RoH: Quid Pro Quo

"So," asked the king. "What sort of favor did you have in mind?" They were all four sitting at the table, and the servants -- who, in Remant's experience, always knew more than they should -- had appeared with two additional plates and goblets, the plates containing a spicy noodle dish and the goblets a very good white wine. 

Remant sipped the wine, then swallowed. "I need you to appoint me Viscount Durzen."

"Oh?" asked Dorrin. "I was aware of the Viscount's incomplete demise, and the struggle over his estate and title, but since nobody had brought it to my attention formally I was waiting to see how the family handled it."

"So far as I can tell, they made a few demands and then started hiring mercenaries to go and kill the dead man. That was where I got involved; I was looking for work."

Queen Lorraine frowned. "You know you needn't do that, yes? You could live here, and we would keep you..." 

"I know," Remant said gently. "It keeps me occupied, and my mind off my memories. In any case, I was able to meet with former Viscount -- without being killed -- and I noted several interesting things. First, the servants still worked the estate. Nobody had fled, nobody seemed concerned that their employer was no longer among the living. Second, Dirimant himself seemed primarily interested in being left alone to continue his work, pay his people, and generally go about his business. So instead of killing him, I decided to buy the estate from his daughter -- who, I'm told, wishes to leave the city for more favorable climes -- claim a wing for myself, and leave the rest of it to the former Viscount and his servants"

"Ah," said the king. "At which point you'd... what? Appoint Dirimant as your Steward, and leave him in charge of making decisions, watching the finances, and representing you at Court when you were traveling elsewhere?"

"Pretty much," Remant admitted. "The man clearly knows what he's doing, the servants adore him, and he's both magically adept and extremely knowledgeable. I'd hate to lose a resource like that."

"As would I," remarked Isabelle, studying Remant more closely. 

"...Very well," said King Dorrin, after exchanging a long look with his wife. "I have a few misgivings, but... as it happens, I have a favor I need to ask of you as well."

RoH: An Audience With The King

The dining room was small, meant for private meals, and tucked away well back within the palace. It contained only two occupants, sitting side by side at a table that likely wouldn't have seated more the four people comfortably. The painting on the far wall showed the former queen, Raquel the Just, who had courted scandal and very nearly been deposed for dissolving the high courts and turning even noble disputes over to the commons. 

"Your majesties?" asked Isabelle. "I beg your pardon, but I believe you know this man."

The King rose immediately. "Indeed I do." He came around the table, and the Queen was close behind him. "He was introduced to me as a young squire, and then returned to assist the kingdom with a... small problem, while you were still and apprentice."

Isabelle hesitated as the king came forward and hugged Remant; then the queen came forward and kissed him twice, once on each cheek. 

Remant flushed. The last few years had aged them both -- hair streaked with silver, lines around the eyes and at the corners of their mouths -- but Dorrin still looked to be in fighting trim, and Lorraine was still slender and beautiful. He was out of practice with any sort of intimacy these days, even between old friends. And those are the only kind I have. 

"You haven't aged a bit," the king observed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that."

Remant shrugged. "I don't know whether to call it a blessing or a curse." 

Queen Lorraine smiled at that. "Both those things can be true," she said gently. 

Remant found himself smiling -- genuinely smiling -- for the first time in a very long while. 

"Isabelle, it's up to you whether to stay or go. I assume you know who this is?"

"He is Remant, then," she said. "I didn't think he could be much of anyone else."

King Dorrin nodded. "Keep that to yourself, if you would." He turned back to Remant. "And you! What brings you to our table? I assume this isn't a social visit -- you were never much for those, even before you disappeared into the wilderness." 

"It should be," he admitted. "It should have been the first thing I did. But you're correct. I'm here because I need a favor." 

DCC: Show Some Class

Martha scrolled through the selection screen while Jakalak worked with Will on his choices. He'd turned into a dwarf, the kind you saw in all those fantasy movies, The Dungeon had made several suggestions based on her choosing Dragon for her race, and unlike most classes the choice made might affect her form even further. 

It was a relief to be able think clearly, to read through the entries and have them immediately make sense instead of having to puzzle over the words again and again. Was that what it was like for everyone else, all those normal people who weren't born broken? She kept reading, and for the first time in her life she was enjoying it. 

