Faye was still holding the boy when, a few minutes later, Taveon got to his feet. He had been tending to Maggie with the supplies he had at hand, a potion or two and some fresh water. He had a single absorbent cloth to wash away any dirt on the wound.

Now, he approached Faye and smiled at the boy, who had turned his head to look.

“Come on down, now, lad. I need to talk to our adventurer, eh?”

The boy nodded, and Faye reluctantly put him on the ground. He gave her a shy smile and went to sit next to Maggie’s resting form.

“Good lad,” Taveon said, with a smile and gentle pat on the boy’s shoulder as he passed by.

The old man turned a critical eye on Faye.

She shifted under his gaze. “What?”

“Are you sure the assassin is gone?” he asked, quietly.

“Feels like it,” she said, shrugging. “It was not a skill that told me they were here, before. It was a gut feeling. Feeling’s gone.”

Taveon waited a second more, then nodded his head brusquely. “We can all keep our senses sharp, then, but let us hope that our attacker has indeed left for good. In future, don’t put down your weapons so readily. Especially if there’s a stealth specialist nearby.”

Faye tried not to look down at the body of the man who had died because she was not fast enough. She absently nodded.

“We have to move,” Faye said. “Even if that assassin has disappeared, and— you’re right, we can’t be sure they have… I’m worried about Maggie recovering in the open like this.”

Taveon nodded. “I was going to suggest the same. In a little while, once the potion has had time to mend some of her internal injuries a little, we can risk it. Right now, I’m worried she will tear open again if we ask her to get up.”

Faye turned her worried gaze on Maggie now. “It’s my fault. I should have done more.”

“Don’t be stupid, nor so arrogant!” Taveon said in a quietly serious voice. He looked over his shoulder before continuing. “You are still uncrested. If you were born here, you would be stronger… but you were not, and there is nothing we can do about that.”

Faye nodded. A sense of guilt, of being too slow, still wound tightly in her gut. Part of her knew that Arran would not have let the rogue stab Maggie. But, seeing the way Taveon was looking at her, Faye swallowed the feeling and gave him a grimace that barely passed as a smile.

Gesturing to the woman in the shoddy armour, Hoza, Faye inquired about her identity.

“Militia,” Taveon replied. “The townsfolk all sign onto a roster to volunteer for moments… like this one, I suppose.” He sighed.

Faye just hummed. It was a system that made some sense. But it seemed their militia had less combat experience than Faye, despite their living here. She would have thought that there would be more preparation for such an eventuality.

They had the resources and fallback points throughout town. Was that their only form of defence?

“Taveon, where’s the full defence for the town?”

The older man looked at her for a moment, as if unsure what she was asking.

“I mean,” she clarified, “if this is even a remote possibility that you think might happen you prepare for it, right? You have the mini forts throughout town, resources, and plans… where are the people to get you all through this?”

Taveon grimaced. “It does seem like a devastating flaw in the plan. Truthfully, I only know so much. What I can gather, however, is that any truly defensive plan relied on at least two full adventurer teams. When the attack started, we had none.”

Faye sighed. “I think it was their plan. They lured us out to the Steading, Taveon. I’m almost sure of it.”

Before they could really say more, Maggie let out a groan and started moving, wildly. Faye strode over and grabbed her friend’s flailing hands before they hit the boy, or herself.

“Hush, now, it’s okay,” she crooned. “It’s okay, they’re gone.”

Maggie’s arms quietened. She opened her eyes after a moment more, slowly and with confusion.

“Faye? Where— oh gods, what happened?”

Before finishing her sentence, she moved as if to sit up. Only Faye’s hand on Maggie’s shoulder prevented her from aggravating the slowly congealing wound.

“You were hurt, don’t move just yet. We’re waiting on the potion to work. Then we can get you off the cold ground and inside, somewhere.”

“Oh, wow, yeah, that hurts…” Maggie said, letting out a groan as the pain reared its ugly head. “Did he get me?”

“Yeah.”

“I mostly remember frantic movement,” Maggie said. She let her head drop back to the ground with a little thud. “Ow.”

Taveon stepped nearby, he knelt to look at her wound. “You are lucky we arrived when we did, Miss Maggie.”

Maggie turned a scowl on the old man. “Don’t ‘Miss Maggie’, me, Taveon! You’re why we’re out here. What were you doing, leaving your house, and running around like that for?”

He returned her look with a flat stare.

