An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

An Arsonist Gets a Day Off

Palmira had no idea where she was.

She was sitting in what appeared to be a restaurant that was far too fancy for her, surrounded by men and women and others of all races she both knew and didn't, each and every one of them dressed far better than she was. The tables were covered in fine white cloth, and in the center of each were alien lights which burned with a faint violet hue.

She looked down at herself. She wore a scarlet dress in a style she had never seen before. She kicked her feet, and saw they were covered by strange black sandals with protrusions at the heels.

She had no idea when she'd put this on.

She looked back up, and stared at the man who sat across from her. He was an old man, with a scraggly greying beard and deep laugh lines under his eyes. He was also dressed in strange garb, in black silk and white gloves. He shuffled, turning the page of his menu, and for an instant she saw the cosmos churning beneath his suit.

"Where am I?" she asked, curious. She found it odd she wasn't panicking, though she supposed she just didn't care.

"A restaurant, of course!" the old man chuckled. He flipped another page in his menu. "Where better to celebrate your first victory!"

She tilted her head. "This place is way too expensive."

"Bah!" the old man waved her worries away. "I own the place! They'd never make me pay. So don't worry, order whatever you want! Even the most expensive thing on the menu is free today!"

She picked up her menu. It was blank.

"Good evening, Sir and Madam," a woman appeared out of nowhere. She had no face, but a surprising number of ears. "Are you ready to order?"

"Bring me the Jovian Red Carcass," the old man smiled, placing the menu in her hands. "And as for my granddaughter, get her the Risotto alla Andromeda."

Palmira tilted her head. She didn't know what Andromeda was, but she had been craving Risotto recently.

"Of course, sir. Your meal will be ready soon," the waitress bowed, before slithering away. Palmira watched her go, wondering how she could balance like that.

"Where is this restaurant?" she asked the old man.

"Who knows?" the old man shrugged. "Who cares?"

That was a good point.

Palmira leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Except there wasn't a ceiling, she realized, and she now noticed their table was on the roof. High above, hanging low in the sky, was a star burning a brilliant white and blue. She watched it in awe, until her eyes began to hurt and she was forced to turn away.

She glanced over the edge, at the rooftops of countless buildings that seemed to stretch out forever in all directions. She looked down, and found darkness clouding the streets below. It was impossible to tell how high up they were.

The waitress came back. She'd found a face since she left. It was ugly.

"Here you go, Sir and Madam," she placed two plates in front of them, before bowing and leaving again. The thing in front of the old man was a red pit, warped and moaning piteously. Orange and white gasses puffed out of it in agonized huffs.

"That's not a lot of food," she told him.

"I don't need a lot of food," the old man chuckled. "I find these days that I prefer the exotic tastes of cosmic agony over the mortal contentment of a full stomach."

She thought that was really weird, but didn't care enough to tell him that. Instead she looked down at her own food, a large bowl of blue creamy rice broken up by writhing tentacles that reminded her of an octopus. Stardust was sprinkled over the top, causing it to crackle and pop as new galaxies were born and died within her risotto.

She grabbed a fork and stabbed one of the tentacles. It wriggled harder, trying to escape, but she ate it quickly. It tasted better than octopus.

"The stardust tastes weird," she told him. "Like stars are being born in my mouth."

"That's what it's supposed to taste like."

"Oh," she smacked her lips. With a hum, she set the rice on fire. The tentacles wriggled harder, but the stardust seemed content. Nodding to herself, she continued eating. "That tastes better."

"I'm glad," the old man smiled at her. "Tell me, did you have fun?"

She tilted her head, the fork still in her mouth. "I think so. I didn't like getting hurt, but Riposa was interesting. And I like talking to Lorenzo."

The old man's smile turned wry. "Not Chiara?"

"She's mean," she told him bluntly. "But she's competent. I suppose she can come along on my next quest if she lets me ride her horse."

"Right, her horse," the old man snorted. "Named 'Horse.'"

"I don't think she's very creative."

He smiled at her, before the smile fell into a frown. "What did you think of that adventurer near the end? Sinbad, was that his name?"

"Eh," she shrugged. "I… think I recognized him somehow, but I guess it didn't matter. He didn't look like much either way."

"No, I suppose he didn't," he hummed. "But just because something doesn't look threatening doesn't mean you should treat it so carelessly. That man was dangerous. In ways I struggle to articulate."

Palmira nodded. She didn't see it, but she trusted the old man to look out for her.

…Wait.

"Who are you?" she asked, frowning.

The old man raised an eyebrow. "I assumed you already knew. Why else would you be sitting here with me?"

Ah, he had a point. "I think I've forgotten something important," she told him.

