A Whole Wide World

"Hey! Hey, there's a person there!" calls Rayfeld, pointing over Zaveri's shoulder. A scaled hand reaches up quickly, shoving the arm down with far more force than necessary in Rayfeld's opinion. The tiny firecracker that is their tank quickly imposes herself between the motionless man and the rest of her party. While by no means exceptionally tall, it's still not nearly as effective a measure as she might hope considering he can see over the top of her head. Of course, that remains as an internal thought. Having traveled down the path of mentioning her short stature, Rayfeld has absolutely no intention of bringing it back up.

"Yeah, I see that!" Zaveri hisses. "Keep your voice down."

"He looks injured," Everi mutters. As if finally responding to their words, and presence the man's head tilts down and turns in their direction. Unfocused green eyes sweep over them, lost in a stupor quite familiar to the trio. "He's exhausted his Will."

"Been there," chuckles Rayfeld, smiling and scanning the hall. "Wonder what caused it?"

"Look at the ground." His gaze drifts to the roughhewn stone floor, and the sea of grey dust covering its surface. "Gods above. Did he take out a swarm on his own?" The man turns to face them, swaying slightly on unsteady feet as he does so. He manages a step in their direction before staggering and dropping to his knees. Everi breaks from their group, ignoring the calls of Rayfeld and Zaveri as she covers the distance to brace the man before he plants face first into the stone floor.

"Everi!" rebukes Zaveri, covering the distance with Rayfeld hot on her heels. "Get away from him!" The sharp clatter of metal echos through the hall as Zaveri unceremoniously kicks the weapon from the man's weakened grasp. Once again ignoring her sister, Everi carefully lowers him to the floor, lying him on his back. Now standing over him Rayfeld and Zaveri have a chance to get a better look at the man. He's dressed in strange green and brown patterned clothing with no armor to speak of and a cut though the fabric of his shirt on the right shoulder. That the tanned flesh under it is unblemished in spite of the blood soaking the surrounding material means that the man clearly possesses a Boon.

Of course, they'd concluded that based on the man's stupor; it was only possible to burn your Will out by channeling your Boon, after all. That said, his features lack the more polished appearance of an advanced adventurer though he has the athletic build of one, nonetheless. While not a Human herself, Zaveri concludes he might be considered average amongst his kind; his nose could be a bit straighter but judging by the small scar on its bridge it seems as though it had been broken before he'd acquired his Boon. Everi holds her hands out over the man's chest, and in a sudden moment of lucidity he grasps one of her wrists, wrenching it away from him as he attempts to sit up.

"Easy," Everi says, gently grasping his shoulder. "I just want to help." Holding his gaze for several tense moments, the man finally releases her wrist and slumps back to the stone floor.

"He's pretty quick for being burned out," Rayfeld mutters, watching as Everi once more holds her palms over the man's chest.

"What is broken make whole. What is weak make strong." A gentle glow emanates from her palms, the bronze scales seemingly sparkling in the light. While Rayfeld had grown numb to the fact in his daily life, seeing the sister's scales reflecting the light serves as a reminder that the two are in fact Draconids. Depending on which scholar discussed the subject their heritage could be traced back to actual dragons, or they were descended from an off shoot of wyverns. He didn't particularly care which it was since their heritage didn't affect him either way. Whether one bought into either explanation was irrelevant, what mattered was that Draconids made for excellent Adventuers. A heightened natural strength with decent mana conductivity, Draconids could fill numerous rolls in a party. The seconds tick by into minutes until the glow from her palms begins to dim, and finally extinguish.

"Is that it?"

"I've done what I can. What's important now is proper rest."

"So much for the dungeon," Zaveri grumbles, drawing the attention of her sister. Copper iris's seem to glow in the dim light as she fixes her with a flat look.

"The dungeon will still be here tomorrow."

