My next stop was the Adventurers’ Guild. While the Collegio library is a veritable font of knowledge, it has more than its fair share of books on theory and speculation. What I was hoping for was something a little more concrete than that. Luckily for me, the Adventurers’ Guild boasted a modest library which was focused around two simple tasks. Killing, and not being killed by, monsters.

The receptionist at the guild took one look at my alchemist’s pin and gestured me inside. The Alchemists’ Guild had a very close relationship with the Adventurers’ Guild. It stood to reason, considering that the two professions fed into each other almost perfectly. Membership in either guild conferred a certain amount of courtesy when entering the hall of the other.

I bypassed the notice boards and lounge (more of a tavern really), and headed for the archives.

While adventurers are not always known for their scholarship, it is rare for a successful adventurer to not have spent more than a few weeks of time researching the collected knowledge of their forebears. Adventuring was a dangerous profession, but a profitable one, as essence and monster parts had many uses beyond alchemy. Anyone who was looking to make a profit, and survive, benefitted greatly from some time spent in the small room they had prepared specifically for the task of enlightening prospective and current adventurers.

When I told the small librarian that I was researching a potion to treat spiritual afflictions and needed information on creatures capable of inflicting such, she practically threw a half-dozen books at me.

“Let me know if you need anything else!” She said brightly.

I smiled back and held up the stack of books that was weighing me down, “I think I have enough for now…”

She returned to sitting behind her desk and I dumped the pile of books on a table before sitting down. I pulled several sheaves of paper from my storage and got to work.

XXXXXX

I rubbed the side of my head and groaned as I set aside the third book which I had been provided. Glancing over at the librarian, I saw her look of mixed pity and amusement.

“Could I have you reserve these other three for me tomorrow?” I asked, gesturing at the books I had yet to open.

She nodded, “Of course Master Dyre. Did you find what you were looking for?”

I shrugged, “Somewhat. Do you know if the guild has any wraith ectoplasm on hand?”

She shivered at the mention of the creature. A wraith is technically classified as an undead, although it is not born of the perished body of a sapient person. It is instead a collection of strong memories which have coalesced into an ephemeral being. The problem is, most wraiths are born from the ancient battlefields of the Broken Lands and are the twisted amalgamation of the memories of warriors present on both sides of the battle.

Their wailing cackle is more than just a psychological attack, it is a magical projection of the madness of the creature, which can drive all but the most hardened adventurers into either terror, or unparalleled battle-lust. Even worse, wraiths which kill adventurers soak up a portion of their victim’s memories and magic, making them stronger and more cunning.

“I’m afraid not Master Dyre,” She said, “Why would you need that anyways?”

I glanced at the pile of notes I had taken, “It’s just a thought, but I might be able to use it in a specialized potion. I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere. Maybe the dispensary…”

I returned the books to the librarian, gathered up my scattered notes, and headed out into the fading evening.

The Adventurers’ Guild is located almost two kilometers from Tanna’s house, so the growing twilight was fading to darkness over middle town as I finally got onto the street where Derrick and Tanna lived. That, of course, was when my assailants struck.

The first sign of danger was when I smelled the presence of freshly turned loam. Considering that I was walking on cobbles, my recently heightened paranoia sent a shock of adrenaline through my system. It was probably the only reason why I was able to awkwardly throw myself to said cobblestone road as a baseball-sized rock went sailing through the space which my head had occupied.

A geomancer, lovely.

Spitting out the awareness spell, I felt the darkness around me sharpen into colorless definition as I rolled to the side and scrabble to my feet. The geomancer who had tried to take me by surprise was already moving, followed by a man and a woman dressed in similar leather clothing. It turned out that I was being mugged by the Esturian equivalent of a biker gang.

Seeing that I was outnumbered, I made the only logical choice.

I ran.

“Bloody murder!” I yelled.

