After much arguing about what they should and shouldn’t bring—Sammy had been particularly insistent on hauling around a pole nearly twice as long as he is tall—the group managed to trim the luggage down to the essentials. Rations, bedrolls, tents, ropes, hatchets and knives, salves and scrolls. Each bag or bundle carefully fixed onto the floater, some on the loops and hooks, some placed on top of it and secured with cords. Vesta’s potted plant placed on the top. It had drawn some stares from people they had passed by on their way out of town.

A patrol of town wardens had stopped the party on the outskirts. Not for anything serious: one of the wardens simply wanted to ask if they could carry a message to his friend working at the closest Waygate. He had assumed that’s what the party was southbound for, and got slightly disappointed when he heard otherwise. Sidney recommended that he take the message to the Guild; it would get delivered eventually.

The party continued along the trail, casually chatting as they encountered fewer houses and more fields the farther they went. Fields gave way to green meadows, then those gave way to deciduous trees with leaves of autumn’s golden brown. The trail gradually grew narrower and less travelled until there was barely a trail at all. They were in the wilderness now, needing to clamber over fallen trees and push through bushes. Each step deeper into the old world’s bastion bringing with it a tiny bit more magic into the air, the trees, the ground.

Crunch. Sammy’s steel boot crushes some half-rotten wood as he walks in front of the party. In his full armor, he’s the least mobile member of the group, but simultaneously the best-protected one, even with his helmet’s visor up.

“I’m curious,” he says, deciding to make some small talk with anyone who wants to take him up on it. “Forest got a name?”

“Yeah,” From behind him, Sidney responds. “Trinity’s Orchard. And we’re a little off course, by the way. Turn a bit left, friend,” she directs Sammy, feeling the Twainstone’s tug on her palm to not point directly ahead.

“Left. This good?”

Sidney confirms that it’s the correct course. Really, it would be easier if Sammy just relented on being fully armored and took off a gauntlet, so that he could use their navigational aid himself. But no, the man wants his digits protected. And Sid’s not one to gainsay their vanguard.

“Why’s it called that?” Sammy asks as he trundles forward.

“Huh? I dunno, friend. I dunno.”

”Hrm,” the [Paladin] grunts and says no more, his hunger for socialization apparently sated. Or maybe he’s just conserving conversation topics. Spirits know he’ll need them. Because after the first few hours of walking, it dawned on Sidney that she never had imagined how dreadfully boring this would be. Just. Walking.

Sid’s previous brief excursions weren’t this dull. In retrospect, it was probably due to each one having a goal in sight. Searching for a missing person, hunting for an animal or a stray monster. Those tasks had tension. You were looking for tracks, calling out names. Stalking the woods—or even being constantly wary for an attack.

But, as Claine had explained to her, monsters near settlements just generally aren’t that dangerous. People don’t build towns next to creatures who think you’re a snack. Monsters have quests placed on them are nearly always ravenously hungry, driven out of their territory, wounded, or otherwise acting unusual. Unless the party walked too deep into a monster’s territory—there would be signs of that—or threatened their young, the risk of getting attacked would be minimal. Who’d have thought that monsters, like animals, generally shy away from noises and people?

Not that she wanted to be attacked. It’s just. Hilariously boring. But that hilarity is quite short-lived, and then it becomes regular old boring.

For want of entertainment, Sidney looks over at Zavelle. She’s got a smile on her face and a spring in her step as she hops over each tussock and pit. Sid already tried asking what’s got her so amused. Zavelle just likes the plantlife. When asked why, she had explained how he likes their voices. Which didn’t make much sense to Sidney, but she chalked that up to being just another Zav thing.

Speaking of her step, Zavelle’s sparefoot. Uh, no. Barefoot. Sid fears she might be losing it… She needs some stimulation.

“Hey, Zav,” she says, trying out a new nickname. The demon doesn’t react in any way. Maybe she doesn’t like it. “Zavelle,” Sidney tries again.

“…Yes?” the small woman turns her head.

Sid points at her green feet. “Shouldn’t you put on some shoes, friend? Some of these bushes have thorns, you know.”

“…Oh, don’t…worry. They wouldn’t…hurt me,” Zavelle replies in that faltering manner of hers. Sid’s Skill tells her that it’s true; or at least, that Zavelle believes this to be true. Just like the thing about the voices of the plants.

Staring at Zavelle’s feet, Sidney does notice that they are conspicuously free of scratches, not to mention wounds.

“Huh. A benefit of your class?” she probes the demon, whose reply is a simple shrug. The conversation dies down there.

It’s time for her only hope. Sid slows down her walking pace, letting Zavelle go ahead of her and having Claine take her place.

“Claine, sweetie,” Sid addresses the wizard, still dressed in that gray cowl of hers, walking along with her cane in her right hand. “Entertain me,” she pleads with upturned eyes.

“I still ain’t castin’ anythin’. But we can talk,” Claine replies, only slightly wearier than last time Sid asked. Which must’ve been less than twenty minutes ago.

After brief thought, Claine finds a topic. “Say, about this task. Is it somethin’ Vesta does regularly?”

