The twin moons had long since retreated, leaving a thin, buttery light to bleed through the gaps in the heavy curtains. Linda woke with a start, her mind still swimming in the disjointed remnants of a dream involving binary code and silver forests. She sat up slowly, the wool blanket sliding down her chest, and let out a long, jaw-cracking yawn that made her ears ring. For a few seconds, she just existed in the haze of waking, her thoughts sluggish and heavy like wet clay, until her vision finally snapped into focus.
Her gaze drifted toward the other side of the room, and the sleep vanished instantly.
Izze was already awake, her small, lean body completely bare and glistening with a thin sheen of morning sweat. The Krithak was mid-stretch, her spine arched in a feline curve as she reached her calloused hands toward the ceiling, her muscles rippling under green, leathery skin.
Linda’s breath hitched, her eyes tracking the sharp line of Izze’s toned calves and the firm, compact strength of her core. There was something raw and uninhibited about the way the Krithak moved, a predatory grace that made Linda’s heart hammer against her ribs with a sudden, frantic intensity.
Plus, Izze was so hot and Linda wanted the older woman to ruin her.
Izze pivoted on one heel, her movement as fluid as a sliding blade. The turn brought her chest into full view - small, firm breasts with dark, tight nipples that peaked in the cool morning air. She didn't reach for a chemise or a cloak, but simply stood there and basked in the silence, her eyes locking onto Linda’s. A slow, crooked smirk spread across the Krithak’s face, the look of a seasoned hunter who had just watched her prey walk straight into a snare.
A cat that caught the canary.
The Krithak knew exactly where Linda’s eyes had been lingering - and now lingered - and she clearly enjoyed the power of the moment.
Linda felt the heat ignite in her cheeks, a vivid crimson flush that spread rapidly from her neck to the tips of her pointed ears.
"Twelve fucking Hells," Izze rasped. The Krithak didn't move to cover herself. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes scanning Linda with an appreciative hunger. "I knew you were built different, Aelvyne, but those tits are something else. Truly top-shelf work." Her gaze dropped lower, landing on the prominent, insistent ridge pushing against the fabric of Linda's sleepwear and even the wool cover. Izze let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, pointing a finger at the obvious morning wood. "Looks like you've got a bit of a situation down there. Need some help handling that?"
Linda froze.
Her breath hitched, caught in a throat that suddenly felt like it was lined with sandpaper. She looked down, her eyes widening as she took in the heavy, soft weight of her own boobs and then followed the line of her body down to the eight inches of rigid proof that she was very much awake.
And hard...
And her boobs were out...
And she was hard in front of Izze!
A strangled, high-pitched screech tore from her throat.
It wasn't a scream of terror, but a sound of pure, unadulterated panic. Linda scrambled backward, her limbs flailing like a newborn calf on ice as she tried to pull the wool blanket back over herself. In her haste, she tangled her legs in the sheets, nearly flipping over backward with a thud. She clutched the fabric to her chest, her face burning a shade of red that would have put a ripe tomato to shame.
"Oh my goodness!" Linda gasped, her voice trembling. "How? Why?! I—"
Izze just shook her head, a low chuckle vibrating in her throat.
"Settle down, silver-tits. You're making enough noise to wake the whole damn inn," Izze rasped, finally reaching for her leather trousers. She didn't rush the process, intentionally lingering in her nudity as she stepped into the gear, her yellow eyes flicking back to Linda with a predatory glint. "Don't flatter yourself thinking you're the only one who got a show. I enjoyed the view just as much while you were squirming. You've got a fine rack. Shame you're so jumpy."
Linda squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the wool blanket as if it were a shield.
The sheer bluntness of the comment made her feel exposed even through the fabric. Back in her old life, a comment like that would have sent her retreating into a shell of silence for a week, but here, the air felt different - charged and heavy. She could hear the rhythmic clink-clink of Izze buckling her armor, the sound of a seasoned warrior preparing for the day.
"We have a date with Garviss," Izze added, her voice returning to its usual gruff, business-like tone. She snapped a leather strap tight across her forearm, the sound echoing like a whip-crack in the small room. "The Big Gold doesn't like to be kept waiting, and he likes it even less when his failures arrive late and smelling of bed-sheets. Get your gear on and get your head straight. We're reporting a failed contract, which means we're in a precarious spot. One wrong word and we're out of a job, or worse, out of a town."