The mages on my tail seemed to be upset by my unwillingness to stand and fight. Shouts echoed behind me, and I tried to zig-zag without losing too much ground. My efforts were rewarded as another projectile hurtled past me rather than plastering me to the ground.

Of course, running from a geomancer will only serve you for as long as said geomancer fails to remember a fundamental question which all earthquake victims have asked before: When the ground becomes your enemy, where do you run?

I stumbled as the earth beneath my feet warped strangely. I managed to skip ahead another few meters, then fell flat on my face. I looked up to see a figure step into the road, my heart sinking as it raised its hands. I clenched my eyes shut, feeling panic and fury well up inside of me.

‘Not this… Not again.’ I thought, the chill of Solus’ dungeon seeping into my bones.

Waves of heat washed over me, and I waited for the burning to start, even as I summoned my incomplete staff into my hands. I knew that there was no way I would be able to defeat these mages, but there was a possibility that I could force them to kill me. That would be preferable to what I felt was the alternative.

Screams behind me interrupted my melancholic thoughts. My eyes flashed open and I looked closer at the newcomer. Rather than a nondescript thug, I was greeted by the sweaty face of Derrick. For some reason, it had slipped my mind that the husband of my host was not only a blacksmith, but a former adventurer.

Sparks danced across Derrick’s fingers as a sheet of flame illuminated the world around me, casting orange-tinted shadows into the alleys of the street. I glanced back and saw the geomancer rolling on the ground as tendrils of earth beat at him savagely as they attempted to extinguish his clothing. The other figure had enveloped herself in a shield of water, from which gouts of steam erupted as she strove to hold back Derrick’s attack.

The third person was gone. I blinked in surprise at that, then saw a still figure a couple dozen steps behind the two mages who had come after me. It was unmoving, and I had a suspicion that it was nothing but a corpse.

As I watched, a shadow detached itself from a nearby alley, forming itself into a person as Derrick’s flames began to waver. Moving low, it approached the hydromancer with a grace that left me totally unprepared when it blurred into sudden action.

The four meters between the two mages disappeared in a moment as Derrick’s reserves finally gave out. A flash of steel interrupted the triumphant grin on the hydromancer’s face, turning her expression to surprise, then pain. Her body convulsed as the figure plunged a knife into her kidneys several more times, then left her to slump to the ground.

The geomancer rose up, roaring as he lunged at the new figure. The geomancer must have completed at least one round of agility elixirs, because he moved fast. Not fast enough though. The newest figure batted aside the incoming blade, then stepped in, his own weapon laying open the stomach of the geomancer.

I grimaced and stood up, holding my weapon before me as the figure approached.

“Derrick,” I said, feeling a strange calm settle over me, “Get Tanna and Miriam and barricade yourselves in the workroom. Use the potions in there if you need to.”

The figure flicked his blades clean and sheathed them before speaking, “Don’t be like that Master Dyre, I think we have a shared acquaintance. Pyromancer, nasty disposition, a face that only a mother could love?”

I paused, still not lowering my staff, “How do I know that you actually work with Vesk?”

The figure sighed, “Hold on, I’ve got this here somewhere…”

With a laugh of triumph, the man removed a scroll case from his belt and tossed it to me. I caught the object and stepped back, keeping an eye on him as I struggled to open it while maintaining my grip on my staff. Inside was a sheaf of parchment and a soul gem, apparently removed from its phylactery.

I read the note.

Ethan,

The bearer of this letter is associated with the house of Arefina. You may trust him with your life, as I once trusted you with my own.

Tylee Arefina

The signature looked legitimate enough, but the real kicker was the stone. While most mages use phylacteries as a way to store purified essence for use, they do have another use. A mage can channel a bit of their power into one, which allows it to act as a sort of calling card. As I touched the phylactery stone to my own head, I drew from it. Instead of essence, I felt earth magic flow, and the song of earth whispered deep within my soul.

