Chapter 20: DD2 Chapter 014 – Fresh Blood

“‘The Mad Lord’s Grief’ is objectively a terrible song; it’s depressing and convoluted. You should stick to singing about hot girls getting reamed by dragons,” Barlen teased, a jovial smile on his wide face as he once again relished saying the most outrageous thing that he could think of in a given moment.

“Gods spare me, where do you get off saying things like that?” Eliza asked. “Have you even heard of tact?” Perhaps it was the late hour, the intoxicating smoke that hung low over the table or the copious amounts of wine that she had imbibed, but the bard was suddenly deeply curious as to the source of her friend’s unwavering confidence.

“Oh, you love it, Liz. We both know that you don’t keep me around for my rugged good looks," Barlen guffawed, well-aware that he could charitably be described as ‘not particularly attractive’. The combination of baby-fat and stat-enhanced vigour gave the small man an almost cherubic appearance, something wholly unattractive on a man of his obvious age—not that Eliza particularly cared about those sorts of things either way.

“Eurghh! Why do I hang out with you reprobates?" she sighed, mock despair on her face as the wide grins spurred on by Barlen’s antics stretched even wider around the smoky table.

“Because we’re the only ones who will put up with your constant stream of angst, that’s why,” Liara said. “Now pass the peace-pipe would you?” the heavily-scarred woman requested before losing patience and leaning over to the table to snatch the wooden implement out of Eliza’s hands.

It was late, or early, depending on who you asked, and Eliza had finished another disappointing set hours ago. Her new song was receiving a lukewarm reception wherever she took it, and while she may have been proud of the piece, she couldn’t deny that the continued sting of her audiences’ rejection hurt. Her efforts to both warn the citizens of Rhelea of their new Lord's madness and simultaneously earn herself enough drachma to keep her landlord off her back, was failing anticlimactically. No one seemed to care enough about her song to look at it for any deeper meaning. The lack of named adventurers in her piece or, more specifically, the lack of any prolific dragons seemed to be keeping her audiences’ attention and coin purses firmly closed.

“I take offence at that. And The Mad Lord’s grief is a thinly veiled warning not to riot," she blurted out a little less eloquently than she would have liked. The dubious contents of their shared pipe had influenced her final choice of words more than she had anticipated it would when she had first committed to several deep drags of the illicit substance. It was still a good trade in her opinion. Creation was steadily sliding into a series of more vivid hues with every inhalation as her friends effectively hotboxed the room, allowing Eliza to see just a hairsbreadth outside of the lines of reality.

“Well, it’s stupid. Why would Traylan want the city to riot? Do you know how much he’s clawing in through taxes? In a decade he’ll be the wealthiest noble in Terythia besides the king,” Phioplies criticized harshly, shaking her wine cup to highlight her point. The red liquid spilled over her hand from the vigorous motion, coating the table and the pile of colour-coded wooden counters in the centre in her drink.

“Hey! Just because you’re losing, that's no excuse to spill wine over the chips,” Barlen chastised, causing Phioplies to quickly slur an apology.

As usual, the unclassed woman was always the first to get messy. The skill-enhanced liquors and various other substances that she insisted on consuming at the same rate as her classer friends was simply too much for someone with a vitality score of 0 to handle. No one really minded as Phioplies was usually a fun drunk, and it was thanks to her that they had access to their table long after their tavern of choice had closed, but it was inconvenient at times—playing Blind with sticky chips would likely be the least of her inebriated transgressions before the long night was through.

“It isn’t that he wants the city to riot, it’s that he wants to find the Dragonrider and he doesn’t care how many people die in the process. You saw what happened in the slums, and that was over real-estate. If you think he’s going to suddenly develop a soft touch over finding his son’s murderer then you’re touched in the head,” Eliza explained.

“So what's the point of the song, Eliza?” Liara asked, the warrior who had spent more years as a tavern bouncer than an adventurer unusually interested in her work.

