It was early morning inside the Ebongild Tavern. Morning light streamed into the wooden building as Rennia swept, waiting for the inevitable customer to show up. Yesterday, Ishmere had opened the tavern and told a few stragglers and strays to spread awareness through word of mouth. So far, not a single soul had shown up, and Rennia had better things to do than play the role of a barmaid.
"You see, this is why I told you not to rush things," she said, pointing at her master, who was standing on the front counter barefoot, feet tapping erratically. "I'm astonished that you managed to run a tavern without prior help—or did you? No advertisement and no errand boy to send around means no customers."
Ishmere jumped off the counter. "And you lack patience, Rennia. Your impulsive behavior is the reason why you get caught up in so much bullshit. Word of mouth will suffice—it's about minimal investment for maximal gain."
Rennia pointed to some flyers from merchant companies that were found in the city, and Ishmere stared long and hard at them. Rennia traced her fingers along the insignias and symbols, the hand-painted colored lettering, and the illustrations drawn on them. "You see? Very pretty, isn't it?"
The printing press, as the academics called it, was no widespread technology. Although it had been around for 200 years, very few places made use of it. Rennia had started an unconscious habit of collecting papers and small flyers for later use as a collection. The fact that written words could be captured so magically was amazing.
"Actually, now that you mention it, we should have used that money on some flyers and spread them out in the city."
"Get an errand boy while you're at it."
"Oh no, no. I have a much better idea—a young, promiscuous woman with dark hair, wearing a frilly short skirt, showcasing her thick thighs and cleavage as she hands them to wandering admirers."
Rennia spat on the ground. She was not about to become a public embarrassment. "Ishmere, selling alcohol makes very little sense to me. What's your endgame here? What was this place before it was burned down? I know it isnt some "tavern."
Ishmere's face tightened for a moment and her silly smile disappeared, replaced by the ultra-lucidity she rarely displayed—the adult and mature demeanor you'd expect from an inquisitor. "The world is full of terrible fates, Rennia Perillion. My job here was simple: gather information by any means possible. This little tavern stands at the border of five very large nations, not including city-states like Ivarcant. Everyone comes through here—kings and peasants, orcs and dragons. It's a network I plan on building, and for that I need you to cooperate. In exchange, I will hold our bargain true and make sure you don't lose control over yourself."
Rennia was stunned. She had questions but didn't know where to start. Before she could ask them, Ishmere's voice turned high-pitched again, and she squealed and wailed as she started complaining. "And why can't a girl make some profit while she's at it?."
The pathfinder girl shrank slightly, pondering her words. "That still doesn't make it right, though. You used me like a fuck mannequin and are probably turning me into one."
"If the shoe fits, Arosia's chosen."
The words gave Rennia chills. So far, the goddess hadn't visited her yet and she didn't exactly know what it is she's supposed to do. Ishmere wasn't too happy about the vision or the knowledge that Arosia knew of Ishmere's presence here—she seemed a lot more irritated since learning that. She apparently cared even less about some ambiguous "dark force". Big A(that is Arosia) had alluded to.
"Ishmere, do you know what this divine seed thing could be?" Rennia asked, concerned about what fate had in store for her.
"Can't say. Could be anything. Could be that you carry her seed, if you know what I mean. Could be that you're forced to give birth to something. Who knows? You could be pregnant."
Rennia's eyes bulged. "Pregnant? Excuse me!" That would be uncomfortable...
"Relax, I'm joking. I think there's only one way to find out. However, you're out of luck—I've taken a week-long vow of chastity to protect the innocence of my mind. Of course, you could always try your luck with the goblin tribe."
Rennia waved her hand. She had other options. If Ishmere didn't know, then she was as lost as ever. She didn't blame Ishmere for finding herself years into the future, aloof and confused.
The Living System had seemingly gone silent for a while now, and she was afraid of communicating with it.
"I realize that all of this is very new to you. I realize that having a pair of balls and a cock between your legs is not a feminine aspect to you. I can promise you nothing except that things will get better in the future. For now, live in the moment. Drown your sorrows, like I am we can "build" next month." She closed her eyes as she said it.
