The Classless Sorcerer's Self-Stealing System

A foul storm had swept down from the mountains through the night, and with it perhaps the last of a gentler natured snowfall, the likes of which were scarcely to be found during Calvergian wintertime. Though true to its own nature, Frostwall was alive and bustling with activity, despite the harsh weather conditions.

For his part, Blychert had spent most of the day cozied up by the roaring hearth fire of the Half Full Flagon, otherwise content to pour over the pages of the book he'd procured from the library without so much as a single glance outside.

It wasn't exactly surprising to read that the Church's stance towards foreign religion was moderately aggressive, if not altogether threatening. Her position as an archbishop aside, Caprenia's voice seemed abrasive and lacking in compassion, especially in regard to a nation that had undoubtedly struggled to maintain its own sovereignty over the decades and centuries, or at least if the other historical records Bly had read were to be believed. The result was a somewhat unpleasant account of the archbishop's views on Calvergian culture, citing an "incoherent and utterly foolish appraisal of the role of fate in society." and a "parasitic relationship with heroism." as well as "inhumanly cold and devoid of pleasant smells."

Well, even having been written over half a century ago, at least the part about the cold was accurate.

Still, it was disappointing to find that the archbishop's account of Calvergia didn't contain any mention of the Pale Lady whatsoever. Another dead end was the least of Blychert's worries though, not that he had his hopes too high to begin with.

"Here you go, kid. Lunch is served." Gisela interjected all at once, before placing a small plate down on the table in front of where Bly was sitting. Glancing up from his book, Bly's mouth watered a little bit at the sight of warm bread, boiled vegetables, and a generous helping of flame-roasted mutton.

Smiling up at the innkeeper, Bly replied, "Thanks. It looks great."

"Now don't go and fill yourself up too much, you hear?" She beckoned, "Feasts at the hall tend to be quite the spectacle, especially for those honoring the dead. The last thing you want to do while you're there is to not eat—big mistake."

"Got it." Blychert nodded, pondering Taren and Hugo's honorary feast for a moment. He wondered who was going to be there, seeing that none of Bold Arrow were going, and if the weather might affect the turnout at all. Somehow, he doubted it. However, just as Gisela was about to take her leave, Bly cleared his throat, figuring to ask, "Excuse me, uhm… missus Kornfeld? Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?" She turned, furrowing her brow a little. She must have recognized the inquisitive look on his face, because she proceeded to slowly take a seat in one of the opposite chairs at his table, and leaned back a little, saying, "Something on the mind? Shoot."

"Well, it's not exactly anything serious." Blychert started, only feigning the truth a bit, "I was wondering if you could tell me anything about… the Pale Lady? I mean, since you run an inn and all, I figured you must hear a lot of stories. This man who runs an inn back in Kelvalder, Ralf, maybe you know him. Well, it was like that with him, is all."

"Pale Lady, you say…?" Gisela rubbed her chin for a moment. She chuckled after that, and said, "That's just a tall tale to get the children back inside before dark. You'd be surprised how quickly the fear of being snatched up by a monster inspires obedience." Gisela sighed momentarily, "Course, ain't the only tale of its ilk. Course, there's plenty of dark happenings out there on the roads anyhow, especially in the wilderness. I'm not surprised, you coming from out east anyway. Tales get stranger and stranger the farther out you get from the city."

"So, the Pale Lady kidnaps children?" Bly pressed the issue, "She's not, say, helpful at all?"

"Helpful?" Gisela snorted amusedly, "Honey, I wouldn't worry about a thing like that. And you're much too old to be worrying yourself over a children's story. Besides, every town from here to Ellurstad probably has its own version of the Pale Lady. What I know is that Calvergia's a strange and dangerous place, steeped in strange and dangerous magics. Don't need any ghosts around here for that to stand true. Frankly, we're all better off inside before dark. That, I know for certain."

Frowning somewhat, Bly nodded, "Well, thanks anyway."

Gisela stared at him for a while longer, before shrugging the curious look off her face. Standing to her feet thereafter, she reached into her pocket and produced a thin, bronzed necklace, coiling it onto the tabletop, as she said, "Will you bring this to the hall for me? It's an offering, for Taren, I… I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't want me pouting over him any. Fine young man, he was. My heart aches for Nazojan. That man's been through a lot these last few years."

