Reyleigh hastened past market stalls, small shops, restaurants, and taverns toward her bathhouse of choice, which just happened to be the cheapest one in the city. Jogging the last of the way, she finally entered the one-story sandstone building ringed by low walls and unkept gardens. The bathhouse was cheap but not decrepit as the proprietor kept it well maintained. At one point, the walls of the inner structure had been painted blue, but now they were worn down to the alabaster colour of the original sandstone. She glimpsed the communal pool through the inner gate and spotted a couple of guests soaking with their heads barely above the water.
Standing with her back against a barren orange tree was her only real friend in the city—beside Owen and Harald, of course. Tiptoeing towards the orange tree, she jumped the last couple of meters to land with a crash in front of the unaware woman. A squeal shattered the afternoon atmosphere as Reyleigh’s feet hit the ground, making her armour sack jangle as an extra bonus.
“Ah! Gods dammit Rey! How are you so sneaky with that massive hammer on your back? I should put some bells on you or something!”
Henrietta’s green-eyed glower hit her through a mess of half-length red hair. She wore a white dress with a simple bronze ornament holding one shoulder strap over her right shoulder.
“I’ve told you a thousand times Henri, it’s a greatsword, G R E A T S W O R D. Not a hammer.”
Reyleigh wagged her finger in her friend’s face as she lectured her for what felt like the hundredth time.
“And bells would take all the fun out of it, what would the world be like if I couldn’t scare my one and only civilian friend every time I see her?” Flashing Henrietta one of her signature tight-lipped smiles, Reyleigh batted her eyes at her innocently.
Snorting, Henrietta relented.
“Ok, ok. So, what brings you out of your hidey-hole? Washing that sorry excuse for armour again?”
“Yep! You take such loving care of it, Henri, so I can’t rightfully leave it in anybody else’s hands. You’re practically a savant at cleaning shoddy armour at this point.”
Their playful banter was the highlight of Rayleigh’s routine. She had had a tough time befriending anyone after she came to the city with Alistair — women especially were wary of her — but Henrietta had cared for none of the stigma, and after her first armour-washing they had become fast friends. They didn’t see each other as much as Reyleigh would have liked because the bathhouse was busy in the evening, and the Watch trained in the morning, but they tried to synchronise her leave and Henrietta’s time off when they could. Usually, they met at least once a day, however, since armour washing was important.
“Speaking of shoddy armour, how is your training going? You’ve been on the verge of qualifying for the exam for months now and you’re practicing that Stampede skill or whatever it’s called, right?”
Henrietta relaxed back against the tree with her arms crossed as she studied Reyleigh’s physique, like she could quantify her progress by muscle-mass or something.
The tight-lipped grin grew on Reyleigh’s face as she leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“Don’t tell anyone – it’s not official yet – but Alistair said he would recommend me for the next exam! I can’t wait to pick my Class! It’s probably just gonna be Soldier like the rest of the Watch, but the benefits of having one is incredible. Some of the skills Alistair uses are like magic.” Reyleigh’s eyes sparkled, and she mimicked a bow drawing motion with her hands.
“And it’s not a stampede ability, it’s a Charge ability. It lets me move really fast and cut monsters in half with my greatsword. I can’t wait to learn it! Harald says he heard that it’s possible to learn it without a Class, but none of the recruits have been able to yet, —”
Reyleigh gestured animatedly, while explaining the merits of the Charge skill and with a mischievous smile Henriette interrupted the soon to become rant.
“Yes, yes, the fierce half elven warrior princes talking about cutting people in half with her hammer as if it’s nothing. You’re becoming a little scary, you know that?”
“It’s NOT a hammer! It’s a GREATSWORD! Gah!”
Reyleigh threw her hands up in mock outrage, before putting her palm on the sword-hilt that stuck out above her shoulder.
“Maybe I should show it to you,” she lifted an eyebrow at her friend, “just so you don’t forget?”
A predatory smile filled with sharp teeth reflected in Henrietta’s eyes. She gulped and looked away.