Linda let out a shaky exhale, her heart still drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She managed to scramble out of the tangle of sheets, her movements clumsy as she tried to find a semblance of dignity.
"I'm- I'm okay! I'm totally fine," Linda stammered, though her voice cracked halfway through.
She scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over a stray boot as she tried to project a level of composure she didn't possess. Her heart was still hammering a frantic rhythm, and her skin felt pricklish and oversensitive. Just as she started to reach for the tattered, oversized tunic she’d pilfered off , she realized with a jolt of panic that her small pile of uh…
…borrowed belongings were gone, but...
"Don't bother with those rags. They were an eyesore," Izze grunted, tossing a pair of leathers, a white undershirt, underwear, boots, and a pair of gloves onto the bed. "Got up before the sun to hit a local trader. You can't look like a beggar if you want Garviss to actually listen to our excuses. Put 'em on. The gloves'll keep your Blessing under wraps for now. Got lucky that no one noticed last night, but we can't rely on luck. Not with this."
Linda stared at the high-quality gear, the cured leather smelling of professional craftsmanship.
A wave of genuine warmth washed over her, momentarily eclipsing the lingering embarrassment.
"That... that was such a smart idea. Thank you, Izze. Really," Linda murmured, her words heartfelt.
She felt a tiny spark of gratitude that the Krithak noticed she was out of her element, though the fact that she’d seen her naked and flustered meant the 'element' was currently a disaster zone.
But still...
As Linda dressed, she noticed the gear was tailored specifically for her Aelvyn frame, fitting the curve of her hips while leaving enough room for her chest without feeling like she was being strangled. The fabric was breathable, designed for the humidity of Quorrith’s heat, and the boots had reinforced soles for gripping uneven terrain. She carefully pulled on the gloves, feeling the leather snug against her skin, masking the divine mark on the back of her hand.
Izze leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed, her yellow eyes scanning Linda from head to toe with a slow, calculating approval.
"Look at you..." Izze rasped, a genuine, toothy grin cutting across her face. "You actually look like something that could survive a week in the wild instead of a lost puppy waiting for a treat. Those leathers do wonders for that backside. You’ve got a bit of presence now, sunshine,"
The compliment sent a fresh wave of heat to Linda's cheeks, but before she could stumble through a thank you, a sharp, rhythmic rap sounded on the wooden door.
The noise was clipped and precise, mirroring the man on the other side.
"Are you two ready?" Theodore asked, his voice drifting through the door. "If we are late to Ashwick Hall, Garviss will find a way to make our lives hell before we even step through the door."
"We're ready, you brooding stick!" Izze barked back. She didn't wait for him to respond, swinging the door open with a violent force that nearly took the hinges off. With a grip like a vice, she snagged Linda by the hand and hauled her into the hallway, nearly knocking the wind out of the Aelvyn. "Hope the big shit doesn't poke me this time..." Izze paused, a wicked glint in her yellow eyes as she looked toward the end of the hall. "I’d hate for one of Garviss’s horns to catch me in the eye while he's chewing us out."
Theodore didn't even blink, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on Izze like a disappointed parent.
"He poked you because you spent the first ten minutes of the briefing trying to see if you could balance a coin on his left horn," Theodore replied, his voice as dry as a desert bone. "Your lack of professionalism is matched only by your lack of spatial awareness, Izze."
Linda stumbled along beside them, her mind whirling as she tried to process the conversation. She looked from the lean, brooding Ardel to the scrappy Krithak, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion.
"Wait... horns?" Linda asked while getting her bearings. "Garviss has horns? Is he... a demon? Or a goat- man- thing?"
Izze raised one eyebrow Linda's way.
"Patience. A bit of mystery keeps the heart beating," Izze teased while making a motion as if she were locking her lips.
As they came down the stairs, the trio bypassed the common room's breakfast spread, the scent of sizzling pork and buttery porridge clinging to the air, though none of them lingered.
Linda's stomach rumbled and she internally called Theodore a liar for making her think they would eat in the morning...
