Even Y’cennia, as unassuming as a crafter was in a fight, should not be underestimated. No [Alchemist] should. They worked too closely with things bordering on poison to ever be taken lightly.
As for him, he was starting on the Penitent Path, a sort of pilgrimage traveling [Paladins] made when returning to the capital. The Bastion of Light was a holy spot of significant importance. It was said the goddess Celestara herself manifested here to bless the first altar, centuries ago. The original building had long since crumbled into dust, but the heavy marble stone set on high in the cathedral remained.
Blessed are the humble, who bear heavy burdens but have faith in the radiant light…
He began the supplicant’s prayer and the stone quickly disappeared behind him as he made his steady trek up the path. The road was wide enough for several carriages, but a well defined walkway was set to either side of the road for those members of the faith who were coming or going. This was the one place, perhaps in the entire kingdom, where a noble’s carriage would stop for a common citizen. Celestara’s followers took seriously her mandate to uplift the weak and assist the downtrodden.
Blessed are the meek, whose actions speak louder than words, whose strength of spirit outreaches their strength of arms…
Alastair wondered if he should take his devotions to a room or if he should wander in the gardens. As a [Paladin] in the Order of Light, he was afforded a room in the dormitories, which were bare, but serviceable. Traveling missionaries spreading the faith did not need ostentatious quarters when on the road.
Let he who shines bring the light to the darkness…
He would take his meal here tonight, as he did for his ritual of return. It was simple fare, boiled vegetables and salt-seasoned meat, but it was sustaining. A pilgrim’s meal. And to a [Paladin], rituals mattered.
…to be a bastion of hope and security…
Though what would he fill the rest of his hours with before returning to his team in the morning? Even the most pious could not fill every waking thought with devotions and reflection.
…lest those weak of heart be swayed by the dark.
…Maybe he did need to submerge himself in the scriptures. Perhaps a visit to the library was what he needed.
Alastair placed his bag gently at the foot of his bed and locked the door to his small room behind him. He nodded at many of the brothers and monks wandering the halls, most of whom smiled gently back, going about their days and their tasks.
Not all clergy were meant to be [Paladins], and not all [Paladins] were a good fit for combat. Nor were they all cut out for the Order of Light.
He had met a few [Templars] and [Gladiators] in the past, and Alastair was not ashamed to say he preferred the quiet temperance of his order, even if the brothers and sisters were oftentimes weaker or more subdued. He would not back down from a fight, but he was not bloodthirsty or fueled by rage. Or blind zealotry and fanaticism. His goddess was kind and gentle to those in need, but held a firm hand against those who would oppress. He, of course, strove to do the same.
Alastair paused momentarily at a training ground outside of the barracks, watching some of his elders in the order spar.
It was an unusual method compared to any other militant force, closer, again, to ritual than anything else. They practiced movements and strokes, but the cooldown after repetitions was filled with chants and prayers, sometimes a few hymns. Only here, in an order of [Paladins], would he find such harmony to the blade.
…Even if the preferred weapon of a [Paladin] was oftentimes a hammer.
Alastair’s mind was drawn to the Book of Ursha as he contemplated “balance in all things”. Perhaps that was where his studies for the evening lay. Just because he served a specific goddess did not mean his order didn’t acknowledge the others. Many gods in the lower pantheons were dubious or regrettable, but the higher beings, the creator and its offspring, were spoken of often. Balance, Order, and Chaos. Each of them necessary, vital pieces of life. To be without one was to be without the other; to have too much of one was to strangle out life.
His wandering feet took him to the library, a vast trove of priceless insight and knowledge collected throughout the ages. Teachings, scriptures, tomes, scrolls, and holy books were all carefully preserved, as well as other books of cultural or historical significance. His mind was taken back to the smaller, more modest stacks at the abbey, where he most recently indulged in a search for something very much not related to the faith.
“Good afternoon, Light be with you, brother,” a librarian said as Alastair entered. Theseus was an older, greying man, having served faithfully for over 40 years, and was a source of inspiration and wisdom for many young recruits. Alastair himself had learned much from the librarian.
“Master Theseus, you as well,” he replied with a smile.
“Do you need assistance locating anything today?”
Most days, the question was perfunctory, as the man seemed to remember every person who entered his domain, and yet he asked them anyway. Alastair was about to shake his head when a flight of fancy took him. He glanced at the man seated at the front desk, pouring over an ancient looking tome in some unreadable language.
“You’re familiar with many different languages, are you not, Master Theseus?”
The old man paused, marked his place, and looked up. His face was leathery and wrinkled, but had many creases due to laughter and joy. He had a gentle smile as he nodded.
