The sounds of clinking glasses, clattering plates and boisterous patrons filled the air of the Bear and Skeever. In the immediate aftermath of the Scarlet Night, many people were afraid to leave their homes. Many believed that the end was coming, and so they hid in their homes, praying for salvation. Yet the end never came, and the storm had passed.

Like scared mice checking for predators, the people slowly began to poke their heads out to survey the damage left in the wake of the storm. Soon, everyone was out again, focusing on the recovery of the city and mourning those who were lost, picking up the pieces from the tracks carved by the violent tornadoes of the night before. After a couple short days, life began to adjust again towards a new normal. And, as people are naturally inclined to do, they began to gather together in the Inns and Taverns to discuss the big events that had just transpired, to gossip, throw around their own theories, and catch up on the latest news.

“Hoooo there little one, another aleee, hoohooo!”

“And another round for our table, Lassie! Plus a flagon to spare!”

“Awoooo, young pup! A platter of Fried Tusker** Strips for us please!”

**[Tusker’s are a large, semi-aggressive cow-like farm animal known for their long, sharp tusks and extremely thick, bristly fur. As their fur is also extremely rough, it is only occasionally used for clothing by desperate peasants and is more often seen in cheap winter coats. Their meat, however, is a popular meal item in northern towns, especially because Tuskers thrive much better in the north than the normal cattle in the warmer regions.]

“Ahhhhh! Slow down! Slow down! One at a time!” A visibly flustered young girl was running around desperately trying to keep up with the pace of orders, her cheeks a nice rosy color from the exertion in contrast to the deep purple of her dress. Diane’s high heels certainly didn’t help in her efforts either, but she’ll be damned if anyone dared to get her out of her aesthetic!

“Thistle! Ready an ale for the Owlkin, a round of beers for the Orcs, and a Tusker Platter for the Canians!”

“Don’t forget the spare flagon!”

“Right, right! Got it, and an extra flagon for the Orcs! Oh, AND ITS LADY DIANE BY THE WAY! I AM NOT YOUR LASSIE, OR PUP, OR! LITTLE! ONE!” Diane stomped for emphasis on each of the last words of her outburst, riling up a good laugh from the patrons.

“That’s it? Too easy! Coming right up, Mademoiselle! Ahhh… a fried tusker platter… Ahhahahahahaa!” In total contrast to Diane, a young peasant boy manned the area behind the counter, the torn hems of his brown pants dancing around his bare feet. Thistleman’s loose fitting shirt and worn belt ensured Diane’s dress stood out all the more. After pouring and lining up the orders of ale and beer, a slightly twisted smile began to dance across his face as he eyed the Tusker meat.

“Congrats Laddies, you’re in for a show! Not only do we have the little she-devil herself, but she found us a mad chef too! Bwahahahaha!”

“Hoooooo there Little Lady, what happened to Rhyme and Jotuun? They usually run the place, hohoo!” The owlkin rotated his head to follow Diane as she hustled by, carefully trying to balance a tray full of mugs of beer.

“She… Is sick upstairs, because SOMEBODY was out in the middle of a STORM and made her so worried she had to go FIND HIM! And Jotuun is upstairs taking care of her!” Diane huffed, stomping extra hard again for emphasis, which had the unfortunate side-effect of sloshing the beer around a little too violently and splashing it on her new dress.

“AAARRGGGHHHHHH!!!! AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, WE WOULDN’T BE GROUNDED RIGHT NOW!!!! YOU COMPLAINED THE MOST ABOUT THIS, SO WHY ARE YOU THE ONE HAVING ALL THE FUN?!? Well? Hurry up and take your beer! AND your flagon! AHHHH I JUST REPLACED THIS DRESS TOO!!”

“BWAHAHAHA!! The Lassie’s sure got a fiery spirit, I’d say she lives up to her name!” Diane’s eyes twitched angrily as the Orcs continued to laugh at her predicament, but particularly when they called her ‘Lassie’ again.

“Oooooooooh!”

A flash of light filled the room, as a burst of fire rose from the grill. All the tables turned to watch the spectacle in the kitchen, as Thistleman grabbed a slab of Tusker meat and tossed it in the air over the grill. With deft knife movements, and a semi-maniacal laugh, he began to rapidly dice the slab of meat into various sized strips before the pieces landed on the grill. Then, he poured a green oily substance from a vial into his mouth until his cheeks puffed out, before grabbing a large flat-iron spatula and a large ladle filled with oil.