"Does he have a plate?" Rayfeld questions. Everi turns her attention back to the man, reaching towards his collar and searching around for a moment before fishing out a strangely shaped set of silvery tags. Rayfeld's eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Silver?" He scans their surroundings carefully. There shouldn't be anything in a Copper ranked dungeon capable of exhausting a Silver ranked Adventurer. Even a large group of well-organized Commoners wouldn't have that much difficulty clearing a Bronze ranked dungeon depending on the enemies within. Had they booked the wrong dungeon, or was there something wrong?

"No," Zaveri confirms, her brow furrowing as she stares at the tags. "That's steel but...I've never seen that type. It's mixed with a metal I don't recognize." Everi stares intently at what is stamped into the metal. It's most definitely a language but as for what exactly she can't be sure.

"If he doesn't have a plate then how did he get in here?"

"He could have bribed the guards."

"A criminal?"

"Maybe."

"I don't think so," Everi tells them, gently placing the tags down on his chest. "I didn't sense it, at least." A silence falls over the trio as they watch the man's chest silently rise and fall. Rayfeld finally breaks the silence with a heavy sigh, stepping closer.

"Alright!" Rayfeld announces, an undercurrent of irritation seeping into his tone. "If we're gonna take him back then let's go." He bends, reaching out for the man and halts in surprise when a pair of green eyes drift open. Engaged in a silent staring contest for several long moments, Rayfeld offers him a sheepish smile which sees the man roll away from them. The clatter of steel against the floor fills the hall as he retrieves a sword and scrambles to his feet. "Whoa, whoa! Easy, pal!"

"Put it down," Zaveri orders, hefting her shield and tightening her grip on her mace.

"You first," retorts the man. Zaveri leans in his direction, a grin revealing four too sharp canine teeth.

"Are you going to make me if I don't?"

"Zaveri!" Everi calls, standing. "Maybe if we asked politely, he'd be more willing to lower his weapon." The man glances at her briefly and then back to Zaveri. "My name is Everi, this is Zaveri and that is Rayfeld. I healed you after you lost consciousness." He remains silent, the tension in the air almost palpable before he finally lowers the sword.

"I'm John," he says in way of introduction.

"It's nice to meet you, John."

"How'd you get in here?" Rayfeld asks plainly. "Are you an adventurer?"

"No," John says, shaking his head. " I don't know how I got in here. One second I was bleeding out in Afghanistan and the next I was here." Rayfeld's brow furrows as he processes John's words.

"I've never heard of that place."

"You said you were 'bleeding out'," Everi says. "You were dying, I assume?"

"Yeah," chuckles John. "Sounds insane when I say it out loud but here I am."

"Sounds like a Wayfarer," Rayfeld tells him, drawing a surprised stare from Everi and a confusion from Zaveri. "Which would go a long way towards explaining your clothes, and your overly formal pronunciation. And why you look like such a fish out of water."

"What's a 'Wayfarer'?" Zaveri finally asks.

"Do you read anything beyond those tabloid rags they pedal as a newspaper?" Zaveri glances at him sharply, and Rayfeld clears his throat uncomfortably under her withering gaze. "Wayfarers are individuals drawn into our world from across the cosmos."

"Why?"

"No idea."

"How informative."

"You know, Zaveri, your Adventure's plate is useful for more than just a necklace. I'm sure you can find the answers you're looking for in the Adventurer Guild's library."

"I'll leave it in your hands, then."

"Hey," interrupts John. "Hate to interrupt but I'm still here."

"You are," agrees Everi. "First things first, we need to bring you out of the dungeon, John." Zaveri scoffs, shaking her head slowly as she paces back and forth. "Wayfarer or not, it's illegal to enter a dungeon without first having registered with the Adventurer's Guild. Of course, if you really are a Wayfarer then you won't get in trouble. You can't be held responsible for something you had no control over."

"Everi, we paid good money to--" The sounds of clinking coins fills the air, as a small sack strikes the ground at Zaveri's feet, cutting her off.

"For your trouble," John tells her. Anger swells in her chest as she tears her eyes from the sack to the man standing some distance away.

"Don't ever throw money at me," Zaveri warns in a low dangerous voice. John holds his free hand up in a calming gesture while Rayfeld carefully creeps between the two, and retrieves the bag of coins with a smile.

