DD1 ASC - Chapter 19 - Proposal

The Old Roads were a relic from humanity's distant past, pretty much the only thing besides the great wards, the odd weapon of mass destruction, and humanity’s grand mutilation to have survived intact through the ages. They were an immense construction, spanning almost the entirety of Astresia as it branched off and curved throughout every nation on the continent. In theory it allowed for one to walk from Rhelea in Terythia, through the great cities of The Epherian Empire, across the Thesian grasslands, into the wild forests of Elerium to the distant west, before finally crossing into the Frozen Wastes, all without ever taking a single step off its pristine paved slabs. Typhoeus knew that each and every one of the large flagstones was completely covered in flowing layers of perfectly cut runes. They were placed facedown in the mortar, held tight to one another as the runic enchantment distributed the load evenly to each and every stone across the tens of thousands of miles of ground that it covered. This made every square inch of the road effectively indestructible as the wear and tear of a thousand footsteps was instantly transferred across millions of miles of road before it was then passively repaired over time.

Why the ancient humans had seen fit to build such a thing, and in such an odd pattern, had long since been lost to time along with the vast majority of their secrets. Still, despite the mystery surrounding it, it made for a truly convenient way to traverse the continent as the road was wide enough for four wagons to move side by side without fear of ever breaking an axle on an uneven patch of earth. Towns and cities sprung up all along the Old Road as with each age that humanity crawled out of the wreckage that they had wrought, they discovered the road anew along with the bones of their destroyed cities and ultimately decided to resettle them again. Building new settlements on top of the old, unceremoniously entombing the previous civilisation, its secrets and horrors, to a new stratum of soon to be forgotten ruins. Rhelea, like so many others, was one such town, built astride an intersection of the ancient Old Roads over the remains of another city, which was likely only accessible through the catacombs that lay beneath the bustling settlement.

As they travelled through outer Rhelea, Typhoeus could smell the age wafting off from some of the scavenged stone bricks that were used to construct the dilapidated buildings in what was essentially the town's slum district. The residents of which having no doubt delved deep beneath the town in order to retrieve what little wealth could be extracted from the long-dead humans who had come before them. Such a thing was inherently dangerous as there was always a reason why the previous ages of humanity had fallen, and as Typhoeus rode past yet another building partially covered in the cracked, faded runes of a bygone era, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at how some of the forgotten secrets that underpinned Creation were currently being used to prop up the walls of a falling apart alehouse. Surely if the runescribes of Terythia truly wished to rediscover the old runes that made the great workings like the Old Road possible, then they would be best served by exploring the shanty towns that sprung up around their older settlements, where the desperate poor had already raided the catacombs beneath their cities for any available stone or portable relics to sell.

Typhoeus and Arilla had managed to hitch a ride on the back of a turnip cart for the last leg of their journey. A mid levelled farmer and her young nephew, who had yet to take a class, were travelling into Rhelea to sell their goods. It was their protracted complaints about the quality of the highways leading to the Old Road that had caused his latest bout of musings. The farmers had been delayed only a mile away from their farm when their cart predictably got stuck in the mud, and now they were due in Rhelea long after sunset, a dangerous prospect for anyone transporting a cart full of food through the slums. The pair had taken pity on the two clay rank adventurers and offered them a ride into town in exchange for a promise from Typhoeus to help scare off any would-be thieves with a manabolt thrown overhead while they made their way through the outer limits of the town. It was a fair trade, and Typhoeus had readily accepted after amending the deal to include a handful of turnips which he happily ate raw as he let Arilla relax for the rest of the journey, and they enjoyed the perfectly smooth ride over the even stone road in all the comfort that a creaking wooden flatbed can provide.