“I am.”
It was not a boast; librarians to the great library at the Bastion of Light were required to be skilled in linguistics. Besides a mastery over Common, which was used in all the lands, ancient Evalion and Hort, which predated the kingdom and was found in relic sites to the north respectively, was required. But many librarians were also fluent in current languages as well, such as elvish or dwarven, which Alastair was counting on.
“Are you familiar with gnomish, perhaps?”
The old man looked surprised, but then a rather rueful smile took over his face as he laughed.
“I am,” he repeated, but he did not offer up a story.
“Could you perhaps translate something for me?” Alastair made up on the fly. “I’ve come across it in my travels and I’m curious what it says.”
It was not strictly a lie, but he did feel the tiniest bit of remorse for not telling the librarian the entire truth. But the party, as a whole, had decided to keep news of their titles a secret for now.
If he could get a second opinion for what the words actually meant, though, he wouldn’t say no.
Alastair took a small scrap of paper, and, pretending to think about recalling the words, subtly glanced at his title and scribbled down the gibberish. If Theseus found it suspicious that Alastair seemingly remembered two whole sentences without being able to read the words, he kept it to himself.
Alastair slid the paper forward as the librarian adjusted his glasses. A spark of intrigue glinted in Theseus’ eyes as they quickly scanned the small note. His smile broadened.
“Pre-unification, I see,” he muttered to himself. “This is quite old. Very formal, too, if my understanding of the verbiage is correct, though I must admit I’m quite rusty. Let us see, let us see.”
He slipped into silence as he tapped his finger on several words. The moments stretched into minutes, and with every passing breath his smile seemed to falter. When he finally looked up, all traces of mirth were gone.
“Are you sure you copied this correctly?” Theseus asked sharply. Alastair blinked in surprise, the shift in attitude was unexpected.
“Very certain,” he replied. He might not be able to read the words themselves, but it was easy enough to copy the characters as they appeared on his system screen.
“And you did not find this in a dungeon, I presume?”
Alastair wasn’t sure why he’d assume that, but Theseus wasn’t wrong.
“No, not a dungeon.”
It wasn’t a lie either.
Theseus closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Then I can only say you were incredibly lucky or foolish. Perhaps both. This is a warning, a very dire one indeed. Was it guarding treasure? Valuables, gold, trinkets? You didn’t take anything, did you?”
“No,” Alastair replied honestly, even more surprised by the sudden interrogation.
“Good,” the man’s severe face eased very slightly, before adding in a whisper probably not meant for Alastair’s ears, “Because even if you put it back, it wouldn’t do you any bit of good.”
“What…is this all about?” Alastair asked gently. He obviously knew what Melia told them, but he was curious what a more normal individual thought about it.
“If this sign is to be believed, taken at face value and not some sort of ancient prank, then you’ve come across a dragon’s hoard. Before you say anything, before you think anything, it would be best to put it out of your mind. Forget it exists entirely. You’ve chosen a life of adventure; that’s dangerous enough without risking certain destruction for angering a dragon.”
“Ah,” Alastair felt a thin chill go up his back, half remembering something he thought he was hallucinating last night at the party. A gnome’s enraged roar echoed in his mind. “What…does it say?”
Theseus’ frown turned thoughtful, now focused on scholarly pursuits.
“I suppose you could take this one of two ways,” he began. “A literal word for word translation, or the best approximation I can give, translated into today’s vernacular, without knowing the nuance in which it was written.”
That all sounded fair to Alastair.
“Translating word for word is easier, but lacks context and might sound confusing. Literally, the sign says this:
One treasure unknown beloved unutilized, by right belonging wholeheartedly by she who haunts nightmares of monsters. Ruinous misery and profound anguish are due to any such person or creature insignificant or great that attempts to divest dragon’s wealth from dragon, not even death capabilities insufficient may interfere with her wrathful vengeance eternal undying.”
“That…is a mouthful,” Alastair agreed, breaking out into a nervous sweat.
“My translation would not be much better, but it’s easier on the ears:
Here lies a cherished, untapped treasure of a terrifying beast, claimed for her own. Woe be unto those who try and separate a dragon from her hoard, even death itself.”
Alastair sat back and blinked. He thanked Theseus for his time and made his way deeper into the library. The man had all but confirmed Melia was telling the truth: he basically repeated what she said, almost word for word.
Perhaps his studies of the Word could wait. He did have a new teammate to learn more about.
Try as hard as she might, Ellesea could not concentrate. Professor Hamilton’s words escaped her as if they were enchanted with evasion. This class was Advanced Magical Theory, but she didn’t think the perpetually dour teacher would spring a practical application quite like that to test his students.
