An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Bed, Breakfast, and Burning

Palmira woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar place.

It was eerily quiet. There were no children laughing in the streets. No singing or shouting or haggling. She didn't hear the pounding of footsteps marching past of the drip-dropping of water from old rusted pipes. It was just...

Quiet.

She was also in a bed, which was the strangest thing. All of her things she'd gathered the previous night sat neatly around the room. Her room. It was her room now.

She felt a smile grow on her face. She squeezed her stuffed cat giddily as she simply laid there, soaking it all in. She didn't remember the last time she'd felt secure enough to just lie there.

Maybe not everything had gone her way yesterday, but her life was finally getting better, and she could luxuriate in that while she could.

Eventually, though, she was forced to get up. The window was unfortunately positioned at just the wrong angle that the rising sun hit her square in the face. The extra warmth wasn't bad—she hadn't felt hot in a long time—but the blinding light did eventually annoy her enough to get up.

Quickly getting dressed she prepared for her first day in the guild and then, as a reluctant afterthought, grabbed Morte from where she'd placed him behind the shelf.

"Hey, do you think you could put me by the window next time? It's pretty boring not being able to see anything all night."

She didn't respond, and made a mental note to never place him in view of the window.

"Ah, you're still mad I see."

"Of course I am!" she snapped at him. "You stole my magic!"

"I did not steal your magic! I merely locked it up and threw away the key! It's very different."

She scowled at him and refused to respond, instead stomped her way out of her room.

As she made her way through the guildhall she paused every once in a while, her anger draining away as she marveled at the luxury surrounding her. The walls were all painted in soft pinks and reds, held up by marble columns and interspersed with paintings both old and new. Mostly new. And in fact, now that she was paying more attention, a lot of the walls looked freshly painted…

She shook her head. It probably wasn't important. What was more important was that she lived here now!

She'd learned last night as she was moving in that the Rosa Dominae Guildhall was an old villa, now known as the Villa Rosa. It was three stories of solid stone, surrounding a large, L-shaped courtyard in the center. She passed by a bleary-eyed dwarf leaning against one of the balconies overlooking it, taking tired sips from an ale-mug. He noticed her and gave her a sloppy salute before turning back to his ale.

She wondered if drinking this early was common. Then she remembered yesterday and decided it probably was.

At one point she stopped at a window, overlooking the outside street. There was no glass in it, allowing her to easily lean over and look down at the street below. They were only three stories up, but it felt so strange to be up here, looking down on the city as it slowly woke up. She was so used to being the pauper on the street, staring up at the expensive villas.

Now she was the pauper in the villa, staring down at the streets.

It was a hard thought to wrap her head around, so eventually she simply stopped thinking about it and moved on.

"I have a question for you, kid," Morte spoke up suddenly, causing her to flinch. She'd almost forgotten he was there. Still, she turned away her head on principle. "Oh, don't do that! This is important, I promise. It's another lesson! Think of it as an apology for the yesterday."

That got her attention, much as she wished it didn't.

"Excellent. Now, my question is simple, and pertains to something we witnessed the previous day," his tone grew slightly more serious, maybe even a little grim, and it caused her to turn her attention fully towards him. "What do you think the difference is between Holy Magic and Mortal Magic?"

She blinked slowly, unsure what he was getting at. Even she knew the answer to this one. "Holy magic is powered by the Goddess, while mortal magic is powered by people, right?"

"Hm. A simplistic way of putting it, though not wrong. It misses some context. For instance, when a mage casts mortal magic, they use mana generated from their soul. As you've seen with yourself, this also causes some physical manifestations on the user's body. That's why it's so hard to learn multiple types of magic—as each spell is cast, it engraves itself onto your very soul, and each new spell can warp and twist it in different new and strange ways."

Palmira cocked her head, considering that. She'd always known she was more in tune with fire than a normal person, but she'd just assumed she had a dragonborn or something similar as an ancestor. The fact that it was her magic itself causing it was both surprising and not. She certainly didn't feel any different knowing that.

