Tale Sixteen, Becoming a Battlemage and Three Months Later...

"Professor Albright, while I admire your astuteness and ability to research, I believe that following my shopping is a little excessive."

Olberic, an unmistakable man of size and physique, examined fruits at a fruit stand in Noblecourt with an expert eye that many wouldn't say a warrior could have. Yet, he quietly examined each piece of produce, carefully choosing what had been requested of him by Ophilia to make a congratulatory meal for the Octopath Travelers. After Therion finished his business here, they would be recognizing the three-month anniversary of their group traveling all across Orsterra.

While he believed this to be an important errand to keep up the Travelers' morale, he was a bit distracted by the scholar in their group. It made for quite an odd scene to see a raven-haired professor following a brawny warrior and making jottings in his notebook about every move his subject made.

"Of course! Must I reiterate why I have been following you all this time? Now, please continue as if I am not here," Cyrus repeated, flicking his quill feather at Olberic before returning to his journal.

The warrior sighed as he placed a satisfactory apple into his basket. "I believe that is not possible to do, Professor. I do not think I can act like myself when I have a spectator hounding my every move."

Cyrus closed his journal with a satisfactory hum and put his instruments away. His calm smile didn't waver. "I am not hounding, I am observing. There is quite a difference, you know. It is what separates a stalker from a researcher."

"They both seem to follow the same merits..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Professor. Well, it seems I am done for the moment. I have everything Sister Ophilia asked me to buy." Olberic took a look at the sun. "Perhaps we have finished too early."

"Ah, splendid! Then I can return to my research?"

Before Cyrus could reach for his quill and journal, Olberic's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, halting the lither man in his tracks.

"Professor Albright, I think it is time I learn a little more about you than you me. Hm?" the warrior stated plainly, trying to contain his strained look and voice from the scholar's view. Whether he succeeded or not, he didn't know. After all, Cyrus may have been one of the brightest minds in Orsterra, but his social graces were still lacking.

Once his wrist was released, Cyrus rose a hand to his chin, thinking on Olberic's words for a moment. He had to admit, while it seemed he had been researching the warriors of Hornburg, Cyrus himself hadn't shared who he was with his subject. Perhaps there was a way to make this work with his research.

Cyrus nodded his head. "You are quite correct, I am afraid. It has been quite a one-sided relationship. Then may I ask: what is it that you wish to learn about me?"

Olberic's eyes widened slightly in surprise, not expecting this turn of events. Nonetheless, he was glad that he wouldn't be the topic of conversation – or research – for a few moments.

"I am glad to hear that, Professor Albright. Very well. I have been thinking about it, and I would like to learn more about the magic you inherently possess."

Cyrus seemed taken aback by the request. "You wish to learn the arcane arts?"

"Not learn but expand upon what I already know."

If Cyrus wasn't surprised before, he was now. A slack jaw and lack of response showed as much to Olberic. "You... excuse me?"

Without saying a word, Olberic smirked, removed his glove, and held out his palm. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow in concentration, and narrowing his focus. As he did so, a light started to spark in his hand. Like struck flint, a small ember crackled to life from out of nowhere in the palm of the warrior's hand. His consternation increased, as did the fire. It grew to the size of a torch's flame before Olberic opened his eyes and the tickling, healthy flames disappeared into thin air.

Nothing was left behind, save a few beads of sweat on Olberic's brow.

"As... as you can see... magic from me requires too deep of concentration and exertion. I cannot use it for more than a few seconds as a parlor trick at best," Olberic admitted as he caught his breath.

All the while, Cyrus watched him with a gleam in his eye.

"My word! How do you know magic? When did you learn magic!? Are you actually a battlemage? Does Hornburg recruit and train battlemages!?" Cyrus's questioning started to tumble into what would become an avalanche of questions to sate his obsession with knowledge.

To stop him, Olberic held up his hand to the man. "Remember our deal? I believe you must teach me first about how to control this gift, correct?"

"I... very well, I did say as much. Besides, I can watch a warrior of Hornburg wield magic! A rare opportunity, I assume, for I have not read of anything mentioning battlemages in the Hornburg Army!"

"I am not a battlemage, Professor. All warriors in Hornburg are trained in small forms of magic for survival purposes at the very least. Now, shall we return and continue our conversation at the inn?"

The warrior didn't wait for a reply. He hefted the basket of groceries Ophilia had asked him to find and started towards the Travelers' temporary home in Noblecourt. Behind, Cyrus started to follow before taking his quill and journal out and quickly jotting down a few notes about using magic in the Hornburg army. Satisfied, he joined Olberic.

