Do you guys watch critical role? Because in campaign 2, there's a homebrew school of magic called "Dunamancy", which is basically time magic. This could be how the time machine works in this AU, if it will be included at all.
That’s an interesting idea! I don’t think we’ll be including the time machine because we just don’t really feel like it fits with everything else, but thanks for the suggestion!
Ahh you guys' fics are so good! I can definitely see all of your individual styles with each of them, but they also all overlap in a way, like they're unique but have a sort of flow and form and structure that ties them together; do all of you guys beta for each other or something similar? Because the way they're all edited feels like the same people went over them and put the finishing touches on them to make them fit together. ANYWAY! Your fics are great, and I love you guys' blog!
Hey anon? Anon????? ANON??????????
Literally ALL of my uwus thank you SO MUCH THIS MEANS THE WORLD
We discuss fics together while planning and beta each other’s work, so they’re all very collaborative. It’s really neat that you picked up on that!
While we aren’t making some. Big chaptered fic, there is a story being told through them all. We brainstormed different ways the characters met and how they interact with each other when we first came up with this au and began planning races and classes. So I’m very glad the stories seem connected in more ways than just containing the same characters.
Anyway. The discord blew up when you sent this, it’s so sweet. You’re awesome, anon!
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Characters: Doc, Beef, BDubs, Etho
Summary: The nHo are gone, but never forgotten… and not quite gone
Word Count: 4178 (yeah. I might have gone ham)
Author: Mod Lori
In time, Doc came to refer to the event as the Incident.
The Incident that had taken the lives of his closest companions, the Incident that had left him alone and lost, the Incident that had sent him into a life of isolation. It had been a year since the Incident—in fact tomorrow would be the exact anniversary. They were dead, and to the world, he was dead along with them.
Genre: Angst/Fluff
Characters: Doc, Beef, BDubs, Etho
Summary: The nHo are gone, but never forgotten... and not quite gone
Word Count: 4178 (yeah. I might have gone ham)
Author: Mod Lori
In time, Doc came to refer to the event as the Incident.
The Incident that had taken the lives of his closest companions, the Incident that had left him alone and lost, the Incident that had sent him into a life of isolation. It had been a year since the Incident—in fact tomorrow would be the exact anniversary. They were dead, and to the world, he was dead along with them.
He wished that were true.
In the back corner of a dingy, dank tavern, he sat at a table with a mug of ale in his hand and three empty chairs before him. It was far later than he should have been staying out, so late that he was one of only three remaining patrons.
Hee downed his drink and then rose to his feet, body heavy. He wanted nothing more than to stay here and continue to drown his sorrows, but, if he remained in one place for too long, he risked being recognized. So, he lifted his hood and exited the dim light of the tavern, stepping into the night and keeping his head down—though that did little to hide just how much space his half-orc body took up.
He couldn’t be recognized. If he was, he didn’t have it in him to explain, hadn’t had it in him since his friends had been killed, and he thought that maybe he would never have it in him to do anything ever again except carry on as he had been, wandering from town to town.
His friends were dead, and yet, he was still here. Why? Why was he still here when the others were gone, wrenched from his life unceremoniously like they were nothing?
They weren’t nothing, and they never had been. They were his companions, his best friends, his family, and for the longest time he couldn’t have imagined his life without them.
He wished that were still true.
He was out of the town and along the beaten forest path within minutes. A lesser man might be nervous walking through a forest at night with all that he owned on his back, but it was a rare and impressive feat to find someone who could pose him any true threat.
Besides, even if he stumbled across someone like that, it wasn’t as if he had much to live for.
Now that he wished wasn’t true.
It was a dangerous thing to be alone with his thoughts, but he couldn’t stay anywhere for very long, and especially not in such a small town that would immediately know about a half-orc stranger come morning.
Because of that, he had to leave. Maybe someday he would build himself a house in the middle of a thick forest and live there, where nobody would find him. The hermit life sounded good. It was alone, unbothered.
