Chapter 10 - We Need To Talk

Decision hadn’t been forced on Killian quickly, which was good. Demanding commitment from him would have definitely sent him running the other way. In truth, Killian felt a little lost. It had been two days since he had awoken in a tent, Pyre and Dack waiting for him to wake up. Two nights since he had seen Jol again.

Jol had been his first ally when he arrived in the forest of Elniah. The quilthoth of the gnolls had caused the pair of them to become so angry with each other in the moment. Surrounded by those twisted trees, it had been easy to see the fairy as a detriment. Killian was honestly glad Jol had left when he did. He was not sure what might have happened if Jol had been a part of their hurried escape from the gnoll shaman and its warband.

At first, their meeting had been all tears, introductions and excitement. However, as the first evening progressed, it was clear to Killian, Jol wasn’t feeling particularly assuaged. Killian wasn’t either, but he couldn’t fully fight off Pyre’s demands that he get over it. Instead of confronting the nagging feeling, Killian had tactfully spent the day showing Jol all the excitements to be found in the camp.

He had wondered at the small forge which had been set up. The Fangs of Pryviow had impressive weaponry, but this small smithy was simply to keep their equipment maintained in the field. Still, the tools and techniques were all as new to Jol as magic was to Killian. They excited him, and Twozik, the dwarf, was all too happy to show off. After many grumbles of how no one else seems to appreciate his work, and a lengthy explanation of why using a whetstone is more important than training with a sword, the two moved on.

The camp was full of interesting folk, but none that drew Jol to them more than the Ubnoba siblings. Killian had imagined Lady Syb would have been excited to meet a fairy, though she was an adventurer. She may have met many, he pondered. Still, it was the noise that Mycol made which had shocked Killian the most. For the over ten foot tall half-giant to squeal so unabashedly almost made Killian blush. The pair had spent the afternoon giggling, looking under rocks and playing pranks on the members of the guild.

Thoroughly perplexed and amused, Killian had taken the opportunity to talk to Lady Syb.

“I’m sorry.” Killian wasn’t entirely used to this. Usually when you do something wrong, you pretend it wasn’t you or that you didn’t know it was wrong in the first place. He was trying to be a different person in his second attempt at life. The words hung in the air, the only noises the slow wind down of the camp into evening.

Lady Syv was standing straight, her perfect posture seeming effortless. She continued to exude elegance as she watched her brother run around like a carefree puppy. He’d hoped that would have been enough, but as the silence stretched out between them, Killian both felt strangled and as though he had to say more. So twisted up, Killian jumped in shock as the extravagant goliath woman spoke finally.

“You are young.” She spoke slowly, the words carefully selected. “Life, it is clear, has not been kind. Until, maybe, very recently? Hard to accept the gifts when you’ve never seen one before, hm?”

“Why would you all help me? Why did you help me? What do I owe you all now?” Killian had given himself time to think over the words before replying. He didn’t know the right ways to agree with the things she said, so he asked questions he might believe the answers to.

“We are adventurers.” Lady Syb plainly answered. “Saving people is why nearly everyone is here. The money or fame, these things can come, yes. But, at the heart? I know I do it for the smiles.”

Killian hadn’t expected such a noble answer but the look in her eyes said that Lady Syb meant what she said. The finery was a choice, yes, but it wasn’t the drive. Killian asked himself what his drive was.

Whatever his Goddess needed, was the answer that came most easily to mind. It wasn’t the easiest thing to say out loud though. It also wasn’t a full answer. Moving forward by instinct is the only way Killian had known his whole life. He looked around the campsite.

No one here went hungry. They helped people. They stood against the tide of monsters so that people like him can grow up thinking they’re stories. Something ate at Killian though. A selfish, angry ball that he didn’t know if he could ever let go. The voice that asked “but why didn’t you help me?” It was the voice that made him look at Dack over the last day with anger and envy. An insidious question that Killian couldn’t ask aloud.

He could be the answer to the question he couldn’t ask. He could do that, he thought, looking at the flames dancing around his fingers. We could do it, he thought, looking at Pyre, preening herself while standing on a rock. Killian finally looked up, his head had been down since Lady Syb spoke. Her discerning gaze was upon him again, but this time Killian felt what she was looking for. He understood the question her eyes asked.

“Can you live this life?” They asked.

The answer was intrinsic, Killian realised. He could. He could take this chance, he could grab all the power in front of himself and change the world. That was what Genara had wanted, and it was what he wanted.

