Viv woke up early. Yan brought her a breakfast made of large fried eggs with a gooey blue center, fried dough sticks and a porridge, as well as her clothes now freshly cleaned and smelling of flowers. It felt good to be perfectly clean.

The brothel’s lobby was not empty, even early in the morning. She came across an amazon of a woman with braided dark hair, in a gambeson, who gave her a light bow. There was also a rich-looking young man who openly ogled her when he thought she was not looking. Yan took her two silver talents and sent her on her way, with a muscular male [whore] dragging the sled behind him as if it weighed nothing.

They climbed up towards the elevation at the center of the village where the large tree stood. She stopped just as she reached it, amazed by the view.

The tree was massive. Not old oak massive, baobab massive. Redwood massive. It dominated this part of the town with its presence, and even now she could see a constellation of purple buds blossoming on every twig. Titanic boughs as large as normal trunks bent under the awesome weight. The air smelled incredibly pure, like a mountain at dawn.

Ok, so the world was populated with undead abominations that stank like dumpster juice, but at least this made it worth it.

The [whore] gave her a light smile. He said something about ‘morning’ and ‘look’ that she didn't quite catch, then blushed. She tapped his shoulder to show support, before inspecting the buildings that surrounded the tree itself.

They had clearly reached the heart of the city, where the upper crust, such as it was, conducted its business. The buildings here were made of real, carved stone with an effort to be more than just four walls and a roof. The variety of architectural styles spoke of a city built by migrants.

The first building to her immediate left was a square compound centered around an inner courtyard, a bit like the brothel actually, but with only one floor and significantly larger. A statue of a tall bearded man in conical helmet and scaled armor guarded the entrance. His eyes shimmered a deep golden color, and seemed to be following her. She would have sworn that he was alive if he were not so obviously made out of stone.

[Statue of Neriad (enchanted), made of marble. Very heavy. Recent.]

The building had only one entrance. It had a sober, ancient greek feel to it. A single inscription stood over the main gate in bold letters.

‘Temple of Neriad.’

The boy with her pointed a finger at her destination.

“Temple of Neriad, yes, I know,” she interrupted her small Captain Obvious before he could attempt to communicate. She was not done yet.

The next building was square and compact, with three floors. Rows of columns were the only thing that saved it from basic brutalism, and the reason for such a dense configuration became clear when she read the name engraved on the facade.

‘Manipeloso bank and exchange, Kazar branch’

Convenient.

On the other side of the tree, she spotted a sprawling complex with no specific name. It looked like someone had started from a normal house and added wings as needed. It was probably the mayor’s house and town hall. The last significant structure was a tower guarded by a daunting enchanted steel door at its base. It was closed. She surmised that it might be the domain of the esteemed lady Varska. She apparently did not take visitors.

Her companion dragged the sled inside of the courtyard, which was currently deserted. She noticed crates set against a wall as well as a pair of wood dummies ravaged by hours of practice. There were three doors leading further into the building. She could hear the hubbub of conversation on her left, but her guide pointed forward.

“Farren talk.”

“Thank you.”

She took out her purse from one of the recesses of her cloak and removed two bits.

“For you,” she told the flustered young man. He tried to refuse, at first, but she simply closed his large fist around the rectangular coins. She was not done. She took an iron talent and walked to the sled, before pinching and raising the edge of a grey towel.

“For this,” she added.

“Squee!”

“I’m covering for you, you little thief!”

“Squee.”

Arthur had decided to plump her nest by ‘acquiring’ new fluffy material. Viv had only just realized it. She would have to set boundaries for her companion and was really not looking forward to that.

The muscular youngling nodded, took the talent and left promptly. The bits had already disappeared somewhere.

She left the sled behind, and entered the central building. Inside, she found a temple.

That was a bit of a disappointment as she expected a lobby. Ah, well.

The vast room contained pews encircling yet another statue of Neriad. This one was man-sized and painted beautifully to show golden eyes and hair. The statue knelt in contemplation with one hand on the hilt of a two-handed sword. On either side of the room, several doors led to private prayer rooms with tiny altars, candles, and roof openings that let in the morning light. A lone man in robe was sweeping the ground, wearing robes with an insignia showing a two-handed sword in front of a shield.

“Excuse me,” she asked, “I am looking for Branchmaster Farren.”

“I am sure you are,” the man replied without stopping.

“And where may I find him?”

He sighed. This was going to be a pain. Her interlocutor was a weasel of a man of indeterminate age.

[Deacon, not dangerous, follows a path that focuses on the preservation of a sacred site and the care of the believer.]

“You mercenaries always think that you have a right for everything, don’t you? The branch master is busy now.”

“Is he? And when will he be available?”

“He is available when he is available. I suggest that you wait in the cafeteria with the rest of your kind.”

“Do tell, deacon, do you perhaps have an inspection skill?”

She remembered that it required reaching a certain threshold, so not everyone must have it. Cernit had it, but he was clearly a cut above the rest. So did that Tars woman and Yan, but again, their jobs required a certain finesse. Apparently, being a deacon did not.

“No, I do not,” he replied between gritted teeth, his attention now firmly on her.

“Then how do you presume to know how busy the branch master is?”

She removed her letter of recommendation from her bag and shoved it under the man’s nose.

“Get this to him promptly.”

The deacon grabbed the letter and read the title. His expression scrunched in further displeasure.

“What is this about?”

“It’s about you understanding that you will move on and comply if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life sweeping the floor.”

Antagonising the doorman often backfired. Viv decided that she had to impose herself or risk setting a bad precedent. Casters were dangerous, therefore, they were arrogant. She had to be arrogant as well. Also, assholes with a modicum of power pissed her off and she had the means to shut him down. So there.

She expected a grudging acceptance. Instead, the deacon paled noticeably as something pulsed within her core. It was not quite what she recognized as mana. It was something else, something that touched in her the part that was wounded: her soul.

Intimidation: Intermediate 2