grievinglands
patreon
TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 5 (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-02-01 06:36:49 +0000 UTCBook 2: Chapter 5 - Brawl
The war started at the behest of the elves when they were still one people. The First Children spoke of the great devourer, the herald of the end that would consume all things and leave this world a shriveled, cold husk of rock. They predicted that Mana, the god-gift which flowed through all things, the giver of life and the hope of the future, would be ended by this grave new threat.
The diviners and the truth seers of the elves called for war against a small country far to the west, across the Untouched Seas, who were ruled by a Mage-King they divined would bring about the end times.
The High King of the elves, acknowledging the words of the prophecy, sent his envoys to the realms of man and throughout the civilized lands. Although humans were short-lived in comparison to the elder race, they were as numerous as the trees in the forest, and were almost as ferocious as the barbaric orcs of the Long Hills. The League and the Old Empire ceased their endemic wars, united with the promise of gifts of powerful elven artifacts and mithril bullion. The Under-Kingdoms were slower to answer the call, but dwarven greed eventually won over ancient enmity, and they flocked to the banner under elvenkind. The dragons of the mountains and the sky, understanding the threat the Mage-King possessed, grudgingly promised aid, though in their pride they would suffer none to command them.
The fae of the deep woods and the places of the In-Between honored ancient pacts and promises, presenting their best Warriors and Life Mages. They also gave unto the First Children great stores of witchwood lumber, grown from the giant, sentient trees that had roots in both worlds so that the elven craftsmen might make living ships to travel the deeps. The forces under the command of the elven High King were named the Eastern Alliance as an entire continent prepared for war.
— On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar, circa 103 AC.
Three levels and twenty-five points of Constitution proved to be an immense boon, although it caused Seraphina a small twinge of irritation to see Constitution outstrip her other attributes. Still, the large amount of added Health and Stamina would undoubtedly be useful. With precious seconds ticking away, she allocated seven attribute points into Luck—vital, she reasoned, for all the random surprises life had a tendency to throw her way—and two points into Intelligence, ensuring she would most likely breeze through her upcoming entrance exams. Plus, it gave her just enough Mana to cast Wail of Judgment and Heal consecutively without causing her to have a fainting spell for using too much Mana.
For her free skill points, she invested two into Rest—she knew full well that it was one of the requirements for unlocking a different skill. The final point went into Silent Casting, as she could almost feel the skill brushing up against the limits of what it could achieve at its current level.
Once she was done, she went back to regroup with Frest and together they made their way back. He wisely did not ask her any questions and she did not offer anything in the way of an explanation.
***
She had not exactly planned all the details for the way back, and the hole they had dropped down proved more difficult to scale than she anticipated. Not that she would ever admit to such an oversight. Fortunately, Seraphina thought fast on her feet: with a grunt of effort, she hoisted Frest up high and threw him the rest of the way up. That was enough for him to scramble away, promising to locate a rope.
Every minute spent waiting in the sludge of the sewers threatened to bring up childhood memories of when her semi-basement apartment had once flooded. That was a different life, and she had forced herself to keep those horrible memories under a lock and key. But here, waiting, in the dark, dirty water they threatened to emerge. Gritting her teeth, she shoved those haunting recollections away, locking them again where they could not rattle her.
After what felt like a long but indeterminable amount of time, Frest was lowering down a rope, and she climbed out of that foul-smelling place, each pull on the rope feeling like a small triumph.
They returned to the Thieves’ Guild base, both of them caked from head to toe in filth. Dark sludge clung to Seraphina’s hair and stained her clothes with a nauseating stench. They washed off most of the grime in a sluice, separately of course—the mere idea of cleaning up together was unthinkable. After all, there were bounds of propriety. It was an outing that Seraphina and Frest would never forget for the rest of their lives.
***
Exiting the old warehouse from where they had entered, they were back on the streets of Meridian. By the length of shadows, she reckoned it to be sometime in the late afternoon.
The quick wash they’d had in the Thieves’ hideout had been only a temporary reprieve. Determined to restore herself to a semblance of dignity, Seraphina decided they would borrow an inn near Meridian’s Adventurers’ Guild—someplace accustomed to catering to those who stumbled in dirtier than usual. The inn’s staff didn’t so much as bat an eye when the pair walked in, dripping and disheveled. Seraphina handed over extra coin for their gear to be cleaned, the inn’s discretion, and to secure two private baths.
When she finally slipped into the steaming water, exhaustion immediately warred with relief. She could feel the heat seeping into her tired muscles, coaxing out the chill that had set into her bones. It took her a moment to fully relax; her pulse still pounded from the adrenaline of the escape. But soon, she let herself sink deeper, letting the water cover her shoulders.
Grime seeped out of her golden hair in inky ribbons. She scrubbed vigorously, dislodging chunks of dirt and grime. Over and over, she rinsed her hair and worked fragrant soap into it, chasing away the pungent stench. She used a stiff-bristled brush on her skin until it felt as if she might strip away the top layer, but she needed that thoroughness—she needed to know not a trace of sewer slime remained. Clouds of filth swirled around her, and at times, it felt like she was washing away more than just dirt.