By the time they made it through the town's gates, night had fallen as the guardsmen on duty were being uncharacteristically thorough with their inspections of goods entering and exiting Rhelea. A minor complication that had held the turnip cart up at the gates. The line of people waiting to enter the inner walls stretched on for much farther than the last two times he had passed through the checkpoint. Opportunistic vendors were steadily cropping up alongside the queue, where they enthusiastically made a killing off of their captive audience. Even Typhoeus momentarily left Arilla on the back of the cart while he went to fetch them and their recent acquaintances a late supper at a truly exorbitant price. Especially when considering that he was essentially paying for a rat meat pie, a detail that he was surprised Arilla was able to pick up on from the taste and texture alone.

Entering inner Rhelea, the streets were nearly pitch black. The majority of the town lacked any form of street lights or sconces, the only illumination coming from the few businesses that were still open after dark and the starry sky above. They bid goodbye to the turnip farmer and her nephew as they went their separate ways, Typhoeus having no trouble navigating as [Sovereign's Perception] was more than enough to see in the dim light. Still, the darkness alone was a dampener on their otherwise triumphant return. They stuck to the main roads, well aware that with their low levels and Arilla's injury they were likely tempting targets for any would-be assailants lurking in the shadows. Fortunately, the streets were busy with frequent guard patrols, keeping the roads clear of the footpads and beggars who would typically be seen lurking in the shadows at this time of night. They were stopped several times on their journey, but after explaining that they were merely adventurers returning with a bounty of goblin ears, they were allowed to go on their way unmolested.

From the street outside, Typhoeus could tell that the mood inside the Adventurers Guild was raucous, contrasting sharply with the sedate atmosphere outside the sprawling building. The warm light and lively music from within the main hall spilt out into the street as if it was inviting them both inside. Adventurers and civilians both were relaxing outside on the steps, some still drinking from large tankards whilst others seemed content to simply enjoy the cool night’s air as they recovered from perhaps too much drink. They received some funny looks as together they hobbled up the short flight of stairs. Arilla's obvious injuries and Typhoeus in his golden dress attracting a lot of curious attention from the inebriated gathering on the steps, but once they were inside the guildhall, they were quickly swallowed up by a large crowd of revellers who were in the middle of some kind of loud celebration.

The wooden tables that separated the notice boards from the attendant counters were filled to the brim with party-goers who were in an obviously celebratory mood. A large fabric banner was hung over the bar at the far end of the room, where a large queue for drinks dwarfed the one that was typically present during the day. A band consisting of a bard troupe playing a variety of stringed instruments filled the space adjacent to the bar with loud, upbeat music that more than a few people danced along to as it filled the hall and forced the party’s attendees to yell to make themselves heard over the music. Typhoeus’s eyes scanned the prominently displayed writing on the banner above hoping for inspiration, but the thick flowing script was currently beyond his ability to read.

His breath hitched in his chest at the thought of so many people, but Arilla merely interlaced her fingers with his, calming him down considerably as together with the use of their elbows and knees, they made the jovial crowd part for them. Although if he was being honest, the foul smell originating from his seeping sack of goblin ears probably had something to do with everyone's hurry to get out of their way. Only one of the guild counters was being staffed, with the sole attendant sitting behind the clear glass looking bored and like she would rather be anywhere else in all of Creation than watching other people enjoy themselves.

[Clerk level 12]

She looked to be in her early twenties, disdain and apathy on her face as she looked them over from across the glass. Her nose wrinkled with distaste even before Typhoeus placed the leaking sack of ears on the counter.

"I'd like to claim the bounty on these,” the dragon said.

"Really? You expect me to accept these?" the clerk asked condescendingly as she practically recoiled from the proffered sack.

"Is there a problem?" Arilla asked.

"Well yes, these are rotting. I don't know where you two got these, but I'm struggling to believe a pair of barely clay ranks killed this many goblins by themselves,” she said, eyeing the conspicuous absence of clay badges pinned to their chests.

"Well we did, and I don't believe it's your job to question us. So just give us our money, and we'll be on our way," Typhoeus replied, his eyes already narrowing with distrust.

The clerk looked at the oozing sack with distaste. "I'll give you four obol for the lot,” the woman said after some time.

"It's supposed to be two chalkoi an ear!" Typhoeus exclaimed in a fit of outrage. "And there are more than forty pairs in there!"

