Chapter 3 - Guarded
When Roger Miralis opened his eyes, he knew that he was not alone. There were two monsters in his bedroom.
These days, of course, it was typical to have one monster there - she shared a bed with him, after all. Even now, Priscilla slept soundly beside him, snuggled tightly against his side, her snores soft and rhythmic. His orc lover had kept them up late the previous evening, and so she slept more deeply than usual, though even in that peaceful slumber she still clutched him tightly, her pale pink body pressed against his skin.
It was the second presence in the room that brought Roger to wakefulness. He glanced up, seeing a figure looming over him, a slender form with eyes that glinted in the faint pre-dawn light coming through the windows. Roger blinked his eyes open, forcing his mind to wakefulness - it wasn't fear that hastened his awakening, but concern, despite the intensity of the gaze that had been directed at him as his eyes had first opened. It was a sign of how much his world had changed that a monster woman looming over him with an outstretched hand didn't give him a moment's pause these days - a far cry from his life back in Goslar, where he had first grown accustomed to life with monster women.
He knew he was in no danger from the woman who stared at him - Lacerta Steelscale was one of his closest friends, and now that they were settled in New Haven, had even become a housemate to him and Priss. Lacy was a mercenary lizardwoman, a soldier that had been hired to help defend the fledgling town, just as she had done so for the evacuation of Goslar, and even earlier for his own migration east when he had fled his previous life among the people of the Hellenistic Empire. Lacy had grown to be more of a protector to him in particular, looking out for him first when he had started his alchemist shop in Goslar, and now as he had - somehow - become one of the advisors to New Haven's leader. She was also close friends with Priscilla, which had led to the orc inviting Lacy to move in with them into their new house.
'House' was an understatement, Roger had to admit, even if currently it was under construction and consisted of only a few completed rooms. While he hadn't shared the exact details of his background with anyone outside of John Foster and Simon Hopkins, who knew the significance of his family's name, this wouldn't be the largest home he had ever lived in. Despite that, once completed it was certainly going to be one of the grandest in New Haven. Roger felt embarrassed by the spaciousness of the estate, fairly close to the budding mercantile district of the townlet, but it had been John that had insisted upon the details of its construction. When Roger had protested that he and Priss would hardly need so much space, the man had only offered a cryptic smile and a pat on the shoulder, and a promise that the space and extra rooms would come in handy over time. Simon Hopkins had also been granted a sizeable home, although he at least used much of the space for a magical laboratory and study for several magically-inclined monster girls, including the laconic lich Sarah Wulfe, who had managed to help Roger with several recipes he had been developing over the past weeks. With so much space, it had been reasonable to give Lacy a room, and in Roger's eyes the captain of the mercenary company defending the town was far more deserving of a manor than someone like him.
To be honest, he still wasn't sure why John Foster had chosen him to take under his wing. Certainly, he and Priss had helped to save the last group of refugees fleeing the Orders' advance into Goslar by defeating a group of orcish bandits that had targeted them, but that alone was hardly worth so much fuss as this, and Priss had done most of the fighting. Instead, it had been Roger himself that John had seemed interested in, and the older young man had given Roger all the resources and supplies he needed to further develop his alchemical work here in the burgeoning town - though, while Roger never found himself wanting for work making healing draughts or medicines for the construction crew that was building New Haven from the ground up, Roger felt that his alchemy also failed to justify John's support of him.
"Roger?" Lacy's voice called out softly, bringing him back to himself. He tried to blink the sleep from his eyes, looking back to the lizardwoman with a bleary gaze. Her hand had fallen slightly; where once she had probably been reaching out to shake his shoulder to waken him, it now hovered just above his chest, which was bared by Priss's clutch on the blankets. As he blinked at her, Lacy jerked that hand away as if it had strayed too close to a hot stove, a heat in her cheeks visible even in the morning gloom.
"Yeah, Lacy?" Roger slurred, his voice cracked a bit from slumber's grasp. He noticed dark rings around his friend's yellow eyes, and a strained look on her face. "Somethin' wrong?" He tried to lean up in bed, but Priss's grasp tightened, keeping him locked in place as the unconscious orc nuzzled into him blissfully.
"I wanted to let you know I'm going in early this morning, so don't worry about breakfast for me," she said softly, trying not to wake the slumbering orc beside Roger - not that there was much threat of that. She offered him a reassuring smile that didn't remove the tiredness from her face. "I should be free by this afternoon for your daily training, though, if you want to check by the muster field."
Roger nodded, still rubbing at the corner of his eye. "Everything alright?" he asked, surprised at the break in routine.
Lacy nodded, but he could tell she was deciding how to respond. "There are reports of bandits harassing some of our western supply caravans; I'm going to establish new patrols to start sniffing out their camp." She shook her head, sighing. "Bad enough we're having to look at defending this place without any sort of fortifications, having to worry about scavengers picking at our flanks."
Roger nodded grimly. Working with John had given him an abrupt education in the logistics of building a town like this from scratch. Defenses were a constant concern here; the open plains surrounding New Haven would give them ample warning of any approaching threat, but the lack of natural defenses also meant there was little they could do about it aside from marching out to meet it head-on. With the Holy Orders having taken Goslar and established a base there, everyone knew their peaceful existence here wouldn't last forever, and so Lacy, along with her Company of the Forked Blade, had taken up much of the responsibility of keeping the plains around well-scouted, as well as drawing up contingency plans in case of an attack. The hope was that it would take the Orders long enough to find this place that they could at least build up some defensive structures and train a militia to help Lacy's mercenary band, but the matter was a constant concern for all of those responsible for the town's growth.
"I'll stop by at the usual time, then," Roger promised, and Lacy offered him a rare smile in reply.
"Better get ready - I'm going to have some stress to burn off, so your training might be a little rougher than usual," she teased, and he chuckled in reply. Ever since his encounter with the orcish brigands and their high orc chieftain, Berala Blackaxe, Roger had been training with Lacy to improve his combat skills. Even though his alchemical devices had protected him and Priss, he had left that cave feeling less capable than he needed to be, a load to bear for those actually able to fight. Lacy was a good teacher, and now Roger felt ready to defend himself against mundane threats, but he knew he had a long way yet to go.
Roger's lessons with Lacy had been Priss's idea, since she had also improved her skills by working with the lizardwoman after they had met in Goslar. Priss was another of John's conscripts, committing herself to the efforts of defending New Haven by trying to recruit and train the town's guard, a faltering effort that had produced few promising results. Many of the monster women who had settled in the town were more interested in finding mates or starting businesses than signing up with a ragtag group of town watchmen, and the humans likewise had plenty to occupy their attention - often, fending off the attention of their female neighbors. Still, Priss stayed committed to the idea, and had the full support of other members of the town's leadership, like Goslar's former mayor Tara Rockhorn and the other members of her council.