Blychert slowly scooped up the necklace, glancing at it momentarily, before looking towards the innkeeper with an earnest grin, "I sure will. You have my word."

Gisela smiled, and winked once, before starting off towards the bar.

A small sigh escaped Bly's lips. In some ways, he wasn't sure he was worthy to go to the feast tonight. That small voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that he was responsible for their deaths somehow. He knew it was ridiculous to put all that weight on himself, and yet he couldn't seem to help it. His interaction with Kubranul had really put some things into perspective, things that he otherwise hadn't really considered until now.

Whatever the case, he'd already given his word. That, at least, still counted for something.

***

The adventuring hall was alive with high spirits as Blychert eased his way into the festive atmosphere, the likes of which were accompanied by upbeat music, boisterous laughter, and surely enough booze to keep a small army off its feet. As it happened, Gisela hadn't been joking about the copious amounts of food. Row upon row of mouthwatering choices lined the many tables therein, though Bly was certain it would all be devoured by feast's end.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He didn't know most of the people in attendance, and those he did seemed otherwise occupied with their own conversations. Bly didn't mind though. He was content to pay his respects without getting in anyone's way. After all, this seemed like a gathering for close friends and family more than anything, and Blychert wasn't especially close to either Hugo or Taren.

That, and of course he still felt responsible for what had happened in some ways. Trying to strike up a conversation with Naz, any of the others from that day, or heavens forbid it the two men's families, seemed like a lost cause for him.

Everyone was better off if he kept to himself tonight.

Slowly making his way up to the far end of the drinking hall, Blychert studied the two bronzed urns sitting atop their respective stools, each centered beneath an assortment of colored mage lights and surrounded by a motley collection of miscellaneous items.

At first glance, they might have seemed like nothing with any significance. But Hugo's longbow and Taren's magic staff stood out amongst them, and Bly knew right away that the accompanying items were the offerings.

Blychert fingered around his pocket for a moment, eventually producing the necklace that Gisela had given him. He frowned somewhat, before leaning forward and laying the jewelry down across Taren's staff.

Stepping back, Bly closed his eyes, and murmured, "I'm sorry."

The rest of the evening after that flickered by at a reasonable pace. Everyone else was content to drink, dance, and share stories about Taren and Hugo, Nazojan chief amongst them. The members of the Bluemantles and Askarnol even had an eating contest in their honor at one point, all of which Blychert observed from the second floor of the hall.

It wasn't like him to mope around on an evening of such vibrant energy.

Perhaps it was everything he'd been going through recently, or maybe it was something else. What he did know was that he felt even more alone than ever before. He was surrounded by friends and loved ones, and yet constantly reminded of just how abnormal he was at every possible turn. Strange things happened around him at the best of times, and at worst, bad things. People were getting hurt, more than just the usual dungeon fanfare too, he had to imagine. Tonight was a clear example of that, and whether he was at fault for anything or not, he was still involved somehow. And that, more than anything, hurt the most.

Frostwall was supposed to be a fresh start, a new beginning for Bly to forge his own path and to make his own choices. To feel like he was in control of his destiny for once. But as far as Blychert was concerned? The city of frost and fable was a place of dead ends and hard truths.

A classless had no business being here, and certainly not one who brought all the problems with him.

"Trelen… right?"

Blychert cocked his head to the side, only to find a curious looking guy staring back at him. The figure seemed young, perhaps around Bly's age, though it was hard to tell. Clean shaven, and a head full of black hair, the boy leaned up against one of the banister posts, peering down over his shoulder into the crowded drinking hall with an amused smile.

"Can't believe I wasn't allowed to come to this thing…" He murmured, seemingly to himself.

"Uhm… huh?" Bly started confusedly, "Do I know you?"

The boy tilted his head and offered a confused expression of his own. Grinning, he replied, "No."

"What—" Bly shook his head clear for a moment, before asking, "Who the hell are you? And why do you know my name?"

"Would you relax?" He chuckled softly, "And keep it down. I'm not exactly supposed to be here."

"Great…" Bly rolled his eyes, "That inspires a lot of confidence. Maybe I ought to go find Nelkaar—"

Quicker than Blychert could even react, a hand that wasn't his own was cupped over his mouth, and the boy replied, "Seriously? And I heard Trelen was a pretty great guy."

