It took two full days to return to Wayfarrow.
For the duration of the trip, Marie avoided the trio of lords, and for their part, they ignored her… beyond a few dirty looks and thinly disguised comments. It seemed Fila was running interference for her, which suited both parties just fine - and the rest of Sirrochon’s Spellswords were happy to have their trainee out from under their feet. They’d said so to Marie over drinks on the first evening.
There was nothing wrong with her, as far as Marie could tell. Fila was friendly, helpful and polite, and from what limited conversation they’d had and a brief skirmish with some wolf-like creatures on the first night, the girl could pull her weight in a fight.
Perhaps they misplace their distaste for the father?
Marie had ample time to contemplate the situation as she walked alongside the carts with Napoleon. Despite the relaxed air and the milling allagi hunters, it was a professional hunting expedition, so there wasn’t a lot of relaxing or talking as they moved during the daylight hours. The only time she really said more than a few pleasant words to the people around her were when they set up camp for the night, or when she was asked to join the Spellswords as they paired up to scout the way ahead.
She still couldn’t decide if they’d asked her because she was a [Scout] - now level 17 as they approached the town, although with no new Skills to show for it - or if it was because they wanted someone to go with Fila.
Or because Sirro wanted to extend a friendly hand to someone out of their depth in a new place.
The Spellswords knew she had almost nothing - no real money or belongings beyond what she carried. She got the feeling when they’d all talked around the campfire over wine and another dinner she’d thrown together, that he was contemplating offering her a place in the group, but the rest of the group (barring Fila, who didn’t really count in their eyes) were set against it.
Her performance when she’d tried to join in a couple of drinking songs may have cemented their position on any potential application. Not that she’d asked.
As the walls of the town rose in the distance, she looked down to Napoleon, padding along beside her with a quiet clicking. Everyone had gotten used to the undead hound’s presence over the past two days - they’d lost all their fear of it when she’d added the garland, which was now wilted and on the way out.
“What do you think, Boney? I will need to find a job in town. Or live in the wilds. If we managed the city…”
It was a question that had raised its head a few times as they walked. She’d kept it to herself though - not even mentioning it to Fila when she could get a word in edgeways. As if her thoughts had been audible, Sirrochon sidled up to her.
“Hey Maire. We’ll be back in an hour or so. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be including you on the payroll for the expedition.”
“That’s kind of you, but not necessary.”
He dismissed her concern.
“It won’t be a huge amount, but you’ve cooked for the camp twice and helped fight off those silvermane wolves, and you contributed to the scouting. That entitles you to a cut. I’ll have to work it out with the guild as you weren’t registered but it’s not a problem. Come along and join us there whilst we drop everything off then we’ll go for a drink at a little tavern next door that serves an excellent Veilfire Rosé.”
“How can I refuse such a tempting offer?” She grinned. “Is everyone going?”
His hand waved in lazy circles.
“Just the Spellswords. Minus Fila who’s probably going to the Entoll manor.”
“Oh - do the allagi not go to drink?”
She’d made, if not friends then at least casual acquaintances on the journey here. Half of them seemed to be in awe of her tirade against the noble to the extent that they blushed and stammered when she tried to talk to them, but many were just friendly.
Sirro’s nose wrinkled.
“They have their own places they like to go - I didn’t think to invite them…”
Marie narrowed her eyes at that but he wasn’t looking at her, and she didn’t press the issue.
She hadn’t missed that the allagi did almost all the manual labour in the group, and that neither the nobles nor the Spellswords mixed with them voluntarily. Not even when the allagi were packing away Lord Entoll’s tardis-tent.
But she was a stranger in these lands, and she didn’t know enough to judge…
…much.
—
Wayfarrow proved to be a sprawling, medieval-style town made mostly of grey stone slabs, though when they passed under the gates she could see brick houses, and roofs - mostly tiled but some thatched, and timber beams and wattle-and-daub walls. Rarely were they more than a couple of storeys high and even nearing sun-down the place was well lit with natural light that turned the streets into rivers of ochre and red.
The hooves of the horses drawing the wagons clacked onto the cobblestone streets, until they reached stretches that were either dirt roads or had been allowed to grow so filthy that they were indistinguishable from mud trails.
It was busy and messy and it smelled… lived-in. Without modern conveniences and engineering the people here were closer to the middle ages than her time in some ways, although in others they’d advanced beyond what she’d have expected, and as she walked deeper into the city alongside the wagons of hunting spoils and packed-up survival gear, she re-evaluated.
“It’s closer to the renaissance, but with elements of medieval-era thinking, Napoleon. Chaotic layout and winding streets and defensive walls, but the quality of the building work is high, and there doesn’t seem to be any gothic influence.”
