Out in the Cold: Part 5

Part V - Lone Wolf

Several years earlier...

“Welcome to Miraeh!” said the old-timey sign hung from the jaws of a carved, wooden lion.  The paint job left a lot to be desired; one of the feline’s eyes sat nearly colorless except for a few errant flecks here and there. 

She was the only traveler on the road that day, donned in her white, black, and olive-green jacket with her glaive and bag strapped to her back.  A Bosc pear rested in her left hand, half-eaten.  She munched it thoughtfully, her fangs sinking into its soft flesh and her head giving a small jerk to tear it off.  Chomp, chomp.  Her amber brown eyes flitted up and down the lion as she chewed.

Miraeh was not what she thought it was but nothing ever lived up to the hype.  For a world that supposedly sank under the sea, this place was weirdly devoid of anything aquatic.  The roads were dusty, dry, and slightly red dirt clung to the soles of her boots.  Each sign pointing towards the city itself was in dire need of repair.  There wasn’t a single person in sight for miles, it seemed.  Just a distant promise that one day, she’d reach the city.

With a sigh, she kept on walking.

Gotta remember.  My name is Amalia.  I’m a wood elf from King’s Rest back in Avalon. I’m looking for the Whitescales.  If Mom’s stories were anything to go by, they live somewhere in this region…

Ever since running away from home, the divine forest dragon, Amalia Solaris, had been certain her journey would be easy.  For a few weeks, it had been a bunch of hotel-bopping and sightseeing.  Harmless, directionless wandering wasn’t really her style usually but anywhere was better than back at her family’s manor.  Her dad was so keen on her taking up the Guardian mantle but she just couldn’t stomach the thought of it.  Having to bless marriages, sit in boring meetings with old people, and guard a dumb forest felt like a prison sentence.

Miraeh had been the place of her mother’s birth.  The truth was that Amalia had never set out to find the lost world specifically but during her wandering, she had stumbled across signs pointing to its location.  Never once had it occurred to her to go find it until the path was already laid out for her.  Her mother had always spoken so badly about it.  But there was family in Miraeh.  Estranged family, that is, and while there were red flags aplenty, Amalia’s insatiable curiosity definitely had gotten the better of her.    

Much like her own fragmented world of Avalon, Miraeh was a place accessed only through a portal.  Unlike the portal to Avalon, this one had not been located in the deep woods of a national park.  It was, unfortunately, in a mall.  Under the mall, specifically.  She’d had to bribe a security guard to let her down there but with enough persuasion, she had convinced him to let her by. 

And now she was in Miraeh and it seemed… well.  Less grand than she had been hoping.  Oh well.

The city proved only to somewhat change her mind.  By the time she stood on the hill overlooking it, late afternoon had settled across that far-flung world.  It was definitely no King’s Rest but it seemed populated enough.  There had to be a tavern or something within its stone walls; that was where all good adventurers went when they needed a place to stay, right?  

Thirty minutes of wandering Miraeh’s streets didn’t give her much in the way of results.  The young dragon thought to herself to maybe ask for directions and so she did.  A human woman sweeping her front porch glanced her up and down then gestured around the corner, muttering something about “a gathering place of a bunch of no-good adventurers”.  Amalia didn’t exactly love that as a description but it was better than nothing.

A few minutes later and she stood in front of an old tavern labeled “The Lyall Tavern: Home of the Lyall Lone Wolves”.  The sign that dangled overhead should have been suspended by two chains but it had been reduced to awkwardly being hung by one.  Lopsided, it forced her to tilt her head in order to properly read it. 

She pushed the door open, ears immediately greeted with a raucous chorus of voices.  But just as soon as Amalia had recovered from the abrupt roar of chatter, their conversations fell into a hushed silence.  Each open stare at her made her feel like she had walked into the wrong place and so the dragon shuffled back a step.

Maybe I’ll try the next tavern over… 

“Hey,” someone said to her, a voice from below.  She glanced down at its source—a gnome with wiry black hair that melded into his beard near the ears.  Brown eyes, fair skin, and a very, very impressive looking woven gold doublet.  He had a wicked smile about him, the sort that reminded her of one of those car salesmen back on Earth.  Not the best impression but she realized she was already in his web.  “You looking for work?”