She was going to starve to death...
Theodore’s pace was brisk, his robe billowing behind him as he led them out into the morning air of Brennale. The twin moons had faded - a pale, ghostly haze, leaving the town drenched in a muted, grey light - but the sun was making an appearance.
"We shall dine at the Crooked Plow after we've survived the scolding," Theodore remarked, his tone brokering no argument. "Their stew is an acquired taste, but it provides the necessary calories for a day of penance."
Izze let out a loud, rattling huff, her chest heaving under her leather armor. As they rounded a corner near the market square, a young girl and her mother paused by a stall, waving brightly at the Krithak. In an instant, Izze’s slouch vanished, squaring her shoulders, and lifting her chin with a sudden, regal poise that transformed her from a scrappy mercenary into a veteran of standing. She offered a sharp, dignified nod back to the woman and her kid, a fleeting glimpse of the respect she commanded in the community before she slumped back into her usual chaotic posture.
Linda felt a sudden, daring spark of curiosity.
She leaned in, her shoulder brushing against Izze's arm, and let out a soft, playful giggle.
"Wow, look at you. From a rough-and-tumble brawler to a little lady in three seconds. Which one is the real Izze?" Linda teased, the words feeling light and exciting on her tongue.
Izze stopped dead in her tracks, turning to look at Linda with a slow, predatory blink.
A wide, toothy grin spread across her face, and she stepped into Linda's personal space, her yellow eyes glittering with amusement.
"Look at you, finally growing some Drevan-damned balls to tease me like that," Izze responded. Then, she leaned in close, her breath warm against the sensitive curve of Linda's long Aelvyn ear. Her voice dropped to a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver straight down Linda's spine. "Though, we both know your balls are the only ones around here that are actually huge."
Linda froze, her face blooming into a deep crimson that put the rising sun to shame. She opened her mouth to stutter a response, but the words died in her throat as Izze gave her a playful, firm slap on the backside and surged forward again.
Ahead of them, the heavy oak doors of Ashwick Hall loomed, the Tarnished Blade's sigil etched deep into the wood. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The playful tension vanished and was replaced by the heavy, oppressive weight of professional failure as they prepared to face the gold-rank veteran.
The interior of the hall was sparsely populated, the air smelling of old parchment, gun oil, and stale tobacco. Standing by a mahogany desk was a woman who looked less like a mercenary and more like a high-ranking administrator. She was a striking human woman, standing six feet tall with a mature, commanding figure and legs that seemed to go on forever. Her medium-length purple hair framed a face of pale, flawless porcelain, and her piercing purple eyes looked over the trio through a pair of sharp, silver-rimmed office siren glasses. She clutched a heavy leather ledger to her chest, the movement emphasizing her very big boobs bust that strained against her professional attire.
Another MILF bombshell, Linda thought, and then she froze.
Linda’s breath hitched, her mind suddenly flashing back to a specific adult manwha she’d poured over back in her old life.
Not that she knew what that was or anything…
Linda awkwardly laughed internally…
This woman was a living, breathing carbon copy of Kim Mi-jung from A Wonderful New World. The resemblance was so uncanny that Linda felt a sudden, violent throb in her groin, her cock jumping against the leather of her new trousers. She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting away from the woman’s curves - her heart racing not from fear of Garviss - but from a sudden, overwhelming surge of arousal that felt entirely out of place in a guild hall.
"You're late," The woman said, her voice a smooth, melodic chime that carried the weight of a falling gavel. She stepped away from the mahogany desk, her long, pale legs gliding across the floor with a predator's grace. The silver-rimmed glasses perched on her nose didn't hide the sharpness of her purple eyes, which swept over the trio like a tactical scan. She came to a halt just inches from them, her presence filling the space with the scent of expensive ink and cold lilies. "The Branch Manager doesn't enjoy waiting, as you both know, and he enjoys failure even less. Have you failed since you're back so early? No matter. He's expecting you in his office on the second floor. Now."
Linda noticed, besides the big boobs she had fantasized about, that the woman had a tattoo, and it was of a balanced scale, but with only one line beneath it instead of a full base - sparse, almost like an unfinished rune.
