Dungeon 42

Deserving Souls

Chapter 63

[Hi Elim,

If you don't mind, try sending some low-level adventurers my way. Some around your level or lower, please. Not looking for paragons of virtue, but not outright evil if possible. Including a small light magic stone to use if you need to sell them that there is loot to be had. If you can't find anyone or it's inconvenient, don't worry about it.

-42]

Elim sipped a weak ale and considered 42's message for a while. It was at times easy to forget who he worked for and what exactly she was. The message was a rather harsh reminder.

Being a glorified errand boy had suited Elim fine, but he couldn't pretend it would ever be enough to repay his debt. Despite that, 42 wasn't insisting, just asking. He couldn't decide if that was worse or not.

Elim was thankful 42 hadn't sent the message until he was already away from home. If he'd gotten it back in Selton his mother would have been able to smell the worry oozing from him. In a random inn among a sea of strangers he could contemplate the request without having to worry about worrying her.

"Your mood’s getting heavy," Tiller observed wryly from beside him. She'd gone with him to settle the money with Rastin and Cori's families, then on to the capital. Elim hadn't minded the company, though it occasionally made things tricky.

"Tiller- ah, sorry," Elim sighed into his cup. He needed to get used to thinking of her properly as Charlotte, but it wasn't an easy transition, unlike finding out she was a woman. He'd served plenty of times with ladies who both did and didn't choose to hide it. The Earl had no rules against it, and Elim himself didn't care much.

"You can call me Tiller. It's not like I mind," Tiller replied amiably. Elim nodded, thankful she wasn't upset with him. Of course, common names didn't carry power, but that didn't mean anyone liked being called wrongly.

"Honestly, I've been Tiller so long it's easier to hear than Charlotte. That name makes me think of home, and I'd rather not," Tiller added. Elim chewed on that for a few moments. He'd noticed a certain reluctance on her part to talk about her family and respected it.

Things happened, and people didn't always want to discuss them. Much like how Elim wouldn't have appreciated Tiller asking after Bess's mother. June was long laid to rest, but the memory was still a wound best left untouched.

Tiller didn't press for Elim to speak further, drinking and letting a comfortable silence persist. Like not asking questions, Tiller tended to silence, and when they'd first met, it had given her a cold air. Now Elim recognized that she simply didn't see silence as a void to fill with empty chatter at all costs. Instead, she was comfortable with it and keeping her own counsel.

"I got a letter from my employer. She's going to have me busy soon," Elim said, trying to brush off his discomfort. Even if he didn't do as 42 asked or couldn't, he was going to go back to Selton soon.

Tiller had done a lot during the few days she'd stayed with his family to help Bess. It hadn't exactly pinned down what her ability was, because it was different from Tiller’s, but Elim understood it better. That was more than he'd expected, and he'd have appreciated the effort alone.

"Well, it was bound to happen… I'll still help Bess if you want. I'm not sure what more I can do, but I'm happy to try anyway," Tiller said, looking uncertain but determined.

"Think you can teach that bird of yours to keep its mouth clean first?" Elim asked with a raised brow. He still wasn't happy with Storm's foul mouth. That the bird also tended to express itself by shitting with startling precision on anything it objected to had not helped his opinion of it.

"Trust me, I would if I could, and I've tried more than once. I'll keep him away from Bess so he can't teach her more," Tiller replied, looking contrite. Elim couldn't help but chuckle and give away the joke. He didn't like that Bess had picked up bastard, but he didn't blame Tiller. Neither one of them had realized Bess could outright speak to some creatures.

"I'd gladly take you up on it, but I'm moving my family out of Selton before I get to work. I'm taking them back to some land my grandfather owned, so we'll be parting ways," Elim explained.

"Fair," Tiller said. She looked like she had more to say, but pursed her lips and set her drink down instead. Elim felt an uneasy feeling settle into his guts.

"I'm gonna get dinner while it's still lukewarm and terrible," Tiller said, giving a thin smile. Then she darted off into the common room's crowd. Elim couldn't help a rueful smile. He'd like to keep her around, but his life was too much a mess, and he couldn't be honest about why.

Elim considered switching to something harder than ale. He wasn't in the mood to think anymore, and the stuff wouldn't do a thing to dull his thoughts. Then, as he was about to raise a hand to get the barkeep's attention, he felt a prickling at the back of his neck.

Turning around on instinct, Elim watched as a group came in. Three ladies and a man who looked a bit younger than him. Nothing special until he noticed the fancy clothes and bits of armor. They were probably adventures and likely the type with more coin than sense, going by how clean they looked.

Just the sort of people 42 would likely find suitable for a trip down into her dungeon. Elim flinched at the thought. He felt instinctive guilt though he intended them no harm. What he couldn't place was why his stomach was roiling, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up.

Elim took his discomfort as a sign that it would be a good idea to change inns. He settled his and Tiller’s tab quickly, then scanned the room for her. He felt his stomach drop out when he saw her and had to watch the group giving him a bad feeling join her at her table.