Frost Dragon looked like an interesting class -- plenty of ice-based spells and abilities, good ranged attacks, and still pretty formidable at close range. It wasn't one of the top three that the Dungeon had recommended, though, and she thought that might be because it meant she would grow in size as she leveled up. Easy to see how that could be a problem in a narrow dungeon passageway. 

Mist Dragon was one of the top three, and it had its appeal as well. It was obviously oriented towards stealth and ambush, with solid options for fighting at long distance or very, very close -- but not much in between. It would grow the way most of the other options would. Still, she was hesitant; stealth meant out-thinking opponents, and she still didn't entirely trust herself to do that.

Battle Drake looked more like what she'd initially envisioned: powerful, sleek, dangerous. It included some good resistances and immunities, excellent damage, and while it would make her larger as she advanced in levels it also included a spell to alter its size. It was subtle, or particular versatile; it was a class for ripping things apart, breathing fire on them, and being hard to hurt. It sounded perfect, but Martha made herself read the last of the Dungeon's recommendations.

This one was called Dragonwere, and unlike the other two it took her a moment to figure out what it was meant to do. The dragon traits were a scaled-down version of the Battle Drake -- no size-changing spell, not as strong, a little easier to damage -- but it was supplemented with the ability to assume a human form, which offered greater versatility in both equipment and skills, and effectively restored the size-changing option. 

She giggled to herself. Scaled down.

Jakalak looked over. "You need some help, Martha?"

She shook her head. "No, I've got this." For once in my life, I've got this. Dragonwere might actually be a better choice, but she had always been other, outside, apart. She didn't want to go back to being a human again, ever. She scrolled back up through the selection screen and selected Battle Drake, then settled back as her body changed further.

DCC: Choices atop Choices

Martha lay back on the bed, and listened as Jakalak went over the possible choices for her race. She knew she was broken; her parents had driven that into her awareness for as long as she'd been alive and conscious. She also knew what she wanted now. 

No matter how horrible this place was, no matter how much everything here was designed to kill her, it could turn her into something else. She wanted that chance. She wanted to become something so strong, so smart, so wise, that her parents could never touch her again. "I want to be a dragon," she said. 

Jakalak nodded, slowly. "It's a strong race. Likely you won't be able to reproduce, or even marry, and it'll reduce your choice of classes. But if that's what you want..." 

"That's what I want," Martha said.

Jakalak sent her the selection screen, and she clicked on Dragon.

It wasn't pain, exactly. It wasn't unconsciousness, exactly, either. But when she came back up out of it, she could feel the shape of her new body. 

It had wings. 

It had claws. 

It had teeth. Oh, so many teeth. It stalked around on four legs, and balanced with a tail. And OH, she wasn't broken anymore.

RoH: Inside the Palace

The Watch Leader's name was Elaine Daschelle, and she brought him to the King's Magus -- a very sensible decision, he thought. "May I leave him with you?" she asked. "I have duties I should return to."

The Magus looked up from amulet, distracted. "It's genuine," she said. "Yes, leave him." She was a tall, willowy woman, raven-haired and dark-skinned, dressed in a simple dress of light blue that set off her eyes. It had the look of a favorite piece of clothing, something well and often worn. She had not yet given her name, but that hardly came as a surprise.

The Watch Leader  bowed and departed. 

"The wands are good work," Remant observed. "The ones the Guard are carrying."

"Thank you," she said, and handed the amulet back. Remant tucked it back into his pouch. Her eyes went cloudy as she looked him over. "You are positively layered in magics, and if it weren't for that amulet I wouldn't let you anywhere near the King. Who are you, really?"

Remant sniffed. "This is not to be shared unless the King permits it, but... Remant. Remant Ferrand."

"That... that explains some things," she said quietly. "I am Isabelle Binoche. I was first first among Aeristes' disciples, and the King selected me to carry on his work. I have striven, among other work, to pass as much of his knowledge and practice to the others as I can."

"I was hoping he would still be around." 

She shook her head. "The weight of the war, the weight of the years. He passed in his sleep some four years -- five years -- back."

Remant hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I knew him, too. Not so well as you did, but I admired him."

