Legend of the Spellthief

The celebrations went through rather quickly, with over half the month spent fighting in the tournament the crowning of its champions took less than an hour. Logan was awarded a belt with a medal as its buckle, mostly used to fasten around your arm or some such, the belt could be worn to show you are a tournament champion.

Logan didn’t feel much need to wear his, but it was nice to have regardless if anyone doubted his power at this point. What he did aim to show off to merchants, however, was the 200 gold prize money for his division. Adding with all of his other bets and payments, Logan was sitting pretty at 870 gold. A far jump from his starting 20 gold, if only there were more “surefire” ways to get gold. But even here it was a gamble if he’d see the tournament to its finals.

Reuniting with his guildies, Logan was happy to hear they all did well in their divisions. Castore, Armin Eventa’s son, won five matches. Alice won six but lost to Jayd, making their competition reach 2:11 in favour of Jayd, Jayd lost in the quarter-finals. Shanin, probably due to his longer time as an adventurer, made it all the way to the semi-finals.

Most of Logan’s guildies’ success was down to their better gear, plus his time spent training them in more advanced techniques. The 1 through 5 bracket was jam-packed with fresh faces barely keeping up with their gear, while a few others relied too much on their gear if they were from the upper class.

As their guildmaster, and closely-knit relationship, Logan was allowed a better view at the status of the NPCs. It wasn’t as fully fleshed out as his own, nor as much as his Partnered NPC, Marcus, but Logan saw quite a bit. Shanin had gained a skill point from winning his quarter-final match, most likely from the same title that Logan had obtained.

Logan was more prideful over Shanin’s change in attitude and stance. When he first met the man, Shanin was being bullied and pushed around to do carting duty or acting as monster bait for almost no coin. Now, he was like an older brother to the other guildies, and no longer hunched or reclusive when talking with people he didn’t know. It reminded Logan of the change found in Marcus. As long as it didn’t go too far in the other direction, into arrogance.

As the guild was making a return trip to the guild house, the members were approached several times by fans of their work, or people who bet on their performance. Thanks and adoration were handed over, while connections were beginning to form. Logan spied a few people trying to “steal” his members away from his guild, but it seemed none were even acknowledging the offers.

One shining star that came to them, came to Logan. Prevesna, the Sub-Leader of Lightbeam, was still adorned with her shining gold and silver armour, her helm already removed that showed recently brushed and cleaned brown hair.

“Logan, I heard you did well within your bracket”, Prevesna started the conversation, extending a hand to shake.

Logan shook the hand, “Prevesna, it is good to see you in good health. That I did. I ended up as the champion of my division.”

Prevesna smiled, “Well indeed. I lost in the semi-finals of my bracket.”

“An amazing position still.”

“Quite. I did not approach you to share gloating, though.”

“Of course. What do you require?” Logan asked as the pair walked down the road ahead of VIP.

“I was wondering if you’ve heard anything from Cassius. You two spoke a bit outside the guild, so I was curious if he said much to you that he didn’t to me.”

Logan thought for a second, “Has Cassius been AWOL?” Getting a better response in mind he replied, “No. The last time we really talked was when we attacked the Ice King’s lair.”

Prevesna tutted, “Nothing at all? He’s been busy… obsessed really, with clearing out dungeons solo.”

“I’ve heard about that, but not a whole lot more than gossip and notes at the G-Hall.”

“Many a time that he has returned, has been when I’ve not been present. He’s… not been the same since our group-guild attack on that mobile dungeon near Helm lands”, Prevesna almost trailed off, her yellow eyes closing slightly.

“If I see him, do you want me to tell him you’re looking for him?”

Prevesna thought for a second before answering, “Yes. He’s an integral part of Lightbeam, and without Woevenk, I may end up becoming the Guildmaster. I need another Sub-Leader. The hero has been gone for almost 18 months now…”

“How long until people assume they won’t be coming back?” Logan asked hesitantly.

Prevesna sighed, “Portals have been opened almost every month for their return, but it seems after the two-year mark that will stop. Only the heroes and scant others have ever gone to the demon realm, we don’t truly know how habitable it is.”