“My point is that our new Lord is prepared for us to riot, expects it even. Do you know how many people I’ve overheard discussing such a thing over the latest tax rises? How many adventurers over the reduction in fees? Fuck, the entertainers practically had one when news came that he was evicting them from the row!” Eliza exclaimed, Barlen nodding along with her at the last part.

“Yes, we get it. Things are bad, but what's your point?” the warrior insisted.

“My point is that he’s prepared. Those steel ranks that have flocked here, everyone thinks they’re here to kill the dragon, but I bet you my left tit that the reason they’re sitting tight in Rhelea is because when the riot happens, they fully expect the Dragonrider to show up in the centre of it and those steel ranks will pounce on him crushing the revolts along with the Dragon,” Eliza finished.

“So what, your song is a warning that we're fucked? No wonder your takings are in the latrine pit,” Barlen commented.

“My takings aren’t in the latrine pit! They’re just taking a little dip," Eliza said defensively.

“Oh? So you don’t want me to spot you tonight’s buy-in then?” he joked.

“Fuck off Barlen!”

“I’m taking that as a no then,”

“Barlen!”

They were sitting in the centre of the bar floor of The Clay Cup, a tavern where Liara worked as a bouncer and Phioplies as a waitress. Despite its modest name, the Cup had delusions of grandeur. Contrasting sharply with the humble furniture and watered wine, stuffed monster heads could be seen lining the walls, where everything from a humble ratling up to a large and decaying wyvern’s skull loomed menacingly above the tables. The latter trophy was featured prominently over the fire’s mantlepiece, where the peeling, scaled flesh on old bones served to give the small tavern a touch of the macabre that lent itself well to certain songs.

After her lacklustre set, Eliza and Barlen, the two bards who had been alternating throughout the night, had settled down with the off-duty staff to play cards and drink late into the night, as was their custom. Their regular game had long been a source of comfort to Eliza and, she suspected, the others as well. Things in Rhelea were tense, and as much as Barlen liked to make light of it, even he was holding his breath, waiting for the spark that would set the city ablaze in a storm of anger.

Taxes had been raised punishingly high, and the price of everything was rising to compensate. For a city that had been overcrowded for so long, people were being forced out by the increasing costs of living, which would be a dramatic enough change if it wasn’t occurring in the middle of winter when food was already expensive and the roads simply weren’t safe to travel on. Plots of land were going on sale in the partially cleared out slums, where Traylan soldiers quietly warred daily with the poor and the powerless who refused to move on. Every undesirable within the inner-walls—which seemed to include just about everyone who wasn’t either an extremely wealthy merchant, adventurer or distant relation of Lord Traylan—was not-so-discreetly being pushed out into the outer-city where the external fortifications weren’t even built yet. The high-pewter and low-bronze stonemasons were making excellent time in encircling Rhelea in stone, but even with their levels, it was a truly massive job in unfavourable weather conditions.

It was growing increasingly apparent that Lord Traylan had a very clear idea about who should get to live inside the inner-city. Likely, he wanted to make Rhelea more like a standard Terythian city, with the nobles and the wealthy living safe in the centre behind multiple layers of warded stone that focused the ambient mana inwards for faster passive levelling, with everyone else consigned to live on the periphery. Where they would be vulnerable to monster incursions, raids or whatever else threatened to breach the outer walls. While it was galling to feel their Lord’s contempt through his desire to cast them out of their homes, many accepted it as the price of a growing Rhelea, but that group shrank by the day as the speed of the changes increasingly alienated Lord Traylan’s dwindling loyalists. His once vocal supporters now gathered in secret, where they discussed in hushed tones how best to slow down their Lord's plans, in an effort to forestall the violence that everyone believed was coming.

If anyone had listened to Eliza’s song, then they would know that the impending violence was all part of their Lord’s plan.