He walked for the entire night, not bothering to stop to rest. By the time dawn broke, he was in the middle of the forest, still trekking along the winding path. He’d seen a few people as morning approached, mostly lone riders or merchants with carts.
He’d paid them little mind until he came upon an upturned wagon. It was blocking the path entirely, and a good ten or so people were surrounding it. Once, he would have stopped to help. Even now, had he been in a better mood, he might have still done it.
Instead, his heart hung heavy within his chest, and the last thing that he wanted to do today was help turn a cart right-side up. Ignoring them, he turned, venturing off the path and into the forest proper before any of them saw him.
He’d only just lost sight of the cart when his foot slipped.
It was stupid, really; a misstep on a loose stone, but sure enough, the stone fell out from under him, and then he was slipping uncontrolably down a hill that started gentle but, as he soon found out, eventually became steep and then dropped off to a vertical cliff.
He scrambled for purchase, mind blank with panic and limbs flailing wildly for a branch or a root or something to stop his fall. Unfortunately, he found nothing, and then he was free-falling off a cliff so high that he couldn’t see the bottom. It would come eventually, though, and so he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate and bracing for impact.
But, before he hit the ground, his arm—the one made of wood, not flesh—was yanked upward. A hand grasped it and lifted.
There was light; searing, blinding, brilliant light that burned into his mind even through his closed eyes, and as the light surged and then faded, he was surrounded by a familiar feeling.
He’d recognize Beef’s spell to reduce fall damage anywhere. Even a year later, even in the last place and time he would expect it, even with Beef dead and gone. The magic coated him like a warm hug, undeniably Beef; it was the immense, overwhelming power of a fireball and the soft, reassuring touch of a heal. It felt like companionship and inside jokes, cozy and safe and there to catch you when you fall.
As his feet slammed into the ground below he felt tears spring to his eyes not from pain—no, the spell negated any pain—but from sheer, unbridled emotion, emotion that increased infinitely as Doc looked up. Beef was there, right before him, face awash in terror and confusion and excitement all wrapped up in one, hand still grasping Doc’s wooden wrist.
“How-“
“You’re dead,” Doc said.
Beef blinked. It was at that moment that Doc realized he wasn’t… whole. Beef was a ghost; there was no other way to put it. He was translucent and pale, with the slightest tinge of washed-out blue. His torso could be seen but his legs faded into nothing, and he was just hovering there, dressed in the very clothes Doc had witnessed him die in.
“I don’t think I am.”
“Well, you’re not alive.”
“That’s true,” Beef conceded.
Doc’s heart was pounding in his chest, his ears ringing and mind whirling with a cocktail of emotions that dashed through his conscious far too fast for him to grasp or comprehend.
Impossible. It was impossible. Beef couldn’t be here, and yet, and yet, the feeling of the spell that had saved Doc’s life was fresh and full in his memory. There was no way of faking that; it was uniquely Beef, his magic a fingerprint that left no room for doubt. It was him, there was no way around it.
But it was impossible.
Doc told him as much. Before him, Beef shrugged transparent shoulders. The smile that the human gave was some odd conglomeration of sheepishness, confusion, and relief.
“I can’t tell you anything except that I am very glad to be back here. Well,” he glanced down at his body, briefly inspecting it, “mostly here, anyway.”
It hit him then, so sudden and elating; it was no wonder that it took so long to sink in. Beef was here, with him, somehow, by the hand of some benevolent god or fortunate magic. The realization forced tears to his eyes once again, and he named a few of the emotions that eddied within him: elation, sheer joy, overwhelming relief and excitement because Beef, his friend and longtime companion, a man he thought dead and long gone, was back, returned to him from beyond the grave.
Beef didn’t leave, mostly because--as they soon found out--he couldn’t; he was present, but he wasn’t corporeal, and he was unable to go much further than Doc could see. Doc was also the only person who could see or hear him, a fact they learned quickly when they came across a town, and one which Beef just as quickly used to his advantage, loudly interrupting Doc or talking smack about the people they interacted with at every opportunity. They fell into an easy dynamic within days; they’d spent too much time together for that to be difficult.