"Really? What was it?"

"I don't know. I forgot."

"How troublesome." The man seemed amused. He finished his meal, and she looked down to see she'd finished hers as well. "However, I'm afraid we don't have any time left for you to remember. It is getting closer, and you'd best be gone before It arrives."

Palmira tilted her head, as the sky glowed brighter and darkened in equal measure. She looked up, and saw the white star was being torn apart, warping and screaming as a _____ ripped it apart.

The people around them began to cheer, raising their glasses of wine in celebration. Across the city fireworks shot into the air, exploding in moving dioramas of mythical heroes from the past and future alike slaying monster after monster.

The _____ shrieked in rage, but the people laughed and partied harder.

The old man smiled and raised his own wine glass.

And then dumped it over her face.

--

​

Palmira woke up to something wet and rough dragging across her face.

She spluttered, jerking up from her bed and causing whatever was on her to get launched away with a squawk of protest. A red drakeling fluttered onto her lap and gave her an annoyed squawk.

She blinked blearily at the little lizard. "…How did you get in here?"

"He came in through the broken window," Morte laughed at her from the table. "I keep telling you you should get Ósma to fix it."

"Why didn't you stop him?" she grunted, before immediately realizing how stupid a question that was. "Never mind. Uh, hold on," she cuffed the drakeling's head with one hand, holding it down while she stretched over to her dresser. Fumbling around in it for a bit, she managed to grab a couple dry raviolis from her emergency stash. "Here, take one of these."

The drakeling had been giving her the stink-eye until she brought out the raviolis, at which point it perked up and started flapping its wings happily. Taking her hand off its head she let it fly into the air, where she began tossing ravioli for it to catch.

"Last one," she called out at the end, letting the drakeling lower itself down to her arm. She let it eat the last one out of her hand, which it did with a happy chirp. Licking the last of the crumbs from her hand, it trilled in her ear before launching itself straight out the broken window.

She blinked. "Nothing today?"

Then it was suddenly back in the room, flying in with a freaking mace clutched in its claws.

Her jaw dropped. "Where in the Lady's name did you get that!?"

The drakeling didn't answer, of course. It merely dropped the mace onto the table with a loud 'thud' before flying back out of the room with a parting chirp.

Palmira stared after its retreating back, before turning back to the steel mace. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Well, I'm no expert, but I imagine you hit monsters with it."

"…Shut up, Morte. Please."

Putting her new bludgeoner out of her mind, she got dressed and headed down to grab breakfast. And, as she did so, she began fielding questions from Morte.

"You are alone in a forest at night," he began, and she groaned as she realized this would be a long one. "If you had any teammates they are either long dead or gone. You know there are nymphs in this forest, but whether they will attack you or help you is unclear. In front of you is a two headed troll—one head always tells lies and the other always tells the truth. It has raised its club to smash you. What do you do?"

She bit her lip. "…You said I was alone, does that mean I don't have you with me?"

"Assume I'm there but I can't talk for some reason. You have to figure this out yourself."

"Okay, so… I set it on fire?"

"BZZT! Wrong answer! Setting a native to the forest on fire is the quickest way to getting the nymphs to attack you. They won't mind you fighting it another way, but fire is a no-go."

Palmira huffed. "I'm a fire mage. Why do none of your stupid scenarios let me use fire?"

He'd been doing this for days now. Ever since they'd killed that hydra-goose he'd been quizzing her on different scenarios she might find herself in out in the world. She wouldn't have minded as much if he didn't refuse to let her set anything on fire in them.

"Because if you can set it on fire you can generally beat it," he told her. "Which is why you need to focus on the times when you can't use your fire. Now, try again: what should you do in this scenario?"

"…Can I call out to the nymphs for help?"

"You can try, but it probably won't work. This is between you and the troll at this point. Also, in the time it took you to ask that, you've died to its club."

Palmira scowled. "Fine! I dodge the club, that's my first move!"

"Excellent! You are still alive. What do you do now?"

She frowned, weighing her options. She can't set it on fire, but maybe she could get away with… wait, what had he said about its two heads?

"I shout a question at it as loudly as I can about whether or not it finds the nymphs of the forest beautiful."

"One of the troll's heads shouts about how it finds the nymph Orchids-of-Oranges the most beautiful woman it had ever laid eyes on. The other declares that it finds all nymphs ugly and hideous beasts. It seems very embarrassed."

"…Does that get the nymphs involved?"

"Yes—you see, the head that called Orchids beautiful was the one that tells the truth, and the other head was the one that tells lies. The nymphs know this, so Orchids-of-Oranges comes out of the trees to ask him if he really thinks of her like that. The truth telling head blushes and says yes, while the lying head says no. She begins to tear up and asks him on a date."