“No… No Rey…”
Reyleigh’s eyes widened, and she hastily covered her mouth with her hand. The mood shift was instantaneous, and all the bluster went out of her. Slowly she removed her hand from the hilt of her sword while quickly donning a fake version of her usual thigh lipped smile. She had gone too far again. She knew she should never smile with her teeth showing, but she had let her guard down. Even Henrietta, with her easy-going attitude, couldn’t hide her reaction.
Dropping her armour-bag on the ground, she lowered her head and turned away.
“I’ll come back for it tonight, ok?” she mumbled before turning on her heel and walking away, her usual bath forgotten in the haze of shame.
“Sorry! Rey, wait. I didn’t mean it, it’s just…” Henrietta stretched out her arm to stop Reyleigh, but it went limp halfway.
“It’s fine Henri. I’ll be back later.” Reyleigh whispered.
With brisk steps, she walked away from the bathhouse and around the corner to the nearest alley. Leaning against the cold sandstone wall, she let out a shaking breath. Thankfully, Henrietta didn’t follow her. She knew her friend didn’t mean anything by it. She just couldn’t help the reaction to her predatory visage. Alistair had told her that all humans instinctively reacted that way, even if they hadn’t fought elves, so it couldn’t be helped. However, it still hurt her whenever she faced it, especially from people she considered friends. On one hand, she loved her elven appearance as it reminded her of her heritage, but on the other—much larger hand—she hated it for how lonely and shunned it made her feel.
Two steady breaths later, she straightened her tunic and slapped her cheeks. She would forgive Henrietta. She always did. This wasn’t the first time someone had let her down and it wouldn’t be the last. At least she had the decency to look guilty while doing it.
Leaving the alleyway, she walked northward. Her feet moving of their own accord.
Not long after, she found herself on the way to her favourite tavern. She didn’t know why she decided to make the trip. It was a long walk, but maybe that was what she needed. She enjoyed walking and watching the city, especially in the evening.
Putting one foot in front of the other and focusing on the hustle and bustle of the city slowly calmed her down.
Half an hour later, she neared the familiar two-story building. Looking up at the fa?ade, she shook her head at the ladies of the night waving from the second floor, then kept her head down as she walked toward the entrance. It wasn’t her favourite tavern on account of the cheap beer or the seedy clientele, and especially not because of the scantily clad girls waving to prospective clients from the upper floor. No, it was because of the sweet dulcet tones swirling lazily from its open windows.
Summer was over in Unbern, but that didn’t mean that the hot weather had left with it. The arid climate made three of four seasons feel like living in an oven, while winter brought squalls down upon their heads. Now, the hot autumn sun baked the streets for most of the day, which made the bar take full advantage of its man-sized windows. The sweaty people inside appreciated what little comfort the resulting breeze provided and were sitting as close to the outside as possible.
The sun setting over the horizon framed the building as she walked up the stairs to the open double doors and entered the bar. This tavern was pretty popular among the common folk and drinking patrons occupied most of the scant dozen tables, making merry while enjoying the music. The smell of fatty meat carried over to her as a waitress clad in a short skirt and blouse carried food past her. Looking at the food made Reyleigh’s stomach rumble.
Spying a free seat close to the entrance—and the breeze—she made a beeline for it and sat down on one of the rickety chairs. The waitress who delivered the food to a table nearby noticed her and came over.
“What’ll it be today, darlin, the same as last time?” she said.
“Yes, please, but only the mead today.” Reyleigh answered.
Even though she was hungry, she resolved to save her cores, but she needed a break, and the staff wouldn’t let her enjoy the music without spending something.
The waitress nodded as she left to fill the order. Relaxing into her chair, Reyleigh looked over at the centrepiece stage and her eyes found what looked like a very hairy child playing a lute while sitting on a cracked stool. Red fur covered her entire form, from her feet to her snout, her arms, and her face. Fox-like ears, only slightly larger, adorned her head, and Reyleigh could catch glimpses of sharp sawtooth teeth when she twisted her lips in concentration. The bard’s tongue was sticking out while her fingers danced across the lute strings.
Reyleigh knew she was a fox beastkin, one of very few beastkin in the city, and the only fox-kin as far as Reyleigh knew. Even though she may look like a child – or cub maybe – she was clearly identifiable as an adult by the way she played the lute and her confident demeanour.