As much as she disliked being made fun of, Barlen had a point: The Mad Lord’s Grief, as well intentioned as it was, wasn’t succeeding in either of its aims. It was failing to attract the applause and the tips that the bawdier songs she was known for provided, whilst similarly, it wasn’t taking hold in the public mind. Her sincere warning not to riot was being completely overlooked.

Eliza drank deep from her cup. The taste of cheap wine filled her mouth where it mingled unpleasantly with the earthy taste of the poorly fired clay as she half-listened to Barlen complain about how much he was now paying in rent. A large part of her wished she could have simply taken Lord Traylan up on his offer. The man might be a monster but his coin would certainly have alleviated her problems, if only his propaganda was a little more subtle. The thought of what Riyoul would do to her if he caught her singing anything that blatantly anti-adventurer still sent chills running down her spine.

“You know, if you’re serious that you have actual information about Lord Traylan’s plans for Rhelea, there are people you can talk to," Liara said, being uncharacteristically vague.

“What do you mean?” Eliza asked.

“I don’t mean anything, just that this is a workers bar. Despite the monster trophies, good honest people drink here after a hard day's work. If you actually know something important, I can arrange a meeting with some concerned citizens who can get the word out," Liara explained.

“You can save her the spiel. What Liara means to say is that since the Merchants Council was ousted, there's been a group that rents a room here every fifthday. A group who’s very vocal in our collective need to organise to better resist our new noble overlord," Phioplies slurred, spilling even more wine everywhere.

“I wouldn’t say it like that," Liara said.

“Liara, Eliza literally wrote a song to try and oppose Lord Traylan. A fucking song! You kind of have to spell these things out to her, hic!" Phioplies chastised, her serious tone ruined by her ill-timed hiccup. “I swear, sometimes, hic, I wonder that if your house was burning down you’d spend all your time trying to come up with a suitable rhyme for fire rather than looking to your escape.”

Squire, wire, attire, retire, expire.

Help, Help! My house is on fire!

Come quick or I shall soon expire!

The words came unbidden to her, interrupting the scathing retort she had brewing. Worse, the lyrics weren’t even any good, her mind too addled for inspiration to strike. Phiolpies saw the look on her face and smiled, the woman having years of experience in setting her off. “You see, this is why I don’t want a class. A little bit of magic inside of you like that is unnatural. I don’t know what the system is and I don’t want it living inside my head. If the gods wanted us to have classes then they’d just give us one at birth rather than making us use a class stone!”

“Here we go again…” Barlen muttered, taking a deep drink, which Eliza and Liara joined him in.

“I just don’t see how you lot can sleep at night. That little voice niggling you in the back of your mind, telling you to write songs all the time, or worse, to fight and kill," Phioplies said, the last part directed pointedly at Liara.

“We sleep at night knowing that we’ll outlive your fundamentalist idiocy by a good few decades. Look at Eliza, she’s old enough to be your mother, and yet she still has an ass you could bounce a drachma off of," Barlen said, winking lewdly towards the end.

“Barlen. You’re getting awfully close to that line," Eliza warned.

“Fine, fine, just don’t go running to that boyfriend of yours. A pissed off rogue of his level is the last thing I need," the man joked, raising his hands up placatingly.

Everyone laughed at that, Eliza too, although the unexpected reference to Riyoul was enough to make her want to puke. The man’s unwanted presence in her life intruded even now amidst a quiet night of revelry with her friends.

Before she could worry too much about her failure to extract information from Typh, the back door to the tavern opened abruptly, and Eliza felt herself clutching the edge of the table in both hands. Her panic swiftly faded as she realised it was just Adriann. Her heart rate slowed as she reminded herself that Riyoul wouldn’t use a door if he wanted to make an appearance.

After the group's last expected arrival had made his way to the table, the high-pewter ranger sat down unceremoniously in a huff. The nimble reflexes of someone with a dexterity based combat class backed up by complementary skills never failed to set her bardic instincts on edge. A part of her wished to simply follow Adriann around, to write songs about his supernatural grace, but even though the gaps in their levels wasn’t all that large, Eliza lacked the right skills to survive accompanying the ranger, even if she were allowed to leave Rhelea without permission.