Probably.
She was not the youngest in the class but by far not the oldest. As post graduates of the many varied generalist schools, students in the specialized programs had more expectations placed on them. This was both good and bad; they were there to learn, not play around, and the quality of the teaching reflected that, but at the same time there was little room for error. Or brevity.
Which was why it was with dread that Ellesea’s head jerked to attention at the loud, cross voice of their teacher…directed at her.
“Am I boring you, Miss Barnes?”
“No sir.”
Ellesea gulped. In such a setting, with only 20 students, the question wasn’t rhetorical.
“Then what, pray tell, could possibly be more important than Trellain’s Law of Transmutation? It is, after all, what we are studying.”
Ellesea was not suicidal, so she didn’t see the need to correct the man on how important that particular rule of magic was. Trellain’s Law was niche at best, and to her understanding dealt with how rare metals reacted to magical alloys, but they weren’t the exciting type of magical metals like mithril or orichalcum. No, Trellain’s Law was a discourse on how different raw sources of iron throughout the kingdom had different natural impurities, which changed the efficiency of [Scribe] imbuement when ground into ink.
An ink which, within Trellain’s own lifetime, was rendered redundant and useless by a different inky soot which quickly replaced it as it fell out of favor by [Scribes].
Personally, she much rather be learning about the history of battle mages, not scholars squabbling over stationery.
“I was thinking about [Arcane Blast], sir, and how for being a simple spell learned early on in the arcane branch, it is a complicated bit of magic that affects our entire view and stance on the arcane.”
“A noble goal, to be sure,” he said in a lazy, patronizing voice, “But this is Advanced Magical Theory, not History of Magical Arts.”
Sadly, he was not content to leave it at that and let Ellesea slip into daydreams of empowering her spellcasting.
“How, then, is that relevant to this class?”
The expected answer was: it isn’t. Then, he would likely sneer at her, perhaps give her a verbal lashing, maybe humiliate her in front of her classmates, and move back to his lecture. Life would move on.
But the strange thing was, now that he brought it up, it was relevant to this class, wasn’t it?
“Sir, by chance, when talking with, ah, another adventuring [Mage], I learned that during the Age of Upheaval, and perhaps before it, the fundamental buff given by [Arcane Blast] was different than we have now. I learned it applied haste instead of amplification. Would it not be worth considering why such a change occurred, and to perhaps reverse it?”
Half of the class, which had subtly zoned out throughout the lecture, perked up in interest. That did sound more interesting than Trellain’s Law. The Professor did not agree.
“A fool’s errand,” Professor Hamilton scoffed. “It is the nature of magic to evolve. Progress moves us forward, gaining in strength, wisdom, and temperance. To build upon the past, we take that which is good, and discard that which is bad. There are no exceptions to this.”
He stared at her imperiously, as if daring her to disagree.
“Or perhaps do you think yourself better than your predecessors? Smarter, more capable?”
“No sir…,” Ellesea knew better than to argue, but her hesitation cost her.
“But?” he mercilessly prodded.
“Can it really be said that such a change is truly ‘superior’? The buff, for instance, fundamentally affects a battle [Mage]’s entire rotation of spells. By incorporating haste instead of power, different spells are cast at different times. Who is to say that amplification, power for power’s sake, is stronger because a single cast is more powerful?”
“I am to say,” Professor Hamilton said coldly. It was then that Ellesea realized she messed up. Of course he wasn’t actually asking her opinion, she’d been too wrapped up in trying to solve the mystery to see he was toying with her for his own amusement.
And he was no longer amused.
“Such techniques in magic change because we, as scholars and adepts, adapt to the ebb and flow of magic, refining it, honing it. If, in this ridiculous example, amplification was inferior to haste, as you suggest, then why don’t we see anybody casting this archaic version of [Arcane Blast] anymore, hm?”
“I did not suggest it was better, only that it was a different way of looking at our specialization. And I did see it, Professor, with the adventurer I was-.”
"Miss Barnes,” Professor Hamilton interrupted her with a voice of finality as he stared at her coldly. “I’m disappointed in you. Take a demerit, for daydreaming in class and making up outrageous lies. I don’t want to hear you talking about such nonsense in my class again, do you understand?”
“Yes, Professor,” Ellesea squeaked out meekly, head bowed low and spirit thoroughly trampled.
The last several hours had been a blur for Moeldywn. Simultaneously they felt like a full year and barely a handful of seconds. And yet she felt more alive now than she had in entire decades in the past.
“My lady, here is the report….”
“Your Highness, if you would look at this….”