It's like stepping into the past.
As the thought entered Marie's head, she immediately began to catalogue everything she saw. It wasn't the same as back home, but there were surely analogies that could be made between these people and those from civilisations long since gone on Earth. It was as close to first hand as she was ever going to get.
The streets were wide enough for others to pass them, and there were carts taking shipments of wood for fires and barrels of beer to taverns and livestock to butchers or markets that passed them going the other way as they moved deeper into the town.
She looked over as the wagons trundled past a small market row where dozens of stalls vied to sell hot food and pickled vegetables and trinkets and cloth.
There were a lot of the cat-folk - tabaxi - around. Not as many as humans, but close. Neither of them seemed to come close to the numbers of allagi though. The proportion of species in their hunting party didn’t seem too far off the broader demographics here, though Marie’s head turned as they passed a pair of dwarves selling hot cakes and a woman who was over eight foot tall carrying a cow; eight foot, five and three-quarter inches if her [Gauge Distance] Skill was to be believed. And they weren’t even the most unusual people around. A man with a dog’s head was sitting outside a tavern with a mug of ale, laughing with a group of friends, and a woman who was part-bird collected dirty laundry to wash. There was even a person covered in scales with a tail, which lashed behind him as he argued with what must have been a member of the local constabulary.
Marie was so wrapped up in everything that she didn’t notice the wagons coming to a stop and walked straight into the back of one of the allagi hunters. It felt like walking into a brick wall.
“Sorry!”
The woman grunted and waved off the apology.
Someone ahead shouted, and all of a sudden the hunters began to disperse save for a few watching the carts. A few moments later and it was just her, Sirrochon’s Spellswords, and the trio of nobles who were already striding off into a vast, impressive building they’d pulled up outside.
As she approached Sirro and the others, Marie realised there were still a couple of the allagi with them; she recognised Algar, but she couldn't recall the name of the other. The [Verseblade] smiled at her.
“First stop, friend. Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild.”
—
Inside, the guildhall was impressive to say the least. The entryway opened up in a huge common area three storeys tall, full of sofas and chairs - a few of them filled with a variety of people - and decorative rugs and an open fireplace. The walls of each floor were half wood-panelled at the bottom and the upper half was plaster, covered in trophies of previous hunts or expeditions or missions the members had been on. Marie noticed familiar antlers, a stuffed bird larger than she was, and more weapons than one person could surely use in a lifetime.
Lord Entoll and his repulsive companions were already haranguing some poor woman by a desk that ran along one side of the room, and as Sirrochon’s Spellswords and the allagi representatives walked in, pointing out some notable displays to her, the woman fled up the stairs to the second floor and disappeared out of sight. Fila grimaced at Marie, face red, and the french woman could imagine the sort of conversation that had been happening.
For all they’d said Lord Entoll was an important person and not to piss him off, Sirro and his crew didn’t seem bothered by the circumstances, and neither they nor the hunters deigned to pay any notice to the nobles as they approached another woman behind the counter - this one a tabaxi. Marie hung around the edge and listened in.
“Sirrochon’s Spellswords returning from a hunt, backed by Lord Entoll.” He looked round. “Amalgamated team of allagi [Hunters] too, and an additional independent we encountered that we’ll need to register. You got the payment ready there or should we come back tomorrow? Either way is fine for us.”
The tabaxi looked over at the trio of noblemen who stood a dozen yards away, frowning at the group. She didn’t quite make eye contact as she replied.
“I’m sorry Mister Brightfeather, there’s been a complication. We’ve been told to hold all payments until some disputes are resolved.”
It was Sirro’s turn to frown, and he glanced over at the lords.
“We completed the expedition. We did what was asked and followed guild rules. Payment should be released. It’s not up to those… lot… to say when we get our coin.”
“I’m sorry Sir. The payment Lord Entoll left is here but I’m [Under Orders].”
Sirrochon swore under his breath.
“Bloody nobles’ Skills.” He turned to his team, and glanced at Marie to include her as he spoke in a murmur. “Let’s try not to escalate this. We’ll get paid in the end.”
Taking a few steps towards the nobles, he called out in a pleasant tone. There was a musical quality to his words.
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“My Lords, what’s this? We’ve had our foray. I’m sure we all want to be on our way. Don’t let minor issues cause a delay. Let’s share what's agreed and we’ll bid you good day.”
Lord Entoll scowled.
