Chapter 86 - A Gathering of Champions

The city of G'cal

Valenas POV

Lychee and I are headed to the Razorback Armory, one of the best (and most affordable) smithies in G'cal to pick up our gear that's just been serviced. Just as we enter the door, a tense scene is playing out within.

"Ma'am-" "You'll address me as Sir, little one."

Anise's normally cheerful expression sours considerably as she's reprimanded by the Photian woman currently being served.

"P-perhaps... Perhaps we should come back... come back later..." Lychee mumbles to me, seemingly quite put off by the presence of this unknown Photian. She seems to be trying to hide behind me.

"Sir, we cannot service your weapons as they aren't properly licensed." Anise almost spits the honorific at the Photian woman.

She's most likely a high ranked Hunter, no other way she'd dare flaunt her looks otherwise. Her hair is loosely braided, making the strange color patterns adorning it all the more obvious. She's even wearing light eye-shadow to accentuate her large, hypnotic eyes.

Photians are generally disliked, and the ones living in the nations north of the Illomen Forest do their best to either not be noticed, or keep entirely to themselves. This one is all but crying out 'look! I'm a Photian! What are you going to do about it?'

I do sense an odd connection to her though, as if she's a long time team-member.

The Photian woman glances around the store, finally noticing us, or more importantly, noticing Lychee. Along with Lychee and I, there's a human man perusing the weapon displays, trying very hard to not make it obvious that he's listening in on the situation.

Odd, there's that same feeling.

"Are you sure it's not because of my race? Never in my life have I had so many hostile gazes directed at me since coming to this edge of nowhere town." The woman seems to be building up to something, and I don't like it.

Of course, Anise and her adoptive father, Grisvold, are aware of Lychee's situation, can't measure armor without getting down to your undies after all. I step into the store properly, intending to wait my turn, and perhaps step in if the situation requires.

"I assure you, Ma- Sir. We're not discriminating based on race. The fact of the matter is that your weapons have modifications that I've never seen before, and highly doubt they're legal to even carry around." Anise tries her best to retain her professionalism even as she subtly tugs at a hidden pull-cord under the counter to alert her father.

Sometimes it's best to call in reinforcements.

I sneak a look at the weapons being discussed. They're clawed gloves of an esoteric design, most likely Photian in origin, but so severely modified to the point that there probably isn't even one original part left in the pair. Oh, they even have a closed-palm system?

There's a ruckus in the back as many metal items loudly clatter to the ground, followed by several choice Pyrean swears. Grisvold, a master smith, lumbers into the shop, having to edge through the door sideways as his height and width bars him from entering most doors any other way.

A heavily muscled Beastfolk man with an almost titanic stature, his chest only covered by his blacksmiths apron, leaving room for the countless razor-sharp quills covering his back. Indeed, even in winter, he struts around without a shirt on for that reason. Blinded in one eye from an accident when he was younger, and covered in burns and scars, he looks more like a semi-feral bandit than a well respected member of society.

"Anise, dear, I... I tipped tha shield-stack aga'n." He mumbles to his daughter, who sighs before whispering something to him, most likely informing him of the situation. The size discrepancy between them is such that he has to kneel in order for her to reach his ear. Anise then flees into the back room to fix the mess her father made.

Grisvold glances around the shop, taking note of who is present. He squints his one good eye when he notices the human man who is still browsing the weapons, seems they're a new arrival. He then gives me and Lychee a nod.

"'Pologies, Ma'am, what seems to be tha issue?" He begins before his gaze falls onto the weapons laid out on his counter. His expression sours, and that's even before he's been exposed to the Photian lady's personality.

"You'll address me as Sir, smith. Now, perhaps you see reason where your clerk doesn't. I need these serviced." The Photian lady gestures towards her weapons. Grisvold's expression briefly becomes one of contempt, before he settles for one of general annoyance.

"I 'unno what kind of treatment yer expectin' here, Ma'am. As my daughter said, these are unlicensed. Indeed, I'm afraid of even touchin' 'em on account of how modified they are." He gently lifts one of the gloves to get a better look at it. As the thumb joint shifts, he suddenly drops the weapon, like he's gotten shocked.

