Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 300-301 (Patreon)

Several cities away from Milten, a beautifully carved wooden door flew open with a loud bang that echoed through the extravagant meeting hall that stretched beyond it. Riches that had once adorned its halls had long since been sold, and a thin layer of dust had taken residence across the room’s surface. And even in spite of that, the air itself seemed to hold its breath in respect for the grandiose presence that the room had once possessed.  

 Heavy breath filled the silent air as a messenger rushed into the room, sweat streaking his brow and his hair disheveled.

Two people sat at the head of a long table that took up the majority of the room’s space. One was a man with a clean-cut beard and sharp, dangerous eyes. Years of age had taken their toll on him, whitening his hair and wrinkling his skin, but he still sat proud. The man wore leather armor that still bore fresh scars from training that morning. A large swathe of fresh meats, pastries, and other delicacies were laid out before him, completely untouched.

The other was a young man, no older than fifteen. He was thin and frail, with white hair and features that closely matched those of the man at the head of the table. Both he and the older man held several cards close to their chests.

The only thing on the table before the young man was a plate of plain porridge and a deck of cards. A wooden crutch leaned against the side of his chair.

“Duke Alaric!” the messenger rasped.

“Godspit, man,” the duke said, rising from his spot at the head of the table and setting his cards down. He grabbed the hilt of the sword that hung at his side. “What are you doing? Are we under attack?”

“Nobody sounded the bells, father,” the boy beside Alaric said. “We can’t be under attack. Do you concede the hand?”

“We’re not under attack,” the messenger rasped, straightening as he caught his breath. “Your Grace—”

“If we are not under attack, then you should not be blowing down hundred year old doors like they are made from rubbish. And yes, Art. I concede the hand. You win. Again.” Aleric’s eyes turned to the messenger. As for you, have some decorum. What if we were in an important meeting? Think of the impression it would make on the other guilds in Thornhelm. I have a reputation to upkeep in this city. I have already lost enough ground as things are. What remains will not be torn asunder by scrambling messengers. Follow the proper procedures.”

“One of our scout teams was attacked, Your Grace.”

A dozen years of age seemed to appear in Aleric’s face in an instant. The elderly man let out a wheeze like he’d been stabbed through the heart and lowered himself back into his chair, pain crossing over his features.

“No. Who?”

“We believe the Starforge Guild to be at—”

“Not who killed them!” Aleric barked. “Who died? I care more about the lives of my fallen than I do who took them.”

“The Eagles, Your Grace. The only survivor was a boy in training to be an assassin. Yi—”

“Yinta,” Aleric said. He let his head roll back to stare at the ceiling far above him, his features pressed thin, and let out a slow sigh. When his head lifted once more, his expression had come under control once more. “Yes. I know him. A good boy. A good man. All of the Eagles were. Now you will tell me what happened.”

“We don’t have details, but Yinta reported that the Starforge Guild was at fault.”

“This is because of me,” the boy beside Aleric said. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Father, I should just —”

“No,” Aleric growled. “We will not give in to their demands. You will remain here, Art. I will not be ground under heel. Our family may not be what it once was, but know this. Nobody attempts to threaten one that they do not believe to be a threat. The Starforge Guild fears us.”

“They fear my sister,” Art said.

“Then you should be grateful for her strength,” Aleric said.

“Her strength is wasted on me,” Art snapped, grabbing his crutch and jabbing it under his arm as he staggered upright, leaning heavily upon it. “She should not be here. She should not be stuck with a dying guild. She should be with the Adventurer’s Guild, or with one of the powerful independent guilds, trying to find — you know.”

Aleric glanced at the messenger out of the corners of his eyes. He flicked his hand, and the man bowed before ducking out of the room and pulling the massive doors shut behind him.

“You should not air family matters out before our workers,” Aleric said. “It unsettles them. They must witness a united front.”

“There is no united front,” Art said. He jabbed a finger into the thigh of his right leg. It was thin and spindly compared to his left, stiff and worthless at his side. “Your heir is worthless. The other guilds taste blood in the water. They do not believe we are strong anymore, and you keep Vix here, hidden, instead of letting her live with what time she has left.”

“I have shown them you.”

“I am useless!” Art snarled. “Look at me, Father. I would lose a fight to a common monster. The Monster Horde would find use for me as a toothpick or as a scrubber for their latrines. I could not kill a monster if it was half dead and riddled with the pox.”