"Pride has never once filled my stomach to date," Rayfeld announces to them all, hefting the bag. "Thank you kindly, John." Everi clears her throat, looking pointedly at her two companions.

"As I was saying, we need to get you out of here," Everi reiterates. "You can decide what to do after that." A silence fills the air following her words as he calmly searches her expression for something, duplicity, perhaps? Regardless, he finally seems to find it and he nods. Zaveri turns on her heel with an irritated huff, her armor clattering as she stomps down the hall away from them. Rayfeld hurries to catch up with her while Everi motions in their direction. John follows after and Everi begins to walk in tandem with him. "Sorry about Zaveri. She can be a bit intense."

"It's fine," John assures her in a low whisper. Although he appears to be relaxed, she notices him scanning the path ahead of them continuously. "I've worked with people like her before. They're driven but they can lose sight of the bigger picture at times." Everi chuckles a bit and nods in agreement.

"That sounds like Zaveri."

"What is the Adventurer's Guild?"

"Well," Everi begins with a sigh. "You certainly can ask a complicated question. The Adventurer's Guild manages Adventurers, known dungeons and contracts for Adventurers. They also deal in equipment, Mana Stones, monster parts, and even Brands if you can afford them."

"Brands? Like the kind you use for livestock?"

"No," chuckles Everi. "A Brand is the most common way that someone receives a Boon. They vary in shape and appearance depending on the Boon but they're all nearly identical in size; about the size of your fist and flat like a medallion. Rare Brands can be sold for a very high price to the Adventurer's Guild. Some of the most powerful adventuring teams are made up of those who have used them to acquire rare Boons." He nods in understanding, his free hand rising to scratch at his chin.

"So, what is a Boon, exactly?"

"Do you not have them where you come from, John?"

"No. We don't have monsters or dungeons, either."

"It sounds peaceful."

"Just the opposite, actually." Although his tone is rather flat, Everi detects a twinge of something below the surface, disappointment or perhaps bitterness? Clearing her throat she nods in understanding, watching as Rayfeld and Zaveri round a corner.

"Well, my understanding is rather limited, but Boons are gifts imprinted upon the Soul of the individual. You can only ever absorb one, and it stays with you for life. Boons grow with you as you rank up and grant you greater strength as you do."

"How many ranks are there?"

"There are five ranks; 'Copper', 'Silver', 'Gold', 'Mithril' and 'Adamantine'."

"Why not use numbers instead? Wouldn't that just be simpler?"

"I'm not sure. If I were to guess, I'd say it has to do with the coins taken from monsters by those with looting abilities. Copper is the most common, and most people will never have the fortune to set eyes on an Adamantine coin in their lives." John's footsteps slow and he stops, staring at her intently.

"So, all of the currency is looted from monsters?"

"Of course not," laughs Everi, slowing to a stop as well. "Coins are minted normally. Those coins that are looted from monsters can be exchanged for minted currency at the Adventurer's Guild, or a bank where it can be authenticated. If they're proved to be the real thing, they're recycled, and the metal is used to mint new coins." John sighs and nods, motioning down the hall for them to continue walking.

"How do they know if they were taken from monsters and not just counterfeits then?"

"Coins that are looted have an aura of Mana surrounding them. Of course, nothing is perfect, and counterfeits do occasionally enter circulation but because the penalty for being caught is so harsh, and the authentication process is so in-depth it tends to deter people from trying it." Rounding the corner in pursuit of Rayfeld and Zaveri, John actually chuckles as they find themselves confronting a set of stairs leading up towards the bright light of the sun.

"You're kidding me. I could've thrown a rock and hit the exit?"

"Would you two hurry up?" Zaveri calls, awaiting them with Rayfeld at the base of the staircase.

