Thomas Lainsfont was not receiving any more customers today.
Normally, at this time of the evening, his decidedly motley pub would be tasked with ensuring that the village layabouts didn't steal anybody's cows by keeping them imprisoned in his four walls and in his cups. It was a task he performed dutifully.
Ever since he took over The Singing Mule, incidents of cow thefts were down 67%. The mayor had assured him that if he had the crowns to forge him a medal, he would have done so.
Thomas knew he very well did have the crowns. He just preferred spending them at his establishment instead. And that was fine by him. Crowns were worth more to him than medals.
He had enough of those already.
“... How was the journey?” asked Thomas, realising from the hoarseness of his voice that these may very well have been his first words today.
Sat across from him, Cedric Halls was drinking his finest pale wine.
It wouldn't even be used as dishwater in the royal capital.
His was just for decoration. And his regulars knew it. They drunk his ale, his mead, and that something he never actually ordered, but still served anyway since it was free. The man at his table would have been happy with even worse. He plonked his cup down with a smile as wide as his now soggy moustache.
It was rare for the guildmaster of the Rolstein branch of the Adventurer's Guild to travel these days.
It was rarer for him to travel to his pub, of all places.
Cedric was always a man known for his finer tastes, even when he started out as an F-rank adventurer like the rest of them. Reconciling his lack of funds with his longing for the high life was an issue that never quite got resolved. Unless cheap wine was involved. Then he became as rowdy as the biggest lout.
That was a long time ago now.
“It was mercifully quiet,” answered Cedric. “The woodlands between here and Rolstein have been cleared of the outlaws known to reside there.”
“That's good to know.”
“No, I mean, actually cleared. Forget the Black Scar. There's a hole the size of the Royal Villa in one of the forests.”
“A hole?”
“Trees, hills, caves, and all the twelve legged critters that lived in them levelled. Baron Alonte has guards investigating. Either a dragon rolled around on its back or a mage decided to fire off a spell that brought down a falling meteor.”
Thomas frowned. Dragons and errant mages. He'd dealt with both. Or rather, they'd dealt with him. He still carried the burns. Never again.
Words he'd said before. And hopefully would never need to say again.
“Which is it?” he asked, wondering which of his kegs he should save if he relocated The Singing Mule again. “I'll need to know whether to leave now or in five minutes.”
“Probably the mage. We'd know if a dragon flew by. Remember the silver dragon in Weinstadt?”
“More than it remembers us. Although mages aren't much better. We never had much luck with them either.”
“That's because the ones with swords knew not to fight us. Or you, rather. It was quite a feeling, you know, to be C-ranked and still be the porter boy.”
Thomas raised his cup. He only drank water. Still, Cedric raised his cup for a toast.
“And what a fine porter boy you made. To the Golden Hogs.”
“To the Golden Hogs. Past and present.”
Thomas and Cedric drank. They drank until their cups were empty. And when they were, their shoulders fell. The barkeeper offered a refill from the jug. Cedric declined with a wave of his hand.
And that's when Thomas began to brace.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The only good one left. “You're here.”
“I am,” replied Cedric. “And not with good news, I'm afraid.”
When was it ever?
It'd been years since the Golden Hogs had disbanded. And though their legacy was proud, it was one which didn't require revisiting. Others did it enough for them. For Cedric.
For Thomas, it was different.
He was just a simple barkeeper. And that's how he enjoyed it.
“You didn't need to come all this way,” said Thomas, knowing he was stalling. “Rolstein will miss its acclaimed guildmaster.”
That earned a chuckle from the man opposite him.
Still, he pushed his cup away, signalling his intent. This was not a visit to reminisce or to celebrate.
It was to warn.
“That branch only exists to satisfy my want to be a guildmaster. They couldn't have given the job to me if I was responsible for a town of actual importance.”
So after all this time, he finally admitted it.
Being a guildmaster didn't pay him as much as people believed. But as guildmaster, his hall was his palace, and he was free to deck it in as much finery as his adventurers brought him.