"I'll bring you something good for lunch, since you're skipping breakfast," Roger promised, and despite Lacy's protestations that he didn't need to take all that effort, he knew she would relent. He took pride in his culinary abilities, and had spent some of his scant free time at the restaurant of his closest male friend learning new dishes to serve to Priss and Lacy. "I'll see you then," he told her, and with a last glance back at him Lacy headed out into the dim streets.
Roger settled back into the bed, trying to fall back asleep, but a moment later he felt Priss stir against his chest, and her arms clutched to him more tightly. He chuckled when he felt her kiss his cheek, and with a glazed, sloppily-happy smile she glanced up at his face. "Lacy leave early?" she asked, obviously having heard the tail end of their discussion. Roger explained what she had said, surprised to see Priss's eyes narrow slightly at the reason for Lacy's departure. She cut off his question before he could give voice to it, releasing him and sitting up in bed. Despite himself, he couldn't help but stare as she stretched luxuriously, her muscles taut and her impressive chest thrust forward as she arched her back. A blush crept into his cheeks as he remembered the previous evening. Priss was a passionate lover at any time, but last night she had been particularly enthusiastic - and loud. It had actually worried him, since Lacy stayed in the next room and would have had to hear, but when he had tried to warn Priss of that, it had only seemed to make her even more determined to rattle the walls. He had noticed an odd tension between the two girls in the past weeks - a certain keenness to the way that Priss would needle Lacy, a frustration that the lizardwoman showed around the orc, though nothing that seemed to strain their friendship to actual fighting. He wasn't certain what was at the heart of it, but he knew better than to ask.
"Guess I better hit the lumber camps again," Priss commented, pulling on her undershirt and reaching for the armored cuirass she wore around town. "Some of the migrating workers from out east might sign up for the guard if I can guarantee them houses here in town after construction is finished."
"Still not found anyone else, after the first few?" Roger asked, sliding from the bed and taking up his clothes. A disappointed grunt was his only answer, and he quickly dressed and headed into the small, crude kitchen they had attached to the house, until a more formal one could be finished. He rifled through the storage bins, grabbing ingredients and getting to work making breakfast. While he was at it, he also set aside the ingredients for the lunch he would make for the girls after he returned from his errands later in the day. As he quickly whipped together omelets for the pair of them, adding peppers and onions he had bought from his grocer friend Mori, he could hear Priss putting on the rest of her gear in the main room. His mind turned to his own tasks for the day as he worked; beyond visiting Mithal and training with Lacy, he also had to make a few potion deliveries. Roger's customer base had become a bit more eclectic since he had come under John's tutelage, although his skills had definitely improved along with his resources as well - he had access to ingredients from the lands beyond the Great Veil, the shining golden gleam in the sky that protected the lands of the Hellenistic Empire from powers of the Demon Queen. That magic barrier in the eastern sky was visible from New Haven day and night, and more than once Roger had caught John looking up at it wistfully for reasons he wouldn't explain. The lands beyond, places Roger had never seen and expected that he never would, were said to be the domain of monsters and demons… though Roger's education in the lives of monsters had mostly consisted of unlearning everything he had been taught as a child, so he wasn't certain what to expect anymore about those places he had always heard described as a hell on earth.
It was certain, however, that the plants and other ingredients that came from that place were rich with monstrous mana, which made the potions he could make from them particularly potent. He had enjoyed great success with his experiments with dark lavender back in Goslar, but now his studies were progressing exponentially faster. The texts that John had shared with him had even espoused the virtues of using cast-off components from monsters in his potions - apparently, old scales or feathers or even hair had enough mana to transfer characteristics of the monsters into the tinctures he made. His most recent concoction was supposed to be like that, but it was missing a crucial component: the hair of a high orc. Unfortunately, the only high orc he had ever encountered wouldn't be likely to volunteer to help him in his research; the last time he had seen her, Berala Blackaxe had threatened to beat Priss within an inch of her life and to take Roger as her unwilling concubine.
Thinking about that encounter brought to his mind what Lacy had said about bandits, and his stomach clenched. Surely it couldn't be-
"Oooh, that smells good!" Priss surprised him, wrapping her arms around him from behind and leaning around him to sniff at the now-finished omelets. "Lacy should've stayed for breakfast; she loves when you make these."
Roger blushed at the praise, but his current train of thought wouldn't be derailed. "She said there was a problem with bandits out west. You don't think she means…" He could feel Priss stiffen behind him, and it took a moment for her to reply.
"Yeah, that sounds about right." Priss sighed raggedly, leaning into him with a surprising sudden tiredness, nuzzling her face into his shoulder. "That blockhead won't give up just because we won. She never tolerates a threat to her position - that's why she came after me even after I got kicked out of our tribe." Priss released him, coming around to take the plated omelets to the table while Roger retrieved a decanter of juice from the enchanted icebox, which was a luxury he had gotten used to living without back in Goslar, but was apparently another of the perks of being close to the leader of this new town. "But we're too far from the mountains, and too in the thick of the people here, for her to come attack us. She'll want to draw us out…" As she spoke, Priss's voice trailed off, her thoughts drawing her away from Roger.
"Hey, that's not a problem for today, or any time soon, right?" Roger asked, setting the decanter down and reaching out to touch her shoulder. She jumped as if startled, glancing back to him with something almost like embarrassment, and a smile that seemed rushed. "You're recruiting a town guard to defend us from bandits - you're already taking care of this."
"Of course," she said, smiling brightly, and he frowned at the transparency of her deceit. "I just have to focus on that." Her smile softened slightly, eyes losing focus as she watched him pour juice for them both. "Recruitment…" she mumbled, gaze locking onto the decanter.
"I'll be making the rounds, too," Roger explained, changing the subject as he sat down and took up his fork. "John's got me going all over town making deliveries. Let's see…" He pulled a small sheet of paper from a pocket, scanning over the names and directions scrawled onto it. "Salves for the carpenters, etching acids for the Bladeworks, some medicine for…" He trailed off as he squinted at the sheet of paper, bringing it close to his face. "The Black Widow? That one sounds dangerous."
"Oh." Priss's face fell, and she shook her head in warning. "No… she's an arachne who lost her mate to the Orders. John and Ceann brought her here to give her a new home, since the forest she lived in was close to a place that the Empire was interested in. She's pregnant, and has had a hard time of it. The townsfolk are all supporting her as best we can, and it's not that uncommon of a story, but…" Priss shrugged, and her gaze at Roger was oddly intense. "No one wants to think about finding someone to love, only to lose them like that."
