036

The next morning, Erick strolled toward the Adventurer’s District, but couldn’t get within four blocks without hitting walking traffic. He scuffled though a thin road with a bakery and a dozen people pushing to buy bread. He bypassed an alchemist’s shop with too many customers, taking a side street through a more open neighborhood, but even that road was crowded. It was only after he passed a large building with lightwards proclaiming it the ‘Wayfarer’s Guild’, that the crowd seemed to thin, like he had passed a bottleneck. That made sense, since the ‘Wayfarer’s Guild’ controlled the only sanctioned [Teleport] services in the city; he would need to avoid this path tomorrow.

It was hard to imagine people teleporting in every morning, but there was a clear dearth in crowd density after he passed the Wayfarer’s Guildhouse, and all of the people nearby shared one characteristic: They were all young; smaller than normal incani, short orcols, short dragonkin. All of them were barely into their 20s, or still in their teens? Hard to say, except that they were obviously young, both in stature and in cheerful exuberance, or restrained ‘above it all’-ness; Erick had certainly seen enough of that last one to know what it looked like, no matter the species. There were no wrought that weren’t full sized adults, but who could guess at a wrought’s actual age? Certainly not Erick.

Erick turned to Poi after they passed the bottleneck. “Why do so many young people [Teleport] into the city every day? Or is this just today?”

“Spending the night in Spur is considered a great risk.”

Erick frowned at the dragonkin. “Really?”

“You’ve been here for a while… Do you not agree?”

Erick quickly decided that, yes, it was dangerous to spend the night in Spur.

Had he really been this blind before last night? Before he decided to [Withering] the land of mimics? Before he invented [Call Lightning] and before he fought off those wolves with Jane, and then the shadowcats? Before the local incani declared him ‘planar’?

… Looking back, he had been blind for a lot of that, actually. Jane had been in danger everywhere she went, and so had he. He had been blind for a long time. He wanted to believe the best in people, and almost everyone around him had proven him right. But Spur was not just a city of adventurers, it was smack dab in the middle of countless, unending monsters.

Erick said, “Life here is exceptionally dangerous. But if you can handle it, you grow up fast. Or at least learn some nice life lessons.”

Poi smiled, then schooled his expression away. He nodded.

“Has there been a response from the Dead City about yesterday’s mimic culling?”

Poi shook his head. “Not a peep, sir.”

Erick nodded, then looked up. They had arrived at the Adventurer’s District, and it had changed.

People, everywhere, easily double the expanded crowds at the Farmer’s Market, but the roads were more than wide enough to handle the new traffic. Fresh coats of [Special Ward] had turned the stone of the district into every color of the rainbow, with the most prevalent colors being lighter yellows and rust reds. By far the biggest change were four huge trees that had been [Grow]n at the corners of the Guildhouse’s central property. The new trees towered fifteen stories tall with perfectly straight 8 foot wide trunks, and wide, tangling canopies. They were majestic, they were beautiful, and as Erick looked up, he saw a harpy fall and take flight from the nearest tree.

“Oh thank god.” Erick looked up at the rest of the trees, and saw more people. “Those look like such a security risk, but if people are actually using them… that’s okay.”

Poi said, “Many peoples are partial to trees. Despite the risk, these trees are going to stay.”

Erick navigated the crowds to step across the threshold from street to Guildhouse property, passing through an environmental [Ward] of some kind, into a whole new part of the city. Like stepping into a northern forest, the air was cool and a little damp, the sky covered by a gently shifting canopy, dappling the grass and flowers with sunlight. Ahead, the massive doors to the guildhouse stood wide open, people already streaming in and out, going about their business.

Jane came here every day, but Erick hadn’t been here in a month. The place had changed from a run down high-society wilderness log-warehouse, into a bustling, occupied, high-society wilderness log-mansion, hotel, and training ground. People walked in and out of the main building, almost all of them heavily armored and in groups. A few were loners. Some of them looked over slips of paper, then turned to walk a different direction.