Without the proper affinity or soul to utilize such power, the magic was entirely useless, and faded in a matter of moments. Nonetheless, I recognized that feeling. I had practically bathed in it when Tylee, with my assistance, had performed a great work to save our lives.

It was entirely possible that this man had killed Vesk’s associate and robbed him of this object. That said, if he had done so, there was no reason why he would bother with words while subduing me. I lowered my staff, looking to the side to see that Derrick, despite my admonition, had stayed by my side. He was breathing heavily.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The man flourished a bow, “Kellen the Farsighted, at your service. You may have heard of my exploits.”

I shook my head, “Not really.”

A strangled sound came from beside me. It seemed that Derrick knew who this man was.

Disappointment flashed across the man’s face momentarily, though it was quickly wiped away by a grin, “Excellent, one more person to awe with my talents!”

I glanced at the three bodies, “Consider me impressed. You must be an aerotheurge.”

“A windwalker!” The man expounded, “I see that I am not the only one with good eyes.”

“It’s an awareness spell,” I admitted, “Otherwise I would still be wondering how three mages had just died. You’re kind of late, aren’t you?”

Kellen held up a finger, “Three against one is not good odds, and two is not much better if your compatriot is no warrior. Besides, I am a fighter of more… elegant standards than these thugs.”

I groaned, “You were going to wait until they grabbed me, weren’t you?”

He grinned, “It seemed like it would be the most opportune moment.”

“And if I had died?” I asked incredulously.

“Life is fleeting,” He said theatrically, then met my eyes seriously, “But I always protect my team. Not with sword and shield, but with a well-placed blade. While I am watching over you, you have nothing to fear.”

“Kellen is famous in adventuring circles,” Derrick noted, “I can vouch for that.”

“Why would a famous adventurer be pulling guard duty?” I asked suspiciously.

“Vesk is an old friend,” Kellen replied, “When he calls, I answer.”

“You adventured with Vesk?” I asked incredulously.

Kellen nodded.

“How did he not wring your neck out in the Broken Lands?” I asked.

Kellen laughed, “There’s a reason why they call me farsighted. I can spot that man’s temper from a mile away and know exactly what direction to move in for optimum frustration relief.”

“Killing monsters?” I offered.

“Killing monsters!” He confirmed, then turned away, “I’m afraid that this little scuffle will attract the Seekers. It’s best if you get inside, I will try to smooth things out. Though I would expect a visit from an officer of the Seekers to ratify my statement.”

“Thank you.” I said to Kellen, holding out my hand.

Though he had been dismally late, the man had saved me from death, or even worse. I saw no point in antagonizing him.

He looked at the proffered appendage, then grinned as he took it, “You’re a very unusual nobleman!”

I snorted, “I’m not noble in the least.”

His grin grew wider, “Then you are indeed noble good sir!”

With that, the man disappeared into the night. I glanced over at Derrick, only to find him leaning against the doorway to his shop. I quickly helped the bulky man inside and moved him towards the stairs.

“Haven’t done anything like that in… years.” Derrick breathed heavily, “Used to be able to do a lot more.”

“You’ve been neglecting your meditation.” I accused.

The blacksmith looked chagrined, “Never had much patience for it in the first place.”

I sighed, “How are your reserves?”

He chuckled, “I’m out of practice Ethan, not stupid. I know enough to not burn myself out.”

I muttered an attunement spell anyway, only to find that Derrick was living with far more than a simple lack of practice.

“I take it your career ended when you overdosed on potions?” I asked.

He chuckled, “I got a little too fond of the surge of power associated with strength potions. Started to wonder why everybody kept telling me to wait a couple months between uses. I was young, foolish, and exceedingly robust. By the time I was done my liver and both kidneys had to be fully regenerated. Would have taken a great work to completely fix all the muscular problems. Your elixirs have helped a bit though.”

“They should have worked on your head too.” I muttered, “What you really need is a potion of intelligence.”