"…Okay, um, while this is happening I take the time to sneak away into the forest."

"You get away unscathed, as all the monsters in the forest have come together to celebrate the nymph and the troll getting together. The truth-telling head extolls her beauty, while the lying head calls her a whore. She seems to be into it."

"I didn't need to know that last bit."

"Regardless, congratulations! You've survived your encounter with the troll!"

"I don't think that's how that would go in real life."

"You'd be surprised."

Shaking her head she arrived at the dining hall and quickly grabbed the free breakfast. However, before she could sit down, she heard someone call out to her.

"Palmira! Come over here for a second!"

She turned, seeing Ósma waving her over from one of the tables. The old orc was sitting with two other people, a young dark-haired man draped in a purple cioppa to his left and an elderly Kwari wrapped in green and red silks to his right. She hesitated for a moment, before deciding sitting with her boss would be better than ignoring him.

The table had been moved so it was right under one of the arches leading to the courtyard, leaving them just in the shade but close enough that she could reach out and touch the flowers if she wanted to. She settled uncomfortably in her seat, trying not to react to the Kwari sitting beside her. She rarely ever saw one in person, but the insect-like creatures were some of the most unnerving beings she'd ever seen.

"Ah, do not be so afraid, young one," the Kwari let out a strange buzzing noise, clicking its mandibles. She realized after a second that it was laughing. "This Rana does not harm iyali."

Palmira flushed, shoving a slice of cheese into her mouth. She hadn't thought she'd been so obvious.

"Give her some time," Ósma told the Kwari. "She just needs to get used to you."

"Oh, I know, I know," the Kwari chittered in amusement. "I have lived in this land for many cycles now, I am well aware of how my kind are treated. You do not need to waste either of our times trying to convince her otherwise."

Ósma sighed. "If you're sure." He turned back to Palmira, coughing as he saw her awkwardly chewing on her bread. "Right, where are my manners? Palmira, I would like to introduce you to the two most important people in the guild."

He waved to the man to his left. "This is Signor Dante Cadorna, the third son of the head of the Cadorna Famiglia and our guild's guildmaster. He's run this guild for the past five years, and we've flourished under his leadership."

The man gave her an imperious nod. "It is always good to have new talent in our guild. I have heard from Ósma that you've come from a difficult situation, and so I wished to welcome you into the guild personally. However, I want to make one thing clear before you begin your tenure with us in earnest," he steepled his fingers and pinned her with a stare, and she felt flames flicker nervously between her toes. "Do not burn down this guildhall. Ósma has vouched for you, but I need to be clear about this—whatever else you may do here, control your fire."

Palmira swallowed the crumbs still in her mouth, making an active effort to keep herself from combusting right there and then. "Um, you don't have to worry, guildmaster," she winced as her voice cracked. "I've been controlling my fire for years. I've never set anything on fire I didn't mean to."

Dante stared at her a moment longer, trying to find any hint that she was lying, but he would find none. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was control her fire.

Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and nodded. "Very well. In that case, I welcome you to my Rosa Dominae, and I look forward to seeing what you accomplish."

Palmira let out a nervous breath. "Thank you, guildmaster."

"Now that you two have met," Ósma spoke up, grabbing her attention again. "I would also like to introduce you to Signora Asu Rana, one of our oldest members," he waved his hand over to the insect-woman to his right, who raised one of her four arms to wave in greeting. "She runs the economic side of the guild, counting coins and dealing with loans. Where I deal with setting up quests and jobs for our adventurers, she is the one who hashes out how they'll much they'll get paid and any other logistics we may need dealt with."

"It is lovely to meet you, yar'uwa," she chittered. "And you may call me Rana, if you would prefer. May our time together be long and prosperous."

"Um… likewise?"

"She will also be in charge of training you from this day forth," Ósma continued. "From the report I got from Chiara, you need more time to learn how to fight. As the only other fire mage in the guild, she'll be in the best position to teach you."

"Now, Ósma. I am not a fire mage, no matter how similar we may appear," the Kwari chided him gently. "Do not get her hopes up for something I cannot deliver on."

Ósma nodded, conceding her point. "I understand that. However, you have more experience fighting than anyone else in the guild, and even if you are not a fire mage exactly, you still utilize fire when you fight. You also are the only person we have available."

"Ah well," Rana sighed theatrically. "If you insist, this Rana supposes she could impart some wisdom on our new ward."

"Um, excuse me," Palmira winced when everyone at the table turned to look at her. "But how long is this training going to take? Won't I need to take jobs as well?"

