AbyssalRoadTrip
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🕑 Added 2022-08-19 11:08:15 +0000 UTCThe powerful metallic notes had been surprising, but with surprise fading, it’s clear he’s a mature Gold Dragon. Though there is power in his chords, it’s nowhere near the ancient wyrms that accompany Bahamut on visits to my mother.
“Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”
So not what I’d expected a Dragon to say, and my mouth runs away from me.
“You’re just going to pretend?”
The words come out in the rolling hiss of the Gold’s draconic dialect, and his smile broadens before he answers in Greek.
“Yes, since you’re equally playing pretend, young mystery. What can I do for you?”
Since that’s the game he wants to play, I release a dozen gold coins I’d gained on Cemna from Inventory. The coins are heavy things; each six-sided coin barely fits on my palm, where the small golds here I can cover with my thumb. The metal’s off-world scent runs up his nostrils and mugs his brain, causing him to ‘fish mouth’ for enough beats to have me smiling.
“Local currency, please, sir.”
“Sir?”
“Well, your shop doesn’t have a name on its sign, and I didn’t feel like getting eaten if I asked wrong. Auntie S says getting eaten is fun, but she can be weird.”
I know what she means, even if she thinks I don’t, but with this fellow it flies way overhead.
“You told Nanoĸ your name is Gail?”
“I did? What big ears you must have to be sitting here in a pseudo-demi-plane-thing and still hear what’s happening in the village.”
The relief I’ve not offended him practically has me giggling. My stomach’s butterflies dance away instead of erupting from my mouth.
“Hardly. It’s merely a minor interior expansion. The locals call me Esdras.”
His actual Use Name rings out through every hidden scale, but this one is less of a mouthful.
“If using it won’t offend, I’ll stick to that, for brevity's sake.”
His smile carries the half-heard rasp of scales shifting. “Would I have offered it if its use would offend?”
“Some might, just to test, but even if you don’t seem so inclined, it’s best to ask. You said the locals call you Esdras, that isn’t open permission to do likewise,” I say, and his amusement burbles like a giggling brook.
“Did you get much instruction in suspecting others of verbal loopholes?” he asks but doesn’t persist in waiting for an answer after I spend a full minute blinking at him innocently. “Very well. Gail, you can call me Esdras. Regarding your coins, I can only offer a metal value purchase.”
“That would be fine, Esdras. Nine parts in ten in my favour will be acceptable,” I offer primly.
“Six in ten.”
His delight in the haggling and his earlier amusement have me holding back a smile. Pouting, I plant a hand on my hip and wave the other grandly at the coins. “That’s hardly fair. You could sell them as collectibles; one can hear the age calling their worth.”
I almost get an eye-roll, but he keeps a straight face. Drats, I came very close—Sarah would have awarded extra points for getting a Dragon to eye roll.
His forefinger taps against a coin’s edge, the nearly pure gold dents under the force. “Curiosity pieces perhaps, hardly collectibles. For all I know, you could have too many for such interest to be sustained, but I’ll allow seven in ten weight to you.”
“Eight in ten in my favour, and I’ll go no lower.”
“That’s acceptable, but only if you have at least a dozen more.”
I set another twenty on the counter and let the playful smile that had tried to get loose during the quick haggle finally show. “That’s your normal ratio, isn’t it?”
“No, normally seven in ten; sometimes the foolish will take worse from me. You could consider the better terms I allowed this time a gesture of goodwill,” Esdras says, pulling a dish from beneath the counter. He sets each coin into the water within it, noting the displacement. “Preference for the coins?”
“Mostly silver, but some coppers and golds. I’ll need coinage easily used for meals and lodging.”
“There is only one inn, which might already be full, given the number of adventurers I’ve dealt with of late. I know several families have been making a coin or three, renting out spare rooms or space in their barns.”
“It was quiet at the guildhall, but I take it most are in the swamp.”
“They’re normally only about in the morning and evening unless they need to recover. As for what I know about the adventurers' work, most don’t venture into the swamp’s depths. Plenty of jobs only require dabbling along the edge or venturing down the peninsula’s beach to the southeast.”
“I’ve not even looked at the job board yet. You make it sound like you have lots of dealing with the adventurers.”
“Though I’m the village’s money changer, most of my business deals with the trade of materials they bring in.”
“Why is a Dragon here?”
At my question, Esdras gives me a toothy grin. “Are we done pretending? Does that mean I get to ask a question as well? Oh, impossible young Anar.”
Wrinkling my nose at the Dragon’s bloodline memories, I must resist the urge to poke out my tongue. “No, I think we’ll pretend a while longer.”
