The Last Light (The Wandering Inn, #5)

by Pirateaba

Trey’s breath was gone. He gaped at his sister. Flos’ brows shot together. “No. Move out of my way.” “I won’t.” Teres was shaking. She pointed at the block of ice. “You’re keeping him—just like he was when he died! Bury him! It’s disrespectful. And he deserves rest!” Rest. That word rang true to Trey. He stared at Drevish’s head. It was preserved, so that he could be by his king’s side even in death. Whether he liked it or not. Just like…Trey. And Teres.

Flos is such a complex character. Some things make you admire & respect him, then .... this .... and the later things .... so much death.

“Begone from my sight.” It was a command. Trey’s legs moved him towards the door. But Teres stayed where she was. She clenched her fists. She was shaking with emotion. There were tears in her eyes. And there was something in Trey’s heart too. Something that made him stop, despite the urge to listen to the [King]. His King? Yes. No! A King, but not one Trey had ever sworn allegiance to. A King, but one who had made Trey and Teres his servants against their will. A King, yes. But not a god. Trey looked back over his shoulder, and saw a man. Flos towered over Teres, but he was a man. Not just a [King]. And she stood in his way. Because it was right. Slowly, Trey turned back. He walked over to Teres, and stood in front of Flos. The man stared down at them, unable to believe his eyes.

Point, this crazy world the *skills* that push you around . ><

“Think about the Great War, Teres. The Lost Generation—you know? Think of it like that. Only the opposite.” She looked blankly at him, and then her eyes widened. She took in the room, the aged faces. The lack of young ones. “Oh.” It wasn’t the faces Trey saw that had bothered Flos. It wasn’t the living. It was those who weren’t there. The children. The young people. There were scarcely any people Trey and Teres’ age, and he had seen…how many children over the month he had been here? So few. It was a flash of insight. Flos, the King of Destruction would go to war. He would ride off, and his kingdom would rise with him. They would follow his banner into war again, as they always had. Only this time, no one would come back. Or rather, there would be no one to come back to.

><

“There are many ways to stop such a man. I could lock him away, not for years or decades, but forever. I could send him to a far continent. Kill him? No. I would not do that. But the problem with this brave soul is that he can only exist in your world. In a place where empires and nations care for notions like morality. Were he to come here, most [Kings] would execute him on the spot. And I…would not let his rebellion pass either.” Trey felt a shiver run down his spine. There was a grim, sad look on Flos’ face. He remembered something he’d heard once, something that had been said of Gandhi. Even he would not have known how to stop Hitler. Or was it that even he would have failed? Trey couldn’t remember what he had been told, but the thought bothered him greatly.

><

“Was he really a [Prince]?” “Oh yes.” Everyone in the room except for Teres nodded at once. Mars grinned as she tapped her chin. “Did you see the way he kept it raised the entire time he was talking? The royals have a way of talking and standing that just screams their class. It makes you want to trip them whenever they walk past.” Orthenon frowned at Mars before turning to Trey.

;)

Trey scowled and gripped the railing tightly. He wasn’t happy. And he didn’t want to be in the banquet hall, sitting at the tables—the ones far from the high table—and have to listen to Flos laugh. He didn’t want to see the King of Destruction’s face right now. Or anyone’s. Right now, Trey hated this entire kingdom. They were all slave traders. Trey couldn’t believe it when he’d found out. Flos had slaves. To be more accurate, he sold people as slaves. He’d struck a deal with the Traders of Roshal to sell all the prisoners he’d taken captive in the battle for Reim. Some had been ransomed off, but the rest… Slaves. Trey couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe Orthenon, or Venith, who had seemed so honorable, would allow people to be slaves! But no one had understood his outrage. And worse… Trey closed his eyes. It had been over a month since that day when he’d realized the entire continent of Chandrar actively owned or allowed slaves.

Yes 100% this ....

