It’s commonly accepted that one of the things that makes a great delver is the ability to adapt to any adversity, and to operate under considerable pressure. This pressure doesn’t just apply to activities within a dungeon, either. Sometimes, the greatest struggles a delver can face come from the world outside the dungeons that make them strong.
? “Sorry, but you’re just not the type of person we’re looking for in our guild.”
? Grim instantly thought of Veyra as he heard those damning words, and clenched his teeth. It was better than his first impulse, which was to break something. That drunk… She’d been right. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she’d been right.
? “Why?” He asked, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, as if he didn’t know why. “I told you, I received the top marks in my year, and I already have a great track record for first delves. Not just among my class, but in the history of the guild, I’m easily ranked in the top five.”
? The Compass Rose clerk sifted through a small pile of papers, making it clear that her interest in this conversation was already at a supreme low. “I’m just passing on what I heard from my Captain. You applied, and they declined. What more do you want to know?”
? “I already said,” Grim shot back. He could feel the heat starting to creep into his face and made a fierce attempt to control his expression. “Why?”
? The clerk let out a long sigh, the noise a perfect balance between exasperation and boredom, and fished a slip of paper out of the stack on her desk. “Grim Kestrel… Yes, it says here that you were disrespectful in the extreme to your last Guildmaster and that you attempted to sabotage the rightfully earned reward of your fellow classmate. It also says here that you were not the top scorer, so it also seems that you are fond of lying, as well.”
? Which might have all been reasonable and respectable reasons in another situation. But they were outrageous lies, and the delivery came with such a self-satisfied expression on the clerk’s face that it settled into stone for Grim. This woman was a noble, too, he realized. He clenched his fists, no longer sure that his jaw should bear the burden alone, and choked out a reply, “That isn’t true. I know I took the top score. The emissary himself told me.”
? “Ah, you speak the tongue of dungeon beasts, do you?” the clerk asked, her eyes widening. The sense of surprise–and maybe even respect–shocked Grim out of his anger for a moment, and he unclenched his fists. “You can speak Undercommon, and all those?”
? “I-I can,” Grim said. Was this, of all his talents, really something that they’d praise? What about the hours he’d dedicated to learning tactics and growing stronger? “I… I don’t know them all yet, but I’m fully fluent in Undercommon, and I can even understand Tennido, Buristan, and Fellstongue.”
? The clerk nodded slowly as she absorbed that statement, looking impressed in spite of herself. Grim began to relax slightly then, thinking that maybe this was some kind of test. Perhaps it was good he’d fought so hard to control his reaction, he thought. Then the clerk ruined that, as well as any chance he had of getting his remaining temper in control, with her next comment.
? “Well, that figures. Commoners are close to the beasts, after all. I expect as an orphan, and a *silver rat*, you’d be even more adept at speaking those foul tongues.”
? Grim felt something in the back of his head snap. “What the fuck did you just call me?”
? The clerk offered him nothing more than the typical noble smirk and returned her attention to the notes laid out on the desk before her. Grim’s hand twitched to where his dagger sat in his belt, but he held him back with the very last bit of his self-control. It had been actual years since he’d heard that particular slur directed at him… He forced himself to take a step back, both physically and emotionally, to stop himself from attacking the woman. Not only would that get him thrown in a cell, but she was clearly much stronger than he was. At least level ten, which meant she had access to magic that could turn him into a scorch mark to be scrubbed from the floor.
? “There has to be some kind of appeal process,” He said. He knew he couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice now, but he didn’t care. This clerk wasn’t the final deciding factor in the admission process. “Or some way that I can prove my worth.”
? “You could always try to work your way up from one of the feeder guilds,” the clerk said, her tone indicating she thought this was impossible. “But unless you perform some legendary feat that wins you a noble title, I’m afraid even you know it’s hopeless. You’ll just have to accept your place, I’m afraid.”
? Not even trying to disguise it now, he thought. He grabbed his right wrist with the other, physically holding himself back from a rash reaction that would only ruin his life further. The casual disregard was nothing new for him, being born so poor in a city where social status and connections were everything. But he’d always viewed delvers as different… Even the nobles spoke highly of delvers born of common stock, openly praising them for their deeds. Delving was supposed to be his path to fix all of that. If he could get into a good guild, then make a name for himself, he’d be able to bridge that insurmountable gap between himself and everyone around him. But now, even that dim dream had been shattered.