“We’ve… got some complaints, Sirrocchon. Your payment was… dependent on…”
He seemed to be struggling to speak in a coherent sentence, and a second later the glasses of Harvin flashed as he leaned over to the relatively younger nobleman. A few words were exchanged in whispers and Lord Entoll growled.
“Sirrochon, cease your Skill. Else my forbearance shall turn to ill will.”
The [Verseblade] barely paused.
“Of course my lord. It was nothing untoward. A simple air of cooperation to make sure we’re all on board. You say you have complaints but I say our work is done. All we ask is what you owe now that your trophy’s won.”
There was an undeniable pleasantness and reasonableness to his request, but the oldest of the three lords narrowed his eyes and tapped a walking stick he’d been using on the floor. It rang out impossibly loud as he spoke.
“[Favourable Negotiations]. That’s enough of that young man. Lord Entoll has issues with your conduct. Let us not add undue influence to the list.”
As the two other lords shook themselves out of whatever they’d been feeling, Marie felt her own resentment of them return. It hadn’t been there a moment before.
Was that a Skill?
Sirrochon certainly backed up fast enough.
“I was simply attempting to keep the proceedings civil, my lord. The guild’s receptionist has already been placed under a hostile Skill - which goes against guild rules.”
“I’ll pay that fine,” Lord Entoll growled, “when we address the problems.”
“What problems, my lord? You hired us to provide security on a hunting expedition and we did so. Now we are owed payment.”
The rest of the Spellswords stood behind him, arms folded, stares level. Marie and the allagi stood a step back and watched it unfold.
“Well let’s start with the fact that you turned us back before we were done. I wanted to bag a giant gull, and we barely got any echodeer.”
“We already discussed this my lord. You brought a certain number of wagons and they were filled. Unless you wanted us to carry the corpses back ourselves - which goes beyond our remit - then there was no space for other creatures. As I told you, carrying that much meat around puts a target on us - hence the silvermane wolves last night. You hired me for the defence of the expedition and I made the call as was within my rights.”
The oldest of the trio leaned in once again to Lord Entoll and whispered and a look of frustration crossed his face. He tried again.
“We should have pushed on to the cliffs. We still could have gotten some kills, and we could have told the hunters to carry the bodies.”
Sirrochon looked round and shrugged before turning back to the lord.
“After the snapjaw - which is a far more valuable target to bring in, in every way - we all needed to rest. If you had asked the hunters then maybe we could have pressed on with a few but I doubt they’d have been up for carrying those bodies back. And if we weren’t taking them for meat or trophies we had no obligation to go: it was a hunting expedition, not a kill or culling quest.”
From his reaction, Lord Entoll didn't think much of that distinction, but as he glanced at Harvin the older lord wagged a hand as if to say it held some merit.
It was at that point that the flame-haired and fiery-tempered Lord Folsley cut in. He'd been growing as red as his beard the whole time.
“Well there's one thing I'm sure as the hells we didn't agree on: that bitch,” an accusatory finger pointed at Marie, “wasn't part of this. We're not having anything going to her. And the Deadlands will rise again before I see her included in anything you take.”
She could feel the flush coming to her face as her mouth began to open to retort but across from her, where she’d maneuvered to stand just behind and to one side of her father, Fila shook her head and did something with her hand and Marie found herself unable to interject. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times in confusion as Sirro continued to argue, the volume of his voice rising.
“That's not your decision to make, Lord Folsley. The attack on the echodeer put her in danger, and for that alone she is entitled to some small recompense, but she also cooked for the camps - and for yourselves - and joined in the scouting teams and fought to defend the people of the expedition. Guild rules demand she be offered a share of the proceeds.”
“And that's another thing.” Lord Entoll cut in. “I paid you to train my daughter. I didn't pay some vagabond to go scouting with her. I've already lodged a complaint of dereliction of duties.”
At that point, Sirrochon did begin to lose his temper.
“It was you, Lord Entoll, that pulled your daughter out of harm's way at the merest hint of danger. If you or anyone else unduly attempts to besmirch the reputation of the Spellswords I will lodge a petition with the guild in Arancheron to bar those involved from accessing any guild services.”
“Now see here you little s-”
“-do you get off tell-”
“-ew anything abou-”
“-cking waste of-”
The whole thing devolved into shouting and chaos as the three nobles and the Spellswords faced off and the others in the guild mostly decided to make themselves scarce. Whatever had been impeding Marie's anger faded and she started hurling insults herself. It went on for a full minute before-
“[Silence].”
The voice echoed round the hall as a figure emerged from the upper floors.
He looked like a tabaxi, though more like a lion than cat. A thick mane surrounded his face and it was hard to tell based on her limited experience of Leaping Mist and Dappled Shadow but he could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty.