Isa sighed, then swayed with old grief as he drew his hand back. "Let's go see if the King is occupied." 

RoH: An Evening Meeting

The walls around the palace were old and worn, with gates of heavy wooden timbers at the top of the short causeway. The whole thing was set near the old center of the city, and a pair of bored-looking City Guards were standing outside. Gone were the days when the King's Own had held the duty; Alich al'Mera itself had been lucky in avoiding the worst of the war, but a great deal of its territory had been devastated, most of its army annihilated, and its resources were entirely turned towards supporting the survivors and rebuilding a nation for them to live in. 

The guards straightened as Remant approached and dismounted. "You've made a wrong turn, friend."

Remant frowned. "Is this not still the palace?"

"It is," said that same guard, "which is why you need to move along."

Remant sighed, feeling suddenly tired. Tired, and tempted to do something horrible. He bit down hard on the urge, as he always did. "Does Captain Tillard still command the Guard?"

The guard on the left frowned, but this time the guard on the right spoke up. "Did. Retired about two years ago."

Well, so much for that approach... Remant considered alternatives for a long moment, before deciding that he'd rather be admitted properly. "Could you send for your Watch Leader?"

The guard on the left shrugged and pulled on a rope. Overhead, a bell sounded -- muffled behind stone, but audible through the arrow-slits that were once meant to help defend this place.

A half-dozen guards spilled into the courtyard behind the gate, pulling on buff coats or coats of brigandine, juggling halberds as they did. They wore wands at their belts as well; the King's Magus, whoever held the position now, had been busy.  It was nearing dinner-time; likely they'd been eating, or preparing to. The Watch Leader was easy to spot: she was the one with ink on her hands.

"Stranger to speak with you, Lieutenant," said the guard on the left. 

The woman studied Remant just as intently as he studied her. "State your business, stranger," she said after a moment. 

"I seek entry, stabling, and an audience with the King."

She laughed, but it was more surprised than scornful. "Are you mad, or do you have some grounds for this?"

"Arguably both," Remant admitted, then unclipped a pouch on his belt and reached slowly inside, coming out with an amulet he'd been given many years ago. "I'm going to toss this to you," he said. 

She nodded, and he did. 

She caught it easily, studied it, frowned, studied it harder. Then she looked up at him. "Who are you?"

Remant sighed. "It's probably best if you don't know."

RoH: A Simple Purchase

The solicitor's name was Valeria A'Maris, and she regarded Reman't return with some surprise. "I take it our problem is resolved?" 

"After a fashion," Remant told her. "The former Viscount Durzen is still walking around, but we have come to an agreement."

"An agreement?" asked Valeria. "I didn't hire you to make an agreement, I hired you to either kill him or drive him out."

"Be that as it may," said Remant, "this agreement doesn't require me to put down a man who appears beloved of his servants, is doing valuable research, and simply hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that he is dead. It also provides your client with a guaranteed sale, at which point the presence or absence of the undead former Viscount is no longer your concern."

"I see," said Valeria. "Who, exactly, would be purchasing the estate, exactly? Surely not yourself."

Remant sighed. "A reasonable concern, I suppose. As it happens, I would be the one purchasing the estate."

Valeria laughed in disbelief. "You--? You own a horse, a sword, a bow, and some arrows. You do mercenary work..." 

Remant nodded. "Yes. Years ago, I came into some money. Until now, I hadn't seen fit to use it, and it has been sitting in an account with the Church of Rilique -- which has a branch here in Alich al'Mera. I could provide a letter of credit this time tomorrow."

He waited a moment, as the solicitor gaped at him. "I happen to know, because my client mentioned it, that she had discussed the matter with local friends and family, and Sir Dominic Reville had offered to purchase the estate from her for the rather generous sum of five thousand gold... I believe, and I'll thank you not to repeat this, because he wishes to improve his station with the title of Viscount."

"...I can see where that would complicate matters," Remant admitted. "I'd be willing to offer six thousand,  to smooth the waters and give your client an excuse for making a new agreement."

"I will contact her immediately," Valeria said. "If you would have the letter of credit here tomorrow afternoon, we can very likely conclude your deal -- and if my client refuses, well, you can always take it back to the church and disavow it."

Remant nodded. "It will be done, and I will see you tomorrow."