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It also means I can break open the story a bit more now.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Here is chapter three, thoughts and opinions are always appreciated!

This chapter introduces more characters and setting information. It also means I can break open the story a bit more now.", "writing": "[center][b][u]The Weeping Scar[/u]\nChapter 3[/b]\n[i]by TheSpiralAim[/i][/center]\n\nLamb and bile wafted into Alistair's nose. He swallowed it back. In this coach, there was neither—only wood, iron fittings, and a window that faced a cliff wall.\n\nAlistair’s hands shook. Again, they found the fastener on his travel bag. The sharp edges didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t stop touching it. A gentle pull, and the buckle slid down the strap. Tug the other side, and it slid back up. Sound beat up from the floor into his skull, almost like a pulse. No amount of control would still it. His leg was shaking, and the heel tapped the footboard.\n\nWhy was it so difficult to stop? He focused, relaxed, and tried to keep it on the floor.\n\nIt stopped.\n\nAcross from him was that white, ratten lady. Her fingers were feeling around the wound with care. The flesh appeared to be partially sealed, and it wasn't bleeding anymore. Framed in the coach, she was clearly petite. In fact, he'd have guessed she was his height earlier. Ratten just weren't that big. Silver-grey hair hung around her shoulders. When had she lowered her hood? His eyes moved from her face to the whip, now in her hands.\n\nRage boiled up.\n\n\"You didn't have to kill those men like that,\" he barked.\n\n\"Quickly?\" she asked, her tone confused.\n\n\"No! In such a barbaric way. Why not use a capturing spell or… something besides that!\" he fired back. Bile and lanolin; a chipped tooth.\n\nAlistair retched and fought to focus his thoughts. The thudding came back; this time he couldn't still it.\n\n\"In combat situations, where it is life and death, we are stuck with limited time to think. Two bandits were killed quickly, and that means you and the guards remain safe,\" she said.\n\n\"You killed that man so—\" His mind blanked on the right words. Heat ran through his body unevenly.\n\n\"I killed two men. They are dead, in part, from their career choices. More plainly, they are dead because I failed to get there quickly enough. Not enough time to set up a perimeter and not enough time to get you and the others out before things went sour. That failure is on me,\" she said. Her tone was firm and sincere.\n\nAlistair did not know how to respond to that. The logical part of his brain understood, but the boiling disgust in his gut didn't fade. How would he even respond to what she had admitted? Instead, he let his mind drift.\n\nThe window of the coach opened up into a grand view of the Scar. Far below, the Inilek flowed, its presence implied but not seen at this height. On the far side of the chasm was a dense constellation of orange dots, Eforia. Layers of them in what should be a sheer cliffside. Terraces were the only logical answer as to how the city was there. Immense engineering and work must have gone into getting enough of the cliff cut to fit a city of that size into place. The skies had cleared enough to reveal the glowing white ankh in the sky. It was a feature that had appeared a couple of years ago.\n\n\"Hmm, the ankh is pointing the way,\" he said under his breath.\n\nThe ratten lady leaned forward and looked up. \"The ha-seht always get a leg up on everything,\" she said in a dry tone.\n\n\"I never got around to looking up how that got there,\" Alistair said.\n\nThe ratten lady paused. She closed her eyes. \"Something about a ha-seht vivimancer and a planar… what was the word? Back a couple of years ago when everything got yellow and strange,\" she said.\n\n\"I honestly don't remember that time very well. It's hazy. Books, classes, uhh,\" he said. Trying to draw details on it made his head hurt a little bit. Something that felt like he had too much wine the night before. In not reaching for it, the headache subsided.\n\n\"Plenty of people have that trouble trying to remember that year. What brings a wizard from Sibiu out to Eforia?\" she asked.\n\n\"A great deal of letters came into the university about a lack of arcane resources in this region. I am the answer to them,\" Alistair explained.\n\n\"Tavren's letters actually arrived then? I am Vessel Martha of the Weeping. I wish our first impressions had been in better circumstances,\" she said.\n\nAlistair's memories and notes about The Weeping rushed in like a bolt of lightning. A local sect of the Khahavan religion. Many rumors about them eating pain, torture to heal, blood costs, and other perverse things of that nature had permeated the documents. A common name throughout all of them was Martha. A young-looking ratten lady with albinism. Of all the people he wanted to meet in Eforia, this ratten lady was the very last one. Faint lamb and bile… again.