Roger nodded mutely, regretting the jest and sympathizing with yet another person chased from their home due to the Orders' intolerance. The fact that she was expecting and had lost the father made it only worse; Priss and he had discussed the possibility of having children of their own eventually, but Priss had told him that monster pregnancies were considerably rarer than ones for human couples. To be one of the lucky couples, only for the father never to get to meet his child, was bitter luck. He glanced up to see Priss studying him carefully, a glint in her eyes that felt unusually intense.
"Just… be careful, okay?" Priss suggested. He could tell she was being serious, probably worried about the possibility of a reappearance of her former sisters in Berala's tribe.
"I'll be fine," he said dismissively. "The only time I've leaving town today is to go to the muster field, and that practically doesn't count; Lacy's troops are all over that path. And no one is going to abduct me out of the middle of this town's biggest restaurant." He chuckled, and he could see his words were calming her unease, her frown falling away as she chewed on her food, though she didn't meet his eyes. "You're the one I'm worried about. They are more interested in you than me, anyways, and-" He paused, realizing he had lost her attention; she seemed more absorbed by her reflection in the decanter of juice, strangely. "Priss?"
"S-sorry," she said, looking back to him, her brow still furrowed. "Just… lots on my mind." The smile she offered him this time felt more genuine. "You're right. We're safe here, just like we were back in Goslar. And we have Lacy around, too." She speared the last bite of her omelet with her fork, considering it. "She'll help keep you safe." He nodded to her encouragingly, motioning towards the belt hanging from a post near the door where his holstered truncheon was pocketed.
"And I'm sure that, with her lessons, I'll be more than capable of taking care of myself, too."
"Mm-hmm," Priss replied crisply, less-than-subtly not meeting his gaze, and his shoulders sank at her lack of faith in his progress. "Against humans, maybe, but a pack of orcs, or Berala…" As always, her voice hardened as she said the last name, an old wound frequently ripped open, and Roger nodded to yield to her point. "I wasn't able to do it alone, either. And I won't let that happen again." When she looked up to him, her gaze betrayed the lingering torment she felt over what had nearly happened back in that cave when she had faced her former sisters, and suddenly Roger felt like he understood a little better why Priss had been so insistent on having Lacy move in with them. Orcs like Priss lived in large family groups, where the adults shared a single male between them and followed the orders of their chief, but they placed a very high priority on the needs of the tribe over the individual. Priss had spoken often of her desire for a new tribe, and while Roger still struggled a bit with that aspect of her race's culture, he could tell that she felt cut off and unprotected at times without being part of a large family. Since she had grown up as one of a tight-knit gang of orcs, she was accustomed to having sisters who would watch her back. Her efforts at gathering a town watch were likely related to fulfilling the vulnerability she felt without them, but her lack of success in that endeavor was likely making matters worse.
Roger stood and started gathering up their plates, but as he reached out to take Priss's, she reached out and gently took hold of his wrist. Her smile was wide, but somehow sad. "I'm happy, you know?" she said, and he nodded, his own smile bright and wide with the shared sentiment. "I never imagined I would have this - all of this." A cloud darkened her expression. "I just don't want to lose it. I don't want anyone to take this from me."
"Priss, we're fine," Roger reassured her. "Like you said, we're as safe here as we were in Goslar - safer, even. John said that Berala and the others were warned off by Ceann, so they know they would be in over their heads if they came for us."
"I know," she relented, releasing her hold on his hand, but not looking away from his face. "But… I want you to be protected. They can do whatever they want to me-"
"Like hell."
Priss chuckled despite his scowl. "Fine." She stood from the table, taking the decanter of juice back towards the ice-chest as he scraped clean the dishes they had used. She stopped, taking up several of the small wineskins they used each day to carry drinks with them and pouring some of the juice inside. She set aside three of them, but as she returned the now-nearly-empty decanter into the chest, she paused, her eyes captured by another glassware container containing an amber fluid. She reached out, lifting it close to her face. The viscous fluid inside was partially gone, spent on a few enjoyable evenings, but the memory of how she had acquired this alraune nectar made Priss's mind whirl. She had nearly used this potent aphrodisiac to try to seduce Roger back before they had admitted their feelings for each other, and had been glad it hadn't come to that, but… Her hand descended towards one of the wineskins, the one marked with a paint-daubed 'L,' and she cast a furtive glance back towards Roger, who was distracted with gathering up the collection of bottles he was to distribute through the town.
A few minutes later, they met at the door leading out of their new home, exchanging a long kiss. "Here, take these - Lacy forgot hers this morning," Priss said, offering him two of the wineskins. He tucked both into his belt with a smile, and promised to leave her lunch at her temporary base of operations at the Second Home, a small tavern recently opened and operated by Charles Kramer, another human who had come to New Haven with Simon Hopkins. The burly former mercenary had hit it off quickly with Priss. She found it easier to keep an eye on problematic visitors at the places they were the likeliest to linger - not to mention that it was easier to recruit those who were just a touch inebriated - and while Charles could handle most trouble-makers easily enough, it never hurt to have professional guards close to hand, so he had offered a collection of balcony tables to her as an official chapterhouse for her fledgling town guard until a better facility could be built.
"Be safe today, okay?" Priss said, her eyes locked on his. "And… I know you've noticed that Lacy needs a little extra help right now. Please, give her whatever she needs, okay?" Her tone, insistent and knowing, brought a brilliant bloom of crimson to his cheeks, and he started to stammer a reply, but she interrupted. "You know what I mean. We've talked about this - she's the one who is stubborn, and she needs a little extra push to accept what she won't admit to herself."
Roger's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So, last night… was that about her?"
Priss laughed, loud enough to echo in the open room but not as loud as she had been the previous evening, and she offered him a toothy grin, raising her hand with fingers pinched to indicate a small amount. "Just a little - but mostly it was just fun. You liked it, don't lie."
Assaulted by her lascivious smile, his indignation crumbled. "Maybe," he surrendered, looking away from the lustful victory in her eyes. He felt her hand brush his thigh, and he jumped. "Okay, fine," he erupted, cheeks hot as she laughed triumphantly. He smiled at her, and nodded. "I know what you mean. I'll… do what I can."
"Oh, I know you will - I've seen what you're capable of." Priss gave him a saucy wink before opening the door and walking out, her stance emphasizing the sway of her hips. He watched her as he stepped out onto the street, locking the door behind him, and then reluctantly turned to go in the opposite direction, swallowing down his nervous energy at the final assignment Priss had just given him. It was going to be an interesting day - that was for sure.