Reyleigh didn’t know much about the beastkin race, but according to the gossip, they had long lifespans upwards of two hundred years and not considered adults before their fifties. Sometimes she thought about speaking to the fox-kin bard, but her anxiety always kept her from trying. She did, however, use some of her hard-earned cores to come see the recently arrived bard whenever she performed.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
As the waitress sat a goblet of mead down on the table, Reyleigh handed her a copper core in return before she crossed her legs and leaned back to enjoy the performance. A few moments later, the bard raised her head from looking at her dancing fingers, closed her eyes, and softly raised her voice in song. Soothing notes from her plucking accompanied her dulcet voice as she sang in a mystical language from a faraway land. The words spilling from her mouth evoked feelings of safety and rightness within Reyleigh. Like a tapestry of pure sound, her inner mindscape was being taken for a beautiful ride, and it felt like the music was caressing her very soul. Slowly but surely, conversation died down as every eye locked on to the stage. Even the waitress stopped moving and stood rooted like a tree between two tables, with foaming tankards forgotten in both hands.
Reyleigh strangely smelled the scent of flowers on a cool summer morning and heard a small brook babbling somewhere just out of sight. Her heart slowed its beat to an imperceptible tattoo and cosy calm washed over her. The vision in her mind ebbed and flowed through the song, and she could do nothing but let it drag her along, wishing it would never end.
With the smallest change of tempo, the performance reached its crescendo, a long lilting note dragging on as the lute and voice melded together. Reyleigh’s body started tingling. The note hanging in the air for what seemed like an eternity. Even though she knew what was coming, she was still startled when bumps and scrapes from training faded and her fatigue from the last few hours became but a memory.
A single tear ran down her cheek when the last note wilted away.
Perfect silence followed the performance before the whole tavern erupted into thunderous applause. The clapping went on for quite a long time before a man, until now unseen, clad in a black brimmed hat and leather duster, came around with a bucket in hand. Cores clinked as the patrons showered the bard with their appreciation. The man moved through the crowd and came to a stop before Reyleigh, with an expectant look in his hazel eyes. He had stubbled aftergrowth on his chin and a small smile on his lips. He rattled the bucket softly.
“Sorry…” Reyleigh said before she fished out one of her three last cores and added it to the bucket.
“Much appreciated, fair maiden. Even I’m dumbstruck by my mistress’ talents at times. Don’t worry, you can catch the show tomorrow as well.”
He gave her a sly wink as he flitted to the next table, already shaking his bucket at another set of dumbstruck patrons.
Class abilities and spells never ceased to amaze Reyleigh, and the wide effects and incredible complexity shown by the fox-kin bard was certainly no exception. Bards were known for their wide area magic and continuous effects, but Unbern was a backwater, and such a skilled bard was rare, especially in a seedy tavern like this. The music soon started up again as the fox-kin continued strumming her lute. This time there was no magic suffusing the air—to Reyleigh’s disappointment— but the music was still beautiful.
Reyleigh sat nursing her mead for a couple of hours. Just appreciating the music and atmosphere. No one came to talk to her, and the staff knew her, so they didn’t ask her if she wanted another drink.
Slowly but surely, the music came to an end. The fox-kin left the stage to another thunderous wave of applause.
After chugging the last of her mead, Reyleigh rose from her chair to join the leaving crowd but paused when the small fox started making her way towards her, her tail swaying lightly. Looking behind to see who or what the fox-kin was moving towards, she was met with the smooth sandstone of the wall, and she realised there was nowhere else for the magical lady to go but to her table. Turning back around, Reyleigh suddenly found the bard standing expectantly right in front of her.
“May I sit with you?” the fox-kin woman asked with an elegant flourish to an extra chair that had magically appeared at her small table.
“Uhh, shu.. sure!” Reyleigh responded. Too loudly.
She was not used to people approaching her, and when they did, it was usually for all the wrong reasons and certainly not in a crowded place like this. The other patrons were looking curiously at them now, some with frowns on their faces, but no one dared intervene in the talented bard’s business.
“Thank you ever so much, my dear. It has been a long evening and fine company will surely remedy my fatigue.”