"Holy magic, on the other hand, is not cast by mortals at all. Instead, they recite a prayer, and in exchange the Goddess sends down the spell that they prayed for. In this sense, the person praying is not the caster, but a catalyst, similar to myself. It's what allows anyone to become a priest, even if they can't use normal magic." Morte then lowered his voice slightly, as though he were whispering. "Also, between you and me, the Goddess doesn't actually listen to every prayer sent her way. Unless the prayer is really specific or cast by someone interesting enough, all holy magic is automated. Like flicking a switch to open a door somewhere else."

"Really?" That was at odds with everything the priests told them when they were handing out charity. It would be disheartening if true, but it wasn't like she spent much time in churches after she accidently burned down the last on in Iscrimo. "Does the Goddess really not listen to our prayers?"

"Nope. Well, she listens to some of them, but there are a lot of people praying all over the world all the time. She mostly leaves it to her angels, and then they forward the important ones to her."

Palmira frowned, starting to wonder if he was telling the truth. He didn't sound like he was lying, but he was also a heretical necromancer's staff. He might just be telling her this to try and trick her into selling her soul to a Demon Lord or something equally sinister.

Either way, she probably shouldn't be listening to this. She knew there was a holy knight in the guildhall, and she didn't know how well she could sniff out heresy.

But as she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, he asked her another question.

"Now that you've had some time to mull over the differences between mortal and holy magic, let me ask you this; what is the difference between a holy mage and a warlock."

Palmira froze. The implication hit her mind just as quickly as she banished it.

"We're done talking about this," she told him firmly.

Morte chuckled ominously. "As you say. Just keep it in mind, would you? Before you go selling your soul away to any demons."

Palmira pursed her lips, and desperately wished she had the courage to just chuck him out the window and damn the consequences.

--

She stumbled into the dining hall later, having powerwalked as fast as she could through the guildhall. Morte thankfully hadn't said anything since, but she needed something to take her mind off of his words.

"Pardon me?" she asked, walking up to the bar. It certainly looked better than last night, cleaned of all the stains and cracks. The older woman who'd been manning it last night was there again, giving her a smile that showed off several missing teeth. "Ósma said I got a free meal in the mornings?"

"Ah, you must be that newbie Ósma hired," the older woman chuckled. She swiftly turned to another counter, grabbing a pre-made plate for her. "Here you go! And remember, the bar's open all day!"

"I'm broke," Palmira told her.

"You won't be broke forever!" the older woman smiled wider. "And Ósma can't ban you from the bar until you've gotten into at least two fights! I'll even save a Port, just for you!"

"Um," Palmira took a step away from the bar. "Thank you?"

"Ports are really expensive," Morte told her unhelpfully. As if she didn't know how expensive wine could get. "They've got to import them from across the sea. Past the giant demonic sea monster. Actually, come to think of it, I'm surprised this broke-ass guild can afford something like that."

Palmira took another step away from the bar.

Swiftly turning around, she marched her way over to one of the empty tables dotting the still-kinda-wet dining hall. The tables were small and square—probably to save money on replacing them—and far enough away from each other that she couldn't hear the quiet conversations taking place between the other early risers. The smell of morning dew and roasting meat wafted around the room, causing her hunger to spike in an unpleasantly painful way.

She'd probably need to make herself some pasta later today. She could afford it, now that she didn't need to spend as much on food, but it still hurt to think about.

She shook her head, taking a seat and had just started eating when someone else walked up to her table.

"Hey," the woman nodded, and Palmira squinted, trying to place where she'd seen her before, "you're that kid that came in last night, yeah?"

Ah, it was the holy knight from the other day. She didn't recognize her out of armor. "Yes. Hello. Um, Teresa, was it?"

"A-yup, that's me," the older woman nodded, dropping a plate of grilled octopus on the table with a loud 'clank.' Palmira couldn't even begin to imagine how expensive that must be so far inland. "You still doing good? No weird cravings for human hearts or anything?"

