Linda was hungry, having skipped both dinner and breakfast, but she couldn’t be mad at this fatherly looking gnome-man.
"Good to see your face hasn't rotted off yet, Ellywick!" Izze greeted, slamming ten copper pieces onto the mahogany counter with a satisfying clink. The Krithak didn't wait for a response before sliding into an open table with the practiced ease of someone who owned the place by right of frequent haunting. "Three meals. Make 'em heavy, and don't skimp on the butter this time or I'll start charging you rent for the space my backside takes up on the bench."
Theodore stepped forward, his posture stiff and his expression neutral, though his eyes softened slightly behind his rounded glasses.
"Good morning to you, Mr. Featherbottom," Theodore murmured, his voice cool, but carrying warmth and respect for the gnome.
Linda paused, her hunger momentarily eclipsed by a sudden realization.
She looked from the stout, cheerful gnome to the poised Ardel, and a small, involuntary giggle escaped her. Ellywick Featherbottom. The name was so absurdly precious it felt like it belonged in a children's book, and the image of the stern Theodore being polite to someone with such a whimsical name was too much to resist.
Ellywick caught her amusement and beamed, his eyes twinkling as he gave a dramatic, sweeping bow that nearly sent his apron fluttering over his head.
"Heh! I get that every time, dearie! A name like a spring breeze and a face like a winter turnip," he chuckled, his voice warm and fatherly. "I'm Ellywick, the proud purveyor of the finest pottage and questionable stew in Brennale! And who might this silver-haired Aelvyn beauty be?"
Linda felt the heat rise in her cheeks, her shoulders hunching instinctively as the attention shifted toward her. She looked down at her boots, the leather of her new armor creaking softly as she shifted her weight.
"I'm... I'm Linda," Linda murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, though she managed a small, tentative smile.
"Linda! A lovely, sturdy name," Ellywick beamed, leaning over the counter with genuine enthusiasm. "Welcome to the Plow, Linda. You’ve come with a rough crowd, Izze could eat a horse and Theodore here is as stiff as a frozen pike, but you look like you’ve got a gentle soul. Now, let’s get some food in you before your stomach starts singing a song of misery for the whole room to hear!"
With a nimble pivot, the gnome ushered them toward a heavy oak table where Izze laid claim moments earlier, the wood scarred by decades of knife-marks and spilled ale. He practically shoved the two of them into their seats with a series of cheerful prompts and a final, twinkling wink before he vanished back into the kitchen. The air behind the counter shifted as he scurried away, the rhythmic clink-clink-clink of bowls being stacked and the sudden, aromatic surge of melted butter and earthy mushrooms trailing in his wake.
"Not every adventurer solves problems by hitting them," Izze scoffed, though she rolled her eyes with a smirk that suggested she’d spent most of her career doing exactly that. "Some of us use a bit of finesse. A quick slice to the hamstring or a heavy boot to the groin does wonders for a target's cooperation. Though, granted, most of the things we hunt don't have a lot of 'negotiation' in them. Though I'm glad you're staying. You won't regret it, sunshine."
Just as the words left her lips, Ellywick reappeared, balancing three steaming bowls of pottage and a platter of thick-cut, butter-drenched sourdough. The aroma of mushrooms and salted cream hit the table like a physical wave, momentarily silencing the table's politics. The gnome beamed, sliding the bowls into place with a flourish that barely missed knocking over Theodore’s water glass.
The Aelvyn stared at the food, her stomach giving a loud, demanding growl that made Izze bark out a laugh. She felt that familiar prickle of embarrassment, her gaze dropping to the rustic bowl, but the smell was intoxicating. In her old life, a meal like this would have been a "farm-to-table" luxury in some overpriced New York bistro. Here, it was just breakfast in a muddy town, and it felt infinitely more real.
The Krithak tore into a piece of sourdough, spraying crumbs across the table as she spoke, less refined than how Theodore ate.
"Right, listen up. We start your training tomorrow at dawn. Forget the Blessing stuff for a bit. Blessings are a leg up, but they aren't a crutch. If you rely on a god's gift to save your skin, you're just waiting for a day the god decides to fucking look away." Izze explained, pointing a butter-slicked finger at Linda, her yellow eyes narrowing. "We're going to find out what you actually are. I don't care if you've got the grace of a newborn calf or the strength of a wet noodle. We’ll run you through the basics... Footwork, weight distribution, how to take a hit without folding like a card table, and see if you're a frontline bruiser, a flanker, or some sneaky little thing who prefers to hit people from where they can't see."
The Ardel man sipped his water, his eyes scanning Linda as she dug into her food.
She noticed that it tasted different and chalked that up to the added preservatives and other stuff...
"Izze's methods are... visceral as Garviss noted earlier..." Theodore reminded. "...but effective. The combat in Quorrith, and more so Brennale, is less about form and more about survival. Whether you are fighting Hollows or a bandit, the goal is the same... Neutralize the threat before it neutralizes you. Because if you can’t? Then you’re dead."
Linda nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the rough grain of the table.
For a fleeting second, the smell of the pottage faded, replaced by the phantom scent of ozone and the sudden, wet heat of blood soaking through her shirt in a New York alley. The memory of that knife sliding between her ribs felt like a cold ghost touching her spine, a reminder that the world didn't care about her plans or her intellect. She looked up, her green eyes shimmering with a rare, hard edge.
"I know," Linda whispered, her voice barely audible. Then, squaring her shoulders and leaning in, she spoke louder. "I'm ready. I want to get stronger."
Izze froze, a piece of sourdough halfway to her mouth.
"Oh, listen to her! 'I want to get stronger,'" Izze mimicked, her voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. The goblin's yellow eyes gleamed with a sudden, predatory mischief as she leaned across the scarred oak table. "By the Twelve, I’ll make sure of it. I'll run you so fucking hard you'll be seeing stars before noon, and when you're begging for mercy."
But then Krithak's face shifted into a more mischievous look and Theodore groaned.
"Calyx's mercy, Izze, do not say what you're going to say... I know you and that look is nothing good." Theodore interjected before whatever it was went awry.
Izze huffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a sharp click of her teeth.
"Oh, shut it, you brooding stick! I was just gonna ask if the little silver-haired beauty wanted to swing by the Velvet Reed with me sometime." Izze said as she leaned in, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
And at that...
Linda went red as a tomato again, even to the tip of her long Aelvyn ears...
But a part of her, that traitorous and horny part, wanted to say yes…
Her poor introverted lesbian brain wasn’t suited for this world…