“Yes, I know about the children,” Maggie said, “but I was just stabbed through the belly for you. It hurts. I think you owe us a rather tall drink when we’re through.”

At this, Faye saw him crack a smile.

He nodded, gently.

“All right, Miss Maggie, I shall get you the tallest drink in the town, once this is through.”

“I have witnesses,” Maggie replied. “And— urgh, no more talking.”

She lapsed into painful silence, small trembling sounds emerging from her throat as she tried to hold in the pain.

Faye gritted her teeth with each sound. It scraped on her nerves, each one, as if part of her own wound.

As they waited for Maggie’s potion to take effect, Faye filled Taveon in on their travails getting through the town. Maggie’s pained sounds soon lapsed into restless sleep.

“Then, taking down the rogue, my system called him a… a Black Rose Rogue?” she said, with a questioning uplift.

“Black Rose?” Taveon said, humming to himself. “It is clearly a modifier for rogue…”

Seeing Faye’s curious face, Taveon stopped humming and turned on his teacher’s voice. “A class modifier usually indicates that a person has been awarded a more uncommon version of the class. In this case, I can only imagine that the Black Rose modifier is part identifier for this rogue’s group, but class name modifiers also indicate a different skill set from the original class.”

He paused and frowned.

“You haven’t heard of Black Rose before, then?” Faye asked. She activated [Swordfighter’s Sense] for a moment and was satisfied there were no, overt, hostiles in the area kept her eyes focused on Taveon.

“No… but that’s not unusual of itself. There are as many class modifiers as there are opinions of the right way to do something, sometimes. In the cities you will often come across those with sub-classes like that. No, what is curious is what the presence of someone with an… uncommon class such as that was doing here in Lóthaven, and at such a low level.”

“He was level 15,” Faye said.

Taveon turned a shocked look on Faye. She was getting used to evoking that expression in him.

“I should not have been surprised,” he muttered, “that is about the level I would expect for an operative in this area to be… but for you to best him...”

“The assassins are fast,” Faye said, “but if you manage to hit them, they go down.”

“Yes, of course. This is a well-known problem. Classes are, by nature, specialised things that help one improve in one area; a warrior gets stronger, a guardian gets tougher, a mage gets more magically powerful, and so on. A rogue, as you might imagine, has most of their early focus in being fast, hard to hit, and, well, sneaky.”

Faye nodded. “That is what it seemed like.”

Taveon hesitated, but at Faye’s prompting, he carried on.

“Can I ask… what level are you, now?”

“Ninth,” Faye said.

He just shook his head.

“Faye, I am entirely certain you have no idea how impossible your rapid rise through the first nine levels has been… but I am certain that you will continue to surpass every expectation as time carries on.”

“About that,” Faye muttered. “I saw my status.”

“Ah! Excellent!”

Faye nodded and tried to bring it up again with a mental command.

Status.

A notification ping sounded in her mind, but the mental panel of information she expected did not appear. She was still able to recall the words, though.

“Okay, so it’s on the fritz, but there were some boons listed. Experience boost, times two, might explain why I have been levelling so fast.”

Taveon’s eyes glinted in the light of the day. He turned his face up and smiled.

“Ahh, Faye. You have confirmed something that I have wondered for a long time. Boons such as those are always, always rumoured to exist. Someone’s cousin’s best friend’s sister’s acquaintance knew someone who had an experience boon, once.” He grinned. “And those that have the boons rarely shout about it. Thank you, for sating this particular curiosity of mine.”

Faye smiled. “That’s quite alright, old man. I come from a world where, most of the time, knowledge is to be shared rather than hoarded. I’m not used to keeping it all to myself. And… there was a bane, also.”

Taveon’s countenance changed dramatically. He grabbed her by the shoulder. “A bane? Tell me.”

“Spectre’s Gaze,” she said, with a grimace. “The system did not want to tell me much, just that I felt the gaze of one of humanity’s greatest foes.”

Taveon scowled. “A spectre? Dark, evil forces of nature that take on aspects of the area they inhabit. If there is one nearby, it is a deadly threat. How did you escape such a thing?”

Faye thought back to the thing on top of the mountain, in the broken stone fort. It had been a long while since she had thought of it, and the moment she did a lance of terror spasmed through her.

She shivered.

“It was in the mountains,” she whispered. “An old fort, a castle… I tripped and the system asked me if I wanted to teleport, so I said, ‘yes’ and ended up in Lóthaven.”