It didn't take them long to return. After dropping off the groceries to Ophilia in the basement they had procured for their own personal use at the inn, they took off to the men's room in their belowground occupancy.

Four beds constructed as conjoined bunk beds on one side of the cobblestone room gave the two Travelers plenty of room for activities. Ensuring that there was nothing flammable within an arm's length of either of them provided the pair with a reassurance that they wouldn't burn down another inn.

It would be some time before Therion and his party returned from finding the ruby dragonstone rumored to be in Noblecourt. So, Cyrus and Olberic would have all the time they would need to work on honing the warrior's magical gift.

Olberic took a seat as Cyrus stood in front of the warrior. The professor coughed into his hand, clearing his throat and seamlessly shifting to his role as a lecturer.

"So, Sir Olberic, you have the gift of magic," he began as he would his other lessons. "We must hone that into something that can help us and our fellow travelers. Having another magic-user in our group who can specialize in offensive spells will be helpful. You can also take a hit, therefore, you may prove more useful of an asset than even I. Let us make that happen, shall we?"

The warrior smirked, happy to hear the shift in praise from Cyrus. He sat up straight and crossed his arms over his chest. "That we shall. What is your first lesson, Professor?"

"First, and foremost, call upon your flame as you did at the fruit stall."

Olberic listened dutifully. He opened the palm of his hand and conjured a small fire between his fingers while concentrating.

"Next, your first problem seems to be, for lack of a better term, stamina. Your muscles have been trained day in and day out for you to be able to wield a sword in battle with little to no effort. You have changed your body physically to accomplish this feat."

The warrior nodded internally, still maintaining his focus on the flame.

"For that reason, what you must do now is strengthen your mind. Not spiritually or mentally, but intellectually. Your magic reserves must be expanded, too, just as you expanded your lungs for increased air circulation during particularly trying episodes of physical exertion."

Olberic grit his teeth, listening to Cyrus and trying to pour every last amount of mental and magical power into his handmade flame. Slowly, it grew bigger – bigger than it had at the market. The scholar's guidance seemed to be impacting Olberic in real-time.

Just as he felt he could harness his power with enough force to cast a damaging fire spell, he lost his concentration. The flame puttered out, quickly shrinking back to the size of a candle's light.

Hands on his knees and bent over in his seat, Olberic breathed heavily trying to catch his breath once more.

"That... that felt stronger than I have ever... conjured before..." he admitted.

Cyrus rose his fingers to his chin, smiling. "Indubitably. Why I believe with but a little training from myself and reading more on the technicalities of magic, you could become quite the devastating battlemage."

"Possibly. Where do I go from here?"

"I have just the thing."

Cyrus went to his bed, scrounging through his pack which he kept under his pillow. After throwing out a few candles, scientific instruments, and cluttered journals, he found the object of his search: a book. He held it up and squinted, reading the title to ensure he had the right manuscript.

"Aha! Just what I need," he celebrated before shoving the book towards Olberic. "The Technical Manuscript on Offensive and Defensive Magics: A Practical Methodological Framework by..."

"Professor Cyrus Albright. You want me to read your work on magic?" Olberic held the book up, eyeing Cyrus skeptically.

"Why, of course! After all, many have said I am the preeminent scholar on such matters of the arcane. Would it not behoove you to read from my collected knowledge?"

"I suppose so," Olberic muttered. He opened the thick tome to its first page and read the title again mentally. He sighed. "Then I shall begin right away before the celebration starts."

"Good idea and I shall sit over here." Cyrus took a seat across from Olberic. "So, your knowledge of magic comes from basic training in the Hornburg Army, correct?"

The warrior's eyes shot up to the professor, seeing that he had produced his quill and journal, ready to ask questions once more.

"Professor. Perhaps it might be best for you to go help Sister Ophilia, right now."

"Cheers!"

All eight members of the Octopath Travelers resounded cheerfully as they rose their mugs in the air. Each drank greedily from their mugs after a particularly hot day.

"Bleh, it's bitter," Tressa recoiled before taking another drink. "Still bitter..."

"It's a pale ale, Tress. A nice summer drink after a hard, hot day in the field," Alfyn explained. He enjoyed the drink immensely, taking a hearty gulp from his mug. "Ah! Refreshin'!"

