The Classless Sorcerer's Self-Stealing System

"What's the matter, not hungry?"

Startled somewhat by the question, Blychert lifted his gaze up from where it had been affixed to a rather mushy meal consisting of boiled chicken, potatoes, and squash. He'd been staring at it so aimlessly that the already bland colors had at some point melded into a singularly unappetizing shade of gray, though not that he was remotely concerned with that.

Scanning the interior of the inn momentarily, Bly couldn't help but notice that it had become considerably louder and a lot more crowded over the last two candle marks or so.

There must have been at least forty or fifty people jampacked into seats or lined up in multiple rows at the bar, which was already tight for space. Drinking, smoking, eating, shouting, gambling, laughing, fighting… frankly, it was the exact sort of place Bly imagined a port-side inn would look and sound like.

It was at that moment he noticed somebody somewhere was playing a stringed instrument of some kind. But on the opposite side of the inn, another person was trying to harmonize with the stringed instrument with what must have surely been a pan-flute or something of that nature. The resulting sound was mildly decent, and not the worst Bly had ever heard. But none of it helped the manic energy that already filled the establishment, let alone the fact that someone else had let in a goat, and its bleating wasn't exactly the most harmonious either.

In some ways, it was a miracle that Bly even heard his master ask that question at all.

"No… not really." Bly shrugged, not really sure what else to say.

It wasn't necessarily that he wasn't hungry, though his mind was certainly preoccupied.

"Hm. Not really, he says…" Bartolo mumbled, whose own illusory disguise was a class well above Bly's own, "As if I believed that. Perfectly happy to run headlong into danger though—"

"It's not like that…" Bly flushed, "And would you give it a rest already? I'm fine. You should be smug, you know, considering my barrier magic withstood quite the punishment out there."

"Hmph." Bartolo grunted before sticking a chunky piece of squash into his mouth. Chewing loudly, he replied, "There will be time for gloating later. And anyway, I distinctly remember mister Ralf telling you that you needed to eat more. You're only a growing boy, Trelen. Far be it from you to put some muscle on those bones! It's good food. You really ought to eat."

The master sorcerer well and truly looked nothing like his usual self. That neatly kept brown-gray beard he usually kept was now unkempt and a reddened to a degree, and all his clothes were now presented in the Calvergia style: mostly furs, heavy wools, and dark linens. Hazel eyes were a shade of green now, and his favorite, wide-brimmed cap was replaced entirely by a simple coif.

Bartolo might have been a distinguished sorcerer elsewhere in Sulren, but Jilvarlok really did look the part of a mad wizard, or so Blychert thought amusingly.

"If you like it so much, you're welcome to have mine." Bly replied with a small smile, nudging his plate across the table, "Seriously. I'm not hungry. Thank you though."

Bly could feel Bartolo's scrutinizing gaze on him, even as he resigned to look elsewhere across the inn.

There was no reason not to eat, and Bartolo had every right to be annoyed with what he'd done. In any event, it wasn't like he was suddenly ill or something like that to not want to eat. It was just that he couldn't bring himself to stop thinking about the events of earlier.

He was trying to understand why those giants even attacked in the first place.

Everden wasn't a small town, not by any means, and the perimeter defenses seemed decently strong. The soldiers had mobilized quickly, even if their first mustering numbers had suffered, and yet that hadn't deterred the giants in the least. Had they seriously been that confident? Or maybe they'd only meant to get in and out in as little time as possible? That seemed more likely given that they had been referred to as "raiders" by those soldiers.

So, maybe they hadn't expected to find any serious resistance in that short amount of time at all?

If Bly hadn't been there, or if Lanelc and his party hadn't cleaned up the rest of them after the first assault, who could say what more destruction they would have caused.

And as for that Lanelc guy…

There was no doubt that he was a skilled martial combatant. Furthermore, Blychert guessed that his level of speed could really only be augmented by either a skill or class ability, unless his athleticism was just that insanely ramped. As for his class? That was anyone's best guess, but Blychert was certain a person of that skill level would at least be common enough in Frostwall to call for the efforts of Bold Arrow somewhat insignificant.