“It seems we’ve been too lax on the eastern front.”
Moeldywn sat calmly drinking tea, accepting all reports with a dignified nod, but she didn’t even have time to reach for the portfolios and scrolls before they were gently removed from under her nose. “Snatched” might be a better word, but she could not bring herself to hate the offenders for it. After all, they were almost like aunts or big sisters to her, despite their vastly different stations.
Or were they so different?
They served Meliastraza, after all.
Moeldywn got no sleep after her surprise visit from the chancellor. The knowledge that her dragon was alive and possibly returned gave her an immediate case of insomnia.
Where was she? What was she doing? Where had she been all these years?
Why did she return now?
Moeldywn did not believe in coincidences though she shuddered to think what greater plans might be in play here. That was why she immediately turned to her spy network to gather intelligence.
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Maids and butlers scuttled about her chambers, bearing refreshments, cleaning, filing reports, and doing a myriad of tasks both usual and bizarre for a servant.
That was, until precisely on the 8 o’clock bell, when three unique individuals barged into her room.
Not very many people had the authority, nor the audacity, to enter her chambers without asking.
But these three did.
Lethia, Layalee, and L’menia.
At first glance, to look at them, one would see maids. For two of the three, very respectable maids.
And in truth, that wasn’t far from the mark, but with a very distinct identifier that most people in this age would not understand.
They were [Retainers], an archaic class that was popular for select servants during the Age of Upheaval, skilled in domestic and…extracurricular work. Adventurers. They were adventurers and they served adventurers.
And these three, of course, served a very particular master.
Moeldywn didn’t know if the women had naturally been ideal specimens of their races before being signed on, which drew the gnome to them, or if, like her, they were merely swept along by the dragon’s whims, their very bodies changing as a consequence.
They were a human, an elf, and a tiger catkin.
And they were the tallest, most fit examples of each species Moeldywn had ever known.
She was not short, despite her apparent youth, and she stood at a respectable 5 foot 7 inches. For humans, while some were taller and some shorter, she stood slightly taller than the average for women. Beastkin had mostly the same range, between 5 and 6 feet, with the males usually being ever so slightly taller and the females shorter than the human average. Elves, of course, were tall, never really standing under 6 feet for the shortest adult female.
None of these three were under 7 feet tall. Lethia, the elf, was a hair over 8.
Part of Moeldywn hated that whenever she stood next to one of them, she instantly felt like a child, but they never teased her in such a way that truly angered her.
“It is with the greatest regret that I must inform you of our departure from your service, my lady,” Lethia had said with a bow. If Moeldwyn didn’t know to look for it, she never would have seen the nearly imperceptible smirk twitching the elf’s serene smile.
“You’ve got no regret at all,” Moeldywn grumbled, even as she instinctively stood to give each of them a hug. It was a tradition Meliastraza had instilled into her and one she didn’t think she could break if she wanted to.
“True!” bubbled L’menia. The cat that she was, she was perky, with her tail swishing and ears swiveling. She was also the only one dressed “indecently”, as most would claim. While the other two had deep blue dresses with white aprons flowing from their necks to their ankles, the beastkin’s garb, though matching perfectly with the others, showed a generous amount of skin. She had a cut neckline, though it wasn’t actually that low, and the hem of her skirt stopped right above her knees. So scandalous.
Layalee, the more silent of the three, said nothing, but after taking the ex-queen in her outrageously strong arms, sat down on a stool to the side of the table and started organizing.
“I thought you said you were leaving,” Moeldywn sighed tiredly. L’menia went to a sideboard and began brewing tea, while Lethia started instructing the awestruck servants in the room to go about their duties. Moeldywn understood she would no longer be allowed to do much work on her own, but she could not bring herself to scold the three women who wanted to spoil her.
“Indeed, we must,” Lethia replied, though she made no other attempt to follow through with that threat.
“Great!” Moeldywn said sarcastically. “It’s not like you actually worked for me in the first place, so I can’t stop you.”
Not that she hadn’t tried poaching them.
Though would it still be called poaching if their employer simply vanished one day and hadn’t been seen for a century? At first Moeldywn was shocked that they turned her down, but apparently the crafty gnome had set them up with an auto payment for their wages so they never went without. And, princess though she was, Moeldywn knew she could not out-pay a dragon.
Moeldywn had a strong hunch as to why the girls had returned, but she was feeling stubborn so she sat in silence and let them work. As amazing and high level as they were, they didn’t have the same information network as she did, which is why they worked part time for her as consultants in between the upkeep of their mistress’s home and…whatever else they did to fill their time. As a high level herself, Moeldywn knew boredom was the real killer of domestic creatures such as themselves.