Frankly, a man like him should have been a merchant. If he was good at fleecing his own adventurers, then he was good at fleecing regular customers too.
“I'll be sure to relay that to the citizens of your town, the next time I visit. Truth be told, I'm overdue. Marina should have received my letter by now.”
Suddenly, Cedric's body froze.
He swallowed, and his hand reached for the cup he'd just pushed away.
Thomas was quicker. He always was. His hand blocked Cedric's. Then, his eyes blazed with a quiet flame that had never once been seen in this pub. Not even when Renny and Polgart decided it'd be fun to see how far they could spit through his window just for the sake of it.
Granted, he'd been close.
“What happened?” said Thomas quietly.
Cedric tensed.
Then, after a few moments, he slumped, all his muscles giving way to fatigue that should not exist after the relatively short ride from Rolstein. They'd travelled further, through sand and snow. And yet by the looks of Cedric's surrender on his table, it looked for all the world like he'd crawled through their every journey again.
“It's Marina,” answered Cedric. “It was her.”
“What was her?”
“The Withering. It was her. She was the one who concocted the blight against our fields. She intended to create a famine, as far as we're aware.”
“No.”
Thomas's reply was simple and straightforward.
“For all that girl's troubled past, she would never do such a thing. Rolstein … it was like a home to her.”
“It was,” said Cedric, brows denting. “Not any longer.”
“That girl—”
“Is a grown woman, an exceptionally powerful mage, and an alchemist. It's been ten years since you've seen her, Thomas. You don't know what she's like. What she's become.”
“And you do?”
Thomas's reply came as a snap. He regretted his loss of control at once. He was slow to anger, but when it came, it was like a whip had cut across his back.
“Sorry,” he murmured, reaching for his water cup. He wrapped his fingers around it, but didn't drink. “Marina … my daughter. Tell me what happened.”
Cedric nodded, his expression making it clear that no apology was necessary.
“We had a testimony from visitors, one now a newly inducted adventurer. Marina was at fault for the Withering. They'd battled her beneath the old caverns when she attempted to … utilise them as part of the Withering.”
The old caverns.
Thomas pictured them clearly in his mind. He'd helped clear them out on occasion, when the blood bats that resided within grew too great in number. He never could have imagined they'd be used as a battlefield with her daughter.
Her daughter and … wait, visitors?
Anxiety clutched at him. The princess had been alone when he'd sent her to deliver his letter. Yet the knowledge they may have met was now nothing but foreboding.
“These visitors … who were they?”
“A girl of clear noble standing. Dark hair and an enchanted sword. With her was a clockwork doll who may or may not have been her attendant.”
Relief, guilt and confusion did the rounds in Thomas's head.
The princess. So she'd fought his daughter. Both girls whose sense of purposes burned brighter than the first light of dawn. He'd hoped to aid both of them. Instead, he'd almost sent the princess to her doom.
He didn't know who this clockwork doll was, but that they'd survived was a miracle. If Marina was truly responsible for the Withering, then even with the princess's noble spirit, she should not have survived.
He had sent her to contend with a dragon while she was still a hatchling.
“How sure can you be of the testimony?” said Thomas, desperately wishing that none of this was real. “Where is Marina now?”
“Their testimony can be corroborated with evidence. We ran Marina's workshop inside and out. There were foul ingredients in there, Thomas. The like that can never be used, or indeed, found by a simple town alchemist. And there was magic present. Magic to prevent detection. She was evading the mages sent to discover what was wrong with the crops.”
“Marina … she was always private with her magic. You know this. After how she was treated.”
“I know.” Cedric looked down, lines of guilt as visible as scars across his face. “But this was different. She wasn't just hiding being a mage. She was hiding terrible magic. There were … ritual circles discovered. Powerful runes. Dark runes.”
“How dark?”
“There's not a bloody sliding scale, Thomas. It was dark. Whatever she was doing, it involved both the use of her magic and her alchemy. And the effect was devastating. There were traces of her handiwork everywhere now that the Mage's Guild knew where to look. There can be no doubt about it. Marina had caused the Withering.”
