Chapter 15 - One Week to Lillinberg (Day 1)

Clint hated the woods. It was an environment he was inherently incompatible with. His natural habitat was the desert. In the desert, all was equal. It was flat, leaving everything exposed, there were no sneak attacks, at least not if you were smart enough. Nothing loomed above or crept below, it was a literal even playing field. Even the vultures that circled overhead would eventually have to land to pick clean the carcasses that littered the floor. Which left them vulnerable to the lethal bite of a coyote or even the gunshot of a particularly desperate human.

That was where Clint Morgans felt most at home. Like all desert-dwelling there he had evolved to thrive in that environment; Sharp and wandering eyes that scanned from his heel to the horizon, hair-trigger muscles that could evade the quick strikes of rattlesnakes and ears tuned to the slightest shifting of nearby sand. His greatest weapon of all though, was his mind. He was able to take all the information his senses fed him and process it near instantly, allowing him to act impossibly fast for a human being. This speed of action was what made Clint Morgans the apex predator in the desert, able to outmanoeuvre even the most desperate and dangerous creatures that also called it their home.

The woods, however, were an entirely different beast. They were uneven, leaving angles of attack from all directions; treetops above and warrens below, all alive with skittering and rustling, each sound potentially the last warning before a surprise guerilla assault. It was an environment robbed Clint of his greatest weapons. Tree trunks and bushes sealed off his vision, awkward and unsteady terrain squandered his movement and unending noise like bird calls and animal growls constantly filled his ears, squandering his perception, and then there was the singing...

The singing was not a natural part of the environment, but instead a result of one of Clint’s companions; Prince Sol of Gallia.

Sol and his sister Luna had been following Clint for just under a day after leaving Floraison, but already they had run out of things to say to one another. Clint spoke very little at the best of times, and once they had been over their shared experiences in Floraison a few times (A conversation Clint hardly engaged in to begin with.) it became very apparent that this was going to be a very long, very quiet, journey.

And so, to fill the dead, uncomfortable silence, Sol began to sing. “It’s the Western Woods. That our hero has been lost in.” he improvised each word, the lyrics forced to awkwardly fit a simple rising and falling melody. “In the Western Woods. Perhaps he’ll find a goblin.” His voice wasn’t actually bad. In fact, Sol was a very talented singer, but the improvised nature of the performance detracted from his natural ability. Each syllable was dragged to fit the melody he had chosen. “If it’s the Western Woods. It won’t take very long, he’ll-”

Sol stopped for a minute, humming. “He’ll… What’ll he do? Luna?” He asked.

Luna perked up, coming out of a marching trance for the first time in hours. “I don’t know. Maybe he could tell us where we’re actually going?”

“That might work…” Sol hummed, tapping Clint on the shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t know.” Clint shrugged. “Outta the woods.”

“Ah, okay.” Sol nodded, before returning to his song. “Out of the Western Woods. We don’t know where we’re going.”

Luna sighed, cupping a hand over her brother’s mouth and using it to drag him down to her level. She spoke quietly into his ear, keeping her ocean blue eyes on Clint as she did. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to follow him? I mean, he did a good job with the Slime Queen, but…”

Sol smiled, whispering back. “Of course it is! There’s still so much we can learn from him. We haven’t even figured out his secret technique yet!”

“Are you sure it even exists? Even against the Slime Queen we never saw it.” She muttered. “I understand he uses those ‘bullet’ things, but we don’t know what those are either.”

“That’s why we’ve gotta stick around until he does! Besides, with that sort of attack in our back pocket, we can skip all the low tier quests and get straight to the big stuff! Think about the rewards, at the very least.” Sol switched to a more pragmatic approach, one he knew would appeal more to Luna.

“We do need to get out of debt...” She grumbled. “Fine.” She pulled away from Sol. “Let’s at least figure out where we are though.”

A glow began to form from her hands, crystalizing from soft light to an opaque sort of glass. Around it, four letters appeared, “N E S W”, all in a circle. The central gem hovered, a beam of light bursting from its centre and directing itself toward the N. Clint clocked the spell from the corner of his eye, immediately recognising it as a form of compass. “Looks like we’re headin’ North.” he commented.