She didn't know enough about the other gods, but scales back on Earth were associated with law.
So a god dealing in law?, Linda thought.
Vael really should have done a better job at teaching her this world's history…
Neither Izze nor Theodore seemed fazed by the woman’s icy demeanor. To them, she was just a high-functioning cog in the guild’s machine. Izze, never one to miss an opportunity for a bit of theater, threw her arms wide and dropped into a dramatic, sweeping bow that nearly sent her nose into the floorboards.
"Ever the delight, aren't you, Lyra?" Izze chirped, her voice gratingly loud in the quiet hall. She shot a wink at the woman, whose purple eyes remained flat and unimpressed.
Theodore lightly smacked the Krithak's head, earning a "Ow!" from Izze, and he turned fully to look at this Lyra.
"Forgive her, Lyra. Her manners are as stunted as her stature," Theodore apologized, his voice returning to its usual clinical dryness - and I could see the Krithak wanting to argue about the comment - . He adjusted his glasses, fully facing the woman. "If you would be so kind as to lead the way, we have quite a lot to discuss with both you and the Branch Manager. I suspect the details of our... complications... will require a more private setting than this lobby."
Lyra didn't smile, but the corner of her mouth twitched with a flicker of professional acknowledgment. She turned on a dime, but not before peering into Linda's eyes for a moment too long, and then walking up the stairs that led to Garviss's office.
Following behind the perfect looking woman was a dangerous exercise in focus. Every step Lyra took was a rhythmic, swaying display of precision, her long, pale legs moving with a confidence that seemed to command the very air around her. The tight tailoring of her professional attire did little to hide the curve of her hips or the firm, rhythmic bounce of her butt. Beside Linda, Izze wasn't even pretending to be subtle, her eyes were locked onto Lyra’s rear with an appreciative, predatory hunger. Linda felt her own gaze drifting, her shy nature fighting a losing battle against the vivid, pulsing imagery of the woman’s figure. The contrast of the purple hair against that flawless, porcelain skin made Lyra look less like a guild secretary and more like a fantasy rendered in high definition.
The ascent felt longer than it was, the trio trailing the woman's commanding silhouette until they reached the second floor. Lyra came to a halt abruptly in front of a set of towering, iron-banded oak doors.
Lyra didn't knock.
The Ardel woman just opened them and the trio was greeted by the infamous Garviss.
Hole moly…, Linda thought with wide eyes.
That was the only thought screaming through Linda's head as she stared at the man behind the desk. Garviss was a mountain of muscle and fur, a Minotaur man who made the room feel like a dollhouse. His coat was a coarse mix of chocolate brown and slate grey - possibly mirroring how a human gets grey hair as they age - stretching tight across shoulders that looked wide enough to bridge a canyon. Two massive, ridged horns swept upward from his skull, scarred and chipped from years of combat, while his practical leather vest had been specially tailored to accommodate his hulking form.
"Gold-ranks are back," Lyra announced, her voice remaining a cool, professional chime.
She glided across the office to stand beside Garviss, the contrast between them striking. Beside the massive, fur-clad Minotaur, Lyra looked like a delicate porcelain doll, though her piercing purple eyes remained as sharp as shards of glass behind her silver-rimmed glasses. She stepped back, folding her arms beneath her chest, a movement that pressed her bust further against the fabric of her professional attire, and waited for the Branch Manager to acknowledge them.
Garviss didn't look up from the map spread across his desk immediately.
He let the silence stretch, the air heavy with the scent of old leather and musk.
When the Minotaur finally raised his head, his gaze was a heavy weight that seemed to flatten the room.
"Gold-ranks," Garviss boomed, hands outstretched from being steepled on the desk. His voice was a thunderclap, vibrating in the floorboards beneath Linda's boots, delivered with a thick, rolling accent that turned every consonant into a heavy stone. "You call this return? You return early, smell like failure and cheap ale. You make me think you fight kittens in forest, not Hollows from ruin." He narrowed his eyes, the massive ridge of his horns casting a jagged shadow across the maps.
Theodore stepped forward, his clinical poise acting as a shield against the Minotaur’s volume.