Spitting a small amount of the substance in his mouth into the fire caused it to roar to life again in a spectacular blue color, bursting upward. Then, with incredible precision and speed, he began flipping the Tusker strips into the air. Using the ladle in the other hand, Thistleman would continually catch the strips in the oil as he juggled the strips at the top of the fire, before carefully flipping them out of the ladle and catching the oil again. Anytime the fire started to die down, he would spit more of the green substance into the fire, causing it to erupt again to the cheers of the onlookers.

Yesterday… JUST yesterday, he looked so damn scared to hold a knife in his hand! I had never seen someone look so scared to just chop a damn carrot, and now this! On top of Rhyme being sick, she had to worry we wouldn’t be able to cook anything! AND NOW LOOK AT HIM. HOW IS THIS FAIR?!

“BWAHAHAHAHA! It’s a much better show than yesterday! Ohhhh? Looks like the Strips came out pretty well too! Damn lucky Canians, all our food yesterday was nothing but blackened crisps! Our only consolation prize was how fun it was to watch! HAHAHA! ANOTHER ROUND!” The half-drunk orcs were clearly having a fantastic time amid all of this.

“The secret, my noble and learned Orc, is learning the limits to which you can destroy something. Unfortunately your meals fell victim to my learning yesterday, but through my analysis of how easy it was to burn up all the meat, I was able to also discover the point at which it does not burn! And now I can truly enjoy the grand battle of man against food to its utmost perfection!” Thistleman beamed with pride at his accomplishments, one could imagine a tear rolling down his eye if only he was actually capable of crying.

After being deprived of a good fight for so long… so long… even if it is something as paltry as cooking, to be able to fight in some kind of battle is exhilarating! Why can’t learning a new language be anywhere near as easy as this?!

Diane stared venomously at Thistleman as he started laughing maniacally again. She kept picking up and putting down a knife from the Canian’s table, as they watched her a little apprehensively.

“I’ll stab him… I won’t… I will… I won’t… but… who needs friends anyways? Right? It’s fine to kill him… no its not… damn Emily… taking this chance to run off and leave me stuck here… friends are so overrated anyways… hehehe… hehehehe!” Diane continued to mutter to herself, before someone interrupted her scheming yet again.

As the door to the inn half-way burst open, a tall man in a wide-brimmed hat and long, lanky legs strolled in. His darkened leather outfit easily stood out in the crowd, and a large cigar puffed casually from between his lips.

“Ayoo there, y’all got a corner table and some strong spirits fer a parched and weary traveler? I also hear the Calimnus Stew is famous round ‘ere, I’ll take a bowl o’ that too while yer at it, little lady!” The new patrons booming voice, combined with his pronounced drawl, felt like they were just intended to stab through the last shreds of Diane’s already strained and limited patience.

The knife, bending sharply between Diane’s fingers, finally snapped with an extremely audible crack.

“Hehehehehehe, oh, when Emily comes home… she will have to help me… oh yes, she will be a good friend… hehehehe…”

The Canians slowly and stealthily picked up their plates and slipped off to another table, one at a markedly safer distance.

Lines of temple’s large and small filled the avenue dividing the Midtown and Uptown districts of Njord, in an area quite aptly known as “Temple Row.” Each of them clearly bore the marks of their patron gods or goddesses, with the larger temples dedicated to each of the Twelve Great Gods easily taking up the bulk of the limelight.

While the area was spared the brunt of the damage from the Storm, likely due to the much sturdier construction of the temples themselves, it was nonetheless extremely busy taking care of the many wounded and dead being brought in from collapsed buildings and littered about the rubble.

Alain navigated the busy avenue quite deftly, dodging around the horses and carts that ordinarily would only be limited to the main street connected to the wharves. His movements were also made easier after having changed into some lighter clothes for travel around the city. After passing by an assortment of larger and smaller temples, he spotted his destination near the end of the road.

It was a modestly large temple that clearly stood out from the Nordic themes surrounding it due its Shinto form of construction, with dozens of large torii leading up the stairwell into the main temple. A pair of large fox statues stood watch over the entrance to the stairwell, and a pair of large temple guards stood in front of the door at the top of the stairs. Their faces were hidden under carefully hand carved fox masks, yet rather than armor, they wore simple brown robes. Each of them was armed a large halberd as well, which they had crossed to block the entrance of the door, only moving it when granting someone entrance to the temple.