But before he could go more than a few steps, a sudden thought checked his progress, and he turned to rush back to the door to his partially-finished home. Unlocking the portal, he walked over to grab a tall pitcher of lukewarm water he had filled the previous evening, and carried it to one of the only finished windows that looked out onto the streets, currently flooded with early morning sunlight. A small flowerpot sat alone upon the sill, home to a single flourishing flower that watched the traffic beyond the glass. Roger tested the soil with a finger before carefully measuring out a splash of moisture, dampening the petals and leaves, which seemed almost to shiver in delight. "Sorry, Rosa, I almost forgot you," he apologized. The flower didn't reply, of course; it was just a memento of a friend he had been forced to leave behind in Goslar, but he had tended the flower ever since she had given it to him. It had stayed in bloom the entire time, blessed with the natural vitality of its alraune mother, and Roger took that as a good sign that back in the forests near Goslar, Rosa was still doing well.
With that done, Roger left the house once more, ready to start his deliveries. The streets of New Haven had already started to bustle with workers ambling towards their assignments and merchants carting their goods to the rudimentary stalls that had sprung up all along the thoroughfares that sketched the expanding skeleton of the town. Sliding into the flow of bodies, Roger submerged himself into the traffic, planning the most efficient route to make the deliveries, distracted for the moment from the topics that had so worried Priss - but knowing he wouldn't be able to escape them for long. For now, though, he had work to do.
"Are you kidding me? What more could they possibly want?!"
The husky, booming voice shoved out of the door as Roger opened it, letting him know even as he stepped into the foyer of the New Haven meeting hall that things were already off to a rough start that morning. The owner of the voice was familiar to Roger, and he was even accustomed to such passionate outbursts from the woman, but this eruption was particularly vehement. Tara Rockhorn's voice was usually loud enough to unsettle the foundations of the buildings she was overseeing the construction of, fittingly enough for a minotaur that towered over most of the town's inhabitants, but whatever had stoked her ire this morning had her seeing a particularly vivid shade of red from the sounds of it.
As Roger entered the main hall, he could see a line of people already waiting for a meeting with the advisory council, mostly monster women of a wide variety, from burly masons and carpenters, to a trio of lean, dangerous-looking women lounging with the grace of resting cheetahs, to a pair of equine women in elaborate formal dresses bedecked with lace. These last two stood at the fore of the line, and from the indignation on their faces were probably the origin of Tara's bellowed frustration. They stood as far apart from each other as they could while both maintaining a claim on the first position in the queue, adamantly refusing to so much as glance in each other's direction, their arms crossed under bountiful chests - although, the attire of the one dressed in white was considerably more demure, while the dark-clad woman's dress hinted at much and revealed even more, black lace only making pale flesh stand out in contrast.
"Ah, Roger!" came a deep, gravelly voice from the double doors leading into the meeting chamber, and the alchemist looked up to see the stocky form of the council's doorman, the miner-turned-bailiff Stu Stonecleft. The man was broad and tall, with massive hands resting on a ceremonial truncheon - which looked perfectly functional, in Stu's grasp - as he physically obstructed the way into the council's meeting chamber. Stu's stony face sported a coal-black beard with just the faintest threads of ashen gray, but despite the man's habitual sternness a kind smile sprouted as he nodded to Roger. "Come on in; they're expecting you."
"Pardon me," protested the white-clad centaur in a mellifluous voice, her manner polite but insistent, "but I have been here since the break of dawn awaiting my meeting with-"
"I would think you'd be used to waiting by now, considering you have a fetish for it," snarked the woman in a black dress beside her, rolling her eyes.
The other, who Roger noticed sported a long, graceful horn emerging from the center of her forehead, glared daggers at the darker-coated horsewoman, her face twisting into a snarl. "No one asked you, harlot." Despite her ferocity, her voice stayed sweet and musical, and her narrowed eyes were a pale blue that seemed almost luminescent.
Her rival chuckled, brushing her raven hair back from her face. This woman had two smaller horns, one above each temple, and wore dark eyeshadow and violently-red lipstick. Her own eyes were a smoky red, and the nails she pressed to her generous, exposed cleavage were painted in the same shade. "Oh, you wound me. Such language, from a gentle lady like yourself! Careful, I would hate for you to sully your lips like that, since I'm sure you're saving those, too, for some dream man you'll never meet."
"Better than giving them out for free on the street corner-!"
"Ah, excuse me, don't mind me," Roger said politely, stepping past the bickering pair to walk up to Stu. Exchanging a nod of mute understanding with the other, long-suffering man, Roger waited for him to open the council doors, and he quickly slipped inside, the thick paneled door almost silencing the persisting bickering going on just on the other side. Inside, a group of monsters and men sat around one half of a rounded table, with the center seat occupied by the imposing form of Tara Rockhorn. The minotaur's expression was darkly clouded, and her muscular arms were crossed in an almost comical stance of irritation. At the sight of Roger, her anger seemed to bleed away for a moment, though not enough to dispel the aura of frustration hanging over the council. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have a delivery for you," Roger announced, stepping up to the table and pulling his satchel from his shoulder.
"Ah, the healing salves for the carpenters!" burst a short woman sitting in a specially-designed chair that raised her closer to the level of the other members of the council. Though she had lost her position as chief appraiser of mined materials when the people of Goslar had fled to this location, Mally Hammerclap still wore her elaborate visor atop her brilliant orange hair, and her dwarven sense of fashion hadn't changed either, as she still wore battered coveralls under a thick leather apron. "That'll get them back to working even sooner!" She beamed a grin at Roger, and the other members of the council murmured appreciatively.
"Don't worry about interrupting," Tara told Roger, nodding gratitude to him. "I prefer people showing up with solutions, rather than problems." Her eyes narrowed as she gazed past him towards the doors he had entered from. "You wouldn't have a spare wedding chapel in that bag of yours, would you?"
"Sorry, must have left it in my other one," Roger quipped, frowning as he glanced back towards the doors. "Is that what those centaurs were arguing about?"
"Pretty much. They've come before us a few times already," grumbled another of the council that Roger recognized as Morgan Hillstrider. Once in charge of the shipments of ore coming down from the mountains to Goslar's refineries, she had stepped up to handle much of the documentation concerning the goods and workers being brought in from the east. "They're not centaurs like me, though," she corrected him, not unkindly, though she stamped a little in place - she was the only councilmember that didn't need a chair, since it would be hard to find one that would suit her equine lower body. "They're a unicorn and a bicorn."
"Oh," Roger said, blinking. He had read about unicorn horns in several of the texts John had loaned him - apparently they had incredible healing powers, and even shavings could bolster restorative draughts to miraculous levels - but this was the first he'd ever seen of one in person. "Are they different species?"
"Kinda. More… same species, different philosophies," Mally drawled. Her rosy cheeks raised in a devilish grin as she winked at him. "Unicorns are big on purity - no hanky-panky before marriage, no flirtin' with other lasses, kinda thing."