"We encountered a variable we hadn't accounted for, Garviss," Theodore answered, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He shifted slightly, gesturing toward Linda with a slight tilt of his head. "Our progress was hampered by the integration of our new asset. The Aelvyn's presence provided a unique tactical complication, but her potential outweighs the temporary delay." He looked at Linda, his hazel eyes cool. "Show him, if you please, Linda?."
Linda felt her heart hammer against her ribs, the sound echoing in her ears like a drum. She glanced at Theodore, who offered a small, reassuring smile that didn't quite reach his clinical eyes, then shifted her gaze to Izze.
The Krithak gave a sharp, encouraging nod.
"Go on, sweetheart. Just show the big ox what you're packing. You got this." Izze whispered, her hand moving to Linda's lower back and starting to rub comforting circles there.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Linda slowly raised her hand. Her fingers trembled as she gripped the edge of the leather glove, peeling it back inch by inch until the fabric fell away. She turned the back of her hand toward Garviss, exposing the pale skin and the mark that defined her existence in this world.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Garviss’s eyes went wide, the pupils dilating until his gaze was almost entirely black.
Beside the Minotaur, Lyra’s professional mask shattered, her eyebrows shot upward into her purple hairline, her jaw dropping as she leaned forward, and the ledger in her arms nearly slipped from her grasp.
With a sudden, violent motion, Graviss surged upward, his massive bulk knocking his heavy chair backward with a crash. His huge hands slammed onto the desk, the impact rattling the maps and sending a jar of ink wobbling precariously.
Linda jolted back, but noticed his own Blessing - a single broken spearhead, tip pointing down.
"Korath's blade!" Garviss boomed, even louder than the last time he spoke, much louder. "Solanthe? In backwater place like Brennale? Is impossible!" He leaned over the desk, his massive chest heaving, eyes locked onto the tattoo. "I see many things in long life, but this? To see mark of Sun on skin... is rare. Too rare. Only in capital of Sollavar, vhere Solvate keeps tight grip on vhat is 'divine', you see such thing..."
Lyra shook her head, her purple eyes blinking in bewilderment as she adjusted her silver-rimmed glasses.
"It is simply unprecedented," Lyra added, her voice losing its icy edge to a tone of genuine confusion. "The Solavate maintains a strict monopoly on the Sun's grace. Outside the capital, the only individuals recognized with Solanthe's blessing are the Lumarch himself or the Dawnguard who have eradicated three Shards of Vael... For a wandering Aelvyn to simply possess it is..."
"It ain't a prank, you big lug, and it sure as hell ain't a joke!" Izze interrupted as she stepped closer to the desk. The Krithak crossed her arms, her grey braids bouncing with the aggression of her gesture. "We saw the mark, we saw the glow in the ruins, and we realized we weren't just hauling back a pretty face. We practically broke our legs getting back to this dump because we knew you'd want to see this. Plus, we couldn't just fucking leave her there for Drevan's sake!"
Linda felt the weight of the room pressing in on her, the silence following Izze's outburst feeling heavier than Garviss's voice.
She shifted her weight, swallowing roughly, but it felt like her mouth was the Sahara Desert.
"I... I'm really grateful to them," Linda murmured, her voice trembling and barely audible. "They've been... so patient. I don't know how to fight, and I don't really remember anything before I woke up in those ruins. I just... I just know I'm lucky they found me. I would understand if this all... too much." She added, waving her arms to emphasize herself.
Garviss let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a growl, his massive chest vibrating.
"Luck? Bah!" Garviss spat as he leaned back, the wood of the desk groaning under the shifting weight of the Minotaur. "Is surprising, yes. Very surprising! To find Sun-marked in the mud of Quorrith is like finding diamond in pile of goat dung. But..." He paused, his voice softening though the heavy Russian cadence remained thick. "I not monster. I see people in need, I help. Is simple." He looked at her with an intensity that made her feel like he was reading her soul. "In Quorrith, we not care vhere you come from or vho mark you. Here, to choose and to be free... this is vhat makes us Quorrithi. So, little silver-hair, I ask you... Vhat is it you vant? You vant protection? Gold? Fame? Or you vant to find out vhy the Sun decided to pick you?"
