Chapter Four - 'Rules of the Roost'
"Thanks for leaving me outside," John complains, his legs still shaking as the feeling returns. He'd managed to crawl his way back into the Roost and, using the walls, made his way back to the common room where Zaveri and Rayfeld had not left their table. In fact, they'd started up a small card game with some of the people renting rooms.
"You were deep in meditation," Zaveri says nonchalantly. "Didn't want to bother you." He opens his mouth to voice his complaints only to stop when he realizes it will most likely get him nowhere. "You should go shower. You reek." Biting back a smart retort, John wobbles his way up the stairs and to his room to shower and change. Although he'd worked his body to muscle failure, he doesn't feel the fatigue from it. In fact, his body feels like it's bursting with energy. After cleaning himself up he descends the stairs once more, nearly being forced to dive out of the way as Zaveri begins storming up the stairs. Rayfeld now sits at the table alone with an irritated look on his face.
"What happened to her?"
"Same thing that always happens; lost a hand and lost her temper," Rayfeld tells him. He stares at John for a few moments before motioning to the table. "Play a hand?"
"No, thank you." Rayfeld chuckles and quickly cleans up the cards before standing.
"How about a drink, then?"
"Why not?" He grins and motions towards the door then.
"Then, let's go! I know just the place." Without waiting for a response, Rayfeld all but swaggers in the direction of the door to the Roost with John on his trail. He'd not spoken much with Rayfeld since he'd helped to pull him out of the dungeon so maybe having a few drinks with the man would help him figure him out. Besides that, he didn't get the feeling that Everi or even Zaveri were much for the night life of Ressfield. As they walk, Rayfeld begins to chatter on about the numerous bars he's been to through the city, and the resulting ban from many of them. The more he talks, the more John can't help but draw some paralles between Rayfeld and some of the soldiers he'd had.
"You talk a lot, Rayfeld."
"And you don't talk enough, Johnny. It's about balance." A snorting chuckle escapes him. Unconsciously, he finds himself loosing up around the man as they walk through the streets. While John had originally believed they were heading for some bar off the beaten path but when the banners of the Guild begin to loom on the darkened horizon his brow furrows in confusion.
"I thought we were going for a drink?"
"I guess it was just in and out today, huh? You can find three things in every Guildhall, John, and that's work, booze and someone spoiling for a fight. No matter what you're after, you're always guaranteed some entertainment." Chuckling a bit in response, he follows Rayfeld up the stairs and into the massive hall. In the morning, the place had few adventurers milling about but now it's packed nearly to the ceiling. The stage that had been empty in the morning is now occupied by a trio of individuals. Numerous ethereal musical notes float about them as their voices carry a lively tune above the dull roar of chatter. Weaving through the crowd with Rayfeld, the man leads them to a bar top he hadn't noticed in the morning. The man working the bar approaches, and Rayfeld digs into his pocket to produce his Adventurers tag before showing it to the bartender.
"Copper Rank, huh," responds the man, before glancing at John. "You?"
"He just registered today. Copper Rank, anything is fine."
"Comin' right up." Rayfeld tucks his tag back into his pocket as John leans against the bar.
"Alcohol is divided into ranks?" John questions him.
"It can be," Rayfeld says with a nod. "The higher in rank you climb the more your Vitality begins to resist the effects. The same goes for poison, venom and other negative effects. So, after a certain point it becomes necessary to drink specially prepared alcohol if you want to enjoy more than the taste. Even then, there's a cutoff point."
"Really?"
"Oh, absolutely. Sa'vinni, for instance, could probably drink the Guildhall dry and not feel a thing. I've heard stories of Adamantine Rank Bearers who spend their time seeking out some of the strongest alcohol on Ordevir." The drinks land in front of them, and John picks up one of the wooden mugs, his nose curling slightly at the near overpowering scent of alcohol wafting up from the liquid within.