\n\n\"I am Alistair Radu, Wizard of Transmutation. I don't specifically recall the name Tavren. No one in particular summoned me to Eforia. I plan to set up shop and offer assistance where I can. I suspect work will not be difficult to find in Eforia,\" he said.\n\n\"Not at all. I do urge you to only sign contracts after you've had a lawyer read them first. Preferably one that doesn't know who wrote the contract. There are a lot of unscrupulous folk in Eforia,\" Martha warned.\n\n\"Noted,\" he replied.\n\nThe road had changed little. And yet, he saw a dark stone parapet with a bronze coping fill the bottom of his window view. Masterful work on the causeway had made the ride so smooth; Alistair did not understand how it was done without magic. Roads near Sibiu were of this quality, and it was people like him that made it happen.\n\n\"Who has been building the roads and bridges out here?\" he asked.\n\n\"The Freeclaws. Much of the city's infrastructure has been built by them. Terraces, aqueducts, sewers, roads, and bridges. Their contract with Eforia is older than I am. I cannot tell you much more than that. Most civic knowledge is outside my specializations,\" she answered.\n\n\"Freeclaws, out here? Makes me wonder what the long-term plan was then. I suspect there is more to Eforia than I know,\" Alistair said.\n\nMartha looked out again and took note of a few things. \"If your eyes are ready, you'll see a memorial on the bridge. I was told it contains the names of the fallen Freeclaw workers. The ones who died on this specific span,\" she said.\n\nAlong the parapet near the center of the span was an obelisk a bit higher than the rest of the structure. The stone was darker and smoother than the rest. It went by rather quickly given their firm pace. However, his eyes had caught draconic glyphs inlaid in some kind of bright purple stone. Interesting—he'd have to check that out again. The city's lanterns and lamps were bigger now.\n\n\"Any suggestions on where to get a room?\" he asked.\n\n\"The Grey Fang for value. You'll find it on Holly Terrace, just off Wright Street. It's hard to miss: it smells like bread and beer. If you're looking for better accommodations, you'll want to go to Melinda's on Rose Terrace. It's expensive, but I've heard they treat their guests with a lot of respect,\" she said.\n\nAlistair gauged Martha for a moment, and his foot started to thump and shake again. She meant well, but he couldn't help but get nervous looking at her. \"Your wound is almost healed; how is that?\" he asked. \"I haven't even seen you channel divine magic or call any prayers,\" he added after a brief pause.\n\nMartha looked at him to gauge if he was done, then answered, \"A blessing from the pain rituals I discovered. It keeps me young and heals injuries. It isn't fast enough to save me from a killing blow. Likewise, it does buy me more grace on what *is* a killing blow. Given your current state of thinking, I don't think asking details about the pain ritual is a road you wish to explore right now,\" she said. The tone in her voice was oddly compassionate.\n\nThe coach rocked a little and transitioned onto the roads right outside Eforia. A carriage house and exterior inns were visible. They paused until they were allowed to progress through the gatehouse and into the city streets.\n\n\"We'll be brought up to Ivy Terrace, which will take a few minutes, Wizard Radu. At that point I will be taking my leave. A warm bed and some real food will help soothe your nerves. If you struggle to find sleep over the coming days, stop by the Weeping to seek counsel. There are priestesses and priests there that are good at listening and helping,\" Martha said.\n\nHe looked out the window and made note of how light the streets were. Many little frosted globes were lit. The streets were bright for the night and likely safe as a result. His hands felt around for his staff, and he hefted it.\n\n\"Now that's a gem cut,\" Martha said as her eyes locked onto it.\n\nHe looked at the gem at the head of the staff. Technically *that* was the spell focus; the staff was merely wood. A Uiej[^1]'s Eye cut gave it the look of an eye at the right angles. It was made from spinel and further enchanted to bolster the expansiveness of his transmutations. It was something he was proud to own, really. Not only that, but it was his design after all.\n\n[^1]: Pronounced like “wedge” (/wɛdʒ/).\n\n\"Minh might like to see that. She's a jeweler that runs a shop across from the Weeping's temple. The Freeclaw Elite for the Tiamat Stone Setters,\" Martha said.\n\n\"Ahh… wait, Minh-Tajt? THE Minh-Tajt? King Killer and Dragonfeller? She's in several history books. She's the Elite for the local Freeclaws?\" he asked, shocked.\n\n\"Those are two epithets I was unfamiliar with. She's a brooding kobold, good at imbuement blanks,\" Martha replied.