Linda blinked, the sudden shift from terror to acceptance leaving her momentarily breathless. She thought of the sterile walls of her old life, the hours spent staring at lines of code in a darkened room, and the crushing loneliness that had followed her even to New York. She didn't want to be a divine anomaly or a political pawn.
"I... I want to stay," Linda whispered, her voice gaining a sliver of strength. "I want to learn how to actually be... someone. I want to make friends, and maybe... and maybe love someone. I just want to be free."
Lyra’s gaze softened, her purple eyes scanning Linda with a newfound curiosity.
"A noble ambition," Lyra remarked, her voice now a smooth, melodic purr. "Though 'learning' in the Tarnished Blade is rarely a gentle process. If you intend to stay, you will need more than a divine mark. You will need the discipline to survive the things we hunt."
Garviss let out a thunderous snort, a puff of steam escaping his nostrils.
"Discipline! Ha! Look at her, Lyra. She is shaking like leaf in autumn vinds." Garviss pointed out, slamming a massive hand onto the desk, though this time it was with a gesture of approval. "But she has fire, yes? Small fire, like candle, but it burns. Ve keep her. For now, she is asset. If fails? She is just another mouth to feed. If she succeeds..." He grinned, showing blunt, powerful teeth. "Then ve see if the Sun can burn bright."
Izze let out a loud, sharp whoop, jumping in place and slapping Linda on the shoulder with enough force to nearly knock the wind out of her.
"Hah! I knew you'd see the value in her, you old ox!" Izze barked, her yellow eyes gleaming with mischief.
Beside the Krithak, Theodore let out a long, audible sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping two inches as the tension bled out of him.
"Thank you, Mr. Garviss. Thank you both," Linda murmured, her voice small but sincere.
"Do not thank us yet," Lyra cautioned. "In this guild, or any guild, 'staying' is a privilege earned through blood and sweat. You may possess a mark of grace, but in a scrap with hollows, a blessing is merely a tool. Not a shield. If you cannot hold a blade or read a battlefield, the Sun's favor will only make you a more visible target for the things that hunger in the dark."
Linda felt the weight of the room pressing in on her, but for the first time, the panic didn't swallow her whole. She looked up at the towering Minotaur and the poised woman, her fingers curling into tight fists.
"I'll do it," Linda responded, her voice steady. "I don't know how to fight, but I'll give it everything I have. I'll work harder than anyone else here."
"Determination," Lyra murmured, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "A rare trait in the naive. Perhaps you aren't as fragile as you look."
The compliment hit Linda like a physical touch - feeling a sudden, hot rush of blood climb up her neck - staining her tan cheeks a vivid, dusty pink.
"HAH! We shall see!" Garviss roared. "Good! Passion is good! But passion vithout skill is just vay to get buried early."
"Exactly why we're staying put for a bit," Izze interjected, leaning back on her heels and grinning. "We'll put her through the ringer, the old-fashioned way. No fancy shortcuts. Just blood, sweat, and a lot of bruises until she can hold up a sword without shaking."
The Minotaur nodded at the Krithak's words.
"Is good idea!" Garviss rumbled. He gripped the back of his heavy oak chair, hoisting the massive piece of furniture into the air with a casual flex of his shoulder before slamming it back down and sinking into it. "Izze has spirit of general. She vill make Aelvyn strong, or she vill make Aelvyn cry. Either vay, ve find out vat is inside."
Theodore shifted his weight, the fabric of his robes whispering against the floor.
"The physical training is one thing, but the void in your mind is another. Until your memories return, assuming they do, you are effectively a blind woman treading upon eggs. I will take it upon myself to educate you on the history of the Sundering, of Velmoira, and the godly politics of the Twelve. "
Lyra didn't look up from her ledger, though the slight tilt of her glasses suggested she was listening intently.
"See that you do, Theodore," Lyra sniffed, her eyes fully on the Ardel man. "Ignorance is a luxury we cannot afford when dealing with the Solavate's eyes. If she is to be an asset, she needs to understand why the world thinks her a miracle and why they would lock her away forever."
Linda was thankful that this was where Vael decided to plop her.
She was so thankful.
Maybe she could forgive the goddess for slacking on her education...
"Right! Great! Now that the emotional heavy lifting is done, I'm fucking starving," Izze blurted out, her eyes darting toward the door. "Can we go now?"