It was a little discouraging, to say the least.

Why was Xander so confident in them anyway?

They'd had their asses handed to them on more than one occasion, and that was inside a D-rated dungeon. Why should a B-rated dungeon prove any better, and up against stronger competition too? Bly was suddenly feeling a bit outclassed, though the irony wasn't lost on him, which somehow made it even worse.

A gust of cold air blew down through the inn suddenly, flickering a few of the exposed candles on the nearby tables, as the front door opened just a few rows back from where Blychert and his master sat. A series of irritable groans resounded throughout the establishment in response, and someone even shouted to close the "damned door!"

"Shut your trap, Vodrik! Would you?" A familiar voice snapped back in retaliation, "Hey, what was that? Ten stars say you won't come say that to my face… yeah, that's what I thought."

Speak of the devil… Bly grumbled.

Glancing over his shoulder, Blychert's brow furrowed at the unmistakable sight of Lanelc, his shaved, tattooed head and long, pitch-black coat were a stark contrast to most of the other patrons inside the inn. Presumably, the other four people in tow were his party members, which didn't seem too far-fetched in Bly's mind considering that each of them was donned in armor, weaponry, and miscellaneous equipment that seemed well above the average person's.

Lanelc lead the group of newcomers straight down through the middle of the inn towards the bar, knocking into a few tables and patrons along the way. Whether intentional or not, he sure did know how to draw attention to himself.

Honestly, if Bly didn't know any better, this guy was just itching for someone to challenge him or at least look at him funny. Not that he expected anyone else in the inn to go down without a fight, seeing as how many of them even looked like the type to want a scrap in the first place. However, even if some of them already knew who Lanelc was, it didn't seem likely that they'd want to tempt their own fates for a little no-nothing scrap.

For what it was worth, Bly was certainly learning a lot about the lay of the land, at least outside of the quaint comforts of Kelvalder.

Realizing that Lanelc and his party were getting too close, Bly put his head down, forcing himself to look anywhere else—at anyone else but them. However, he wasn't fast enough, or so it seemed.

"Well, well, looky here… newbie!" Lanelc reveled, before coming to a full stop at Bly's table. Glancing back, Lanelc added, "Hey, this is that kid I was telling you about. You should have seen him, total amateur!"

Blychert rolled his eyes, before inevitably picking his head up to deal with whatever this was about to be. But surprisingly, or perhaps not, Bartolo spoke up on his behalf before he even had the chance.

"Young man," Bartolo started calmly, who was otherwise slowly stirring his cup of post-meal tea, "If my apprentice has caused you grief, then allow me to compensate you with a free beverage. Otherwise, I would strongly advise you move along… for both our sakes."

Bly could sense his master's magic aura suddenly and so began channeling his own mana just in case he needed to act as well.

"Huh…?" Lanelc tilted his head in an exaggerated fashion, displaying the intricate runes tattooed along his head, "Hey, what gives old man? I didn't come snapping at your boy like that, did I? Sheesh, and then you go and say a rude thing like that, really makes me want to—"

"Elc!" An aggressive, feminine voice shouted all of a sudden. Before Bly knew what had even happened, Lanelc was decked so hard across the face with the butt-end of a warhammer that he was sent flying about fifteen feet towards the bar. Without missing a beat, and taking Lanelc's place, there was none other than one of the individuals who had accompanied him into the inn.

Blychert gaped.

He had met dwarves before.

It wasn't uncommon for dwarven merchants and diplomats to travel through Darskaart as they journeyed from Khundarak to the capital of Greygarde. However, he couldn't say that he had ever met someone like this.

She stood roughly two feet taller than the surface of the table and was adorned from neck to boot in a gorgeous set of steel armor layered with plate, chainmail, and bits of leather, all of which was intricately tempered throughout. Her features were pink and steely, probably from the cold outside, but her most stand-out feature was her long, vibrant red hair, braided with a single streak of blonde.

The woman grimaced at Bly and his master.