"Well, it does take a particular taste in alcohol to enjoy a pale ale. After all, they are quite potent. Some say it is an acquired taste, some say it tastes like formaldehyde," Cyrus explained sagely, as he always did. "I believe it has a nice citrus flavor to it, one that can tickle the palate of any beer connoisseur."

"Maybe, but I can already feel the effects of it. By the Flame, even in the basement, it is still a bit hot here." Ophilia fanned her face and took another sip of her ale. "Noblecourt has always been an eternal spring, but today seems to be particularly muggy."

"'Twould be hard to becomen used to if thou lived in the mountains," H'aanit commented with a chuckle. Linde laid next to her with a bowl of the potent ale for her, as well. Her tongue lapped up the yellow-orange liquid, her purring indicating she was quite pleased.

"I must say, Linde seems to be enjoying the pale ale as much as any man or woman," Olberic made the comment after observing the creature lying down between him and H'aanit. "She seems like a person in a beast's body at times." This earned the warrior a low, gurgled growl from the leopard.

Primrose chuckled mirthfully, her finger playing with the rim of her mug. "Be careful, Sir Olberic. I believe she is already forming a wall between you and our huntress there. It'd be best not to make her more irate than she may already be."

"What do you mean by that?"

The dancer took a drink before commenting, "You took lessons from Cyrus today, I am sure some of his smarts will imprint themselves on you and you will figure it out. Eventually."

"Doesn't matter right now! Can you believe it guys? It's been three months since we all started traveling together as the Octopath Travelers!" Tressa exclaimed in disbelief, already moving on to her second drink and losing her inhibitions quite quickly. She lowered her mug with a satisfied sigh that turned to a glower as she stared at a certain thief. "Well, at least most of us are excited."

Therion waved his hand at his mentor while he took a sip of his pale ale. He sat in the corner of the room, away from the table with his own drink and plate of food resting by his feet. Ever since the group had returned from recovering the ruby dragonstone, Therion had kept himself secluded from the rest of the Travelers, participating in the night's festivities from afar.

"Ah, let 'im sulk. He'll cave eventually," Alfyn assured nonchalantly. He rose his voice to make sure his friend heard him. "After all, he can't stand losing to us in a game of cards later!"

In response, Therion rolled his eyes and returned to his food.

"He doth seemeth more dower than usual," H'aanit surmised in a mumble.

"Yes, he does. Perhaps one of us should go talk to him?" Ophilia stated with a saddened expression.

"Hm, perhaps you are right. Do not make that face, Ophilia, I shall see what has our thief down in the gutter," Primrose assured the cleric as she stood from her seat, moving to join Therion.

Her bangles and jewelry got his attention, of that she knew. Even if he didn't look her way, he always complained about how loud her choice of attire could be at times.

"You really need to wear something that doesn't rattle like a baby's toy," Therion commented, still not turning his attention to Primrose as she leaned against the wall next to him.

"Oh, but then how would I get your attention, my dear?" she asked, placing her hand on her chest in mock confusion.

"Hmph. You seem to be able to do that without any trouble."

Primrose smirked. "So, you admit I do have your attention at times?"

Therion cursed himself internally. His mind was focused on other matters, so he hadn't realized the trap he had walked directly into until it was too late. Changing subjects to try and regain the high ground, the thief asked, "Enjoy your time back in your hometown?"

This question caused Primrose to choke on her drink and start coughing up the liquid from her lungs. Once her fit had ended, she noticed that all of the Travelers had their eyes on her. She waved them off with a shaky chuckle, trying to assure those at the table that she was alright. They seemed to buy it as they returned to eating Ophilia's food and enjoying the cool respite the cobblestone basement provided them.

"Why do you want to know?" Primrose asked in her lowest whisper. If Therion wasn't mistaken, he could hear a bit of agitation in her voice.

Trying to speak neutrally, he answered, "It's Noblecourt. Thought you'd like being back for a little bit. Find any clues?"

"I..."

Primrose's words were caught in her throat. She hadn't shared much of her story with the Octopath Travelers, only stating that her father had been murdered and she was on a quest for revenge. What happened after his death and before Sunshade had forged her into the women she had become. Noblecourt's streets played a large role in that process – and sometimes it wasn't for the better. Noblecourt only expounded upon her memories, making them more powerful than usual. She grimaced thinking back on a few painful past events in her life after her father had been murdered.

The thought of losing her father and Simeon both in one night still pained her deeply.

Even worse, she had been unable to find any information on the man with the crow on his right arm. As of now, her contacts in the city had dried up, meaning she was back at square one. She needed to find the man, but now it seemed she was at an impasse once more.

