Chapter 219: 220: Makes the dream work

Jubilee sleeps for the rest of that night and the better part of the next morning. Fresh does her best to be quiet and to not cause any trouble for the others, so she sits in the corner, reading Jubilee’s book. She had seen bits of it while mending it back together, but she never really bothered to read it.

She had been too preoccupied then by fixing it and by making lots of drawings for Jubilee to look at. They aren’t good drawings, since she isn’t much of an artist to begin with. She had done all of them by hand and not with any spells of any kind. But she tried her best. Each of them is a depiction of her or one of the others or all of them together. Sometimes in a ‘comic’ format with little panels and speech-bubbles, depicting scenarios that have happened already or ones that she foresees happening in the future.

Like this one here, on page thirty-seven, in a small comic showing Jubilee approaching her and giving her a hug of their own free accord. Fresh clenches her free hand. One day. She’s sure of it.

Fresh shakes her head, trying to focus on the book itself.

Basil and Shamrock are out in the city together, ‘taking care of things,’ whatever that means. She offered to stay here and wait for Jubilee to wake up, knowing that if she didn’t offer herself, that they would insist on it. Basil is still a bit mad at her for yesterday. Fresh supposes that it’s coming from that same place as the priestess’ confession the other day. Even if those simple actions weren’t her own choices, for Basil, it looked like she was jeopardizing them all again to fulfill some silly whims. Is it fair? No. It’s not.

But she’s too afraid to tell them the truth, so she’d rather take this route instead.

“Demons, much like ghosts, are born after the death of a particularly emotional spirit,” mutters Fresh under her breath, reading the line in the book, next to a drawing of all four of them holding hands, with a big heart drawn around them all.

Fresh flips the page. The rest is illegible, having been destroyed. She skips ahead to the next chapter.

‘- Humans, elves of all varieties, dwarves and even off-hominids such as goblins or kobolds have all been proven capable of attaining ‘Inferni invectus’, the arrival in the demonic-state. A particularly interesting case during the S.E. proved that the transformation is even possible to be forced on animals as well. This was done by conducting the in chapter-six explained methodologies on a particularly unlucky chicken. Twenty-seven non-participants died thereafter, after the animal-participant escaped on an unfortunate rampage. This event resulted in the official closure of the S.E. by the central-authority, who had deemed the work ‘unsightly’.

High-sanguimancer Shahnameh has since been missing and is assumed to have taken on a life as a shamed recluse.’

Fresh tilts her head, skipping back to chapter six. She reads a few lines and then very quickly closes the book again, feeling a sharp turning in her gut as the ‘methodologies’ of this process are explained. It’s not her call to make, but she really wishes that her friend wouldn’t obsessively read things like this. It’s no wonder that Jubilee is always on edge and afraid of storms if they spend their free time delving into this kind of stuff.

Well. It looks like reading is out of the question for now. She could read her own book, but somehow, she feels that the damp-grimoire will be just as grim and depressing to breeze through. Fresh sighs.

Shaking her head, she sets the book down in the dark corner, where it belongs, and gets up, wiping her hands on her robe as if they were dirty. Walking across the room, she sits down on the side of the bed, laying her head on Jubilee’s chest and her arm over them. She isn’t going to cause any trouble today. She’s just going to sit quietly and behave. So, a late-morning nap seems just like what’s in order.

Though, she isn’t sure if she’s going to dream anything good honestly, with these fresh pictures in her head. This thought is quickly dismissed however, as she feels a gloved hand on top of her head.

“Creep,” mutters Jubilee tiredly.

“Yeah,” admits Fresh, closing her eyes again and burrowing the side of her face into a more comfortable position, smelling the fabric of Jubilee’s clothes. Being a creep isn’t so bad, really. She sleeps better than expected, napping until the others return. By then, Jubilee is back on their feet as well, their soul-points apparently having recovered to a good level.

“We found out a few things,” says Basil. “There’s trouble in the north,” she explains, clearly uneased about something.

“The north has always been fucked,” says Jubilee, staring her up and down. “I wonder why?” they ask, almost sarcastically.

“Please,” says Basil. “Everything, everywhere is -” she lifts her fingers to make air-quotes. “’Fucked’.” Fresh frowns. She’s only ever heard Basil swear once before and that was a really bad situation. Either the priestess is taking very strongly after Jubilee all of a sudden, or this is a really bad situation too.