A brownscale beside the nearest tree spoke out, his voice carrying on the air to the whole guildhouse, “[Teleport] service to the northern entrance to the Underworld will be departing in thirty minutes. Please report to the North West Tree for departure. This is the only announcement; the caravan is already departing.”

Brownscale was already surrounded by several people, but at his announcement, more people started coming out of the guildhouse to walk his way. He organized seven of the nearest people into linking hands with him. They vanished in [Teleport] blip.

Erick said, “That’s a lot of mana. And trust.”

“Fork is a well known Wayfarer,” Mog said.

Erick turned to see Mog standing beside him. She looked much the same as the last time he had seen the orcol; massive, muscular, with short black hair and bright eyes. Smiling wide, she said, “He’s not quite as much of a rising star as you, but he’s a fixture in Spur. Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild, Archmage Flatt.”

A few people had noticed him by now, standing to the side of the path. With the guildmaster at his side, those casual glances became gazes of recognition.

Erick said, “Hello, Guildmaster Mog.”

“Please, call me Mog. I respect those who are able to step out of the wars of this world.” She added, “A casual relationship would also go a long way to letting others know that we disapprove of the Quiet War.”

Erick smiled. “I’d prefer Erick, too, but I think you already know that and you’re teasing me.”

“Erick,” Mog giggled. The large, strong woman actually giggled, and Erick found her incredibly endearing. She asked, “Monthly lessons start today; did you come to try your hand at the adventuring lifestyle? Perhaps get an adventurer badge, to go with the mage one around your neck?”

A bit of mirth left Erick, but he tried to hold on to that good feeling. He said, “I’m here to get my ass kicked in the training ring, or whatever it is you do. Jane doesn’t really tell me these things after a lifetime of me asking not to know; I’d love to be a pacifist, but I’m learning that monsters deserve no mercy.”

Mog’s eyes brightened, almost glowing in the sunlight. Her pale green face turned a shade darker, before she turned toward the guildhouse, and said, “Monsters deserve no mercy, this is true.” She added, “I heard what you did around the farms yesterday; [Withering] is fantastic.” She turned to him, smirking. “My kids are already complaining: ‘Why’d he have to kill the close ones?’ ‘Those were our kills!’. It’s all quite funny. I think you should go around the entirety of Spur, next, not just the farms.”

Erick paled.

Slowly, he said, “[Withering] works against monsters… But… It’ll affect anyone with a rad inside.”

A breeze blew. Mog studied Erick.

She said, “I’ll make sure people know.”

“Thank you.”

Mog stared outward.

She spoke, “Every powerful mage I have ever known has a story where they made a mistake and accidentally killed someone with a monster-only spell, or threw a fireball too close to the front lines. But if I was surrounded by monsters and you were there to help, I would expect you to trust me enough to cast the spell anyway, and know that I have [Ward], and my own healing spells.”

Erick felt a sudden rush of both relief and… something nicer.

He said, “Thank you. For that.”

“What [Ward] is used against [Withering], anyway?”

“Weather, I think. I intended it that way, but I haven’t actually tested the spell against a [Ward].”

She harrumphed, then said, “It’s good to worry, but too much thinking has killed almost as many rookies as too little. Spur is an adventuring town, long known to the rest of civilization as a dangerous place, and recently propped back on to the world stage because of your new magic. People coming here know to expect the unexpected.” Mog smiled, adding, “And almost all of my rookies are either working on [Ward] right now, or adventuring with someone they trust who already has it. Don’t fill your head with the wrong sorts of worries. There’s plenty enough to concern yourself with already.”

“You’re quite right.”

“Of course I am!” She laughed. “I wouldn’t be the guildmaster if I was wrong all the time. Let’s get you to those classes.”

 

– – – –

 

Erick felt vastly out of place. His feeling was not just a feeling, either; it was reality. He was out of place. If it were possible, he should have gone through these classes at 17, not 48. Everyone else around him was 17 or 18, though there were a few 20-somethings in the lineup on his side of the sandy, open aired gym. No wroughts, though. Just dragonkin, incani, and orcols. On the other side were two 30-somethings, one an incani man named Draz who was every part a drill instructor, and a silent bluescale woman who stayed by the wall.