"Bottoms up!" Rayfeld knocks their mugs together and immediately lifts his. John follows suit, choking down a mouthful of the harsh drink and coughing as it burns a path to his stomach.
[You have been afflicted by 'Wyvern Venom Ale'. You have resisted 'Wyvern Venom Ale'.]
"Good god!" complains John, placing the mug down. "Booze nothing, that might as well be pure acid." Rayfeld slams his empty mug down on the bar with an accompanying belch and signals the bartender for another. Sighing, he lifts the mug to his lips and drains its contents, doing his best to make sure it doesn't touch his tongue. He slams the mug down on the bar and pushes it in the direction of the bartender before belching as well.
[You have been afflicted by 'Wyvern Venom Ale'. You have failed to resist 'Wyvern Venom Ale'. You have been afflicted by 'Wyvern Venom Ale'. You have failed--]
"There we go! Now, we're--" His words are cut off when someone nearly knocks him into John. Stabilizing him quickly, John peers over Rayfeld's shoulder at a young man. "We weren't standing here or anything, pal." The young man glances in their direction as Rayfeld turns to face him fully. Whereas Rayfeld, Zaveri and Everi kept their plate in their pocket, this young man wears his on a necklace similar to John's own dog tags. A Copper ranked adventurer just like them, it seems.
"You were in my way," he tells Rayfeld.
"We were here first."
"And that means what to me?" Rayfeld chuckles and nods in agreement.
"You know what? You're absolutely right." No sooner has he finished his sentence than his fist snaps out, clipping the young man on the chin and sending him staggering in the opposite direction on wobbly knees. While Rayfeld has struck first, he doesn't see the second man coming to assist. At least not until John interferes, tying up a drunken punch with ease before bearing the man to the ground with the clatter of armor against the marble floor. A ring rapidly opens up around the four men, cheers and whistles of approval echoing through the hall. John and the man roll violently across the floor, struggling for only a few moments before the man finds his airway being rapidly constricted by a choke.
Unfortunately for John, his experience in fighting comes from a world where Boons do not exist and while he clings to the man's back, constricting tighter and tighter, the man doesn't seem to care. Rather, he rolls to all fours before pushing himself to his feet and turns before driving himself and John into the bar top. A sharp crack issues from the wood as pain radiates through John's body. His grip loosens and the man turns to scoop him up and slam him into the bar top, his hands wrapped around his throat. John chokes out a snarl and immediately drives a fist into the man's throat. His grip releases immediately his hands flying to his throat as his face turns an ugly shade of green. John rears back and drives both feet into the man's chest, sending him sprawling across the floor. Sliding off the bar top, he turns his attention to Rayfeld.
"Some help would be nice, John!" cries Rayfeld, doing his best to fend off the young man and a large Draconid man. Alerted to John's presence by Rayfeld's shouting, the Draconid man turns just in time for John's fist to snap out, crossing his chin and staggering him away from the other two. Recovering quickly, the Draconid man rushes back only to bypass John immediately. The clatter of metal against the floor forces him to track the Draconid's trajectory to find him pinning the man he'd fought earlier, a dagger lying some distance away. The cheering stops, and a deathly silence fills the hall.
"You want to fight?" asks a voice, reverbarating through the hall as though spoken over a loud speaker. It's weight makes him feel small by compairson, as if he's been ground down under an invisible weight. "By all means, you're welcome to a dust up. We don't pull weapons, and we don't use Boons." It takes John a moment to realize that someone is standing by the two men, and even longer for the Draconid man to notice before releasing the pinned adventurer. "Go home. Sober up." A lustrous tag of silver metal hangs from a cord around man's wrist, the same metal plate that Sa'vinni had shown to him on their first meeting.
The man pulls himself to his feet, glaring intently at John for several long moments before stepping in the direction of his dagger, only for it to appear under the foot of the Mithril ranked man. Once more, John had not seen the man move, not felt a disturbance in his surroundings. The crowd parts for the man, and after a few moments the noise of chatter begins to fill the hall again.