\n\nAlistair now had another thing to check out in the morning. Maybe this bad night would be repaid in kind. That sort of person would have many stories he could learn from. His mind fanned out about what to even begin tomorrow with. So much so that he hadn't noticed the carriage had stopped until Martha opened the door and stepped out. Her boots hit hard on the stone with a sound that made him see her again in a different light. Once more, she seemed tall.\n\n\"I bid you a safe night and farewell, Wizard Radu. Do not linger in the streets too long. It can be dangerous at night. Especially for a human whose eyes aren't good in night's light,\" she said. Hastily, she started to walk south along the road. Measured steps with a nearly perfect rhythmic sound from her boots hitting the stones. A woman of discipline, he figured.\n\nHe stepped free with the guards, who didn't pay him much mind. They grumbled about long nights and a failed mission. Alistair wasn't going to stick around since the conversation was starting to smell like lamb. Instead, he looked at the street sign, adjusted his hat, and decided to explore a little.\n\nIt was late, but the roads were lit so well that he felt like burning nervous energy would go a long way. The sign that pointed north and down read 'Holly Terrace,' so he went that way. The carriage road was long and a switchback. Steep in grade, but the street was not unmanageable by any means. Tight brickwork and what looked like purpose-made grooves to help coaches, wagons, and the like. Freeclaws really didn't half-build anything.\n\nLamb and bile, again. This time it didn't go away. How could someone so quickly do that to people? Then simply write it off as a logistical mistake?\n\nHe kicked a stone and paused. The heel of his foot tapped nervously on the road. In this position, the rooftops were at about chest height for the terrace below. How many of these people were subject to whatever misery the Weeping put them through? Given Martha's actions, he was thinking there was validity to them. Rumors often had nuggets of truth after all.\n\nA pain ran through his stomach, and fatigue fell over him. Hunger with no appetite was a new sensation; wherever he went, the place better not be serving lamb stew. He continued down the road and into the street where all the main businesses faced. Each one of them had a glass globe; most were lit. An odd little metal handle was attached to the bottom of each. What kind of device was that? He approached and got a better look. It was a crank or lever. The one in front of him wasn't lit, and he pulled it curiously. Sparks clustered near a wick, and a moment later the globe started to glow.\n\nInteresting! Who invented these? It's so convenient, and the globe was cut in such a way that rain wouldn't easily put it out. Necessity was the mother of invention, his professors used to say. Something to look into later as well.\n\nLamb, bile, a chipped tooth, and eyes with no thoughts present.\n\nHis heart fluttered, and he turned. Food and rest. Someplace warm with living people and maybe music would be good. Down the road he saw a sign cut into the shape of a dragon fang; it was grey. No further context needed. The bay window that faced the street showed a dimly lit establishment with a middle-aged woman at the counter. Several working men were all discussing something around a table; there were others there too, but obscured.\n\nHe entered.\n\nNo one paid him any mind once he got into the room, except for the woman behind the counter. Her attention turned to him, and she fetched a book, pen, and inkwell.\n\n\"You're from out of town, and we do have rooms available. Full rooms, the common room is full of drunk idiots tonight,\" she said in a tone of warm familiarity.\n\n\"A room is fine. How much?\" Alistair asked.\n\n\"A fig a night, five figs for a week, and twenty for a month.\" she explained.\n\n\"Alright, I'll rent a month if this is as rowdy as this place gets,\" he said with his voice strained and tired.\n\n\"It can get a little rowdier if someone picks a fight with Duncan,\" she said. Her head nodded towards a very tall lapisar reading at a table. The book title was 'An Evening with the Forest Lady.' Probably filthy, titles like that often were. The man was tall, and looked hard. Hard in the way men who did farm work were. Next to his table was a polehammer set down on its head; the staff rested up high. A formal mercenary emblem on his tunic.\n\n\"People pick fights with that hare willingly?!\" he asked, shocked.\n\n\"Sometimes, if you hear glass break, that's what happened. Otherwise, nothing happens here. You look like shit,\" she said.\n\n\"That's how I feel too. I got pulled out of the wreckage a short time ago and introduced to the Weeping's face in the process,\" he said.\n\n\"I have to assume things weren't going well then. How about I also give you the first meal free? Go find a spot and get comfortable,\" the woman said.\n\nAlistair held a hand up to stop her from running off, then carefully fetched two laurels and put them on the counter.\n\n\"Right… a month then, go sit down,\" she reiterated.