She blinked.  “No, I’m… looking for someone.  And a room to sleep in.”

“Oh.  You’re looking to hire help?”

“Not really, just wanted to know if anyone had seen them…”

“Oh.  Well, you’re in the Lyall Guildhouse.”

This… isn’t a tavern?

“Sorry, I thought this was a tavern.  I can go—”

He grabbed her hand suddenly.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t say you had to leave!  What’s your name, girl?  Take a seat, take a drink, maybe we can help you out!”

“My name’s Amalia… I’m a wood elf from King’s Rest in Avalon.  I’m looking for the Whitescales.”

There.  Just like she practiced.

“Amalia?” the gnome asked.  “Amalia…?”

At his prompting, she realized with horror, that she hadn’t thought to give herself a falsified last name.  Her eyes widened for a moment and she quickly sputtered out the first word that came to mind.

“Green!”

“Amalia… Green?”

“Y-yeah!”

That smile of his cracked further across his face.  “And you’re an elf, eh?  From Avalon.  Fair bit from here, though I guess it used to not be.  Nice glaive on your back.  Know how to use it?”

“Yeah,” Amalia replied carefully.

“Can you heal?”

“What?”

“Can.  You.  Heal?”

She knew what the answer was to that question and it had been hard to not just say it outright.  There were innumerable healing arts that existed across the universe.  Different worlds had learned to adapt in different ways.  Restorative healing existed through engaging with the gentler sides of the elements, each of which had their own mending aspects to them.  Water-weavers could mend with anointed spring water for instance while Crystalline Mages could harness earth magic to restore injured flesh and soothe pains.  Herbalists could make salves and alchemists could brew potions.  Chronomancers could rewind time on wounds and make it so they never happened at all.  Amalia had even heard of Technomancers who blended modern-day medical tech with magic. 

But Amalia was none of those things and she knew that.  Divinity was different; its own category apart even from the light magic that clerics often wielded.  It came in the form of a Spark, an unseen arcane battery that formed in every divine dragon.  It was the Creator’s boon, a recurring phenomenon in every blessed bloodline. 

And she knew she could tell no one about it.  Her mother had always warned her not to.  Being a dragon was dangerous enough with the rise of hunting guilds but the Divine Spark painted an even bigger target on her head.  People were so drawn to the unknown; as much as they feared it, they also craved it.  It wouldn’t have surprised her if there were people actively looking for divine dragons to try to determine what exactly the Spark was… and see if they could obtain that power themselves.

I’m already lying about who I am.  What’s one more lie?  Maybe he won’t question my methods anyways…

“Yeah,” Amalia said.  “I can.”

“Excellent.  We’re actually in the market for a healer, if you’re interested in taking on some work here in Miraeh.”

“I… really just came here to see the Whitescales.”

His thin and bony fingers combed through his beard thoughtfully as he looked her up and down.  “I get that, I get that.  But here’s the catch… I know a lot of people around here in Miraeh.  People that could find your Whitescales for you.  I’m gonna tell you this right now: I’ve lived here my whole life and know everyone on the block.  If there’s any ‘Whitescales’ in this region, then they’re definitely not in town.  Which means they’re in the wilderness.  And not everyone knows the wilderness too well.  Need to hire a specialist for that.”

“A wilderness… specialist?” Amalia asked, furrowing her brow.

“Lots of people roam the wilds.  They can tell you where to start your search.  The wilds are big, though.  Wouldn’t be smart to go without some sort of plan and preparations.  Could end up dead in a chimera cave if you don’t,” the gnome replied.  “So why don’t I cut you deal?  You wanna find someone, I want a healer.  We help each other out a bit.  You heal for my guild for a bit and I’ll help you find these… Whitescales.”

Even though she had seen it coming a mile way, the offer was still abrupt.  Guaranteed work in the economy back home was a bit of a wild concept but Amalia wasn’t sure she was this desperate.  She’d barely set foot in Miraeh, after all. 