? “Fine,” he said. The word was surprisingly easy to speak through clenched teeth. He turned sharply on his heel then, striding toward the guild’s entrance. Fine. If they didn’t want to give him the opportunity to even prove himself, he’d do it himself. He’d get to the starting line on his own merit. Then, when he was strong and they came crawling out of the sewers with offers of friendship and camaraderie, he’d remind them.
? “Just you wait,” he said, turning to glare at the entrance to the Compass Rose. The guild he’d admired for so many years, for pushing the boundary of what delvers could do. “Just you wait. Someday, they’re going to ask you why you failed… They’ll ask you where it all went wrong. And when they do, you can tell them all about today. Tell them about me.”
? Veyra cradled her head gently between both hands, wincing at the noise of the early morning patrons. The breakfast activities of The Barrel's Bottom weren’t the most comforting for a sorrowful hangover, nor for those afflicted with the ailment. While it wasn’t as loud as the usual evening affair–delvers drinking the night through were known to be rowdy–it still had sufficient volume to complement the tiny, invisible hammers ringing on the inside of her skull.
Stolen story; please report.
? “You deserve this,” Bolton told her, settling down on the bench across from her, a steaming mug of coffee in either hand. “You can’t expect to drink your weight in crappy ale and not feel it in the morning.”
? She couldn’t manage any more than an angry grumble in his direction. Trying to lie sideways on the bench beneath her offered some temporary relief, not to mention a cool surface on which to rest her head, but it didn’t last long, and carried with it the urge to empty her stomach onto the floor. Dennis would yell at her for that, and the noise would only further increase her discomfort. A pained sort of groan escaped her at the thought.
? Bolton chuckled at her misery. These mornings, when Veyra felt the full consequences of her previous actions, were a sort of medicine for him. They made up for the antics he had to endure during their ‘recruiting’ trips to Beastwick and the insufferable snobs that lived here in the capital. If he had to suffer through this stuffy city, he should at least get some amusement out of it, and Veyra provided that in spades. It was the main reason he still agreed to come.
? “Drink the coffee,” he told her sternly, hiding his smile behind his own mug. “You’ll feel better in time.”
? “I hate coffee,” she whined, barely lifting her head enough to give the mug a dirty look. “It tastes like dirt. Order me something with some fruit in it.”
? “That’ll just cause the same problem as last night,” Bolton said with a laugh, deliberately misunderstanding her request. “Drinking fruity things isn’t good for you, it seems.”
? “You know that’s not what I meant!” She said, finally managing some heat. She sat bolt upright, then her face went a few shades pale, and she swayed on the spot. Bolton watched her critically, ready to bolt to the side if she hurled. But after a few seconds of struggle, she won the fight against her stomach and let out a shaky breath. Bolton wrinkled his nose.
? “Brush your teeth,” he said with a grimace. “You’re making my coffee taste bad with your alcoholic breath.”
? “Oh, fuck this,” she growled, as the world pitched under her, and she nearly fell to the hardwood floor. She gathered her mind for a moment, spinning her mana to life and casting her Light Restoration skill. At once, her entire body was suffused by a gentle white light. It purged the lingering effects of the alcohol from her system quickly, including the sore muscles and even the foul taste in her mouth. After about ten seconds of channeling the skill, she opened her eyes and let out a sigh of relief.
? “Cheater,” Bolton grumbled. “You should suffer the consequences of your actions. Why do you insist on stealing my fun?”
? “If your fun came from a source other than my misery, I might be willing to,” she shot back, now perfectly clear-headed. “Dennis, can I have some breakfast, please?”
? As she waited for her food to arrive, she allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts, staring idly out the window at the busy street while her fingers tapped lightly upon the wood. That boy… What had his name been? Grip? Grom? Grim! He’d been an interesting one. A child of Evandross, slumming it in The Barrel's Bottom, the cheapest and roughest of all delver taverns in Beastwick? She’d never seen such a thing. What was more, he seemed… damaged. As if life had dealt some kind of cruel hand to him, and he’d known nothing but neglect in his existence.