\n\nA small table, probably for two, was the best spot he found. His back was towards the corner, and he faced the door. No surprises this way. The woman came by with a plate of bread slices and some cheeses. \"It's not much, but it'll keep you fed,\" she said. A mug of dark beer followed.\n\nHe looked up at her and nodded. \"If you need me, I'm Ruida,\" she said and made her way back to her work.\n\nThe cheese was aged and had a flavor he couldn't place. It was definitely a local variety. Usually the aged stuff was expensive. He wondered why it had been given to him. To Alistair's delight, the bread was also well made. The flour was something dark, but the texture and flavor worked well. If this was the value spot, what the hell was the fancy spot like?\n\nA man came through the door dressed in very well-made leather gear, a high-collared duster, and a wide-brimmed, flat-topped hat. The man removed his hat and let it fall backwards. It didn't make it to the floor; a chin cord only allowed it to fall far enough to cover his backpack. Fox ears sat atop his head; predator's eyes of yellow scanned the room. His hands were furred and clawed, but in general he had the structure of an elf. What a lucky blend this man was born with. Half-elves were often more awkward-looking.\n\n\"Huntmaster Ilsing! Good to see you. What brings you in?\" Ruida asked.\n\n\"I just got back from helping down in Slag Terrace. Salamanders grew up out of the rocks! I'll tell everyone about it. Can you fill everyone's glasses, Lady Ruida?\" he asked. He approached and put several laurels down on the counter.\n\n\"Still being everyone's friend, Velker? Hah! Getting drunk and a story for free is my kind of night,\" a rather tall middle-aged ratten said.\n\n\"Ohh, it's my pleasure,\" Velker said and walked to the center of the room. From a leather tube-case on his hip, he pulled out a flute and twirled it between his fingers.\n\n\"You all know salamanders are thinking outgrowths of elemental energy. They can show up where elemental boundaries are thin. Here, that is water, go figure,\" he said with a smile.\n\nHe blew a few notes along the flute. The tone was sharp but accurate, and with a confidence that reminded Alistair of master musicians back in Sibiu. Furthermore, he was correct about salamanders, so this Velker fellow now had his full attention.\n\n\"Intent on establishing a hive, they sought to go after the workers there. Unarmed metalworkers, masons, smiths, and artisans just don't have the tools to deal with it,\" he said. Some notes followed as he paced about the room and turned suddenly.\n\n\"Three of them, to be precise. Their bodies coiled and poised to attack anyone they saw. Fortunately, I saw them first,\" he said.\n\nA crossbow that hung from his other side was hoisted, and he mimicked the loosing of a quarrel. \"Between the eyes! It dropped and turned into a puddle of acid faster than its shape hit the ground,\" he explained.\n\nThen he stepped fast, and with his flute hand, swung his claws at the air. An afterimage of glowing energy hung and then faded. That impressed Alistair; he'd never seen breath projection before. This man did it so easily.\n\n\"A quick claw strike to the second one's neck reduced it down to a one-on-one battle,\" he said. Velker's flute played out several brief melodies.\n\n\"The last one was alerted, and we got into a back-and-forth,\" he said and mimicked numerous flowing combat motions. They weren't theatrical; they were real. The difference was plain as they didn't flourish much.\n\n\"It tried to spray me with its dissolving breath,\" he said and did a fast sidestep, then hung another breath-claw in the air. \"Which allowed me to easily handle the being when it tried to recover!\" he ended with a smile.\n\n\"The contract and bounties were generous, so I thought I'd come here and share,\" he added before he took a seat.\n\nAlistair took a big gulp of his beer. It was strong and had a lot of malt flavor to it. With a back end of lamb and bile. He shuddered.\n\n\"As for the rest of the evening, I could play the flute for someone here. How about you, Duncan? A flute solo and some warmth by the fire?\" he asked with a fangy grin.\n\n\"You are a pretty elf, Velker,\" he said calmly and looked up at the man from his book. \"Lads lack the bit that makes me sing. That is, since you're looking for a duet,\" Duncan said without missing a beat.\n\n\"Suit yourself, Clarke! Always worth a shot. I'll play the flute by myself then,\" he replied and found a central spot to start playing.\n\nAlistair wasn't used to such open displays of that kind of interest, not that it was a problem. Either way, he finished his drink and cheese. The night was growing too long, and his damned heel wouldn't stop tapping the floor. The stairs weren't far, and as he passed the counter, he was shown a key.\n\n\"Third room on the right,\" Ruida said calmly.\n\n\"T-thanks,\" he said. There wasn't much more to say; his mind demanded respite.\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "
The Weeping Scar
Chapter 3
by TheSpiralAim