But it was an opportunity she was scared to pass up.  Sure, the guy seemed sleazy as hell.  The alarm bells in her head were ringing and wouldn’t stop.  But if there was a chance this got her closer to her goal, maybe it’d be worth the gamble of getting scammed.  Sometimes you had to do crazy things to get to where you wanted to go.

“What kind of jobs do you guys do?” she asked.

“The adventuring kind.  Sometimes here on Miraeh, sometimes we get asked to world hop a bit.  Dungeon diving, relic hunting, monster slaying,” the gnome shrugged.  “You in or not?”

“Yeah,” she said and he shook her hand eagerly.

“Welcome to Guild Lyall, Ms. Amalia Green!”

And so, she set about learning of her new job as quickly as she could in that first week.  Names and roles were so numerous that she had trouble keeping things straight. 

The gnome who had recruited her was the head of the entire guild—Eriden Goldpocket, a man whose skillset was as ambiguous as his morals.  It didn’t take long for her to see his temper in action; his face turned cherry red when he yelled at his employees, which was almost a daily occurrence.  

A satyr named Giorgos functioned as the guild’s second-in-command though Amalia wasn’t certain he did much more than pluck at tavern food and bark orders at whoever was in earshot to bark orders at.  He had a silver comb-over with the pale gray atop his head matching his flecked goatly flanks.  Somehow, he was more beloved than Eriden but Amalia supposed that wasn’t a tall order.

“As a designated healer, your primary duties will be here in the Guildhouse,” Giorgos said to her on the second day, after she had finished signing off on what felt like the thousandth bit of paperwork he had slid her way.  “But Eriden tells me you’re proficient with a polearm, yes?”

“Yes,” Amalia nodded, keeping her tone as polite as possible.

“Excellent.  We may make a battle medic out of you yet…” Giorgos remarked jovially. 

“Need some more of those, if I’ll be frank.  We’ve got Ciorna and Vatu and Vatu’s high as a kite half the time so we really only have Ciorna.  She’s who will be teaching you the ropes.”

That led Amalia to the next bit of crucial information; the guild’s hierarchy.  Eriden was at the top with Giorgos slightly below him.  Then came the captains then the officers then the standard adventurers.  The various ranks dictated clearance for certain tasks.  Captains were in charge of various guild aspects, officers could head squadrons on jobs, and the standard adventurers just nodded and did what they were told. 

By day three, it was obvious to her that the bulk of the actual work was done by the guild’s three active captains.

The first was Ciorna, a human herbalist and nature mage, her natural hair a fiery red that was often kept back by a violet scarf.  She had piercings lining from the helixes of her ears down to the lobes with the lowermost set of earrings being a collection of gemstone shards.  A layered skirt hung about her waist, belts atop it adorned with pouches.

She maintained the medical wing as best as she could.  Much as Giorgos had said, the only other healer was Vatu, a rather glassy-eyed, black-haired young gnome that reeked of an herbal musk.  As he “sorted their supplies”, Ciorna showed Amalia around the wing.

“We base healing off of who bears the most grievous injuries and work from there,” Ciorna explained.  She had a brisk and straight-to-the-point demeanor.  “The most important thing to do is to keep our supplies in check and organized.  You never know what you might need on the fly.  It helps no one if we put our anti-venom in the drawer with the bandages.  Organization is key!”

Amalia found herself nodding along with Ciorna more than actually talking.  It was then when the dragon first wondered if she was in over her head.  But money was money and Eriden had promised to find the Whitescales for her…

“You’re a restoration healer, yes?” Ciorna asked.

“Yes,” Amalia answered.

“Not many of those in Miraeh at all.  Usually just alchemists, herbalists, and a few clerics,” Ciorna said.  “How’d you come about learning that?”

A little spike of fear soared through the dragon’s chest but she tried to smile it away. “My mom taught me.  It’s uh… woodsy stuff.  Because I’m a wood elf.”

“That you are,” Ciorna said, her lips pursed in thought.  “I’ve heard of some earth magic variants that teach healing.  Very rare but regardless… happy to have you on board.”

I’m gonna have to make my magic look woodsy now, aren’t I…?

