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He was sick of drinking, and sick of being sober, and regretting that those were essentially the only two options he, and everyone else, ever had.
the alleyway was starting to run together like ink on a damp page. The ground fell away from him until he caught up to it, and then he was gone.
“Oh, there’s always a choice. Choice is a constant.” Flinn grinned, a cold glint in his eye. “It’s consequences that vary.”
“You know, saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t count for much after saying something really offensive.”
He had lost many friends to fights within their party. Sometimes a hero had something to prove. Sometimes they had a different agenda. Sometimes there were spectacular battles, and sometimes there wasn’t even a fight at all; a “forgotten” healing potion or a lever pulled at the wrong moment was all it took to be rid of an inconvenient companion. Whatever the cause or method, the leading killer of professional heroes was other professional heroes.
Plenty of taverns, shops, and politicians had a vested interest in keeping nearby heroes in line, and even the Heroes’ Guild employed thugs to retrieve or discipline wayward members. The Thugs’ Union maintained that heroes belonged deep in dungeons, not in intrigues, and it worked to protect the image of thuggery as a respected and valued part of society.
As far as Gorm was concerned, a ceremony was the most efficient way to expunge the joy and excitement from any event, refining it into the purest tedium.
And since there were so many magic-using foes out in the field, warrior heroes came in only two varieties: those who knew how to fight mages, and extra crispy.
“I prefer to quit while I’m ahead,” Heraldin explained. “Ye’ve a funny definition of ‘ahead,’” said Gorm. “I prefer to define words in ways that suit me,” said Heraldin.
Of course, every time had been the last time. Just like, some small part of her knew, the next time would be.
“I’ve heard it said that gear does not make the hero.”
“So splitting the party is bad, then?” said Niln. “You never split the party,” said Laruna.
Still, monsters are better than taxpayers, right?” “Sorry?” “Both will try to squeeze the life out of you, but you can take an axe to the monsters. Ha ha! Sorry. Little civil servant humor there.
“Is there a good way to be bankrupt?” said Jynn.
Still, Niln knew, the Dwarf had more years of questing than Niln had years of living, and his experience was invaluable. There was nothing wrong with letting subordinates utilize their expertise, he told himself.
The other heroes sprang into action. Gaist hurled throwing knives, and Kaitha fired arrows. Laruna unleashed another impressive blast of flame, and Jynn fired off a couple of relatively unimpressive magical missiles; yet projectiles bounced off the drake’s scales, and sorcery washed over it like waves over a stone. The drake rushed forward, undeterred and gaining on its prey.
“Find foes, kill ’em, try not to die. Professional heroics in a nutshell.
Some men were too proud to ever admit defeat; the closest they came to surrender was learning to keep their mouths shut.
“It’s always ‘protect the mages.’ ‘Defend the mages.’ I’ve been bitten and stabbed today more times than I care to remember just so you two can ‘concentrate.’”
There’s no good option when the party is split.”
Too many heroes met their end when a foe caught them settling interpersonal issues instead of scouting a dungeon or posting watch. Adventurers who lost their heads in a figurative sense often lost their heads in a more literal manner shortly thereafter.
“Marketing is its own kind of magic, is it not?” said Zurthraka. “An illusion that men pay to be fooled by.”
“The change we seek will not come all at once,” Zurthraka reflected. “It may not come in my lifetime. But when I was a whelp, our tribe was starving, and today, I bounce fat grandchildren on my knee; tomorrow—who can say? My grandchildren’s grandchildren will have riches that my people can only dream of, and they will know that we built their inheritance slowly, day by day, brick by brick.”