Thomas gripped his hand around his cup.
He could feel the wood bending against his strength. He stopped just before he joined the ranks of his worst patrons in breaking his wares.
Marina.
She'd always been different. Special. Good and bad. But none of it was her fault. And talent wasn't a weakness. Not hers.
No, the only weakness she had was her heart.
If Thomas had been there for her, then everything would have been different.
Whatever she did, whatever she was doing … it was not her fault. It was his.
“And the second part of my question … where is she now?”
“We don't know,” said Cedric, referring to his entire network of contacts. “She vanished. There were traces of teleportation magic. But if so, then the destination was … unusual.”
“How unusual? She must be somewhere. Even Marina needs to show her face. She needs to eat. To sleep. And both beneath a roof. She isn't one for the wilds. That much I'm still sure of.”
Cedric shook his head.
“There are no inns where she has gone, Thomas. We believe her destination was the Wovencoille.”
“The Wovencoille?”
The ancient forest spanning the breadth of the continent.
To most in Tirea, it was their northern border. But to those sent to clear it, the Wovencoille was home to creatures and beings older than the first kingdom to have ever been erected. It was proud. And dangerous. It was the gateway to the Fae Realm.
And it was where Thomas and Marina had once lived, many years before the barkeeper even knew where Rolstein was on the map.
“That's the belief,” said Cedric, wearing a look of apology. “But we don't know why. Wherever she is, then it's likely to continue whatever plan she was intending in Rolstein. Perhaps another famine, or ...”
Suddenly, Thomas leaned forwards, his hands coming up to cover his face as the weight of this news bore down on him.
He didn't want to hear. But he didn't need to.
Whatever Marina was doing didn't matter. Only that she was stopped.
And if she'd truly nurtured her gift for magic over these past ten years, then there were few who could stop her.
Thomas couldn't sit. He couldn't wait. He had no time.
He'd had none for years. And still he never acted.
Now, he could linger no more. He could be a ghost no more.
He was a father.
And he needed to speak to his daughter.
Thomas Lainsfont was not receiving any more customers today.
Normally, at this time of the evening, his decidedly motley pub would be tasked with ensuring that the village layabouts didn't steal anybody's cows by keeping them imprisoned in his four walls and in his cups. It was a task he performed dutifully.
Ever since he took over The Singing Mule, incidents of cow thefts were down 67%. The mayor had assured him that if he had the crowns to forge him a medal, he would have done so.
Thomas knew he very well did have the crowns. He just preferred spending them at his establishment instead. And that was fine by him. Crowns were worth more to him than medals.
He had enough of those already.
“... How was the journey?” asked Thomas, realising from the hoarseness of his voice that these may very well have been his first words today.
Sat across from him, Cedric Halls was drinking his finest pale wine.
It wouldn't even be used as dishwater in the royal capital.
His was just for decoration. And his regulars knew it. They drunk his ale, his mead, and that something he never actually ordered, but still served anyway since it was free. The man at his table would have been happy with even worse. He plonked his cup down with a smile as wide as his now soggy moustache.
It was rare for the guildmaster of the Rolstein branch of the Adventurer's Guild to travel these days.
It was rarer for him to travel to his pub, of all places.
Cedric was always a man known for his finer tastes, even when he started out as an F-rank adventurer like the rest of them. Reconciling his lack of funds with his longing for the high life was an issue that never quite got resolved. Unless cheap wine was involved. Then he became as rowdy as the biggest lout.
That was a long time ago now.
“It was mercifully quiet,” answered Cedric. “The woodlands between here and Rolstein have been cleared of the outlaws known to reside there.”
“That's good to know.”
“No, I mean, actually cleared. Forget the Black Scar. There's a hole the size of the Royal Villa in one of the forests.”
“A hole?”
“Trees, hills, caves, and all the twelve legged critters that lived in them levelled. Baron Alonte has guards investigating. Either a dragon rolled around on its back or a mage decided to fire off a spell that brought down a falling meteor.”