As Alain quickly hopped up the numerous steps to the temple, he quickly whipped out a small wooden amulet to show to the guards.

“SGT Alain Dufount, I am here to check on my friend in the recovery ward.” He kept the message short and curt, as the temple guards silently nodded before allowing him entry into the temple.

In spite of the size of the temple, and the number of cries of pain coming from the recovery wards, the temple still felt quite understaffed, especially as the number of patients easily dwarfed the priests and shrine maidens available to tend to them. Alain waited for several minutes, in observance of temple policy, for someone to guide him further in. Fortunately, one of the shrine maidens recognized their guest. A young lady wearing the traditional red dress and white top speedily approached SGT Dufount, her smooth black hair almost gliding behind her.

“Ah, Alain! It is good to see you back again! Are you here to see your friend Theo?” Her musical and smooth voice, complimented by her soft face and enticing eyes, betrayed little of her exhaustion at the extensive care for their patients.

“Yeah, I am. I also managed to get my hands on a little something for him too.” Alain reached into his pocket to pull out two small vials of a light pink potion, shaking them lightly after he brought them out to add a little emphasis. “I had to wait a few hours to get through the line into the adventurers guild. Even with potion rationing, I was lucky enough to get the last potions they had. Apparently it was some back stock made by one of their adventurers and not their resident potion master, too. Cost an arm and a leg for a mystery potion and they absolutely refused to tell me who made it.”

“Ah, I see. I am sorry that you had to go through that. Still, we are thankful that you were willing to get some healing potions for him. Especially since…” Her voice trailed off as they approached Theo’s ward.

Yeah, there’s no way I can forget that. That wound should have been an easy fix for even low tier recovery magic, and yet to see that fail…

“Don’t worry about it. I still managed to get some potions to try.” Alain tried to sound reassuring, and even forced out a pained smile, but he still couldn’t conceal his concern.

The young Miko turned around, and with a slight bow, she continued “Again, we are really sorry, but we just didn’t have enough supplies to handle a catastrophe of this level. Especially with most of our staff and higher priests having gone to tend to the injured in the succession war, we cannot thank you enough for taking the time to help us care for your friend. I wouldn’t worry about the prayers failing earlier, sometimes there are wounds that are resistant to magic that a potion would heal just fine!” Her face was pained, as she couldn’t prevent herself from shedding a tear at the plight of their patients.

“Please, please… I said don’t worry about it, ok? He’s my charge as much as yours, and helping is all we can do in times like these!” Alain’s face reddened at the shrine maiden’s display of caring and humility, speaking quickly out of nervousness and averting his eyes.

She is just so cute though…

“Thanks again! Your friend is right in here, ah, and my name is Maya, ok? You can ask for me at the door when you come back! Please let me know if you need anything else!” Maya managed a soft smile and waved SGT Dufount into the room, before hurrying off to take care of her other patients.

Alain casually strolled in to the makeshift room, separated from the other patients by a set of hastily erected paper walls etched with numerous designs, before sitting on a stool next to straw-filled bed. The man in the bed stared almost listlessly out of the window, his dirty blond hair reflecting in the ample sunlight, giving the room an otherwise warm feeling.

“Hey Theo, how’s the leg?” SGT Dufount’s gruff voice seemed to have almost no effect on the momentarily unresponsive man, before he turned his head back in to the room, proffering up a feigned smile.

“Oh, you know, it is doing absolutely fantastic! The Shrine Maiden’s almost think it would be a better idea to cut it off, but… at that point, it would be no different than just killing me. A cripple? At my age? Fighting is all I know how to do…” He pat the bandages covering the area from the goblin bite, the sickly green and yellows seeping through the bandages.

“Well, I wouldn’t quite give up on your leg just yet. I got my hands on a little something for ya.” Alain pulled the two potions back out of his pocket and set them on the nightstand next to Theo. “It’s apparently not your standard healing brew either. Not sure I trust the source, as the guild refused to tell me any details. If I didn’t raise hell, though, I doubt they’d have offered it at all. That front desk catkin… she definitely scalped me too… a gold and a half per potion! Part of a dress replacement surcharge fee, to be ‘paid to the craftsman’!” SGT Dufount let out a miserable laugh at that.