? “That boy,” she said slowly, still staring out the window. “Do you think he’ll come back before we leave?”
? “Maybe. You weren’t exactly at your most charming last night.”
? She kissed her teeth at that, but couldn’t deny the claim. “He was… interesting.”
? “I noticed,” Bolton said, finally sounding serious. “His silver hair… That’s usually a mark of a Child of Evandross, isn’t it? What in the pits was he doing in a place like this?”
? “That’s what I wanted to know,” she replied, lightly scratching an itch on her knee. ”Almost all of them are in some minor noble house or another. Even the orphans with no surviving relatives bonded with another of their kin.”
? Bolton nodded in agreement. “There’s no reason that he’d need to be here. But then, you knew that he was going to join the Compass Rose, didn’t you?”
? Veyra’s lip curled at the mention of that soft, noble-filled excuse of a guild. They had no idea what it really took to be an Expeditioner, at least not for the last century or so. Without the threat of untamed dungeons nearby, they’d grown complacent and lax. Even a single level three dungeon flood would wreck this city. Hundreds would die before they could counter the attack.
? “That was a lucky guess,” she admitted. “I thought he looked young, and he had that silver cross.”
? “Could be a noble plant,” Bolton offered. “I wouldn’t put it past those fops to know about this place, even if they’re too dim to know about all the smuggling.”
? “Nah,” she said, sounding firmer this time. “You didn’t see him closely, Bolt. The boy nearly jumped out of his skin when I touched him, and he was nervous as a rat at a cheese party. He was all skin and bones. No way he’d be like that if he’d been living the high life.”
? Dennis appeared from the kitchen with a plate laden with food for her, and she abandoned her thoughtful mutterings to devour the food. The eggs were perfectly cooked–just runny enough to let the yolk spill out across the tater hash, leaving a little to be mopped up by the sourdough toast. “Mmm. Perfect as always, Dennis.”
? The chef rolled his eyes at the compliment. “That’s not gonna make up for the trouble you cause when you start drinking, Veyra. I don’t mind if you seek a companion for the night, but don’t go scaring off my patrons. That boy’s been staying here a few days now, and he’s a good lad.”
? “He’s still here?” Veyra asked, her head snapping up. She glanced around the room for a moment, her meal forgotten, but there was no sign of the silver-haired boy around them.
? “Not at the moment,” Dennis told her, frowning at her sudden renewed interest. “He got a dawn shift at one of the level three dungeons, and had to leave early to meet up with his party.”
? Veyra hummed thoughtfully at that, then dismissed Dennis with a wave of her hand. The chef shrugged, then returned to his kitchen, waving in response to the called requests for more food and drink from his other patrons. Veyra stared down at her plate as if the answer to her brain worm might be hiding there, under the shredded taters. What was it about the boy that so intrigued her? Sure, Children of Evandross were rare–barely fifty of them had survived the fall of their settlement–but not so uncommon that a lone member would be so… interesting.
? “Don’t,” Bolton said in a low voice. There was a growl of annoyance to his words, and she looked up at him through her lashes and batted her eyes. “No. We don’t have time. I forbid it.”
? She snorted at that, but said nothing further as she focused on the remnants of her meal. He’d forget she had the idea soon, she thought, enjoying the greasy food. But she felt the continued pressure of his eyes on her face. She pretended not to notice.
? “I’m your Captain,” she said finally, popping the last piece of toast, coated in that warm yolk, into her mouth. She brushed her hands clean and plunked two silver coins onto the table, then stood. “Let’s go see what he’s about.”
? Bolton stared at her incredulously for a moment. Sometimes… Sometimes, he wished he’d gone with a different guild years ago when he’d chosen the life of a delver. Even if he couldn’t explore new dungeons, his life would have been so much easier without this woman as his captain. After she turned toward the door, he realized her mind was set and got up with a sigh to follow, leaving his own payment behind as well. Sure, the boy was interesting. But was it really worth veering from their tight schedule?