"I think we should go now," Rayfeld says, his voice barely above a whisper. John turns to look at him, and then back to find the Mithril ranked man gone. Whatever fight Rayfeld might have been engaged in with the other Copper rank seems to have completely fallen by the wayside. "It's never a good idea to get mixed up with a Guild Enforcer." Rayfeld pushes forward, weaving through the crowd with John hot on his heels.
"Is that who that was?"
"Yeah. Enforcers do exactly what their title says, they enforce Guild law."
"Are we gonna get questioned?"
"About what? Fights happen all the time in the Guildhall, and it's fine as long as no one pulls a weapon or uses their Boon. When they do...well, you saw what happens." Stepping out into the cool night air their steps slow.
"What now?"
"Now," begins Rayfeld, massaging a rapidly fading red mark on his jaw. "We find the next bar..."
- - -
"I thought he talked a lot sober," John mutters, more to himself than anyone else. After leaving the Guildhall, Rayfeld had lead him through the city hopping from bar to another. He didn't mind a drink to take the edge off, or to relax in the evening but it was only a few and he prefered to avoid drinking to excess. Unfortunately, 'moderation' didn't seem to be a word in the Rayfeld's vocabulary, and by the time he'd stumbled out of their sixth bar, John had been forced to sling the man over his shoulder and trot them back to the Roost. Unsure what room the man slept in, if any, he had simply deposited him on a bench in the common room and headed for his room. "I haven't seen the others this morning, did they leave before I woke?" Sa'vinni, who has been flitting about the kitchen, nods as she works.
"Yes," Sa'vinni confirms. "They have a dungeon raid planned for the day."
"I see."
"Speaking of, I heard you had an interesting night out on the town." John nods in response, slowly crossing his arms. He was sure that no one had been in the common room when he'd brought them back but maybe that didn't matter. The Mithril ranked Enforcer that he'd seen at the Guildhall had seemed to appear and disappear before his very eyes. Sa'vinni was a Mithril rank so it was entirely possible that they had simply missed her.
"We did. Does Rayfeld always talk that much?"
"Unfortunately." A silence fills the air, broken only by the bubbling of pots before John finally speaks again.
"Why are you doing this, Sa'vinni?"
"Hmm. Care to be more specific?"
"You know what I mean." Sa'vinni pauses for a moment and then turns to face him her eyes dressing him down from head to toe. He realizes in that moment that she is measuring him, evaluating his worth as she seems to peer into his very being. "Everi I understand. She has a good heart."
"Oh? I don't?"
"No. Not in the same way as your daughter. Why are you helping me?"
"Because you need it."
"I didn't ask for it."
"It doesn't matter. I've seen plenty of young adventurers meet their end because they thought they knew it all." She wipes her hands on the apron at her waist. "You've fought and you've killed. I can see that in the way you move, the way you carry yourself. But what you're going to face is not the kind of fighting you're used to. You're not just fighting people anymore, John."
"You know they aren't always separate from one another. I've seen plenty of men who I have no doubt would be right at home amongst the monsters in the dungeons."
"But did they regenerate? Could they hurl flames or lightning or create illusions indistinguishable from reality? There are monsters that only stay dead if you kill them in the correct way. That is what I'm trying to prepare you for." She turns away from him with a sigh, tending the pot on the burner once more. "Whether you accept that answer or not it's the only one I've got to give." A chime from the common room draws John's attention, and he glances over his shoulder to find a grey-haired man wearing a suit so pressed and starched John wonders how he gets about in it. Everything about the man, from his immaculately combed grey hair to the meticulously polished cufflinks screams business.