Leaning forward on her warhammer, bobbing back and forth ever-so slightly on her toes, she sighed, and said, "Hi there. So, I guess I heard a little about you. You're cuter than I thought you'd be. Anyway, Elc's an asshole. I'm Zanka. Sometimes an asshole. But we'll be leaving you alone now. Okay?" Zanka turned to move towards the bar, but doubled-back, and said, "Oh, almost forgot, no funny ideas about revenge, or whatever. He's not worth the dirt on your boots. Or, you know, if you do try something… I'm gonna have to stick beast here on your old man. Say hi, beast!"

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"Mm."

Bly's attention turned up towards the individual Zanka had referred to as beast. It was an apt description, all things considered. He was massive, easily the same height as those giants Bly had faced off against. And it was curious too, because he had the same, pale skin tone and dark, braided beard, it was almost as if…

"Beast is a nice guy, an all-around good guy too. He doesn't want to hurt you, but…" Zanka smiled playfully, tapping the giant man on his elbow, like he was some kind of pet, "He will absolutely rip your limbs off if I ask him nicely. Right, beast?"

"Mm."

"Right.'

"Thank you for being reasonable, young lady." Bartolo bowed his head slightly, and nudged Bly a moment later, "We shall endeavor to keep the peace you have brokered here tonight."

"Ow—yeah, what he said." Bly echoed, not sure why Bartolo thought he'd go looking for a fight with these people for nothing. What did he owe them a 'thank you' for? Her party leader had threatened him! Not the other way around.

Zanka, beast, and the other three—each of whom gave Bly and his master equally distasteful looks—pursued a rather grumpy-looking Lanelc to the back of the inn, where they proceeded to take seat at the furthest booth, one that had a good view of the rest of the inn, and didn't seem intent to cause any more of a stir thereafter.

Blychert had a funny feeling that this wasn't going to be the end of his dealings with Silent Stray Blade but resigned himself to at least trying to eat some of his supper.

***

By the time Bartolo came back from paying for their meals, Blychert had at least managed to scarf down his chicken, though not much more than that. He might not have been hungry, but he'd be starving come morning if he didn't eat now.

"Ready?" Bartolo asked.

Bly nodded, suddenly feeling the exhaustion from the day of travel and fighting hung over him. He was certain to be passed out in a cot within the next few candle marks, if he was lucky.

"Let's head up to the room then, we'll find the bath as well." Bartolo said with one of his simple smiles, before frowning somewhat, "Since our plans have changed, we might have to stick around town for a bit. Although, if my message got through at all, I should be expecting to hear from my—"

The front door of the inn swung open loudly all of a sudden, banging against the wall as it did.

This time, however, a sweeping gust of chilled, nighttime wind blew out several of the nearest throughout the inn. Strangely though, Bly noticed straight away that unlike the commotion Lanelc and his party's entrance had stirred in the other patrons, nobody seemed to say a word this time around.

In fact, all of them were simply staring at the door.

It was dark outside, and the inn itself was dimly lit, but even then, as Blychert turned instinctually to get a glance at the newcomers himself, his skin crawled, and he too remained silent. After all, never in a million years was there a chance of him mistaking the figures that had just walked in through the door.

A woman with shock-white hair, adorned in blood-red armor and a black, gold-gilded hood, was proceeded by a vanguard of two heavily armored individuals, each donned in darksteel armor of their own and wielding shields emblazoned with none other than the Church of the Divine's sacred iconography: two open palms outstretched towards the heavens.

All of Annie's vestments and holy texts were covered in that symbol, Bly would never mistake it for anything else, given howe many times he'd seen it during childhood.

He gulped.

It wasn't nearly as bad as if a Guild Administrator had walked through the door instead, but it wasn't great either.

The boots of the two heavies' thumped and creaked against the floorboards, before each of them halted on either side of the front door. This allowed for the woman to step through, who continued inside very daintily, as if eager to soak up every second and every gaze that fell upon her.

Blychert could see Bartolo's knuckles tightening out of the corner of his eye, the master sorcerer's lips pressed firmly behind that disguised beard of his.

Well, at least that confirmed to Bly how serious this was.

He couldn't help but wonder if his master was frightened at all. He didn't think so, but then there was no way of telling. It was too late to make any sort of exit either, Bly figured, at least not without causing a scene. He'd have to let Bartolo take the lead on this one if anything happened and simply prepare himself if the worst came to pass; if somehow, they were made out, it would be an all-out attack.

