M44

Hope you're having a good weekend :)

-Plum Parrot

“Alright, Morgan, I’ll come back to meet you and Olivia in an hour,” Issa said, squeezing Morgan around the waist. “Unless you want me to come up with you while you bathe?” she growled softly, with an impish grin.

“Uh, hell yes, come up with me!”

“You scoundrel! What do you take me for? We’ve only kissed once!” Issa pulled back, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, I should have seen that trap!” Morgan laughed.

She laughed and then said, “Well, if you’re that eager, at least give me a kiss.” Morgan was happy to comply, and they shared a moment there, under a willowy tree in the grassy area next to the inn. After a short while, they parted, and Morgan walked, somewhat dazed, up to his room to get cleaned up. His travel-weary bones were happy for the opportunity to bathe, and when he finished, he was even more pleased to put on his new clothes.

After visiting her father’s smith, Issa had taken him back toward the inn, but they’d stopped by at a bustling tailor’s shop. Inside had been no less than four tailors who, Issa had said, were all able to enhance their clothing creation with Artisan skills. Morgan hadn’t known what to expect of that, but it soon became apparent: after measuring him and selecting some fabric, they’d gone to the back room and come out with tailor-made shirts and pants for him in a matter of minutes. They weren’t anything too special: four button-up shirts with loose collars in white, turquoise, rust, and black. The rust and black shirts were made from more sturdy material and meant for daily use during travel or “adventuring.”

Issa had talked him out of buying four of the same pants style. Instead, he bought three pairs of black, sturdy pants that reminded him of a wool blend suit pants. He thought they looked nice, but Issa had forced him to buy another pair of slightly lighter material with a barely noticeable design, kind of like paisleys stitched down the outer seams in a dark, shiny thread. Then, of course, she’d talked him into some new boots and a belt, both made from polished black leather.

Morgan slipped on the generic underpants and shirt that he’d bought - basically like handmade boxers and a v-neck t-shirt, then put on his fancy pants, his turquoise shirt, and his dimensional ring. He put his power-stone necklace into the ring with all his other valuable items, leaving only his camping supplies and food and beverages in his pouch. Doing so, he felt okay stashing the pouch under his bed before he walked down to the common room to wait for Olivia and Issa.

As he descended the steps, he could see that the common room was crowded with the dinner rush. Apparently, Mrs. Hane’s customers were fans of her cooking because the tables were all busy with people, and some folks were even standing around the hearth drinking from large wooden mugs. The room was warm, and Morgan felt a bit uncomfortable, so he decided to step outside into the evening air to wait. He was surprised when he walked out to see that Olivia was already out there, sitting on a bench next to the walkway that led to the street, talking to Issa. “Oh, am I late?” Both ladies stopped talking, looking toward him, and Issa rushed over to hug him.

“No, we’ve only been here a couple of minutes,” Olivia said, clearing her throat and standing up.

“Let’s go!” Issa said, tugging on Morgan’s arm and walking toward the street. Morgan followed, but not before he got a look at Olivia and her new clothes.

“Hey, you look nice! I like that coat,” Morgan blurted.

“I was just telling her that!” Issa said, squeezing his hand. Olivia flushed, her red cheeks on her pale face easy to spot, even in the dim evening light, and straightened her jacket.

“Oh, thank you. I had an enjoyable day of shopping. I ordered a new staff, too, and it cost most of the Energy beads you gave me. Sorry!” She said, smiling sheepishly.

“No worries, I spent a ton on a new sword, too. I think we’re going to need to find a way to make money with our expensive tastes.”

“You’ll make plenty! After we save your colony from the Urghat, we’ll do some real adventuring!” Issa said matter-of-factly.

“Are you coming with us back to First Landing, then?” Olivia asked, walking just a step behind Issa and Morgan. Issa turned back to her and nodded.

“Of course!” Issa said, picking up the pace and pulling even harder on Morgan’s arm. Olivia looked at Morgan, and he shrugged, a grin plastered to his face, while he hurried after Issa. They hustled through the market square, over the bridge, then west past another street full of shops, and up a road that began to wind over a gentle hill. The buildings were more sparse here, obviously homes with larger lots. Soon they came to a brightly lit home, its windows shedding light on the dark grass in the gloom of the evening. “This is it!” Issa announced, leading them up the path and to the front door.

What followed was a night that put their long journey and all their recent tribulations out of their minds. Issa’s father was a remarkable cook, and he served them a delicious roast huldii, garnished with a sweet, minty jam. He had a mash of some root vegetable that was remarkably like sweet potatoes. And a delicious cold soup that Morgan thought had a hint of cucumber and pepper flavor. For dessert, Roald served a pie that Olivia swore tasted just like her grandma’s pumpkin pie. Roald claimed he didn’t know what a pumpkin was.

Sitting around in the den with their bellies swollen and a sweet liquor in their hands, they talked about life in Tarn’s Crossing, how happy Roald was to have Issa home, and how he knew they’d soon be leaving. Word had already traveled among the town elders that First Landing had an Urghat problem and that hunters would be needed to help solidify the new alliance between their peoples. Roald seemed at ease, even though he knew Issa intended to go with Morgan.

“I know she won’t let you go off and defend your home alone,” Roald said when Morgan brought up the prospect of heading home in a day or two. “I’ll level with you, Morgan; Issa is very dear to me; she’s my last remaining family! I tried to talk her out of going with you just before she went to pick you up to come to dinner!” He laughed, face flushed a dark shade of reddish-purple with the exertion and drink. “She’d have none of it, though, and I can’t argue. I daresay she’s better equipped to face some Urghat out here than the horrors you two lived through in the Crucible.”