Lamb and bile wafted into Alistair's nose. He swallowed it back. In this coach, there was neither—only wood, iron fittings, and a window that faced a cliff wall.

Alistair’s hands shook. Again, they found the fastener on his travel bag. The sharp edges didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t stop touching it. A gentle pull, and the buckle slid down the strap. Tug the other side, and it slid back up. Sound beat up from the floor into his skull, almost like a pulse. No amount of control would still it. His leg was shaking, and the heel tapped the footboard.

Why was it so difficult to stop? He focused, relaxed, and tried to keep it on the floor.

It stopped.

Across from him was that white, ratten lady. Her fingers were feeling around the wound with care. The flesh appeared to be partially sealed, and it wasn't bleeding anymore. Framed in the coach, she was clearly petite. In fact, he'd have guessed she was his height earlier. Ratten just weren't that big. Silver-grey hair hung around her shoulders. When had she lowered her hood? His eyes moved from her face to the whip, now in her hands.

Rage boiled up.

"You didn't have to kill those men like that," he barked.

"Quickly?" she asked, her tone confused.

"No! In such a barbaric way. Why not use a capturing spell or… something besides that!" he fired back. Bile and lanolin; a chipped tooth.

Alistair retched and fought to focus his thoughts. The thudding came back; this time he couldn't still it.

"In combat situations, where it is life and death, we are stuck with limited time to think. Two bandits were killed quickly, and that means you and the guards remain safe," she said.

"You killed that man so—" His mind blanked on the right words. Heat ran through his body unevenly.

"I killed two men. They are dead, in part, from their career choices. More plainly, they are dead because I failed to get there quickly enough. Not enough time to set up a perimeter and not enough time to get you and the others out before things went sour. That failure is on me," she said. Her tone was firm and sincere.

Alistair did not know how to respond to that. The logical part of his brain understood, but the boiling disgust in his gut didn't fade. How would he even respond to what she had admitted? Instead, he let his mind drift.

The window of the coach opened up into a grand view of the Scar. Far below, the Inilek flowed, its presence implied but not seen at this height. On the far side of the chasm was a dense constellation of orange dots, Eforia. Layers of them in what should be a sheer cliffside. Terraces were the only logical answer as to how the city was there. Immense engineering and work must have gone into getting enough of the cliff cut to fit a city of that size into place. The skies had cleared enough to reveal the glowing white ankh in the sky. It was a feature that had appeared a couple of years ago.

"Hmm, the ankh is pointing the way," he said under his breath.

The ratten lady leaned forward and looked up. "The ha-seht always get a leg up on everything," she said in a dry tone.

"I never got around to looking up how that got there," Alistair said.

The ratten lady paused. She closed her eyes. "Something about a ha-seht vivimancer and a planar… what was the word? Back a couple of years ago when everything got yellow and strange," she said.

"I honestly don't remember that time very well. It's hazy. Books, classes, uhh," he said. Trying to draw details on it made his head hurt a little bit. Something that felt like he had too much wine the night before. In not reaching for it, the headache subsided.

"Plenty of people have that trouble trying to remember that year. What brings a wizard from Sibiu out to Eforia?" she asked.

"A great deal of letters came into the university about a lack of arcane resources in this region. I am the answer to them," Alistair explained.

"Tavren's letters actually arrived then? I am Vessel Martha of the Weeping. I wish our first impressions had been in better circumstances," she said.