Thomas frowned. Dragons and errant mages. He'd dealt with both. Or rather, they'd dealt with him. He still carried the burns. Never again.
Words he'd said before. And hopefully would never need to say again.
“Which is it?” he asked, wondering which of his kegs he should save if he relocated The Singing Mule again. “I'll need to know whether to leave now or in five minutes.”
“Probably the mage. We'd know if a dragon flew by. Remember the silver dragon in Weinstadt?”
“More than it remembers us. Although mages aren't much better. We never had much luck with them either.”
“That's because the ones with swords knew not to fight us. Or you, rather. It was quite a feeling, you know, to be C-ranked and still be the porter boy.”
Thomas raised his cup. He only drank water. Still, Cedric raised his cup for a toast.
“And what a fine porter boy you made. To the Golden Hogs.”
“To the Golden Hogs. Past and present.”
Thomas and Cedric drank. They drank until their cups were empty. And when they were, their shoulders fell. The barkeeper offered a refill from the jug. Cedric declined with a wave of his hand.
And that's when Thomas began to brace.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. The only good one left. “You're here.”
“I am,” replied Cedric. “And not with good news, I'm afraid.”
When was it ever?
It'd been years since the Golden Hogs had disbanded. And though their legacy was proud, it was one which didn't require revisiting. Others did it enough for them. For Cedric.
For Thomas, it was different.
He was just a simple barkeeper. And that's how he enjoyed it.
“You didn't need to come all this way,” said Thomas, knowing he was stalling. “Rolstein will miss its acclaimed guildmaster.”
That earned a chuckle from the man opposite him.
Still, he pushed his cup away, signalling his intent. This was not a visit to reminisce or to celebrate.
It was to warn.
“That branch only exists to satisfy my want to be a guildmaster. They couldn't have given the job to me if I was responsible for a town of actual importance.”
So after all this time, he finally admitted it.
Being a guildmaster didn't pay him as much as people believed. But as guildmaster, his hall was his palace, and he was free to deck it in as much finery as his adventurers brought him.
Frankly, a man like him should have been a merchant. If he was good at fleecing his own adventurers, then he was good at fleecing regular customers too.
“I'll be sure to relay that to the citizens of your town, the next time I visit. Truth be told, I'm overdue. Marina should have received my letter by now.”
Suddenly, Cedric's body froze.
He swallowed, and his hand reached for the cup he'd just pushed away.
Thomas was quicker. He always was. His hand blocked Cedric's. Then, his eyes blazed with a quiet flame that had never once been seen in this pub. Not even when Renny and Polgart decided it'd be fun to see how far they could spit through his window just for the sake of it.
Granted, he'd been close.
“What happened?” said Thomas quietly.
Cedric tensed.
Then, after a few moments, he slumped, all his muscles giving way to fatigue that should not exist after the relatively short ride from Rolstein. They'd travelled further, through sand and snow. And yet by the looks of Cedric's surrender on his table, it looked for all the world like he'd crawled through their every journey again.
“It's Marina,” answered Cedric. “It was her.”
“What was her?”
“The Withering. It was her. She was the one who concocted the blight against our fields. She intended to create a famine, as far as we're aware.”
“No.”
Thomas's reply was simple and straightforward.
“For all that girl's troubled past, she would never do such a thing. Rolstein … it was like a home to her.”
“It was,” said Cedric, brows denting. “Not any longer.”
“That girl—”
“Is a grown woman, an exceptionally powerful mage, and an alchemist. It's been ten years since you've seen her, Thomas. You don't know what she's like. What she's become.”
“And you do?”
Thomas's reply came as a snap. He regretted his loss of control at once. He was slow to anger, but when it came, it was like a whip had cut across his back.
“Sorry,” he murmured, reaching for his water cup. He wrapped his fingers around it, but didn't drink. “Marina … my daughter. Tell me what happened.”
Cedric nodded, his expression making it clear that no apology was necessary.
“We had a testimony from visitors, one now a newly inducted adventurer. Marina was at fault for the Withering. They'd battled her beneath the old caverns when she attempted to … utilise them as part of the Withering.”