“Which is why Father has shown the guilds you rather than me.” A soft voice echoed through the hall from above, and a young woman dropped from the beams running across the ceiling, landing nimbly on top of the table. Long black hair ran down from her head and all the way down to her waist, tied together with golden bands. Her features were strikingly similar to Art and Aleric’s.  

“How long were you there?” Art asked, leaning against his crutch as he shifted back a step.

“The entire time,” Aleric said.

“I will have to practice more,” Vix said. “I did not think you realized I was there.”

“I’m not that old yet,” Aleric said with a raspy chuckle. “Listen to Vix if you will not listen to me, Art. I do what I must for our family.”

“Maybe you care about some family too much,” Art snapped. He slapped the cards in his hands face-down onto the table.  “Isn’t the entire Nightviper Guild family? Isn’t Vix?”

“Of course they are,” Aleric said.

“So why do you keep me as Heir? Vix would present a united front. She can fight. She can inspire. What can I do other than present an open neck to our enemies?”

“You can lead,” Vix said. “I can’t. Being a good fighter doesn’t make me a good leader, Art. The guild trusts you — and what good would I be as a leader when I will be dead within three years? At least you have no expiry date.”

Art winced. “I’m sorry.”

Aleric rose to his feet. “Enough. You have heard both of our thoughts, Art. Vix does not want to be Heir. It must be you. I fear I am too old to work on making another Heir.”

Art’s jaw clenched and his gaze averted. “I don’t want to be the reason our guild collapses, Father.”

“You will not be,” Aleric said. “It is only after the castle has fallen that the flaws in its design are made apparent. Continue as you are. Our family will not fall. It has you — and it has Vix. There will be an opportunity. You must simply be prepared for when it arises.”

“There is an opportunity,” Vix said.

They both turned to her.

“What?” Art asked.

 “The Secret Eye approached me. We’ve been invited to the Proving Grounds,” Vix said.

Aleric smiled. “And so the Mesh provides, just as it always has.”

“That could be what we need,” Art muttered. “A chance to demonstrate our power. We can’t attack the other guilds directly. We aren’t strong enough. But if we can win the tournament, the Secret Eye would give us the wealth and the location of someone who could help Vix. We would have our strongest player on the board.”

“Assuming I survive the tournament,” Vix said, her lips curling up into a bitter smile. “Training does little when your body rots away from the inside.”

“It’s gotten that bad already?” Aleric asked, his features paling. “Perhaps you should—”

“I already accepted the Secret Eye’s offer.” Vix cut Aleric off. “Death marches for me regardless. I may as well do something with the time I have left instead of wasting away, training for a fight that will never come.”

“It is your decision,” Aleric said, squeezing his eyes shut in pain. “I wish I could do more for us, but we must make the most with the pieces we have. If you can win the tournament, there is a chance. Perhaps our only one.”

“So were my thoughts,” Vix said. She hesitated for a moment. “There is only one requirement.”

“What is it?” Art asked.

“They mandated that you must be one of the members of my party,” Vix replied, her features going grim.

“Godspit,” Art said. “This is a setup. Why would they want me in the tournament? What do they think I could do?”

“I don’t know,” Vix replied with a shake of her head. “But it’s the only chance we have, Art. The only one I have — and the only one this family has. I should have asked you, but—”

Art’s jaw clenched. “No. You’re right. I can’t fight, but if you can fight well enough for both of us, then it doesn’t matter, does it? We have no choice. If we wait around, you’ll rot away and I’ll have my throat slit a week later once the other guilds realize we really do have nothing left.”

“Ideally, we will have to find a third,” Vix said. “But I do not know anyone to call on.”

Art was already nodding. “That’s fine. I’ll find somebody. I think we may have a few connections I can call on. There are still people that owe us favors. I will find someone suitable. We will win the tournament. We have to.”

A small smile crossed Vix’s lips. “And this is why you are Heir and I am not.”

Art didn’t hear her. He was already limping out of the throne room, his crutch clattering against the stone with every step as he muttered under his breath.

Aleric watched him leave with an inscrutable expression on his features. He reached over to where Art had sat and flipped the boy’s discarded cards over. A chuckle slipped from his lips. It was straight trash.

 His family had not been dealt a kind hand in life, but it was from the worst hands that the best bluffs were played.

Chapter 301

Arwin led Raen, Monica, and Reya from the smithy and over to the Devil’s Den. Monica pinched herself at least four times over the short walk, still seemingly unable to believe that she actually looked and felt like a human.