“Thank the Gods you’re finally here! Phioplies is talking religion again, and we were in dire risk of having a meaningful conversation," Barlen warned.

“Gods forbid! Although if it’s levity you’re after I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong man," Adriann said, accepting the offered pipe off of Liara and taking a deep drag of the potent smoke.

“That bad?” Eliza asked, trying to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice, her class suddenly insistent that she pry. She could practically hear the beginnings of a song, the faint sound of indistinct music just out of reach. She looked over at Barlen and saw the man twitch, his own form of bardic agitation more subtle but nevertheless there—something important had just happened.

“You could say that. We came back from a week long manticore hunt today. A pack of the nasty little bastards have been harrassing a dairy farm to the west of here. Anyway, the hunt was nothing out of the ordinary, but when we got back to the guild to claim our pay, we were told that we had to give our full class details to an Adjudicator if we wanted the money that we’d already earned!” Adriann exclaimed, his words causing a sharp intake of breath from everyone present.

“Really?! Did you do it?” Eliza asked, scandalised at the thought of it even though she had already known something like this was coming. It was after all the surest way to find the Dragonrider.

“Of course not, told the guild they could go do one! I haven’t even told my wife my full class details, like fuck am I going to tell some upjumped clerk in the middle of the guildhall, Adjudicator present or not.”

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“And then what happened?” Barlen asked, taking over for Eliza, his usually jovial tone tinged with a hunger for the details.

“Well, there might have been a slight altercation," Adriann bragged, breaking out into a wide self-serving smile that revealed a row of six freshly broken teeth along the left side of his mouth.

“Shit, you look terrible," Liara said bluntly. “Your wife is going to be pissed.”

“Well, fuck you too," Adriann said. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get some new teeth grown in tomorrow. I’d obviously prefer it today but my team's healer ran out of mana patching the others up.”

“Wait, so there was an actual fight? Like a serious one?” Eliza asked.

“I wouldn’t say that it was serious.... Nobody died, but it certainly got bloody. I don’t think I’ll be showing my face around the guild for a while. Not at least until they walk this back," Adriann said, leaning back in his chair as he hogged the pipe, while Phioplies muttered disparaging things about combat classes under her breath.

“If it gets walked back," Eliza pointed out.

“What was that?” the ranger asked, his unfocused expression spreading to his voice as he indulged himself.

“Eliza here is of the opinion that Lord Traylan wants Rhelea to rebel so our noble overlord can flush out and kill the Dragonrider," Barlen explained sarcastically.

“I didn’t say he wants us to rebel, just that he’s prepared for it, but if the Dragonrider is a member of the guild, then an Adjudicator will flush them out eventually,” Eliza commented.

“There are too many adventurers in town for him to put a riot down. Depths, your boyfriend and the rest of the Shining Swords could take out that new army he’s putting together by themselves,” Adriann said lightly, dismissing her concerns.

“Not if the steel ranks here to hunt the Dragonrider side with him. Besides, I saw an Inquisitor and a full squad of steel knights in Lord Traylan’s residence. Six of them were the Queen's alchemic knights!”

“And what were you doing there in Lord Traylan’s little palace?” Liara enquired.

“Declining a job to spout pro-Traylan, anti-adventurer propaganda. Now do you want to hear what I learned or not?” she answered.

“Might as well spill, I certainly don’t feel like playing cards now. Especially if we should be expecting Traylan troops to bust down the door and drag Adriann away in chains," Phioples slurred, carefully placing her wine cup down on the table, having spoken without hiccuping for the first time in a while.

“I hope not. Doors are expensive and the owner of The Cup is a cheap bastard. No way he’d replace it any time soon," Liara deadpanned.