When she didn't bark sarcasm and wit, she was an alright woman, Rennia guessed..
"Of course, please do steer any divine meddling away from me if you can. The gods are a fickle bunch—they're hardly the saints they proclaim to be."
Rennia thought about that, about Marz's sin, about how he slaughtered man and boy alike in every continent, in every town. How was that the action of a benevolent being? She too had reasons to distrust Arosia, but there was an almost religious pull she felt toward the woman, or any sign of her. She swept the void in her heart closed and started sweeping the ground again.
The door to the tavern opened, and a man walked in wearing a bright purple tunic. His hair was cut slightly around the edges, faded, and he wore leather boots that glistened in the sunlight. The sign of a bird was on the tunic—not something she recognized. It was like a giant ostrich but with the feathers of an eagle. Those weren't simply peasant clothes either.
The man's face nearly didn't register at first but it was none other than her personal driver, Dontellin, wearing something that didn't look like rags. His demeanor was calm, almost elegant, and he greeted them as he walked in.
"Greetings. I heard there was a 'new' tavern opening around the corner," he said, his tone deliberately altered.
Rennia narrowed her eyes and shook her head at him. Ishmere, on the other hand, got excited and sprang up from the floor where she'd been sitting. "Finally! An actual customer. How long we have waited."
"That's literally our driver, Ishmere. He's more of a freeloader, if anything."
"Shh, quiet, Rennia. That's not how a barmaid acts."
Rennia swallowed in defeat. She wasn't working her way out of this one.
Dontellin spoke up. "I'd like to buy some of your 'beer,' if you have any available. Maybe something to fill the stomach, if you have time." He smiled at Rennia. He was as stubborn as a rock and would not let go.
"Of course!" Ishmere exclaimed. She walked over to Rennia, whispering in her ear, lifted the back of her skirt, and then promptly slapped her on the butt twice. Rennia jumped into the air as the slaps made her butt cheeks sting. Her face was flustered and red. Dontellin stared in surprise, then swiftly looked away.
"Don't act out of character, you idiot. It sets a bad precedent. A customer's a customer."
Rennia gritted her teeth but played along. She went to the kitchen, grabbed a mug, and filled it with the only thing she had—bubble-ale, Ishmere's brew, which according to Ishmere was practically fantastical in design. If their customer ended up drinking heavily, the profit rate would be high.
Rennia moved in and passed the mug toward him and announced the price. "Thirty bronze, no more, no less."
"Thirty, you say? That's ridiculous for a mug. I saw her literally conjuring barrels of this stuff two days ago," he said with dismay.
"The entitlement from a cart boy is getting out of hand," Ishmere declared. "If you don't wish to pay, may I suggest leaving then?"
Dontellin turned up his nose but handed Rennia the bronze pieces. She took them and gave him a gleeful but awkward smile. He smiled back at her. As he handed them to her, she caught sight of scars below his wrist—not knife wounds, but deep lacerations probably made by a whip. He noticed her looking and tucked his sleeve down. Rennia turned away; it wasn't her business.
She waited for his response after drinking it, putting her hands on her hips. She heard him sip, then chug slowly, each gulp growing in intervals but wider in breaths. She saw foam bubble at his mouth and couldn't help but find it cute. He slammed down the mug—not by accident but by sheer shock.
"This is great. Really."
Ishmere made a joyful squeak and retreated into the kitchen. Leaving Rennia alone with him, for the hundredth time this week. Dontellin observed the tavern, then observed her closely. Really observed her.
"You're not letting up, are you? I'm warning you, though—you shouldn't look the snake in the eye," Rennia whispered to him. "You might not like what you find."
He was quiet for a moment, then spoke again. "You don't look so happy here. Homesick, are you?"
"Maybe," she choked. It came out worse than it sounded. "But I'm bound to Ishmere for some time, and I need to learn as much as I can before things start meddling in my life. She's rough around the edges, but she means well."
"People say strange things about her, you know. I only agreed to carry back your luggage, and here I am sitting like a watchful despot, watching you, hoping—" He became quiet. "I get the message and the implications of what you 'do.' Don't worry too much about that. But if you're in need of searching for apartments or such things, just say the word and I'll help."