"Eck! Blasted thing's Twisted, too! No, Ma'am, either you buy a set of clawed gloves from me, and I'll happily service those at a discount, or you take your business elsewhere entirely, yer holding up my actual payin' customers." He glares at the Photian as he demonstratively wipes his hand on his apron.

Anise peeks out of the doorway leading to the back room. "She can come in here to be measured if need be." She curtly announces before retreating back in.

There's a terrible quietness in the store as Grisvold and the lady stare each other down. With an annoyed sigh, the woman shrugs before storing her weapons in a pouch. It's obviously a Slotted Bag, judging by the size difference between the weapons and the bag itself.

"Fine, I guess I'll commission a set of 'legal' clawed gloves then." She admits defeat, and is escorted into the back room by Grisvold.

"Man, what a scene, huh? You'd think she'd be smarter than that, demanding service of military grade weapons from Feyloche here." The man that's been quietly perusing the weapons and armor all this time speaks up. "I'm Brocken. I get the sense that we're supposed to get acquainted with each other, and her as well, I guess." He gestures with his head towards the back door.

He then holds out his hand, and I hesitantly grab it. A jolt of energy seems to hit my body as I do so, and I become aware. This is the Champion of Death, Brocken Voidreiser. "I'm Valena Argenfeather, and this is Lychee Voidreiser, one of my Hunter buddies." I introduce us.

"So, that's... four so far. I'm told the Divine are pulling out all the stops for this." Brocken is counting on his fingers, seeming to include the Photian woman, himself, me and one more.

"Who's the fourth?" I ask.

"Ah, he told me you're acquainted. One Merkiv Blastguard. He and his party arrived along with me just a few days ago." He informs. "So, there should be four more Champions arriving here."

"How are you so sure they'll arrive here?" I ask, casting a glance at the door to the back in anticipation for either Anise or Grimvold to arrive through it.

"I mean, this is the only well equipped place within at least two days travel." He shrugs, as if that was obvious. I suppose it was. "It's also the closest settlement to the center of that darkness that's been emanating from the Illomen for the last few weeks." Brocken adds as he picks up a spear, testing its heft.

"I'll send a messenger once it's done. You were staying at the Smiling Goblin, correct?" Anise exits the back room, followed by the Photian woman. Seems Grisvold has returned to his forge to continue working.

"Yes. Here's the payment." She fishes out a small purse and places three Gold coins onto the counter. By the Mother, what did she order?! Most basic weapons intended for further strengthening through adding monster parts barely run you seventy-five Silver!

We're given a cold look by the woman as she leaves, and finally Lychee and I can get our weapons and armor back.

"Here they are, sorry about the wait." Anise's back to her usual cheerful self as she wheels out two armatures on which our armor is placed. She hurries back inside, and brings out two wrapped packages.

We pack them down and pay before exiting the Armory.

"I... I want to go see that lady." Lychee admits. It's rare to meet another Photian, and having been raised by Accan, she's always eager for a chance to learn more of her heritage even if she's nervous about meeting new people.

"I'll go with you, if you want?" I offer. Having someone she trusts nearby puts her at ease, I've learned. I'm also intrigued by this new arrival to G'cal, especially since she might be the Champion of Light.

"I'd like that. Perhaps you'd be able to learn if she really is involved in this whole Champion thing?" Lychee smiles at me, and we head towards the Smiling Goblin together. Although it's a bit cumbersome to lug around our armor and weapons like this, we're both too intrigued to bother going to our respective homes to drop them off first.

"Uh, seems she's causing trouble again?" Lychee mumbles as we enter the door to the bar section of the Smiling Goblin. Teeny, the now Hobgoblin for which the tavern was named, flashes a fanged grin at us as he notices us before returning to supervise the other customers.

At one point, he was an abandoned runt Goblin found by the father of the current owner. Now, he serves as the bouncer to the bar, using his brute strength to evict those that cause trouble and breaks up fights on the regular.