Though she spent what felt like hours in the bath, her limbs cried out with relief by the time she emerged. Towel wrapped securely around her, she inspected her reflection in the small mirror on the wall, half-expecting some new shadow of trauma to remain. Instead, her skin looked bright and clean, her hair free of knots and grime. A high Constitution was useful after all. She offered her reflection a quiet smirk—she was vaguely ready to face the world once more. Though the mere memory of the sewer’s stench still made her shudder, she felt fortified somehow—healthier and stronger in both body and mind.
***
Seraphina accosted a runner earlier that evening, instructing him to inform her household she would be dining elsewhere and should not be expected at the family table. She had resolved to study the common folk in their natural element—adventurers, travelers, and the rougher sorts who congregated in these more rustic establishments. If she aspired to become a queen someday, it behooved her to understand the lives. At least to some degree. In truth, she was slumming it, but she preferred to think of it as research.
She arrived at a modest, well-worn tavern, its wooden sign creaking overhead in the faint breeze. The interior was lit by guttering lanterns that cast flickering shadows on the scarred wooden tables. The smell of ale, roasting meat, and pipe smoke hung heavy in the air. It was a far cry from the clean luxury she usually enjoyed.
Pulling out a chair by the window, Seraphina placed her helm on a wooden chair next to her. Her large sword—a bit battered, but still too fine for such a place—she rested against the wall, wedging it between the chair and the table. The eyes of a few patrons lingered on the ornate scabbard before they returned to their own meals. She adjusted herself, slightly uncomfortable in her armor before removing her gauntlets and placing them on the table. The young girl tried to ignore the curious glances, settling her gaze instead on the scene beyond the glass: dim Zajasite crystal light on the paved streets, a gondola passing by in a canal below, and the general bustle of the evening foot traffic.
A serving maid approached, balancing a wooden tray on one hip. “What can I get for you, miss?” she asked, wiping her hands on a stained apron.
Seraphina realized she had no idea what to order. “Your recommendation, please,” she said, a polite smile gracing her features. She hoped that she looked natural, but suspected she was probably far too clean-looking for this rough-and-tumble place.
The serving maid, seeming a bit surprised at being asked for her opinion, suggested the stew. “Best in the district,” she said by way of explanation. Seraphina nodded and ordered it at once.
With the main course decided, Seraphina attempted to order a Sariens 323, a fine vintage that would complement almost any dish. The serving maid blinked, as if she had heard an incantation in a foreign tongue, then gave Seraphina a tentative shrug. It was clear the name meant nothing in this tavern.
Realizing she was quite out of her element, Seraphina let out a small sigh and tried again. “Any red wine you have will do,” she said. The serving maid’s face brightened, and with a quick nod, she turned to fetch it.
A few minutes later, the serving maid returned with an earthenware carafe of wine. Out of habit, Seraphina paused, expecting the maid—or the sommelier—to pour it for her. When no one stepped forward, she let out a small sigh and did it herself
Seraphina leaned back in her chair, the commotion of the tavern swirling around her—laughter from a group of adventurers at a nearby table, clanging dishes from the kitchen, and the low hum of conversation punctuated by raucous shouts.
As she waited for the recommended stew, a slow smile found its way to her lips. Despite the somewhat lacking service and the simpler fare, a slow smile found its way to her lips—this was not so bad.
Just as she began to relax, three men sauntered over from a corner table, ale sloshing in their mugs. All three of the louts had bronze badges on their chest. The tallest of the trio, broad-chested and sporting a thick, uneven beard, nodded at the sword leaning against the wall beside Seraphina. “Quite a bit of metal you’ve got there,” he said, swaying a bit on his feet. “Makes me wonder if a little slip of a thing like you can handle it.”
His companions snickered, one adding, “Might be because she really wants something else with something so big.” Their laughter echoed through the tavern, drawing a few curious stares.
Seraphina narrowed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush. She turned her gaze from the men to her wine. “I can assure you, gentlemen, I’m quite capable of handling my own affairs—and my sword. Now, if you wouldn’t mind...”
Her tone was clear: she wanted to be left alone. Unfortunately, they ignored the hint. The tallest one pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a heavy thump, while the other two crowded around. Their dusty armor and the overwhelming smell of stale sweat made Seraphina wrinkle her nose involuntarily.
“Aw, don’t be so cold,” the bearded man drawled, leaning forward with a grin that showed far too many teeth. “We just want a bit of company. You look like you’re all on your own. Lonely like. We’ll keep a girl like you company.”
Seraphina took a calming breath and glanced around the tavern. The few other patrons paying attention seemed more entertained by the scene than concerned for her. She knew she needed to handle this herself.
“I’m quite content with my own company,” she said in a level voice, opting not to meet his gaze as he was beneath her. “I suggest you go back to your table.”
One of the shorter men snorted. “Feisty, isn’t she? Maybe she should buy us a round as a sort of peace offering so we get along better.”
Seraphina bristled. She would not draw steel in a common tavern if she could help it—especially not in a place like this. Still, she refused to be intimidated.