After an hour of waiting, being served (begrudgingly better) tea and watching her staff’s efficiency slowly rise in real time, Moeldywn could stand it no longer.
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly.
The cat laughed out loud, free of care, while the elf gave her a warm, gentle smile.
“It has come to our attention that the mistress has returned,” Layalee said at last. Her voice was a tiny bit at odds with her appearance. It was high and ethereal, almost squeaky, bringing to mind air-headed barmaids with few thoughts knocking about in their empty heads. Yet she was thoughtful and very observant, when she deemed it necessary to speak at all, and she had a physique that would put any body builder to shame. She bore a greataxe into combat, which was thankfully never often, and sometimes she liked to wear it in passing. Moeldywn suspected the maid did it to frighten would-be bullies and impress small children. The dragon’s maids were strange.
“Yes,” Moeldywn sighed. “I believe she has. But I don’t have enough proof, hence…this.”
She waved her hand at the table and room at large, filled with all sorts of notes, reports, and intelligence. She had so much at her fingertips, yet she failed to grasp something firm. Irrefutable. Most of her efforts currently were spent searching for the elusive seller of the rumored “gigantic dragon scale”. The black market was hard to corner, but she had her ways. Even so, their lips were sealed tight and Moeldywn had yet to get even a second hand account of the scale itself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the chancellor, but she needed proof.
As did the three maids, apparently. That’s why they instantly returned to her, instead of seeking out their mistress. If they knew where Meliastraza was, they wouldn’t waste their time here.
Lethia was already correlating data into digestible stacks. Despite the elf’s earlier words to leave her, Moeldywn felt relieved. The search was now in good hands.
“Shall we send somebody into the fisherman’s district? There seems to be a lead there.”
[Minor Healing Potion]
Ingredients: 2 Daybloom, 1 Silverleaf, Pure Water, Small Crystal Vial
Instructions:
- Crush Daybloom and Silverleaf in separate mortars
- Boil Pure Water
- Add Daybloom powder
- Distill Daybloom solution
- Add Silverleaf Powder
- Agitate and Reduce
- Infuse
- Seal in vial
Creates: [Minor Healing Potion] x1
It was a simple recipe that Y’cennia had crafted countless times, but she stared at it like it held the answers to the final exam that would determine if she would receive certification to open her own atelier and declare herself a master [Alchemist].
In some ways, maybe it did.
Every master had to start somewhere, crafting the same simple recipes and boring tinctures countless times as they worked their way up the ranks. Melia’s plan, as outrageous as it was when viewed abstractly, made a lot of sense. It was just that nobody Y’cennia ever heard of had the wealth of materials necessary to do something this crazy.
Melia had essentially made a plan for somebody to level their [Alchemy] through brute force, ignoring things like time and circumstance, from level 1 all the way to level 500.
A lofty height Y’cennia had not thought she would see for decades…if ever.
And it was being handed to her on a silver platter! All she had to do was commit.
Before her sat a simple, unsuspecting bag, and inside that bag was 750 grade 5 Silverleaf fronds, 1500 Daybloom heads, and four thousand small glass vials. Next to the bag was her crude, well worn and used alembic, and a small, gallon sized jug of Pure Water that was apparently enchanted to hold an entire tank of liquid.
Y’cennia zoned the rest of the world out and reached into the bag. Crushing the herbs was simple with [Pulverize].
Boiled Pure Water was simple if she didn’t need to distill the Pure Water herself, and since she had enough on hand, she could keep a large pot of it constantly boiling, taking out only as much as she needed for each craft.
[Measure] made quick work of getting the proper volume of water into the still, adding the powdered Daybloom was as simple as dumping it into the basin. It only took several seconds for the mixture to heat to the correct temperature in the still pot, filter up the cap, and extract the vapor essence into the receiver. Letting it cool was equally as simple.
Carefully removing the reduced liquid essence of Daybloom, Y’cennia added the powdered Silverleaf. Agitating was done with [Mix] at her level, causing the liquid inside the small glass container to swirl violently as if shaken vigorously. Higher level [Alchemists] would have access to [Centrifuge], which offered far greater speeds and control, but she didn’t need that when working with only two ingredients.
“Reduce”, as the name implied, used the skill [Reduce] to remove excess unwanted sediment and grit and transfer the liquid from the container she used to transfer from the still and mix ingredients into the small crystal vial.
Technically, the potion could be made without the use of [Reduce] by utilizing principles of science, but it took far longer and wasn’t as precise.