"Diligent girl, aren't you," Dante scoffed, amused. "Don't bother worrying about jobs until after we can afford to pay you. You aren't going to get any richer doing quests right now, so you might as well use your time to get stronger instead."

"While what he said is true," Ósma gave the man a look. "That doesn't mean you'll be getting out of work so easily. I do in fact have a job for you lined up, starting tomorrow. Four mornings a week until noon you will be working as a guard for one of the Ambrosia Famiglia estates in the city. Come afternoon, you will return to the guild where you can continue your training with Rana."

Palmira blinked slowly, eyes wide. "Wait, the Ambrosia Famiglia? Aren't they the richest guild in the city? Why would they hire me!?"

"They haven't," Ósma told her dryly. "One of their guards was recently killed in a scuffle with the Capparelli Famiglia, and they want someone to sub in while they find someone to replace him. And knowing them, that'll take a month at least."

"But… why me?"

"Because they asked the Cadorna Famiglia, as a subsidiary of the Ambrosia Famiglia, to choose someone to temporarily take their place." The old orc gave her a smug grin. "I replied first."

"Huh," Palmira blinked, overwhelmed. "…Wait, the previous guard was killed?"

"Don't worry about it too much," the guildmaster waved her worries off. "It was a personal affair, from what I've heard—the guard was a childhood friend of a son of the Ambrosia Famiglia and volunteered to take his place in a duel. He, as you can guess, lost. So as long as you don't volunteer for any duels—and remember that as a member of my Famiglia they have no authority to force you to do so—you have nothing to worry about from the Capparelli."

"He is right," Rana chirped, patting her shoulder comfortingly. Palmira repressed a shudder. "The Ambrosia and Capparelli have been killing each other since before the demons invaded. But they have always left us little people out of it. Give it a week to blow over, and I doubt any involved will even remember the guard's name."

That… was not as comforting as she probably meant it to be.

"I'll explain it more later," Osma told her. "Other than that, you'll be free for the rest of the day. Take some time to rest and prepare yourself."

"Got it," she nodded, before making an aborted motion to get up. "Um, can I…?"

The guildmaster rolled his eyes. "Yes, child you may leave."

"Oh, don't mind him," Rana chittered, waving her off. "Leave us boring adults to our talks and go hang out with your friends."

"Right," she gave them an awkward nod. "I'll be going, then. Um, bye."

She speedwalked away from the table as fast as she could.

"…You know," Morte mused, "Sometimes I wonder how you function in normal society. Then I see you talk with people, and I realize you really don't."

"Shut up," she hissed, tightening her grip around his neck. She could almost pretend she was strangling him. "I didn't expect to meet the guildmaster today! I'm practically wearing rags. He probably thought I was just some random urchin they grabbed off the streets!"

"You are just some random urchin they grabbed off the streets."

She really wanted to set him on fire right now. "Whatever," she huffed. "I have something else planned for today anyway."

Shaking her head she checked herself over once more before leaving the villa, making her way back towards her old alleyway.

She'd only have today off, and this was something she needed to do now.

--

​

The city of Firozzi was filled with churches.

This wasn't all that surprising, when you stopped to think about it. After all, the Goddess looked fondly on those who funded her clergy, and more importantly, the voters loved a man who spent a lot on public works. As such, Firozzi and many cities like it were filled with churches.

Too many churches, one might say.

Palmira stopped in front of one of those very churches, a small building crammed between apartments down a small alleyway in the Duke's Quarter. It had been built after she'd arrived in the city after whatever was there before burned down in a fire (that she did not start), but it was already showing signs of disrepair.

Neither the city nor the Holy See could afford to upkeep all the churches within the city, and so the ones like this that were too out of the way almost always ended up rundown husks once the funding dried up.

Still, she was here for a reason. She held a hand over her silver grossi, feeling like the coin was burning a hole in her pocket. Practically, she knew it was a bad idea to do this, but she wanted to regardless.

Walking up to the door, she pushed it open and—

"OH GOD IT BURNS! OH GODDESS! OH, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME!?"

She jumped back, leaping away from the building at Morte's shriek. She raised her staff, looking at Morte worriedly. "Are you alright!?"

Nothing.

"Morte!?"

"…Palmira," he rasped quietly. "Please, come closer. Before I go, I need to tell you something."

"What?" she felt tears prick her eyes. She barely touched the church, even if the little holy energy surrounding it was enough to harm him, surely—

"You are… very… gullible…"

She dropped the staff.

"Wait out here," she told him. He'd started laughing until he realized she'd dropped him face first into a puddle of mud. "If anyone tries to pick you up just talk at them and I'm sure they'll leave you alone."