Beef couldn’t touch anything, either, save for Doc’s wooden arm. They weren’t sure why that was, exactly, but Beef had a few theories. Strangest of all, though, through some connection they shared, Beef could somehow cast spells through Doc. They were limited, of course, and immensely draining, but the power that rushed through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
The month following Beef’s return was filled with experimentation. They tested the limits of his capabilities together, and Doc was happy beyond belief that, not only had his friend returned, but that he had a purpose once more.
Most troubling of all, though, was that they still didn’t know where Beef had been.
Beef’s running theory was that the artifact a year earlier had banished him to another plane. He didn’t like talking about it; whenever Doc mentioned it, even in passing, the man grew distant and quiet. On the rare occasions when Beef mentioned it, Doc got the feeling that it wasn’t entirely in the past tense.
There were times when Beef faded, times when he wasn’t quite there. It was terrifying. Every time it happened, Doc could only watch as the man’s form grew thinner, as his eyes began to focus on things unseen, as he ceased responding to Doc as if he weren’t really there. And every time it happened, Doc was convinced that that was it—that Beef would fade away entirely, and that this strange sort of being had been temporary, fated to be whisked off within months.
But Beef would return, and all would be well, and Doc didn’t ask where he’d gone. Maybe they would get to that point some time in the future, but he didn’t want to push anything. He was all Beef had at the moment; he didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable.
So they settled into a routine, and it wasn’t long before it felt like it had a year prior, even though they were still missing half of their group.
It was about three months after Beef’s appearance that that changed.
Doc was well used to getting in trouble. He was half-orc; there were few races that faced more vitriol than him, and he was well used to the prejudice that came along with it. Because of this, he wasn’t particularly surprised when he found himself arrested one day.
It was a small town, the kind which tended to be insular and not particularly welcoming to outsiders. Beef had been particularly brutal in his commentary that afternoon, and that hadn’t helped Doc with any attempts to remain inconspicuous.
They hadn’t intended to remain very long, but they did stop by the tavern for a drink (one drink, for Doc, seated at an empty table because Beef could sit but could not drink with his friend). He’d been getting up to leave when he had passed by another table and had overheard a human man saying something downright foul to the (extremely uncomfortable) tavern maid giving him his ale.
He’d grabbed the man by the shirt, lifting him from his seat and then throwing him to the ground. Beef had cheered him on, but he would have done it even if he hadn’t had someone encouraging him to.
The fight that ensued was completely one-sided. The man had three friends, but all four were dispatched and running off with their tails between their legs within minutes.
Doc had stayed longer than he should have, making sure that the woman was okay and apologizing for reacting on impulse (he should have made sure she wanted his help from the start, but Beef had egged him on and the man’s actions had left him in such a rage that he hadn’t thought that part through). She was fine, fairly thankful, and the owner of the tavern had come out to assure Doc that the men wouldn’t be welcome back.
He left the tavern and intended to go on his way, Beef floating along beside him pantomiming the fight and describing it in hilariously excited detail. He was met by guards before he even neared the edge of the city.
As it turned out, one of the disgusting men had been the brother of the captain of the guard, and so, with little ceremony, Doc was thrown into a small cell and abandoned to await his punishment
Beef found the whole thing hilarious, and if Doc could float through walls and didn’t have to touch anything in the cell, he’d probably have found it amusing too. As it was, he was less than enthused. Still, he had no regrets. He was just waiting for the right moment to activate his barbarian rage and get out.
The sun was beginning to set when the captain of the guard came up to his cell.
“I don’t suppose you know what you did wrong.”
“Enlighten me,” Doc drawled.
The man huffed, speaking slowly as if Doc didn’t speak Common. “You assaulted four men completely unwarranted in a tavern.”
“Wouldn’t call it unwarranted.” Doc rose to his feet. “They were harassing a tavern maid.”