Her attempts at hiding her true nature were made even more difficult when she realized the guild itself had wood elves with the most prominent one being Naera, one of the captains.  She was a sharp-eyed sort, hair always pulled back in a bun or ponytail, and her steps so soft that no one could hear her coming.  Naera always smiled at Amalia in a knowing way, the sort of smile that curled only the corner of her lips.  But Amalia reasoned there was no way Naera actually could have known.  Not unless she was a mindreader…

“You’re from the Avalonnian Vale,” Naera said to Amalia at the end of the first week, having not announced her presence otherwise.  “I hear there’s enchanted forests there.  Are they the ethereal sort?  Or the haunted sort?”

Jolting in surprise, Amalia clung tightly to her mug of ale.  It had been lunchtime when Naera had approached her and the dragon was halfway through a hearty sandwich.

“Uh… the ethereal sort,” Amalia said quickly.  “With crystals and stuff.”

“Ooh, crystals!” Naera beamed.  “Have you ever licked one?  Gives you a nice buzz for a while.”

Amalia knew that was true just as much as she knew that crystal consumption was strictly illegal in Avalon.  Licking was not illegal, though, it definitely wasn’t normal behavior.  But was it weird to admit she had done something like that?  Was this a trap?  What if Naera was lying to her to try to get her to confess to something potentially embarrassing…?

Ugh.  I’m definitely overthinking this.  Just smile and act normal, Amalia.  Come on.  You can do it.   

“The light blue ones are the best,” Amalia said with a wavery chuckle and a shrug.

“I’m partial to the red ones, personally,” the elf replied, seemingly satisfied.  “Good to know, though.”

Zinnia was the last of the captains, a dryad with umber skin and hazel eyes.  Her hair was made of clusters of rich emerald vines, woven into braids that cascaded down her shoulders.  She was always smiling, always joking in a soft voice to everyone.  From the barkeeper to the oldest recruit, she seemed to get along with just about everyone. 

“Do you thank your glaive after you use it?” Zinnia asked Amalia on the 5^th day, when Amalia had been assigned to cleaning the weapons in their armory.

“Huh?  No…?” came the dragon’s awkward reply.

“You should,” Zinnia tutted at her, placing the longbow she had been practicing with onto one of the nearby racks.  “Objects hear things, you know.”

“Yeah?” Amalia asked, looking at where she’d unconventionally stuck her glaive in the corner as it waited its turn to be polished.  Oh, what horrible things that thing had probably heard over the years…

“When you treat something with kindness, it will be kind to you,” Zinnia said in a feathery but warm voice.  “There is only one exception.”

“And what’s that?”

“People.”

Not anticipating that answer at all, Amalia’s brows arched high.  “People…?”

“Not often.  But yes.  People,” Zinnia replied with a laugh.  “But you shouldn’t fear that here.  Guild Lyall is… a family, in a sense.  Even with grumpy old Eriden and Giorgos running things.”

“A bit dysfunctional, though, don’t you think?”

“Most families are in a way.  What is yours like?”

“… Dysfunctional.”

“See?”

Amalia sighed, finishing off the longsword she was shining and placing it back into its sheath.  Side-eyeing Zinnia, she said, “And yours?”

“I’m from a tree,” Zinnia giggled, covering her mouth with a hand.

“You’re not an apple,” Amalia said with the tilt of her head.

“Apple…?” the dryad asked.

A smirk twisted its way onto the dragon’s mouth. “They don’t fall far from the tree.  And you seem pretty far from trees here in the city.”

Zinnia laughed and mentally, Amalia took that sound and trapped it in her memories.  It became the epitome of everything she loved about Guild Lyall; the people.  Maybe not Eriden or even lazy old Giorgos but everyone else was nice.  Their orc blacksmith, Grawn, would sing as he did repairs.  Edith, their cook, would send muffins to the healing wing if she knew they had a rush come in.  One of the officers, Niko, made it his goal to ensure each squadron departing was prepared with whatever rations and equipment were necessary. 

It felt like a machine at times, well-oiled and systematic.  But within it, everyone cared and because everyone cared, the guild carried on despite its dysfunctional traits and even more dysfunctional leaders.  Maybe it wasn’t perfect but Amalia still soon found herself swept up in it all. 

