Book 4, Chapter 61: What’s Happening with the Beastfolk?
I wasn’t taking any chances this time. Marco hadn’t shown himself to be the most stable of individuals, and Failith had tried to ‘ambush’ me during the Tender Sprite Stampede, so I was doing this in home territory.
Namely in our big dining hall underneath Cascadia, under the watchful eyes of Annie’s portrait.
And with Balin, Kirk, and every other combat capable person who knew about my status as a Chosen Catalyst. I wasn’t getting anywhere near Marco without a few layers of protection. Oh, and Aqua was standing behind me to knee me in the ribs if someone was lying.
Failith gave Annie’s painting a wary glance as he nibbled on some beer basted ribs. The patches of grey in the ambassador’s fur were showing signs of going fully white, and his nose had a dry matte look. I wasn’t a judge of beastfolk health, but he looked tired. If antlers could droop, his would. And I was pretty sure he was wearing the same suit I’d seen him in at the rodeo.
For his part, Marco was devouring his meal, not even sparing me or anyone else a second look. He looked… a lot gaunter then I remembered. His spotted fur was disheveled, and the metal tips of his horns were looking tarnished. His armour and weapon still looked well cared for, though.
“Thank you for the meal.” Failith said when we were all done munching on Bran’s delicious fare. “Ouhr embassy has not had much gold to spare for luxuries like food these days.”
“What, yer not gonna wax on ‘how dare you eat such delicious food while my people starve’ this time?” I asked sardonically, giving Marco a stare.
Failith coughed, and Marco muttered, “I… am sorry, Master Brewer Roughtuff for my poor behaviour. That was before – “
“That was before you, apparently, really really needed me.” I growled, my vision turning red. I pulled back on my red rage and tried to focus on the now. “So my first impression of you is NOT GREAT.”
Failith jumped in, and I could feel him using an Ability. “We do truly apologize, Lord Roughtuff. Please understand that Marco has been under a great deal of stress as the one sent by blessed Aaron to save us from our current predicament.”
*Bing!*
Milestone Used
[Unbending] has prevented [Calm Situation].
I bristled at the Ability use, but my Ambassador training had taught me that using a calming ability wasn’t a faux pas in political circles. We all wanted to be in full control of our emotions. I took a deep breath.
“Fine. I guess I can accept being pissed off about being thrown into some God’s little idea of fun,” I grouched. “So how about we try this again from tha start. I’m only willing to do this, mind, ‘cause ya helped my brother in tha Monster Stampede.”
Marco had actually been instrumental, according to adventurers who’d been in the palace. He’d been an absolute dervish protecting the door to Cascadia and he’d personally led a contingent of beastfolk to clear the way when Balin and company had returned after closing the rift. He specialized in lightning magic and the longsword. Of all the Chosen Catalysts I’d met so far, he was the only who seemed to be fully combat oriented.
Marco gave me a lopsided smile, his scars keeping his face stiff. “Thank you, Lord Roughtuff. I am Marco, son of the Aurelez tribe, and leader of the rebellion sweeping the Western Kingdoms. I was once Marcus Aurelius, mage-king of Vindobona on the planet Erta.”
I blinked. “Marcus AURELIUS??”
“Is the name familiar to you?” Failith asked curiously,
I nodded. “It’s a person from my old world. He was an emperor of one of our most famous civilizations.”
Marco gave me a sideways head look that immediately made me think of a dog. “How odd. He was the first King of my country. We are a small country, but proud, and a powerhouse of trade. And he founded it from nothing, rising from a simple bandit to warlord to eventually found ouhr nation! He came, he saw, he conquered, as we say!”
I twitched. “Veni, vidi, vici?”
Marco’s eyes suddenly grew wide. “Nooooooo….”
He held his face in his hands. “It cahn’t be, not in my world too.”
I had a sudden vision of Joan of Arc, Liu Bei, and Johnny Appleseed. Of towering personas who’d risen out of nowhere to affect the fate of nations. I felt a similar pang of dread to what Marco was undoubtedly feeling right now.
“Do you think… the Gods in other worlds play a similar game,” I said hesitantly.
“How could they not?? We had Gods back on Erta, I myself was a follower of the Goddess Aliza of Merchantry. All this time here and I never even thought – arrghhhh!!!”
I shared his agony. Barck had said there were Gods in our world as well, so… how many historical figures were actually from other worlds? Did the governments know? Was this an even bigger conspiracy theory than sasquatch!?
Did it even matter? I sighed. “Well, we can consider ourselves comrades in arms then. I was Peter on Earth and Peter here. I was a vintner and brewer, and still am, though I started here as a prisoner. King ta slave and then freedom fighter is a bit of a step down too, eh?”
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“You don’t know the half of it,” Marco growled. “But I’m not here to discuss my past, or yours. We need your help.”
“Yes, so Ambassador Failith said. But I’m lost as ta why ya need me. He’s tha powerhouse and one-time king. I’m just a brewer.”
“The problem, Lord Roughtuff,” Failith said. “Is that the Coalition is not united. We are a loose collection of families and tribes that are fractious at best, and in competition at the worst. We currently have no higher power that binds us together as your Kings do.”
I pointed at Marco. “What about him? Wasn’t that the whole point?”
Marco shook his head, and Failith continued. “He was instrumental in breaking thousands out from slavery, many of them now the warriors that serve as the backbone of our coalition. But what kept us united were our [Shamans]. They were a unique Specialization that was able to read the heart of the plains, meld the Spirit, alter the weather, and pass down knowledge. They were also fearsome in battle, and led our tribes to victory after victory against all aggressors. For as far back as we can remember, the [Shamans] were the soul of our people."