"When we reach the top of the stairs, we'll most likely be stopped," Everi tells him. "Leaving a dungeon so soon and with an extra person is going to raise a few questions." Moving with quicker steps to catch up with Rayfeld and Zaveri, the four ascend the stairs. The noise and life of the world pops back into existence the moment they cross the threshold, and Everi watches the man rapidly scan his very urban surroundings. "Welcome to Ressfield. Known informally amongst the locals as 'Dungeon City'." The clatter of armor draws their attention to a young man, a badge bound tightly to his bicep displays an image of a shield with a sword and quill crossed in front of it. 

"Just let me do the talking here," Rayfeld whispers, striding forward to meet the man who has focused his attention solely on John.

"You, there," calls the man. "I--" He comes to an abrupt halt when Rayfeld intercepts him with a grin.

"Good to see you again, Gotti! It is Gotti, right?" The man opens his mouth to respond, only to be silence once more when Rayfeld turns and drapes an arm across his shoulders. "Listen, Gotti, I've got a problem here that I think an underpaid, underappreciated man like yourself can solve." Rayfeld holds up the bag of coins, jiggling it so the man can hear them. "Due to...well, let's call it 'unforeseen circumstances' my friends and I have had to cut our raid short. Which is more than a little unfair given what we paid, don't you think?" Once again, he jiggles the bag, grinning at the man. "I'm sure you would agree that that's unfair."

"Certainly, sounds like it."

"Exactly! Now, I understand that there's things like 'proper channels' to reschedule a planned raid but why bother with all the paperwork when all it takes is a few words and a little bit of ink on parchment? I mean, what's in a signature, really?" The man reaches up, taking the bag of coins from Rayfeld.

"It sounds like circumstances beyond your control mandated a reschedule sometime in the realm of Ninth Day." Rayfeld gives him a firm pat on the shoulder.

"My thoughts exactly." He looks at John, and Rayfeld holds up his free hand. "Of course, these 'circumstances' would be too embarrassing to discuss, wouldn't they?" The muscles in his arm flex, pulling the man closer before he can resist as Rayfeld's voice lowers to a whisper. "Especially if these 'circumstances' were to cause the Adventurer's Guild to launch some sort of investigation. Then, we'd be forced to name names, and no one wants that, do they, Gotti?"

"Of course not." Rayfeld releases him, and steps back with a grin.

"Of course not! Now, if you'll excuse us, Gotti!" The man watches them disappear into the crowd without a word, and Rayfeld exhales slowly. "Thank the Gods that guy is as greedy and simple-minded as they come. That wouldn't have worked on, Havi."

"Which part?" John asks. "The bribery or the blackmail immediately after?"

"Yes."

"Havi is a good man," Everi agrees.

"Havi is a pain in the--"

"Zaveri, please."

"Fine!" grumbles Zaveri, slowing to a stop. "So, now that we're out what are we going to do with him?" All eyes turn to John, who scans the streets with the look of a man very much out of his element. It's hardly surprising considering the circumstances under which they'd found him.

"I have an idea..."

- - -

"Look at you! You look absolutely starved!" Sa'vinni cries, fliting about the kitchen. Every pass by the table sees a new plate of some hearty dish deposited in front of John much to the amusement of Everi and Rayfeld, and irritation of Zaveri. In their walk through the city John had learned that the sisters are a race of people known as Draconids. According to Zaveri, her people are those descended from noble dragons, and whether or not he believed the claim it was hard to deny the evidence. Scales of brass cover the arms of the women, they bear a pair of forward-facing horns grown from the sides of their heads, he'd seen Zaveri's 'fangs' in the dungeon and their brass-colored iris's which surround a slitted pupil and glow in dim light. Even their hair reflects the color of their scales.

However, both sisters pale in comparison to Sa'vinni, their mother. When Everi had brought him back to the 'Drake's Roost', an Inn owned and operated by their mother, he'd stared in near slack jawed surprise when he'd had to look up to meet the woman's eyes. Everi had explained the situation before Rayfeld or Zaveri could get a word in edgewise, and the massive woman had quickly pushed him through the door and into the kitchen.