Primrose bit her lip, her eyes slightly glossing over.

Her reaction caught Therion's attention. His eyes widened slightly more than usual, and his mouth opened underneath his scarf, his words caught in his throat. Returning to his stoic face and thinking better of it, he crossed his arms and shook his head slightly. Right now wasn't the time.

"They sent you over here to figure out why I'm by myself, right?" Therion changed the subject again, getting to the heart of why Primrose had joined him.

Still recovering from thinking on her past and recent failures, the dancer could only nod slightly.

"Well, it's because of this."

From his pockets, Therion produced a scarlet gem between his fingers. Ironically enough, he had used the hand that had the fool's bangle clasped around his wrist. They shined perpendicularly together, seemingly taunting the thief and reminding him of his job.

"Finishing a job like this, it's reminding me of a certain someone that... well, let's just say I have my trust issues for a reason," Therion admitted, hoping his troubles could take away Primrose from her rumination. "He left me in a tight spot after a job. Never have forgiven him for it, haven't seen him since. What I'm trying to say is that I get it. You're tired of searching and when you feel like you have a lead, it just disappears? Yeah, you're frustrated."

Primrose gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Seems you know more about me than you let on."

Therion shrugged. "I've been in similar spots. I am in a similar spot."

"And how do you plan on moving forward?"

"Patiently. Wait until there's someone who can tell me something worth knowing. One way or another."

At this point, Therion pocketed the ruby dragonstone, nodding in understanding. "We'll be through here again. I can promise you that."

"True. With our band of merry travelers, I am sure we will return here at one point," Primrose mused lightly, her spirits starting to lighten.

"Yeah, well..." Therion rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Even if they weren't, I'd come and give you a hand."

The thief's words surprised Primrose but caused a tingling warm feeling in her stomach. Her eyes narrowed playfully. "Oh? You would help me even if the others were not here?" she purred delightfully.

"Ah, ah. Don't read too much into it, Primrose. You're my protégé now. Need to make sure you don't ruin my reputation."

She called Therion out. "Hm... and yet you call me by my name."

"Gods, you, Mountain, and Feather just keep getting on my ass about that. I keep telling all of you that I don't think Twinkle Toes suits you anymore," he replied, clearly flustered. "'Til I have a new name for you, I'll just call you... Primrose."

"You know, I prefer 'Prim' for short," she giggled. "That is if you are taking suggestions."

Therion huffed, turning his face away from Primrose and covering his reddening cheeks behind his scarf. "I'll think about it."

The dancer laughed playfully. "Thank you, Therion."

"Yeah, well, as I said, keep your eyes ahead of you."

"Of course."

The pair started to shift into a comfortable silence. As they did so, they heard stumbling down the stairs to the basement. Before anyone could question the sound, they heard a loud knock at the door. Everyone jumped to attention, on alert and ready to deal with any consequences that may have followed from Therion's actions in Noblecourt today. The Travelers had hoped they'd be safe in the inn's basement, but they had been prepared all the same in case someone came to question Therion or make him pay for his actions.

Olberic nodded at his friends before brandishing his broad sword and moving towards the door. "Who is it?" he bellowed loud enough to reverberate through the thick, wooden door.

"Ah, do you not know me by my gait there, Olberic? 'Tis I! Teller!" the familiar, muted voice exclaimed. "Heard you lot were held up here!"

Sharing questioning glances with Ophilia, the cleric composed herself and smiled, nodding at the warrior to let the bard in. Shrugging, Olberic did just that. Surely enough, standing there in the entranceway, with arms full of bottles of pale ale, was Teller. His rosy cheeks and gleeful eyes greeted the Travelers well enough, but he spoke his intent anyway.

"A pleasure to see you lot again! Octopath Travelers. My, what names you all're making for yourselves!" he boasted pridefully, hefting his bottles as strolled to the table most of the Travelers sat at. The heavy atmosphere quickly lifted as he entered. "I've brought gifts for all of you! Some pale ale from the bartender upstairs. He owed me a decent sum, so I told him he could pay me in some of his stock. I've never seen a man throw bottles of ale at me so quickly!"

"'Tis a pleasure, Teller. Welcome to our temporary home," H'aanit began as she stood from her seat.

"Aye, thank ye, H'aanit. How's your master?" Teller questioned as he set the bottles on the table, many of them disappearing just as quickly as he had put them down. "Oi! You all just take from a guest without thanks?"