"Meanwhile, bicorns believe in more… open arrangements," offered a dark-feathered harpy that Roger had never spoken with, though he knew she was in charge of the frequent aerial scouting expeditions the town sent out, and had once led the Claimseeker's Guild back in Goslar. "They like… big families, sisterly bonds-"
"Orgies," Mally cut in, snickering.
"Polygamous relationships," the black harpy finished, glancing at the dwarf with a raised eyebrow. "And these ladies are here to serve as marriage officiants for us, priestesses for any weddings that we have here in town."
"Which has been in pretty big demand," Tara rumbled, entering into the conversation. She motioned vaguely to the town behind Roger. "Ever since we've started this place, we've had a lot of workers come from out east looking for husbands. And we've circulated a few key rumors to draw men in this direction: a place beyond the Orders' reach, with open lands and plenty of opportunities. Of course that means we've had a few couples hook up and want to settle down. I've officiated a couple of weddings myself, but some want a more old-fashioned ceremony - all the bells and whistles. White dress, flowers, that kind of thing." Roger noticed several of the monsters sitting at the table had unfocused, dreamy expressions on their faces at the idea, and he could only imagine how Priss would react if she overheard this conversation - probably with more enthusiasm than any of them.
"Sounds like more of a solution than a problem, right?" Roger asked, pointing his thumb back towards the doors. "With both of them here, the unicorn can officiate human-styled weddings, and the bicorn can handle those with…" He rolled his hand in the air, searching for the right word. "Larger parties," he finished lamely.
Tara snorted, hard enough to stir the papers on the table in front of her. "We wish," she grumbled. "Seems they don't like the idea of working together - the bicorn thinks the unicorn is preachy and judgmental, and the unicorn thinks the bicorn will corrupt the sacred ground of the chapel."
"I don't see what the big deal is," one of the few men on the council objected. "Worrying about corruption - it's not like the bride is going to take the groom for a ride right there at the end of the aisle." Roger couldn't help but notice how many of the monsters on the council suddenly decided to look away or cough quietly.
"Not that it would be a problem if they did," Tara commented with rare diplomacy. "In this case, it would only matter how many brides decided to do it. At once."
"See, that's what I was saying about orgies-" Mally started, but halted when she noticed Tara glaring at her.
"Have you tried asking John?" Roger suggested. "I'm sure his benefactor is funding the construction - perhaps they could throw in a little more to make it a split venue. Or maybe they'll have more input on which of the two to go with."
"It's pretty obvious which side she'll favor," Morgan interjected.
"I wouldn't be so sure…" the harpy offered in a coy singsong.
"Thanks for the suggestion," Tara said genuinely, nodding to Roger with a smile, which he returned. "But we'll take it from here. You've got enough on your own hands to worry about. Give Priss and Lacy our gratitude, as always."
"Oh, an' let Prissy know we'll be discussin' the sparring hall today, also," Mally called to him as he turned. "That's next on the list of petitioners. A whole buncha fighters from the Far East, all askin' us to make a great big arena - just the kinda thing she'll want to use to train new recruits!"
Roger glanced back, surprised. "An arena? Why?"
Tara shrugged. "A lot of us need to burn off steam, and we could use some entertainment as well. Plus, the martial artists out there… they apparently want to draw the attention of some 'wandering master' that is supposed to be in this part of the world. For the time being, they are hanging out here, waiting to hear news of him, but they think if we build a reputation for having great fights, he might come here instead. For now, they just ask that we clear a space, and devote what resources we can to getting something covered over until we're finished with all the houses."
"John approved this," Roger noted, without even a hint of questioning. For the security-minded lord of the town, it made a certain sort of sense to encourage the people of New Haven to get stronger and better at fighting, and there was enough open area nearby that a likely place could be found fairly easily - and construction could progress even as it was in use, after a certain point. Still, it seemed an odd priority to Roger's own perspective, but if he thought about what Priss would want, he couldn't deny that there would be plenty of residents eager for such an amenity. He sighed, deep in his chest. "I'll plan to step up production of healing salves, then."
"You may want to increase the stamina droughts, too, considering what we're discussing before that. Maybe save a few for yourself," quipped the harpy, and, as Roger exited the council hall past Stu and the pair of petulant priestesses, the alchemist's cheeks were still burning red as the good-natured laughter of the council echoed in his mind.
Some time later, Roger checked the crudely-drawn map again, double-checking his destination. Sure enough, the mark seemed to indicate the half-finished house on the small rise, one of the few hills within the emerging borders of New Haven. Not only was this particular home elevated above its peers, it was also more finished; a mark of preferential prejudice Roger could sympathize with, considering the effort that had already been placed into his own house. Nodding, he started up the hill, hefting his now-lighter satchel of potions.
Before he could achieve the summit of the hill, however, the door to the house opened wide. A double door like the one at the council hall, the portal's two halves parted as they were pushed by long chitinous legs. An intimidatingly-large form scuttled out, the feminine form astride the arachnid body covering her eyes against the morning's brilliant light despite the black lace veil she already wore. The woman was practically monochromatic, though a collection of rich shades of black and violet conflicted with pale skin that was almost translucent. Her spider-like lower body was a deep shade of purple swathed in black silk, while her garb was a more somber, subdued hue, including the veiled hat she wore. Her long silver hair, which reached down to her arachnoid lower half, matched well with similar gleaming strands that appeared in some of her clothing. Even the belly-band that supported her heavily-pregnant stomach was a richly-shimmering ebony interwoven with silver strands. It, like most of what she wore, was expertly woven of silk, which made sense for an arachne, a race of monster women who were known for using their own webbing to weave works of art.
"Ah," Roger said, drawing the woman's attention to him as she turned to begin descending the hill, "would you be…" He glanced at the reverse side of the map, which featured the list of names for his deliveries, before continuing, "Miss Hespera?"
Behind her lacy veil, the woman's eyes - both the pair of human-like ones and the six smaller ones arrayed like twin rows of rubies up her forehead - blinked in surprise. "Why, yes," she acknowledged, her voice a husky contralto that surprised Roger, "but if you have come to place an order for a garment, I'm afraid I'm closed today."
"Oh, no, that's not it," Roger assured her, pulling his satchel in front of him. "I'm Roger the alchemist. I've come to deliver some potions and supplements that John Foster asked me to make for you." He withdrew a smaller pouch from the bag, opening it for her to see. "Some rose oil, some medication to soothe a turbulent stomach, some calcium powder-"
"How kind of him, and you as well," the spider-woman purred, gently resting her hand on Roger's shoulder. It surprised him to notice that he didn't feel the same vaguely intimidating presence from that contact that he often did when monster women touched him; for some reason, he felt like this woman was not as predatory as many he had met, despite her unnerving lower body. "He has already been more than kind to me - both in supplying me with this new home, as well as helping me to start my new business, and recommending me to my best costumer - but this is above and beyond." Though her words and voice were warm, there was definitely something sad about her eyes, a tightness about her features that bespoke of a weight she bore quietly but not without effort.
