“So, what brings you out this way?”
The soup merchant’s cheerful yet resonant voice snaps you out of your soup-induced fantasy. You realize, belatedly, that he isn’t speaking to you, and mourn the loss of the daydreams you sacrificed in an effort to focus on the conversation.
You glance over at the two blue-skinned men, who you recognize as Merlutin, likely from the northern shore. The more slender of the pair, who now sits to your right, swallows his bite, straightens his shoulders, and speaks. “Well, I’m on my way to Vesyn!”
You frown, almost involuntarily. Working at the Whiskeyed Wyrm gave you no shortage of experience with upper-class assholes, which is why this man’s mannerisms throw you off so much. His tone is warm and friendly, void of the entitlement you've come to expect from his ilk. But his posture, accent, and absolute lack of caution he reveals his destination with, betrays a privilege you know too well.
Rajul, however, seems to either not notice or not care about this contradiction, and simply raises an eyebrow. “The library town, eh? Been a long time since I ventured into those walls... too cold for my taste. But regardless, I know it’s a good place for a lot of answers.” Rajul thinks for a moment, before turning his gaze to you. “How about you?”
Even if you had a set destination, you would not reveal it so easily. “I’m coming from Tevuna, heading west.” There. Including a town name gives the impression of detail, but you’re close enough to the eastern coast that claiming west really doesn’t say much about where you’re heading. Perhaps in a kinder life, you’d be less adept at placating men with too many questions, but it was certainly coming in handy now.
Rajul nods. “Well, you can’t beat the view of the Sea, but the trek west is one I always enjoy taking. Every city in the Holy Lands is so unique, and beautiful in their own right. If you need advice on where to stay, I can come up with recommendations for each major stopping point! Can’t be as much help with food, for obvious reasons…”
The blue man pulls a map out of his pack.“Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he says “First place we’ll hit is Mivian, right?”
“Yessir, fishing town. Quaint. You won’t find much there, but what you can find is a breath of fresh air after a day’s travel. You’ve got a joint bar and inn right past the entry gates, the Freshwater Flagon; now that’s as good a place to stay as any. Then another pair of sunrises, and you’ll be in Ynia, with any number of hospitality options to choose from…”
As the two of them trace a hypothetical journey across the canvas of the Merlutin’s sea-worn map, you find your own mind drifting similarly. Seeing the entire Island stretched between them like this is a strange feeling. The way it’s butchered in four makes your skin crawl; arbitrary lines drawn by careless invaders, carving up land that never belonged to them in the first place.
The sun continues to burn off the fog around you as you draw your eyes away from the map to gain a better mental summary of your surroundings. The green hills almost feel like a comfort, but strangely, you find yourself missing home more than you have in months. Though the city of Tevuna could not be further away from the forest you grew up in, your time there felt so different that your heart couldn’t even make a comparison; it was apples and oranges. But now, looking around feels like taking a sip of a drink that almost tastes like a childhood comfort; the trees just aren’t tall enough, the light doesn’t dapple through the leaves quite the same way, the morning birdsong feels a bit too plain. The Arboreal Sea was dangerous, but it was beautiful. More importantly, it was home. And every detail you perceive about your surroundings simply reminds you that you’re going in the exact opposite direction.
You steal another glance at the map still being discussed on the table, your eyes drawn to the large patch of land to the south. Unlike the Holy Lands to the north, there are no prominent towns or landmarks to be found there; only ornate, blood red text.
The Arcanum Wilds.
You steel yourself with a shaky breath. You know that’s where your answers truly lie; the place that took your memories and replaced them with a beast you cannot run from.
You could change your destination now. This Rajul fellow has strategically placed himself at a major crossroads, and it would be just as easy to turn and go south than it would be to continue east. But, being honest with yourself, you know you aren’t ready to face that yet. And the amount of information the Holy Lands can provide is a damn good excuse to delay the inevitable.
It isn’t until movement catches your eye that you even realize your gaze has drifted southward, towards the Wilds. You're pulled from your own mind by two figures slowly making their way toward the intersection, your eyes attempting to pick out any details in spite of the distance. A gentleman of average height walks in front, dressed in black-brown traveling leather that nearly blends into the shadows that are finally being cast across the path. Trailing behind him is a significantly smaller gentleman, clearly a Mikr, so wrapped up in his oversized tome that it's a miracle he hasn’t tripped over his own feet.
As you track their journey towards the intersection you occupy, you catch a better glimpse of the closer figure. The glowering expression presents as a stark contrast to the round, almost boyish face it sits upon. His narrowed eyes cast occasional glances behind him, until he gets close enough for his expression to meet your own. You raise a simple eyebrow towards him, which he seems to take as confirmation of something you did not intend to convey. With a quick nod, he turns around rapidly on his own heel and flicks his wrist towards the man behind him.
Before you can respond, the Mikr drops his book on the dirt road with a yelp of fear, his wide eyes trained exclusively on the blade that now hangs mystically in front of this throat. A small dagger, six inches or so in length, wrapped in purple spectral energy. No, not just wrapped in… made of it entirely.