Alistair's memories and notes about The Weeping rushed in like a bolt of lightning. A local sect of the Khahavan religion. Many rumors about them eating pain, torture to heal, blood costs, and other perverse things of that nature had permeated the documents. A common name throughout all of them was Martha. A young-looking ratten lady with albinism. Of all the people he wanted to meet in Eforia, this ratten lady was the very last one. Faint lamb and bile… again.

"I am Alistair Radu, Wizard of Transmutation. I don't specifically recall the name Tavren. No one in particular summoned me to Eforia. I plan to set up shop and offer assistance where I can. I suspect work will not be difficult to find in Eforia," he said.

"Not at all. I do urge you to only sign contracts after you've had a lawyer read them first. Preferably one that doesn't know who wrote the contract. There are a lot of unscrupulous folk in Eforia," Martha warned.

"Noted," he replied.

The road had changed little. And yet, he saw a dark stone parapet with a bronze coping fill the bottom of his window view. Masterful work on the causeway had made the ride so smooth; Alistair did not understand how it was done without magic. Roads near Sibiu were of this quality, and it was people like him that made it happen.

"Who has been building the roads and bridges out here?" he asked.

"The Freeclaws. Much of the city's infrastructure has been built by them. Terraces, aqueducts, sewers, roads, and bridges. Their contract with Eforia is older than I am. I cannot tell you much more than that. Most civic knowledge is outside my specializations," she answered.

"Freeclaws, out here? Makes me wonder what the long-term plan was then. I suspect there is more to Eforia than I know," Alistair said.

Martha looked out again and took note of a few things. "If your eyes are ready, you'll see a memorial on the bridge. I was told it contains the names of the fallen Freeclaw workers. The ones who died on this specific span," she said.

Along the parapet near the center of the span was an obelisk a bit higher than the rest of the structure. The stone was darker and smoother than the rest. It went by rather quickly given their firm pace. However, his eyes had caught draconic glyphs inlaid in some kind of bright purple stone. Interesting—he'd have to check that out again. The city's lanterns and lamps were bigger now.

"Any suggestions on where to get a room?" he asked.

"The Grey Fang for value. You'll find it on Holly Terrace, just off Wright Street. It's hard to miss: it smells like bread and beer. If you're looking for better accommodations, you'll want to go to Melinda's on Rose Terrace. It's expensive, but I've heard they treat their guests with a lot of respect," she said.

Alistair gauged Martha for a moment, and his foot started to thump and shake again. She meant well, but he couldn't help but get nervous looking at her. "Your wound is almost healed; how is that?" he asked. "I haven't even seen you channel divine magic or call any prayers," he added after a brief pause.

Martha looked at him to gauge if he was done, then answered, "A blessing from the pain rituals I discovered. It keeps me young and heals injuries. It isn't fast enough to save me from a killing blow. Likewise, it does buy me more grace on what *is* a killing blow. Given your current state of thinking, I don't think asking details about the pain ritual is a road you wish to explore right now," she said. The tone in her voice was oddly compassionate.

The coach rocked a little and transitioned onto the roads right outside Eforia. A carriage house and exterior inns were visible. They paused until they were allowed to progress through the gatehouse and into the city streets.

"We'll be brought up to Ivy Terrace, which will take a few minutes, Wizard Radu. At that point I will be taking my leave. A warm bed and some real food will help soothe your nerves. If you struggle to find sleep over the coming days, stop by the Weeping to seek counsel. There are priestesses and priests there that are good at listening and helping," Martha said.

He looked out the window and made note of how light the streets were. Many little frosted globes were lit. The streets were bright for the night and likely safe as a result. His hands felt around for his staff, and he hefted it.

"Now that's a gem cut," Martha said as her eyes locked onto it.

He looked at the gem at the head of the staff. Technically *that* was the spell focus; the staff was merely wood. A Uiej[^1]'s Eye cut gave it the look of an eye at the right angles. It was made from spinel and further enchanted to bolster the expansiveness of his transmutations. It was something he was proud to own, really. Not only that, but it was his design after all.

[^1]: Pronounced like “wedge” (/wɛdʒ/).

"Minh might like to see that. She's a jeweler that runs a shop across from the Weeping's temple. The Freeclaw Elite for the Tiamat Stone Setters," Martha said.

"Ahh… wait, Minh-Tajt? THE Minh-Tajt? King Killer and Dragonfeller? She's in several history books. She's the Elite for the local Freeclaws?" he asked, shocked.

