Legend of Ransera

123 Glade 11th

Ivar was relaxing at one of his usual spots. Today it was a dark corner in a busy tavern. It was a change of pace from his normal scrivening stuff. He'd watch everyone coming and going, workers, interesting folks, and other people who were probably up to no good. He found the tavern to be kind of a safe place, where he could take a break and also make some coin with his other gig.

He had a knack for remembering bits of information so he turned it into a side hustle which thankfully did not put any strain on his wrists which were typically sore from pictography. His typical customers were sneaky thieves looking for a score, loan sharks tracking down bad debts, and even wives who thought their husbands might be cheating.

Because this was his side hustle he typically wasn’t sought out for information that was very valuable and he missed lots of discussions with other brokers. This meant that he usually only knew vague details about more sensitive information and sometimes what he knew was completely false.

“Ah, what a night.”

Ivar waved for another ale and checked the time. 8PM. The best business always came at night. He slipped off his coat and put it on the chair beside him. He rifled through its pockets and produced some coins for payment then started drinking again. He decided to leave the coat off for now as the drinking had made him hot.

There was a time where he feared his clientele and was too wary to drink. That’d all gone away when he’d learned to teleport. It was funny how people simply stopped trying to threaten you when you could escape to anywhere you wanted at the snap of a finger. Lots of his problems had been solved with magic, now that he thought about it.

Ivar took in the odd pair when they entered and Ivar felt intrigue mixed with a little wariness. There was something about them that was off putting. Ivar hadn’t the perception to put a finger on what it was, though it was likely the oddity of one’s shadow that got him to take a second glance at them. The one that approached him clearly armed, his companion, an elf, stayed at a distance.

It was hard to be truly out of the ordinary in a diverse place such as Kalzasi so Ivar had no reason to discriminate or suspect that they were here looking for trouble. Besides, the dawnstone in his pocket ensured he could blink away if he needed to. So, he stayed put and motioned to a seat, suggesting that Hector could take a seat if he wanted.

“Hello there. Undead you say… You know, I’ve been doing this for years and I don’t think I’ve ever been asked about that particular topic.”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin with one hand while he thought. Of course, he had some information that he was sure would be beneficial but simply knowing information was only a part of the job. One had to consider their clientele and factor in pricing and whether it was even wise to sell them information. The way the man spoke so casually about undead made Ivar think that he did this very often, or a jokester… and he was thinking it was more of the former than the latter.

“Hmmm”

He stuck out his free hand and hitched his drink to it from the table. He took a sip then looked directly at Hector.

“To answer your question, yes. I do have some information for you. However, before I point you in the right direction, might I ask who you are and what your purpose is with the undead?”

He supposed the answer didn’t really matter to him in the end and any answer given could be a lie, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. Was the man here to eliminate the undead? Use them for his own devices? Was there something larger at play that Ivar was unaware of? This information, to him, was potentially more valuable than the information he already had.

Grinning, Ivar gave a slight nod. He liked the idea of going after undead for research purposes. He’d met his fair share of necromancers at his college so he wasn’t that surprised. Moreover, he was interested to see what exactly they would do to the undead.

"That's interesting work you do," he said, making an effort to appear nonchalant about the whole thing.

"There are indeed rumors of undead sightings in a certain part of the Midden. Zombies specifically, so nothing too crazy… although you never know what you will find down there. The Midden is quite a horrible place and you should be prepared to deal with creatures other than undead.”

Ivar thought for a moment about payment. He saw this as a great opportunity to make money. He assumed that his customer was somewhat competent at defending himself, but did he have a means of transportation?

“Hmm,” he said. “as for payment, it depends on what you need. I could teleport you and your friend to the general area of the Midden where the zombies were sighted in. I could even stick around and teleport you back when you’re done, given you’re able to defend me. If you’re able to teach me a thing or two about the undead and necromancy I’d have half a mind to use that as payment for my services.”

He took a sip. His college only taught one form of world magic to its students so learning about necromancy would be invaluable to his goals as a mage.

“Of course I don’t want to impose and would be happy to fashion a scroll for you to teleport back to this very tavern when you’re done… or you can handle all transportation on your own. Lots of options to consider.” He chuckled and set down his cup. He was feeling buzzed already.

Hearing Vergil's words, Ivar felt a lot more confident about their plan. He was sure someone versed with mundane combat methods could hold their own against basic undead but the Midden added extra hazards. Ivar recalled one time he’d been down there killing slimes and had nearly gotten killed by a totally different creature.

“Excellent,” Ivar said with a smile after Vergil’s reassurances and agreement to him tagging along.

As he spoke his eye finally caught the strangeness of Hector’s shadow. A chill ran down his back and his eyes widened for just a moment. Of course he knew that there was a magic that dealt with darkness and shadows but that was a rare magic. There wouldn’t be any way of him coming to the conclusion that it was the effect of a summon. It made him wonder what other kinds of strange abilities this pair had.

Not wanting to stare, Ivar averted his eyes to Hector who spoke to him. “No worries. I’m sure this will go without a hitch. And I’ve got this to calm my nerves.”

He dug through his pocket and pulled out an Auralyth that he’d purchased in a previous season. It was a shard capable of manipulating emotions, among other things. He gripped it tightly and thought of a calming emotion that would quell any of his doubts. He told himself that now wasn’t the time to be afraid of adventure and that this was the perfect opportunity to learn valuable information. The magic flowed from the shard and into his body and even radiated outwards so it was possible his visitors would feel it as well.

Ivar tucked the shard away and straightened his back. His actions were so nonchalant that one might assume that he often relied on the stone’s magic to affect his own emotions. He said, “I suppose the only matter left unsettled is the When. Are you looking to go now?” He put a hand on another pocket where he kept his dawn shard. He’d assume he’d need it to cast a sufficient teleportation spell and possibly to help provide light in the sewers.

As Ivar sat in silence, his mind buzzed with an array of inquiries he wanted to pose to his newfound comrades during their venture in the Midden. The sewers, despite the risk they posed, would be an apt setting for such discussions. His curiosity was piqued, driven by the mystery of necromancy that one of these two strangers wielded so freely.

The most immediate query occupying his thoughts was the mechanics of necromancy. How was it possible to command the deceased, to usurp their eternal rest, and make them puppets to one's will? The sheer magnitude of the power that could bridge the gap between life and death, control the non-living, was something he sought to comprehend. What kind of training, discipline, or inherent aptitude did it necessitate? What kind of toll did it extract from its wielder?

Each question that formulated in his mind only amplified his anticipation for their imminent departure. The prospect of understanding such an art was exhilarating, a thrilling contrast to his regular, predictable life. It sent a shiver of excitement down his spine, even as it awakened a sense of unease within him. The dichotomy was fascinating, and he could hardly suppress the impatient drumming of his fingers on the table as he waited for their adventure to commence.