Flos rose, staring down at Trey with cold eyes. Merciless eyes. The same eyes of a King who would slaughter an army that came against him. Why hadn’t Trey seen it until now? He hadn’t wanted to believe it. “Slavery allows criminals, enemies of my Kingdom, to be used, Trey. They are a commodity. Locking someone away for twenty years is crueler to my mind, and far more pointless. A slave cannot be mistreated under a just ruler, and they may be freed if—” “They’re still slaves! Who cares if they’re pampered? They don’t have free will! How could you sell all those people? I thought you were a better King than that!” That had struck home. Flos’ eyes narrowed. “Some will be ransomed. The Traders of Roshal are an independent third party. They may ransom those with wealth, and manage those who are not able to buy their freedom. My kingdom needs food and coin for the winter, Trey.” “I don’t care. You think it’s okay? I think it’s completely wrong. No—I know it is.” Flos exhaled hard. He threw out his hands, more exasperated than Trey had ever seen him. “What would you have me do? My dungeons cannot hold more than a fraction of their number, and feeding them would beggar my kingdom further. Would you have me execute them all? I do not have the stomach for it, and I am the King of Destruction.”

Ach ... I agree with Trey, but what else can they do ... I doubt you could hold them to swearing to be non-combatants from here on out. ><

He was trying to make Trey give in. Trey could tell. It was like a pulling, a wanting in his chest that made him feel like rushing back to Flos and begging for forgiveness. It was what Trey imagined an addiction felt like; something that couldn’t be fought and tugged at your insides forever. He wondered if this was what Venith had felt like. But Trey refused to give in.

atta boy

“It’s not right. Owning slaves. It’s not right, but everyone here does it. They’re all wrong.” “My King would say the same of locking people up for years. Isn’t that what you do in your world?” Trey felt something hot and angry bubbling in his chest. Teres had told Flos’ argument to Gazi? He was furious because he didn’t have a good answer to that. He wasn’t a genius! He hadn’t studied the difference between prison and slavery. And it wasn’t about that! “That’s because they’re prisoners. They’re meant to be punished. Okay, maybe it’s bad too, but slavery is different. It means you don’t have free will. That—that some people are worth more than others. It’s wrong. It’s inhumane.”

The difference is that prisoners aren't changed from people to property.

The Gazer looked a bit melancholy, distant, and wistful. She was remembering. She wasn’t wearing a mask. And she was speaking the truth to him. Her truth. “I was a slave. I know what you speak of, Trey. I have seen good masters and bad ones. I hate slavery. But my King has never been a slave. He cannot imagine it, and sees it as a fact of life. Slaves in his kingdom are treated well and they can be freed when he orders it. Why should he hate slavery? Venith, Maresar…even Mars and Orthenon have grown up knowing a slave can be well-treated and respected. But they have never been a slave.” “Haven’t you told them what it’s like? Have you ever tried—” Gazi nodded. She closed all four eyes. “Many times. But it is not an argument I ever won. Slavery is part of the wealth of Chandrar, part of crime and punishment. You may be executed if you wish, or you may become a slave. So it is framed as a choice, and there is a chance for freedom. But it is only that. A chance. An illusion. If I could end slavery, I would. Regardless of the cost. But my King will not hear of it.” She clenched one gauntleted fist. Trey nodded. He had another question, so he asked it. “Why can’t Flos just—I don’t know, fight against the slave traders? What if I—we—suggested that to him? He could free all the slaves, and take their money, and I bet the people would join his army.” Gazi looked surprised, and then she laughed. She laughed, and it was a bright, cheerful sound that no one had heard before. Trey’s ey...