He said nothing further as he descended to the ground floor, thick-set frame visible under the robes he wore. The muscles on his arms and legs rippled where she could see them beneath the cloth, and he exuded a sense of power without having to draw the… was that a morningstar that hung at his belt?
A penetrating gaze swept over those who had been arguing, focusing on the nobles and the Spellswords, ignoring Marie almost entirely although there was the slightest double-take as he registered the presence of Napoleon, but he recovered almost instantly.
“I do not like to be disturbed.”
The nobles and the Spellswords hesitated. Lord Entoll recovered a fraction before the rest, spitting his accusations as Sirrochon protested.
“We had a deal and I'm not h-”
“Guildmaster, the b-”
“The next person to raise their voice will be forcibly ejected from the premises.”
The guildmaster's pronouncement cut off the conversation again, and he wandered across to a cast-iron pot that was bubbling over the fireplace, picked up a bowl and ladled some of the contents - soup - into it. He returned as the two groups were still struggling against the silence.
“Have Sirrochon’s Spellswords finished an operation for which they were promised payment?”
Again there was a hesitance before Sirrochon managed to reply.
“Yes sir.”
The guildmaster nodded.
“Then why has payment not been made?”
Lord Entoll’s mouth opened a couple of times before he responded.
“I have issues… with the events of the expedition and the distribution of the spoils. Then there's the matter o-”
The guildmaster held up a hand.
“If the mission is complete, the guild will take its cut.” He turned to the receptionist that had snuck back down after getting him. “Wilhelmina, [Enforce Guild Dues].” He returned his gaze to the silent parties. “Whatever issues you have with what is left, figure it out amongst yourselves, but if you disturb me again, I will be displeased.”
He drunk deeply from the bowl and handed it to the other receptionist as Wilhelmina found herself taking a large pouch into one of the rooms behind the counter, then he turned and walked back upstairs.
It wasn't until the thick-set figure had disappeared back into his chambers that the argument continued, only this time in furious whispers.
“We agreed on echodeer and giant gulls.” Lord Entoll hissed. “We only got one of the two. Half the agreed amount, and none to the vagabond you found.”
Sirrochon practically spat.
“If that's the way you want it, fine; you don't pay for the snapjaw and we'll keep its corpse.”
“Now hold on just a minute.” Lord Folsley whispered through clenched teeth. “That's Entoll’s trophy - he got the kill.”
“Then pay for our delivery of it.” The halfling-dwarf, Quartz, sneered. “Can't have it both ways my lords. You paid for two different types of animal and you got two.”
The lord paused over that. It was clear Entoll wanted the snapjaw’s skull to hang in his dining room: Marie had overheard him saying so on the way back. After a quick back and forth between themselves, the oldest of them stepped forwards. He was the only one that kept a measure of calm about him.
“Lord Entoll is prepared to forgive the failure to deliver the required game in full if the body of the snapjaw is given in recompense.”
Dap hissed, her teeth showing as her lips pulled back and she took a step forward.
“Not likely. It was a trophy hunt. You take the trophy parts and we take the rest. That was what you wanted.”
“That was the agreement for the echodeer and gulls, my dear.” Harvin said. “Nothing was mentioned about snapjaw.”
Sirrochon put a hand on Dap’s shoulder and pulled her back.
“Either you owe us the bodies of giant gulls as part of the payment, or we can agree the snapjaw takes their place in all ways.”
Harvin looked back to his companions, Fila squirming with embarrassment as she knew her role in this would soon be raised, and the old noble silently agreed something with his partners.
“In that case, we take the skeleton and skin of the creature as trophies. You take the meat.”
“No chance.” Sirrochon said, eyes narrowing. The head is the trophy - the rest is ours.”
The argument ran back and forth over the next few minutes, and the Spellswords’ perceived failure in training Fila was brought up, much to her discomfort as she pulled on her father's arm. They made next to no progress and as Marie's stomach began to rumble she stepped around the side and began to berate them.
“Mon dieu. Did you not make a contract? Vous tournez en rond.”
Lord Folsley glared at her.
“You stay out of this, peasant. Your involvement in this farce is the worst affront of all.”
“Fine!” Marie almost exploded but reigned herself in as Sirrochon urged her to keep calm, his eyes darting to the upper floors. “I do not need charity from anyone and I do not expect to be paid for my contribution to your petite adventure if it is beyond your palette or means. If I drop any claim to a portion of the rewards will you agree to resolve this and move on with your lives?”
The vitriol in the looks the nobles gave her was almost physical, but the thought of a lower-class gangrel getting nothing from the outcome clearly swayed their minds.