"She doesn't want to count them," Arilla said, the clerk’s uncomfortable look all but confirming her statement.

"I'll do it," Typhoeus said, reaching a bare arm into the sack and producing a decaying green ear. The organ was uncomfortably moist as it leaked cold viscous fluids from around his firm grip, the flesh having started to break down days ago. It was thoroughly disgusting, but Typhoeus had dealt with worse. With hindsight, he probably should have looked into a way of preserving the ears before transporting them, but he knew next to nothing about drying or smoking meat, and after this stomach-turning interaction, he would hopefully never have to deal with rotting goblin ears ever again.

"One..."

"Two…"

…

...

"Twelve…"

…

…

"Twenty-one…"

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" the clerk said, her face tinged a sickly green to match the small pile of goblin ears that looked far too human for her delicate stomach to tolerate.

"Just put them in the bin. I’ll give you your damn silver,” the clerk continued, gesturing towards an open container by her side.

"I want 4 drachma for the lot," Arilla said, her statement surprising everyone present.

"What?" the clerk and Typhoeus both said in their confusion.

"I'll give you 2, she said forty pairs after all,” the clerk said.

"Typh misspoke; she meant to say there are well over eighty pairs in there," Arilla said, her face deadly serious.

They all looked at the bag, clearly far too small to contain so many.

“You can’t be serious,” the clerk said.

"Then feel free to count them," Arilla said, her severe tone ruined by her wicked grin. “No, not you, Typh, you’ve done enough. She should do it; it’s her job after all,” she said, restraining Typhoeus’s arm with her own when he went to resume the count.

“Listen…” the clerk began to protest, trailing off almost immediately as Arilla simply stared her down in silence.

The clerk hesitated for a long moment before exhaling as she steeled her nerve, prior to pulling the gore filled sack across the counter. The sodden bag left streaks of red and yellow gunge on the polished wooden surface as she extended a well-manicured hand inside the sack. After much audible gagging, she produced a slippery blood covered trophy, which she added to the pile. The woman’s resolve held for another two ears before the physical sensation combined with the visceral sight and smell caused her to retch as she vomited into her own mouth.

"Okay fine, you can have your fucking silver; just don't tell anyone about this,” the clerk said, wiping off her hand with a patterned cloth before producing four drachma from a heavy pouch of jangling coins that reeked of scintillating silver as she muttered under her breath about her need to find another, less disgusting job.

Together they hastily retreated with their spoils. Hobbling away from the counter as fast as they could on three functional legs, Arilla started to giggle as they made their way through the noisy crowd, her infectious laugh causing Typhoeus to break out into a wide smile.

“Why did that work? She knew you were lying,” he asked.

“Sure she knew it, but she wasn’t exactly willing to prove it. I’ve found that people are a lot freer with money that isn’t their own,” Arilla stated.

“Won't the Guild miss it?” Typhoeus asked, still coming to terms with the idea of not knowing your precise wealth at all times.

“Look around you Typh, what's the two extra drachma or so that we scammed to people like this?” she said, sweeping her arm in a wide arc as she gestured at the expensive features throughout the large hall. Typhoeus’s gaze followed her arm as he was forced to admit that she was right. The enamelled mouldings where the plastered walls met the high vaulted ceilings, the chandelier that cast a brilliant white magelight bright enough to fill the hall, to even the abundance of metal and porcelain tableware that was handed out freely to those eating and drinking in the hall, a stark contrast to the wood and clay alternatives that were offered in almost every other establishment throughout the town. It was very grand, very expensive looking, and if it wasn’t full of dragon hating adventurers, then he would strongly consider the hall as a suitable replacement for his now abandoned lair.

“Come on, I think I can see a free table,” Arilla said, tugging on Typhoeus’s hand as she pulled him after her through the bustling crowd.

“Really? I thought we were in a hurry to get you to a healer?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard as he hurried to keep up with her so that he could help support her weight. His favourite human moving surprisingly fast even on one leg.