:(

“He took away my chains. I am no longer a [Slave]. A [King] can remove needless classes to those who pledge themselves to him. Orthenon was a [Traitor]. Takhatres a [Cursed Outcast]. My King freed us all of our pasts and gave us a future.” Silence. Trey understood a bit more. He looked at Gazi. Once, she had been a slave. She had no future, until he’d freed her. He understood that. And yet. “I can’t forgive him for selling people.” Gazi nodded. “I am not asking you to. But you cannot hide forever.” Something in Trey agreed, but a part of him pulled back. He stared at Gazi, growing a bit angry. “Is that why you’re talking to me? You’re still trying to persuade me to go to him and say sorry, right?” A hand smacked Trey lightly on the head. Lightly, but it was still metal. He staggered. Gazi smiled at him. Genuinely. “I am not forcing you to go anywhere. In fact, I think it will be good if you do not go to my King now. Perhaps later you will sit with me at dinner, but only then. You do not have to change for my King, and perhaps if you do not, he will. No one has ever been able to change my King—Flos—but himself. But perhaps you can.”

Not only freed -- but freed of the [class] ... that would be extra to Flos' class effects. I'm still not a fan of his megalomania though ... he could just stop as the continent.

There was little love lost between the two, and so it was with stiff formality that Tyrion bowed to Magnolia and she gave him the slightest nod. “Lady Magnolia. I am honored to greet you on this day.” “Lord Tyrion. I’d rather hoped you would have eaten something ghastly and exploded by now, but fortune hasn’t been kind to either of us, has it?” The man’s eye twitched a bit, but he covered the motion by passing a gloved hand over his mouth.

I don't like him, but that was rude.

Erin’s soup might have been an unknown quantity, but apparently Relc’s punching power was not. That opened the floodgates, and soon Erin had emptied one jar of her defense soup or as Relc wanted to call it—Scale Soup. “Because it gives you another set of scales, get it? Look! I can barely cut this guy’s scales with the knife!” “Ancestors! Stop!” Relc was chasing the black-scaled Drake around with the kitchen knife

:D

And he hadn’t felt a thing. Toren had sat down as the battle had raged, as killing—his favorite thing to do—had been occurring in spades. He had sat and been still. Because now Toren had realized the truth. The awful truth, which held him in place. That wouldn’t go away. Erin Solstice was dead. And it was his fault. The link between Toren and Erin was gone. She was no longer providing him with mana. There could only be one reason for that, Toren knew. She was gone. He had gotten her killed. And he hadn’t meant it. Okay, okay. He had deliberately pulled Erin countless miles away from her inn and left her deliberately near a cave with a sleeping bear in it. And maybe Toren had thrown some rocks at a pack of wolves as he’d walked off. But that had just been a playful attempt at murder, a casual homicide attempt! He hadn’t…hadn’t ever thought it would happen. It was strange. Toren stirred. He lay down on his left side, turning his head to stare at the rest of his body. He had tried to get Erin killed back then, full of anger for being forced to pull her about, and those stupid bells, but he hadn’t thought she’d really get killed by the bear, deep down.

Dude .... the EQ of a toddler, then again he's literally young discounting the bones' age.

She was dead. And it was his fault. After a while—after a bit of dust had gathered on his body, Toren moved. He stood up. Not because he felt better; Toren never forgot. Memory never faded for him; it was as fresh as the moment he had experienced things. But he felt like he had to do something. Sitting was not working. Toren leaned against a wall, like he’d seen Erin do when she was upset. It didn’t make him feel better. Maybe it was the wrong wall? He tried the same thing on the opposite wall. No luck. Toren thumped his skull against the stones. That didn’t help either.

0o

It was…well, it was a ragged brown cloak, a bit holey, and certainly nothing to write home about. If Toren had a home. And if Erin was alive to write to. But it spoke to him. There was something in the skeleton’s mind that told him the cloak was important. It wasn’t the [Tactician] bit of him, or the warrior, or the bit that said that he could wash the cloak so Erin wouldn’t complain that it smelled—no, this was something else. A new part of Toren, coming to life, speaking to the rest of him. It was a vague sense of style. And Toren felt the cloak had style in spades, especially around his shoulders.