“It wasn’t your place to intervene.”
Doc’s hand clenched into a fist. He was beyond tired of this. “Man, I don’t know who raised you, but I was raised to respect women, which includes not making lewd comments at them when they’re just doing their jobs.”
“She was a tavern maid, they’re there for-“
Doc’s fist was already in the man’s face. The noise that resulted was undoubtedly the sound of his nose breaking, and he toppled to the floor, blood gushing down his face and completely unconscious.
“Damn,” Beef said, drawing out the word as he hovered over the body. “One hit. What a punch!”
Doc stepped out from his cell, over the man’s body and into the hallway. Then he heard a gasp.
His head snapped towards the source. At the end of the hallway, a young woman stood with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth.
“Uh.” Doc looked down at the unconscious man next to him, then at the cell behind him, and then finally at the blood on the floor and his fist, which certainly didn’t look good. He returned his gaze to the woman, lifting his hands immediately and opening them to show that he held nothing in them. “It was self defense?”
The words had just left his mouth before a luminous light shone through the room. It was white-hot and familiar, and he recognized it as the very same that had heralded Beef’s return.
The magic that flowed through him this time was boisterous and jovial. It was the smell of a summer rainfall and the sound of a wild wind through trees; the feeling of family, of home, of belonging.
When it faded, the woman made no acknowledgement that it had occurred. She blinked once, eyes glazed over, and then murmured “self defense” before nodding absentmindedly and then turning around to walk off.
Doc’s jaw was on the floor. “That worked?”
“Not at all!”
Doc whipped about to see the source of the voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. BDubs. There he was, floating next to a wide-eyed and grinning Beef, with an endearingly arrogant half-smile plastered on his face and hands raised in a fashion that resembled a performer having done some impressive trick.
“I, however, worked beautifully.” A charisma buff. The kind that BDubs would give back when they were alive and getting into the same shenanigans Doc had gotten into now.
Beef, suddenly free of his shock, let out a whoop of excitement. He was laughing, all but manic, joy and surprise evident on his face and in his laughter.
BDubs was grinning, more genuine and relieved this time. He was laughing with Beef and his eyes were shining with tears and it wasn’t long before translucent drops were falling to the floor, dissipating rather than remaining.
Doc ran out of town with his companions flying behind him, the duo even louder and more chaotic than Beef was on his own.
The routine they’d fallen into picked BDubs up without issue, and now even more experimentation could be done thanks to the inclusion of another ghostly planar-stuck mage.
BDubs’ presence brought the group’s morale up even higher. He’d always had a way of doing that, as if his simply being there lifted spirits and created happiness. Doc had thought he’d never feel it again, and yet here they were, Doc and Beef and BDubs adventuring again.
But there was one part missing.
He felt guilty for it, selfish, as if two friends miraculously returning from the dead (or whatever plane they had been imprisoned) wasn’t enough for him. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why couldn’t he be happy with that?
But it was impossible to deny the palpable hole in their group. They were three-fourths of a quartet, not a trio. It felt wrong. They all missed Etho, he knew it. There was a part of him holding out hope that Etho would show up, just as Beef and BDubs had.
Days had gone by; days which became weeks, weeks which became months. Still no Etho. Still some glimmer of hope remaining in Doc’s chest, every breeze and odd occurrence sending him into a bittersweet whirlwind of emotion.
It was times like these when the disparity was most felt: Doc was in the middle of a battle to enter an ancient temple, one which he, Beef, and BDubs had hoped might help them on their quest to return to their home plane. It was the kind of fight Etho would have reveled in, but despite Beef and BDubs at his side, Doc was not winning.
His chest heaved with the heavy breaths he was taking, and he was practically using his battle axe as a crutch. Blood was gushing from wounds all over his body. His energy was giving out, he could feel it.
BDubs and Beef were doing their best, and Doc was eternally thankful for it; the magic that flowed through him could never replace what it had been like to fight with them by his side, but their familiar and combined presence made him feel more calm and capable.