“I am, but we just got paid, and there’s a party!” she yelled back at him, a wide smile lighting up her face as she quickly hobbled over to sit down in a vacant seat, twisting her body so that she could then raise her swollen ankle and place it delicately on the tabletop.

“I suppose I’m not getting you out of that seat all night, am I?” he asked, well aware of what her answer would be.

“Nope. You’re getting all the drinks tonight,” Arilla gloated, her grin stretching wider than he thought was possible for a human.

“You know there are cheaper, quieter places…” Typhoeus said, looking around at the crowd apprehensively.

“Typh, you’ll be fine. I’ll keep your seat warm for you, now off you go,” she said, making exaggerated shooing motions as she sent him off towards the bar.

The queue was noisy, unpleasant and the tight press of people all clamouring for service from the overworked bartenders made for a deeply trying experience. Once he finally reached the front of the queue, he barely even had the space to stand as the people on his left and right were both advocating for their own personal space with their elbows and broad shoulders. However, all it took was for a bartender to lock eyes with his ample cleavage for his fortunes to abruptly change, and Typhoeus found himself being served almost immediately, much to the anger of his fellow patrons who appeared to have been waiting to be served for some time.

With a large jug of beer tucked protectively between his arms, he carefully wormed his way back through the crowd as he returned to their table. His physical stats getting an unexpected workout as he tried to prevent the beer from spilling as he dodged and weaved between drunk adventurers and civilians all the way through the hall. When he finally made his way back to their seats, there was a noticeable space between the circular table and the crowd as if there were an invisible line around it that nobody was willing to cross. As he stood there on the edge of that intangible boundary, he could see that there was a level 5 noble comfortably leaning against Typhoeus’s chair as he spoke confidently to an increasingly distraught looking Arilla.

The human was blonde, well dressed and smelled strongly of rosewater, something which easily distinguished him from the usual adventuring crowd who typically smelled of sweat and more often than not, older sweat. He was accompanied by a shy looking level 5 healer and a stoic, heavily armed, and armoured knight in the beginning of iron rank at level 112 who bore the Traylan House crest of a silver pearl wrapped in green thorns emblazoned prominently on his enamelled steel breastplate. The healer looked almost as uncomfortable as Arilla did, the small woman standing back with the large knight between the young noble and the thronging crowd. As the young man spoke, his honeyed words caused an expression of barely constrained anger to spread across Arilla’s freckled face, and when Typhoeus carefully placed the unwieldy jug down on the table, she looked up at him with undisguised relief in her hazel eyes.

“Typh, this is Lord Galen of House Traylan, the first and only son of the patriarch, his father being the governor of the lands surrounding Rhelea,” she said, her stilted tone implying that she was distinctly uncomfortable with his presence.

“Uhm yes, he is,” Galen said, flashing them both with a well-practised smile as he took a moment to look Typhoeus up and down appraisingly. His eyes alight with fascination as they lingered on the oddly proportioned dragon. “Tell me, Typh is quite an interesting name. Is that short for anything?”

“No, it’s just Typh. Are you here for a particular reason?” Typhoeus asked bluntly.

“Address the young Lord with his proper honorific mageling,” the knight said, his baritone voice laced with threat as he discreetly rolled his shoulders, his heavy plate armour shifting on his broad frame as Typhoeus felt the man's aura pulse with menace.

“Fine. Lord Traylan, are you here for a particular reason?” Typhoeus asked again just as bluntly as before, sparing the time to glare at the interrupting knight whose expression was masked by his full-face helmet.

“No, not particularly. I just saw Miss Arilla here sitting here by herself and thought that it was appropriate to come over and introduce myself. Considering that these lands will one day be mine, it makes sense for me to be on good terms with all the warriors here. And adventuring halls like this one can get pretty rough for a young woman all by herself, so I thought it would be appropriate to offer her the gift of my esteemed company," Galen said, his self assured smile quickly finding its way back to his face after Typhoeus repeatedly chased it away with his rude question.