0o

“It is too much for a gift, even one to repay a debt. You must ask something of us in return, or it will not be fair. And this debt is too great for us to carry now.” She wanted Ryoka to ask, but she didn’t have anything to pay with. Ryoka’s mind raced. She stared at Krshia, imagining all kinds of things, good and evil and petty and grand to ask of her. But then she thought of who she’d come to Liscor to meet. She looked at Mrsha, and realized some questions were trick questions, even if the only person doing the tricking was yourself. She smiled at Krshia. The Gnoll watched her warily. Ryoka took a breath and spoke her price. “Friendship, Krshia Silverfang. That is what I desire.”

;)

“I do not care.” Ilvriss raised his sword and the [Guardsmen] drew their weapons. Zevara braced herself and opened her mouth wide for some reason. Ilvriss snarled as he looked at Ryoka and she braced. Then everyone heard a shout. “Pan attack!” Ilvriss’ head turned. Ryoka’s head turned. She saw a black blurring object, flying towards the Wall Lord’s head. Ilvriss twisted. His hand shot out and he grabbed the spinning object before it could strike him. It was a frying pan. In the silence, everyone stared at it. A black, cast-iron frying pan. Ilvriss stared at the frying pan in his hand, a confused look on his face.

:D

“Captain Ceria, I am unsure of the protocol regarding adventuring in groups. Should I express my dissatisfaction with Ryoka or general avarice at this point?” Pisces’ lips quirked and he turned his head to avoid smiling at Ksmvr. The Antinium was far too amusing to belong in his Hive, which was probably why he’d been kicked out.

He's come a long way :) both of them really. ;)

“I lack an appropriate expression for this moment. Comrade Pisces, assist me with determining one.” “I think, wow is probably all you need, Ksmvr.”

:D

“I note these swords are not reacting despite their apparent enchantments. May I hold both, or will I burst into flame and die in excruciating agony?” Ksmvr stared at Ryoka. His words created a momentary hush before Ryoka recovered her tongue. “It’s fine, Ksmvr.” “Ah, the enchantments do not conflict?” She shook her head. “Some of it is lower-grade stuff, but it’s all compatible or so I’m told. That’s the real benefit here. An expert [Enchanter] did the matching up so you should be able to equip any combination of items without the enchantments clashing.” “Dead gods.” Ceria breathed the words out. Her hands were shaking.

;)

Erin was teaching Mrsha how to do trust falls off of a chair and the Gnoll was doing absolutely no trusting or falling when Ryoka opened the door.

:D

If he did not fight with them, Antinium would die. If he did fight, Antinium would still die. But perhaps if his Soldiers fought, less Antinium would die. There was no good outcome.

:(

He spoke to them like Zel told him to. When you held a dying soldier in your arms, you lied to him. You told him it would be alright. Or you told him the truth. But when you spoke to soldiers before they were going to die, you told them nothing but the truth. Or you lied. This time, Pawn told them the truth. “We are going to fight. Some of you may die. I may die. I hope none of you will. After this, I will bring you to the Wandering Inn and we will all eat. But we must fight. If we do not, our comrades will die. Other Soldiers will die, other Workers. We are fighting for each other. Remember that.”

:(

Pawn found a spot along the wall. It didn’t stand out from any other spot. He dipped a finger into the bright green paint. And then he pressed it against the wall. Pawn slowly drew on the wall of the barracks. The other Soldiers watched as Pawn traced on the hard-packed dirt with green paint. He drew a star. The star that had been on the Soldier’s chest. It was small. It was green. It was a tiny thing in the vast barracks. But it was there. Painted on the wall, marked. A memory. So long as no one damaged the paint, no one destroyed the wall, it would remain. And if they did? If an earthquake happened, or Klbkch told him to get rid of it? Pawn would repaint the star elsewhere. Because he remembered. He remembered that star, and he would for the rest of his life. And so did the others. Pawn turned as a Soldier moved. The Soldier found a jar of purple paint. Slowly, carefully, taking all the time in the world, he drew purple slashes down the wall.

Oh no purple slashes died?

Pawn could not look at them. He whispered the words. “I am so sorry.” They said nothing. But they held him, clumsy killers, people with no voices who wore their souls on their chests for all to see. Pawn looked at them and wept. His eyes shed not a tear. They were his. His Soldiers. His guardians. His friends. His people. He embraced them.