“Every month? I thought the first portal almost killed the dozen magi who made it?”

“Yes. But that was a shoddy attempt, they learnt and changed things up after that point. It’s a lot safer now.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, at least.”

“Anyway, I have to get back to my guildies. Good job at the tournament”, Prevesna ended as she held up a fist.

Logan bumped it with his own, “You too.”

Marcus replaced Prevesna at Logan’s side, starting up his own conversation, as well as the pair looking back at the other guild members to chat before reaching their guild house.

The guild house of VIP was a-stir with excitement. The heavy wooden door that saw entrance to the guild was passed by many happy members of the crowd at the tournament, or watching on magical devices elsewhere. Inside, however, was bustling with activity. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet treats, and relishing in feats.

The main table near the reading nook was festooned with flowers and a wonderfully intricate table runner. The hall was filled with guild members, newcomers and veterans of the adventuring life. Battle-worn leathers, cloth, and chains had draped some of the sofas or hung over the backrests of chairs as the men and women stood around chatting and drinking.

Laughter echoed off the wooden halls, blending in with the rhythmic tones of music coming from an enchanted harp, violin, and drums near the entrance to the crafting rooms. The guild's younger members hummed or sang their hometown's usual lyrics, their merriment a somewhat new experience against lower-income backgrounds.

At the head of the bar counter stood Logan and Marcus, almost on display for the other guildies to congratulate and clap. This year’s tournament was an amazing turnout, with many people holding positions within the quarter-to-finals. The pair offered fancy tricks of magical delight for their allies, as well as amplifying their “cousins’” achievements.

Raising a tankard with a fizzing purple liquid, Logan called for attention, “V.I.P., you’ve done wonderfully at our first tournament. In only 39 days we’ve filled in close to half our slots with people I can accept as a second family. Events shall escalate and hasten as we move forward. Know that you’ll find solace and friendship here”, he spoke before raising his tankard, “To the following years!”

“Here, here”, the guild responded in a voluminous voice.

As cheers erupted through the guild, Castore and E’leth began a boisterous competition of arm wrestling and competition between the guildies. Be it flipping coins into cups or knife catching, the youth revelled in the party atmosphere.

Marcus’s face was beaming, both from alcohol and the happiness spread throughout the room. There was little doubt from Logan that the orphan enjoyed this moment more than a few others, finding a new family to call his own, that wasn’t the church that had taken him in at a young age.

Logan, however, felt a mix of glee and sadness. Every step taken in this world was another stitch in the book cover of his new story. As it was mostly futile to lament over it, Logan had pushed most thoughts of Earth from his mind. He had the means to heal his father, he just needed the ability to administer them.

No other quest had revealed itself to allow the Spellthief a return visit, even as a roundtrip. At what point would it become a no-return situation? His father’s health had been failing, but it wasn’t horrible when Logan had been abducted. But anything can happen, especially with the 175 days Logan had spent in Avanar.

His mind was put somewhat at ease as Amalia linked her arm with his, laughter and smiles replacing the bad thoughts. The Guardian had assimilated to life here much quicker than Logan had, but then, she enjoyed this world’s contents far more. Magic was a click of her fingers away, while her increased proficiency at crafting wares gave her solid footing within an industry.

Advelt and Waerell brought out more platters of succulent meats, surrounded by delectable pastries that were Gauntlet staples. More and more, the guild indulged in revelry and glorious intake.

As the sun dropped in the sky and the moon rose to usurp it, the guild house of V.I.P. was painted in a wonderful silvery light. Loud voices were replaced with giggles and quiet contemplative reading. Many had returned to more timid lifestyles of rest and recuperation, while the older members relished in drink.

However, that same silvery light shone down on areas far darker. Somewhere in the seedier parts of the city, hidden away from the patrolling guards and less-aware adventurers were the duo of PCs Logan had seen earlier, and had plotted against him in the past.