[Infuse] took her mana and imbued the as-of-yet leafy-water, changing it from something mundane that would taste gross and possibly make somebody sick into a magical brew that restored life. Without that mana, a potion wasn’t a potion. Plugging the top of the vial with a bit of cork finalized the craft.
Just like that, the potion was done.
[Minor Healing Potion]
Grade: 3 stars
Level: 0
Use: restores 210 health
Made by: Y’cennia McKenneth
Y’cennia couldn’t stop the grimace that appeared on her face after [Inspecting] the potion. The process was quick and dirty and the results spoke to the rushed, shoddy craftsmanship lacking any personal touch.
She didn’t use any synthesis skills to control the quality during crafting, which would have raised the quality by at least a star. Thankfully, she was familiar enough with crafting this particular potion that her base level of crafting was 3 stars, so it wasn’t terrible. She could find the same quality potions at any atelier in the city, churned out by overworked and underpaid apprentices, for ten times the price of what it really cost to make. Two pieces of Daybloom and a Silverleaf would only run a dozen or so copper, and whatever she decided to price her skill at would be added on top of that…which never would have added up to the 1 or 2 silver pieces it cost to buy a measly [Minor Healing Potion] from a store.
A glance at a nearby clock told her, from start to finish, one potion took her a little less than two minutes to make. She could easily shorten that to a minute and a half. Maybe one full minute if she was really in the zone.
The bag full of herbs sat innocently across the table and she sighed.
She’d need to, if she wanted to start making progress on Melia’s list. Crafting all these potions was only step one, and she couldn’t simply skip to step two, because step two was taking those potions and [Combining] them into [Lesser Healing Potions], the next step up.
The conversion rate for turning the lower level potion into the higher level potion was abysmal, needing ten [Minor Healing Potions] to craft two [Lesser Healing Potions], but the materials for minor potions were simpler, cheaper, and they had a mountain of them.
Y’cennia did some quick math, calculating her current level, how much experience that previous potion earned her, and how much further she needed to go before she reached the next checkpoint. Her heart panged in panic at the impending tedium, but she firmed her resolve.
One potion down, six hundred and twelve more to go.
Jessica stared in open mouthed, slack-jawed disbelief.
She could not believe this gnome!
She had a hard enough time wrapping her mind around the fact that Melia wasn’t just rich, but stupidly, mind-blowingly, incomprehensibly rich.
Jessica tried her hardest to equate the wealth in Melia’s vault into something she could actually understand. No, not even the wealth of the whole vault. Only the gigantic mountain of coins they’d visited very briefly at the end of their trip into the vault that the gnome hadn’t even touched.
She wasn’t a scholastic person by any means but she wasn’t uneducated. She understood what a billion meant. But even when staring at the grains of sand on a beach or contemplating the stars in the sky, she never stopped to consider how many grains or dots of light there actually were. They were just…endless. Countless. The number itself sort of lost meaning.
And Melia had more than two.
So how could she wrap her mind around it?
She, and her party members fell into this category also, earned around the average for low level adventurers. Jessica figured, if she didn’t count what she spent and only what she earned, she would have made around 4 to 5 hundred gold over the entire year, and it had been a lucrative year so far.
She had heard it said that rank 6 adventurers, while not the absolute pinnacle adventures could reach, was the highest bar for many, and they could bring in thousands of gold a year.
Perhaps an adventurer nearing rank 10 could bring in one million. They were close to demigods, Jessica didn’t know.
If that was true, it would take a rank 10 adventurer one thousand years to earn less than half of what was in Melia’s vault.
The gnome may have been the silliest, strangest, most bizarre creature she had ever met, but she certainly had the wealth of a dragon.
And the appetite, too, which was the current source of all of Jessica’s stress and headaches.
They had left the vault shortly after noon and Y’cennia had locked herself into their inn room to start working on her crafting, following Melia’s instructions on how to power level. A feat in itself that Jessica was struggling to accept. Not that she resented the opportunity her friend and teammate was given to get ahead of everyone, it just simply wasn’t heard of for crafters to boost themselves in such a way. But why shouldn’t it work? She supposed she’d have to wait and see.
Not wanting to disturb the [Alchemist] as she got down to business, especially with the one track focus she displayed as everything else around her was forgotten, Jessica and Melia had wandered out into the streets to see the sights.
When Jessica thought of sightseeing, she thought of tourists, and tourists usually wanted to see the big, fancy things Horizon had to offer.
Like the Bastion or the castle.
Maybe the nobles district for the ancient mansions or palace of performing arts.
Or simply the beautiful spires, the ocean views, or the many parks and reserves scattered throughout the city in the basin between the cliffs and the sea.
She didn’t expect Fisherman’s Wharf, Hawker’s Alley, or the entrance to the Underground.