:(

She was ignorant. “Look, I’m trying to be nice, but Klbkch and I agree—” “What would you give someone with one day to live?” Pawn stared at Ryoka. She blinked. “Excuse me?” “What would you give someone with exactly twenty four hours to live before they died? Someone who knew their death was imminent?” She stared at him. But unlike Erin, she didn’t question Pawn’s words, but took the query at face value. “One day? Well, I guess I’d give them what they always dreamed of. Time with their family if they have any, money to do what they wanted…uh, maybe a chance to—” “No.” She broke off. “What?” Pawn shook his head deliberately. She still did not understand. He spoke carefully, choosing each word to make her comprehend. “You are misunderstanding my question. I said, what would you give someone who had one day to live? Not years. Not decades. One.

I'm with you Ryoka on humans. But the poor Ants have a whole other load of crap and sometimes really short time spans

One day total. Someone who came into existence and will die within hours of waking.” Ryoka’s eyes widened. “You mean—a Soldier? A Worker? One of the Antinium?” “Yes.” The word was bitter on Pawn’s mandibles. He broke off a leg of the dead Ashfire bee, stared at it as he spoke. “You Humans live for years, do you not? In most cases, you live at least until you are ten, many twice that age. Some live for nearly a century. Other races live longer, others shorter. But the lifespan of an Antinium may be a single day. Or less.” “You mean they’re born and are fully cognizant the instant they come out?” Ryoka seemed fascinated, but she was missing the point. Pawn nodded. “The instant a Soldier emerges, he is expected to fight and serve his Hive. He may be sent into battle minutes after he is born. What can he have in those minutes, if not faith that he is dying for a reason?” “For his Hive, you mean. For his queen.” “Yes. But it is not enough. If the Soldier lives, he will fight every day for his Hive. Fight and die, Ryoka Griffin. That is his fate. Fight and die. What can you give him? Money? He has nowhere to spend it. Family? He will never reproduce, and his brethren die with him. An experience? He has never seen the sky.” The young woman sat across from Pawn, staring at him

Extremely on point

Ryoka seemed breathless, caught between laughter and tears, incredulity and wonder. She shook her head, half-smiling. “If I could bring you back to my world and introduce you to the Pope, or the Dalai Lama, or…or…a Jehovah’s Witness…I can’t do this. I’m not qualified to tell you anything.” She looked at Pawn, a bit sadly, regretfully.

Good. but i do fear what future Pawn will become :(

The knowledge was bitter, undeniable. Pawn didn’t respond. He heard Xrn sigh. “What if one of the other Individuals led them? Your friend Belgrade, or Anand.” “They’re [Tacticians]. They can do it. They know how to lead.” “Pawn.” “Go away. I am sulking.”

I'm sorry but that reply kills me :D

He sat miserably in the inn, not touching his food until Zel found him. “You look like chewed up Creler bait. Pawn, right?” He didn’t know why, but the Drake [General] sat with him, waiting for Pawn to speak. Pawn wanted to and feared to at the same time. He looked sideways at Zel. “I thought you did not like Antinium.” The Drake coughed a few times. “True. But Erin and Lyonette happened to mention you led some soldiers into battle for the first time a few days ago. I’ve been there. I thought I might…listen. That’s all.”

Zel grew so much

The Drake trailed off and then shook his head briskly. He looked at Pawn. “He told me to keep looking around, at my officers, at my soldiers. In each battle, in war, in peace, look for someone who can inspire others. Someone with talent, courage, a spark. And then to nurture that spark until that individual can surpass me. Only then would I step aside.”