The Photian lady is standing at the counter for lodgings, her cheeks flushed with anger as she helplessly watches her belongings being brought down to her.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we have a partnership with the Guild that forces us to prioritize Hunters over other customers." The owner issues a non-apology. "I'm sure that there's other accommodations elsewhere in G'cal you can make use of?"

"No! You were the only ones willing to take my money, and you made me pay a premium! Now that someone 'more proper' arrives, you're all to happy to kick me out as well?" Her voice almost breaks as her eyes become extra shiny, no doubt tears threatening to break loose.

She angrily reaches for something, and Teeny edges closer as she does so, intending to intervene if she draws a weapon.

'tak'

The Photian woman throws a small metal card onto the counter. It's a B-Rank Hunters Guild card! "Here, this proves I am a Hunter. In addition, if you'd have bothered to read over my lodgings registration, you'd be able to see that I wrote down 'Hunter' on 'occupation'."

There's a silence in the bar now. A lithe, pale woman with flowing silver hair descends the stairs leading to the rooms, and her expression seems angry, though it's hard to tell.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but there's nothing to be done at this time. I must have missed that on the ledger, but still, it's too late. Your room has been assigned someone else." The owner tries to remain calm, but he is nervous. Even if Photians might have a bad reputation, Hunters look after their own regardless of race.

I decide to step in, to tighten the noose, so to say. "Sir, this is in clear breach of the contract you've signed with the Guild. If she did indeed state her occupation as Hunter in the ledger, you have no right to evict her over any other renter. Even so, it seems to be in poor taste to demand a premium only to then evict her the moment a more 'presentable' client appears."

The owner becomes pale as he hears my voice. Everyone knows I have a direct line to the Guild Master.

"If this is true, I'd like to rescind my renting of a room here. Forget Hunter allegiance, wasn't Parshura founded on the principle of 'none over the other'?" The silver-haired woman has made her way to the counter, her tone is composed, but one gets the intense sense of a looming storm from her as she addresses the tavern owner.

"Lady Amberroux, please- it was an honest mistake!" The owner is frantically trying to salvage his reputation. Amberroux... could this be the famous Healer, Peony Amberroux, niece of the King himself?

Jeers and shouts of agreement sound from the crowd as more and more people get up, either to leave or to go upstairs, perhaps to pack their things.

"P-please, can I offer your room back, and we'll... forget this whole thing?" The owner meekly asks the Photian woman.

"I'll take the room, but I suspect these kind ladies won't let you go that easily." The Photian seems to take some delight in the owners misery. The maids who'd been removing her luggage sigh and begin bringing it back up again.

"Thank you for helping me. Ah, let me introduce myself, I am Terne Fluxbeacon. I hail from Feyloche, so I'm unaccustomed to the Parshuran way of etiquette." The Photian woman hesitantly holds out a hand for Peony to shake.

Although a social faux pas, to offer one's hand to a royal, Peony smiles and takes it, introducing herself as well. They both get a strange expression on their faces. Did I look like that when I grabbed Brockens hand?

"And you too, kind Ayvin." Terne turns to me, offering her hand to me as well. Once again, that strange jolt of energy hits me as we shake hands, and I become aware that this is the Champion of Light.

"I am Valena Argenfeather, and this one here is Lychee Voidreiser, a friend of mine." I introduce us, glancing at Lychee who's using me as a shield between her and Peony. Her face is beet red.

"How odd. But then again, maybe not. Seems Champions are drawn to each other." Peony muses as she must have noticed my expression mimicking that of Ternes when they shook hands.

"We're still missing three." I quietly inform as I curtsy to Peony in line with proper etiquette.

"I'm sure they'll turn up soon. Now, Argenfeather, I'm of the impression we have a report to make to the Guild regarding this." Peony gets a mischievous expression at odds with her otherwise refined appearance.

"Come with us, Terne, we'll make sure this won't happen again." I offer. As the victim of the incident, her testimony will be important. Terne grabs her Guild Card as we head for the Guild to make a report.