After finishing off a tankard, he was about to leave, but a human boy jumped up on a table. He wore a silk vest, a wide-brimmed hat, and baggy trousers, and held a mug of ale in each hand.
But, though he was young, Wulf recognized him immediately.
Prince Eèras.
After a soft burp, the prince proclaimed, “The bill for tonight is on the crown’s tab!” He swayed, then called, “To many long years, and to the King and Confederacy!”
Wulf blinked. The mental image he had of a serious commander in a seven-foot golem, leading the Confederacy’s armies from the front lines, shattered. He almost wished he’d have known Prince Eèras was like this in his youth, just for the sake of it.
But he knew now, and that was for the best. Nothing he could do about the past, but the future…that was what he could change.
Still, Wulf wasn’t one for late nights, and the longer he stayed, the more trouble he was going to attract. He stepped out of the tavern, and Irmond followed him.
When he made it out to the street, he found that his ears were ringing…and he didn’t really mind. It was the sign of a good night. “You’re done, too?” Wulf asked.
“I can’t keep myself awake past the third moonrise,” Irmond replied, tilting his head toward the mountains. Already, two moons slipped into the sky. One, pale gray, and the second, a mottled green. The third, a faint yellow, peeked up above the mountains.
“Like, elven parties start earlier, and don’t go so late,” Irmond said.
Wulf rubbed his forehead, expecting to feel some sort of buzz from the alcohol he’d drank, but he felt nothing. Did alcohol count as a poison, which his Marks gave him resistance to? That’d kinda suck—or just mean that he needed really potent drinks, either way.
Irmond stumbled, though, as he walked.
“Wouldn't expect an elf to hold his ale well…” Wulf muttered. “Come on, let’s get you back to the dorms.”
They walked slowly across the campus, making straight for the dorm building. They arrived at Wulf’s room first, and Ján was nowhere to be found. Sure enough, the boy was probably out at the tavern too, and Wulf had just missed him.
But that meant the note in the center of the door was untouched.
A sheet of regular parchment had been pinned to the center of his door, with an ink note scrawled hastily in the center.
Wulf Hrothen. Let it be known that you have angered one Mr. Umoch. By beating his enforcers and harbouring an enemy of the Guild, you have identified yourself as an enemy. You have two weeks to abandon Irmond and apologize profusely to Mr. Umoch, or we will take every effort to destroy you.
- Fletchers
Wulf unpinned the note from his door and crumpled it into a ball, then cracked open his dorm room’s door and tossed it in the wastebin.
Then, he laughed.
“What?” Irmond asked. “Why? Why are you laughing? Like, I saw what the note said.” He knelt down and rubbed his forehead. “Oh, I should’ve just let them have the textbook…now they’re gonna hurt you, too.”
“They’re not going to hurt me, and they’re not going to hurt you,” Wulf said assertively. “We’re going to teach them a lesson, that’s what.” He had to admit, the Fletchers’ antics were amusing, but this was crossing a line, and if he didn’t stand up for himself, then no one would.
He just had to do it in a way that wasn’t going to get him kicked out of school.
“No, no…” Irmond groaned. “Just let them deal with me, and apologize. That’ll make it so much easier. Don’t waste your time with me. I can take a few beatings.”
“But you shouldn’t have to.” Wulf shook his head. “I’ll stand up for my friends. And…eventually, I’ll need a crew. That means I’ll need a Ranger.
“It better not be me. Even now, I’m a Low-Wood.”
“And so am I…”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“All the more reason not to go toe-to-toe with the Fletchers!” Irmond groaned. “Umoch’s a genius. He’s already Middle-Coal, and only in first year.”
“...but not for long.” Wulf shook his head. “A Pilot looks after his crew. Always.”
“You’re insane.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Wulf said. “Meet me at sunrise. Puke your guts out, get over your hangover, and then we’re going for a run.”
This body needed to build up more endurance, and it couldn’t hurt to start early. Gaining physical stamina would always help in the long run, but it’d also help focus his mind, and above all…well, he had some ideas.
“A run?” Irmond said.
“Yeah. And we’re going to gather some potion materials.”
Irmond narrowed his eyes, then shook his head, and stumbled off down the hallway. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Wulf insisted.
Irmond said nothing more.
With a sigh, Wulf stepped into his room. He had two weeks to get ready for whatever Umoch threw at him, and he had to make it count.
