Most of the occupied tables had townsfolk sitting at them, with Runners at a few. Like Tibs and his team, they were experienced. The urchins didn’t come to the inn. They stayed with the families that housed them. Tibs didn’t know what the guild would let them do once they had their element and formed teams.

Kroseph brought food and drinks, paused long enough to exchange a concerned look with Jackal, then moved on to serving other tables. Jackal ate heartedly, while Don barely touched his food. Tibs ate without concern for the tension at the table.

“Alright,” Jackal said, leaning back in his chair, his plate empty. “Whenever you want to start, Don.” He drained his tankard and motioned for another.

Don moved vegetables around before pushing the plate away. “Like I told Tibs, I was going to be a scholar. My family weren’t nobles, but we had wealth enough to mingle with them and not be overtly ostracized. It was a good life. I lacked for nothing, and the inconveniences I had to deal with were minor in comparison. Unlike many in my family’s position, I didn’t have aspiration of being a noble.”

Jackal snorted and Mez glared at him.

“I was going to be a scholar,” Don repeated softy. “My dues to the academy were already paid. All I needed was to be of age. I’d demonstrated my aptitudes, and a few of the lower masters had expressed interest in taking me on as their apprentice. My future was set; my dreams were about to come true.” He fell silent and looked at his plate.

“What went wrong?” Khumdar asked.

“We were merchants. Our trade was mostly textiles, and we had contracts all the way to the neighboring kingdoms. As I said, we had wealth. That’s where it came from. My father had started expanding by investing into clothiers and tailors. The quality he enforced was such that Nobles shopped at those businesses.”

He sighed. “What we didn’t know was that in doing so, my father encroached onto a noble’s business. He had quiet investments in several larger tailor’s shops. My father didn’t deal with any of them, but our new customers used to be theirs.”

Don sipped his ale. “Nobles are not keen on honest competition against a lower statured family. Instead of competing with my father on quality or prices, that noble destroyed him. My father was accused of paying to have other merchant’s shipment destroyed or tampered with. Evidence was brought forth supporting those claims. My father’s counter evidence was ignored by the magistrates.”

His expression darkened, and he took a few breaths to calm himself. “My father’s businesses were taking from him as ‘punishment’ for his crimes. His—our family’s wealth vanished with them. My father wouldn’t accept it. He was determined to get the magistrates to see he was innocent. He used up the little money we had left, and we were forced to leave the neighborhood I’d spent my life in.”

Again, he fell silent, but started again before he needed to be prodded. “It was hard. The house was so small. We could barely afford anything we had taken for granted, and my father did nothing to help us. He was obsessed, and it destroyed him. The drinking destroyed him. But my mother held on to enough no one had to take up menial work. And in only a few months of moving to that neighborhood, I wouldn’t be a burden on her anymore. I would be of age to start my apprenticeship, and I would become to academy’s responsibility.”

“It did not happen,” Khumdar stated in the stretching silence.

Don shook his head. “The academy has standards, you know. And I no longer met them. Only the best of the best was allowed into those hallowed halls,” he said bitterly. “Only those with the right social status, is what they mean, not the abilities. We had paid,” he spat. “Masters had looked at me, at the work I had done to demonstrate I met the requirements. They had judged me good enough, some already considered talking me on. But now, how could even they consider letting someone like me in, letting the rabble in. They called my work subpar.” He slammed the tankard on the table. “Of course, they never returned what my family had paid. We could have used the money.”

He picked up as Khumdar opened his mouth. “I was angry,” he growled. “My family had been good and decent folks, and our ‘betters’ had ground us down. Well, if that was how things were done, I was going to outdo them at it. Any who threaten me and my family, I ground into the dirt the way we had suffered.” He smiled. “Some minor nobles even found themselves under my boot when they thought to prove themselves better than me. I took what I wanted, what we needed. I took the books I wanted to read, the powers I needed to keep my family safe, the respect I deserved.”

He drained his tankard. “Until I was arrested for possession of academy material and sent to a cell. The fine was exorbitantly high, the price for desecrating those oh so precious tomes. They demanded gold my family could never hope to even see anymore. The long stay in my cell did not improve my attitude.” He stated. “Then came my chance to be a ‘worthwhile’ member of society again, when the guild bought me and those in the cell and sent us here. As if,” he spat, “I’d been nothing more than…” he trailed off, looking away.

“Me,” Tibs stated.

“A thief,” Don corrected. “It isn’t an excuse, but I was destined to be a scholar. And because of some noble’s machination, I was nothing more than a thief to any who saw me. Well, it wasn’t because I was in some strange place I was going to let anyone here treat me the way I had been back…home. I would be respected, no matter how many heads I needed to ground under my boot. And woe to anyone who thought they might be better than I, for I would prove them wrong no matter the cost.” He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry Tibs.”

“Did you father commit those crimes?” Jackal asked casually.

“Jackal!” Mez snapped.

“No, Mez,” Don cut him off. “It’s a valid question. The truth is that I don’t know. If you’d asked me back then, I would have told you without hesitation that my father would never do such a vile thing. But I’ve seen too much of the world now. Felt justified in doing so many vile things myself. I don’t know anymore. I want to believe my father is innocent. I… asked him, the last time they allowed us to leave, but he was too lost in the drinks to even answer me.”

