“Wow… Did you guys have writing?” Morgan asked, absolutely fascinated.

Alister rolled his eyes, “Yes!! Writing was developed at least a few hundred years before I was born!”

That got a grin from Morgan, "Ooooh, really? Did you know Neo-Aartian? Shoot, I guess it'd be different at the time… eh…" she said as she pursed her lips in thought. Then she said… something old sounding. Alister just gave her a blank stare.

"You… know there were tons of languages, right? That said, I think I met a people who spoke it, but I never learned it. I used ancient cave magic to uunga bunga together what they were saying," he said with a face and tone that were absolutely neutral, as if he were saying the sky was blue.

Morgan laughed, grin only spreading. "Oh ho ho, we've got some sass in this one huh? Don't you know I'm a countess?" She teased back, looking off and up into the air, her nose up in the air in a mock haughty expression. "Troublesome child, I could have you banished you know!"

Wisteria gave a polite cough, gathering their attention. She motioned to a town gate, “How far outside of town are you taking us, Miss Morgan?”

“I said you can be informal,” Morgan sighed, “I would like to go out toward the coastline. There is a den of crabs there that has been causing some problems for local fishermen. The crabs get… a liiiiittle territorial. They don’t like to give up their fish. And they’re smart, too. They sort of… farm their fish in tidepools. Smart just means more dangerous. More dangerous means more experience. More experience means we level faster!”

Morgan, realizing the implication of what she said, clarified, "Not that they're really THAT dangerous of course. They might be really smart crabs, but they're still just crabs. That said, if we can kill say… two hundred? That should cull their number enough that they can't cause more trouble, but they can keep up their fish farms. But since they're not just normal crabs, that should be enough to get you up a few levels at least. Get ya close at least. Maybe even get you there if we can find enough big ones."

“I’m just happy I’m not the one who will be getting in trouble for this,” Wisteria said, sighing, “Let’s go. Can we gather the crabs for the fishermen afterward? The meat should be tasty.”

“Of course! That’s a great idea. And let the trouble lay on my shoulders. I don’t mind it. I’m used to it, even. Alister you’re probably going to get in trouble for this though.”

Alister shrugged, “I hardly mind. What are they going to do? Yell at me? We still have to go to the funeral either way. I’ll enjoy some freedom while I have it.”

The trio began to travel before Morgan snapped her fingers. "Oh. Right. So a couple of things," she said as she reached into her coat to pull out chalk, "So for one, let's not get mugged, huh?" She said as she closed her eyes for a moment. She mumbled something under her breath, peeled one eye open to size them up, then mumbled more. When she finished, clothing would appear in her hands, a couple of rough-looking brown leather adventurer's cloaks, and some makeup. "Voila! Some clothes and fake dirt to hide your identity," she said casually.

The two excitedly rushed to put the cloaks on, Alister letting out a familiar sigh. "Looks a little like my old cloak…" he said, then began muttering himself. Shortly, little silver twinkling runes, lines, and swirls appeared on it, faint but noticeable. "There. Not too much, but a bit… closer," he said.

This just got an eye roll from Morgan. "Well, we're trying to NOT draw attention, but I guess that's not so bad," she said, smiling, "What does it say?"

Alister’s smile became a slightly sadder one. "They're the True Names of my apprentices and friends… though I suppose for most races true names are just names," he said, "Carlia, Demerieth, Lucas, Samuel, and Sarriel. I cast an old Seeking spell we once used to find each other when we'd have to scatter to evade..." he cut off, remembering that even in comfortable company he shouldn't admit his hostility towards the divine.

A moment of respectful silence followed, broken by Alister. "Anyway! Let's get going," he urged, and Morgan clucked her tongue.

"Not quite yet. It'd take a while to get there on foot. We need mounts," she said cheerily, trying to compensate for the earlier sadness. Before anyone could follow that, she spoke again, "But I hear you say, we can't go back to get them! Well, small children, I have a solution!"

Alister gave her an expectantly quirked brow, “And you call me dramatic, Wisteria.”

Morgan scoffed and pulled a small crystal from her pocket. She drew a symbol in the air and chanted in another language for five seconds, before pointing the reddish crystal toward the center of her symbol, “Summon! Spectral steed!”

A tan horse materialized itself from the hooves up. It looked, after it was no longer forming out of silver smoke, practically normal. It didn’t fidget like a normal animal would, though, and had a sort of glass doll look in its eyes. Alister folded his arms with a bored look, but Wisteria was excited.

“That’s so cool!!” she squealed, rushing over to the horse and petting its shoulder, with glee, “That’s such a useful spell! How’d you learn to do that?”

“Clothing conjuration is a common spell for female mages to learn, of course, but this spell I learned for adventuring! Able to travel the plains, go wherever I want at the wave of a focus!” Morgan announced, clearly very proud of herself. And admittedly, it was impressive for a 17-year-old to know a spell like that. But all Alister could do was put his palm against his face in embarrassment. She was so dramatic!

“At least it doesn’t look as flashy as your summoning technique,” he groaned, “but we’re gathering attention like this. Let’s keep moving, yes?”

“Sour Sally, much?” Morgan huffed, patting the horse, “I’ll tell you about how I learned it later, Wisteria! It is a story fraught with intrigue! And a cute boy.”

Wisteria giggled, and Alister’s eye roll was palpable, but they finally got on their way. The spectral steed was able to hold their weight with ease, and it made the trip to the other side of the city far faster than it would ever be on foot. Morgan teased that their mount back would be flying, but Alister doubted she could pull it off.

The docks were bustling with activity. The three hooked down to the southern area of the city where shipyards mixed with lower-class slum housing and factories. Here, cleanly paved roads gave way to dirt and sand, and the homes looked ramshackle and either sloppily built or old enough to be mistaken for sloppiness. Stone and metal walls of the nearby factories often loomed over the usually single-story homes, and the chimneys had an unfamiliar black smoke that poured out of them. It made the air reek. The cleaner areas of the city must have used cleansing artifacts to keep the scent at bay, Alister figured, glaring at the smokestacks.

He was unfamiliar with something like that, producing so much black smoke. Burnt wood never smelled so unpleasant, so he didn’t know what they were burning, either. Something to ask his father about, later. Not to mention the state of these slums. The combination of higher population density and poor living conditions made it a different sort of hell than the one he was accustomed to. Another thing to ask his father about.