"Well, I suppose having an alchemist on staff makes it a lot easier to provide this kind of aid to people; he's had me helping a lot of the townsfolk, since there's always a need for curatives and the like."
The arachne smiled at Roger, nodding but undeterred. "That only makes it more notable - with so many deserving of support, he still spends time watching over me. But I expect you understand, as it sounds like you, too, are a recipient of his generosity."
Roger inclined his head to agree. "I can't think of many around here who can't say that, true enough." He didn't add that he suspected that, out of all the people John spent time offering assistance to, he was one of the few that the former Hero expected something back from - although what that was, either John didn't know yet, or he wasn't ready to share just what it was.
Hespera's smile brightened closer to actual happiness. "Tell me, are your deliveries taking you back into the heart of town? I was thinking of spending the day with a friend at the Second Home, which has the most excellent roast boar." She nodded back down the hill, in the direction of the tavern. "I've been cooped up recently working on orders for the tower's lady, and wouldn't at all mind company on the stroll."
Roger nodded politely; he didn't have Priss's lunch ready to drop off yet, but the tavern was on the way to his next destination. "I'd be glad to." He stepped to the side until she came up alongside, and together they began to walk down the hill towards the more trafficked areas of New Haven. The moment felt odd to him; he felt like a gentleman taking a stroll with one of the fine ladies from one of the families he had spent time around in his youth, but the image of Hespera's spider legs moving in regular waves conflicted with his expectations of that. "So, have you been here in New Haven long?" he asked, regretting the question the second he uttered it as his mind belatedly reminded him of the reason she had moved there in the first place, from what Priss had told him that morning.
"Not especially," Hespera replied, her face a marble mask, but her eyes trembling faintly. "A few weeks. I lived in a forest near what you- sorry, what many people around here call 'Olympus City.' I am descended from the Moonweaver clan, and we had settled near the temple to our goddess, but the Orders suddenly took up an interest in the ruins. Mr. Foster and Lady Alpestria arranged for those of us who lived nearby to relocate before the Purifiers could come to chase us all away." Her mask slipped a bit, the edges of her lips dropping. "I stayed as long as I could - my mate was a man from the city, a cartographer, but he never returned from that place. I fear…" Her husky voiced wavered, damp with the tears filling her eyes, but her determination dammed them for now. "He might have chosen to stay, of course. Our meeting was sudden, and our love began as rather one-sided, as often happens, but I think he…" She swallowed.
Roger glanced at her face, and noticed the way she rested her hands on her rounded stomach. "I'm sure he did," he offered consolingly. "It's not easy for those who live in the Barrier Cities to leave - it takes permits, and the Orders are deeply suspicious of those who have had any contact with monsters. I've heard of men being sentenced to labor camps for so little as a suspicion of speaking with a monster." She offered him a fragile smile of gratitude, and he pressed on. "But even beyond getting in trouble, he may have had to play it safe for a while. If John can arrange to bring you all the way here from there, then I am sure he can arrange to have your mate brought as well, if he can escape."
Hespera was quiet for a long moment, but her small smile was proof she had found comfort in his words. Together they paused, waiting for a gap in the traffic as they stepped onto one of the main boulevards, before beginning to move into the main flow of carts and pedestrians. Finally she glanced back at him, her expression seeming a bit more free of the rigidity of grief. "You speak like someone who knows those places well," she noted. "I can't say I've visited a Barrier City myself." They both laughed at that before she continued. "Are they… nice places?"
Roger took a long moment before answering. "I never went to the Capitol," he admitted. "It's not even that old of a city - rather, it was resettled after the Orders were created. Comparatively, it's smaller than many of them, and from what I hear, far more strict." He sighed, older memories drifting up from the depths despite his better wishes. "Palatine City is old, and huge - my family had power there. Our estate was far from it, though… a land of vineyards and mountains." Now it was his own turn to sport a bitter smile. "It wasn't as open as this place, and closer to the sea. Our region was largely free of monsters, since it is so far west, but some were brought to the colosseum in Palatine, though I never went." He shuddered at the thought. "The Barrier-Cities are… you always feel watched, and judged, there. I… couldn't stand it."
Hespera watched him, not speaking for a long moment. "I could see what it does to people, in… him. Axander." She spoke the word with a certain reverence, as if it was somehow sacred to her, somehow larger than just its three syllables. "He seemed… shrunken in by pressure. But I could see the potential in him. From the first moment, you must know - I could have just left him hanging in my web, but I could tell he was worthy." She laughed, low and deep. "Afterwards - after he opened up to me - we talked. Not for long enough, but… enough. His mind is so sharp, and there is a passion in him…!" Her monochromatic coloration was defied by the heat in her cheeks. "For maps, and… me, after he understood." She paused, glancing down at her stomach. "I want to know him even more, far more. I want… her, to know him." She brushed her hand across her pregnant belly as if soothing the child within.
Roger watched her with a familiar sadness. "The Orders don't take well to those who disagree with their Law. For them, the empire itself is what matters, and they think the best way to protect it is with walls. Walls around their cities, walls to get in the way of people who want to leave or move, walls around what they think." He shrugged in helplessness. "Tradition was the one that got me - my family expected me and my brothers to fit certain roles, and from birth that was who we had to be. I couldn't stand it, so I left."
Hespera eyed him with a hint of a smile. "But now you are here. You got past the walls."
Roger, sighing, nodded to her. "And I'm better for it. But there are those I would bring with me, if I could - one of my best friends, Valerian. And others, too, like one of my brothers." His laugh was bitter. "Just one, mind."
Hespera joined in with his laugh, her own chuckle throaty and oddly sinister. "I have sisters - I know what you mean." She pressed to one side as she noticed a larger cart rumbling by, and Roger stepped in front of her until the wagon was clear. As they resumed their course, she glanced to him with an increased curiosity. "Are there many men like you, then, in the lands of the Orders?"
Roger shook his head, frowning. "It's impossible to say. So much of what we are told is wrong. Good people hate because they think it is justified. Wise men plan cruel deeds because they don't know who they are fighting against. A lot would change if they could see what I have since I came east - but the Orders make sure that never happens." A group of men walked past, arguing, and Roger glanced at them. Something about one of them-
"I see," Hespera murmured, a slight smile quirking her lips, and her words brought Roger's gaze back. "Axander was like that… afraid, quivering. But he saw through that, saw me." Her ruby eyes caught Roger's for a moment. "Either you two are special, or it takes less for people to see the truth that you think." Roger glanced down, considering this, only to have his attention recaptured by her laughter. "Or, perhaps, a bit of both?"