“If we’re headed North we’re moving toward the Rhine’s border.” Luna said apprehensively. “Luckily though, the North-West is relatively peaceful at the minute. It seems the Demon King has done little to rebuild his infrastructure in the Western part of his empire. There is still a risk we may encounter some of his forces though.”

“What’s the closest town?” Sol leaned over, prodding at the compass.

“Hmm.” Luna mused, envisioning a large map in her mind. She had an excellent memory, books and tomes were easily absorbed and stored into her grey matter and recalled at a moment’s notice, this map was no different. “Lillinberg, I think.”

“Ooh, Lillinberg! Like from the song!” Sol beamed. “Do you remember it, Luna? Uncle Merc used to always play it at parties!”

“I know the song, Sol.” She sighed in a way that not-so-subtly implied she did not wish to hear Sol sing it.

Sol did not get the memo, launching into a fast paced, upbeat song. He bounded around his companions, playing an imaginary fiddle on his arm. “Oh, there lived a little lady in Lillinberg!” He paused, leaving a gap for his audience for a “Lillinberg!” from his audience. He did not get one from Clint and Luna, though he had expected that. “This little lady loved her little girl!” he continued, undeterred, Sol and Luna powerless to stop him.

He air-fiddled his way through the song, finally reaching the last lines of the song after what felt like an hour, but was only five minutes. “The little girl was lost and her father’s in a box! So the mother mourns alone in Lillinberg!” he sang, joyful as anything all the way to the last note. He bowed to his captive audience of two, though they didn’t cheer or clap.

“Sad song.” Clint remarked.

“Ah, so you were listening!” Sol beamed. “That’s right! While it sounds upbeat, ‘The Little Lady of Lillinberg’ is actually a really sad story.”

“It true?” Clint asked.

“Oh, no. I’m pretty sure it’s just something our uncle made up.” Sol shrugged. “People don’t tend to listen to the lyrics, they just dance to it, usually.” He looked slyly at Luna.

“I listened! What? Can’t I dance to a depressing song?” She protested.

“Hah, you can, you can!” Sol grinned, taking a large step away from Luna to prevent any form of sisterly assault. “It might surprise you, but Luna’s actually an amazing dancer. She’ll sit there at royal parties, quiet as a mouse, but as soon as a song she likes starts…”

Luna threw a rock at his head, face red enough to make her blue eyes scarily vivid. “Shut it.”

Sol chuckled. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s just a little surprising, right Clint?”

“Not really.” the cowboy replied.

From there, the conversation quieted down and Sol’s singing subsided. Another hour or so of walking passed before finally sunset was looming above them.

“Alright.” Clint spoke up, beginning a conversation for the first time. “Before the sun goes down we best get ourselves some shelter. We can cut down some of these branches and lean ‘em against this tree here. Take some vines to tie ‘em together. Then, if we dig a fire pit, we should be set for the night.” He explained, pointing out each element of his plan as it came up, already having a perfect mental image of his would-be basecamp for the night. “After that, we gotta find food-”

Sol raised his hand in objection. “Uh, Clint, we’ve already got food and shelter.” The cowboy quirked an eyebrow. “Haven’t you noticed these huge backpacks we’ve got?” Sol tilted his head.

Luna took hers to the ground, demonstrating. She pulled out a tent, some sort of animal skin Clint didn’t recognise, with metal pins and supports to accompany it. She got to work as Sol opened his own bag, revealing a large supply of food.

“In Gallia, the adventurer’s guild supplies us with everything we need. All you’ve gotta do is go in and request it. Even if you can’t pay, they just take it out of whatever quest you fulfill next!” He explained, eagerly pulling out a few steaks of what looked like pork to Clint, though he could not be certain what manner of creature it came from. Alongside it came a sort of black butter, as well as a tough baked good, partway between a cracker and a loaf of bread. “One of these each should do us for a night.” Sol said, portioning out a steak, cracker and a slab of black butter for each member of the party.

It didn’t take long for everything to be cooked and served. Clint stared at his meal cautiously, prodding at it like a cat would an unfamiliar creature. Sol and Luna were mesmerised by this, watching him so intently they neglected their own meals.