“Let’s unwrap these bandages. May as well give it a shot since we need to change them anyways.”

“Damn Sergeant, you sure know how to reassure a man! Hell, aren’t healing potions supposed to be a dark red anyways? I am so excited to be your lab rat!” Theo actually cracked a grin with a slight chuckle.

“Now who gave you permission to sass your superiors?! Get your ass in line, you’re a soldier!”

“An injured soldier, sergeant!” SGT Dufount also started chuckling, his mood improving over how somber things were when he entered the room.

Theo then leaned back into the bed, his arms gripped the sides tightly as Alain carefully unwound the bandages on his leg. Gooey blacks, greens and yellows dripped from the deeper bandages, unleashing a sickly rotten smell that made Alain grimace as he held back from gagging, before fulling revealing the wound.

“T-There is absolutely no way this wasn’t from a normal goblin bite, r-right sergeant?!” Theo barely managed to blurt out his question, his breathing rapidly became labored from the pain of removing the bandages.

SGT Dufount couldn’t find it in himself to lie to his friend and subordinate, even if to reassure him. Something that could reject healing magic could not be from a normal source. The fact that no one here knew anything more about it was far more concerning.

This damned civil war… how can so few of these fools realize what is happening up here is a much greater threat than their damn pride! I won’t sacrifice another soldier, mark my words!

“Damnit… Damnit… DAMNIT!” Theo rubbed a small, nascent tear from one of his eyes after looking at SGT Dufount’s face. “Well… Fuck it, let’s at least give the potion a try.”

“Yeah, since I already paid for it too.”

Alain picked up and uncorked one of the vials, as a slight hiss escaped from the bottle.

“On 3?” Theo gripped the sides of the bed tightly. There was no telling what would happen when that potion hit this wound.

“Yeah.” Alain slowly nodded, waiting for Theo to begin the count.

“One.”

“Two.”

SGT Dufount didn’t wait until he finished to pour the bottle on to Theo’s wound.

“GRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” Theo shrieked in agony, as the potion frothed and smoked violently upon contact with the wound! The sheer scale of the reaction caused SGT Dufount to leap back in shock.

“WHAT THE FUCK?! FUCK, FUCK, WHAT THE FLYING FUCK?!”

A few of the nearby shrine maidens and a shrine priest came running in to the room at the sudden commotion, just in time to catch the end of the potions reaction, as the last of the potion frothed away into gas and disappeared. While the wound still remained unchanged on the leg, the bulk of the blacks, yellows and greens had gone away. Theo’s arms dropped limp by his sides as his breathing stabilized, having fallen unconscious from the pain.

The priest, a much older and wizened man nearing the end of his years, walked slowly up to SGT Dufount, eyeing the empty potion bottle, then the full one on the nightstand. After clearing his throat and stepping between Alain and the shrine maidens, he began to speak as authoritatively as he could muster.

“Sir, I am sorry to tell you this… but your friend, for everyone’s safety, must be immediately moved in to isolation. Also, I need you to come with me and tell me where and how your friend got this wound. I need to know all the details.”

SGT Dufount’s face was etched with horror, staring at the wound as it slowly was re-growing the rotten blacks, greens and yellows right before their eyes.

“Y-yeah, I think your right.”

Damnit… Septimus, you can’t get here soon enough! I… I am nowhere near good enough to handle this…

Amala hung limply in the chains securing her to the dungeon walls. Thick blackened blood trickled down slowly from her wrist, where the manacle cut through the flesh of her only hand. Even though she no longer felt any pain from it, she hardly felt alive either. Her skin had become a much whiter tone, and her canines had extended a fair amount, while sharpening vastly, along with two small holes pierced in to her neck. Even as her eyes stared listlessly at the damp stone floor littered with her fingernails, her clothes ripped and torn offering little in the way of decency, the small light of anger still burned deep within them.

That horrible night… that horrible night… Mobius, you should have just killed me… I can wait… I can wait however long it takes… no matter what it takes… even if it was just a mad dream, I will find a way to kill you! Even if that servant of Almalexia never comes, I WILL KILL YOU! Your greatest mistake… will be giving me all the time in the world…