The Fool's Freedom

The back room was larger than anticipated. Deeper in there was a kitchen area where multiple fires burned simultaneously, making steam rise over pots and pans. All the smoke from the slowly burning wood was sucked into a carved stone in the middle of the room, upon which was somehow sat a small table. The smoke billowed out from the fireplaces and crawled on the floor like snakes, before disappearing into the holes littering the stone.

It reminded Alan of the first time he had met Mr. Muge. Maybe it was one of his creations. A creative solution.

The feet of the cook hurrying around often broke the smokey tendrils, but they simply reformed and continued to pour into the enchanted stone.

Alan stopped in his tracks and so did Ashlyn. Arley was halfway through another side door when he looked to see why they were not following.

“Salla?!” Alan asked. The woman turned around and dropped the ladle she was holding, tears instantly forming in her eyes as she almost vaulted over the obstacles between her and Alan. She grabbed him in a hug that threatened to extinguish what little Vitality he had, but he allowed it.

“Alan boy! And Ashlyn! Oh, bless the heavens, you are alive. I was so sad, so worried. Alan where did you disappear to? We were sure you were gone. Oh, sweet boy. Have you been eating?”

Alan laughed through the pain of the hug and there was a wide smile on Ashlyn’s face too.

“Glad to see you too, Salla.” Alan barely squeezed out and the woman gently let him down.

“Yeah, it’s really good. Last we heard you were working for the Future with Tim and the rest.” Ashlyn said.

The woman grimaced and waved her hand, “Oh, that? They are bastards, the lot of them. Always scheming and trying to come out on top. Why would I want such people to eat my food? Thankfully, Rosalyn got me out. She’s a very resourceful woman. You should meet her!”

“That’s the plan. Glad to hear you folk know Salla, speaks well for you if she likes your faces. But let’s not keep HER waiting further, ye?” Arley said from the door.

“Oh, right. Of course!” Salla said and grabbed Ashlyn’s shoulders first, then Alan’s. “Glad to see you kids are fine. Go.”

“See you later, Salla.”

Arley impatiently led them into the next room and down a stairwell that seemed to lead them below ground. They passed a doorless room filled with barrels and glass containers. Further down there were two thick iron doors on each side of the hall which intrigued Alan. They looked solid and very well made, and he brushed his fingers on one of them, feeling a cold nip at his fingertips.

The hall led to a double door and a lavish— by apocalypse standards— room where three people sat. The waitress from before was sitting on something akin to a couch made of plants—similar make to the bed Walter had in his room.

Shelves littered the walls, holding various animal parts and a few crystals. A few books, found in the ruins judging by the state they were in, were on a small table next to the waitress's chair.

A skinny bearded man in a tattered pre-apocalypse suit and a top hat seemed to be whispering something to himself. His eyes were closed and his fingers were tapping rhythmically on the table in front of him.

The last person was another woman. Much older, and probably one of those who had been let in the Sanctuaries before the tutorial period. She sat with her back straight as an arrow and her piercing blue eyes roamed over both Alan and Ashlyn before they froze on Alan.

That was a judging stare if Alan had ever seen one. Is that Rosalyn?

“You are wrong!” the old woman suddenly said, her cane pointing straight at Alan.

“Excuse me?” What the fuck does she mean I’m wrong.

“Your class is all twisted. An anomaly. You should listen to it more!” She shook her head. Arley was silent and so was the waitress. The man in the suit paid zero attention to anyone, continuing his tapping on the table.

Alan looked at the woman confused, and a bit angry. “I’ve personally seen what happens when someone allows their chosen class to lead them. I will accept your words as compliments.”

She tapped her cane on the ground, reminding Alan of the many times he had done the same. “No, boy. That’s not what I am talking about. And we are very well aware that classes can take over the person. Too well.”

Something in the tone of the old woman made Alan calm down and consider his next words.

“Then, what are you talking about?” he asked.

“I think,” the waitress interjected, “That you can continue this conversation with Alan once I have a talk with him. What do you think Reba?”

So, not her then.