"I told you Lord Traylan, I'm not alone," Arilla said quickly, her eyes downcast as she made tight fists with her uninjured hand below the table.

"Yes, yes, you're with Miss Typh here, but it's not the same. Two attractive young women like yourselves shouldn't be out without an escort, especially at your low levels," Galen continued, unaware or uncaring of how the face of the healer standing behind him reddened considerably with his words.

"I don't see what you're supposed to do, Lord Traylan; you’re only level 5 too," Typhoeus said, taking what must have been the obvious bait, as Arilla winced and Galen grinned.

"Well, as I was telling your friend Arilla here earlier, I won't be stuck at level 5 for long. There's an after graduation expedition with the Guild in a few days that I can't get out of, but after that, my father is arranging for me and my chosen party to be power levelled all the way to bronze. And in the interim, there’s always Sir Lothian here,” he said happily as he gestured over his shoulder at the armoured knight who simply glowered back through the thin slit in his helmet.

"I see, and you're telling us this because?" Typhoeus asked hastily, adding another “Lord Traylan.” In response to knight Lothian’s loud grunt.

"Well, because I need to build my chosen party of course. With the exception of Mereliss here, the starting party chosen for me by the Guild just won't do at all," Galen said, gesturing offhandedly at the tight-lipped healer behind him.

"And I take it Lord Traylan, that you want us to join your team?" Typhoeus asked.

"Perhaps, perhaps. If we could come to a suitable arrangement…" he said carefully. "Seeing as how I'd be paying for your equipment, power levelling and training all whilst protecting you from any unwanted advances, it only makes sense that you'd want to repay my generosity in kind."

"My Lord, I’m afraid there's been a misunderstanding. Typh isn’t my friend. We're together, very together and very happy," Arilla said humbly, cutting Typhoeus off from enquiring any further.

"Well, that's not a problem; I expect all of my bedmates to be willing to play together,” Galen said with his perfect smile, not noticing how Typhoeus’s face contorted with anger. “My father is currently in the capital while the king ratifies his petition to return Rhelea to our demesne, and in the intervening time I have the run of the castle. It’s only two hours away by carriage, and behind those thick walls, we’d have all the privacy in Creation to get to know one another more intimately. To see if you would be a good fit if you follow me.”

Before the man could even blink, Typhoeus had darted forwards to slap the young lordling across the face. The young noble's head rocking back from the surprisingly hard impact that had left a bright red handprint on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek. His knight Lothain, responded in kind to Typhoeus’s assault by quickly drawing a short sword from his belt, which found its way to rest on the dragon's neck before he could react to it. The sharp edge of the skill forged steel gently resting against his vulnerable human skin.

“Your orders, my lord?” Lothian asked calmly, the knight having moved half a dozen paces in his heavy armour in less than a heartbeat, leaving Typhoeus to only wonder if he could survive for long enough without a head to revert back to his true form. Unlike the last time he had a naked blade pressed up against his throat, this time the man wielding it was actually dangerous, and for as long as he remained in his human body, the knight was a very real threat to him.

“It’s nothing Lothain, you can put your sword away,” he said, tentatively rubbing his jaw. “Just a mistake from a spirited girl, right?”

“Yes. It was a mistake. Lord Traylan,” Typhoeus said through clenched teeth, the rune etched sword forcing his compliance as Arilla clenched the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip. The weapon disappeared back in its sheath, leaving a thin line of broken skin on Typhoeus’s neck as the knight stepped backwards to once again resume his previous watchful position.

“Well, I would say that’s kind of ruined the mood, don’t you think?” he said before looking over his shoulder. “Mereliss, come over here would you. Typh is bleeding, and I do believe there's something wrong with Arilla’s ankle.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Mereliss said with a distinctly common accent that marked her as hailing from Rhelea’s lower classes as she hustled forwards at Galen's command.