Before him, two frost giants approached. He’d used his battle rage to take down their three companions, and he’d thought he could finish them off.
He’d gotten far too comfortable. Back before the Incident, he and the nHo could have taken these buffoons without any trouble, but BDubs and Beef weren’t really there, not physically, anyway, and Etho was still…
There was no time to think about that now. The frost giants were fast approaching, and Doc knew that he wouldn’t survive the encounter.
He looked up, and saw Beef and BDubs hovering above him, watching over him with magic at the ready. He couldn’t bring it in himself to say anything—he wanted to apologize, to thank them, to say something, and yet nothing came.
His heart ached. After everything, after all that they had done, this would be the end. At least, he thought, he’d been able to spend these last few months with Beef and BDubs.
He only wished Etho had been there, too.
He hefted his axe and strode forward to meet his enemies. The familiar, comforting feeling of Beef and BDubs’ magic surged through him, and he turned and faced the giants head-on.
The first swing of his axe hit home in a giant’s ankle; frost began to creep outward from the connection, spreading quickly towards the handle and Doc’s hands. He pulled it out before the cold reached leather, leaping backward and ignoring the screaming pain in his knee as he narrowly avoiding the swing of a huge club.
He wasn’t so lucky with the second one. A wooden cudgel the size of a large tree met its mark in the middle of his chest, sending him flying. One of Beef’s spells cushioned the resulting collision he had with a pillar behind him, but the sickening crack of his head slamming into it wasn’t dampened, and he fell to the ground in an unshakable daze.
Still, he scrambled to his feet, determined to fight for as long as possible, and ducked blindly downwards and to his left with his vision still blurry. The deafening sound of one of the giants’ clubs smashing the enormous pillar to dust made him immediately thankful that he did so.
In his peripheral vision, he could see BDubs’ spectral form beginning to materialize and brighten. Beneath Doc’s feet, the grass became greener; the trees around the clearing rustled in nonexistent wind. Knowing that it was the work of his friend, Doc allowed his wooden arm to raise and point, palm open, towards the giants approaching.
There was a scorching heat; fire erupted from the very air around him, surrounding the giant that had thrown Doc into the pillar and closing in, whipping about in enormous flames to envelop the creature. It was gone within moments, reduced to steaming ash.
Doc had no sympathy, and unfortunately, he also had no strength. The spell, cast by BDubs and channeled through the arm Doc had been gifted by all three of his friends, had drained what little energy that had remained in the half-orc.
He fell to his knees, grasping his battle axe desperately, only barely able to keep himself from collapsing to the ground entirely. The sole remaining frost giant advanced. Beef and BDubs hovered above him.
Doc blinked once, twice, eyes burning with tears that would never fall. He’d shed them all months ago, anyway.
I’m sorry. He didn’t even have the strength to say it; could only mouth it. He’d failed. They wouldn’t come back. They wouldn’t even know if it had been possible.
If there were one consolation, at least they would be together again, really together, at last.
Doc wondered what he would say to Etho.
He dropped his head, unwilling to watch as the giant lifted its club to drop upon his weak, broken body. He could feel the air displaced as it swung.
What happened afterwards was a confusing blur of broken memory and pain. He knew that the club met its mark; he remembered feeling it, remembered hearing the sound, but he couldn’t recall what it had actually felt or sounded like, even if he wanted to. The gap in his memory was a small gift for which he would always be thankful.
He hadn’t died, that much he knew, though he had been well on the way. There had been mere seconds of time between life and death, moving quickly closer to the wrong direction; he was fleeting and unconscious, but he saw the light.
There was a white light, warm and radiant, the kind he’d seen only twice before, only this time it was brighter and stronger and accompanied by an unknown and otherworldly but comforting feeling that sank into his very bones. He felt his body heal, felt wounds seal up, felt a spectral hand pull him firmly and briskly—though not without affection—from his place between life and death. He was back within his body, which was whole and strong once again, healthy like he hadn’t been in years; even scars as old as his time as an adventurer were smooth and clean.