It wasn't unusual to share with strangers. You found seats as you could, and Tiller's table was the only one with enough seats to let them sit together. Elim's first instinct was to dash over and pull her away, fight the lot of them if he had to. Something about the group made them feel like a threat to Tiller specifically.

Elim forced himself to take a breath. He wasn't quick to violence, though it wouldn't be wrong to say he had a temper. His father had spent a good part of his youth teaching him not to let it get the better of him. A lesson he'd taken to heart, even if it had taken a while to penetrate his skull.

Looking at the group objectively, he felt they all had some heroic classes. Not solely, and none were higher level in that respect than him. Plenty of swagger, not much skill, and gear that looked nice, but not that sturdy. He could take any one of them easily, but he didn't feel like his odds were good against two or more.

Since becoming a fighter, Elim learned to trust the changes the class brought. Not simply that, but to untangle and identify the feelings and instincts it imparted from more mundane intuition.

This didn't feel like Elim's class warning him of danger. He'd been around plenty of people stronger than him and not felt anything even half as alarming as he was when he looked at the group. The fact he felt the threat was explicitly to Tiller was also odd.

Considering the possibilities, Elim started moving through the crowd. Taking a seat closer to the group while he continued to study them. He'd been trying to learn to use his special ability Magus Eyes, but it didn't come easy. It took a few minutes before he finally felt something shift subtly as the world shimmered before settling.

Nothing much seemed different at first. The inn was hardly a leyline or a spirits glen. A few dull gleams of magic items could be seen among the other patrons, but that was it. So when Elim cautiously shifted his glance back to the group sitting with Tiller, he couldn't help a shiver.

All four of the group of strangers had black tendrils of viscous magic leading from their chests to the man's sword. Elim wanted to gag. As if seeing could somehow inform his sense of taste and smell. It filled his mouth and nose with something like the bouquet of a trash heap doused in perfume left to rot in the midday sun. It was cloying, gross, but with notes of something familiar and pleasant that rendered it all the more terrible.

Elim had no idea what the magic was. He just knew it was hungry and reacting to Tiller somehow. He made sure he caught her eye and signaled for the door. She gave a discreet nod in reply.

"If you'll all excuse me," Tiller said politely as she stood. They'd all sat down to eat together, but she was the only one who'd made any headway with her meal. She had joked about the quality, but she tucked in without complaint. Service to the Earl taught you basic tactics, just how many blisters a human foot could have at once, and anything was better than rations.

"Hey, Reiner was still talking to you!" the redhead whined as she stood. Elim's relief that Tiller was about to leave evaporated. He could take the woman, but Tiller couldn't, especially since she didn't seem to feel like she needed to be on guard yet. Not an unfair assessment, given how silly the redhead seemed without the benefit of his class's insight.

Despite not wanting to tangle with the group Elim stood up and moved to intercept. Tiller saw him and though she was confused, took his signal and moved toward him. It looked like they were just brushing past each other. That Elim was in a bit of a hurry and not looking where he was going.

The redhead clearly wasn't expecting it and the punch she was throwing at Tillers back connected with Elim's chest. A faint blue aura surrounded the woman for a moment before she threw it and collected in her striking hand. Elim was rocked back a step but not hurt. Tiller would have been.

"That ain't exactly friendly, miss," Elim said, clutching his chest in exaggerated pain and looking confused. He didn't make a move to retaliate. His goal was to block the woman and give Tiller time to make good her escape. If he was lucky, it wouldn't come to a fight.

"Oh, sorry…" The redhead looked utterly shocked. Sorry even, despite the fact she was about to sucker punch someone a moment before.

"You pack quite the wallop," Elim added. That wasn't a lie, it hadn't done him any actual harm, but it stung. The woman looked pleased for a moment then flinched, the tendril attached to her darkening.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't very ladylike of me," the redhead said suddenly, rushing to sit back down. Elim blinked, confused by the sudden change in personality. She'd seemed like a cagy hothead, but now she was sitting primly. Not his problem and a bit of a blessing since she'd gone and sat down.

Elim wanted to take the opportunity and make his own escape but found the man standing up. He was slightly built, but strong through his chest. He looked fast, but he was carrying the wrong kind of sword for his build, which was odd. His eyes also glowed faintly yellow for a moment as he looked Elim over.

"I'm Reiner of Stromholt, and you've got something magic on you," Reiner said as if that explained everything. Elim looked at him, waiting for something to follow. It took a moment, but there was an odd undulation in the tendrils of magic, and the man seemed to shake himself awake.

"Sorry, a special ability of mine. Not trying to be rude, mister. I'd just like an opportunity to buy the item from you. If you’re selling," Reiner said, looking more focused than before.

"It's not for sale," Elim started. 42 had given him the light stone for a reason, and he wasn't going to sell it even if he didn't do as she asked. That would have been bad faith in his book. Reiner nodded, not seeming surprised. Few people that had magic items would sell them. Those that did usually did it through a church, instead of on the street.

All of Elim's good intentions went out the window as he watched Reiner's attention drift. His eyes were following Tiller and Elim felt the magic from the other man's sword start to react again. Horrifyingly, the woman at the table also responded, their gazes drifting in the same direction. Tiller wasn't safe yet.