Habiki, the younger man with green eyes stood tall over a figure on the floor, looking towards Owen, the older man with a bald head. “Owen… It’s always a shocker to see your skills at work. You know that, right?” He spoke with worried reverence.

A trail of grey insects crawled up Owen’s arm and under his coat, the older gentleman replying with a toothy grin, “Habiki, we all have our unique powers. I’m sure you’re just as worried about getting sucked into Logan. Or Ahren making you lose control of your bladder.”

Habiki crouched down a bit to look at their handiwork. A complete skeleton that wore the latest fashion and shining trinkets, pure white bones that had been picked clean. “Too right. So, this was… Tafari?”

“The Jamaican PC.”

“It’s no Ahren, but I guess we’ll take what we can get”, Habiki’s Green eyes then flowed into a deep purple, his iris becoming an X that hit the edges of his eye, “His essence still lingers, just like the others.”

“Take the bones as usual. We’ll wait out his revival timer.”

“Guess we’re lucky we found him before he found Logan, ay?”

Owen was about to speak, before the shadowy PC at the tournament approached from behind. “Good evening”, Owen said, his Welsh accent becoming prominent in greeting.

“You’re acting brazenly. Did Tille erode your senses so?” The man in the shadows responded, a Spanish accent battling Owen’s.

“Placido”, Habiki began, “I thought you had abandoned us fully. Why the interest?”

The shadows turned to stare at Owen, then back to Habiki, “Our benefactors are insistent on action over inaction. A ‘penalty’ has come up so severe I’d rather not test it.”

“We’re reforming then?” Owen asked.

“No”, Placido replied promptly before approaching the skeleton on the floor, “Though, I do demand this corpse.”

Owen shrugged, “Take it.”

Habiki looked at his “leader” before just nodding his head in acceptance.

Placido flicked their shadowed arm, several cracking of bones in their anatomy audible. More bone cracking followed as the skeleton still draped in its clothing and accessories began to animate and float back to its feet.

“Oh? I didn’t expect your skill to extend to PCs. Ain’t that useful”, Habiki teased.

“Just make sure you don’t join them.”

Habiki held up his hands in a fake surrender, “My people have their own superstitions about the dead, thank you. I’m sure I don’t want to engage in some day of the dead shen—”

“That’s Mexican”, Placido cut off quickly.

Owen smirked and shook his head.

“Either way, I won’t be sleeping facing north”, Habiki replied before approaching the undead and knocking on its bones, “Does he remember being alive?”

Placido sighed, “Do you plan on murdering more people in the capital?”

“No. We had one use for this sense-barrier”, Owen admitted as he thumbed towards the alleyway entrance.

Placido nodded, knowing he was an exception.

“So, just Owen and I”, Habiki accepted.

“Samantha and Theresa are here too. I doubt they want to return after what you did”, Owen explained sternly towards Habiki.

“I saw them too”, Habiki responded, emotionless and cold.

Placido interrupted again, “I hope you two have ways of leaving?”

“We have teleportation passes, just as you.”

“Good”, Placido responded as he picked something from his clothing, presumably. “Then good luck. I’d hate for you to reveal much more of your hand”, he ended before his body and that of his new skeleton was wrapped in purple lines and cut to ribbons.

“Asshole”, Habiki cursed under his breath.

“Now, now, Habiki. We may be split, but we’re still on the same team.”

“Doesn’t feel like it sometimes. I still say we shoulda all stuck together. It seems like Logan has the same idea.”

“The Brit will be harder to track now he can counter scrying attempts, but we will have our due.”

“Go after his guildies?”

“No. Our next plan requires some time. The parameters of the quest are quite strict.”

“‘Don’t go losing your PC powers’ is all I am hearing.”

“We don’t want that happening again.”

Habiki then rubbed his chin, “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. It’s like we’re playing an RTS when they get to play the old-fashioned RPG.”

“Patience. Logan already revealed one easy prey to us. He’ll do so again”, Owen instructed before noticing a faint flicker in the air, “Come, the barrier ends soon. We have many plans to put into place.”

“We’ll kill all of them at once.”

--- *** ---