“I will.” Killian proclaimed, resolute. He looked out in the camp again, with different eyes. He could be one of these people. Actually, he realised he could be much stronger. He needed to be, to stand next to Genara in the War.

“Good. Then we are comrades. No bad blood.” She extended a hand, which Killian took gratefully. That was one tough conversation down, at least. He scanned for Mycol, who would be near Jol, the next person he needed to smooth things over with. The two were bothering one of the hunters, Jol was using wind magic to throw off the course of his arrows and finding it hilarious. Mycol, for his part, was joining in and blowing heavy gusts of wind from his puckered lips into the archer’s ear as he aimed at the target.

They stopped as Killian came close, shuffling slowly over acting as nonchalant as he could. Jol affected a similar attitude, Mycol looking between the both of them with an expectant look on his face. Turning to Jol, Mycol cleared his throat pointedly. The fairy, floating calmly in the air, looked to the grey-skinned goliath quickly before he and Killian looked each other in the eye.

They stood in silence as the seconds dripped by slowly.

“Are we good?” Killian asked.

“I’m good, are you good?” Jol replied.

“Yeah.” Killian answered.

And that was it. Another anxiety faded and Killian asked himself what the problem had been in the first place. Rolling his eyes at himself, he fell into an easy, comfortable attitude. The next few hours were spent catching up to speed with each other. Pyre joined them, and the three walked the perimeter that a few scouts maintained throughout the encampment.

“No,” Killian was explaining, “I absolutely can, and want to, have more than one friend. I wouldn’t trade you away for someone else, it doesn’t work like that.”

The fairy seemed to be digesting that piece of golden wisdom. Killian was proud of it himself, he’d just been throwing random combinations of “stop worrying about it” at Jol for the last forty five minutes.

“You made friends with Mycol, didn’t you?” Killian prompted.

“That’s not the same.” Jol said, unsure. “We just played pranks because we both wanted to.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s all there is to being a friend anyway. You don’t follow them and listen to orders, but you do the things you both want to do. Because they’re the same. Does that make sense?”

“That does make sense.” Jol agreed, and with that it seemed he was assuaged. Like snuffing out a candle, that worry seemed to disappear for Jol entirely. Killian was quietly jealous. He still had to talk to Dack. Properly talk to him.

The sun was dimming, and the smell of a stew was beginning to permeate the air. The sounds of work and training became jovial and raucous. Killian walked slowly, as though a veil needed to be pushed through. He felt heavy. More tired than after a day of dodging fungolems. He reminded himself that this was necessary, as he passed the forming crowd of hungry adventurers.

Killian saw Dack’s large frame and white hair next to the tent he had been given when he arrived. Killian kept expecting them to move him on, give him a smaller space. But they hadn’t. His old friend ducked inside as he got close. When Killian pushed aside the canvas and entered, Dack was already seated at the small table. Killian sat opposite him, legs hanging off the cot.

“Are we still friends, Dack?” Killian had changed his meaning of the word recently. “Do we both want to do the same things?” Silence reigned for a while between them after Killian spoke. He waited for the answer.

“Things are different, Kil. We need to talk. About so much.” Killian stayed quiet. It wasn’t his turn to explain, he’d already done most of that. Dack, and by extension anyone he trusted, knew that Killian had been resurrected. He hadn’t shared Genara, or the extent of his Display, but everything else was laid out.

“I saw you die, Kil. It changed me, and it changed Sherrin. We were taken by the nappers and sold. It didn’t take long, we were considered prime stock. Our Aspects, right?” Dack was smiling, but his eyes were hard. “We didn’t speak. Neither of us said a word to each other before we were split up. I haven’t seen Sherrin in years, but I hope he’s alive. I was sold to a mining company. I worked for them for years before I ended up saving the owner’s life one day. A random rockslide nearly crushed him, and he was just so grateful.” Dack smirked at his own emphasised words. He’d clearly set that up, but good for him.

“After that, I got a few Aspects by fighting in the pits of Arkand. Stuff happened, but that’s just life. I’ve lived a strange one, but your’s will be worse I think. Or better. Just different. I want to help you. It feels like you’re… different.” Dack shrugged, frustrated that he couldn’t find the right words. “I’ll do what I can, if you want my help. That’s all I can say.”

“Well,” Killian jumped up from the bed, and stuck out his hand. “That sounds like a friend to me.”