Chapter Twenty-Two - Setting the Stage

Penny Numbra, by Mingrix!

Too bad she probably won't work out as a long-term companion for Rosario!

Anyway, bit of a weird chapter!

***

Penny was currently Jane Smith, a level 21 [Driver]. It was one of her favourite disguises. ‘Jane’ had a whole personality, and had worked for a few shipping companies in Alpta. No one noticed Jane, because she was just a woman on the back of a cart. The hood pulled up over her head? That was pretty normal for anyone driving a cart around. The middling level? Again, not so uncommon.

Even the cart was plain as could be, pulled along by a pair of old mules. Nothing to see here. The cargo was nothing of any interest either... unless one looked a little deeper and found the weapons tucked away beneath the floorboards. 

That’s what she was delivering today. More weapons for the rebellion.

They really needed to find a better name for themselves. Something more official, with a little more class. It was a recurring argument within their ranks, but no one could agree on anything. 

Her father was still insistent that she remove herself from the entire situation. It was dangerous, he said. As if she didn’t know that. As if just being anything but a proper little citizen of the Aerie would be acceptable. She’d grown up getting looks from people, having to deal with their suspicion. She’d heard stories. She knew that they were poorer than they had any--

Penny took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. It wasn’t the time to work herself up. They were doing something about it, weren’t they?

Tomorrow was going to be a big day. 

The nobility had planned an ambush. They knew about one of the rebellion’s little exchanges, where members from other cities in Lithos were meeting to trade goods and information and to plan out their next moves.

Now, thanks to that ‘maid’ they knew that the nobility knew. 

It was going to be a counter ambush, and as long as they got the story out first, it would be the nobility who would end with egg on their face.

The rebellion had a good few strong folk in it. A few second and third tier adventurers. They were tough.

The issue was that same letter the maid had copied. [Aerie Royal Guardsmen] were nothing to scoff at. A specialized third tier job, from the capital of Aerie. Plus, the castle had two Titled. If one of them showed up... well, they weren’t equipped to deal with that.

There was a gulf of difference between a second tier and a Titled. Less so between an upper third tier and a newly Titled person, but ‘less so’ wasn’t nothing. Stats made a difference. Gaining four a level instead of three was a flat 25% increase in strength. That wasn’t mentioning the extra skills and...

She shook her head and refocused. Speaking of strong people, however. That [Scullery Maid]. She’d eat one of her many hats if that elf was actually a maid. Her father’s current theory was that she was an [Assassin] of some flavour, here to train up a new class just to properly pass as a servant and get close to a target.

Some jobs were easier to level than others. [Assassin] was not one of those. They’d only gain experience on a successful kill, or the training for it, and so reaching a higher tier with that kind of job... well, it came with some implications.

But there was no doubt that Rosario wasn’t just a low-level nobody. She was too fast, too graceful, and her Wisdom was too high.

So what the hell was she here for?

Penny didn’t care that much. It was just another thing to keep track of. 

More importantly, she had sent the elf an offer. Twenty silver crows for the head of Lord Abernath.

An [Assassin] would jump on that, wouldn’t they?

The note had come with some suggestions for the time and place, but that was all.

She hoped the woman carried it out.

It would be a good message to send to the nobility, to Aeire, that their bastardly nobility wasn’t wanted here.

***

Sir Garth Tenly had been told that this assignment was an honourable one, and he supposed that it was. 

He walked through the dreary, musky corridors of the Castle. The ancient building, like most things in the dump that was Alpta, was dull and grey and humid. He dearly missed the sunny fields of his native Duskton, or at least the comfortably forests of Thornrthorn. 

But no, he was here now, in the Castle, guarding an ancient foe.

The pay was fine enough, he supposed, and once he was done here, he would have a nice mark on his records, a distinction for having served in this place. 

It was a bit of a farce. The station had, over the last decade or so, become a place to send the more troublesome members of the knightly nobility. Those that were unpopular politically, or who couldn’t keep their opinions to themselves. 

Men such as Sir Akronim of Vinfort. 

Garth slipped into one of the foyer rooms. It was one of the spaces where they stood watch for hours on end, and had been standing watch in, without pause, for nearly a century now. 

The room was grand enough. There was a fireplace against one wall, shelves along another, a table for games, and some comfortable seating. Sure, this was a place to guard access to, but after so long small comforts had snuck their way in.

Every decade or so, a new lord would take over the Castle and clear this space out, return it to a proper guard station, but then the items would return bit by bit. 

Sir Akronim was seated nearby, in full armour, with a bottle in one hand. He reeked of alcohol. “Ah, Garth!” he said.

“Sir Akronim,” Garth said. He scanned the room. There were two others, playing cards at the far end of the room, and one of the two Titled stationed at the Castle was stoking the flames with a poker. Liam Erville, better known as The Whipsword of Gazebrook. 

They were relatively young to be a Titled, only in their mid-forties. Most guards here had a uniform, that of the  [Aerie Royal Guardsmen], but the Titled could well wear whatever they pleased, and The Whipsword of Gazebrook favoured lighter armour made of some rare enchanted metals over woven chainmail. 

Their infamous blade, the River Whip, sat on their hip, coiled and ready. 

This was one of the few advantages of this posting. Garth could spend time with two Titled who had nothing better to do than sit around and earn a coffer’s worth of silver every day. Sometimes they’d spar, and it was enlightening to see the difference between a third tier and a Titled.

“Did you hear?” Sir Akronim said. “The locals want some help. From us!”

“I did hear,” Garth replied. “And I believe it’s a poor idea. We are here for a singular duty. Not to attend to the needs of the local nobility.”

“Ah, don’t be a sourpuss,” Sir Akronim said with a dismissive wave. “It’ll be fun! Me and a few of the others are gonna head out tomorrow, see if we can’t help the locals a little. It’ll be a bit of fisticuffs at most.”

“I know,” Garth said. “But we’re not here to play games with the locals, not even the rebels. Even if there were a change of rulership, our duty remains.”

“Bah.” 

Garth couldn’t help but glance at the door.

It was thick, made of wood sourced from a holy Bowman’s Maple. The blessed wood was reinforced with silvered metals and someone had carved a bas relief over its surface, one of the prior guardians he imagined. The image was of the castle, with men in suits lined up before it. They were all subtly different, so he supposed that it was a prior generation of guards.

Beyond that door was a corridor, one buried deep into the foundations of the cliff that Alpta was built onto. And at the end, was The Cell.

It was a small room. Five paces by five. The door to it was barred. There were no windows. Just a small bed and a bucket. Though... now there were a few other small knick-knacks. 

The inhabitant of the cell was alone. Would always be alone.

And when he died of old age and crippling loneliness, the duty to guard this place would finally be over.

Sir Akronim caught his gaze looking at the door. “Huh... hey, have you heard? Sometimes, I swear I hear a ringing coming from the other side.”

“A... ringing?” Garth asked.

“Yeah, like a bell? Ah, whatever. You’re bringing the old man his slop tomorrow, aren’t you?” Sir Akronim asked. “Check the room out, yeah?”

“I will,” Garth said. 

If one person had to take this seriously, it may as well be him.

Though... a ringing? What even could that be?

***