He opened his eyes, still kneeling, to find a hand in his face.
“Stand up, Sir Doc.”
Doc looked up into Etho’s phantasmal face, the scar over his eye stretched white as his eyes crinkled in a grin that was covered by his mask, and took his hand.
His hand, Etho’s hand, there and outstretched for Doc’s wooden one to grasp, covered in the gloves he always wore but firm on his prosthetic despite the fact that he could see through it. After all these months of hoping, after two years of mourning, his best friend had returned.
He should have known. The magic was the rattling of glass bottles, the ring of dulcet laughter, the sight of mischief dancing in mismatched eyes. It was soft and proud, a quiet kind of power that left ripples of enchantment in its wake—it was Etho.
He didn’t even care about the dig. Etho was back, they were all back, everyone was together again and they were here and he wasn’t alone—and Doc was alive, he realized at the end of it all, alive and healed despite best efforts otherwise.
“Etho!” Beef shouted, voice positively jubilant. He sped over to the man only to fly straight through him, and Etho began laughing, and BDubs shouted something of a celebratory expletive. The three had already fallen into boisterous conversation, and Doc had no choice but to join in loud, raucous chortling, eyes filling up with tears of pure joy.
They were together again; not realized, not safe, not nearly whole, but together, and he had them back. He’d bring them back for real, he swore. He wouldn’t stop until he managed it.
Hi there! I’m pretty new to Hermitcraft and just stumbled upon this AU- wanted to let you know that it’s amazing! :) Anyway I was hoping you could expand on the NHO and it’s whole ordeal? How did Doc end up at the party after he thought the world deserved to think he was dead? Did/do the other members of the party know about him being part of NHO? Sorry if you’ve answered these I just can’t seem to find the answers, and after reading the fic about the NHO I simply had to ask! :)
These are great questions, thanks for the ask! More nHo stuff, including a massive fic by myself, should be posted soon.
In the meantime, to answer your questions: Doc joins the Hermits through Ren. Ren runs into him at his little forest house where he’s been hiding out and manages to convince him to go adventuring. Ren doesn’t put two and two together until well into their partner ship—then it’s a moment of “holy shit I’ve been adventuring and fighting with the DocM77 whoa.” Ren’s also the one who asks him to join the Hermits’ massive party, tho he does fail to mention who it is, so when Doc shows up all the Hermits are considerably flipping out—they thought he was dead, for one, and for another they weren’t expecting someone that legendary.
Glad that you’re enjoying our blog, anon, and welcome to Hermitcraft as a whole!
Ren’s full name is Warren Doggen and he has the noble background! This is his family seal, and its embroidered on the back of his jacket. He also has a signet ring.
His sword is a family heirloom called the Marrowseep Rapier. There are also different versions of the blade called the Marrowseep Dagger, the Marrowseep bow, and the Marrowseep Greatsword. Each sect of the family has one of the heirlooms.
It has a ruby at the pommel and the knucklebow is made out of steel but painted gold. This is to make it more sturdy than standard gold, which is rather flimsy. The grip is covered with soft black leather.
The chains are also a family marker, though a more subtle one. There are a set of three sigils carved into the chains and they’re made of pure gold rather than steel. Everyone in the family gets a set of these chains at 10 years of age. Some where it as a belt, others attach it to other bits of clothing like the clasp of a cloak or incorporate it into chainmail.
[bangs pots and pans] i need,,,,, more joe hills,,,,,, ,,,,, thamk u
More Joe Hills you say? I can provide, my friend. Sorry for the wait; have a fic to make up for it!
Genre: FluffCharacters: Joe, XisumaSummary: Joe and Xisuma meet for the first time; it’s the beginning stages of the party!Word Count: 818Author: Mod Lori
Joe Hills was a bard who prided himself in his ability to confuse. He was bewildering, perplexing, at times a bit absurd. Above all else, however, he was good—and he was very powerful.