With the threat of the knight standing so close, neither of them objected as the until now silent woman stepped forwards and laid her hands first on Typhoeus’s neck and then Arilla’s ankle. An invigorating rush of energy spread out from where she touched him as he felt the woman's healing magic do its work. His skin sealing shut as a small spike of hunger made itself known to him despite his quite recent meals.

“Thank you Mereliss,” Galen said, smiling congenially at the healer who performed a deep, if somewhat clumsy curtsy before retreating back into the vacant space behind him. “Well. I can see that after that completely unnecessary bout of violence that neither of you are in the mood to take me up on my very generous offer,” he said, shooting Lothain a quick glare. “Just remember my proposition. While I have need of a mage and a warrior now, I will fill the slots in my party sooner rather than later. I assure you that this will be the most generous offer that you will ever receive, and like I said, places like this can be dangerous for two attractive women such as yourselves.”

With that, the noble turned and left, clicking his fingers to summon his knight when he dawdled too long to glare at Typhoeus suspiciously. The party of three disappeared into the crowd which parted for them without a word, moving to fill in the space around their small table a moment after they had left. As Typhoeus finally sat down next to Arilla, he realised for the first time that he was shaking with anger, his whole body trembling until she put her hand on his, interlacing their fingers as she squeezed his hand in quiet reassurance.

“So I see why everyone hates nobles around here. Are they all like that?” Typhoeus asked as he focused his attention on tracking Galen through the hall with his perception skill as the man made his way through the busy crowd.

“From everything I’ve heard, they’re worse. We’re just lucky House Traylan has no real power inside Rhelea; otherwise, I doubt Galen would have bothered asking,” Arilla said, pouring herself a large beer which she drank almost in one go. “Well, at least we know why the graduation party is so big, probably the Traylans trying to buy some goodwill with us simple adventuring folk.”

“This is a graduation party?” he asked, realising how as he craned his neck that he could see far more level 5 adventurers studded throughout the busy crowd than he was used to seeing within the Guildhall.

“Typh, it says so on the massive bloody banner above the bar,” Arilla said.

“It does? Sorry I missed that,” he said, cursing internally at his illiteracy.

“You can be really oblivious sometimes, you know?” she said, this time pouring Typhoeus a drink before getting around to topping up her own tankard.

“Sorry, you know I find it hard to think around crowds,” he said, settling for another half-truth as he gingerly sipped his beer. “So, do you think the king will give Rhelea to the Traylans?”

“Maybe? I don't really know politics, but there's been talk of the Merchant’s Council losing control of the town since I was little and it hasn’t happened yet,” Arilla said with a shrug. “Personally, I don’t know if it will ever happen. I mean, sure, a lot of money flows through this town, probably more than in most cities, but practically everyone here has a class. You go to pretty much anywhere else, and only the rich, the nobles and their favourites have one.”

“I don’t follow,” he said.

“Well, let’s say the Traylans do get Rhelea, then suddenly they’ve gone from one of the poorest houses to the wealthiest overnight, and they also have more high-levelled combat classers at their disposal than anyone else,” Arilla said.

“And the other houses wouldn’t like that?” Typhoeus suggested.

“Exactly, either the other noble houses would have to massively swell the ranks of their soldiers and somehow get them the levels to go up against adventuring bands like the Shining Swords, or the Traylans will likely end up in charge of the province with Galen having a decent shot at being crowned the next king,” she stated matter of factly.

“It sounds like you know politics pretty well to me,” Typhoeus said warmly.

“I keep my ear to the ground,” she said with a smile. “Now pour me another drink!” She held out her once-again empty cup. “What? You’re supposed to be waiting on me hand and foot, and the alcohol helps with the pain.”

“Mereliss just healed you,” he said, looking at her empty tankard disparagingly.

“Barely, that level 5 healing spell only took the edge off. Now beer me, wench!” she said, shaking her tankard in jest as she gave him her best ‘drunken adventurer’ impression.

“Whatever you want dearest,” the dragon said as he acquiesced and poured his lover another beer, hoping that they could put the unpleasantness of Galen’s unwanted visit behind them.