"What?"

Teresa shrugged. "You can never be sure when it comes to cursed objects. Just make sure you come to me if you're ever feeling weird, yeah?"

Palmira relaxed a bit, taking a nibble out of her bread. "Oh, yes, of course. Thank you for the offer."

The woman shrugged and then, ignoring the expensive meal in front of her, pulled a bottle of red wine from beneath the table. With a flick of her thumb she sent the cork off hard enough to dent the ceiling (which she then noticed had quite a lot of dents) and started chugging straight from the bottle.

Palmira stopped what she was doing to stare at the woman in morbid fascination. Within seconds, the bottle was emptied, and she dropped it on the table. Then she popped an octopus leg in her mouth and reached down again, pulling up another bottle. Just as she was about to pop off its cork she paused as she noticed her staring.

"What?" Teresa asked, her face looking a little more flushed than it had a second ago. "There something on my face?"

"Um, no, it's just…" Palmira paused, unsure what to say. "…Er, aren't you a Holy Knight?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose you could call me that," she shrugged. "I prefer the term Crusader myself, but I guess we were a bit before your time, huh?"

That wasn't what she meant, but she didn't really have it in herself to bring it up again.

The woman then tilted that bottle back as well, chugging it even faster than the last.

Palmira lowered her head, thoroughly disillusioned. "Is everyone in this guild a drunkard?" she muttered quietly to herself.

"Of course they are," Morte scoffed. "These are adventurers. How else are they supposed to drown their sorrows?"

Teresa let out a loud gasp of relief, setting the second empty bottle next to the first. Then she grabbed another leg, before pausing. Squinting at the younger girl in front of her, she asked, "Is that all you're eating?"

"Um, yes?" Palmira glanced down at her plate. She'd eaten the cheese quickly, but she was taking the time to savor the salami. "It's the free meal?"

The crusader blinked. "We have free meals here?" Then she shook her head, her face flushed but—somehow—barely even tipsy. "No, no, not the point. You can't survive off of that little food—'specially not in the field. You'd keel over in a week!"

Palmira flushed, feeling indignation start to boil in her gut. It wasn't like she wanted to survive off of free meals. "I have more pasta and bread up in my room!"

"…By the Lady that's just more grain," Teresa shook her head. "Buy some damn fruits and vegetables, newbie. They pay us enough to afford it!"

Palmira huffed, clacking her teeth to put out the flames building up in her throat. Now wasn't the time. "Gee, if only I was getting paid," she ground out. "Unfortunately, thanks to some people, I'm not getting anything right now."

Teresa paused, an octopus leg halfway to her mouth. "…Oh. Right. Um, our bad, I guess."

Palmira huffed, before taking another bite of her bread. It had started to turn crispy thanks to her anger.

"Hey, uh, kid," Teresa grabbed her attention again. Looking up with a scowl, Palmira watched as she picked up two of the octopi legs off her plate and dropped them down onto Palmira's. "Here. As a bit of an, uh, apology. For the whole… money thing."

Palmira stared down at the grilled legs. "…Are you sure it's fine? These must have been expensive."

The crusader shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't lying when I told you you needed more meat on your bones. Just accept it—nobody else here'd think twice about taking it, so don't worry yourself over it either."

"…Then, thank you."

She reached down and grabbed a leg, before realizing she didn't know how to eat it. Was she supposed to bite into it like a kebab? Cut it to pieces? The circle things and the teeth lining the edges looked kind of gross, but she wasn't about to turn away free food.

Eventually she just gave up trying to figure it out for herself and instead just copied Teresa, slowly savoring the weird and rubbery taste.

It was pretty gross.

They ate in silence for a while, as more people slowly filtered into the dining hall, until someone suddenly called out to them from across the hall.

"Ah, newbie! There you are!"

Palmira jumped as a new woman strolled up to their table, leaning over between them. Palmira vaguely recognized her as the dark-skinned water mage who flooded the dining hall yesterday.