Joe was a traveler. He wandered from village to village, solving minor problems and causing minor mischief (if leaving odd signs counted as mischief). On rare occasions, he’d find himself obligated to step in for some major issue.
Such as the one he walked into today. It was a small village he’d decided to visit—one with which he was decently familiar, having visited about five times previously. He never stayed long; the people were a bit too conservative and stuck in their ways for his liking, and he could only take one or two whispers about savage orcs or greedy dwarves for him to get out as fast as possible.
So, when he heard from a shopkeeper (all too excitedly) that there was a tiefling being held at the local prison, he decided the first thing he ought to do was seek the person out and decide for himself whether they deserved a punishment. This town was the type to have the kind of old-time prejudices that would lead to a tiefling’s unjust sentencing.
It was easy enough to put the guard to sleep with a short spell. The prison consisted of a small room for the guard and any confiscated items, as well as two cells, only one of which was occupied. Joe found a brown tiefling within, pacing back and forth.
“Howdy!” Joe began. The tiefling paused, then turned to face him with suspicion. Joe raised his hand and moved it through the bars. “I’m Joe Hills!”
The tiefling eyed the outstretched hand, gaze lifting up after a moment to return to Joe’s face. He didn’t move to shake it.
“You seem to be in a bit of a pickle here,” Joe forged on. “Care to tell me what happened?”
“You don’t sound local,” the tiefling finally spoke. He had an accent that declared him from the Northern kingdoms, not too far away.
Joe beamed. “I suppose that’s because I’m not.”
“Ah.” He didn’t relax in the slightest. “Why are you here, then?”
“Well, when I heard there was a tiefling being held here, I figured I might want to show up and hear from them myself to see what happened. So, care to share?”
The tiefling huffed, turning away, clearly exasperated and more than a little miffed. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything, I was trying to buy some rations.”
“Well, the guard told me you were trying to steal it,” Joe countered, paying close attention to the tie fling’s reaction.
He narrowed his eyes, indignation clear on his face. “Yes, that’s what they told me. They’re very certain that’s what was going on.”
“But they’re lying?”
“I’m sure they think it’s the case.”
Joe nodded. He let his attention catch on the tiefling’s clothing: a green tunic—a color reserved for nobility, in the Northern kingdoms.
“Well, I certainly doubt you needed to steal.” Joe clapped his hands, spreading them and wiggling his fingers playfully. “So I’ll break you out.”
The tiefling blinked. “Just like that?”
“You seem trustworthy enough.” Joe reached through the bars of the prison again, holding out his hand. “Do I get a name before I stage this jailbreak?”
“Xisuma Void.” The tiefling grasped it this time, shaking once. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joe Hills.”
“Likewise, my good sir,” Joe responded. He pulled his hand back and then crouched before the cell’s lock, grasping it and inspecting it. His thumb brushed over the keyhole, and he recited a short rhyme. “Though I lack a key, soon you’ll see, that your freedom I can guarantee.”
The familiar rush of his magic thickened the air briefly as, under his thumb, the lock clicked open. He opened the door for the tiefling within, and was rewarded with a brisk nod. Joe gestured towards the door to the room where his confiscated items had been stored.
He watched as his new companion rifles through his things, replacing armor and checking bags. The armor was intricate and well-made, clearly costing a fortune, and the rest of his things were the same.
Xisuma turned around, shield in hand, and immediately Joe knew he hadn’t been wrong. The shield bore the symbol of Tyr, and Xisuma’s impressive armor combined with the green tunic told him all he needed to know. He wasn’t dealing with some thug; this was a nobleman, a paladin of Tyr, the god of law and justice.
Yeah, he hadn’t tried to steal rations.
“Is everything there?”
Xisuma nodded, giving a grin. Now dressed in his full paladin regalia, he certainly looked the part of the righteous, divine soldier. “D’you suppose we could get out of here without attracting the attention of the rest of the guards?”
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