The old woman grunted and nodded. She rose with the speed of someone many years younger, but still used her cane to walk out, taking the man in the suit by the hand and leading him out into yet another side door. All the while he kept his eyes closed, and his fingers moving.

“Are you the proprietor of this fine establishment? Rosalyn, I assume.” Alan asked, cringing at the words as they left his mouth.

Rosalyn laughed and gestured for them to sit. Arley quickly brought out a few bottles and left, closing the door behind. A bit too quickly.

“You assume right, Alan Morgan,” she ignored his surprise and nodded toward Ashlyn too, “Ms. Ashlyn Jeong.”

“How do you know our full names?” Ashlyn asked.

“I have a strange skill that I love and hate. It gives me random information, that I might need, or might not need. Until the moment comes where it becomes relevant, I do not know. It is a pesky thing, but it is of the highest known grade.”

“So, a skill just whispered our names to you?” Alan asked with doubt. That sounded silly.

“Names and classes, yes,” Rosalyn said and took a mighty chug of her bottle.

Classes too? Now that was troublesome.

“Reba’s reaction shows me that knowing your class is not a very useful thing, Mr. Morgan.”

“Please call me Alan. Reminding me of my relation to my father won’t do either of us any good.” Alan said. He didn’t like being called Mr. Morgan.

“Fair enough. And you Ms. Jeong? Do you care for formalities?”

“You were pretty informal when taking our order, and this is not Earth. Let’s not complicate things.” Ashlyn replied. She often let Alan take the lead when it came to such conversations but seemed ready to spar now.

It did help that Rosalyn was acting as if this was a completely normal business meeting and not a conversation between magically warped monsters.

“So, why are you so open about your skills?” Alan asked. It was a fair question. They had come here to meet some of the interesting people of Sanctuary and figure out what to do about Emerson.

“Evening out the playing field helps everyone feel comfortable. I know a lot about you, some of which I have learned willingly by utilizing my somewhat wide reach. Some were whispered to me by magic that can eventually drive me insane,” Rosalyn replied while checking her nails.

“We still don’t know your class.”

She smiled, “[Truthseeker] is the name. And it is fucking bullshit.”

Now that sounds like something rarer than Warlock or Hunter.

“That makes you sound like some sort of an inquisitor or something.” Alan joked.

“Because I am. First of all, I can tell no lies. Second of all, I can sense lies. And in rare cases, I can force out the truth. It all typically comes to a battle of Will and mind defense skills, which I know you have Alan. It is really hard to convince anyone on the first part though.”

That was a scary class. He didn’t know what she would be capable of combat-wise, but knowing the truth and even having it whispered in your ears like you were some crazy chosen of the System was… crazy.

“I can sense your discomfort,” Rosalyn said. “But that’s fine. You might get used to me, you might not. I cannot get used to myself. It’s kind of lonely having almost everyone avoid talking to you because they cannot lie. You have no idea how often people lie about small things. And I get angry at lies.”

“That’s a lot of information. A whole lot.” Alan said, “But we came here to ask around about possible ways to save a friend of ours and we have only days. The Future have him. Emerson.”

“The worshipper who will get executed? Yeah, I heard of that.” Rosalyn nodded. “So you want help?”

“Or information. I don’t know if the two of us are strong enough to go in there, skills blazing, and save him.”

Rosalyn took another sip and Alan did the same, filling the now empty mug he still carried from one of the bottles Arley had brought in. The liquid inside was similar to the previous in its amber color and slight coating of foam, but much tastier with notes akin to honey permeating the mouth.

“This is good stuff,” Alan said and gave Ashlyn his mug. She took a large sip and grinned, taking one of the unopened bottles for herself. Alan was careful with how much he drank, as his weak tolerance could quickly screw things up for him.

“It is the finest we have made so far. But we are just beginning.” Rosalyn said with a smile and clapped her hands. “First thing first. You said you have information to pay for your use of our products and facilities if you find them to your liking. I am all ears.”

Ashlyn looked expectantly at Alan and he put his mug down. “Right, so… have you met elves?”

Rosalyn blinked, “Real elves? Not really.”

