see some really cool colors!”

I looked over at the two big men standing there.

“Okay, one of you in front, and one follows up to make sure we don’t lose anyone. Good?”

They both agreed. I shuffled Nix up onto her feet and slung her arm over my shoulders. “Cannon, can you and Sered keep track of each other?”

Cannon belched loudly. “She’d better get in front of me,” he said, gesturing at Nix.

“I’m fine.” She said. “I don’t need you to pick me up, because I’m not going to fall.”

“Ain’t your falling I’m worried about,” he said. “It’s so I can watch your fineness and follow you.”

He leered at her, and I swear she actually had a small smile.

“Don’t make me kill you,” she said, and stood.

Cannon looked over at me and winked. “They all love me.”

I just shook my head. “Everyone got your things? Let’s go.”

Cannon picked up Rendo’s pack and slung it behind his own.

“Let’s roll,” he said.

(All content here, outside of those elements attributed otherwise, is copyright (2025-) Thomas Theobald. With the exception of AI training, personal use with attribution is granted.)