The woman winked at her and sat down, her tail waving lazily back and forth through a hole in the back of her chair.
“I would like to introduce myself; my name is Lir’alana of the third of house Lir.” She gestured towards the man in the duster who had materialised behind her at some point, “and this is my dear companion, John. He may look a little intimidating, but between us, he is just the sweetest.”
Reyleigh’s brain halted, and she couldn’t do anything but nod. She looked around, imagining all the patrons hammering her with their disdain at her brazen interaction with the beloved bard.
Lir’alana sported a small smile as she waited for Reyleigh to reciprocate her introduction. A whole minute went by before realisation dawned on Reyleigh’s face. Blushing furiously, she finally responded to the now grinning bard.
“My… my name is Reyleigh. I’m a recruit with the Watch my lady. I really enjoy your music…” Her blush intensified as she blurted out the crude compliment.
“My, what a darling sweetheart you are. It has been many a season since I received such a genuine compliment. I thank you for your words.”
Her smile turned more genuine, and Lir’alana’s lips parted, flashing razor-sharp teeth. A small pang of envy surged within the Reyleigh as she saw the fox-kin unashamedly smile in a public place like this.
Lir’alana’s frowned, and it was obvious she noticed the minute change of expression.
“Rey, my dear, may I call you Rey?” She didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “I have never met an elf in any of the city states before, but I have met them in their own lands and I must say, your beauty outshines them all. To mar such an enchanting visage by denying it a dazzling smile is surely a most grievous sin, and I must insist that you rectify it.”
Leaning forward with her muzzle resting on both her hands, she looked up expectantly at the dumb-struck half-elf sitting opposite her.
“Um.. I don’t think I can smile on command. And even if I could…” Reyleigh trailed off as she looked down. “…I don’t think the other people here would appreciate it.”
The last set of curious patrons turned away before looking anywhere but at the two women. Eyes crinkled in a displeased frown, Lir’alana let out a breath and leaned backward in her chair.
“So even I can’t beguile you into gracing us with your enhanced beauty? A shame to be sure, but I guess it can’t be helped. This backwater is nothing if not prejudiced after all. I really hope you can get over this place, my dear Rey. The world is much bigger than this human cesspit, you know, and many places would welcome you with arms opened wide. Some of them might even worship you.”
Reyleigh stared with wide eyes.
Is that true? Some of them would worship me?
She couldn’t imagine such a place. And she certainly didn’t want to be worshipped. Welcomed with open arms maybe, but nothing more. Realising she had been sitting in silence for too long again, Reyleigh blushed, and tried furiously to come up with something to say, but her muddled brain wouldn’t function. She lost her chance when the fox-kin’s smile turned a little sad and she rose from her chair.
“I regret that this conversation is over. I will see myself to my room now. John, if you would be so kind?”
The fox-kin jumped lithely from her chair and John swept her into his muscular arms. Reyleigh openly stared when the tall man carried his charge up the stairs and disappeared. Sitting in shock for a couple of seconds—forgetting the attention from the equally dumbstruck patrons—she finally shook her head and practically fled from the tavern.
Walking through the mostly deserted city streets and letting the evening air accompanying the encroaching darkness soothe her frayed nerves, she thought back to the strange encounter.
Why did she come up to me? Didn’t she realise how that looks? She clearly mentioned that she saw Unbern as a backwater, so that can’t be it. She met other elves in their own country, too. Does that mean that not all of them are savages? Could I go there, or would they shun me?
“Whatever happens, I have to repay Alistair and protect Unbern. Maybe I’ll talk to Lir’alana again later, just to hear more about everything…”
Her thoughts circled in her head. The story describing a place so different from Unbern enticing and frightening to her at the same time. She continued muttering to herself for a long time while walking, but soon realised she was spinning in circles.
She shook her head.
“Forget it. It’s late and I need to pick up my laundry.”
Reyleigh started making her way back to the bathhouse. Her thoughts slowly calmed by the night breeze. One might think that the bathhouse would be closed after sunset, but the city never really slept, and it had no shortage of customers, catering to the soldiers and watchmen returning from expeditions, patrons from the various nightlife activities or just night-time wanderers like herself. High-level people needed less sleep too, and many businesses catered to their needs. Unbern didn’t have many such individuals, but there were enough for a few places to profit from their business.
