It took almost until morning to get back onto the main roads. A night of sifting through the goblin's camp had produced a small cart full of loot and a heavy sack of goblin ears to prove our victory. Hrig was pulling the cart behind her, insisting she be the one to do it, I assume because they all believed I was exhausted from my duel. Everyone wore tired expressions as we moved, though Kyren looked to be deep in thought.

“Draconic,” she said, unprompted.

“What?” asked Hrig.

“The last word their leader spoke. You told me it sounded like ‘ker’al’fus’ right?”

“That was the gist, yeah. Though Sevald was obviously closer.” she gestured at me.

“I was… not really paying attention to be honest. I was distracted at the time.” I’d heard him perfectly, but draconic was a dead language and the fact I’d understood it so clearly would create questions. Questions I myself didn’t have an answer to. None of those I’d consumed had ever even heard the language, so the fact I could understand it was troubling.

“Well, I’ve heard it once or twice. It’s used in some of the rituals to honor the gods, but only rarely and only those higher up in some of the more formal god’s clergy tend to use it. The way it sounds though, it’s very distinct. I’m certain that’s the language he used.”

“Aye, I’ve heard a Kobold or two speak their version of it. It’s as different from Draconic as common is from undercommon, but that word does sound a bit like it. How would a goblin have picked up Draconic though?” asked Stone.

“I’m not sure, but I also don’t know how a goblin camp could be that orderly, or how a goblin could farm, or how a goblin could be as large as their leader was. The whole thing was strange.”

“‘Was’ is the key word. They’re all dead or routed. It’s no longer a problem,” said Hrig.

Kyren sighed, “You’re probably right, but I think I’ll keep fussing over it anyway.”

Hrig chuckled, “I’d be worried about the damage that blow to your head did if you didn’t”

Kyren smiled and we continued down the path in silence for a while. My companions were exhausted, and I was doing my best to look like I was too. I’d even let them pull me in the cart for the first leg of the journey, which they'd insisted was reasonable after watching me attempt to fight all of those goblins myself. Luckily they’d only seen the parts of the fight that were possible for a human to survive rather than the portions in which I was firing stakes from my arm, kicking goblins across half the camp and having my hand perform reconnaissance.

Like Kyren, I had a lot of questions about our experience. How the golden eyed leader could hurt me was foremost. I’d always assumed a particularly powerful blow could damage me, but even his lighter strikes seemed to cut at my essence.

“You owe me a new axe, Sevald,”said Hrig, breaking my reverie.

“I do?” I replied.

“You broke the shaft in two. I’d say that warrants buying me a replacement.”

“Come on Hrig, that doesn’t seem fair. The boy was fighting for his life,” said Stone.

“Are you saying that if he’d broken your hammer you wouldn’t want him to pay for the damages?”asked Hrig.

“That’s completely different! You can’t compare the elegance of my Lagaetha to that ugly thing!”

“You really think your glorified carpenter's tool is elegant?” Hrig's tone was dryer than the dust we kicked up while we walked.

“Why don’t you chop down a tree! That's all a primitive weapon like an axe is good for!”

Their argument, despite how heated it seemed, made me feel like a teapot that just let out all of its steam. Relief, I surmised. We’d had a tough fight, but we were alive and already settling into the easy rhythms I was finding myself growing accustomed to.

…

After making camp the others insisted I not take watch for the night. They seemed adamant so I didn’t put up a fight. Since I don’t sleep I needed to find something to do. Initially, listening to the sounds of the camp at night, bugs skittering, owls hunting and wind blowing softly through leaves had been enough to keep me occupied, but I was finding that I needed more stimulation in order to keep myself from getting bored. Instead of observing things happening outside myself, I decided to look within.

The essences I’d eaten were a part of me. Their skills, voices and memories were integrated into me the moment I’d consumed them. Some parts of them were easier to access than others. Skills in particular became as much mine as they were theirs almost instantly. That made sense based on what my purpose had been. Actual memories and thoughts however, were another story. They often felt murky and disjointed. I was missing important context for them that only the people who made them would have. Only those that were Byn’s felt truly clear and accessible. Being jolted to the forefront by my time in Entden must have made them more my own.

Sevald’s also felt sharper, though still muddled. He’d been my most recent meal so it made sense that his would be more readily available. He was a third son of five with a relatively good life who had left home to be an adventurer and spread his name in the hopes that it would increase his inheritance. He was, in a lot of ways, simple and thus easy to understand. Byn was similarly simple, just a tanner’s son that wanted to do his part for the village.

The other two were a bit more complex and I had nothing to anchor myself to when searching their memories. Pebble Under Sand was an older dwarf. His mind was made up of a complex mixture of dwarven and common words arrayed into neat rows, like those of a library. He’d adventured not for his own sake, but for knowledge, both his and what he might be able to teach others. He wielded a crossbow, but his real contribution to his former party had been his insight. Searching his memories felt like wading through his namesake. There was a university, classrooms, the sweet smell of rotting books, and professors whose focus on theory frustrated him, but beyond that I couldn't produce much in the way of the specifics of his life.