Garviss let out a huff that sounded like a bellows in a forge, a thick cloud of steam billowing from his nostrils. He waved a massive, calloused hand in their general direction, the gesture dismissive but lacking any real heat.
"Ja, ja! Enough talk! Get out of sight before I decide to charge you for air you breathe in my office!" Garviss scoffed, but not unkindly. "Go! Train! Be useful, or be dead!"
"Thank you for your kindness, Branch Manager," Theodore said, bowing with clinical precision. Linda followed suit, offering a shy, hurried nod. "Thank you, sir. Truly."
Once they were safely clear of the office and halfway down the corridor, Linda leaned toward the Krithak.
"So... am I a bronze rank now?" Linda asked, her voice hopeful.
Izze stopped dead in her tracks and burst into a raucous cackle that echoed off the stone walls.
"Twelve Hells, Bronze? You little scrap! You're 'Fresh Meat' rank. You're the dirt beneath the boots of a bronze!" Izze answered as she hurried down the stairs.
Theodore sighed and took on adding to Izze's answer.
"Izze is crude, as always, but accurate. In the Tarnished Blade, rank is not granted by Blessing or a bit of enthusiasm. You must successfully complete five sanctioned quests first and foremost. One must survive the blood, the mud, and the terror of these five quests before you can even claim to take the test to become a Bronze rank. Until then, you are simply a recruit or trainee if you prefer."
Linda slumped her shoulders, her silver hair shimmering under the hall's dim lighting.
"Oh man... that really sucks," Linda murmured, though a small, determined spark flickered in her green eyes. "But I'll work my way up. I'll catch up to you guys eventually."
She hurried her pace to match them, feeling the unfamiliar sway of her new leather armor. As they stepped out of the heavy oak doors of Ashwick Hall and into the crisp air of Brennale, the mud of the main road clung to their boots, leading them toward the rowdy, smoke-filled atmosphere of the Crooked Plow.
Izze stopped in front of the tavern's weathered doors and looked back at Linda, a wicked glint in her eyes.
"Catch up? I’ve had a forty-year head start on you," Izze cackled, slapping her thigh. "By the time you learn how to keep your feet under you in a scrap, I'll be retired and drinking my weight in ale."
Linda crossed her arms, her lips pulling into a pout.
"You're such a downer, Izze. I thought we were a team." Linda whined, feeling a bit playful and giddy at talking with the Krithak.
Izze stopped abruptly, leaning in until her eyes were inches from Linda's face.
A slow, predatory grin spread across the Krithak's features.
"Don't be so gloomy, Li~nda. Who knows? If you survive the training and grow a spine, maybe you'll have a shot at both me and Lyra. Now there's a prize worth fighting for, eh?" Izze purred, her voice sultry and full of promise.
Linda's face flushed a deep crimson, her mind racing as she tried to process the idea of the stern, porcelain-skinned administrator and the rowdy both wanting her. She opened her mouth to protest, the fantasy spiraling out of control, but the words died in her throat as the heavy doors of the Crooked Plow swung open.
The tavern wasn't nearly as rowdy as she had expected.
The morning sun still slanted through the grime-streaked windows, casting long, dusty beams across the floor. A few early risers sat in hushed clusters, nursing mugs of thin ale, but the atmosphere was mostly quiet. Behind the counter stood a stout, wide-faced man with the gentle features - a gnome-like man? Maybe a dwarf - his skin the color of old parchment and a warm, grandfatherly smile etched into the deep creases of his cheeks. He wore a stained linen apron over a simple tunic, his eyes twinkling with a quiet, patient kindness that felt like a sanctuary compared to the intensity of the guild hall.
"Morning, lot of you! Welcome back to the Plow," The gnome chirped, his voice like a soft chime. He began wiping down the mahogany bar with a rhythmic, steady motion, his movements practiced and calm. "I see you've brought a new face along, Izze. A bit of silver for the morning, lovely. I've got a pot of mushroom pottage simmering and the fresh bread just came out of the oven. Who's buying?"
Linda was because if she didn’t get food right now then this whole stinking town was going to feel her righteous hunger-ridden wrath…