[Shrubley, the Monster Adventurer] Chapter 98 – A Chilly Reception

Sitting beside the hospital bed, the Guild Leader, Hammar, listened to Shrubley’s story. Beside them, an older woman was checking the Captain’s vitals. It struck Shrubley was odd that she wasn’t using magic of any kind that he could tell.

Finally, the woman straightened up and made a note on her clipboard. “The green one is right, Hammar. The Captain was having what should have been a fatal stroke. His timely intervention was all that saved him, and even then, we do not know if he’ll be able to speak or talk when he wakes up.”

“But he will wake up?” Hammar asked.

“I do believe so, sir.”

“Thank you, Urtha, you may go.”

The older woman nodded and slipped out of the room.

“It would seem your fame grows by the hour.”

“I did not mean to cause any problems,” Shrubley said softly. “But I could not stand by. He was in pain. Even if he was not kind to me, he was not openly hostile. Change is… hard for your people.”

Hammar chuckled. “You are not wrong there.” He folded his large arms and leaned against the wall. “I am curious why you are here, however. Talvar is not a common stop. You could have gone around through the Ranmount Pass. It would have taken less time to go to the Outer Ring. That’s the path most adventurers take.”

“We encountered some bandits, sir. With your town being nearby, we came to turn them in.”

“Ah yes, I saw.” Hammar tapped his thick bicep thoughtfully. “They certainly had a great deal to say about you.”

“They would, wouldn’t they?” Cal said, clutching his staff tightly and trying not to be so afraid that his knees clacked together when Hammar’s steely gaze fell on him. “What else would you do if you were a bad man seeking to get out of trouble? You would use anything at your disposal to allay suspicion, even pinning it on the very people who took you in, fed you, and made sure you arrived safely to face your punishment.”

“Is that what was going on?” Smudge spoke up, beginning to grasp a bigger picture of the situation. Still, it was difficult with his [Dumb] racial trait. “I thought they were confused. Which confused me too!”

[Dumb]: Lacking a brain, you’re not the brightest bulb in the sock drawer, but because of your lack of brain you cannot be ensorcelled by mind-bending magic.

“No, they were bad guys,” Shrubley told Smudge, patting him affectionately on the back. “They wanted to get away. I… feel bad for them. I do not think they wish to steal out of fun, perhaps one or two do, but their leader seemed saddened. As if he was forced to it.”

Hammar shook his head. “That is not your place to judge,” he told the shrub. “Many a confidence trickster has pulled the wool over a good-hearted adventurer, only to go on killing and stealing, and who knows what else when they are let go. It is up to the law to decide what to do with those who break it. Not us.”

“Sir, I must ask,” Shrubley began. “Are we still going to be thrown into jail for being… different?”

“No, no,” Hammar said, waving away the concern. “Your names are cleared. The Guild backs up its own. Though I must say, I did not expect such excitement, despite the letter Sel penned to me. You must understand, monsters are not adventurers. I mean no disrespect, by all accounts you are as brave as they come, but it will take people time to get used to the sight. Please do not lose heart if there are people who do not adapt as fast as others.”

Shrubley nodded, though he had to admit he was a little saddened by it. Some part of him hoped that by overcoming that obstacle in Taamra, that the rest of the world would naturally begin to follow suit. But news did not spread that swiftly, and change occurred even slower.

He recognized that wish was naïve. He would just have to be patient, which was ordinarily difficult for him. But it was easier for Shrubley to be understanding. To be kind. That came naturally to him.

He knew that not everybody would take to the idea of a monster adventurer as well as the kindly and helpful people of Taamra had, but he did not expect that it was such an alien concept.

“Then I will just need to do better so that people see how useful a monster adventurer can be!” Shrubley said with determination. “They will understand that we are just like them! Different, but same.”

Hammar grinned paternally at the little shrub. “You have already changed my mind on the matter! I am sure you will do so for the others as well, and if there is anybody who gives you trouble, you let me know. Okay? Regardless of your birth, you are an adventurer E-Grade first and foremost. I will not have my people being disrespected, no matter what the reason is.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do not mention it.” He sat up and looked at each of the monsters in turn. “Now all of you, I can see why you are here, however I would like to know–noble to noble, if you will–why you are here, Countess.”

Miranda grinned, her ruby lips curling at the edges. “Finally, some recognition. I would have thought that my name was worth less than dirt if it did not immediately cause that girl by the gate to open up.”

Hammar nodded. “As you say. It is not our policy to open up the gates during the dark hours, even less when people who are unknown come visiting. Your name still carries meaning here. Talvar does not forget its friends.”

“That is good to hear,” Miranda purred. “How many years has it been?”

“I was but a lad when I saw you last,” Hammar said. “You have not changed a bit, Countess.”

“Nor have you, Baron.”

For a fraction of a second, Miranda saw the boyish grin that she remembered. He looked so much like his father.