Shoving her way past the doors (and ignoring Morte's apologies and pleas to pick him up) she entered the church. The inside was just as small as the outside, merely a tiny box with maybe a dozen pews packed within. It was empty this time of day, barring a single woman at the front.

She was the nun who ran this church, reading a holy book in the dim light that made its way in from the blocked windows.

"…Um," Palmira hesitated, unsure what to say now that she was here. "Sister Laila?"

The nun startled and turned to look at her, before a warm smile spread across her face. "Palmira," she greeted her, standing up. "I haven't seen you at all this week! I'll admit I was getting worried."

Palmira coughed awkwardly, walking up to the nun. Sister Laila looked young, but she was an elf and could've been in her second century for all she knew. When she got close the Sister opened her arms, giving her a quick hug.

Sister Laila was one of the few people in the world Palmira would genuinely call a good person. Despite being one step from poverty herself, the nun would open her doors to the homeless of the city every week, giving out free soup and bread to everyone who came by.

Palmira had taken advantage of that kindness many times, and she wasn't too proud to admit that she might have starved without her.

"I'm sorry if I worried you," Palmira shrugged self-consciously. "But I, I got a job! It took me out of the city for a few days, which is why I missed this week's mealtime."

Sister Laila gave her a beautiful smile and wrapped her in another hug. "Oh, I'm so happy for you my dear! Do they treat you well?"

"Um, yes," she coughed, struggling her way out of the hug. Even if the sister was this kind to everyone, dealing with it alone was still embarrassing. "They've set me up with an apartment and free meals too! And, um, I sort of got paid today, so I wanted to…"

She reached into her pocket, and with only a little bit of hesitation, pulled the silver grossi out. Reaching over, she gently placed it in the hands of the wide-eyed nun.

"Thank you." Palmira mumbled, not looking the woman in the eye. The tips of her ears were burning, and then her blush deepened when she realized they were actually burning.

"Oh, my dear," Sister Laila gave her a watery smile. "Your kindness knows no bounds. But surely this is too much! Are you certain you want to give me this?"

As much as the frugal part of Palmira was raging against it, her decision was final. "Yes, it's yours. I… I don't think I could have made it to where I am today if not for your kindness, so please, accept my thanks. It's the least I can do."

The Sister looked down at the coin in her hand. "If you insist. However…"

She grabbed both sides of the coin, and with a quick twist of her fingers, snapped it in half.

"Here, my dear," Sister Laila smiled as she placed one half of the coin in her hand. Palmira opened her mouth to protest, but the Sister shook her head. "I thank you ever so much for the gift, but as it is now mine that means I get to do what I want with it—and I want to share it with you. You are young yet, my dear, and I believe you will need this more than me."

Palmira wanted to say no, but that frugal part of her finally won out and forced her mouth shut. "…Then, I suppose I must thank you again."

"No thanks are necessary," she wrapped Palmira in one final hug. "Just promise me you will not forget us, when you become a rich and famous adventurer."

Palmira flinched, shocked at how quickly she figured it out, but the nun just smiled. "I know you do not want to worry me, but you've spent the last few years talking about nothing but joining a guild. It's not so farfetched to think you've finally found one."

Palmira coughed, and shook her way out of the hug. "Don't worry, Sister. I promise, once I've made enough money I'll send you so much gold you'll be able to paint your roof with it!"

"Please think of yourself first, my dear," the Sister sighed, but smiled regardless. "Well, if you are so determined, then who am I to say no? I look forward to that day, Palmira."

"Of course!" Palmira nodded, patting out the flames behind her ears. "I'm sure it'll come before you know it!"

--

​

An hour later Palmira finally left the church. As she did, she came upon the sight of the red drakeling, gnawing on the end of Morte's staff as he made fake drowning noises while face-first in a puddle of mud.

"Oh, you're still here?" she lifted him out of the mud. The drakeling squawked in disappointment before jumping on top of her head. "So much for hoping someone stole you while I wasn't looking."

"Your cruelty knows no bounds," Morte lamented. "Why, out of all the devilish villains who've wielded me in the past, you are by far the evilest."

Palmira snorted. "Sure I am."

"Ah, but now that I can breathe again, I can ask: did you accomplish what you came here for?"

Palmira reached down, feeling the half coin in her pocket. "Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

"Excellent," Morte laughed. "Now that you've finished with that, bring me to the big dead dragon in the center of town—I have a bone to pick with every demonic little drakeling that calls the place home!"

The red drakeling on her head snorted.

"No."

Instead she made her way back to the guild, easily ignoring Morte's wails of betrayal and treachery.

Despite herself, she couldn't help but smile.