Vraxious- Hopes End
Vrax made it halfway out his door before he was once again intercepted by his father. He leaned on Vrax’s shoulder for support as he walked down the hallway with his boy. William had deep, weathered lines across his skin, always drawn back in a smile. Like he had just thought of the best joke. Vrax had tried many times to pry more details from him on what he did before he made his way out to this backwater and setup shop as the town cleric. He had always evaded it by deftly changing topics or stating, “Nothing of note, my boy, I prefer looking forward, not back.” He had given Vrax the best life he could after Vrax’s parents had died on an ill-planned trip into the forsaken lands. Leaving Vrax, a boy of six at the time, alone in Rafael’s tavern with only a few coppers to his name.
William hobbled along with Vrax out of the chapel and down the street. He looked at the bell-like shape of the gulper on the porch, shifting slightly to follow them as if it had eyes. “Vrax, you really need to do something about that one; it's starting to make the neighbors nervous.”
Vrax grabbed the plant, pot and all, making sure not to let it get any digestive juices on him as it leaned in like it wanted a kiss. “I have a few ideas now on what to do with it; the neighbors will love it in a week.” William cocked an incredulous eyebrow at that. Vrax sauntered down the road, the large pot making his stride awkward, especially with William leaning against him and avoiding the overtly familiar plants' sedate lunges. “Behave!” Vrax forcefully held the circular trap of the plant upright with one hand as it got a little too close to dripping a hissing acid on his boots. William just chuckled to himself as they made it finally to the inn.
It was swarmed. People from all walks of life crowded to get in the doors. Torvald spotted them right away from a porch nearly sagging under the weight of the crowd. He gave a heartfelt wave and gently bulldozed his way through the mob. A hasty banner in garish red paint on what must have been a bedsheet was nailed above the door. Monster hugger, Did he die? Did you win? Grab a drink and find out! "Goddammit, Feldwin,” Vrax grumbled.
Vrax and William slipped around the back, coming into the kitchen. A flurry of activity and clanging pots greeted them. The smell of fresh bread and stale ale assaulted their senses. Rafael’s wife, an equally stout woman with long gray hair and soft, flour-smeared features, spotted them on the way in. She held up a hand, signaling for them to wait. “Timins almost perfect, darling,” she mumbled out through a mouthful of some kind of stew. Just listen; he’s getting started. Vrax and William peered over her shoulder and out the swinging doors to the main room.
The Hogs Trough Inn tavern room was a solid, cheerful affair. One wall was dominated by a rough-hewn bar more log than any kind of milled furniture, with a noticeable bend towards the center. The golden brown wood had been worn smooth from decades of use rather than by any tools. Behind the bar, floor to ceiling were hundreds of casks of ale of all different sizes, shapes, and colors, an impressive spread from within the kingdom and beyond. A pissy-looking dwarf, more red beard than anything else, dashed from cask to cask, filling mugs and shuffling a stool around to reach the higher taps when needed. The massive hearth roaring in the dead center of the back wall cast the shadow of the slowly roasting pig on a spit sizzling in its fiery maw. A dozen round tables all stuffed to capacity lined the walls. In the center a massive stone banquet table housed what seemed like half the darn town.
Rafael climbed onto the top of the stone table, sloshing patrons' drinks as he used them to hoist himself up. A few of the crowd noticed, turning to see what news he brought. But most of the bar was deep in excited conversation. The volume in here made Vrax’s ears ring; so many people were clinking mugs and shouting predictions at each other. He gazed up towards the second floor; the few tables up the wide stairs past the hearth were packed as well. Another hundred pairs of eyes practically hung over the railing above, watching the chaos below unfold as Rafael tried to bring order to his establishment. He started with some meaty claps, and when that didn’t work, he devolved to shouting at the nearest patrons. A drunk threw a stein with a heave at Rafael's buttocks. “Give us a jig, big fella.” This triggered an uproar of cheers and jeers from the crowd.
A weight slammed down on the souls of everyone present, like the specter of death’s cold hand had suddenly grabbed your throat. The room grew deathly quiet as a voice laced with equal parts mirth and authority demanded everyone’s attention. “I think Rafael has some news for us, and I would very much like to know if I can retire early. Now let’s have order.” Cedric's armored form creaked into the center of the room next to the banquet table. One final press of a skill sent a noticeable tremor through the building as he pulled back a chair and confidently laid his feet on the table, taking a deep gulp from his mug.
“Uhmm, yes... Now on to the main event of tonight!” The portly innkeeper quickly gathered himself up into performer mode, his voice booming out with panache. “The pickiest boy that ever did live! The unclassed explorer of the darkest corners, our own monster hugger! Vrax! But wait, did he survive? The first main pool! Life…” he paused dramatically. “Or death! Alright, let’s get you savages to participate. Everyone who thought he would end up getting eaten, stabbed, or turned into an undead, stay standing! Everyone else, find a stool or at least lean against a wall.”
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Vrax watched supremely curiously as the room shifted. He cocked a grin as most of the room shifted out of the limelight. Ha, thanks for the vote of confidence, folks. The room settled down as most everyone found a seat or at least a dark corner.
Rafael gravely began “I want to start by saying each and every one of you standing right now is a pessimistic son of a bitch, and more importantly….” Chairs in the room creaked as people leaned in, hanging on his every word. “….you assholes didn’t win a damn thing…” The room erupted into jeering laughter. “Vrax, get your stubborn ass out here!” Rafael swept an arm dramatically toward the kitchen, and Vrax stumbled out the swinging door, suddenly feeling a bit too much like the center of attention as the whole room's focus shifted in a drunken clatter.