“If you say so, but in fairness, I should tell you I’ll be letting my family know,” Esdras admits reluctantly. “How is a member of a deceased species in this village?”
“Remember, we’re still playing pretend! And no, that’s not fair,” I protest, images of flights of gleaming dragons running through my mind. Being questioned by a host of dragons, I’m sure I’d let my genuine goal slip. Even if they don’t insist on doing the task I set myself, properly hosting them would eat through my funds. Though songs to create all the food and drink they’d inhale—even in Human form—is an option, it would attract the locals’ attention and raise too many questions.
“Telling my family of you isn’t fair?” Esdras says slyly, with too much mischievous twinkling in his gaze. “Oh, my deepest apologies; perhaps you could persuade me to hold off? I’ll generously take answers to facilitate a delay.”
“Tell if you must, but know I’d prefer you keep my presence here a secret for now. Did you want to burn my goodwill?”
“A question a day?” offers Esdras.
“No, a song a day is all I’ll give; my choice of song,”
The numbers practically spin behind Esdras’s eyes, but I never said it would be a True Song—though hearing an Anar sing is a unique experience. Do dragons trade in memories? “Five.”
The cheeky git is enjoying this far too much. “None!”
“That’s not how haggling works. Don’t you want your secret kept?”
“I only said I’d prefer them not to know, not that I need it kept,” I retort and laugh when I realise I’d put his family on the same level as Bahamut’s Great Wyrm guards. “If your family comes here, it’s your doing, not mine. So you get to host them. I hadn’t considered this wouldn’t be the same as when dragons visit mother. Enjoy!”
Turning to the door has him give a sharp cough. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
Esdras taps the coins on the counter, which he hasn’t paid me for yet. “Or are these a gift?”
Releasing the door’s handle to fluff the end of my hair playfully, I give him a coy smile. “My goodness, are you implying you would steal from me? Surely I could trust you to keep your word and collect the coin when you've got your tally worked out.”
The way his eyes bug out set me laughing, and he gives a deep huff of mock indignation before he starts to lay out stacks of silver coins. “How old are you?”
His music chiming excitedly sounds like he’s having fun, making it tempting to tease him more.
“Depends on the time of day and who’s asking, like anything else,” I counter.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I must admit, I’m not a morning person. Waking me up before I’m ready to move adds at least fifteen decades of grumpiness to the answer.”
All entirely accurate, especially since I go to bed early and wake up before midnight.
“You’ll need to get over that if you’re planning to be an adventurer,” warns Esdras.
“No, you don’t want to see me grumpy, and neither will the critters,” I laugh and sweep the coins into Inventory when he lays out what I can tell is the last stack. “I’ll be back.”
“What sort of farewell is that?” asks Esdras.
I only turn back when I’ve got the door open. “A statement of fact—you trade in materials after all.”
I’m out the door before he can respond, giving Nanoĸ a grin. From the outside, I can’t even hear Esdras tucking my gold coins away, let alone his song. Minor interior expansion my backside.
“Would you be so kind as to help me out, Nanoĸ?”
The big bear looks down at me, but unlike Petrus, he isn’t picturing me naked; his music is simply indecisive about me. “That depends on what you need, Gail.”
“Directions. I’m told there is one seamstress and one inn, but I’m clueless where either is from here.”
“Which way did you enter the village?”
At least teleport’s multi-dimensional calculations and theory don’t slip from my lips. “That won’t help.”
“How can you be so sure?” asks Nanoĸ curiously.
“I got shown an image of the guildhall and teleported myself here.”
Nanoĸ nods thoughtfully, adding the information to whatever assessment he made eyeing me earlier. “You’re right, that limits what you’ve seen. Head north on the road here. On the lane heading east right before the fortification, the seamstress’s house is bright blue but a fair way along. The inn, however, is near the waterfront, middle of the second block from the harbour’s west end, and is hard to miss.”
“You don’t seem like you should work as a simple guardsman, Nanoĸ.”
“I don’t, normally. I’m filling in for a friend today since his wife’s giving birth.”
I’ve never heard a baby’s song but my own, which hardly counts; I was too impatient to remain that way for long. “Oh, I hope that goes well.”
“Priestess Irene is there, so she’s in capable hands,” Nanoĸ says, and I catch an image of a Grecian woman wearing Hestia’s symbol.
“What do you normally do?”
“Mostly, I train fighters at the guildhall. Occasionally, I’ll take on gathering jobs when things are slow,” admits Nanoĸ, his gaze not having shifted from me.
“I thought you were capable. Could I pay for some practical lessons on the local plants and animals?” I ask and hear the hiccup in his music. “Or is that not something you handle?”