The old caverns.
Thomas pictured them clearly in his mind. He'd helped clear them out on occasion, when the blood bats that resided within grew too great in number. He never could have imagined they'd be used as a battlefield with her daughter.
Her daughter and … wait, visitors?
Anxiety clutched at him. The princess had been alone when he'd sent her to deliver his letter. Yet the knowledge they may have met was now nothing but foreboding.
“These visitors … who were they?”
“A girl of clear noble standing. Dark hair and an enchanted sword. With her was a clockwork doll who may or may not have been her attendant.”
Relief, guilt and confusion did the rounds in Thomas's head.
The princess. So she'd fought his daughter. Both girls whose sense of purposes burned brighter than the first light of dawn. He'd hoped to aid both of them. Instead, he'd almost sent the princess to her doom.
He didn't know who this clockwork doll was, but that they'd survived was a miracle. If Marina was truly responsible for the Withering, then even with the princess's noble spirit, she should not have survived.
He had sent her to contend with a dragon while she was still a hatchling.
“How sure can you be of the testimony?” said Thomas, desperately wishing that none of this was real. “Where is Marina now?”
“Their testimony can be corroborated with evidence. We ran Marina's workshop inside and out. There were foul ingredients in there, Thomas. The like that can never be used, or indeed, found by a simple town alchemist. And there was magic present. Magic to prevent detection. She was evading the mages sent to discover what was wrong with the crops.”
“Marina … she was always private with her magic. You know this. After how she was treated.”
“I know.” Cedric looked down, lines of guilt as visible as scars across his face. “But this was different. She wasn't just hiding being a mage. She was hiding terrible magic. There were … ritual circles discovered. Powerful runes. Dark runes.”
“How dark?”
“There's not a bloody sliding scale, Thomas. It was dark. Whatever she was doing, it involved both the use of her magic and her alchemy. And the effect was devastating. There were traces of her handiwork everywhere now that the Mage's Guild knew where to look. There can be no doubt about it. Marina had caused the Withering.”
Thomas gripped his hand around his cup.
He could feel the wood bending against his strength. He stopped just before he joined the ranks of his worst patrons in breaking his wares.
Marina.
She'd always been different. Special. Good and bad. But none of it was her fault. And talent wasn't a weakness. Not hers.
No, the only weakness she had was her heart.
If Thomas had been there for her, then everything would have been different.
Whatever she did, whatever she was doing … it was not her fault. It was his.
“And the second part of my question … where is she now?”
“We don't know,” said Cedric, referring to his entire network of contacts. “She vanished. There were traces of teleportation magic. But if so, then the destination was … unusual.”
“How unusual? She must be somewhere. Even Marina needs to show her face. She needs to eat. To sleep. And both beneath a roof. She isn't one for the wilds. That much I'm still sure of.”
Cedric shook his head.
“There are no inns where she has gone, Thomas. We believe her destination was the Wovencoille.”
“The Wovencoille?”
The ancient forest spanning the breadth of the continent.
To most in Tirea, it was their northern border. But to those sent to clear it, the Wovencoille was home to creatures and beings older than the first kingdom to have ever been erected. It was proud. And dangerous. It was the gateway to the Fae Realm.
And it was where Thomas and Marina had once lived, many years before the barkeeper even knew where Rolstein was on the map.
“That's the belief,” said Cedric, wearing a look of apology. “But we don't know why. Wherever she is, then it's likely to continue whatever plan she was intending in Rolstein. Perhaps another famine, or ...”
Suddenly, Thomas leaned forwards, his hands coming up to cover his face as the weight of this news bore down on him.
He didn't want to hear. But he didn't need to.
Whatever Marina was doing didn't matter. Only that she was stopped.
And if she'd truly nurtured her gift for magic over these past ten years, then there were few who could stop her.
Thomas couldn't sit. He couldn't wait. He had no time.
He'd had none for years. And still he never acted.
Now, he could linger no more. He could be a ghost no more.
He was a father.
And he needed to speak to his daughter.
