TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 38 (RAW)

Chapter 38 - The Gilded Gryphon

When facing a manticore it is prudent to note that the beast has little to no blind spots. The scaly hide is dense and thick and will repel most non-magical weapons, though across the belly one’s weapon may find purchase. 

One must also observe that despite being a beast it has some capability with the arcane, with an ability to cast elemental magics from the fire and ice domains. I would recommend a party of at least five highly skilled adventurers to best one of these fearsome creatures.

- Monsters of the Mortal Realms by K. D. Fidditch.

Feeding small bits of bread to her new pet, Seraphina allowed herself a moment to look out at the street beyond the carriage window. An omnivorous snake—who would have thought?

Cornelia’s debut at dinner had stirred quite the response. The Count, ever the eccentric, adored the creature, fawning over its every move. Eloise remained neutral, her scholarly mind more intrigued by species classification and the question of venom than by Cornelia’s very obvious charm. Miriam, perhaps sensing a kindred spirit in the serpent, seemed thoroughly enchanted. Haze, on the other hand, was decidedly not a fan. In fact, her distaste for the snake had driven her back outside to ride with the driver. The bard had indeed confessed a fear for all things scaly. Sometimes there simply was no accounting for taste.

As Seraphina gently stroked Cornelia’s glossy scales, her thoughts drifted. There was something both wearying and wondrous about existing in a world with no electronics, where each simple journey crawled along and days stretched into slow, languid arcs. Time here moved with the pace of distant tides, and traveling from A to B was in itself quite the undertaking. Such was life in a quasi-medieval setting—frustrating yet oddly enchanting.

For the first time on this music tour—though “tour” might be too much of a modern a word—Seraphina felt not relaxed, exactly, but at least free from the usual stress. 

It was a peculiar sensation, one she could easily grow to enjoy if she let herself. But she knew better. A certain degree of tension sharpened the senses, prevented one from dissolving into the false shelter that was the comfort of homeostasis. It was wise to always aim for something just out of reach—some new challenge to chase. After all, without that subtle edge, lethargy would reign, dulling the blade of the mind. Then the world would slow to a stop around her, like a certain lazy serpent, she thought scratching her new pet’s scaly head.

Was it her imagination, or had Cornelia grown another inch? Seraphina leaned in, trying to tell. Meanwhile, a rare sight unfolded: Eloise’s nose was not buried in a book.

“I wonder where that trader got Cornelia’s egg,” Eloise mused, studying the snake’s striking pattern. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. That coloration is so distinct. If there are more of them, I wonder where her brothers and sisters might be?”

She fell silent, lost in her own world for a moment, then turned to Miriam. “Miriam… do you have any family?”

“Yes, Lady Eloise,” Miriam replied, and Seraphina noted how Eloise’s chest swelled with pride at her new title. “I have quite the extended family.”

“And where is your family now, Mily?” Eloise pressed, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

“They’re spread all over the Grieving Lands,” Miriam said. “There are quite a few of us, in all walks of life.”

The Grieving Lands—the continent where the game’s story played out. Such a grim name for a setting that was, in many ways, supposed to be a straightforward, even whimsical, fantasy world. Clearly, the developers had been determined to add an edgy twist. But what concerned Seraphina more was the very thought of Miriam’s family, monstrous Palisa Slugs capable of eating human flesh, dispersed throughout all of human society. The very idea made her skin crawl.

That was always the problem with immigrants, they always had a habit of causing trouble.

Seraphina wondered if there was a way to tip off the Adventurer’s Guild, the renowned monster slayers, without giving herself away. It was frightening to think of creatures hidden in plain sight. If only there were a way to test for them without resorting to brute force. Perhaps she could send out tentative inquiries about people who had suddenly gone missing.

On second thought, she decided to scrap that line of thinking. There was always a chance that such a line of investigation would backfire on her and for the moment, apart from her slightly licentious attitude, Miriam was still very useful. No, it would not serve her needs for the moment to have adventurers snooping around but she would try to keep an ear to the ground.

The gentle sprawl and patchwork quilt of the Aranthian countryside had all but vanished, replaced by a steadily encroaching urban landscape. This close to the heart of the kingdom, the increasing number of vehicles on the road had slowed their progress, but at least the road had become better maintained and the ride smoother. Seraphina wondered if this world held any material that could serve the purpose of rubber—yet another item on her ever-expanding mental checklist. Why did life insist on testing her patience at every turn?

Nothing would take the place of a foreign luxury car with its heated seats and its mini-bar. Still, a girl could dream.

The road wound along the banks of the Loierre River, stone houses lining both sides and pressing close. Through a narrow gap between buildings, she caught sight of the river traffic. Here, far downstream, the Loierre had widened so much it resembled a flowing lake, stretching nearly three thousand paces from bank to bank. Pleasure boats with vibrant paint jobs drifted beside barges laden with grain, while smaller vessels fished or carried other trade goods. If Seraphina cared to look more closely, she might have even spotted men and women harvesting rushes along the marshy banks.

Eloise chattered on, her voice light and eager as they neared the city’s bustling center. Miriam, swept along by the de Laney girl’s enthusiasm, could only manage the occasional reply. Seraphina, meanwhile, offered little more than a nod or polite hum, her thoughts wandering far beyond the carriage’s plush interior.

Her progress, or musical tour, had been a resounding success. Word of Duke Anatoli’s daughter, her voice and song rumored to be blessed by the Divines, would soon spread to every corner of the kingdom. In time, coupled with the occasional tale of her martial brilliance at saving the Crown Prince, would only help cement this belief. Each retelling would only fan the flames of her growing reputation. 

The people would love, adore, and respect her.