Taveon nodded. “A stone of recall, then,” he said. “A tool the Guild gives its adventurers that are on patrol for use in emergencies. It appears that these adventurers did not get a chance to use it.”

Faye shook her head. “It feels awful to say, but I am glad they never did.”

Taveon did not reply to that, but she did not sense any judgement from him for her words.

“A bane is something that can be removed, Faye, and that is what we must do with this one of yours as soon as practicable. For now, of course, the defence of the town must come first. If you have had this bane the entire time you have been here, then I cannot imagine that it is life threatening.”

Faye shook her head; she did not think so. “Is that what is affecting my system?”

“I… can’t be sure,” Taveon said.

Maggie stirred, her eyelids fluttering. Taveon bent down to wipe away some of the sweat on her brow with the corner of his sleeve, the cloth pad he had already used on her wound too dirty to use.

“Banes are terrible things, but sometimes they represent a personal choice, or journey, that one must undertake. I have never heard of one affecting a system like this… but coupled with your circumstance? Perhaps.”

Faye watched as he tended to Maggie, checking through the rip in her clothing at the wound. The skin there was angrily red and looked stretched, tender. Faye grimaced, but Taveon made an appreciative noise.

“Almost ready to move, I judge.”

“Then let’s get ready,” Faye said. “Hoza! Are you strong enough to carry Maggie when we move out of here?”

The militiawoman turned to regard Faye, with a raised eyebrow. “Why me?”

“Because I will need to be free to defend us,” Faye replied.

The woman looked at Faye with a curious expression. “Schoolmaster, are we letting this uncrested adventurer command?”

Faye bristled, but instead of saying anything, she turned to look at Taveon. She would heed his advice.

“Yes, Militiawoman Hoza, we shall. First of all, her class is combat-related, and her personal skill level is higher than her level indicates. If that were not enough, I assume that her class has granted her more attributes dedicated to the dispatching of monsters and other enemies than someone who is an Apprentice Weaver.”

Hoza, in her ill-fitting armour, shifted in disbelief for a moment, then ducked her head as a painful blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“Hoza,” Taveon continued, gentler, “I meant no harm, but believe me when I say that out of all of us, Faye has more combat experience. We would probably do well with her being able to fight.”

“Right now,” Faye added, “I’m more concerned with getting Mags into a house or building nearby that we won’t be complete sitting ducks if more Primalists appear. Fighting inside one of these sturdy buildings is probably better than out here, especially with wounded and the boy.”

Militiawoman Hoza, straightening, nodded and looked around at the doors nearby. She pointed to one with a particularly sturdy door.

“That one,” she said, “is the workshop of a carpenter I know. He won’t mind if we shelter there.”

Faye nodded. “Thank you, Hoza.” She turned to Taveon. “Alright, Taveon, I need to get Mags safely ensconced in that workshop and then you’re taking me to look at where the Primalists are herding people. I want to see what we are up against.”

Taveon nodded. “Aye, that’s a good idea. Miss Maggie’s wound here is probably healed enough now that we can move her into there. Militiawoman Hoza, is the workshop locked?”

The woman shook her head, “I don’t know, wait a moment.”

As Hoza trotted off to check the door, Faye knelt and gently shook Maggie’s shoulder. She startled awake.

“Ah! — oh, okay, hello…”

“I’m so sorry, Mags,” Faye said, with a sympathetic wince, “but we have to get you up and into a building nearby, just in case someone comes along and sees us here. Plus, it will be warmer inside.”

The weather was not as bad as it had been, there was barely any snow, but the cool winter air was still chilled enough that without the exertion of the fighting, Faye might find herself shivering before too long.

“Yes, really getting cold,” Maggie said with a jerky nod. “Are we sure my…” she swallowed.

“Yes,” Taveon interrupted, “the potion has been hard at work. You should be okay for now. No more fighting for a little while.”

The Militiawoman returned, indicating that she had opened the workshop and they were free to move inside. Faye helped Maggie up and into Hoza’s arms, carrying her like a newlywed couple. The image made Faye grin.

“What’s so funny?” Maggie asked, with a small gasp of pain.

“Oh, nothing!” she replied, grinning.

Taking up Maggie’s shield and slinging it over a shoulder, she passed the wooden training blade to Taveon. “Can you use this?”

“Probably not well,” the old man returned. “But, in a pinch, perhaps.”

Faye nodded. It was good enough. She felt the pressure still, crushing her. Those children, the other townsfolk, they were counting on them.

“Then let’s get moving.”