Eventually, Clint went in for a bite. It was good. The hard cracker-bread was softened by the butter, which had melted through into it, providing a rich, fatty layer with a hint of pepper, a great contrast to the salty meat that sat atop it. It was well-cooked, melting in his mouth and mixing with the liquified black butter. He chewed slowly, savouring the taste. It was strange to eat something so delicious. He was used to scraps, like the vultures he shared the desert with, Clint ate whatever he needed to survive. He tended to eat quickly too. Where he came from, stopping to eat could often mean being eaten yourself. To eat so slowly and with such enjoyment was an alien affair to him, but not unwelcome. Appeased by his quiet satisfaction, the twins ate their own rations and mealtime quickly passed.

The sun had set, but exhaustion had not yet come for the party. Each of them was used to far worse physical strain than a day’s stroll, so they found their own ways of keeping themselves occupied. For Clint, this was simply observing the twins and making mental notes of their habits. It wasn’t particularly entertaining, but he figured it would provide useful information later.

Luna read. She had a few books piled up by her side as she sat cross-legged some way away from the fire. Clint could make out the titles easily, despite the low-light. “Cryomancy - Ice Magic in Theory and Practice”, “A study of Pre-Gallian Orcish and Elvish Relations - Volume III”, “Fist of the South Sea”. The last one seemed less academic than the rest, dwarfed in size and coloured more brightly. He figured it’d be some sort of pulp fiction. He would’ve found such a thing surprising a few days ago, but he had long since accepted that this world made no sense.

While Luna’s hobby was a peaceful practice, Sol’s was… A fire hazard.. He was using his beloved fireball spell, repeatedly casting it in all sorts of shapes and forms. First was a wheel that rolled across the ground before suddenly switching direction and returning to his hand. Next was a carpet of fire, covering the ground, which he conducted to rise and fall as he saw fit. Then, as a grand finale, was a bird that he launched into the sky, it flew for quite some time before dissipating in the cold air.

“Careful!” Luna chided. “My books are right here! And in case you forgot, paper is very flammable!”

Clint grew curious about the fire. Watching as Sol began an encore, now creating a pillar of flame from the ground and seeing how tall he could make it. “I thought you only knew a fireball.” he grumbled.

“This is Fireball!” Sol smiled.

“It isn’t.” Luna groaned, placing her book down on the pile, not bothering to mark the page. “Technically, each of those forms is a different spell.” She began. “Firewheel, Immolation, Firebird, Fire Pillar-”

“Basically they’re all just Fireball. Fireball in a wheel, Fireball on the floor, Fireball with wings, tall Fireball-” Sol cut her off, only to be cut off himself moments later.

“They are all different. Sol here has just never formally learned them. He’s somehow recreated each of them through trial and error.” She spoke with an odd mix of admiration and admonishment.

“It’s really not that hard.” Sol shrugged, taking a fireball and warping its form freely with twitches and wiggles of his finger. “I don’t get why spellcasters make such a big deal out of naming and categorising everything.”

Luna opened her mouth to lecture, but decided against it, instead just sighing and raising to her feet. “Excuse me a moment. I’m going to wash my face in the river. Please don’t wait up for me.” She said, making an abrupt exit.

Clint watched her walk away, seeing through her statement immediately. He wondered what she had actually gone to attend to.

After Luna left, Sol quickly tired himself out and went to bed, introducing Clint to the wonders of guild-issued sleeping sacks. Clint himself remained awake, though he feigned sleep, hat covering his face just enough to render his eyes hidden without removing his vision.

He was up for quite some time, attuning himself to the sounds and subtleties of the woods. It was an hour before he saw anything of note, a rabbit of some sort rustling around in the nearby bushes. It was an hour more before Luna finally returned, sweaty and exhausted, for whatever reason. Clint chose not to pry. He’d find out at some point, anyway. If there was one thing he was capable of, it was seeing through people. And clearly, there was a lot left of Luna to see.

Current Party: Clint Morgans, Sol Dragoneart, Luna Dragoneart


Bullets Remaining: 5