That level of influence would be invaluable when she finally faced Este Lize. Supported by the vast, shadowy influence of the Church of Avaria, the protagonist possessed access to a level of resources similar to her own. In the game’s original vision, Church buildings acted as a sort of hub. As Este Lize grew in power and proved herself capable of wielding the power of the Covenant, the Church would provide superior equipment, quests, and even new Holy magic. 

But if enough people believed the Goddess spoke through Seraphina’s voice, she might be able to counter a portion of Este Lize’s and the Church’s influence. With enough planning, the faithful might turn their eyes to a new champion. 

Yet an uneasy truth gnawed at her: unlike Este Lize, or so she presumed, Seraphina had yet to receive a quest. Was she playing by a different set of rules this time? Would she be forced to grind through monotonous tasks—slaughtering beasties and fetching trinkets—just to scrape together enough strength? Quests were shortcuts to power, great leaps forward that mere mundane toil could never match. To be denied that advantage would be a bitter curse indeed.

Inwardly, she fumed. By now, this society really should have learned the importance of separating church and state. Indeed, if she thought about it, that was probably the whole goal of getting Este Lize married off to that damnable Vellens!

As though echoing her unspoken irritation, the carriage struck a small bump and slowed. It turned a corner and rolled into the courtyard of the Gilded Gryphon, gravel crunching beneath its wheels. At last, it shuddered to a halt before the inn’s manicured grounds.

Seraphina sighed. She would need a word with Frest to ensure their retinue was properly accommodated. Sir Clarendon, one of her father’s old knights, had resisted taking orders from the commoner, but a shattered table at their last stop had tempered his defiance. She had made herself perfectly clear: they were here to serve her will, not their own pride.

Sergeant Frest, for his part, had taken to his authority with relish, lording it over the “hoity-toity” knights. Yet beneath his incorrigible attitude, Seraphina recognized a natural leader with a conveniently flexible and negotiable moral compass—just the sort of man she could mold. Once he improved his horsemanship, she would have him elevated to the knighthood. Then he would be bound to her by gratitude and ambition alike. Another instrument she would need in the troubled times to come.

The messenger who had ridden ahead, a squire of one of her father’s household knights, had informed the innkeeper of their arrival, ensuring the establishment was prepared to receive them. A welcoming party was already waiting as the carriage came to a halt.

A member of the Gilded Gryphon’s staff stepped forward, opening the door and offering Seraphina a hand to descend. She accepted graciously, a reserved smile on her lips, thankful for her gloves. They provided a barrier between her and the unpleasant thought of touching ‘commonerness’ too directly.

To her surprise, the innkeeper himself awaited her. He appeared to be her age, though an unfortunate bout of acne had turned his face into a battleground. He was also an inch shorter than her. Usually, men or boys like him were invisible and beneath her notice, and it was something of an annoyance that she had to interact with him at all.

“Thank you for choosing our establishment, milady,” he said, beaming a smile that only a liar would dare call charming.

“No, thank you… Mister?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Vellens, milady,” he replied, the smile still plastered on his face. “Born the same year as our blessed Crown Prince, and my parents thought, ‘Why not?’ Wondering why the owner’s so young, right? Well, me folks crossed the Shallow River last year, but they left me this inn and the know-how to run it. You won’t find better service in all of Aran, I’ll promise you that.”

Seraphina had no need for the excerpt from his life story, but she was amused by the fact that it was quite a name to live up to. She stopped herself from laughing and instead offered him a dazzling, practiced smile.

Encouraged, the man prattled on. “Like my folk have been joking and saying, my bride’s about to visit me before the wedding, now that the other Vellens—”

“Innkeeper,” she interrupted sweetly, though the edge in her voice was unmistakable, “what have they been saying about the Crown Prince?” How dare such riff-raff presume to gossip and jest about her marriage. The nerve.

Vellens shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck—disgustingly, a shower of dandruff fell. “Well, no offense, milady, but folks around here have been saying he got cold feet. Others think he didn’t measure up, to your lady’s standards, so he joined the Adventurer’s Guild against King Elidion’s will.”

Seraphina’s distaste grew, but she maintained a veneer of politeness. “Thank you, Vellens. Please share anything further with Sergeant Frest here. I would like to know more about the state of Aran in particular, and of course, news of our Crown Prince,” she commanded, gesturing toward the former bandit. Frest gave the innkeeper a half-mocking salute, clearly enjoying the exchange.

Vellens brightened, emboldened by his avarice. “Beg your pardon, milady, but I’ve heard you’ve been singing?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Seraphina replied with forced sweetness, already weary of the conversation. “But I am tired from my journey. Perhaps another time.”

“I understand, milady,” he said, though his greedy gaze lingered a little too long.

“I’ll take my meal in my room,” Seraphina continued smoothly, eager to put an end to the encounter. “I’ve been told you have gaming tables below?”

“Yes, milady. The Gilded Gryphon is a licensed house. Earned the privilege over a hundred years ago—if my great-grandfather wasn’t a fat liar,” he said, unconsciously rubbing his hands together.

“Well, I am partial to the occasional game of chance,” Seraphina replied airily. “Never made a habit of it, of course, but I can’t deny…”

“There might be some rough company at the tables, milady,” Vellens warned hesitantly. “You know how folk can get when they’ve had a few drinks and are deep n their cups.”

Seraphina’s expression remained unbothered. “You needn’t concern yourself. I am well accustomed to the company of rough men—rough fighting men. A few crass, misspoken words mean nothing to me.”

With that, she drew herself up and added, “Now, Vellens, I truly must see to a bath and wash away the dust of the road. Show me to my rooms.”

Vellens bowed hurriedly, leading her inside.