“Are we actually going to finish this hand of cards anytime soon?” Barlen asked. “All this talk of treason is making me anxious, and I was planning on winning what little money Eliza made tonight.”

“We can talk treason and play. Now quit your whining and deal,” Liara said.

Barlen grinned and began dealing the cards. The pipe was passed, and Phioples left her seat to provide a fresh round of drinks for everyone but herself as the air over the table filled with the delightful smells of fresh alcohol and smoke.

“So, what do you know?” Liara asked.

“Okay, first up I want to say that I have no interest in joining a rebellion, a group of agitators or a political movement. I am just a humble bard talking shop to my friends after a shit gig,” Eliza explained.

“We’re friends?” Barlen asked innocently.

“Shut up, Barlen. Eliza, continue,” Liara instructed.

“He’s going after the class stones,” she said, her words causing the gazes of the classers around the table to harden. “Traylan’s going to move them somewhere central and charge a fee. Not too high that the merchant houses can’t afford it, but way more than what commoners can. By the end of winter all new classers will be merchant-born or oathsworn to the Traylan dynasty. That’s all I know for sure, but mark me, he has no interest in playing nice. Mandatory oaths for combat classers will be next. The man won't rest till he’s gone through the status of every classer in Rhelea and personally checked that no one is hiding a Dragonrider class.”

Eliza could have heard a pin drop, in fact with her hearing she could hear a family of mice burrow their way into the cheese stores in the basement. The pest deterrent wards that were etched into the Cup’s foundations were clearly in need of a touch-up.

“You’re sure?” Liara asked, breaking the almost-silence as Eliza shifted her attention away from the joyous squeaks of triumph.

“Positive,” Eliza answered firmly.

“Gods above. And your response to that was to write a fucking song. Sometimes I wonder if Phioplies is right. You bards are cracked," Liara said.

“I take offence at that,” Barlen commented.

“What’s the iron rank take on that?” Adriann interjected.

“I’m sorry?” Eliza said, confused by the line of questioning.

“Riyoul and the Shining Swords? Would they help us take and carve a fresh stone from a dungeon? Or move against us if we tried to steal one from the guild?” the ranger asked, suddenly solemn. His broken teeth and stowed weapons doing much to give him an air of barely constrained violence.

“Gods above, Adriann, we are not stealing a class stone,” Phioplies exclaimed.

“Answer me, Eliza. This is serious, why are you just staring off into the void?” he asked. “There’s got to be some benefit to being in your harem.”

“I don’t know," she said weakly.

“Shit, you haven’t told him yet have you? Are you on the outs? Is this because of the new bard?” he enquired.

“I’m sorry?" she asked, stronger this time.

“The new bard in your merry little love nest. Think she’s called Lavender or something trashy. Riyoul plucked her out of some dive bar on the row and has been power levelling her to high pewter, like the rest of you.”

“There’s a new bard?" she repeated, feeling numb. Icy fear and resignation flooding her.

“Well, yes. Seriously, are you alright? You’re acting like you're the last one to know. I know you don’t like to talk about your lovelife but—”

“I have to go feed my cat!” Eliza interrupted, standing up abruptly before she turned and fled from the table, her cards untouched as she practically raced out of the bar. Her breath misting the air as she stumbled out into the snow.

“Was it something I said?” she heard Adriann say through the walls.

“Dunno, maybe she’s getting dumped?” Barlen asked.

Unwilling to hear anymore, she moved. Forcing herself to gain some distance from her friends while her mind whirled in a sea of terror. She was being replaced, which meant Riyoul was getting ready to kill her. She knew far too much about him to be left alive, and he only really needed the one bard in his pocket.

What had she done wrong? Was it her failure to report back about Typh? How much longer did she have? Hours? Days? Weeks? Who would look after Thanatos when she was gone? What could she do to change his mind?

She stopped in the snow, barely avoiding a collision with another drunk who was headed in the other direction as an almost traitorous thought very nearly knocked her over.

What if she killed Riyoul first?

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