"Amina," Teresa gave the woman a sloppy salute. "Heard you're one wrong move away from getting kicked out of the guild."

"I've been one wrong move away for the last ten wrong moves, and yet I'm still here!"

"Unfortunately."

"What was that, you little zealot?"

"I said it's unfortunate you're still here, heathen."

"How rude!" Amina gasped, clutching at her heart. "And here I thought I meant something to you."

Teresa sighed, taking another swig of her fourth bottle of wine. "I suppose I'd miss having a skull to bash in once a week. I might get rusty."

"You know what else'd get rusty~"

The Holy woman choked on her wine. "Not—" she hacked, "—not in front of the kid!"

"Eh?" Amina turned to glance at her. "Oh! Right, the newbie. Palmira right? The ol' orc told me to come grab you and test out your magic. Come on, follow me."

As she passed she snatched a pomegranate off of Teresa's plate, waving for her to follow. The crusader simply flipped her off before turning back to her meal.

Palmira hesitated for a moment, before shoving the last of her food in her mouth and jumping up to follow.

The entire back wall of the dining hall was open to the courtyard, so it didn't take them long to get there. The courtyard was mostly a large garden, with a variety of exotic plants that she couldn't name. Faded limestone tiles marked paths between the foliage, with the occasional stone bench set on the side. At the center was a collection of citrus trees, mostly oranges and lemons, which offered shade to a large marble tablet.

"That's a memorial to the fallen," Amina pointed out, having noticed her staring. "One of the old guildmasters set it up some two hundred years ago. Everyone who's died on the job gets their name carved onto it. There's actually another one on the other side you can't see from here—we had to get a new one once we ran out of space."

Palmira blinked, looking at the courtyard in a different light. Knowing the memorial was there made the place feel much more solemn. It was almost peaceful, compared to the rest of the guild.

She took a moment to bow her head in prayer for the deceased.

Turning back to Amina, she took a moment to look at the woman in front of her.

Amina was an odd woman, with skin the darkest she'd ever seen and an accent she couldn't recognize. Her hair was even darker, falling to her shoulders in dozens of thick dreadlocks, the end of each capped with bronze from which small golden balls hung. She dressed in form-fitting blue robes lined in gold thread, which would have been a sign of wealth if they weren't old and faded, with obvious patches around the shoulders and waist. The sleeves had at some point been ripped off, showing off powerful arms covered in scars.

"Here we are!" she came to a stop near the back end of the courtyard. "Ósma wanted me to see what you can do, so let's hop to it! I've got a quest tonight out by the coast and I've got to leave by noon to get there on time."

Palmira tilted her head, realization dawning. "Oh, I see! Did Ósma send you to me to make sure I don't burn anything down?"

"Huh?" Amina frowned, confused. "No? I'm here as a punishment for flooding the dining hall, why would I—oh! Because I'm a water mage! Oh wow, that would've been smart, huh. Guess there's a reason that old orc's left in charge of us idiots."

Palmira suddenly felt less sure about this.

The woman seemed to notice, waving her hand at the look on her face. "Hey, don't mind it newbie. We may all be dumbasses here, but its only when we get together in large groups that we get really stupid. Big, drunk, angsty groups. Damn, you'd really think ol' Ósma would've gotten rid of the bar already, huh?"

"Um, Miss Amina?"

"Hm?"

"Weren't you supposed to be testing my magic…?"

"Oh! Right. Let's get to it, then," she clapped her hands in front of her. "Show me what you got."

"…Wait, like right now? Right here?"

"Where else?"

Palmira glanced around pointedly at the garden they were standing in, taking a step away from the plants.

"I think I see the issue," Amina crossed her arms, nodding thoughtfully. "I forgot to set up a target! Hold on, I'll be right back."

"Ah, wait, I—"

She was already gone.

A moment later she returned, a big bundle of hay over her shoulder. It had a cartoon orc face with a monocle painted on it. She plopped it down in the most open spot in the courtyard, before stepping back and motioning at it. "Here you go! Let's start with something practical. Just hit the target with whatever you think works!"