“You’re really starting to grow on me, you know?” says Jubilee, nodding in approval at Basil. “What’s the problem?”

“Mobilization,” says Shamrock.

“Wait,” Jubilee stops. “What the fuck?” They look around the room. “Are they on a witch-hunt? Shit!” they say. “We need to pack up and get the fuck out of here, today,” they say, already starting to size up the work ahead of them.

Basil lifts a hand, stopping them. “We’re not the big issue. Apparently everyone thinks the witch of the north and her coven went to the south to ‘hide with the rest of them,’ explains Basil.

“Wait, really?” Jubilee thinks for a second. “Fuck, that’s pretty good for us, actually.” They nod, looking back up towards Basil. “I’m liking what I’m hearing. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that we’re at war,” says the priestess, getting right to the point. “The cardinal has called a crusade. Followers are gathering by the thousands these last few weeks in the north, undergoing rushed training at the cathedral.”

“We’re fucking WHAT?!” asks Jubilee. “Wait… SHIT!” they exclaim, realizing something very suddenly.

Basil nods. “I’m afraid so.”

Fresh looks around the room, confused. “Guys?”

Nobody says anything for a while. Jubilee, standing there with crossed arms, eventually looks up her way. “We might be fucked.”

“Huh?” asks Fresh.

“We’re apparently in a holy-war,” explains Jubilee. “There’s only one place left that the church would consider ‘unholy’ enough to wage a war on in these times,” they say. “And guess what the only way to get there is?”

“The south?”

Jubilee shakes their head. “Guess again and I didn’t ask where they’re going, I asked how they’re going to get there.”

Fresh stare for a moment, realizing. If it isn’t the south, then it has to be somewhere else. Somewhere far away. “They’re going to get there by boat?”

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“They’re going to get there by fucking boat!” exclaims Jubilee. “Come this time in a month, we’re gonna have thousands of banner-waving zealots running through this town on their way to find the next ship they can hop onto.”

“What do we do?” asks Fresh, knowing that leaving isn’t an option. The fountain will never let them leave the city, not until they’ve fulfilled their ‘purpose’ here. Whatever that might be.

“Leaving would be more suspicious than staying, in this case,” says Basil.

“Agreed,” affirms Shamrock, nodding once.

Jubilee nods. “We’re sticking to the plan then. Heads low, hands full. We got ourselves a structure to procure.” They look to Fresh. “How much longer do you need for your fucky ritual?” asks Jubilee. “We need that favor now. An adventurer’s guild barkeeper has strong connections.”

Fresh shakes her head. “It’s gonna be at least two weeks until the herb that I ordered arrives.”

“Fuck. Okay,” says Jubilee. They point at Basil. “You, you’re with me. We’re going to talk to the barkeeper and then check on some other things I need to look at.” They point at Shamrock. “Go back to the dungeon. We need loot, equipment, materials, fucking coconuts, I don’t care.” Shamrock nods. Jubilee’s finger lands on her. “Get crafting. We need to speed this up. We have to be established by the time the soldiers get here.”

Fresh blinks. “Huh? Why?”

Jubilee places their hands on their hips. “Because, goo-brain, they’re going to be flooding this place with money in a month’s time,” says Jubilee, hitting their open palm with a fist as they speak each word to emphasize. “And. We. Want. It.”

“Isn’t that dangerous, Jubilee?” asks Fresh.

“The best place for us to hide is in plain sight. In a couple of months, those kooks will all be dying overseas on some godless battlefield and we can figure something else out then.” They snap their fingers. “Let’s move, people. Time is money.” Fresh nods, holding her hand into the circle. The others stare at her. “What are you doing now?” asks Jubilee.

Fresh looks around at the others. “I’m doing the hand-thing,” she explains.

“The what?” asks Basil.

“The hand-thing, look!” She grabs Jubilee’s hand and holds it up against her own, then she takes Basil’s and Shamrock’s and does the same. “See? Now we have to say something really motivating to build our team-spirit!”

“I wish I was still asleep,” says Jubilee.

“Go team!” exclaims Fresh, lifting their hands a bit.

Shamrock says nothing.

“Go team!” exclaims Fresh, lifting their hands a bit again.

“I hope everything is going to be okay,” says Basil quietly in a worried voice.

“GO TEAM!”

Razmatazz

-) Go team!  *-*

-) Grimdark tag added to the story. No reason. Don't worry about it.

-) Debating removing the mystery genre and replacing it with either drama or tragedy. Opinions?

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