The third of my meals had been Syvin, a younger elf. She’d become an adventurer for money more than anything else, but the money was just a means to an end. She wanted to open a restaurant. Those memories of hers that I could access were mostly smells, butter melting in a pan, rich seasoning burning the nostrils, and fresh bread spreading its rich aroma. If I had a mouth those memories would have set it watering. She had trained as a monk, her arms already strong from kneading dough and doing all the heavy lifting in a kitchen. For her my disconnect was more obvious. She was not only rooted in experiences I had no connection to, but she was also very different from the other essences I’d consumed.

I spent the rest of the night trying to delve deeper into those murkier memories and experiences despite how difficult it was. I was new to feelings and to self determination, but their lives made for an excellent way to catch up. As I sifted through flashes of memories and experiences I wondered if what I was doing was at all similar to dreaming.

…

At dawn we broke camp and started making our way to Cirros. The closer we got, the more travellers we encountered. There were merchants hauling carts full of goods, carriages bringing in local lords and even the odd adventuring party like my own.

As the sun rose the city came more and more into view. It was walled in every direction except the riverside and the stone spires that made up lordly estates and municipal buildings could be seen clearly even at a distance. Cirros was built on the bank of the Cirros river for which it was named. That river made its way much further inland and branched off in dozens of other directions with the main body of it being fed by the drainage from snow capped mountains. Most trade came from the smaller towns and villages and flowed to Cirros where it was sent by sea to areas that could convert their raw products into manufactured goods. Trade also flowed against the river's currents by chainboat. Over the walls hung a flag of blue and white with a red carp in the center.

Technically, Cirros wasn’t the capital, but unofficially it absolutely was. So much trade went through the town and so many coffers were filled by it the Dukes of Cirros tended to have a large amount of autonomy and control over their own affairs. As long as the gold and silver flowed, the crown didn’t care.

All of this was common knowledge to the essences I’d eaten. They’d all, excepting Byn, had to travel through Cirros at some point, though Pebble had actually made a point to visit the city's library and found it much wanting compared to those of his University. It did have quite a few volumes on Cirros' history which he’d made a point to at least skim.

We crossed over the bridge leading into the city, passing through gates manned by disinterested guards and their hounds. Main street was bustling with activity and we slowly pushed our way through crowds until we found a small alley in which to regroup. As we settled in and took stock, Kyren looked at Stone and held out her hand making a small cough in his direction as she did so. Stone sighed and began pulling trinkets, jewelry and coin pouches from various pockets and handing her every third item. I looked to Hrig for an explanation.

“He was picking pockets on the way in.” That didn’t surprise me, but what did was that I hadn’t noticed.

“How did Kyren know?” I asked.

“No idea, but she catches him every time and makes him give her some.”

“It’s my tithe Hrig, I’m hoping that by donating some of his ill-gotten gains I might help him keep in the good graces of the gods,” said Kyren.

“I need only stay in Jeiri’s and I know for a fact he approves of light theft, blackmail and even the occasional arson as long as I have fun with it,” said Stone.

“No god judges souls entirely alone, not even Jeiri. Consider this a bribe to the other gods if that makes you feel better about it,” said Kyren.

Stone looked thoughtful for a moment and a grin spread across his face. “That’s a good way to think of it. You’ve a real talent for doctrine.”

Kyren gave one of her small smiles. “It’s a gift.” She turned her attention to me.

“Would you like to accompany me to the temple? They have altars to both Dur and Sidi there.”

“Sure, I suppose it would only make sense for me to pay respects," I said. A temple could be interesting. Those I’d eaten had an overall mixed impression of religion. Sevald had feelings somewhere between shame and reverence, Pebble was against it entirely, Byn just worshipped the same way his parents did, and Syvin couldn’t care less as long as the gods stayed out of her way. My own feelings were a mix of curiosity and fear. I can’t imagine that the gods have much in the way of favor for one such as myself.

“We’ll go ahead and sell the loot from the goblin camp then set up a meeting with Clara at Carp’s Flagon by the docks. We’ll meet you there at sundown,” said Stone.

“I’ll keep an eye on his sales and make sure we get our cut, don’t worry,” said Hrig

“Ah,” I pulled a small pouch of gold from my pouch and handed it to her, “for your axe shaft.”

“Oh, you don’t actually have to pay for it, Sevald. I know you were only doing what you needed to,” said Hrig.

“Well, consider it a gift then.” I didn’t really have as much of a need for gold as my companions, so it made sense to simply give them some when I could.

She took the gold and tied it to her belt. “Well fine then, but I’ll be buying your drinks later at the Flagon.”

“Deal,” I said and she and Stone made their way toward the market with their cart full of goblin ears and loot.