Palmira still wasn't that sure of this, but it was too late to back out now. So with a calming breath she took a step forward, preparing herself to hit the target.

And immediately faltered.

"Morte, what do I do?" Palmira hissed at her staff. "How do I hit it from this far away?"

"…What do you mean, 'what do I do?' You're a fire mage!? Cast fireball already!"

"What does that mean!?"

"…By the Goddess I forgot you were self-taught. You just—wait, no. Actually, I'm not going to tell you. Think of this as your first test. Figure out how to hit the target with your fire. Passing means not looking like an idiot in front of your senior. Good luck!"

"You are useless!" she bit her tongue to stop herself from screaming.

"Hey, you doing alright over there?" Amina called out to her. "You've been standing there a while now."

"I'm fine!" she forced herself to smile back at the older woman. "I'm just… um… mentally prepping myself!"

"Well hurry it up! Real fights won't let you waste ten minutes getting ready. If you aren't sure what to do, just go with your gut! Magic's not something you should be wasting time thinking about."

"That is horrible advice," Morte scoffed, but she ignored him for now. It wasn't like he was giving her any good advice either.

"Follow my gut, huh?" she muttered to herself.

She could do that.

Taking a deep breath she changed her stance, wrapping both of her hands around her staff. She raised it above her head, and with a flex of her will she set Morte's head ablaze. Not taking a moment to second-guess herself, she reeled back and swung the staff like a lumberjack chopping wood, and from the fireball at it's head a massive tendril of flame roared out, reaching out across the whole courtyard and slamming down on the target with the force of an angry kraken. The impact of the hit let out a deafening crackle-pop-BOOM and left behind a smoldering line of ash that trailed from her feet all the way to the blackened and burning target.

"Ouch," Morte choked, still on fire.

Palmira turned back to Amina, who had a mildly impressed look on her face. She fidgeted with her staff awkwardly before asking, "Um, was that good?"

Amina turned to look from the trail of destruction to look at her. "Well, I can honestly say I wasn't expecting that. I thought you'd just throw out a fireball or something."

"I still don't know what that means," Palmira told her. "But does that mean I passed?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure. I don't think I could've failed you in the first place…?"

Palmira grinned, something loosening in her chest.

Then she looked back at the trail of destruction she'd left behind, and she felt her heart sink. "Ósma's going to kill me."

"Eh, you're new, he'll go easy on you. I can blame Teresa, if it makes you feel better," Amina shrugged. "Still, we should probably put that out. Allow me."

With that Amina stepped past her, running her fingers along one of the plants as she went. She collected the morning dew as she did, plucking three droplets of water from it's leaves and balancing them on her first three fingers.

As she got into position she made an odd gesture with her hand and raised it to the sky, letting the dewdrops roll down her bare arm. As they fell further down her body they grew in size, growing to the size of an apple by the time they hit her shoulders. She bent forwards, letting the giant dewdrops roll across her back, and then with a sudden movement thrust her other arm forward, launching the three giant dewdrops faster than she could see, each of them slamming into the burning ground with the force of a cannon. The dewdrops exploded upon impact, flooding the far end of the courtyard and putting out every fire in an instant.

Baring Morte who was, again, still on fire.

"Amazing," Palmira's eyes widened in awe. "How are you doing that!? Shouldn't you need a catalyst to use magic that powerful?"

"Heh," Amina grinned at her, looking smug. "Much as I'd like to say I don't, I'd be a bad teacher if I didn't give you a head's up."

With that she reached up, grabbing one of the gold orbs hanging from her dreads. She shook it back and forth, causing it to let out a clear sound similar to a single drop of water landing in a puddle. "Don't assume every mage you come across is gonna be using a staff as a catalyst. The world's a big place, and not everyone out there learned how to cast magic with big sticks."

Damn, that sounded really cool. If only she could use something besides a big evil stick to cast spells!

Oh, wait.

"Would one of you please put me out already!?"