Lillia stepped out of the kitchen as they emerged, an eyebrow arching as she made her way over to greet them.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Perfectly,” Arwin replied. He nodded to Monica. “This is Raen’s wife, Monica.”

The orc seemed slightly preoccupied. Her gaze traveled over the tavern, lips parting in disbelief as she drank the atmosphere in. Arwin didn’t blame her. There was something about the darkness of the tavern, lit only by the gentle glow of the orange lanterns scattered throughout it, that was undeniably appealing.

“This place has it right,” Monica breathed. “It looks incredible. It feels just like—”   

She cut herself off before she could finish the sentence. Raen sent her a sharp look, but it was too late. Lillia had caught onto the tone in the other woman’s voice. There had been more than just mere awe in her words. There had been recognition.

“I spent a lot of time studying the horde’s caves and hideouts,” Lillia said. Her eyes flicked down to Monica’s wrist, spotting the bracelet on her hand, and her lips curled up in slight amusement. “I am very dedicated to making sure everything is as realistic as possible to ensure the experience is enjoyable for all of my patrons.”

“Are any of the adventurers staying over still in their rooms?” Arwin asked.

Lillia shook her head. “No. They’ve all headed out for the day, and I’ve got the place closed down for an hour in preparation for the lunch rush.”

“Is this a bad time? We could come back later,” Raen offered. “Ifrit mentioned that there might be a potential job for my wife. She’s looking for something to keep her hands busy, but I don’t think she’d be very happy with me if we made ourselves a bother for you right now.”

“Right enough,” Monica agreed reluctantly. “I can come back—”

“Oh, no need,” Lillia said with a laugh. She nodded over her shoulder to the kitchen, where the faint thud of a chopping knife made itself known. “The meal is preparing itself right now.”

“It’s… what now?” Raen’s brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lillia said with a wave of her hand. “And there’s no reason to be so uptight. We’re mostly alone right now. There’s only one other member of the Menagerie around right now. The rest went to a dungeon. They’re getting some practice in and restocking on some materials for Ifrit.”

“Oh, are they?” Arwin’s eyes lit up. “Perfect. I’m going to have a lot of testing to do pretty soon, so that’ll be helpful. Rodrick’s idea?”

“Olive’s, actually.”

“I’ll have to thank her,” Arwin said with a nod. “But don’t let me interrupt. I believe Monica was interested in a potential job.”

Monica shifted uncomfortably. “I am, yes. But I think something like this might be better discussed when we’re alone. Not everyone is as welcoming as you.  I really don’t want to push my luck. I’m not really sure I understood what you meant when you mentioned the job before, but anything that has to do with… well, you know. Best not to take chances.”

Lillia glanced at Arwin. “What did you tell her?”

“Just that she might have a spot here if she wanted it and clicked with the rest of the team,” Arwin replied with a small shrug. “We are growing, aren’t we? Some extra help would go a long way.”

“Of course,” Lillia said. The corner of her lip quirked up but she suppressed the grin before it could fully take form. “Well, I can assure you that there’s nothing to be concerned about from our group.”

“I’m certain, but this is a sensitive topic,” Raen said, rubbing the back of his head with a grimace. “And it’s one of those topics that you never really know someone’s true thoughts on until you really know them. I can assure you that this isn’t us being nitpicky. You’ll understand when we explain.”

“Madiv, could you come out?” Lillia asked.

The shadows in the corner of the room shifted as Madiv rose from the chair he’d been sitting in, nearly completely invisible in the darkness, and walked over to join them with his hands crossed behind his back.

“Of course, Ma’am,” Madiv said as he came to a stop. “How may I be of service?”

“Just give them a winning grin, Madiv. I believe Monica is considering employment at our establishment, so it’s only right to give her a proper greeting.”

Madiv chuckled and followed Lillia’s request. He gave Monica a wide smile — which actually looked quite unsettling on his normally stern features. It sent a shiver down Arwin’s spine. There was something deeply wrong about a vampire giving a toothy smile.

That’s probably because a smiling vampire is normally akin to a soldier drawing their sword. You don’t usually flash your weapons if you aren’t about to use them.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Monica said, but she trailed off as her eyes focused in the darkness. Madiv had positioned himself quite close to a lantern, and the light reflected off his blindingly white teeth just enough to bring attention to them.