“You weren’t shading the truth when you said you signed up?”
“No, though apparently I’ll need to find a guild team to get the proper jobs,”
“You’re here alone?”
I nod happily, and his notes whirl as I scatter his assumptions to the wind.
I see him stop himself from glancing at the guildhall, and his tone is careful in responding. “I’m surprised the Guild Master didn’t immediately assign you a team.”
“I declined the offer. I want to find a group I’m comfortable working with, not just someone chosen for me.”
Nanoĸ frowns and waves westwards. “You should go home.”
“Why?”
“Here, alone, you’re taking too big a risk. You move well, but it only takes one mistake to kill you, or worse,” replies Nanoĸ earnestly.
“Worried about my looks?” I tease and catch the reaction in his posture and song.
Nanoĸ gaze weighs on my clothing again. Not on my hidden sheaths or concealed figure, but considering the dress’ cloth and the cut. Almost immediately, he sticks me in the same spoiled Elf noble box. “Do you think losing your looks is the worst thing possible?”
“It’s the dress, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
Giving the side of my dress a tug, I fix him with a severe look. Suddenly, he’s bracing himself for a raging tantrum, which is not my intention. “Both you and the Guild Master decided I’m a spoiled Elf noble. Don’t deny it—I can tell from your gaze, among other hints. I was just wondering if it’s the dress?”
“I never said you were anything of the kind,” Nanoĸ replies defensively.
I didn’t roll my eyes. Honestly, I didn’t, but whatever he notices in my expression has him fidgeting as if I set his bottom on fire, and his words roll on.
“A fancy silk dress in a place like this? Only a spoiled Elf noble would show up wearing one. The golds required to buy your dress could pay for every house in this village, with golds left over.”
“Drats”
The word slips out, and he looks like he’s starting to laugh until I hold up a finger.
“So you’re saying I’ve given the impression I’m a spoiled Elf noble by wearing it?” I sigh. “I had been trying to make a good impression on my first stop. It seems I should have changed before coming here. Why are humans so complicated?”
“Where was your first stop?”
“The compound of Amdirlain’s Cadre in Eyrarháls. It was a surprise visit, so I wanted to impress, but things didn’t go as planned there either,” I explain and catch him as he goes to interrupt. “But not because of my clothing. Eventually, I learnt what I needed, and a commander showed me an image of the guildhall here.”
“That dress won’t last in the swamp. And it’s a trouble magnet in more ways than one. You stand out, which isn’t good when you're alone. I’d say you didn’t leave a bag at the guildhall. So arriving here without baggage is an obvious sign that you have a magical storage device, making you a target for any passing thief.”
“I don’t have a magical storage device. I was going to get some clothing made locally.”
My protest has him glance down and take in the lack of anything on my waist sash he regards me sceptically.
“Sure you don’t. And you expect clothing to be ready at the snap of a finger? How is this not behaving like a spoiled Elf noble?”
A strong enough Fabricate Spell can create clothing instantly, but I stop with the words on my lips and reconsider the lack of magical songs I’ve heard. I can cast it, but I don’t know what clothing is suitable for the swamp. Maybe pay the seamstress for advice?
“I didn’t plan this too well, did I?”
“Depends on what you planned to do. Was it to attract a lot of attention and get thought of as the snobby Elf wearing clothing too fancy for a rustic village? Because congratulations, you managed that perfectly.”
He’s right but far too smug in pointing out what would have been obvious to the locals; growing up among celestials has left me sheltered. “You’re being smug, you know that, right?”
“I wasn’t the one that turned up wearing a fancy dress,” retorts Nanoĸ, his gaze gleaming with suppressed amusement.
Looking him over appraisingly, I tap my chin in consideration. “You might look good in one. Have you ever tried?”
“Men don’t wear dresses,” huffs Nanoĸ, and his bearish vibe is momentarily back.
The thought of combing this grumpy bear’s fur the wrong way, and tying it up in ribbons, has me snorting from holding back more giggles. “I’ve seen Wizard’s robes and Roman togas; they are such dresses.”
Nanoĸ starts to grumble, but my humour seems infectious, and I hear merry notes strengthen within his song. Stubbornly, he clings to his concerned theme. “Beside the point, since you’ve laid the bait for thieves.”
“Well, if I catch them, they won’t keep whatever they steal long.”
“That’s a big if there since you were blind to so many obvious things,” teases Nanoĸ.
His song has ticklish, teasing notes, but some themes still bubble up notes of concern. “What else am I missing?”
Nanoĸ motions about us, and I take in the few children playing or tagging along behind weary-looking mothers. He mutters in exasperation when I shrug helplessly. “You’re discussing such matters in the middle of the street.”