Roger grinned at that, inclining his head in a nod of thanks. "You flatter me, but maybe you're right. Eventually, things might change. Some people take less convincing than others. Some already hate what the Orders represent: stagnation, oppression, hatred. And those of us who do, will help the rest, until things get better. Until everyone knows the truth, and can have the lives they deserve." At this, he let his eyes touch her heavy belly, and she smiled at his implication.
"I hope so," she replied, pausing at the edge of the porch in front of the Second Home. She, too, looked down, and then back at him. "But I can have hope both for that distant future, and for things to get better now, too. You should do the same, Roger; don't be afraid to dream about miracles for today as well as for then." They shared a grin, and together stepped up to the door of the tavern. "It's been very pleasant getting to know you, Roger. Should you or your ladies ever need anything woven, please come see me - I would offer a discount just for the chance to get to speak with someone as interesting as you again." Her smile was broad, and for the first time, as his own cheeks heated, he noticed how sharp her teeth were.
"L-ladies?" he asked, surprised. "How did-?"
His question was to remain unanswered as Hespera opened the swinging tavern doors, and an explosion of laughter and conversation flooded out onto the street like water from a busted pail. Nodding a farewell to Roger, Hespera stepped inside, answering the call of another woman who shouted her name from farther within the cavernous room. Roger entered behind her, glancing around at the crowded interior of the Second Home, taking a moment to acclimate to the noise and activity of one of New Haven's most active watering holes.
The tavern had been one of the first finished buildings in this area of town, and it was proving the worth of that investment of effort. With two floors and secluded tables in nooks along the walls, as well as a wide common area lined with tables, it featured ample seating for any type of customer, both those seeking a bit of privacy amid the cacophony or those wishing to be in the thick of their neighbors. The back wall featured a long bar, flanked by a wall of kegs that were constantly streaming forth their contents into foaming mugs. A handful of barmaids shuttled trays of those flagons back and forth amid the tables, dumping the spent ones into a cauldron of foaming water where a woman who seemed to be made entirely of water herself washed each mug clean and set it up to be refilled.
An island of calm amid the chaos, the hulking form of the proprietor stood out for more than one reason, despite his relative stillness as he polished the bar with a clean rag. Charles Kramer was one of the only human men in the tavern, although he had bulk enough to count for at least two - his scarred, muscular arms advertised his past as a mercenary, and his shoulders were wide enough that it looked like he could bear one of the massive kegs behind him. Kramer's head was bald, but his lower face was shrouded by a dense brown beard that still failed to hide his easy grin.
If Kramer stood out among the monstrous women that worked and bought from his tavern, then the person he was speaking with was even odder, though for a very specific reason. The girl generally fit in among the monsters - she was young and a bit plump, with a long brown braid descending down her plain dress. Her face, behind her wide glasses, was rosy and kind as she laughed at what her father was saying. But it was the absence of marks or noteworthy features that made her stand out from the many other women inhabiting the tavern - she was completely human, bereft of any of the monstrous features that every other woman of New Haven possessed.
The human girl, Mary Kramer, had come with her father to New Haven along with Simon Hopkins, and since then she had been a frequent presence among the circles Roger socialized with. A big part of that reason was Simon himself, who Mary seemed to frequently seek out, for reasons that everyone (aside from Simon) understood easily enough. Simon's attention was frequently demanded by his two monster companions, the kobold Gina and the lich Sarah Wulfe, and so Mary's pursuit had a tinge of tragic romance, although Priss had frequently and loudly shared with Roger her perspectives on the matter - though, considering what Priss had in mind for their own love lives, he knew he shouldn't be surprised at her blunt practicality.
Waving to a few other familiar faces as he made his way through the crowded main floor to approach the bar, Roger aimed himself towards Mary. As he did, he fished in his satchel for the next of his deliveries, but before he could reach Mary or withdraw the small bottle, a large form moved past him towards the bar. The woman was the size of an ogre, but her body was oddly plush, seeming almost stitched together - a more-than-man-sized stuffed animal given life. She approached the bar, stopping before the bar and nodding to Charles, who greeted her with a wink and a nod. "The usual, then?" he asked casually, and the huge woman, just slightly taller than the behemoth barkeep, nodded silently in reply, her fabric-seeming cheeks darkening with a blush. He reached under the bar and drew out a tankard that seemed to be half-bucket, and let one of the kegs pour forth a flood of amber liquid into it as the customer watched him with an intensity that seemed focused less on the beverage than on the man pouring it. Only once he offered the mug, complete with a slight foamy head that displayed the skills granted by his long experience pouring drinks, did the large woman move enough for Roger to squeeze past her to reach Mary - and lucky he did, too, since even after she had taken the mug from Charles the woman seemed reticent to return to her seat, hovering at the bar even as the barkeep moved to tend to another customer.
"Oh, Roger! You don't come in often," Mary greeted him cheerfully. She set down the tray she had been holding, turning to face him directly. "What brings you to our tavern? Dropping off lunch for Priss? Running errands for Mr. Foster?"
"A bit of the last one - I'll be back to drop off lunch later - although all the running around has made me a bit thirsty," he admitted. Before he could even finish the sentence, he was distracted by the 'clunk' of a flagon resting on the counter beside him. He turned to see the broad grin of Charles Kramer, and he took the ale with a grateful nod. He started to reach for his coinpurse, but the barkeep shook his head, and Roger acquiesced - since he was here as an agent of John, he would accept the charity, especially since the Kramers were very vocally loyal to the town's leader, who had quickly given charge of this vital location to Kramer despite the man arriving with nothing to him aside from his clothing, his daughter, and the high opinion of Simon Hopkins. Roger paused to take a deep draw from the mug before continuing, sighing his appreciation. "John had me make something for you in particular, actually, and I came by to deliver it."
"For me?" Mary blinked, deeply surprised by this. "What would Mr. Foster have you make for me? I've been well enough; honestly, I've felt better since we moved here than I did in Videre. The sunlight and fresh air suits me." She smiled brightly, though Roger glanced away as he took another drink from his ale. Truth be told, it didn't take much effort to catch Mary's mask slipping - she carried a melancholy air that she couldn't quite hide, though Simon had assured Roger and Priss that such was not how she had acted back in Videre. The scholarly young man had supposed it was due to homesickness, though Roger suspected the actual cause had more to do with Simon himself, not that he felt confident enough to voice that opinion.