“Let me ask you this, then, why did you name this place the Elven Trunk?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? Elves are known for keeping their gold in trunks you can find at the end of the rainbow, so I figured it might be a fun name!”

Alan felt his jaw slacken as his mouth hung open. Ashlyn burst into laughter next to him, adding to his horror, while Rosalyn simply looked at her in confusion.

“You… uh, it’s the leprechauns with the pots of gold at the end of a rainbow…” Alan finally said while Ashlyn was trying to catch her breath. It was uncharacteristic of her to lose it like that, but her laughter did bring him joy.

Rosalyn looked at him with a look of pure terror.

“So… Oh my God, so many of the jokes now make sense!” she hid her face in her hands. Gone was the businesswoman with an air of mystery and a unique class. Instead, she was now an embarrassed young woman, making her seem much more innocent. It humanized her.

Since when do I think everyone I meet is a hidden monster?

“Alan,” Ashlyn gasped, “Alan made so many butt jokes. I’m so sorry. This is the funniest shit ever. Ahah—”

Rosalyn took a deep breath and her dark eyes met Alan’s.

“You thought it’s a butt thing? That I want to see elven butts? Why has no one told me before this? Why?!”

“Uhm, maybe they are afraid of you? Everyone seems to be.” Alan said. He felt a bit awkward and somewhat disappointed. “Back at the topic at hand…”

Rosalyn perked up at the change of topic, “Yes! Thank you!”

“So, we met elves.”

She looked at him with a blank stare, “Which ones were those again? I’ve never been into fiction and sci-fi…”

Oh god.

He sighed. This was going to be a long conversation. Ashlyn was grinning to the side, still chuckling to herself.

“Let’s start with a cultural exchange then…”

Alan spoke about all sorts of media he could remember that involved elves, and explained the general notions about the species on earth. On her part, Rosalyn seemed wildly interested and even stopped drinking halfway through the conversation.

After making sure she had a general idea of what elves were supposed to be, which he now realized sounded very offensive to the actual elves, he told her about the ones they had met. She seemed genuinely curious about all the details, and her eyes never left him.

Finally, all was said and done.

“You are not telling me a lot. But that’s fine, it is very valuable information that there is a Sanctuary of other species maybe days away from our own. I have decided to make this place a home for those who need one, and I am not talking only about the Tavern. I will say, you can eat and drink here for a month. We have rooms too, but they are unfinished.”

“That’s generous. Thanks. But we don’t have that much time.” Alan said.

“Time, time. Always the time. I understand. You want to save your friend. Apart from going there and fighting everyone— and I think you will do quite well unless some of the heavy hitters get a lucky shot in— I don’t know what to tell you.” Rosalyn said, tapping her finger on her lip.

“Fighting them all seems silly. We should talk first...” Ashlyn said, sounding unconvinced in her own words.

“Sure, you can try. Cole is a bastard through and through and he is surrounded by snakes. Even if he agrees, those around him who vie for his position will probably slit Emerson’s throat then and there to turn you against him. Or, you can try sneaking in and freeing Emerson, but neither of you strikes me as the silent type unless you have skills outside of what I know about your classes. And I am sure you do.” Her eyes were all sincere smiles. Alan wondered what a skill that whispered information could say, and how it worked.

“How can we be sure you are telling the truth? We just met.” Alan asked. The Bazaar had a rule of no lying, and he still didn’t know what would happen if one did. Or how it was determined.

“Hm, how about this?”

Rosalyn wants to share information with you. Do you accept?

He did.

Trait: Truthsayer (Epic)

One who seeks the truth cannot lie.

If you try, you will lose access to all of your skills for a period of 24 hours, your attributes will be lowered by 80%, and you will suffer pain proportional to the lie.

“Well fuck. That’s short and sweet.” A pretty harsh restriction. He wasn’t sure if he preferred his trait or Rosalyn’s.

“Alright then, say we trust you.” Ashlyn began, “What do you propose?”

Rosalyn smiled as if she had been expecting the question. In fact, she smiled like she had expected the whole situation.

Alan felt the heat of anger light up. If I get manipulated one more time…