"Those are two epithets I was unfamiliar with. She's a brooding kobold, good at imbuement blanks," Martha replied.

Alistair now had another thing to check out in the morning. Maybe this bad night would be repaid in kind. That sort of person would have many stories he could learn from. His mind fanned out about what to even begin tomorrow with. So much so that he hadn't noticed the carriage had stopped until Martha opened the door and stepped out. Her boots hit hard on the stone with a sound that made him see her again in a different light. Once more, she seemed tall.

"I bid you a safe night and farewell, Wizard Radu. Do not linger in the streets too long. It can be dangerous at night. Especially for a human whose eyes aren't good in night's light," she said. Hastily, she started to walk south along the road. Measured steps with a nearly perfect rhythmic sound from her boots hitting the stones. A woman of discipline, he figured.

He stepped free with the guards, who didn't pay him much mind. They grumbled about long nights and a failed mission. Alistair wasn't going to stick around since the conversation was starting to smell like lamb. Instead, he looked at the street sign, adjusted his hat, and decided to explore a little.

It was late, but the roads were lit so well that he felt like burning nervous energy would go a long way. The sign that pointed north and down read 'Holly Terrace,' so he went that way. The carriage road was long and a switchback. Steep in grade, but the street was not unmanageable by any means. Tight brickwork and what looked like purpose-made grooves to help coaches, wagons, and the like. Freeclaws really didn't half-build anything.

Lamb and bile, again. This time it didn't go away. How could someone so quickly do that to people? Then simply write it off as a logistical mistake?

He kicked a stone and paused. The heel of his foot tapped nervously on the road. In this position, the rooftops were at about chest height for the terrace below. How many of these people were subject to whatever misery the Weeping put them through? Given Martha's actions, he was thinking there was validity to them. Rumors often had nuggets of truth after all.

A pain ran through his stomach, and fatigue fell over him. Hunger with no appetite was a new sensation; wherever he went, the place better not be serving lamb stew. He continued down the road and into the street where all the main businesses faced. Each one of them had a glass globe; most were lit. An odd little metal handle was attached to the bottom of each. What kind of device was that? He approached and got a better look. It was a crank or lever. The one in front of him wasn't lit, and he pulled it curiously. Sparks clustered near a wick, and a moment later the globe started to glow.

Interesting! Who invented these? It's so convenient, and the globe was cut in such a way that rain wouldn't easily put it out. Necessity was the mother of invention, his professors used to say. Something to look into later as well.

Lamb, bile, a chipped tooth, and eyes with no thoughts present.

His heart fluttered, and he turned. Food and rest. Someplace warm with living people and maybe music would be good. Down the road he saw a sign cut into the shape of a dragon fang; it was grey. No further context needed. The bay window that faced the street showed a dimly lit establishment with a middle-aged woman at the counter. Several working men were all discussing something around a table; there were others there too, but obscured.

He entered.

No one paid him any mind once he got into the room, except for the woman behind the counter. Her attention turned to him, and she fetched a book, pen, and inkwell.

"You're from out of town, and we do have rooms available. Full rooms, the common room is full of drunk idiots tonight," she said in a tone of warm familiarity.

"A room is fine. How much?" Alistair asked.

"A fig a night, five figs for a week, and twenty for a month." she explained.

"Alright, I'll rent a month if this is as rowdy as this place gets," he said with his voice strained and tired.

"It can get a little rowdier if someone picks a fight with Duncan," she said. Her head nodded towards a very tall lapisar reading at a table. The book title was 'An Evening with the Forest Lady.' Probably filthy, titles like that often were. The man was tall, and looked hard. Hard in the way men who did farm work were. Next to his table was a polehammer set down on its head; the staff rested up high. A formal mercenary emblem on his tunic.

"People pick fights with that hare willingly?!" he asked, shocked.

"Sometimes, if you hear glass break, that's what happened. Otherwise, nothing happens here. You look like shit," she said.

"That's how I feel too. I got pulled out of the wreckage a short time ago and introduced to the Weeping's face in the process," he said.

"I have to assume things weren't going well then. How about I also give you the first meal free? Go find a spot and get comfortable," the woman said.

Alistair held a hand up to stop her from running off, then carefully fetched two laurels and put them on the counter.