The payroll roster was about 30 members strong, each person accompanied by their own wild tale of how they ended up working for Eriden and his Lone Wolves.  Days were spent working but nights were often declared a time to relax with a mug of Miraen apple ale in hand.  Rowdy chatter and vaguely controlled partying happened after every sunset, though it was occasionally interrupted by Eriden throwing a tantrum over something nonsensical.  The nights were quiet when that happened—fearful even. 

Jobs were posted on their bulletin board daily.  Sometimes they were assigned to individuals by Eriden or Giorgos but sometimes, the guildmates were free to take whatever jobs they wanted.  The flow of demand varied by the week.  Some weeks, she would flop into her bed at night and pass out instantly.  Other days were spent doing whatever she could to look busy.  Eriden had a strict policy of not hiring extra help if he could manage it.  The fighters were the cleaners, the repairmen, the plumbers and whatever else they needed to be in order to keep the guild up and running.

As promised by Ciorna, being designated a healer sometimes meant she spent many days tending to the wounded.  On a bad day, the medic wing was full.  On a good day, it was just a matter of wearing a mask and helping alleviate someone’s cold symptoms.  It was the bad days when Amalia realized how right Eriden had been about their healer shortage.  Some days, it was just her dealing with the wounded by herself while Ciorna and Vatu went to restock their supplies or brew extra salves.

Two months into her time at Guild Lyall saw the worst flood of patients yet on a rather grim afternoon.  A squadron of eight had been deployed to the mountains to deal with a giant but it seemed like they had received far more injuries than they had given out.  Amalia could see immediately that the giant had not been the ordinary sort; each member came back with singed clothes and burns. 

“He was a wizard, that damn giant,” cursed one of the guildmates, a broad-shouldered dwarf who often preferred to fight shirtless.  “A wizard!  I didn’t even know giants could learn magic!”

“It’s rare but it can happen,” Ciorna said curtly from where she was mixing a salve in a bowl.  “After Amalia’s done with you, I’ll hit you with the painkiller.  Just sit tight a bit longer.”

Healing with the Spark made the entire wing bathed in a radiant, warm light.  Her fingers buzzed with the magic as she rested her palms upon one of the fighter’s injuries, an elven man who had a particularly nasty gash in his chest.  His chest heaved as he struggled for air, pained with tears streaking down either side of his face.  Whatever the giant had hit him with had cleaved him so deeply that she worried this was something not even the Spark could fix…

Ciorna had warned her once that they would lose someone on her watch; it was inevitable in their line of work.  Amalia feared that day had come already.  Her dark amber eyes drifted down twice to the injury, the thick waterfall of blood coming from it not enough to blot out the gore.  She thought she was going to be sick.  Jaw clenched, she closed her eyes and told herself to keep trying. 

It felt like it took an age before the light had fully sealed the gash.  Amalia felt her knees start to wobble when the magic dropped from her fingertips, ending the healing session.  She shook the weariness away, blinking a few times to focus her eyes on the elf’s face.  He looked better now and his agonized cries had faded entirely. 

“Get some rest,” she said to the elf and turned to survey how things were going with the others.

Some had already been bandaged up and dealt with by Ciorna but there were still four left with serious wounds.  With so many injured, Amalia realized she was going to have to balance her magic reserves out carefully.  Minor injuries could be tended to with bandages and salves.  The deeper stuff needed pressing attention but she doubted she could heal each of the serious wounds fully. 

Enough to get them out of the woods… I can try to finish off the healing later, when things calm down…

She rolled up her sleeves and went to work on the next patient.

By the time it was all done, both the dragon and the herbalist were exhausted to the point where they retreated into the back storeroom, slumping onto the ground.  No matter how hard Amalia scrubbed her hands, she kept finding blood splotches from tending to the injured.  Broken bones, lacerations, burn marks… When her mom had taught her how to heal, she hadn’t trained her how to mentally handle looking at such horrible things… Amalia closed her eyes, shaking her head vigorously in an attempt to loosen those images from her brain.