Derrick’s laugh descended into a coughing fit, and I eased him down into a chair in his shop. I summoned a bottle from my bag and handed it to the man.

“Drink up,” I said, “It tastes terrible, but it should help with the pain.”

He made a sour face as he pulled the bottle away from his lips, “That’s awful.”

“It’s made from dead monsters and magical herbs,” I replied, “I didn’t think to add any artificial cherry to it.”

“What?” He asked.

“Never mind,” I said, “You’d better hope that Tanna didn’t notice that little stunt.”

He groaned, then sat upright as the sound of a throat clearing came from above us. We glanced up to see the herald of a coming storm. A woman with brown hair and eyes that blazed with vengeance.

“I hope you prayed for absolution last time you were at the temple.” I noted as the valkyrie descended on us, “Because we may not survive this.”

XXXXXX

Diella’s angry glare greeted me the next morning after knocking on her door.

“Where were you yesterday?” She asked acerbically.

“Well, someone did try to kidnap me,” I noted.

Her anger turned to concern, “Are you injured?”

Ah, a true healer.

“Nothing more than scrapes or bruises,” I said, gesturing at the bandages I had wrapped around my own body.

She looked at my wounds like they were marks of suspicion, “Let me see them.”

“Out here?” I wondered.

She ushered me inside and looked at the injuries on my hands, knees, and legs. All of them were sustained during my fall, as nobody had really gotten an opportunity to stick a blade in me. A favorable outcome in any circumstance.

“You didn’t heal yourself.” She noted.

I shrugged, “I try to limit my use of white magic as best I can. Besides the time I have spent with you, I’ve been white magic free since I left the Arefina manor.”

“Do you intend to permanently abstain from the use of white magic?” She challenged.

“Whenever I can.” I replied.

“What about if a friend lays dying in your hands?”

“Of course, I would use my power then.” I say.

“And after so much time spent holding back, keeping yourself away from that power, what do you think would happen?” She asked.

I hesitated, then spoke, “I would fall.”

She nodded, “Abstaining from usage is the only real way to deal with any kind of addiction. For white mages though, it is not a matter of staying away from the substance of addiction. It is a matter of divorcing yourself from the desire to help others. The desire to cultivate life.”

“All the willpower in the world will not save you from your own altruism.” She ended.

“And so…?” I asked.

“So I am teaching you to resist the influence of white magic in small ways, to help you build up resistance for when you need to perform more intensive healing. Control over your magic is the key, you must be the master of your power, not a slave to it.” She said, “It is also why I am sternly warning you away from supplementing with external essence. Using more magic than you are naturally capable of producing is harmful to all mages, and especially to white mages.”

She glanced around her empty shop, “Now off with you, and don’t miss our session tomorrow.”

“Even if I’m getting mugged?” I inquired, a hint of a smile on my face.

She raised an eyebrow at me, “You are not as funny as you seem to think you are.”

I left it at that.

I stopped at a small wagon on my way out of the lower city and bought a pair of skewers with a yellow root vegetable and what appeared to be chicken impaled on them. The man working the small grill in his little wagon gestured me close after I chatted with him for a few moments and handed him a silver penny.

“I would be wary friend,” He said in a low voice, “Someone in the lower city is asking around about a man matching your description.”

I nodded gratefully and motioned for him to keep the change. He gave me a gap-toothed grin and winked.

“Many thanks sir.” He said, tapping the cheek below his right eye in salute of his favored deity.

“Likewise.” I said, turning away with my food.

The roots were a little mushy and the meat was dry, but the seasoning more than made up for it. I made a mental note of the area and decided to visit the vendor again. If not for his food, then for his willingness to take a little coin in exchange for information.

I deposited the skewers in my bag, still finding myself unable to conform to the local custom of throwing trash into the nearest sewer drain, and made my way back towards the Adventurer’s Guild. It would probably take me most of the day to grind through the three volumes I had reserved. After last night, I was looking forward to the monotony of the task.