Here tears came to his eyes. “But we were betrayed. Two hundred years ago, during the Midsummer Festival, when the Shamans all gathered to discuss our future, the dishonourable Daggerfall tribe poisoned the feast, and fell upon those assembled. At the same instant, the Alliance of Western Kingdoms marched upon the plains, scything our disorganized tribes like so much wheat. The rest you know – many of our people were turned into slaves, and the tribes became little more than prey for the human monsters to feast upon.”
I didn’t say anything for a while. The atmosphere was heavy, and even Kirk shuffled his feet, discomfitted.
Eventually I spoke up. “I’m sorry about everything that’s happening to your people. I empathize, I really do. But I’m afraid yer losin’ me. What does any of this with the [Shamans] have to do with me? Can’t you just go… get more? Do you need Gold? Supplies? I’m happy ta help, and Annie probably would be too.”
Aqua made some agreeable noises from behind me, which I took as affirmation of my estimation of Annie.
Failith shook his head. “No. [Shaman] is a Specialization of [Mystic], and there’s a specific Milestone called [Lesser Soulsight] required to access it. It's a guaranteed [Milestone] obtained by taking part in a ritual while drinking a special mead called Spiritual Nectar. Thee method to make the Nectar was lost with thee death of the Shamans. Ouhr hope is that you, a talented brewer from another world, wouhld be able to recreate it.”
I nodded. “I know how to make mead. Honey Wine. The original alcohol. I used to make it in college. I certainly know all the techniques for making it. But… brew a specific mead that I’ve never even tasted before? What was in it?”
Failith sunk into his chair. “That’s the problem. We don’t know. Neither the ingredients, nor the method. We came to the elves hoping they would have records of the ingredients, but either they do not, or are not willing to involve themselves in ouhr war.”
“Hmm… I have an Ability that will tell me tha makeup of a drink. Do ya have any fer me to sample?” I asked. “Assumin’ I’m willing to help.”
I actually had a lot of mead left over from [Barck’s Cellar], but a quick use of [Flash of Insight] told me that there wasn’t a ‘Spiritual Nectar’ amongst them. “Or do you know what it looks like?”
Failith shook his head. “No. We have [Artisans] with similar Abilities, but there is none available to drink. And I’ve never seen it myself, though Mystic Isen has. He’s one of the eldest in the tribes, a Specialised [Ancient Mystic] who was actually an apprentice of the old Shamans. He sacrificed his chance to become a [Shaman] by taking a Specialisation that extended his life, and he now guides the current generation of hopeful [Mystics].”
“And that’s all?”
“We also know it was colloquially called ‘Fire of the Soul’ by the [Shamans]. But yes, that’s all.”
“An interesting conundrum.” I pondered. “Y’know. Master Romero also uses ‘Soul’ as a name fer his wine. Have ya tried askin’ him?”
“Yes,” Marco butted in. “I asked him at the ball. He said that he ahctually did get the idea for wine from the tribes, and his method closely resembles the method of mead making. But he was unaware of the ingredients. Or wouldn’t share.”
“Romero’s pretty open. If he said he didn’t know, he probably didn’t know.” I sat back in my chair and considered the pair of them. “What would this entail me doing?”
“Come to our Embassy in Grandia, where our meadery is situated,” Failith said, his tone cajoling. “Look over their work, and see what you can figure out. We’re happy to pay in gold, provide lodging, food, and whatever else your heart would desire. And if you are unable to help… we’re no further ahead or behind than before.”
I considered it. “Grandia… that’s the Free City of Adventurers on the East Coast, right? The Jewel of the Sea?”
Failith nodded eagerly. “Yes. It is a beautiful place. Perhaps you could treat it as a vacation?”
I stared at the pair as they sat resolutely, their backs straight, but eyes full of fear.
From everything I’ve heard the beastfolk were treated as little more than – well – beasts, in the Western Kingdoms, and unlike some people I’d heard tell of who traveled to other worlds, I was still staunchly against slavery in all its forms.
And all they wanted was for me to try to make some mead with their experts? That actually sounded like fun. And Kirk had been talking up Grandia since forever. He’d probably be a great guide.
“Mmm… the Western Kingdoms probably don’t want this to succeed. Any chance of [Ninjas]?” I shivered, remembering long knives in the dark of Copperpot’s factory.
Failith shook his head. “We’ve been trying for decades. They have long since dismissed ouhr attempts. And… well, you’ll see. They are right to not worry about us making much, even if you manage.”
Aqua didn’t smack me in the ribs, so he was probably telling the truth. Okay, no ninjas. That was good!
“Still, I’ll need to bring Team Brightstar with me. And I’ll need full access to all yer supplies and people. Including this Mystic Isen. And don’t worry about buyin’ me food or anythin’, I’ll cover my own costs and even donate some to tha cause.”
Failith’s eyes lit up and his relief was palpable. “Oh!”
“Then let's work out the specifics,” I said, leaning forward on the table and tenting my fingers.
*Bing!*
New Quest: A Spirited Drink
The beastfolk of the Northern Plains have a special order, can you fill it?
Spiritual Nectar: 0/1 Crafted
Rewards: [Friend: Beastfolk]
Do you accept?
Yes / No
The quest was in another strange font, indicating another God. Aaron this time, maybe?
Y’know what? Some mead, some sun, and some summer fun?
And helping people in need?
That sounded perfect. I’d been wanting to get away anyway.
I accept!