"Right… a month then, go sit down," she reiterated.

A small table, probably for two, was the best spot he found. His back was towards the corner, and he faced the door. No surprises this way. The woman came by with a plate of bread slices and some cheeses. "It's not much, but it'll keep you fed," she said. A mug of dark beer followed.

He looked up at her and nodded. "If you need me, I'm Ruida," she said and made her way back to her work.

The cheese was aged and had a flavor he couldn't place. It was definitely a local variety. Usually the aged stuff was expensive. He wondered why it had been given to him. To Alistair's delight, the bread was also well made. The flour was something dark, but the texture and flavor worked well. If this was the value spot, what the hell was the fancy spot like?

A man came through the door dressed in very well-made leather gear, a high-collared duster, and a wide-brimmed, flat-topped hat. The man removed his hat and let it fall backwards. It didn't make it to the floor; a chin cord only allowed it to fall far enough to cover his backpack. Fox ears sat atop his head; predator's eyes of yellow scanned the room. His hands were furred and clawed, but in general he had the structure of an elf. What a lucky blend this man was born with. Half-elves were often more awkward-looking.

"Huntmaster Ilsing! Good to see you. What brings you in?" Ruida asked.

"I just got back from helping down in Slag Terrace. Salamanders grew up out of the rocks! I'll tell everyone about it. Can you fill everyone's glasses, Lady Ruida?" he asked. He approached and put several laurels down on the counter.

"Still being everyone's friend, Velker? Hah! Getting drunk and a story for free is my kind of night," a rather tall middle-aged ratten said.

"Ohh, it's my pleasure," Velker said and walked to the center of the room. From a leather tube-case on his hip, he pulled out a flute and twirled it between his fingers.

"You all know salamanders are thinking outgrowths of elemental energy. They can show up where elemental boundaries are thin. Here, that is water, go figure," he said with a smile.

He blew a few notes along the flute. The tone was sharp but accurate, and with a confidence that reminded Alistair of master musicians back in Sibiu. Furthermore, he was correct about salamanders, so this Velker fellow now had his full attention.

"Intent on establishing a hive, they sought to go after the workers there. Unarmed metalworkers, masons, smiths, and artisans just don't have the tools to deal with it," he said. Some notes followed as he paced about the room and turned suddenly.

"Three of them, to be precise. Their bodies coiled and poised to attack anyone they saw. Fortunately, I saw them first," he said.

A crossbow that hung from his other side was hoisted, and he mimicked the loosing of a quarrel. "Between the eyes! It dropped and turned into a puddle of acid faster than its shape hit the ground," he explained.

Then he stepped fast, and with his flute hand, swung his claws at the air. An afterimage of glowing energy hung and then faded. That impressed Alistair; he'd never seen breath projection before. This man did it so easily.

"A quick claw strike to the second one's neck reduced it down to a one-on-one battle," he said. Velker's flute played out several brief melodies.

"The last one was alerted, and we got into a back-and-forth," he said and mimicked numerous flowing combat motions. They weren't theatrical; they were real. The difference was plain as they didn't flourish much.

"It tried to spray me with its dissolving breath," he said and did a fast sidestep, then hung another breath-claw in the air. "Which allowed me to easily handle the being when it tried to recover!" he ended with a smile.

"The contract and bounties were generous, so I thought I'd come here and share," he added before he took a seat.

Alistair took a big gulp of his beer. It was strong and had a lot of malt flavor to it. With a back end of lamb and bile. He shuddered.

"As for the rest of the evening, I could play the flute for someone here. How about you, Duncan? A flute solo and some warmth by the fire?" he asked with a fangy grin.

"You are a pretty elf, Velker," he said calmly and looked up at the man from his book. "Lads lack the bit that makes me sing. That is, since you're looking for a duet," Duncan said without missing a beat.

"Suit yourself, Clarke! Always worth a shot. I'll play the flute by myself then," he replied and found a central spot to start playing.

Alistair wasn't used to such open displays of that kind of interest, not that it was a problem. Either way, he finished his drink and cheese. The night was growing too long, and his damned heel wouldn't stop tapping the floor. The stairs weren't far, and as he passed the counter, he was shown a key.

"Third room on the right," Ruida said calmly.

"T-thanks," he said. There wasn't much more to say; his mind demanded respite.
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