“Yeah. Every year she gets the same flowers, every year. Then disappears for a couple of days...” Sid furrows her brow. “Didn’t think of that, actually. Why’s the trip suddenly ten days?”

Claine’s got an answer. “Probably a travelin’ Skill from her [Wayfarer] class.”

“Vesta told you about her classes, sweetie?”

“Not really. I sorta casted [Identify] on her once. She noticed and gave me a real pissed look. The woman oughta get an amulet or somethin’ to block that if she doesn’t want every idiot [Identifying] or [Inspecting] her,” Claine rants a little.

Sidney scolds her for once again calling her girlfriend an idiot. It seems to be a very rude habit of Claine’s. The wizard manages to mollify her pretend-upset girlfriend, and then continues explaining.

“Anyroad. I think it gave me…” Claine scratches her head. “…[Noble] with level ten or so, I forgot. [Rogue] with no level shown, [Wayfarer] with level 26—I remember that ‘cause it was one level below me back then. Finally, [Receptionist] with no level shown again.”

Sid seems to ponder this information, pursing her lips and staring forwards at Sammy’s back. The party’s making good progress, the sun’s light gradually becoming more occluded as the trees get taller and lusher the deeper into the wilds they walk.

Sidney looks back at Claine and asks her, “No specialization on the [Rogue], not anything?”

“Don’t get her started,” Sammy remarks from ahead. He’s evidently been listening. Maybe he’s as bored as Sidney but knows how to hide it better.

However, Sidney does get Claine started. One question leads to another, and soon Claine’s explaining the various ways in which [Identify] and the like shouldn’t be spells at all. It’s more of a Skill than a spell, even though [Wizards] and other Skill-casters treat it as such. However, [Arcanists] and other ‘pure’ spellcasters (a description that infuriates some casters not belonging to this category, like Claine’s mentor) are completely unable to cast it.

[Identify] spells shouldn’t work, they say. The spell-forms are complicated nonsense, and even when replicated, they simply fizzle into nothingness. But reality doesn’t agree with theorists, since the spells do work if you’re lucky enough to get a variant from leveling up. And like other magic, they resist systemic description. Generally, you can’t see levels higher than yours. Generally, you don’t get to see modifiers or specializations. This much people can agree on, but the caveats and exceptions are numerous and inconsistent. Why, on Claine’s pirate—er, privateer ship, she had never managed to glean the cabin boy’s level. And that kid was six when he got on board. Him having been higher-leveled than Claine was inconceivable.

Of course, there’s theories as to what causes these exceptions. There always are. ‘It is about class rarity’, or ‘it is about willpower’, or even ‘it is an inherited factor’. But no theory is any more credible than the others, despite the insistence of some who think they’ve got it.

Stranger still is the fact that [Identify] doesn’t destructively interact with technology like other forms of magic. You could toss the spell at an [Artificer] riding one of those dwarven mechanized steeds, and it wouldn’t—

Suddenly, Claine stops her monologuing. Having noticed that she’s no longer even answering Sid’s question but going on a tangent instead. “Uh, sorry. I started ramblin’,” she apologizes sheepishly.

“Nah, it was nice to listen. You really like magic, huh, sweetie?” Sidney’s smile melts Claine’s awkward fears away.

“Aye, ever since I was a kid. Speakin’ of magic…Hey, Sammy.”

The vanguard leading them replies with a grunt, not turning to look. Not that his steel helmet affords him the mobility to peek around his shoulder.

“Let’s take a break. It’s the Wizardin’ Hour soon,” Claine suggests.

And after a few more minutes of walking, they come to an appropriate spot for a break. A small not-quite-a-clearing where the vegetation’s sparse and where a large, mossy fallen tree provides a spot to sit down. The party grabs some bags from the floater, with Zavelle, Sidney, and Sammy taking some of the rations and sitting down on the tree trunk. Claine doesn’t join them. Instead, she takes a folded piece of cloth out of her bag and then kicks some pinecones around to clear the ground.

“Cones. That’s odd,” remarks Sammy, biting into some fruit.

“How so, friend?” asks Sidney.

Sammy just nods at the surrounding trees—all deciduous. Zavelle would recognize them as birches and alders, decidedly not cone-bearing trees. Sid picks up a cone by her feet and examines it. It doesn’t look that old.

“Huh. That is odd. But I can’t say I ever paid attention to the trees for the forest,” Sidney says, chucking away the cone and chuckling away at her turn of phrase. She returns her attention to Claine, now unfolding the cloth on the earth sufficiently clear of detritus. The dark-green cloth is rectangular and has markings of obvious magical nature on it.

Next, the [Wizard-Pirate] plunders her trove for some miscellany. A small bowl, a smaller coffer, and a bundle of incense sticks. She stabs a row of three sticks into the ground in front of the cloth, then a pair more in front of the first row.

“Can ye toss me some water, Sammy?” she asks, and he passes his water flask to her. Claine doesn’t catch it, letting it fall on the ground. “Water without yer blasted spit in it,” she complains.

“I know,” Sammy mumbles out while chewing. “Didn’t drink out of that yet.”