First, he took a sip of his balance potion. He didn’t need as much to trigger his aura and open up his storage pendant, since it was a higher strength than his other potions. He retrieved all his equipment and placed it on his desk. When Ján returned, he’d be too drunk to notice, and Wulf didn’t want to waste more of his potions tomorrow morning trying to open his storage pendant.
Once he had everything out, he examined the bloodwort tincture he’d begun in the morning. As expected, the leaves had shriveled into husks, and the vinegar had been stained dark brown. All the useful elements of the leaf had fled. When he assessed it, the Field dubbed it High-Wood quality.
Wulf could put mana into it now and turn it into a potion, but he still hadn’t distilled it.
He snapped the wine glass’s base off, then inserted it into an open spot on his holding rack and lit the burn-box. If he distilled it…
For a few minutes, he boiled off the excess liquid, making the entire dorm room smell like vinegar, until he was left with a thick brown slurry—now Low-Coal tier—awaiting his mana.
To finish the potion, he used a swig of his luck potion, then fed the mana into the awaiting slurry.
It didn’t get any thicker, but the liquid cleared into a transparent neon green colour, which glowed faintly. The potion glass vibrated and let out a low tone. When Wulf assessed it, battling against the nausea side effect, the Field said:
Might Potion (Middle-Coal Quality)
Increases the user’s strength and durability for sixty seconds.
[By crafting a potion, you have increased your mana. Advancement progress: 70%]
No negative side-effects, and a strong main effect. Wulf was definitely keeping this one. He let it rest in the potion stand, then flopped down on his bed. When the nausea side-effect of his luck potion wore off, which happened relatively quickly (it seemed that the overall duration of the potion effect would only last its full length if the user drank the entire potion), he passed out from exhaustion.
In the morning, he found that Ján had returned to his bed, and was still asleep. The suns were rising, and Wulf had woken up at the perfect time.
He looked over his potion-making setup and considered what to do next. He had an enormous quantity of mana-wine, which might make a decent base for a potion of some sort (especially knowing not that he had alcohol resistance), but he hadn’t read that far in the textbook, and he wasn’t quite that advanced yet. He could save it, of course, but he also knew where to get more.
No, he had a better idea.
When he went out for a run, he was going to need to collect some pots.
He’d be back before Ján woke up, and in perfect time to put his equipment away. But for now, he could leave it out.
So, he locked the dorm door behind him, then ran down to the main door of the building. He’d wait for five minutes, and if Irmond didn’t show up, he was going on his own.
But he barely had to wait one minute. Irmond stumbled out the doors, leaned over the wrought-iron railing of the front stair, then puked in the bushes beside it. He stood up, coughed, raised a finger, puked once more, then wiped his lips on his sleeve and said, “I’m ready. Ready. Like, definitely ready.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to make it,” Wulf said.
“And I thought I’d surprise you. After all, a Ranger needs to run, too.”
“Then let’s go.”
Wulf set off at a light pace around the outer border of the campus. He wasn’t exactly sure where he’d find potted plants, or just pots in general, but he was going to keep looking. Finally, halfway around the circular border of the Academy, they passed by the faculty housing. Around its back was a stack of small clay pots, and Wulf broke off toward them.
“What are you doing?” Irmond hissed.
“Starting a garden,” Wulf replied, picking up a stack of pots. They were empty, dusty, and a few had cobwebs in their bottoms—no one was using them, and no one would miss them. He gave half the stack to Irmond. “Practice your balancing. Rangers need that. Or something.”
“We need to balance ourselves on the shoulders of an Oronith,” Irmond said. “Not a stack of pots!”
“Ah, well, good practice anyway.” Wulf began running again anyway, and with a groan, Irmond followed.
They circled back toward the dorms, but along the way, in the dimness of the early morning, Wulf used his Mark to spot another patch of mana-infused grass. It was only Low-Wood quality, but that didn’t matter. As long as it drank strong mana-wine for a few days, it’d get more powerful.
He dug through the soil, this time ripping up the grass and its roots, then filled as many pots as he could hold with mud. Both he and Irmond carried four each.
Arms full, they jogged back to the dorms, then ran upstairs.
“Hey,” Irmond asked outside the door of Wulf’s dorm. “How do you know how to make potions? Like…I thought it was an alchemist only thing.”
“Family secret. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“...I guess.”
“Thanks for the help,” Wulf said, then took Irmonds pots. “Now, I’m going to go put my stuff away, and get cleaned up. I think we’re gonna have a long two weeks ahead of us.”