<\3

and [Queens] don’t lead armies. Most of them don’t, anyways. Back home…no one would dream of it. I hear it’s different in Chandrar and Rhir, but Terandrian nobility don’t let women fight as often as the boys.” “Then what do you do if a battle occurs?” “Nothing. We just sit behind our warriors. But because we’re there, it matters. You see?” “Not at all. Please explain.” Lyonette sat with Pawn at the table and drank from his mug, since he wasn’t thirsty. She slowly began to speak. “There was a story my mother used to tell me, of a [Queen] who was ambushed while her nation was at war. Her protectors fought while she sat on a chair in the middle of the battlefield, not moving, not trying to run.” “But if she had run—” “Her warriors would have to protect her, and they might get hurt trying to shield her. She might do more damage running, get it? But since she stayed still, they could fight knowing she was protected by them. In my mother’s story, the battle raged on and the Queen’s soldiers were falling back, but then she said one word. ‘Fight.’” “And they did?” Lyonette smiled. “One word from her inspired her soldiers to drive the enemy back. They didn’t want her to take up arms herself. They knew their Queen couldn’t fight. But because she believed in them and showed not a trace of fear on her face, they fought like heroes to protect her. Because she was worth dying for.”

:(

But if you do not fight, others of our kind will die. Either way, we die. We as the Antinium die.” The Soldiers looked at each other. Pawn stared down at them. “To fight is to die, and that is unbearable. But to do nothing is worse still. If we can fight to protect our people, so that others may live, it is right.”

;( respect to their names (icons)

with emotions he couldn’t name, feelings that words wouldn’t describe. He turned, and suddenly every Soldier in the room was staring at him. No. Not every Soldier. His Soldiers. The knowledge drove Yellow Splatters to his knees. But someone was by his side. “You will not be alone. We will go to the front within the hour. I have requested it.” We. The word made every Soldier look at Pawn. He was holding something in his hands. The Worker stared around at the other Soldiers as he lit a flame. “I cannot be your leader. I cannot. But I could never abandon you. I will walk with you in battle. I will be by your side. I will do the only thing I can do.”

:(

And then the other Antinium heard it. Click. Each time they stepped, the Soldiers’ mandibles clicked together, making that distinctive sound. They made that sound. The Soldiers, who had no voice. Yet the sound was an echo, a thunder. A word for the voiceless. And then those around the Worker heard something else. A resonance. A feeling in the air. Quiet. It came from the Worker. He was…humming. The other Antinium had never heard a sound like it. Pawn’s voice was low, deep, and resonant. It should not have filled the huge tunnel, but it did. Click. Each Soldier’s mandible snapped together at the same time. The sound was louder than any Rock Crab could ever make, a snap that broke the air and echoed for miles in the Hive. Click. Another step.

;-;

This was it. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae tried to muster the strength to fight, but his arms gave in despite themselves. The armor threw him to the ground and raised a foot. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared up, waiting for death. Then there was color. Someone charged into the suit of armor, throwing it backwards. The fallen Soldier stared, as a Soldier with yellow splatters of color on his carapace tackled the enchanted armor, throwing it backwards. A huge fist rose, and then smashed into the enchanted armor’s chest plate. Aid had come. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae struggled to rise. The other Soldier could not do it alone. But he was so weak!

Gah those poor babies.

“Would you teach me how?” Pawn smiled. “It is very simple. All you have to do is have faith. And believe.” “In what?” The Worker turned and looked across the hilltop. Soldiers raised their heads, looking at him. They all knew the answer. “Us.”

Honestly better than solo leader worship. As long as they don't go all uber mensch about it....like some of the Queens

and unless she sustained her flight with magic as Dragons did, she would be forced to land. She couldn’t fly long. Nor could she use her breath weapon with impunity. Those with abilities stemming from their blood found it was often a curse as well as a blessing. Some Drakes grew faint of breath when they used their breath weapons, or injured their own throats. Osthia’s heritage was true though, and she could use both her wings and her breath attack without issue.

Oo

“Go. I’ll be waiting.” He stood over Garusa’s corpse, spear whirling. The undead closed around him. Thrissiam killed them one by one, until something tore his spear away. Then he fought with his claws, his teeth. And then they bit him, tore at his flesh, broke his armor. He fell and died, holding a Gnoll in his broken arms. An hour later, his corpse rose and walked away, leaving a Gnoll behind, surrounded by corpses too damaged to use. What remained of General Thrissiam slowly lurched after the Goblins as they ransacked his camp, and then headed north. Not to Liscor. Farther still.