  “Our tavern has a few unique requirements for employment,” Madiv said. “And the foremost among them is to serve—”

“That’s enough, Madiv,” Lillia said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Thank you.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” the vampire replied without missing a beat. “It is my pleasure to be of service.”

“Those are some very realistic inserts,” Monica said. She glanced at Arwin, realization passing over her features as a grunting laugh passed from between her lips. “So that’s what you meant. You all dress up as monsters. That’s the theme of the tavern, right?”

Raen nudged his wife with an elbow. “Monica?”

“Yes?”

“Those aren’t inserts,” Raen said, his voice trembling slightly in shock. “They’re real.”

Monica did a double take. Madiv obliged her, flashing a grin once more.

“What is this?” the orc asked, looking from one person in the room to the other as growing confusion gripped at her. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Raen said. His eyes snapped to Arwin. He squinted at him, then turned his gaze to Lillia. “Godspit.”

“Is something wrong?” Lillia asked innocently.

“Raen?” Monica asked.

It barely even seemed like he’d heard her. He stared at Lillia for several long seconds. It looked like he couldn’t tell if he wanted to run in the opposite direction or rush closer to inspect her in more detail.

“You’re not screwing with me, are you?” Raen asked.

“Might as well spit it out,” Arwin said. “We’re going to be business partners from here on out if we set you up with the Montibeau family. No point hiding basic truths from each other, is there?”

I also have a pretty good grasp of what you and Monica are like. I’m a lot more willing to let on that the Menagerie are more than we appear to you than I am to Elias and Maeve — at least for the time being. The Dawnseekers have been pretty trustworthy so far, but I don’ t know enough about those two quite yet.

“You’re not pretending at all,” Raen said, forcing the words between his lips before they could die in his throat. “All the rumors about the owner of the Devil’s Den being a giant fan of demons… those are lies. Lillia isn’t using any makeup or specially made attachments. She’s a real demon — and Madiv is a real vampire.”

Lillia’s tail slipped free from her pants and swayed at her side as a grin pushed its way free on her features. “Guilty — but I’m not the only one. You really shouldn’t sound so surprised. I didn’t think I’d see the day when an orc walked into my tavern, but I have to say that I’m thrilled.”

“You knew?” Monica asked, her eyes going wide. “How?”

“It’s my tavern,” Lillia replied with a laugh. “I know everything that happens in here. Now take that bracelet off and let me get a look at what you really look like. There’s no need to hide anything here.”

Monica hesitated for a second. Then she pulled the bracelet off her wrist. Her body bulged, her fangs jutted back out from her lips, and her skin turned green as she filled out and rose back up to her full height.  

Raen spun to Arwin. “And you? What are you?”

“Just a human, I’m afraid. Sorry to disappoint.”

“And you’re doing it with a demon?”

“Raen, your wife is an orc,” Arwin said. “Do you really have any room to be surprised?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m more impressed than anything else,” Raen muttered, glancing back at Lillia and running a hand through his hair. “Godspit. I had no idea there were others like Monica just… living in Milten. What about the rest of your guild?”

“Madiv is a Vampire,” Lillia said. “Everyone else is human. Mostly.”

“I can’t believe it,” Monica said with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re just walking around in plain view as a demon? And nobody questions it?”

“I have a demon themed tavern,” Lillia pointed out dryly. “Everyone knows a demon would try to infiltrate society or hide their appearance. None of them would be stupid enough to parade around their identity like this, so it’s only logical that I’m just pretending to be a demon.”

“That’s some high rank bullshit,” Raen said. “I think I see why Arwin was so unsurprised about Monica’s identity now. The Menagerie. Gods, it’s even in your name. You’re flaunting it!”

“I want in,” Monica said, clapping her hands together as a determined expression crossed over her features. “What are the requirements? How do I apply? Is there a test I have to pass? I’ll do it.”

“Well,” Lillia said, tapping a finger against her chin in thought. “Ifrit was right. We do happen to be expanding right now. We could definitely use a bouncer so I don’t have to start breaking things every time someone gets rowdy. How would you say you are with bashing skulls together?”

Monica’s lips stretched apart in a delighted smile. “In my culture, a job offer like that isn’t too far from a marriage proposal. And if I wasn’t already married, I’d have considered taking you up on both.”

“Perhaps just the job, then?” Lillia offered wryly.

“With more pleasure than I could ever possibly put into words,” Monica said, pouning a fist against her chest. “Consider me hired.”