"Thank you!" Tressa piped up happily.

"That's better. A pleasure to meet you, Tressa," Teller greeted as he sat down in Primrose's chair.

"Nice to meet ya, Teller. I've heard a lot about you!"

"And I you, as well as your parents. Quite the merchants all of you are. Can I expect some fairer deals from you than that brat, Ali?"

The merchant beamed, her cheeks turning rosy. "Of course! I can outsell and haggle that little pipsqueak no problem! Just try me!"

Teller bellowed a hearty laugh. "Perhaps next time, my dear. For now, I'm here to greet those I've yet to meet and maybe tell a tale or two."

He turned his attention to Cyrus. "Professor Albright, good to see you again – and away from that stack of books.

"Excuse me, but have we met? I know of you, Teller, but I do not believe we have ever been introduced," Cyrus replied.

"Ah, my apologies. I saw you, but you were too buried in your tomes to greet me properly," the bard explained. "It was at the tavern in Atlasdam not too long ago. I knew I left an impression there, but hardly had a chance to talk to many people."

"No, no. I believe I am to apologize. I have recently learned that my studies sometimes... interfere with my other obligations."

"Not a worry, Professor. Good to meet you all the same. Hope good ol' Odette didn't nag you too much last time you saw her!"

"You know Odette?" the professor asked, surprised.

"Who wouldn't! She's a strong, tactful, smart lass. You could use a lesson or two from her, aye!"

The Travelers laughed, knowing that Teller's words were more than true.

"Now two more of ya. Alfyn! Learnin' the ways of the world, I can see. But you look a man grown even after just a few short months with the Octopath Travelers."

"They taught me a lot, uh... Teller." Alfyn was clearly caught off-guard but tried to catch himself before he spoke.

"Hm... 'm sure! Thank ye for bringing that lout, Therion, out o' his shell, and befriendin' my friend here," the bard gestured towards Ophilia, ignoring Therion's rebuking remark. His eyes shifted between the cleric and apothecary as they sat together. Teller's smile grew. "Those embers are burnin' bright, aren't they? Keep 'em goin'. You'll both be the better for it."

Both Alfyn and Ophilia blushed but smiled widely as they nodded their heads, starting to understand what Teller hinted at. They spared each other a brief, happy glance before turning away, their smiles more bashful than before. Again, Teller let loose a bellowing laugh, as did the rest of the Travelers.

"Last but not least, Lady Azelhart."

Teller turned in his chair towards Primrose, eyeing her leaning against the wall next to Therion. She didn't reply but instead waited patiently for the bard to speak of her.

His smile softened. "I know you're frustrated. But fear not, come back here in one month's time. No sooner or later. All'll be made clear, of that, I swear as a bard, a teller of tales and wizard of words."

A brief flicker of hope shown in Primrose's eyes as a small amount of surprise filled her expression. Not missing a beat, she regained control of face, turning her lips into a tiny, but grateful, smirk.

"I shall, Teller. Thank you."

"Anything for you – all of you!" he assured as he turned to speak to the Octopath Travelers as a whole. "I hope those who I have spoken to before are taking my words to heart. Though, 'm not worryin' too much about that. Enough about you lot. 's time for a tale!"

At the mention of the story, Tressa cheered gleefully, while the rest of the Travelers around the table nodded their heads happily and Primrose and Therion shrugged as they joined their friends around the table, both deciding to stay standing.

"Now, now, this is my gift to all of you for a journey well-traveled thus far. Grab yourselves a bottle of pale ale and get comfortable. For you see, in days of yore..."

Teller began his tale eagerly, proud to enrapture the audience of the Octopath Travelers. The night wore on with tales of chivalry and comedy, tragedy and horror. For a celebration commemorating their accomplishments thus far, the Travelers thought that a kind room full of friends with drinks in hand and a tale to listen to was a grand way to remember their adventures through Orsterra.

They had not known it then, but this would be the halfway point of the Octopath Travelers' journey.

They had made it through hardships, learned much of each other and themselves, and continued forward as friends, not just as acquaintances.

Their bonds had evolved, ensuring they would become lifelong companions, lovers, and family.

Of course, they still have much to experience in these journeys ahead – they have only just begun, as we all know.

What happens in the future now will require their bonds to hold strong so that none of the Travelers may fall into the dark pits of despair, failure, and anger that await them if they falter.

They will travel on, they will succeed, but they will do so not on their individual strength alone...

...from tavern to tavern...

~Teller~