“Better than having it in a crowded inn, where the tables on either side can hear every word.”
My counter earns an eye-roll. “That’s why you have such a conversation in a house or one of the guildhall’s planning rooms.”
“I got you to roll your eyes,” I whisper, and Nanoĸ snorts in surprise. “Since you’re so wise, why didn’t you call a halt? Are you trying to get me to leave?”
“Yes, you’re trouble for the guild and village right now. You will get killed or robbed, and someone will come looking to avenge you, likely not caring who they hurt. I’ll advise you on how you can start over more safely somewhere else,” offers Nanoĸ.
“Nope, this is the closest village to the peninsula’s swamp.”
Giving him a wave, Dimension Door skips me along the road north before he can start to argue again. It doesn’t take me to the limit of its reach, but just a house ahead and short of the ox-drawn cart and its gatherer. The time I’d spent waiting for Esdras’ tallying had given him plenty of time to handle the guildhall’s short road.
Age has bowed the cart’s axle and the gatherer alike with his dung-splattered clothing and full beard of grey. The wood creaks and groans, echoing each motion with dismay, as does the man’s shoulders and back.
“Good afternoon.”
“You’re not welcome here, Elf; just leave.”
“That’s a strange version of hello. My name’s Gail, and you are?”
“Not interested; why don’t you just be on your way?”
Grief and age-wearied pain fuel the man’s angry response; images of dead sons, daughters, and even a grandson flicker in his song. Burning sorrow for their passing mingles with fear about what the turmoil of the Gods’ War means for their afterlife.
“The road’s cleaner after you’ve passed, and I’m in no rush,” I reply, motioning to the cart that has continued ahead. “Do you use it for your fields, or does the village council pay you to clean the roads?”
I’d tried to distract his grief, but hurrying after the cart only reminds him of his grandson helping with the farm’s chores. “No one’s paying. A few farmers take turns, and it helps the crops.”
“What sort of crops do you grow?”
“Keep your nose out of my business and away from me.” the man replies and slams the board shovel’s end into the road. The debris from it comes my way, but nothing from it sticks to my dress—the enchantment in the cloth causes it to slide right off—and his gaze tightens further still.
“My apologies, elder. Might I render some help to show my goodwill?”
“Elf and adventurer, a double blight. Just get out of my sight.”
I catch Nanoĸ’s snort and can tell he’s impressed at my failed attempt to make a friend. Since they’ll see me as a noble no matter what, I might as well play the part.
“Well then, I’ll just hasten your work. I might step in something otherwise.”
Notes of rushing gales and clinging burrs entwine, spilling from my lips. They swirl along the road from the harbour to here, evading the locals and depositing the manure into his cart. Empty winds rush onwards and loop back again, leaving the village’s roads clear and his cart now ripe with heavier cargo.
“Now that I can walk about the entire village without risking my dress, I’ll bid you good afternoon, elder.”
Having delivered their loads, the zephyrs vanish as if they’d never been. I give the still-blinking man a polite nod and move on.
“I didn’t need your help.”
The growling words are bluster, born of pride and confusion, but I stick to playing the noble brat.
“I’m confused, good sir. I already told you that casting was for me, not you; your cart was merely convenient. Do you expect a coin for rental?”
Spinning a silver in the air, I flick my hair aside and step off fast with my nose held high. The fires of his anger don’t lessen, but they’re spiced with more confusion. With him shocked into stillness, I easily pass and resist the urge to rub the nice ox’s ears. He’s a well-behaved boy!
When his blustering words resume, they don’t stop him from soaking this silly noble for the coin. Yet even a cart length ahead, the notes of his pain’s song dig and needle at me.
Focus has an oak tree’s solid music quickening within Silent Song, their enduring strength so familiar and true. Building it with care as I walk along, I ease rather than push the song into inflamed joints, and they slurp up the anger’s energy to lessen his body’s pain. The ligaments and joints are restored to his youth when I’m done. Well ahead, I turn into the lane I need and spot a blue house some distance away.
His grief’s presence prompts me to listen properly to the surrounding houses beyond the notes of magic and construction. Songs of the families, their joy, hardship, lean years and good, but so much sorrow and uncertainty have been drunk in by stones lately. Their ways of worship, upended by a war they’d not asked for, left families with their shrines broken or melted by so many gods dying. The discordant notes continue to prickle against the energy of the families’ homes, yet they don’t remove the remains. Why? Fear of the unknown? Clinging to the wreckage of what they had? Both, or something else?
I’ve been unobservant indeed, but I’ll try to do better. While the music tells me much about what is now, it doesn’t tell me how anyone will react until they do.