"Well, I'm sure it does now, but it could have effects you don't know about, in time," Roger warned. He drew the bottle from his bag and held it out to her. The contents were all but transparent, though faintly luminescent, and Mary regarded it with something akin to distrust. "It's a purgation potion. It's meant to balance your mana, to flush out external factors that could imbalance your humors."
Mary carefully took the bottle, looking at it more closely. "It just looks like glowy water," she said, holding it up to the light. Her eyes returned to Roger quickly. "What 'external factors' do you mean?"
Roger took a sip of his drink before answering. "You notice how you are the only human girl around?" Mary nodded, frowning, and it wasn't hard to tell that the fact had scarcely evaded her attention or concern, and likely added to her other problems. "There's a reason for that." Waving his mug to indicate all of the costumers around, he nodded to some of the more impressively inhuman women about. "Simon and John had to help me understand it. If I can sum it up - and forgive me if I get a few things a little off - but girls like you draw in mana from around you. If you are around monsters too long, you start to… change."
"Like Lyra?" Mary asked, blinking in surprise.
Roger nodded, thinking of the werewolf girl that he had seen around Simon. "Kind of. What happened to her is a sped-up version - the mana poured into her by a bite, instead of gradually flowing in."
"Does it happen to men, as well? Will Simon- will you all change, too?"
Roger shook his head. "Apparently we produce our own mana, but are less able to sense and understand it. Simon can explain the science of it a lot better; I've just begun experimenting with using mana in my mixtures, personally, so I'm not a reliable source of information on the details. But, the problem comes from the fact that monsters put out mana, and gradually you will be changed by being exposed to it." He nodded to the gleaming bottle, and she regarded it again. "But potions like that will cleanse your system so it isn't a problem."
"So… if I want to live here, and stay human, I'll have to keep drinking these?" Mary asked, hesitant.
"Yes, though not often - probably. The more you are around monster mana, the sooner you'll need to." Roger cast an eye around the crowded tavern. "...maybe I should make these a little more often than I had figured on. But don't worry," he hastened to reassure her, "John tells me they don't really taste like anything. He says it can actually make you feel better, and compared it to water with a little tingle at the end."
Mary nodded, but somehow her expression seemed less than confident. She slipped the bottle into a pouch belted at her side. "Thank you, and Mr. Foster, for thinking of this."
"It was Simon's idea, actually," Roger explained. "He's asked a lot of questions to make sure you and your dad would be okay here."
This, finally, brought a smile to her lips, though a wistful one at best. "Kind of him," she said, and looked at him intently. "Is… Simon doing well? And Gina?"
Chuckling, Roger nodded. "They're both fine," he assured her, trying to keep his continued response subtle, "though Simon sometimes forgets to go out for lunch. Perhaps you could bring him something to eat sometime…?"
The flickering lights of the tavern had nothing to do with the sudden heat in her cheeks. "I'll do that," she promised.
"Perhaps today," Roger suggested, smiling and draining the last of his mug. "Gina's out - apparently she's been training with someone of those martial artists from the Far East - and Sarah's doing experiments for Mr. Foster involving the local leylines, or something or other. It'll just be Simon in the tower, so he'll appreciate the company." Seeing her smile bloom further, he set the mug down on the table and turned back to look to Mr. Kramer, who was pouring another mug for the large stuffed-and-stitched woman. "Thanks for the ale," he called, leaving the empty container atop the bar, and the barkeep nodded, his eyes catching Mary's smile and flicking back to Roger to nod his own gratitude. "I'll be back later to drop off Priss's lunch," he added, pointing up to the tables on the second level that his lover used as her temporary base of operations.
As Roger said goodbye to Mary and turned to leave, he couldn't help but think back to when he had first come to live in a place surrounded by the monsters he had been taught to fear. He, too, had felt alone and afraid - it had taken his friends and a few stupid mistakes to teach him that he was far safer among monsters than he had ever been back in his family manor. He knew that Mary would be alright, given time, but he hoped he could help her and people like her settle in to find their own peace and happiness, just as he had. 'A new home for the lost and misled,' John Foster had called this place, when he had described his vision to Roger, when he had first recruited the alchemist to support his efforts. Days like this made him believe in that vision even more, Roger decided, his eyes on the door as he set out to continue his day's work.
Ahead of him, the large stuffed woman sat down at a table with another couple of monster women, settling the tankards atop the dark-stained surface with a mournful sigh. "I swear," Roger overheard her say in a slow, resonant voice, "that barkeep looks like he gives the very best hugs." Smirking to himself, Roger made his way past them, past the swinging double doors, to the road and beyond.
He still had work to do, deliveries to make. Work went on, but they would all be alright. He had faith in that.
Continued in "Heroes, Chapter 4"
Author's Note: Another chapter done. Not at all at the pace I intended, though I must yield, this chapter - like most of the chapters for this particular story - is big. Usually, I would be more willing to break them into smaller chunks, but the outline I have is pretty rigid. Not to say I'm not working things out as I go - this chapter was originally supposed to end after the next scene, but I've figured that it will make a better opener instead. Wish me luck in getting the next one shaped and pared down, else it will be even larger…
For a little 'inside baseball,' this chapter represents the challenges and the opportunities that I will face with these stories as a whole. Stories with multiple protagonists are a bear to wrestle with, because you have to keep different tones, mentalities, and personalities in check, not only in your own head, but in your audience's. This series will have that more and more - very few of the stories I have plotted will feature a single protagonist, going forward. To achieve that, I am focusing each particular protagonist centered on what I am thinking of as a Calling - an aspect that they embody, and that their chapters will highlight. Of course, to avoid spoilers, I will refrain from using the actual names for the Callings I have so far, but this chapter shows (the alias of) Roger's: Life. Just as Not Alone focused a lot on life in Goslar, and what they had to do to protect what was important to them when their homes were threatened, his chapters in this story show life in New Haven, including the lives of characters we already know from other stories. Of course, conflict is coming, including/ especially for Roger, but while my other protagonists get mentally swept up in bigger issues, Roger provides me with my floor: what a life among these monstergirls would be like. I will save discussion of the other two Callings, Revelations and Quests, for other chapters, but… now you can see what I am aiming for so far.
Beyond that, I should say that I always welcome - crave - feedback on these stories. I know that my work-induced sabbatical cost me a lot of my usual readers and reviewers; I pray my continued efforts bring them back to enjoy these stories once more. But, until and after then, I would welcome the opinions of anyone who reads over my work; it does serve to fuel my efforts to keep at this work. Even when I wasn't able to write, I kept planning on these stories… I greatly anticipate showing you all what that work leads to, the crescendos yet to come.
But, today I pushed myself too far to finish this one. Now, I must… must sleep.
~Wynn Pendragon