"Right." Alma looked around as Bert excused himself and retreated to the kitchen. "I missed the ambiance of this place. It's so… comfy."

"Fancy digs is right. No expense for comfort, eh?" Hwalín grinned. "I can even hear music playing in the other room. Bet even the tea is some kind of imported. Right, Alma? Am I right?"

"She… does have a taste for the finer things."

"I'll take that as a yes," Hwalín huffed proudly. "I'm guessing most of this stuff is the fruit of your labors? Dungeon crawling and all that?"

Alma lowered her voice and smiled smugly. "Mostly thanks to me, yeah. Check out the parlor here. Half the dusty tomes on this shelf? Every three or so is a different souvenir of one of our grand adventures. You'd think it'd be some shiny trinket but books are usually her favorite haul. She might not look it but she really loves to feed her knowledge."

“Heloise is surprisingly well read it seems.” Qu'l-Nia had been browsing through one of the many large bookshelves adorning the wall of the room. Finding a book on moral nihilism, she picked a spot to sit down and immediately soaked up the information inside.

“Actually, I don’t think she’s even gotten through half of these books.”

"So it's mostly you give and she takes, is it?” Hwalín asked, veering back to the previous topic. “Sounds like an interesting friendship."

"It really is." Alma chuckled. "We each get our fair share of things. I just happen to be more interested in the hunt. I mean, we call it treasure but at the end of the day it's mostly just junk antiquities that aren't really worth much. she makes due by scrounging up any magical artifact that a normal person would just scoff at. You think she paid for this house? It was built with magic. It's all just wood and stone and that kind of magic is her specialty. If you look real closely at certain spots, you'll notice a lot of weird imperfections that magic can't get quite right. She’s too proud to admit it though, so don’t tell her I told you. She’d scream my head off."

Hwalín observed the surrounding structure. Just as Alma had said, she noticed the wood weirdly jutting out of frame in certain places, weirdly shaped supports, beams of arcane lumber poking from the ceiling. She hadn't noticed the haphazard jumble of magic’s architecture until Alma pointed them out, causing her to feel extra cautious of where she was standing.

"Hwal, never had the urge to explore a cave or secret grotto? Never wanted to go adventuring or exploring?" Alma plopped down on the seat next to Qu'l-Nia and clasped her hands, bringing her two index fingers up to puckered lips before pointing them at the Hecatian. "Give me the lowdown. Tell me more about Hwalín."

"Who do you think you're talkin' to?” The Hecatian pondered for a moment, then flashed a sharp-toothed grin while pointing over her shoulder. “I ever tell you how I lost my tail?"

"No, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I've always wanted to ask.” Alma glanced toward the exit. “And Heli is definitely gonna hop in the shower so it’s gonna be a while."

"I was still young and brash when it happened,” recalled Hwalín. “Not quite an adult yet but not quite a kid either. See, my pops has spent most of his life sailing out at sea. Mostly raiding and pillaging."

"Holy shit your dad's a pirate?"

"Well. For a time. ‘Fore I was born. They later commissioned him as a privateer. That was when he met my mum. She worked for the town guard of my place back home. Nothing so prestigious like your Crusaders, mind.”

“Hwal! You’re basically an army brat! Why haven’t we talked about this?!”

“A daughter of both land and sea,” noted Qu’l-Nia, her gaze still glued to her book.

How does she expand her focus like that?

“Yeah, I mean, kind of, but not really.” The red elf chuckled modestly. “It’s not like I ever saw much of either of them anyhow. Spent most of my life being took care of by my mum’s brother. He was sweet if not a bit rough around the edges. Had to give up merc’in’ once he took me in. Never seemed to resent me for it though. That wise ass taught me so much about life.” There was a dreamy look in her eyes. A gleam of better times.

“Sounds exciting. More than I can say about my life.”

Hwalín smirked and made a gesture with her hands as if to emphasize where they currently were.

“Not something I’d have been able to attest to without you guys.”

“Tea?” Bertrand entered the room holding an old-fashioned silver tray

“Oi kid. I’m a bit knackered. You got anything to, err, spice this up with?” asked Hwalín, making a pouring motion with her free hand.

The boy tilted his head, confused.

“Heli doesn’t drink,” stated Alma.

“I knew this place was too good to be true.”

Qu’l-Nia wordlessly grabbed a cup of tea from the tray and set it down. It would eventually grow cold and remain untouched.

“I getcha. I’d have preferred a soda but Heli doesn’t care for it.” Alma grabbed a tea cup from the tray and quietly whispered to Bertrand. “Ligerberry and rhizeric, right? I need to shake these bad vibes.”

Bert nodded silently.

Alma smiled and took a sip, satisfied.

“Where was I?” the Hecatian asked herself. “I was gonna tell you about…. my uncle Beleth. That’s right. Decent man when he wasn’t being a complete tosser.” She unsheathed one of her swords and looked at herself in its pallid reflection. “Pops gifted me these swords as a child and when I was big enough, uncle Bel taught me how to swing ‘em. You might be a fan of your guns, but I’ve always liked the old-fashioned ways of fighting.”

“Guns are plenty old-fashioned! They’ve been around for a couple hundred years. Don’t knock it ‘til you tried it.”

“Be that as it may…” Hwalín chuckled, gently twirling her blade through the air. “There’s something about solving your problems in dick-swinging distance that beats ranged combat anytime.”

Alma groaned.

“Metaphorically speaking, of course.” The red elf flashed another sharp-toothed grin.