Certainly, he isn't the type of person he's used to seeing in the Wyvern's Roost; in the short time he'd been here he'd only ever seen adventurers coming and going, some staying for hours on end chatting amongst themselves but always at a quiet and controlled volume. He scans the common room carefully before finally homing in on John. His brow furrows slightly as he holds the man's gaze, wondering why he might be so interested in him until he spots the seal of the Guild sewn into the lapel of the man's suit. A heavy sigh escapes him as he begins in his direction. Rayfeld had assured him that there wouldn't be any trouble after their punch up at the Guild. Turning to face the man, John stands with arms crossed, and staring down at him.
"John Hicks?" asks the man, his voice measured and cool. "I'm Kaisen Dain. Chief of Clerks for the Ressfield Adventurers Guild branch."
"Was there an issue with my registration?" John asks.
"No. Just some follow up questions we would like to ask pertaining to your self-proclaimed 'Wayfarer' status." Kaisen holds his gaze for several long moments, searching out something in his eyes before his gaze slowly shifts away and he clears his throat. "Perhaps we could speak somewhere more private?"
"We can speak here." He motions to a table across the room, unoccupied and some distance from the few adventurers enjoying a breakfast or early morning drink. "Plenty of room." A brief look of displeasure flickers across the man's face so quickly one might have imagined it but John saw it. Not waiting for him to agree, John begins approaching the table and seats himself with his back to the wall, and a clear view of the entrance to the Roost. The man takes his time joining him, and even longer setting up to begin taking notes.
"As I said," begins Kaisen, flipping through a small leather bound book. "I am here to ask you some follow up questions, verify your claim and confirm your heretofore unknown Boon."
"Verify it how? With who?" Kaisen's hand slows for a moment before he shakes his head slightly.
"Clearly, there seems to have been a misunderstanding here, Mr. Hicks." He finally seems to locate the page he is seeking, and turns his sharp gaze to John while folding his hands on top of the book
. "This process will move much quicker if we clear it up. I ask, and you answer. If I verify your claims, I will consider your questions at that point."
"Is that right?" John asks, his voice low and calm and his eyes never leaving Kaisen's. "And if I find myself unwilling to answer your questions, Guild Clerk Dain?" The man's expression tightens in response to the improper address, though he quickly schools it back into mask of neutral professionalism.
"You are not yet an adventurer but that does not exclude you from scrutiny by the Guild." John see's the man for what he is; just another bureaucrat. "And it is 'Chief of Clerks Dain'. Eyewitness accounts say you claim heritage from a world without Boons, dungeons or magic. A bold claim, by all accounts."
"Is it?"
"Have I not been clear? I ask, you answer and the cycle repeats." Kaisen reaches into his jacket and removes a rather expensive looking fountain pen. "Your name is John Hicks, and you have been branded with the 'Boon of the Warlord', is that correct?" John remains silent for several long moments before he reclines in his chair.
"That is what I wrote."
"Hm, you can write, can you?" John does not take the bait, simply placing a hand on the table and slowly tapping his index finger against its polished surface as the man scribbles something onto the paper. "The 'Boon of the Warlord' has not been cataloged by the Guild before. Either you are incredibly lucky, or you have misunderstood or misrepresented your Boon, Mr. Hicks. Many martial Boons are much the same at Copper." Kaisen continues his scribbling for a moment. "According to Guild records, Wayfarers are marked somewhere upon their body when they arrive in Ordevir. In order to verify your claim, I must see proof of this mark."
"Must you? Tell me, am I verifying this for you or for the Guild? At this point, I'm confused."
"There have been many before you who have claimed to be Wayfarers. Whether out of desire for attention, perceived fame, or believing it will open some door for their career." He ceases his writing and lifts his head to stare intently into John's eyes. "You will submit to verification by the Guild to assess your status as a Wayfarer."
"No. I will not."
"It is not, as they say, a request, Mr. Hicks." John doesn't see the arrival of the man, doesn't sense his approach until a wooden mug lands on the table beside his hand. His head snaps in the direction of the new arrival, muscles tensing in preparation and relaxing when he realizes the man is not focused on him but Kaisen.