Walking along the now quiet city, the moon was hanging low in the sky and the long shadows from the buildings created a chequered outline that she flickered in and out of like she was in a dance between darkness and light.
The merchant district she was walking through wasn’t poor by any stretch of the imagination, but this part—the one she frequented—was nowhere near as affluent as the sections nearer the residential district, not to mention the centre of the city itself where the keep and temples were located. She almost never had any occasion to visit the central district and had only gone there a few times to receive healing in the temples after some nasty cuts from training. The poultices and bandages helped, but she still mourned the disappearance of divine healing magic. The Fall had changed many things, but that single loss had been the most devastating.
Musing as she walked, she imagined wounds closing in a matter of seconds, regrowing limbs, curing diseases with a wave of a hand, and even reversing death. She knew that those unimaginable feats of magic had been within the power of the Clerics and Paladins before The Fall. Now, however, they had to rely on natural remedies and careful study. There were still magical means capable of such feats, chief among them potions, which the temple in Unbern had a rumoured stock of, but such imported healing alchemical marvels were not for a lowly watchman like her.
Some Classes could heal scrapes and bruises and even gashes or mental fatigue, but they were few and far between, and would certainly not be catering to the common folk. The fox-kin travelling bard was a rare exception, but her effectiveness, while wide, was underwhelming in the grand scheme of things. The ability to heal oneself was more common but still scarce and only available for higher leveled adventurers, elite soldiers, or specialised mages. In the end, potions were cheaper and easier to get a hold of, but still severely out of reach for the common man.
Reaching the bathhouse, Reyleigh knocked on the now shuttered gate and waited. A couple of seconds went by before a familiar pair of green eyes appeared in the small security slit carved into the upper part of the gate.
“Rey! Thank the Fallen. You’re back!”
Henrietta opened the door in a rush before throwing herself around Reyleigh’s neck.
“I’m so sorry Rey. I didn’t mean it and I’ll do better, don’t hate me. Oh, please don’t hate me.”
With soft sobs ending her rushed speech, Henrietta was clearly hurting after what happened earlier. Relieved, Reyleigh couldn’t help but smile a full smile — over Henrietta’s shoulder — as she returned the hug.
“It’s ok Henry. I’m sorry I left, it’s just… It’s just hard for me. You know that.”
Pushing Henrietta slowly back by her shoulders, Reyleigh looked at her friend. Red hair was sticking to her cheeks, and she was staring at the ground, shuffling her feet. They stood like that for a few seconds before Henrietta looked up, straight into Reyleigh’s eyes.
“I know, of course I know. I hope you can smile around me someday. But I understand if it takes time… But I won’t give up!” By the end, Henrietta smiled and pointed at the sky in one of her signature poses.
“You’re such a dork, Henry, striking poses like that.” Reyleigh shook her head while laughing. “Where is my wash? I hope you at least serviced it while I was out drinking away my sorrows?”
Henrietta looked at Rayleigh’s eyes for a moment to discern if she was joking or not, and when she identified the glint of amusement in her eyes, she smiled wide and replied.
“Of course I did. I slaved away washing it, you know! It’s so shiny you can use it as a mirror. Thinking about it now, I should probably sell it to the palace instead. Who knows, I might get rich?”
“Don’t you dare sell my armour! I love that thing. It’s the only reason Alistair’s hellish training hasn’t killed me.”
The usual banter was back, and the two women walked past the pool into the washing room, firing jokes and veiled insults at each other. After a couple of minutes of talking, Henrietta pushed a fresh laundry bag containing her armour into Reyleigh’s arms and muttered something about the new bag being a gift with a peevish blush. A good kind of warmth filled Reyleigh as she paid with her second to last core and left the bathhouse.
A brisk walk through the city led her back into the barracks. It was getting late and most of the other members of the Watch were sleeping in their bunks. After an eventful day, Reyleigh could feel her body flagging and she stumbled into bed, almost forgetting to take off her clothes before she was out like a light.