"...Who told you that?" Bly asked, even more confused, though his voice was admittedly muffled by the palm stuck to his face.

"Friend of a friend." The boy frowned, but shook his head with a groan, "Gah, come on, will you just play it cool? Please? I'm not up to anything, you know."

Not truly believing the statement, but also not seeing much reason to cause further trouble, Blychert assured the boy with a nod.

An awkward silence grew between them momentarily as the boy pulled away, even as the sounds of the bards' music down below filled the hall with warmth and laughter. Bly had no idea what this guy was about, or even why he was here, but it was evident by the way he was sleuthing around on the second floor that he really did mean to keep himself away from the eyes of those down below.

Maybe he was some sort of urchin off the street?

"Look..." Bly started, as he turned to where the boy had taken a seat, just there at one of the tables lining the wall. Realizing that sounded a bit aggressive, however, he added, "I mean, uh, why all the sneaking around? I'm pretty sure most of the people here are too drunk to care. Besides, it's a celebration. Isn't it? I doubt anyone will care if you, you know, swipe some food or whatever."

"Uh-huh…" the boy clicked his teeth with a grin, "So, that's what you think I am. A good-for-nothing thief? Wandered in off the streets looking for scraps?"

"Well—" Bly stammered. It sure did sound like that was what he was accusing, anyway.

"I'm just messing with you." The boy chuckled amusedly. He then extended his hand, brushing his dark bangs aside with his other, as he continued, "Name's Skaldan. And before you freak out again, Jhannrick told me about you. I'm at least certain you know him. Besides, and no offense to everyone else, but you're the only other guy around here that even looks my age, so... I kind of figured you must be Trelen. Sorcerer, right?"

Blychert furrowed his brow skeptically, but nodded, "Yeah. And you said you heard about me from… Jhannrick?"

"If you can call it that." Skaldan seemed to pout, "Practically had to force it out of him! You'd think my teacher would be a little more open to the idea of sharing critical information about what's going on in the dungeon."

"Ah, I see." Bly chuckled, realizing what this was, "So, you're the student he mentioned?"

"He mentioned me?" Skaldan's face lit up like a candle at that moment.

Bly smiled awkwardly, "Eh, just the one time…"

"Hmph." Skaldan rolled his eyes, "Figures. He's not much of a teacher, you know. I only see him once a week! I swear, the only reason they let him in through the front gate is because he's my brother's best friend…"

Blychert certainly understood the troubles of having an estranged mentor, considering his relationship to Alyse. Even still, Jhannrick was pretty powerful, which meant this kid's parents must have had a lot of money to retain the services of a wizard like that. Regardless, Bly nodded, and replied, "Well, I guess that means you must be a blood mage?"

"Hm? Blood mage? Oh…" Skaldan's brow creased confusedly, as he seemed to think to himself for a moment. Curiously, he frowned, and murmured, "Not exactly. I'm what you might call a… you know, never mind. It's not important. I'm definitely not a spellcaster, I'll tell you that much for free."

Blychert pursed his lips, hoping to press that little curious statement a little further. However, his attention was suddenly drawn down into the drinking hall, where he noticed the massive form of none other than Gurogan pushing his way through the crowd and seemingly towards the exit.

Had he been here the whole time?

Bly was certain he would have spotted someone like that a lot sooner. Although, he'd had a lot on his mind today, so maybe not? In any case, the giant was on his way out the door, and Blychert was suddenly feeling up to a bit of sleuthing himself. He'd paid his respects to the dead, now it was time to get to work.

Better not to let their deaths be in vain, at least if he could help it.

"Hey, uh... I got to get going—" Blychert said over his shoulder, already making his way towards the stairs, "Nice to meet you though!"

"Huh?" Skaldan replied, "What, well—hold on. What's the rush?"

Reaching the stairs, Bly started down, saying, "No reason. Just—got to go!"

"Hey!" Skaldan's voice echoed down the stairwell. Turning his head, Bly looked back up the stairs at Skaldan, who asked with a deeply curious expression, "You're up to something, aren't you?"

Blychert couldn't help but to grin somewhat, "Always am."