Okay, that last one she could maybe see, considering it was the hub of transportation for the entire kingdom. It was home to multiple guilds and infrastructures that built this city, such as the Transportorium, the Communicatorium, and the Tram, which connected the dwarven capital to the human one.
Imagine Jessica’s surprise, then, when Melia did not wish to step inside strongholds of movers and shakers, or visit the wonder of the world designed and built deep under the mountains by her ancestors.
Instead, she lined up patiently, though excitedly, at one of the many carts running up and down the sidewalks. Street food.
Jessica could begrudgingly admit that it made a certain amount of sense, since it was lunch time and they hadn’t eaten anything today. She was hungry too.
She could also understand the allure of cheap food, though why that would ever be a consideration for somebody who owned more money than they could ever spend, she’d never understand.
When they got to the front of the line, Melia bought her a grilled sausage wrapped in a flaky roll and two for herself.
They stood to the side and Melia quickly demolished hers.
Jessica was so busy staring at the tiny gnome, wondering where the sausage rolls went, that she didn’t think to stop her as she lined back up to go again.
And again.
Jessica had already finished her single roll when Melia decided she was satisfied…though not because she was full.
She ate half a dozen sausages and claimed “it was a good snack, a tasty warm up”, but “didn’t want to inconvenience the stall owner by buying too much.”
Looking at the lady behind the stall with a huge smile on her face, Jessica was pretty sure there wouldn’t be an inconvenience even if Melia bought out her entire stock.
And that was only the first stop. Next was Hawker’s Alley, not to try and haggle for rare goods or to try and secure a particular craftsman’s skills, but to buy chicken skewers.
Once again the small gnome ate more than should be physically possible to fit inside her body, while Jessica had a single small skewer. Seriously, if Jessica added up all the volume from the sausages and chicken, it might be larger than Melia herself.
Thankfully, this whole time, they didn’t need to walk.
Melia called for a small pony cart. It was an open air, two seater designed to take in the sights, enjoy the climate, or perhaps cuddle on a nice date.
Jessica found herself corralling a bouncing gnome while she rubbed her stomach. At the very least she didn’t need to pay for it, as Melia called for one and slid the driver a couple of coins without so much as trying to haggle. After seeing Melia’s fortune, Jessica wasn’t going to complain. And she thought she saw Melia tip with a gold piece, which was ludicrously overkill, but it didn’t even dent her reserves and probably made the driver’s entire month.
From Hawker’s Alley they went to Fisherman's Wharf, where, but of course, they ate more food.
Melia seemed to have a real nose for the good stuff, because she soon had two creamy servings of clam chowder in her hands, with fresh baked sourdough bowls, which she gracefully allowed Jessica to sample, and three orders of fried fish and potato sticks, each containing a generous sized filet.
Jessica ate a fourth of Melia’s third piece and she had no regrets. As much as it boggled her mind, she could get used to hanging out with a foodie-gnome that had a bottomless pit for a stomach.
…though if she wasn’t careful she was going to get fat. If this was going to become a regular thing, she needed more self control or an iron clad diet.
Thankfully after the wharf Melia took mercy on her. Not because the gnome was, heaven forbid, actually full, but because it was getting later and they didn’t want to leave their friends for too long.
“What do you think the inn will serve for dinner?” Melia asked as she finished paying for their final ride of the night after being dropped off at main intersection of Inn and Stable Street.
“Are you serious?” Jessica blurted, but she didn’t have the energy for anything besides apathetic incredulity.
She let Melia talk at her all the way into their suite, which had two rooms and an antechamber built in. Jessica had never stayed in a room that had rooms. And depending if Al stayed in the dormitories or not, there was even a daybed he could pull out of the couch.
Inside, they found Y’cennia in a state of dazed bliss and Ellesea sulking morosely by the window. If Jessica didn’t know any better, she would have guessed the catgirl had gotten into the nip, or some other sort of crazy drug.
And seeing that she was an [Alchemist], Jessica supposed she really didn’t know any better.
Upon noticing Jessica open the door and the shock of pink blazing out of the poofy black hair much closer to the ground, Y’cennia seemed to come to her senses.
“I’m 250,” she said without any pretense or preamble. Her voice was still a little shaky and tinted with exhaustion, but it was heavily undertoned by awed disbelief. As if she couldn’t believe that would ever apply to her.
Before she could stop it, Jessica was hit by a wave of hot, blistering jealousy, which she quickly smothered before anybody could see it on her face. She was happy for her teammate, and if the opportunity to level so fast ever came for the rest of them, she’d tell them to jump on it in a heartbeat.