The spark of old romance went entirely past Shrubley’s head.

“I would open my doors to you,” Hammar said, “but… it would be unbecoming to do so to fellow adventurers. There are protocols after all, and I must keep my personal title and my work title separate lest the Guild’s Auditors come down on me with all their vested authority.”

Sose dropped down from Miranda’s neck and slinked over to Hammar for some pets. Cal looked on enviously, subconsciously swapping finger bones between his fidgeting hands.

Smudge watched Cal, his eyes drifting apart as he struggled to track which osseous part went where.

“I believe my name can still open some doors here,” Miranda said. “However, I believe dear Shrubley would like to speak to you about a matter most pressing. He looks ready to burst as it is.”

Hammar turned his attention to Shrubley.

Shrubley blurted out the tale about the Dungeon, where it was located, and that he intended to go clear it with his party.

“There have been sightings of strange monsters out that way,” Hammar agreed. “However, a Dungeon? I think we would have heard of something by now, don’t you? They do not simply pop up, my boy.”

Shrubley motioned eagerly to Slyrox, who pulled out the key to the Dungeon.

Hammar took it and examined the key. “I suppose this could be what you say it is, but I do not see any Shardscript about it.”

“That alone is worrying,” Miranda told him.

“It is,” he agreed, handing it back. “Surely you do not intend on going out tonight? If you do not have lodgings elsewhere, the Guild is always happy to provide accommodations. You need but ask.”

Shrubley looked over at Miranda, who gave a subtle shake of her head. “No, thank you,” he told Hammar. “Besides, I would like to check on the guards to make sure they are okay. My healing was able to take care of the worst of the problems, but I fear there is something deeper going on that I do not understand. You mentioned others falling ill?”

Standing, Hammar motioned for them to follow him out of the room. As they headed down the white-tiled hall, he spoke, “Over the last few months, key officials have taken ill, died, or otherwise been driven to flee the town. We don’t know how or why, no connections that we could ascertain have been gleaned. Not everybody gets sick the same way, and those that die appear to have done so of natural causes. The Guild is stretched tight these days with the war in the north and the southern monster incursions to deal with. Healers who could help us are in short supply.”

“What about that woman?” Cal asked.

“Urtha Retima? She’s a physician, she can perform tests and check on the welfare of people, but she cannot use magic to ascertain or solve problems. She is skilled, that is for sure, but by the time she understands what is wrong, the person is usually beyond saving. Magic, on the other hand, can immediately save a life.”

“That is why I would like to look at the others as well. There are… more?” Shrubley asked, uncertainly.

Hammar took them up a set of stairs and into another wing of the hospital. Rows of beds lined the walls and marched off down the cross-shaped room where, at the center of the cross, the older woman, Retima, was sitting with a group of young men and women.

“Miss Retima,” Hammar said jovially. “If you would be so kind to show our young mister Shrubley around, he is interested in those who have mysteriously fallen ill.”

Retima looked disdainfully at Shrubley while the little shrub did his best to wave and look eager. “As you wish, my Lord. Come along, you.”

Miranda bristled, but kept her peace. This was Shrubley’s fight. Not hers.

But I don’t have to like it.

While Shrubley went off with Retima to visit the patients, the rest of the group was left with the Guild Leader and Baron of Talvar. “Well,” Hammar said, “if you do not require lodgings, I think the least I can do is make sure you are set up at one of our fine inns.”

Miranda looked doubtfully at Shrubley’s back. “He will be okay? She does not seem… pleased.”

“As I said, Countess, there will be an adjustment period. From what I have heard, your own village was not kind to dear Shrubley and his friends.” His gray gaze swept them all. “Despite their many charms, they are monsters and people are people.”

“Slow, dim-witted, and prone to error?” Miranda asked.

“Not the words I would use, but neither are you wrong.” Hammar sighed and looked at Cal, Smudge, and Slyrox. “Few letters or tales have come out of Taamra. The people here do not know of your deeds or heroism. You are oddities to these people, and oddities tend to be things that kill the unwary around here. The season’s crop not coming in is an oddity. Ice clinging to the first of spring is a deadly omen. People live by routine and die by change.”

“Adorable oddities like Smudge?” Sose asked, rolling his eyes.

“I am… cute?” Smudge squeaked, further proving Sose’s point.

“You are,” Hammar said. “Which goes in your favor. I do not think most people would react kindly to a manticore wearing a badge. At least, not yet. You will need to pave the way for such changes, I am afraid. The work your friend, Shrubley, is doing will go a long way toward that end, I feel.”

Smudge blushed.

“If you would allow me, I could send a few adventurers to investigate the Dungeon for you,” Hammar told them. “They will not enter, least of all because they lack the key you possess, but it will at least save you a trip.”

Miranda grinned. “And keep us here a little longer?”

“I would not be opposed to the company,” Hammar told her.