"You would be wise," drawls the man. "To consider your next words carefully, clerk." A tag of golden metal hangs from his neck, proudly displaying his rank to the world. "It's too early, and I'm too hung over to toss you out onto your ass gently."
"This does not involve you."
"It involved me when you started spouting on and on about Guild business in the Roost. This is neutral ground." The scrape of chairs against the stone floors draws the attention of both Kaisen and John, who notice those adventuers who had been enjoying themselves are all now standing and intently focused on the table. "It's been that way before you, and it will be that way after you. Now, how would you like to handle this disagreement?" The silence of the common room is almost palpable. Kaisen calmly closes the small leather book in front of him and stands slowly.
"I will not forgive this insult."
"Good. Then you will not forget it, either." Straightening his coat, he gathers his things and departs under the watchful gaze of the standing adventurers. The moment the door closes behind him, chatter returns to the common room as if it had never stopped at all. The Gold ranked man glances at John from the corner of his eye and then calmly returns to join several others at a table with drink in hand. Sa'vinni had impressed upon him the neutrality of the Wyvern's Roost when the others had brought him here, and clearly, he had misunderstood her words.
"You handled that well," Sa'vinni says, placing a bowl of what he assumes to be stew in front of him. Like the Gold ranked man, he'd not sensed her approach or heard her footsteps. It is yet another reminder of her lofty Mithril Rank.
"I think I may have misunderstood what you meant by 'neutral ground'."
"Appears so." She glances at the door of the Roost and back to John. "It might be best to wait until tomorrow to visit the Guild. A man like that won't make a move against a Gold Ranker but a prospective adventurer? He won't think twice." He taps his index finger against the table surface a few more times, nodding slowly while he does. "You should eat. You haven't eaten more than a few bites of anything I've served, I'm starting to think you don't like my cooking."
"It's not personal." Sa'vinni actually laughs, leaning forward to peer down at him with a grin that displays her fangs.
"You aren't foolish enough to believe I need poison to kill you, are you, John?" Her voice is low, calm but without a hint of maliace or warning only the weight of finality. "Eat. You'll need your strength for training..."
- - -
"What an absolute waste of time!" complains Zaveri, all but stomping through the doors of the Wyvern's Roost. The scent of roasted meat and ale, the hum of chatter and laughter; it all batters against her exhausted senses and only serves to further fuel the rapidly expanding ball of flames that is her temper. Everi and Rayfeld trudge behind her, watching as she strides directly to the bar and slams a silver coin down on it. "Give me my usual, please, Isold." The woman chuckles and places a mug of a foggy brown liquid on the bartop before sliding her coin back in her direction. "I don't want it. Keep it or throw it away."
"You really are stuck on this, aren't you?" prods Rayfeld, his attempt at a serious expression spoiled by the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Ray, please," Everi attempts, massaging her temples. Her temples throb as if they have a life of their own, a combination of her low Mana headache and their bickering all the way back to the Roost. "You really can't enjoy arguing this much."
"Firstly, rude! I absolutely enjoy arguing that much. Secondly, I am simply attempting to understand what has my dear friend so upset." Zaveri lifts the mug in the direction of her lips and halts only to slam it back down, spilling half of it in the process.
"You, Rayfeld!" Zaveri barks at him. "Can you, just for once, try to take what we're doing seriously?! Not flit about the battlefield like nothing matters! Do you have any idea how many times you were almost surrounded by Crypt Walkers?!"
"Four. No, five." The crackling of wood rises from the handle of the mug in Zaveri's hand, which only enboldens Rayfeld who leans against the bartop. "Was it less than six? Come on, higher or lower? I need a range to work with here." The handle of the mug finally loses its war, splintering in her grip and winning a broad grin from Rayfeld.
"This isn't a joke!"