It was just that human nature was a fickle thing sometimes, and harder to control than she liked.
“Congratulations!” Melia blurted out, positively radiating excitement and exuberance. Jessica had to hold back a snort. She wished she could have the same level of joy for her friend, who she’d known for much longer than the gnome, who treated level 250 like it was the achievement of a lifetime.
The only other person in the room, however, was much more subdued.
“What’s wrong?” Jessica sat down in front of Ellesea as she tried to ignore how Y’cennia was apologizing. If she had only been able to focus more, she could have made more potions, and reached a higher level. Tomorrow she’d do better. Jessica shook her head. She was doing just fine and maybe Jessica needed to have a chat with her regarding potential burnout.
Ellesea glanced at Jessica, likely thinking of how she could dodge the question, but after seeing Jessica’s stern look of motherly concern (honed on the children of the abbey), she gave in.
“I got a demerit,” Ellesea said sadly. Jessica drew her head back in surprise. From what she knew, Ellesea was a model student. Earning a demerit, whatever that was, didn’t sound like her.
“I argued with a teacher,” she continued without prompting, now that the words were flowing they couldn’t be stopped. The dam broke and Jessica simply needed to wait for it to empty.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if it was something I actually did to deserve it,” she lamented, tears forming in her eyes, “But it was an honest question! I swear! I was curious about what he knew about Pre-Upheaval spell formations, but when I suggested there might be advantages in studying them, he got upset and gave me a demerit!”
All of that went way over Jessica’s head but the one thing she knew was her friend was distressed.
“Can’t you, I don’t know, talk to him?” Even as she said it, Jessica didn’t think it would do any good. “Or maybe his supervisor?”
“Ha,” Ellesea scoffed darkly as a shadow formed over her brows. “He’s the Professor of Advanced Magical Theory. The only person higher would be the Headmaster, and I doubt he has time for something like this.”
Ah. An advanced case of fragile egos. Jessica had seen it her fair share of times, as the higher level somebody got, or the fancier titles they had or more prestigious positions, the less likely they would tolerate being told they were wrong.
“So…what does that mean?” Jessica couldn’t do anything about it and hated feeling helpless, but she was pragmatic.
“In the long term?” Ellesea sounded defeated, “Not much. Right now it will affect my grade, and it will obviously go on my record. It will make an impact for whatever mentor decides to take me on when it comes to writing my thesis, as they will review my performance history, and there’s always a chance, if I stop adventuring, a potential employer could see it in a background check and if they don’t like it, they might not hire me.”
Jessica felt appalled. Nobody in their right mind who had the capital to employ a master [Mage] would ever turn them down if the only mark on their otherwise spotless record was a single demerit. Then again, the type of people who could afford an Academy trained [Mage] were likely nobles or governments, and those tended to attract fragile egos, too.
Jessica didn’t have any words for her friend, so she sat in silence, rubbing her back until the sobs stopped and Ellesea slumped over, having cried herself to sleep.
Jessica’s eyes slid across the room to where a certain gnome was slinking toward the door. She hadn’t missed the way Melia’s ears had perked and she’d stiffened the entire time Ellesea was speaking. Jessica wasn’t stupid, she knew now that gnomes, or at least theirs in particular, had excellent hearing. Melia was going to do something about this, and Jessica could only hope the finest magical academy in the land was still standing when she was done with it.
“Hey,” Jessica whispered as she took several long strides to open the door before Melia had to jump for the handle. She discreetly opened it and let them both into the hallway.
“You’re going to do something, aren’t you.”
It was vague, blunt, and slightly accusatory. It also wasn’t a question.
Melia also didn’t deny it.
“I feel like part of this is my fault,” she frowned. “I get the feeling all of this started after Ellesea and I had that little chat while casting [Arcane Blast].”
Melia glanced up and tried smiling reassuringly at Jessica, but the [Hunter] couldn’t help but spot the tiny hints of savage vengeance hidden behind the smile. She knew all too well the face of somebody about to track down some prey.
“Fine,” Jessica let out a sigh, she couldn’t stop Melia anyway. Not if she didn’t want to be stopped. For all Jessica knew, Melia wanted to be caught sneaking out, because she could have [Stealthed] and nobody would ever see her leave.
“Just, don’t, I don’t know, eat the whole school or something.”
Melia crinkled up her face.
“What do you take me for?”
“We just spent the last several hours roaming around the city while you stuffed your face,” Jessica hissed back. She was trying to keep her tone lighthearted and joking, but at least half of her was serious.
“Don’t worry,” Melia smiled and rolled her eyes. “It won’t be anything drastic.”