He sighed. “And it doesn’t matter anymore. I let what happened then turn me into a man no one could stand, not even those who claimed to be my friends. Of everyone who I surrounded myself with, I can count on one hand those who didn’t look at me with hate when they thought I couldn’t see. I don’t want to be that man anymore.”

“You think telling us that makes what you did go away?” Jackal asked.

“No. I can’t ask you to forgive or forget how I treated you. I’m only providing context leading up to our encounters. Mez, I needed to belittle, because I made you the representation of anyone who caused me pain. I couldn’t see past your need to hold yourself and others to a better code that what’s considered normal. All I saw was pretense demanding we look up to you. You, Jackal, terrified me. It wasn’t that you’d beaten the men I had. I didn’t care about them. It was that with less than a day of knowing Mez, you stepped between me and who I wanted back; someone I claimed as mine. No one had dared doing that since I’d gotten my element.”

Jackal smirked. “You might remember I was kind of full of myself back then.”

“It didn’t matter. You had decided someone I thought dirt deserved to be protected from me. So I hurt you as much as I could. Taught you your place.”

“Never was good at learning that lesson,” Jackal replied.

“That made you scarier, because I believed you’d get back at me. That it was the only thing you could do after what I did to you. I made you and Tibs monsters looking to destroy my life, and then… we had to work together against your father.”

“Would that not have let you see they were not such monsters?” Khumdar asked.

Don snorted. “That required I bother looking. The scholar never assumes, always studies. Turns out I make a lousy scholar.”

“You were angry,” Jackal said. “That’s going to mess with your thinking. But why corruption? Why not go for something like fire or metal? Something that tells everyone how dangerous you are?”

“Our instructor told us to think carefully about what element was best suited to us. If we didn’t pick the one that align with us, our progression would be much harder than it needed to be; that’s if we survived the audience.” Don looked at them. “Weren’t you told the same thing?”

“After I made that crystal glow,” Mez said, “they took me to another archer who told me I could pick an element from the list she gave me. I picked fire out of those eight because it looked more useful than the others, especially since some of them I didn’t get. How is mind an element?”

Don looked at Tibs.

He shrugged. “Tirania told me to pick one of the four core elements. When I asked about the rest, she said they weren’t as good.” He considered how much to add. “I wanted people around me to stop dying, and Water was more suited to that. But I didn’t understand much of what having that element meant.”

“They told me to pick earth,” Jackal said, “since I’d already shown my skull was as thick as it.”

The sorcerer looked at Khumdar.

“I did not go through the same as you. Darkness called to me, and I answered.”

Jackal snorted. “Our cleric loves wrapping himself in mystery. I don’t think he’s answered that question the same way twice.”

“Right,” Don said disdainfully, “Cle—” he snapped his mouth shut. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled. “Wouldn’t you be interested in answering some questions? I’m curious what it means to be a cleric of an element other than Purity.”

“Not particularly,” Khumdar replied, smirking.

Don opened his mouth, then closed it and he let a breath out. As he opened his mouth again, Jackal pushed papers at him.

Don took them, looked at the diagrams and then at the fighter. “And now, you expect me not to ask about how it is the sorcerer didn’t realize you were hiding them on you.”

Jackal looked around and Mez nodded.

Tibs studied Don. He didn’t lie when he said he wanted to be better, but this could cause problem if they weren’t careful. Not only to the team, but to every Runner. If the guild found out there was one item they couldn’t detect as being woven through with essence, they would scrutinize everyone who walked out of Sto.

He nodded. How could he know how determined the sorcerer was without putting him to the test?

Khumdar shrugged.

“The dungeon dropped a pouch, a few runs back,” Jackal said, “that can’t be detected and that fit a lot of stuff in it.”

Don narrowed his eyes. “You expect me to believe that you got lucky enough—”

“Luck’s not a thing,” Jackal replied, smirking.

Don took a few breaths and spoke in a calmer tone. “Do you understand how rare such an item is? I’ve never read about something like that as part of dungeon loot.”

“How did you read about the kind of loot dungeons have?” Mez asked.

“The guild catalogues everything Runners hand over when they leave and that—”

“Why would a Runner hand over something like this?” Jackal asked.

“How else are they going to…” Don trailed off. “You were able to tell what it is.” His expression became thoughtful. “How does it work? How did you know?”

“How would I know how something like that works? It’s magic. As for how I knew. After coming across the chests that are larger inside than out, we haven’t been taking anything for granted. I reached in and couldn’t touch the sides. I reached further until I had it to my elbow.”

“And we can’t tell there’s a weave through it,” Tibs added, “unless we touch it.”

“What about enchanted things you put in it?” Don asked.

“It vanishes from sight and senses,” Jackal stated.

“Can I touch it?”

“Not without my man’s permission,” the fighter replied.

“What?” Don asked, perplexed. “Why would he have a say in…” his pale skin turned red. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Jackal burst out laughing. “I know, but it was too easy. And yes, you can; but not here.” He stood. “How about we retire to the team’s room? It’s been a while since I’ve been there.”