She nodded but said nothing. Then footsteps put her on alert. A cloaked man walked inside. She immediately changed her posture—breasts lifted, chest protruding. Appeal—that was the thing she lacked, according to Ishmere. Nice on the eyes, bad for nourishment, though.
"Welcome to Ebongi—"
The man cut her off before she could speak. "Delivery for R.P."
He said her initials out loud. Even Dontellin became tense. "I'm supposed to give this to you." He stared at her, not even waiting for further confirmation. How did this person know who she was and where she came from?
She reluctantly took the sealed "letter" from him, or at least she thought it was one. The man turned and strode off without another word. She scratched off the sticky residue, keeping it folded, then noticed a handwritten seal—the fancy kind you'd see from a higher institution, complete with colorful lettering. At the very top was a signature she recognized, and she felt lightheaded, nearly collapsing as she sat down right there.
"Hey," Dontellin caught her and sat her down properly. Her eyes were fixed on the letter and her legs felt numb. The heading read "To Whom I Once Knew."
She snatched the mug out of his hands and started drinking wildly. She'd refill it in a moment, this...this can't be taken sober.
Dear Rennia,
Surprised to hear from me, I'm sure. You're probably wondering how it is that I was even allowed to contact you, and how I managed it. I wasn't supposed to, but I have my ways. The school of clerics has its secrets, and I've had to learn them and keep my own.
The place I'm being kept is not innocent in the slightest. The girls are all promiscuous whores and lesbians (you'd think I'd be happy), especially the older women—the matrons, the guards, the watchers, the teachers. All degenerates in holy clothing. Some girls tried to haze me. They regretted it shortly after. Apparently, it doesn't work on seasoned adventurers. If you were here, we'd run this place. Just a thought.
I have forsaken the path of magedom, at least for a time. To survive, I have to change more than I want to. I've heard strange things about your whereabouts, and even stranger things about your mother. They say your house has been plundered in Kibblestadt. Your mother apparently fled somewhere—no one knows where. The inquisition apparently sent out an investigation for you, but for some reason they're unable to operate where you're currently living. I wouldn't worry too much. It seems you have more protectors than you can imagine.
So get stronger, get better. Learn whatever it is you need to. I don't know what it's like to live with the burden you've been given, but I'm thinking of you.
I miss you. I miss our times together. I should have sacrificed my feelings in that moment. The night we went to the orchard—I planned it. I didn't plan what was supposed to happen. I don't know if you resent me for it. I don't know if you'll ever love me like I loved you. But I hope you hold no pain in your heart for me. You did that day what you had to do. It is what it is.
I love you, until our next meeting—not soon.
Lyanna
Rennia blanked out. She stared at the open space. Dontellin started reading, his eyes moving from top to bottom. Rennia yanked the letter from his hands and started running outside toward the courier, staring at the road. The man was gone as quickly as he had come. It was too late to write something back, but Rennia knew where Lyanna was. She'd sent a courier of her own, but she'd need to be twice as careful.
She sat down again, feeling hollow inside. Ishmere appeared shortly after, interested and amused, she started reading through the letter much to Rennia's protest. Dontellin's eyes remained interested in whatever affairs these were. Ishmere just frowned at it, likely at the middle part. Rennia didn't know what to feel. She put her head on the table and lay there for a while. Only a single tear left her eyes.
She was far from home, her life had changed, and she missed her friend.
And as she lay there, her face resting, and her mouth slightly bubbling, something twicthed below. The all encompassing reminder, she had a dick.
End of Volume 1
A Little Afterword
Hey there! So this has taken some time to get to this point, and I still feel I haven't even opened the core loop yet. I write like that—first volumes that feel like prologues. Going forward, I'd say the point where I can establish the core loop and cast is near. I'll also be leaning into more mature/sexual territory.
Ishmere may seem like a distasteful character, but her job is that of eventual and proper guidance—or just an old woman "breaking bad." Rennia didn't have much agency in this first part, but the second will have more direct choices, partners, and, I suppose, rewards. The story will become more like the first few chapters, meaning more adventure and sexual encounters.
To the dedicated readers I have, I'm thankful that you're sticking around. Thanks for reading.