At least he gave her rest </3

All these traumas—Ryoka hadn’t even included dead things around a fire, or evil carnivorous goats. With so much to be afraid of in this world, it seemed silly to have this fear. And yet, it stemmed from a different place than the ordeals she had gone through. This one was personal, intimate, and it came from a time when Ryoka had been in her world. She just couldn’t face it without shuddering inside. She hated visiting friends. Or to be more accurate, she thought she did. She’d never actually done it. Until now. Ryoka hesitated outside of the door of the large farmhouse. By her side, Mrsha fidgeted in the snow. She looked plaintively up at Ryoka as her stomach rumbled.

;) i feel you Ry

“Just go in, you daft coward!” Someone shouted in her ear. Then Ivolethe kicked Ryoka in the back of the head. “Ow.” Ryoka swatted at the Frost Faerie. Ivolethe flew around her and glared at Ryoka. “Stop dithering.

;D

Garia stared at Ivolethe, white-faced. Ivolethe grinned at Ryoka and flicked her eyes inside calculatingly. “However, if ye would leave food for me outside, I might consider blessing this place. A proper meal, though. Without iron, mind! And with lots of meat!” “I’ll uh, I’ll do that.” Wide-eyed, Garia watched as Ivolethe flew upwards and then

:)

All the while, she saw Garia grow more and more anxious. She kept breaking into her father’s flow, trying to change the subject. “So uh, does anyone want dessert? Mrsha? Why don’t I uh, get it? And you, Dad.” She practically dragged her father out of his chair and into the kitchen. Mrsha followed, waddling a bit with her full belly and standing upright so the food wouldn’t come out if she fell over.

Heh Mrsha will have regrets later

magic means I tend to look younger than I really am—of course, there are spells that help as well. But [Mages] tend towards thinness. We burn too much energy for most of us to gain weight. Whereas classes like [Farmer], well, anyone who grows up with that class tends to grow a lot larger than say, someone who was raised as a [Clerk].”

Oo ... Sucks but could be an opportunity if you can change classes not add to a main? FF job system would hilarious if a job swap required a body morph not just different equip

Wailant put the pot on the table and turned to face Ryoka. He wasn’t frowning, although he did loom a bit. “Are you telling me my girl was in a fight?” Ryoka leaned back a bit. This was going south. She wondered if she could jump out a window with Mrsha if it came to it.

Oo

“How’d she do?” Wailant stared at Ryoka. She froze. He stared at her expectantly, as did Viceria. “Did she knock anyone down? How many folks were in it? Did she kick anyone in the balls? I told her, that’s the way to start and end a fight in a hurry.”

:)

“Practicality. The vast amount of my fortune went to clearing the bounty on my head. What I had left I used to buy a farm, and then to pay for food and supplies for the first few years before I leveled up enough to make a living with my own hands. I bought it far inland because I was sick of seeing water—and because I had more than a few enemies who would like to see me dead. I thought a farm would be nice and relaxing—and it was, after I learned how to manage it!” The first few years had not been kind to Wailant, but he’d persevered, not shying from the work. “Plus, I had my advantages. I couldn’t figure out how to make the damn oxen plough a straight line for months, but I didn’t have to stick together in a village, afraid of monsters at night.

:)

She and I got to talking, and well, nights are cold on a farm.” “Ew! Dad!” Garia shoved her father, sending him tumbling across the room. He cursed like a sailor—or pirate—as he got to his feet, and Ryoka sat back in her chair. That explained…a lot.

Heh

“It is grace, mortal. Grace and naught else. Grace and wonder. A moment. It is not something ye can learn in a book. It is not something you can keep trying to do. You will learn it in a moment of purest understanding—or never.” The Frost Faerie looked at Ryoka in the eye. Ryoka felt a slight chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

Oo