"Agreed," speaks Sa'vinni, her voice calm and cool. All three immediately snap their attention to the woman, who leans on the bar top with a less than amused expression on her face as she eyes the splintered remains of the mugs handle. "It is an inn. The 'Wyvern's Roost' to be exact. What you do on the streets is not my concern but within these walls there will be peace. Is that clear?" Rayfeld clears his throat, the grin dropping from his face as he steps back from the bar.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Zaveri?"
"Yes," Zaveri growls through gritted teeth. She releases the remains of the handle, allowing it's splinters to sprinkle across the bar top. "What I want is you for you take what we do a bit more seriously, Rayfeld. Not treat it all like one big game. One of these days, I won't be there to pull you out of a sticky situation."
"Sticky situations are exactly my preferred kind of situation," Rayfeld tells her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Greasy isn't bad, either. Moist I can work with but I would prefer--"
"Mother," interrupts Everi, attempting to head off another argument between the two. "How is John doing?"
"He's meditating out back."
"Now that's just boring," Rayfeld complains.
"You could stand to be a bit more boring."
"How would that be fun for anyone?" Everi shakes her head slowly, and makes for the door to the back yard of the Roost. The cool summer night air, and relative quite is a welcome repreive from the chatter of the common room. The pounding in her head lessens ever so slightly as she easily spots John seated cross-legged in the grass, his back rigid and palms resting on his thighs. Although she wouldn't claim to be an expert on the subject of Wayfarers, rare as they are, she is aware that every one carries a mark on their body and John is no exception. A strange design of runes she doesn't recongnize with dark and broken lines surroundings a fractured spiraling core rests on the tan skin directly over his heart.
Perhaps it's because he's reached an understanding, perhaps he's reached the end of his patience or perhaps it's just poor timing but whatever the reason, his eyes snap open and he meets her gaze immediately. The intensity of his glare, intentional or otherwise, causes her throat to tighten and her pulse to briefly leap. Then, as sharp as his gaze had been he seems to relax. Everi clears her throat and raises a hand, offering him a hesitant wave in way of greeting. A whistle sounds from behind her, and she looks back to find Rayfeld standing with arms crossed and grin in full effect.
"That was a look you shoot your enemy, Johnny," Rayfeld chuckles. "Now, where was that last night, Johnny?"
"Wasn't necessary," John assures them, retrieving his shirt before standing. His grin falters for a moment, clearly hoping to have gotten some sort of reaction from him at the use of 'Johnny' and not 'John'. Everi sighs softly as she spots the sparkle in his eye.
"So that's a Wayfarer's mark, huh? Think I saw a tattoo like that once." John doesn't respond, slipping on his shirt calmly and beginning the process of picking the weights arranged around the yard. Tapping a finger against his bicep, Rayfeld continues to study the silent man for a few moments before something finally seems to click. "Since you've been training, how about a little sparring match?" That seems to be what gets his attention, if only for a moment, as he glances in the man's direction.
"Why?" John continues picking up the yard as Rayfeld uncrosses his arms and steps past Everi.
"Well, why not? Your first contact isn't that far away. It wouldn't be a bad idea to test what you've learned."
"It's been two days," Everi reminds him flatly.
"Minor details! What do you say, Johnny?"
"No," John tells him, picking up the last few things and carefully arranging them.
"Aww! You're no fun! Don't tell me you're scared?"
"Terrified." Rayfeld's grin fades into a flat look while Everi snickers softly. Of course, just as quickly as the wind was taken from his proverbial sails the man bounces back. Everi is well aware of Rayfeld's need to poke and prod to get a reaction of someone, and nothing goads him on more than someone who doesn't take the bait. John approaches, and Rayfeld steps aside watching as he carefully brushes past them and disappears into the sea of people crowded the common room.
"He's a tough one to crack but I'll get him."
"Please, don't," Everi sighs, rubbing at her temples. "I haven't got the Mana to treat you all the time..."