Bly's heart was beginning to race as the woman stepped closer, and he could feel the sweat forming on the sides of his face. He had to keep his composure, especially at a time like this. He wasn't Blychert, he was Trelen.

Even still, just what in the hell was a Sister of Mercy doing in Calvergia?

"How… quaint." The sister murmured, as if only but to herself. Her tone of voice was plain, alluring in a way, but otherwise highly duplicitous, if Bly had anything to say about.

He didn't know much about the Sisters of Mercy and had certainly never met one. But there was no mistaking that blood-red armor, or the terrors that could be enacted by the one who wore it.

Stepping forward, the sister snatched a tankard off one of the nearby tables and drank from it generously for a few moments. Setting it down again, she smiled at the woman to whom the drink had belonged, and then scanned the rest of the room, saying, "I've always loved the north. There's just something… in the air. Do you know what I mean? The cold, the crispness, the sense of danger… it's intoxicating."

Nobody replied, not even the members of Silent Stray Blade.

The sister chuckled, "Not everyone all at once now." However, her expression turned on its head quite suddenly, and she said more intensely, "I'm looking for someone. Someone very important to me. And one of you," She turned on her heels and looked directly towards the back of the inn, towards Lanelc and his party, saying, "Is going to help me find him. How does that sound?"

Bly's heart was damned-near pounding at this point. He barely had the wherewithal to notice that Bartolo was fidgeting his fingers under the table, undoubtedly beginning to cast a discrete spell, or something of that nature.

Who was she looking for? Not Blychert and his master—that couldn't be true, not at all. Unless it was.

But how?

Had they somehow found him? Did someone in Kelvalder rat them out? Maybe they knew where Bly and his master were going and were here to intercept, but—but—

Bly couldn't think straight.

He had to get out of here, that was all he knew for certain.

The rest could wait.

"Yeah… that so?" Lanelc replied, cooly and not all affected by this woman's aura. From where Bly sat, he had an okay view of where Silent Stray Blade sat, and he could see Lanelc sitting causally, though it was hard to focus on anything at all, "And what are you going to do about it, lady?"

"Hmm," The sister smirked, stepping forward somewhat, "I don't have to do anything. I was simply offering the chance for someone in here… to do the right thing. Of course, Cynric will die one way or the other. I'll personally see to that. Though how much he has to suffer? Well, I suppose that's dependent on your cooperation."

A momentary relief washed over Bly.

He didn't know who this Cynric was, but he was certain that it had nothing to do with him. And more importantly, Bartolo seemed to agree, because his entire demeanor relaxed just a hair.

"You uppity bitch—!" Zanka's voice shouted suddenly, and suddenly something red and gold flashed across the floor in the blink of an eye. Zanka was now standing right where the sister was, her warhammer but an inch away from the sister's face too. Though equally, the sister's longsword must have been discreetly drawn in that split-second too, because her blade was also hovering an inch away from Zanka's midsection.

Startled gasps filled the air, and the two heavies lurched, though the sister beckoned them to halt with two free fingers at once.

Grinning sadistically, the sister cocked her head back at Zanka, "There she is."

"Give me one good reason not to split you open." Zanka snarled, "And I'll consider letting you walk out of here."

"Consider all you like." The sister frowned, "I can be patient, you know."

"Zanka! Back off already." Lanelc said from the far side of the inn, "Can't you two just keep your cool for five fucking seconds?"

"Shut the hell up, Elc!" Zanka growled back at him. Gripping the aft of her hammer even tighter, she looked back up at the sister, "I'm gonna smash your gods damned head in, sister. Say his name one more time. I'll do it. You think I won't? Then say it."

"Hm?" The sister replied innocently, putting a finger up to her chin, "Oh… you mean, Cynric?"

"I told you not to say it—"

"Well, I said it." The sister interjected, her tone of voice low and wicked sounding, "So what are you waiting for? Smash my gods damned head in. If your gods are even listening, I'm sure you'll succeed…"

Zanka's hammer reeled back, and a wide grin etched the sister's face.

