Passage 54: The Reunion

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On Wednesday morning, I am sitting. Not at the spot a hundred feet from the Adventurer’s Corps. Instead sitting at the Adventurer’s Corps waiting for the others to show up. We had not agreed on a meeting time, and I haven’t seen those idiots for three days, but we were told to muster at eight the first time and I don’t see any reason why that should change.

At eight-fifteen, Vong shows up. At eight forty-five, Rakatha appears. I can’t imagine why they arrive at such disparate times since, last I knew, Rakatha was staying at the home of Vong. Corporal Level has been nice enough to check on me a time or two and apologize for the tardiness of team’s the new cleric and device scout. They both show up at nine, believing that was the directed time.

Rill, or Twitch as she introduces herself, is an ugly human by human standards, and probably still ugly by orc or troll or dwarven standards also. She is all knees and elbows and left feet. Every few seconds she waves her hand in front of her face to tame her straw-like locks but, with her grace, has the appearance of waving off a spiderweb accidentally walked through. She wears a utility belt of some sort, with small pockets peppered through it. I can see poking out from a few of the pockets some throwing knives, twine, lockpicks, and a small flask. Her gear is fairly well worn but it fits her: a cropped leather breastplate over a light chain shirt, tall-leather boots that arch upward to protect the knee, and a pair of knives that would do equally well in combat or the kitchen.

It’s anyone’s guess if she will prove useful or also manage to die on the first day. More than likely, though, this clumsy girl would die from self-inflicted wounds.

The cleric who arrives is confirmation that there is an as-yet-unknown God of Coincidences and he enjoys it when people remark “Oh, what a small world!” and “Well I’ll be, you again!”

Ralith Gellantara stands next to Level in a shiny, new suit of plate with a neatly-pressed clerical tabard bearing the symbol of Risha draped over it. His tawny hair is still shagging into his eyes, just like last year. He’s older by a year—a big percentage still at his age—but it doesn’t show on him. When I had seen him last he was getting a rude awakening about the horrors of war; something they wouldn’t teach in the Glen of Risha. The death and pain seemed to have glided off of his mind like water off a duck’s back. He casts me a cherub-like smile when he sees me and follows up with a slight bow.

Was I kind to him before? I don’t that recall I was. Odd.

Vong is like a new puppy at a family gathering, unsure of who to run up to first.

“Hey there, you two! I’m Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong Vong but you can call me Vong. I’m your squad leader and scout. That’s Rakatha. He’s burly and fighty, but you probably guessed that. Zer—”

“Zer Khaldun.”

Twitch gives a nod, seemingly of understanding.

“—is our resident wizard and he can do things like deflect arrows and make fog! Welcome to the squad!”

“Ralith Gellantara, Cleric of Risha. It’s very nice to meet you all. I hope that I am able to keep you all safe by the grace of the Goddess. It is important that I tell you that I have been forbidden to carry weapons and cannot participate in battle except to provide protection or healing.”

Why can’t this insufferable party get a Kurdite battle cleric? Voella’Tien pulled her weapon out twice and one of those times was only to use it as a divine focus. Now we have some kind of pacifist? I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, and there really is no substitution for divine healing when you need it. Still. Why would he even join the Adventurer’s Corps with that kind of policy?

I don’t have to ask because Vong does, “So why did you join up with the Corps?”

“Mothe—I mean, the Priestess—decreed that I must understand life beyond the Glen. I was raised in the church, an orphan…” he trails off and looks down.

“Hey, no problem. I was only curious,” Vong flashes him a disarming smile and gives him a playful nudge. Ralith smiles and looks up, wagging his head from side to side slightly.

“You don’t have any restrictions, eh Twitch?” Vong gives her a wink.

She blushes and holds her cheeks, “Naw, I weren’t raised all fancy in no church. Me mum taught me how to use a knife. Outside a kitchen if you get me. I—”

Her talk of knives seems to interest Rakatha and he nods intensely at her, “I can show you how to disarm a man with only a knife.”

His fervor catches her off guard but she recovers quickly, “Mmm, I bet I could show you a thing or two about these here knives.” The way she says ‘knives’ is drawn out and sounds a bit like ‘knaves’.

Between her and Rakatha’s accents, I’m sure their children would be positively unintelligible. I quickly put the thought from me because she is too hideous to accidentally fantasize about.

We are assigned the sector with Endolkin Farmville so we are able to check out on the rumor of a haunting or a curse at the farm. It is two or three days out of Nodkis so Level gives us to the end of the following week to report back. All in all, an eleven day venture.

We make it more than a hundred feet after we exit the Corps building so it’s already an improvement over last week. I am feeling refreshed after my time alone and have a sense of accomplishment at countering the ward on my new spellbook—something I could not have done before studying under Val Maxis. I am anxious to dive more deeply into the spellbook to master the spells within, but it will have to wait until I return from patrol. There is just not enough light in the evenings to study and, during the day, I am on the move.

I have my primary spellbook strapped to my belt, as usual. The other is packed in my satchel, lest having two spellbooks makes me look like a good target for pickpockets, bandits, or orcs.


The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays. 

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