“Well, she’s dear to me too, so you don’t need to worry about me taking her safety lightly.”

“Stop talking about me like either of you have any say! I’m a Battle Witch, and I can take care of myself!” Issa growled, her words just a little slurred from the drink. Observing from a couch off to the side, Olivia smiled at Issa, clearly thinking about something that the scene reminded her of. Morgan just held up his hands and sat back, swirling the sweet brandy in his glass.

“Right, daughter, of course,” Roald said, shaking his head. “That class! Why couldn’t you have chosen an Artisan path? Who will I leave my shop to?”

“Oh, you’re ridiculous!” Issa growled.

“Not to interrupt,” Olivia said, “but is it possible to do Artisan work like enchanting items without the class? Like if you had a class like Issa’s but still wanted to be able to put enchantments on weapons?”

“Thank you for interrupting!” Issa said, sitting back and taking a long drink from her glass. Roald cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yes, If someone like Issa were interested,” he emphasized “interested” and glared at Issa, “and wanted to study enchanting, she might find an interesting class refinement offered to her at level twenty.” Olivia just nodded and smiled.

“Um, speaking of Artificers and enchantment, father, Morgan bought a sword from Brint. Do you think you could do some work on it before we leave?” Issa’s voice had transformed vexed to syrupy, and Morgan looked at her startled. She arched an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips. Meanwhile, her father rushed to please her:

“Oh, of course, of course. Morgan, come to my shop first thing; I’ll set aside my project for Dran Gorram. He owes me, anyway, and I know he won’t mind a little delay.”

“That’s very kind; thank you, Roald.” The conversation continued for a while, but Olivia and Morgan were clearly exhausted, and soon Roald cleared his throat and suggested that their company might want to get some rest. Issa resisted at first but soon relented, walking Morgan and Olivia to the door.

“You’re sure you can find your way back to the inn?” Issa asked, still clasped in a goodbye hug with Morgan. After saying her goodbyes, Olivia had wandered away to the end of the path near the road.

“Yes, of course. Will you meet me at your father’s shop tomorrow? We can get breakfast after I drop off the sword.”

“Yes, that sounds nice.” Issa reached up, and Morgan met her halfway, and they shared a brief kiss; then, Morgan let her go and walked out to join Olivia on the road.

“Well, should I phone ahead and let everyone know we need to plan a wedding?” Olivia giggled as they started back the way they’d come.

“Oh, jeez. Gimme a break; I didn’t tease you about your love interest.” Morgan almost didn’t say it, but it came out before he could stop himself.

“Huh? What love interest?”

“Oh, c’mon; I’ve seen the way you and Bronwyn look at each other.” He figured there was no going back now.

“Oh, really? Well, that’s all in your head, mister. Besides, she and I…” A low whistle came from an alley on their left, cutting off Olivia’s retort. Some shadows had detached from the larger, darker shadow cast by the building and approached them.

“What’ve we here? A couple of huldii fawns left by the herd?” The voice was sneering, nasally, and not at all friendly. Morgan felt a jolt of electricity run down his spine, and he was instantly sober, at least to his mind. He turned toward the four figures slinking toward them. Olivia, for her part, didn’t panic; instead, she summoned an orb of fire and let it hover over her palm.

“Quiet now, Kwint. Let me speak.” Another voice said, this one quite a lot deeper and sure of itself. “Which of you two is Morgan? I’d venture to say it’s the big one, but I’m unfamiliar with your strange, pale race, so I wouldn’t want to assume.” Olivia took in a breath, about to speak, but Morgan beat her to it.

“I’m Morgan. Who’s asking?” Morgan turned to the figure that spoke, just now coming into the light.

“Ahh, good. My name’s Swent, and this is my second, Bennic. I’m assuming that skinny lad there is your second?” The Ardeni man came into the light of Olivia’s orb, and Morgan could see that he was a stout fellow with coloring similar to Issa’s - bright yellow hair and eyes. He wore a scaled hauberk, each scale an intricately forged replica of a leaf. Morgan knew he was trying to get a rise out of him by repeatedly insulting Olivia, and it was working. Still, he managed to rein in his sharp retort. About to reply, he felt Olivia’s hand on his wrist, and she spoke:

“That’s right; I’m his second. What of it?” Olivia spoke like she knew what the guy meant by “second.” Morgan wasn’t quite sure what the term meant, but he had a vaguely unpleasant feeling about this whole thing.

“You heard the lad, Bennic.” Olivia bristled but didn’t say anything, and Morgan didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just stood next to her. Meanwhile, Bennic, a thin, pleasant-looking man with mild eyes and a long, red mustache, stepped forward and held out a scroll to Olivia. Olivia took it in her free hand, but, at the same time, she did something to make the fiery orb in her other hand double in size and flare suddenly. Bennic backed away, stumbling over his own feet, and Olivia smirked.

“You have received my challenge. Witness?” Swent said.

“Witnessed!” All three of his companions said in unison, and then they turned on their heels and walked back into the alley. Morgan stood there dumbfounded and only then concluded that he probably was a bit drunk still. He looked to Olvia and saw that she’d opened the scroll and was looking intently at the writing, her brow furrowed.

“What the hell was that about?” Morgan huffed out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Well, it looks like you've been challenged to a duel.”

“Oh, for fucksake.”