Bly was certain one of them was done for.

"General quarters!"

The sound of dozens of weapons being drawn from sheathes and boots hitting the ground echoed loudly throughout the inn suddenly, prompting both Zanka and the sister to pause halfway through their attacks.

Blychert winced instinctually at the sudden commotion but realized quickly that nearly every single other patron currently in the inn was now standing and had weapons drawn, pointed directly at where the sister and Zanka stood.

A slow, drawn out set of footsteps punched against the tense silence, popping off the floorboards of the inn as the only sound there. The crowd of patrons hastily made way for a shadowy figure who was just now stepping through towards the center of the room.

As he came into light, and into a view, a tall, dark-skinned man with long, black hair stepped up behind Zanka and assessed the situation for himself. If it wasn't for all the tension, Bly would have considered the fact that this man had a rather spectacular mustachio, though the set of scars on the left side of his face were equally striking.

"Come now, sister…" The man began, his heavy accent quite unfamiliar. His s's were unusually long, and the r's rolled off the tongue, as he said, "You come into my favorite inn and cause all this ruckus in front of my men. Why do you do this? If you have a problem with the Blades, you have but to ask, and I tell them to meet you outside."

"Hey, Azdah… whose side are you on anyway?" Zanka growled up at him.

The man, Azdah, smiled warmly and patted Zanka on the shoulder twice, but said to the sister, "Please, sister. There is, ah… how do you say, so much paperwork involved in these civil disputes. I would hate to have all my men act as witness against you before the court in Frostwall. The Church's poor image in these lands could not afford such a blow, I'm certain of it. And anyway, it would be a loss of profits for me, a severe headache for you, and yada yada… why don't we just let cooler heads prevail, and let bygones be bygones. Eh? What do you say?"

The sister's smirk dissipated into a plain, simple expression, and she sheathed her blade with an elegant flourish, saying, "Very well, Captain. So sorry to bother you and your men whilst you enjoy shore leave. That wasn't my intent."

Azdah clapped his hand together and bowed slightly, "You are most kind, dear sister. The light of your divine surely shines upon you in this moment."

The sister winced slightly.

Blychert had no idea what was going on here, who this man even was, or what mind games everyone was playing at, but this was a completely different level of intrigue that he was used to dealing with, let alone bearing witness to.

"I'll be seeing you again soon. Real soon." The sister said to Zanka. However, she turned and allowed her vanguard to escort her out of the inn without another word.

Zanka spit at her feet shortly thereafter, "Count on it… bitch."

"Well then!" Azdah clapped his hands together once more, and turned towards the rest of the inn, flicking his wrist several times, "As you were."

Weapons were sheathed, sailors were sat back down, and the inn reverted to its usual behaviors as if nothing had even happened at all. It was damned near impressive, Bly thought, if not borderline psychotic.

"Jilvarlok?" Azdah said suddenly, his tone of voice was a few degrees more serious than before.

Blychert quickly glanced at his master for some sign of familiarity, who simply nodded back at the Captain with a mindful nod.

"I'll be seeing you in the back… when you're ready." Azdah nodded in reply and took his leave as well.

"He'll… be seeing you?" Bly couldn't help but to ask, still stunned by everything that had just happened in the span of only a few minutes, "What—who even is that?"

"Ugh…" Bartolo sighed wearily, rubbing his temples for a moment longer, before standing up from the table. Looking back down at Bly, he grimaced, "Our ride. Although, I suppose if he has anything to say about it, he will likely call himself our savior."

"…Savior?"

"Indeed." Bartolo grumbled, "Now, let's go before he changes his mind. There's nothing worse than a gloating Qashi, except perhaps for a gloating Qashi who thinks you now owe him a favor."

"Do you?" Bly asked.

"No!" Bartolo shouted over his shoulder, already halfway down the other side of the inn, "And as a matter of fact, it's him who owes me a favor. And bring that potato with you, you can eat it later…"

Blychert couldn't help but smirk but nevertheless went ahead to follow after the disgruntled sorcerer.

If only Alyse could have been here to see the sorry state of their travels.