“Are you alright?” Ciorna asked.

“Yeah…” Amalia managed out stiffly.

“Rough day,” commented the herbalist.  “Haven’t had a bad one like that in some time.  What a mess… Eriden will be pissed.”

They’ll all live.  I nearly expended all of my magic though.  The Spark feels dimmer than normal… it’s a weird feeling.

If they were lucky, Edith would have heard about what happened by now and would have some food on the way.  Food always helped that lethargic haze that came with expending too much magic.  She just hoped Edith had in fact heard what happened because the thought of picking herself back up to walk across the guild hall to the kitchens sounded like nothing short of a nightmare.

“Did you notice it?” Ciorna asked and the dragon’s attention snapped back to the present. “That was the squadron Giorgos was supposed to lead.”

She hadn’t thought about it but she realized Ciorna was right; that day on the board, there had been a big assignment with a squadron already picked out.  Something about a giant harassing people on a nearby mountain trail and extorting them.  The guild had been hired by the local government to wipe the giant out after the guard had failed to do so.  Eriden had put Giorgos in charge of the operation…

“And he wasn’t with them,” Amalia realized, eyes widening.

“If I hadn’t seen him in his office earlier, I would be concerned he had been injured or worse.  But no, he slacked off,” the herbalist scowled.  “Never went at all.  What a bastard.”

Could it have even made a difference in what happened?  Amalia wasn’t so sure if a single person could have changed the outcome but maybe they wouldn’t have had so many injured… and so grievously too. 

“Could report it to Eriden, I guess,” suggested the dragon with a sad, useless shrug.

“He won’t do anything,” Ciorna lamented.  “You haven’t been here long but surely you’ve come to realize that he’s kind of a prick, right?”

“Yeah.  It was uh… pretty obvious,” admitted Amalia with a weak smile.  “I struck a deal with him when I joined and so far, he hasn’t given me any updates.  He’s… probably forgotten all about that, I bet.”

“Intentionally forgotten, more like,” Ciorna snorted.  “He’s a piece of shit like that.”

Brow furrowing, Amalia leaned back against the storage room wall.  While it definitely did not bode well that Eriden was the type to intentionally forget something like that, the young dragon was tempted to give him benefit of the doubt… for now.  Guild Lyall’s leadership was a mess and not well-liked at all but everything else about the organization did seem fine.  So that did beg the question of how the hell the guild had even ended up under such bad management to begin with.  How did a bunch of relatively sensible people manage to fall under this guy’s thumb…?

“Did he con everyone into joining?  Is that the guild’s method of recruitment?”

“No.  He didn’t always used to be like this.  That was why he was left in charge.  Our real guild leader left a few years ago to take care of some family business.  He hasn’t been back since,” Ciorna lamented, massaging her forehead with two fingers. 

“And he left… Eriden in charge?” Amalia asked with a wrinkled nose.

“He was the only one qualified at the time.”

“Hard to imagine.”

“Ha!  I knew I liked you…”

The next day came and with it, an unexpected knock on Amalia’s door.  She was half-dressed with tangles still in her hair when she answered it.  Even with her glasses on, it took some time for her eyes to adjust to what she was seeing.

“Good morning,” Naera said pleasantly with one of her mysterious little smiles on her face.  “Fancy a hunt?”

“A… hunt?” Amalia asked groggily.

“Of the giant variety.  Since the last team failed to take it down, I’ve been put in charge of the new squad,” Naera replied then pointed at Amalia.  “And I want you on that team.”

Huh.  I guess the contract is still on even if the last group failed… I don’t want to abandon the people still recovering though…

“Ciorna already said it was fine,” Naera added.  “In case you were worried about that.  She can handle the healing wing today with Vatu.”

When Amalia did not answer immediately, the wood elf leaned in slightly.

“You have that glaive, right?  I want to see you use it.”

Despite being slightly worried about being out of practice, the young dragon knew she didn’t really have an excuse to get out of this.  In addition to that, getting out of the guild hall did sound kind of nice, especially after how hectic the previous day had been…

“Let’s go hunting,” Amalia said with a shrug and Naera flashed her a full, excited grin.