“Oh.” Claine picks up the flask. “Thanks.”

The wizard continues her preparations. She pours some water into the bowl, then produces a red stone that glimmers in the rays of the sun shining through the holes in the canopy from the coffer. Claine gently places the stone in the bowl of water and points her finger at one of the incense sticks. Then she smacks herself in the forehead.

“Oh, hells,” she mutters. “Anyone got a light? Somethin’ handier than a flint?”

“Um…I can cast…[Spark]…if that will do…?” Zavelle replies.

“Perfect. Could ye grab a twig and light it for me?”

The demon hops off the trunk and does as asked. She picks up a dry-looking twig, holds it lengthwise with her hands cupped, and with a quick little blow of air ignites one end of it. She offers the burning twig to Claine, who takes it.

“Yer a lifesaver, Zavelle,” she says and gets to lighting the incense.

Zavelle climbs back on the fallen tree to resume her meal. Sidney looks at her weird.

“…What is it?” Zavelle asks, uncomfortable being started at.

“No, just wondering. You didn’t mention you had a Skill for silent casting.”

“I…don’t.”

Sid tilts her head in confusion. “How’s that work? I didn’t hear you chant a spell. Or is it different for [Druids]?” she asks, looking at Sammy. He shrugs.

“No…I chanted it but…I used my Singing voice, and…that’s why you didn’t hear it…” Zavelle explains.

Somehow, Sidney manages to look both convinced an unconvinced at the same time. “Another Zav thing, huh. Good for you, friend,” she lets the matter drop.

The five incense sticks are lit, wafting their fragrant aroma into the air. Claine sits on her knees in a practiced manner and picks up the small bowl with both her hands. She carefully places it in the middle of the cloth, then rests her hands on her legs.

Claine begins praying. “O grand spirit of magic, I beseech thee. O grand spirit of magic, I beseech thee. Grace this lowly one with thy presence, so that…”

Sidney chomps into some bread with a thick cut of meat on it. In a day or two, it’s going to be all dried foods that keep better. Regular food poisoning’s bad, but magical food poisoning’s worse. Unless…

“Zavelle, can you cure food poisoning, by any chance?” Sidney asks after gulping down her bite.

“No…it counts as…poison,” Zavelle explains.

Drat. Well, it’s not like they brought much food that expires quickly anyway. Maybe she could lay some traps come nightfall to have fresh meat in the morning? She’d have to discuss that with the others.

Claine finishes her prayer. She continues sitting there, back straight and eyes closed.

“Hm. I think it’s my first time seeing a [Wizard] do this,” Sid says.

“No wonder,” Sammy replies. “They do it in private. Usually.”

“Why’s that, friend? Why’s that?”

Saying nothing, the paladin picks up a pinecone and hucks it at Claine. It bops her on the side of her head, but she doesn’t react.

“See? Can’t move. Not until she’s done. So, [Wizards] do it in private. When they can,” Sammy explains.

“Huh. You mean I could give her a kiss on the cheek, and she’d be none the wiser?” Sidney asks.

Sammy shakes his head. “She’s still aware. If you’re okay with that, sure. But don’t interrupt her. She’ll be pissed. The spirit will be pissed too.”

Sidney looks at Claine thoughtfully, considering it. It would be fun and funny. But also, not a particularly healthy thing to do, not without knowing Claine’s fine with it. Perhaps some other time, Sid concludes.

Soon the offering in the bowl disappears alongside a large puff of steam. The small cloud drifts skyward to join its kin. A small trickle of blood runs down from Claine’s nose.

“Sammy, she’s bleeding. Bleeding. Should I get worried?” Sidney asks, worried.

Sammy’s unruffled. “Hrm? No. That’s normal.”

Nevertheless, Sidney extracts a promise from Zavelle to check Claine’s condition when she’s done. It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes for the wizard to rouse from her stupor, upon which she gives an angry look to Sammy. He ignores it and asks for his flask back. Claine grumpily tosses it at him as Zavelle gives her a quick [Lesser Diagnosis]. Nothing’s wrong with her. In fact, Zavelle fails to find any damage at all in her head.

Claine packs up her ritual supplies and grabs herself some food too. She informs the group that she swapped [Identify] and [Detect Magic] out from her available spells. The first spell wouldn’t be of any use unless they had the rare chance encounter with a person in these wilds—unlikely, given that they weren’t heading to any of the major locations nearby. The second spell would be worse than useless, as using it would only hinder Claine’s sight without sufficient acclimatization to the ambient magic. She replaced them with [Ward] and [Locate Element] respectively, which she can imagine having uses for.

After Claine’s meal and some further lounging around, the group continued on their way. With Sidney and Claine leading the way this time. Sidney had grown fed up with having to keep correcting Sammy’s direction. More importantly, the forest had become less bushy, so the already miniscule danger of the person in front walking into a monster and getting attacked by surprise was now nigh-impossible.

Traveling onward, Zavelle looked as amused as ever. No one but Sammy could tell what he was feeling. Sidney was still slightly bored, but walking beside Claine and seeing the faint smile on her face took the worst edge off.

It would be a long walk, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.