Before she could snap back, the serving maid appeared with a tray in her hands. The aroma of savory stew filled Seraphina’s nostrils, reminding her she had not eaten a proper meal in hours. Seraphina’s stomach rumbled in a very unladylike fashion, causing the men to chuckle. The maid looked uncertain as she placed the steaming bowl in front of Seraphina, clearly noticing the tension at the table.
“Anything else for you, miss?” the maid asked softly, her gaze flicking nervously from Seraphina to the adventurers and back.
Seraphina gave a tight smile and shook her head. “No, thank you. That will be all for now.”
As soon as the maid left, the largest man spoke again, his tone overly friendly and mocking. “No, thank you. That will be all for now,” he said, mimicking her tone. “You speak right fancy. So, come on then, tell us—where’d a fancy girl like get a sword like that? Bet it’s more for show, eh?” His laughter was tinged with challenge.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow, letting the man’s rude remarks wash over her. She reminded herself that she was here to understand the lower classes, not necessarily to pick fights with them. Still, her patience was wearing thin.
Clearing her throat, she fixed the bearded man with a calm but icy stare. “I’ve no interest in conversation with the likes of you.” She lifted her spoon, dipping it into the stew as if nothing else in the room mattered.
Despite her dismissive tone, the men did not budge. They remained where they were, leering at her like a pack of stray dogs circling a fresh scrap of meat. Seraphina forced herself to take a measured bite of the stew, determined to maintain composure—even if it meant enduring their unwelcome presence for a while longer.
Seraphina bided her time, waiting for an opening. As if hearing her plea, fortune soon answered: Sir Frest, pushed through the common room door. He paused at the threshold, eyes sweeping the room until they fell on his lady’s predicament. He rushed to her side.
“Ah, there you are, Sir Frest. A little late,” Seraphina said, her tone clipped and displeased.
The three leering men bracketing her table shifted their attention from Seraphina to the newcomer. Sensing her moment, Seraphina’s hand shot out. She seized the tallest man by his greasy hair and slammed his face into her still-steaming stew. Scalding broth sloshed across the table, and he spluttered in stunned outrage.
His two companions gaped for an instant before survival instincts spurred them to draw steel. But Frest, a veteran of countless tavern scuffles, was swifter by far. In a single fluid motion, he whipped out his blade, and before the men’s hands found their hilts, the flat of his sword cracked against one thug’s temple. The man dropped like a sack of grain.
The remaining ruffian, wielding a heavy mace, roared and swung at Seraphina. She raised an armored forearm with practiced ease, blocking the blow in a resounding clang. In the same heartbeat, she snapped her arm forward, catching him across the jaw in a backhanded strike that sent him reeling.
From somewhere across the room, a tankard hurtled through the air and crashed into another table. The ripple of violence spread in seconds—fists flew, chairs splintered, and curses mingled with the clamor of spilling drinks. An almost jubilant, reckless chaos descended on the tavern.
***
When the violence ended, only Seraphina and Sir Frest remained standing. The noblewoman flipped a stray lock of hair from her face and surveyed the carnage. Groans of the injured rose all around. Her lips curled in a slight, satisfied smile.
“I daresay, Frest, I may have worked up quite a sweat,” she mused. One of the men, struggling to crawl away, passed too close. Without looking, Seraphina snapped out her foot and kicked him in the head. His body went limp.
You have slain a Human. 10 experience gained.
Frest cast a wary glance about. “My lady,” he said calmly, “a noble of your standing must really refrain from frequenting places like this.”
She shrugged, affecting a tone of airy carelessness. “A bit of excitement never hurt anyone—well, aside from these fools.” She gestured vaguely at the unconscious and the dying. “Now, be a dear and pay the proprietor for the damage. Sort this mess out.”
Frest’s gaze dropped to the bodies. “And... the blood price for these men?”
Seraphina’s voice turned cold. “Have the first three who accosted me sent to the tannery. I want their hides.”
The knight let out a shaky laugh, half-hoping she was jesting. “You can’t be serious—”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do not make me repeat myself, Sir Frest. You know how I am when forced to repeat myself.”
He swallowed hard and gave a tight nod. Seraphina continued, voice smooth. “As for the rest of them, we owe nothing. This was self-defense. If any so-called guards of this city object, remind them they dared lay hands on Duke Anatoli de Sariens’ daughter. If the enforcers of the King’s justice prove difficult, remind them that my father would have no qualms razing Meridian to the ground for this insult.”
“But some of these were members of the Adventurer’s Guild…”
“I believe I told you to sort this mess out. I do not want to have to deal with details every single time there are small problems.”
At that, the barkeep and the serving maid peered out from behind the bar. They wore identical expressions of abject terror.
“You there!” Seraphina called sharply, causing both to recoil. She tapped her foot impatiently. “My man will handle the damages. He will be generous and we will compensate you for your discretion... Unless you fancy Sir Frest here to come up with a more permanent solution.”
They nodded in desperate unison, eyes darting from Seraphina’s radiant smile to the blood-drenched floor. A hush fell over them as the noblewoman and her knight surveyed the aftermath—a now silent testament to Seraphina’s viciousness and cruelty.