Everyone was wearing normal clothes, all looking of roughly the same worth, though there were a few people with expensive embroidery or shiny leather boots and gauntlets. A few of his fellow students looked his way, then quickly averted their eyes when he caught them staring. A few others openly wondered at the identity of ‘the old human’; those ones were quickly smacked by their conversational partner, and quietly informed about the ‘old human with the Silver Star’.

Draz shouted, “Attention, Rookies! You have cleared your own nations or citystates’ rules to become a proper adventurer! You have journeyed far from home, seeking fortune in the Crystal Forest, where our monsters are plentiful and Ar’Kendrithyst is full of fortune waiting to be seized out from under the eyes of the Shades. But you fucked up! You didn’t know the basic rules of adventuring in the Forest, or in the Dead City!—”

Erick had an ‘oh shit’ moment, as he realized he never read Spur’s Rules of Adventuring anywhere.

“Luckily, you were caught before you became a problem! You were caught before someone died! Now, your ability to take missions has been revoked, because YOU WILL KILL SOMEONE IF YOU KEEP ACTING LIKE YOU ARE!”

Draz took a breath, then calmly said, “We’re starting from the bottom.” He flicked a finger up, and a tiny white orb with the number ‘5’ appeared in front of Erick. “Find your partner. We’re doing Stances.”

People groaned.

“And if I hear another complaint, another groan, a murmur of insubordination, you fail this class, and you have to wait till next month to try for recertification.”

Erick was in the right class; this was where Mog put him. Recertification must also mean entry-level.

A few people grabbed the orbs in front of them; the orbs were solid light. Must be a special type of [Special Ward]. Erick grabbed his number 5-white, and rather instantly found his partner. Erick knew his partner, because she was the girl who had cast [Force Shrapnel] at his face and then got her legs ripped out from under her by shadowolves. She did not look happy, holding onto her own 5-white orb.

“Zimmy Saker, right?” Erick asked.

She whispered something.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch—”

“I’M SORRY.”

A few people looked their way, but quickly returned to their own pursuits.

Erick said, “I accept your apology.” He looked around. People were still finding their partners. “What happens now?”

Zimmy muttered, “They put us in … and … … then … …”

“Sorry? Didn’t catch—”

“We stance at each other and then more stuff.”

“… I know what I mean when I hear ‘stance’, but what do you mean?”

She didn’t get to answer, because Draz shouted, “You’ve found your partner. Separate with your partner, away from every other group. Fill the room. Go go.”

Erick followed Zimmy across the room to a middle ground.

Draz called out, “A mimic is attacking. What do you do?”

The paired people around the room moved, and all Erick could do was watch.

Some pairs popped [Ward]s. Others popped armor and weapons. Several popped lights in their arms, or in the air. Erick did nothing. He was lost. Zimmy was not; she popped on armor, likely using [Conjure Armor]. Her armor was proper fantasy armor, too, with horned skulls over her shoulders and elsewhere, and with a helmet that covered most of her face but let her large violet horns protrude from two holes in the top; Erick approved.

Draz turned to Erick, one of the few people who had done nothing. He stared at Erick for a long half-second, then turned to face a young greenscale who had also done nothing.

Draz spoke at the girl. “The mimic has now gored you to death.”

“With all due respect, sir, I am ready exactly like this.”

He yelled, “I didn’t ask if you were fucking ready! I asked for a stance! An actual response! Now display something!”

“… I don’t have [Prestidigitation], sir.”

“Cast a [Special Ward].”

“… I don’t have the mana to do lightwards like Stancing would require, sir.”

“What DO you have?”

“High damaging area spells, sir.”

“Congratulations, you are now gored to death by a mimic.” Draz spoke to the room, “Stancing is about quick thinking and displayed response. This is basic, this is level 0. This is one week after Matriculation. Now, everyone: Stance with your partner and don’t lie; you’re only doing yourself a disservice.”