“Very well.” Harvin agreed after a brief nod from the two lords confirmed it.
“Parfait. Then you take the head of the deer and the snapjaw, let Sirrochon and the hunters take the payment that is owed, and they keep the rest of the carcasses.”
“And the Spellswords train my daughter for another week - and don't palm her off onto someone else.”
Marie frowned at Lord Entoll but turned to gauge Sirrochon’s reaction. She waited until he nodded.
“... Let me get pen and paper and we'll write down an agreement.” She said, looking round for a surface to write on before settling on the counter top. “That way we won't have to go through this debacle again.”
It took the best of ten minutes to get parchment and a pen, which was in fact a quill made from a multicoloured feather of a creature she didn't recognise, and hash out a basic agreement regarding the division of the spoils and training of Fila. By the end of it, no one seemed happy, but at least they'd signed their names to it. She was particularly pleased that she'd gotten payment for the allagi hunters specified, as neither the nobles nor the Spellswords had been mentioning anything for them, and the representatives had simply stood back and watched the two sides bicker. As the nobles left and the Spellswords went to grab a bowl of the soup that was still bubbling away over the fire, she asked Algar about it.
“Honestly, miss [Scout], all we usually take home from these jobs is the meat we can carry and maybe a few coppers each. There are a lot of us, and none of us are more than bronze-ranked. Sometimes not even that. This time has proven most profitable for us. We’ll even be able to give something to the families of the fallen.”
Marie blanched.
“There is no payout for the deceased? Why do you work under such conditions? Do you not have employment contracts? No agreed wages? What about sick or injury pay, or paid leave?”
The blank stares from the two allagi [Hunters] she got back were the only response she needed.
“Mon dieu. What does the guild do with the cut it takes - how do you see that money come back to you?”
The two allagi hunters stared at each other, and then at her.
“You need to unionise and get a representative. I would have thought a guild would do this for you.”
Algar shrugged.
“Guild just gets us work. We take what we can get. Better not to kick up a fuss. As long as we can survive, we’ll make it work.”
How can they be so mild?
“Leave it with me and I will see if I can organise something.”
The allagi shrugged and left for their homes, expressions saying just how little they thought they’d get.
Marie went over to join the Spellswords. Sirrochon had always been friendly to her but now the rest of the group were looking at her with a measure of respect, and she took the bowl of soup Leam offered her.
“Merci. I am glad that is over.”
Murmured assent came from the others as they tucked into their food, and a warm roll of bread appeared from somewhere, and a bottle of wine was opened.
She had questions though.
“Tell me.” She said to the group. “When you arranged to provide protection for those… toads… did you not agree on everything before?”
Sirro finished his bowl and ladled himself another.
“Entoll asked for protection for a few days. We asked for fifteen gold apiece per day and let him talk us down to ten. We said we’d split the kills - he only wanted them for trophy parts. In fact, I suspect it was all an excuse to get his precious daughter out under his watch.”
“We tacked on a hefty extra for that.” Leam grinned.
“But you do not have usual rates? The [Hunters] got almost nothing. How are they supposed to support themselves?”
Dap shrugged.
“They were free to make their own agreement but they usually work for what they can get. They’re barely bronze-ranked.”
“Do higher ranks get paid more then? What do silver and bronze ranked adventurers usually earn?”
“That depends on the job.” Quartz said, setting his bowl aside. “Days we don’t work we don’t get nothing. Then when we do get a job we bilk a rich bastard like Entoll for everything we can get. Coin was good this time, and the bodies will sell for a bit even after those pricks take the heads. Hunting and the like is more pay for the danger. A few gold a day each wouldn’t be too bad for simple guard duty, though I’d prefer five. When we were Bronze I’d have been glad of two on top of food and lodgings, but that’s asking a lot.”
“You don’t know what you’ll get beforehand?”
Sirro stood and stretched.
“Some days are good, others less so. The real money comes when we take a job or a quest with the chance of magical loot. We did a spell in a dungeon a few months ago - an old place down in Orinarva that they unearthed last year - and we’re still living off the proceeds. Another month or two and we’ll need to find something lucrative again. It’s not steady work, but it’s rewarding when it pans out. Now, how about we leave this and go for a drink next door; I’m buying! We can talk about it all there.”
The Spellswords got up immediately but Marie held up her bowl and said she’d join them later. They left but Marie didn’t watch them go. Her gaze was focused on a large, maned individual coming back down the stairs…
Hi all! Welcome to my book, Miscast Heroes.
I'm uploading a few chapters to start with and then will upload one a day after.
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