“Why the hell are you following me?” says a gruff voice that matches the boyish face even more poorly than his expression did. “Who do you work for? Freeblades? Talons?”
The Mikr’s hands are raised on either side of his head, eyes still wide. “I— I don’t know who those people are! Or who you are!”
The tall man scoffs. “You’ve been on my tail for miles. You expect me to believe that’s just some kinda coincidence?”
A loud whoosh accompanies a hefty gust of wind at the back of your neck before anyone can respond, as the seemingly mild mannered soup merchant finds himself between these two newcomers, quicker than logic would dictate possible. Despite being closer in height to the Mikr than the Human, Rajul stands with a prowess that would defy anyone to challenge him. His tapestry of multicolored scars shimmer with arcane power as he looks towards the taller man. “And if he was, in fact, a member of either of those groups, he would have been far better at tailing you. I think you need to take a breath and start over.” A pair of bowls appear in his hands, as if out of nowhere. “Perhaps, if I may suggest, over a good bowl of soup!”
While Rajul and the human appear to engage in a dagger-throwing contest with just their eyes, the Mikr quickly grabs up his book and dusts off the cover, revealing text and imagery that seem to imply that this is some sort of spell book and arcane journal. He quickly uses the opportunity to skirt away from them both towards the cart, meeting eyes with you as he does. “Well! That is quite enough excitement for just one morning. What's this I hear about soup?"
———
In what feels like a matter of minutes, Rajul has practically strong-armed the whole makeshift crew into a shared meal and matching conversation. The two blue-toned Merlutin who were here when you arrived are happily engaged in tall tales with Rajul, while the human looks like he would rather be anywhere else, and the Mikr looks like he’s struggling significantly between wanting to be polite and engaged, versus wanting to disappear back into his book.
“— and then Aeron here got so busy watching the cute sailor manning the helm, that he ended up tying the sail rope to his own belt loop instead of the ship’s hitch. And guess what happens when we unfurl the sail? Whoop!” The burlier Merlutin, who had introduced himself as Qinris, punctuates this onomatopoeia by drawing a pointer finger in a long arc through this sky before nearly falling about himself laughing.
The slender Merlutin, apparently named Aeron, rolls his eyes. “And yet you’d think in the decade that’s passed since then, you would have found a better story to tell everyone we meet.”
“I suppose you’ll find out, since you’re stuck with me for a while!”
The Mikr engages lightly with the conversation with the same ‘awkward first date’ energy you’ve seen while serving drinks at the Whiskeyed Wyrm. “Oh, are you two traveling together?”
“Ahh, well, the road can be dangerous, and it’s a long way to Vesyn. ‘Specially for a shrimpy little guy like him!”
This seems to get more attention from the stout scholar than anything else so far. "I find myself traveling that way as well. If there's safety in numbers, perhaps I can tag along?"
Rajul speaks up with a sly smile and says, “And how interesting, because I swear I served someone very recently who was also heading west!”
Recognition and frustration burn your ears, and you fight an unkind response from escaping your throat. You peer over the edge of your bowl to see the peddler smirking at you, as well as the other pairs of eyes, including the leathered human you thought was uninterested in this whole conversation. You were already weighing a pro-con list in your mind, but having him remove that agency before you came to your own conclusion, ironically, leaves a rather foul taste in your mouth.
On one hand, you could fill the Mikr’s oversized book with the amount of things you would rather do than babysit people who seem to have minimal experience with the harsh realities of the open road. On the other hand, a destination that a well-travelled merchant sums up as a ‘library town’ surely will have something to help with what you're looking for, as well as act as the perfect excuse to tear your gaze from the southern road. Two birds, one stone, and all that. And, begrudgingly, Rajul is right; even without experience, having people watching your back is rarely a bad thing. Okay, three birds.
You sigh, looking towards the group. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt to provide my expertise to your journey.”
“Expertise, huh?” Qinris asks. “What expertise might that be?”
You shrug. “Punching dumbasses.”
Qinris and Rajul laugh as if you've just told the funniest joke all day, while the human rolls his eyes and returns his bowl to the counter, flipping a gold coin to the laughing man behind it.
“Well, if you’re all heading east, I better get going. Safety in numbers only matters if you get noticed, so I’ll go ahead and make sure I’m walking ahead of the group who will clearly draw attention to themselves.”
Aeron speaks after him. “If you’re headed in that direction, can we at least get your name? Just in case we do see you?”
The human barely looks over his shoulder at this. “You won’t. But, it’s Albern.”
This invokes the longest bout of silence this booth has created since your arrival, despite only being about 15 seconds. Eventually, the Mikr extends a hand over the pages of his book, which is enthusiastically shaken by both Merlutin, and says “Well, I’m Kastran. It’s a pleasure.”
Qinris. Aeron. Albern. Kastran. You take a moment to wonder how many of these names will be worth remembering; after all, you've learned throughout your life that nothing is more telling about a person than their actions. A name is arguably the least important thing they have to offer. Despite this, it’s only polite to offer your own in return.
“Name’s Tomoe. When do we start?”