The other groups started talking amongst themselves, one saying something and the other responding in a small way.

Zimmy said, “I stab you in your neck,” as she conjured a small dagger and shook it back and forth.

Roughly brought back to the moment, Erick could only respond with a delayed, “… What?”

Zimmy frowned. She sighed. “I say a thing, prove that I have the capability, and you try to counter it by proving your own capability. It’s a mind game. You can only use an ability once, unless you can use it multiple ways.”

“Oh?” Erick smiled. He had gotten most of that from observation, but the actual rules made it sound fun. He blipped on [Flight of a Thousand Hands Aura], keeping the hands close to his body. “I pick you up and set you aside.”

Zimmy’s frown deepened. “Call.”

“… Wha—? Oh! You don’t believe me?”

“… It doesn’t look that impressive.”

“Are you looking with Meditation?”

“Yeah. Duh.”

“Okay. Uh. Here—”

Erick gently picked her up with a few dozen hands and set her a foot to the left. She sputtered a complaint the second she was moved, but not very loudly. When she was back on the ground, she sighed.

“Okay. Fine. I guess you won that round.” She muttered, “This isn’t fair.” Quieter, she mumbled, “I get a fucking archmage.”

Erick laughed. “I matriculated last month, too.”

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“Yeah! Well. Your weird ideas certainly helped you get ahead. What the fuck am I supposed to do against an archmage?”

A few neighbors had looked over at Erick and Zimmy by now, but with that outburst, all of them took a small step away.

Erick smiled. “I don’t know? Try to have fun with it? I’ve played this game before, but much, much differently. One person would say a thing, anything at all, and the next would say something that conquered that thing, back and forth until one person duplicated an answer, or was stuck in a corner.”

“Phhhph! What’s the point of that!” She dissolved her [Conjure Armor], then said, “If you can’t prove you’re capable, what’s the point?”

“To have fun.” Erick added, “We don’t have monsters where I’m from.”

She muttered, “Lucky bastard.”

Erick said, “I’ll go next. [Call lightning]. I’m not actually going to show that, though.”

Zimmy stilled. She quickly relaxed, and said, “We’re in a building. Under trees.”

“Good! So then, [Force Shrapnel] Aura.”

Zimmy waited. “Well?”

“I’m not going to do that either. Why don’t we just trust each other’s capability?”

“Fine! [Blink] behind you and stab you.”

“700 point [Personal Ward].” Erick poked one hand against the other, ticking a point of damage from his white [Ward], revealing its existence; he had gotten much better at making it mostly invisible in the last week. “Does that mean I’m on the defensive, now?”

Zimmy frowned. “This is basic stancing.”

“Oh! So there’s advanced versions?”

“Yeah. But…” Zimmy shook her head. “And I can’t deal with that! 700 points? Damn.”

“Sure you can. [Force Beam] to the head? I crit a shadowolf one time for 350 damage that way.”

“… I don’t have [Force Beam].”

“Shaped [Force Shrapnel]?”

“… Shaped [Force Shrapnel]…” She looked away, muttering, “To the head.”

“There you go! You got it!” Erick spoke a bit softer, “Though this is mightily uncomfortable to talk about hitting each other.”

“… Yeah.” She breathed. She said, “My cous— Never mind.” She stared at Erick. “Let’s start from the top.”

Erick smiled. “Okay.”

“[Blink] at you and attack.”

“Handy Aura and slap you away.”

“Shaped Shrapnel.”

“[Blink] behind you and attack with a few hands…”

“Decay [Strike].” Her dagger glinted green. “It stops [Ward] regeneration and healing for about 4 seconds.”

“It does? Then I fly up with a handy aura.” Erick lifted a foot off the ground.

“I wait you out, keeping up with [Swift Movement] or [Blink].”

“Scion of Focus.”

“Phhhfh!” Zimmy dissolved her dagger. “I’m done.”