Vrax pulled his hood slightly higher, trying to hide the branch some and slid through the crowd effortlessly, clambering onto the table next to Rafael. He looked at Cedric, who had been joined by Torvald, and chuckled at his friend's big shit-eating grin. He knew the big bastard was just excited to get to the dungeon. Or he thinks he won the pool; let's see, big guy, how well did you really know your best friend?
Rafael held up his hands, and the friendly shouts died down. “Everyone who bet on a farmer class, stand up. Everyone else, stay seated, please. Eugene, sit down! You didn’t bet on farmer.” As Rafael told off one very drunk man who couldn’t understand the concept of sitting the fuck down, only two men remained standing.
“Alright this will be quick. To the two of you who are still standing, are you idiots, really? Rafael asked incredulously to scattered laughter.
One rather young man standing in gardening attire muttered a response, “It had really good odds though…”
Rafael puffed “Moving on to the real main category, Combat class, crafter, or some variation on gatherer. Vrax, why don’t you show them that neat clothes trick you do to answer that question?” Vrax smiled; he fed into Rafael's dramatic energy with a swish, dropping his cloak from his shoulder while summoning his armor. It appeared as a dull black and green pulse growing out from the vambraces until he was clad in the physical representation of the wrath of the grove. “Combat class!” The chorus of groans, bitching, and cheers was immediate. The bar simmered down after a good half minute of people shouting I told you so’s at each other.
Rafael used this natural breakpoint to clamber down, announcing he would get the payouts going for the first two big pools. A not-so-orderly line formed up the staircase as a horde of questionably sober folks tried to follow him up to his office. Cedric sighed and followed after the innkeeper to make sure that no one got grabby with the gold.
Vrax used the momentary surge of the crowd to slip off the table and try and talk to Torvald. Torvald responded by bear hugging him straight off the ground with such force Vrax swore his armor creaked dangerously. “You did it!” Torvald set him down with a hearty slap to his shoulder that damn near floored him. “Was it worth the wait?”
Vrax smiled at his friend and accepted a mug from another patron. “Fuck yes it is; between your brawn and my...well, unique skillset, we will be unstoppable.” Vrax winked meaningfully after really stressing the word unique. Torvald's eyes grew wide, and he slugged down the rest of his stein, slamming it on the table with such force that he added to the innumerable cracks.
Torvald threw his shoulders back in a great heaving laugh. “That fits. Your take on everything has never been exactly normal. It’s fitting even the system itself just shrugged and threw shit at the wall till you said yes.”
Vrax started to protest but was interrupted by nearby townsfolk barging into the conversation to congratulate him. Cheers were had, and he had to evade a dozen questions on what finally made him cave after all these years. A good half an hour of continued revelry echoed throughout the hog trough. Vrax and Torvald joined in on some crass merry tunes about the damned duke's lack of pants that was being sung across the bar.
Rafael finally stumbled back down the stairs and onto the table. All the rooms' glassy eyes focused back on him as he clapped his hands once again. “Alright, the next big one: some people made some real coin here!” William edged up to the banquet table along with Cedric, a greedy gleam in his eyes. “Did our own tamer of monsters, wielder of mushrooms, and proliferator of stinkweed!” That last line got a series of groans from the audience, many of them having been victims to an ill-fated prank of Vraxes years ago.
“Did he take the path of the sword? Did he go down the route of the arcane?” Rafael pantomimed casting an extravagant spell to scattered chuckles. “Or did he choose to take a little of both and walk the path of a spellsword...drumroll please.” The red-bearded dwarf behind the bar pulled out the tiniest drum imaginable and gave a very halfhearted thump-thump on it. The room was rapt with attention; this was the pool that most people had real money on, and if they won, they would be solidly doubling their coin and then some. “Vrax, my boy, could you demonstrate something for us?”
Vrax grabbed a spear from a nearby table and a potted plant hanging from a banister. With a focus of intent, he channeled [adapt life] into the plant. Willing it to turn a dramatic golden sheen around the edges of the leaves. With another focus of will almost sculpting the bark of the plant, two beady red eyes formed on the small shrub’s stem, bubbling into existence. Vrax was pretty sure he needed to make a lot more changes for the eyes to actually serve a purpose for the shrub, but it was a damn good and unsettling party trick.
[Mana 34/102]
At the same time, Vrax pushed a gentle smite out, not wanting to melt anyone nearby. His spear briefly flashed, and he tossed the potted plant up, sweeping the glowing tip through it, practically disintegrating the poor shrub into a splatter across the table.
“Spellsword!” Rafael boomed out. The crowd, thoroughly drunk at this point, mostly cheered, although a few grumbles could be heard.
“How the fuck is that not a druid? He has a goddamn tree on his head!?” One drunk called out in indignation.
“Oh gods, that’s vile!” Another man near the table had gotten some of the plant spatter in his face and was half retching, stumbling towards the washroom.
Vrax focused on the reactions he cared about most. Torvald had heaved his oversized arms up in a cheer, sending at least one nearby man sprawling. He had a fierce look in his eyes that practically screamed he was ready to go try and wrestle with a dragon. William, on the other hand, had an uncharacteristic, open-mouthed look, like a fish out of water. He just kept mumbling to himself something about divine energy and his damn fool of a child.
With a sense of contentment being among good people, many of whom he considered friends. Vrax slid off the table one last time to join the revelry.