"There's a bit of a story to it, but you all look like the sort of people I'm looking for," Elim said quickly. Elim looked the group over again and pretended to notice for the first time that one of them was a cleric. He couldn't figure out the god, but didn't care and sketched a very polite salute, hand going to his heart as he bowed shallowly.

"What sort of people would that be?" the raven-haired woman asked. It was the first time she'd spoken, and Elim found she had an odd but not unpleasant accent. Her words came out more precisely but not sharp.

"Well, forgive the presumption, but I took you for adventures," Elim said, plastering on a nervous expression. That it wasn't the least bit untrue to his feelings lent it authenticity.

"You’re half right. Reiner is a hero, and we're his party," The redhead said, another flash of temper and pride that went out like a snuffed candle in the next instant.

"Hero? Well, I wouldn't bother a hero with my family's troubles," Elim said, wishing he had a hat to crush in his hands. Hapless farmers always had them in plays, and he really wouldn't have minded looking as harmless as possible. Not that any farmer he knew was half so simple or harmless as bards made them out.

"Hey, it's no trouble at all. Have a seat and tell us about your problems," Reiner said cordially. Elim was relieved to see him lose interest in Tiller and the women going back to pointedly not looking at each other.

Elim sat down with a nod, but refused the drink he was offered. He wasn't going to trust anything coming from the hand of these people.

"Well, there's this mine at the edge of the valley where my family farms. Everything was fine last year, but I had to leave and do my bit for the Earl, so I wasn't around. Some of our sheep started disappearing," Elim started. The group did not look impressed, but they didn't tell him to stop. In the interest of tension, he fumbled with his hip pouch. Like he hadn't been using it since he was old enough to be let out of the house.

"Not strange itself, exactly, only normally you find them eventually. Caught somewhere, eaten by something, this time though, nothing," Elim continued.

"So my Da wondered if maybe some of them strayed into the mine. He went to take a look and, well, he didn't exactly see anything, but something attacked him in the dark. Something that dropped this when he walloped it with a shovel," Elim pulled out the light stone as he finished. It glowed brightly in his palm. Not enough for anyone sitting at the other tables to notice, but enough that the group perked up.

"It ain't strange for monsters to nest in caves and whatnot, but having things like this? My Da said I should ask some adventurers for help since I can't go back yet. My contract isn't done till this year's end. So I couldn't even get more than a few days to come looking for help," Elim added ruefully.

"May I see that?" the brunette cleric asked with a greedy look in her eyes. Elim handed the stone over with a thankful smile. Her eyes glowed faintly while she inspected it.

"Anything interesting, Lilly?" Reiner asked the cleric.

"We should investigate this. It would be good to spread the word of Strom's benevolence to this area," Lilly said quickly. Elim forced a hopeful look, turning it from Lilly to Reiner.

"As you say," Reiner replied with a smile that didn't touch his eyes. It gave Elim the creeps, but he kept that to himself.

"I'm truly grateful to you all. I've been worried something fierce about this," Elim said. He went back to his hip and withdrew the map 42 had given him as well as a small coin purse. He'd purposely taken some steps to deface the map and make it look less jarringly expensive. Namely, dumping an ale on it to blur the linework and folding it so the creases ruined a good portion.

"This is a family heirloom, but I'd be obliged if you'd accept it, and my gratitude," Elim said. He held both things out, curious who'd take them, and it was the cleric. She opened the coin purse, nodded, then opened the map. She winced a bit at how the paper made a delicate cracking noise thanks to how it had dried brittle.

"Someone in your family had a talent for drawing," Lilly observed, clearly impressed.

"My great granda, he was a mapmaker's apprentice till he lost a leg," Elim said proudly. On the one hand, he knew he should feel bad about how easily lies were flowing from his lips. But, on the other, the memory of the foul magic's hunger for Tiller quietly put his conscience in a chokehold until it quieted down.

"Taught my da and me letters and all sorts of things. No talent for drawing in the family since him though," Elim's false pride settled into melancholic fondness. Now that he'd conjured the lie, he wished he'd actually had such a grandfather. Unfortunately, his had just been a petty noble with more ambition than intelligence. His fake one-legged map maker would have been more fun.

"Well, we'll make sure your family is safe, so you can lay your worries to rest," Reiner said with another vacant smile.

"Thank you kindly… Is there anything else I can do for you all? I have to go back to the barracks soon, but if there's anything, just say the word," Elim asked, laying it on thick. He'd rather leave, but he'd settle for keeping an eye on them for the rest of the night.

"No, we're happy to help. Your sincerity is more than enough," Reiner said. Elim nodded, not about to mention that a magic item like the light stone was worth a fair bit of coin on top of what he'd handed over. It was absurd that he'd just hand all of that over without so much as a contract, but he was fine with them ripping him off, so long as Tiller was safe.

"Then I'll leave you folks to your meal," Elim said, giving a deferential bow. Reiner nodded in reply, and he took his chance to leave. He was taking Tiller and running for it.