"Mother, you can't feed every stray with a sad story," Zaveri complains, watching Sa'vinni move like a whirlwind through the kitchen. The woman pauses for a moment to peck her daughter on the head with a wooden spoon which clearly serves to do little more than annoy her. A snorting laugh escapes Rayfeld which is quickly suppressed under a withering gaze from the offended woman.

"We can."

"Respectfully, ma'am," John begins, drawing the attention of the room. "Your daughter is right. You don't know me." Sa'vinni places the spoon down on the table and wipes her hands on the apron hanging at her waist before approaching. She towers over his seated form, hands resting on her hips.

"Are you dangerous, John?"

"When I have to be."

"Can't we all," Sa'vinni laughs as reaches into a small pocket on her apron, and removes a small plate made of a lustrous, silvery metal before placing it on the table. "Before I retired, I was a Mithril ranked Adventurer. I tell every patron the same thing; the Drake's Roost is neutral ground. I would ask you to respect that during your stay. Can you do that?" Her words carry a very real weight, and John finds himself doing his best to suppress a shudder under her gaze. It's as though she can see right to center of his being.

"Yes, ma'am." Sa'vinni grins and turns to look at Zaveri.

"Good! Now that that's settled, I hope all of you brought your appetite!" Needing no more invitation, Zaveri, Everi and Rayfeld join John at the table. Sa'vinni wastes no time in piling the table higher and higher with dish after dish, many of which contain ingredients or meats that John has never seen before. Although they enjoy the food with gusto, he picks at the dishes sparingly in an effort not to appear rude. He has no reason to believe that this woman would poison the food but placing his trust in someone he's known only for a few hours isn't something he's willing to do. As they eat their fill, and the sun starts to set Sa'vinni begins to clean up the kitchen, and John finds himself ushered out. Everi takes on the role of hostess, leading him to the second floor of the Inn to a room.

"Here we are," Everi tells him. "Each room has a bathroom so feel free to freshen up. In the morning, we can talk about what comes next."

"Why are you doing this?" John asks her bluntly.

"Well...I guess blind optimism for one. I like to think if I woke up in a dungeon that someone would do the same thing for me. Secondly, my Boon helps give me a deeper understanding of people's emotions and nature when I'm healing them. You're not a bad person, John."

"I'm not exactly a good person, either, Everi." She chuckles and holds a small key out in offer.

"The freedom to good and bad as we see fit is what makes us who we are. Some people do a little more good, or a little more bad but no one leans one way entirely."

"I'll have to disagree with you there," John tells her, taking the keep from her with a small smile. "I've met some truly bad men in my life." He turns to the door, opens it and closes it without so much as a goodnight tossed over his shoulder. He remains still, straining his ears until at last he hears her footsteps departing. Convinced that he is finally alone, John turns his attention to the room; a large bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe and numerous sconces along the wall with a small stones emanating a soft warm light. Approaching closer to the nearest sconce, he reaches out and gently taps the stone surprised to find it is cool to the touch. "Right. Magic. Sure." 

Turning his attention away, he scans the room and approaches the only other door. Gently pushing it open a light immediately flickers on to reveal a large shower, a sink and even a toilet. Stepping into the bathroom, he turns the shower on. Twisting the handle as far as it will go, he watches in silence as steam begins to fill the room. He takes a seat on the toilet, and bends at the waist to cradle his head in his hands with a heavy sigh. He'd died, he'd been 'reborn' and immediately cut loose into some dark hole in the ground only to be pulled out and thrust into a world of 'magic'.

In truth, he found it hard to mourn the life he'd lost on earth; his parents had passed, no siblings, he'd never married, no children he was aware of and a life entirely committed to the Army. Those closest to him had been there with him, at the end of it all. With his death, it would be like he'd never existed. Even after so many close calls the thought that his number would come up had never crossed his mind.

"The great illusion of immortality," chuckles John, scrubbing his palms over the stubble of his hair. "Doc Rob used to drone on and on about Hemingway." Sitting in silence with nothing but the spray of the shower of drown out his thoughts, John finally pulls himself to his feet. Allowing himself to dwell on what was already done wouldn't do him any good, it would only serve to cloud his judgement moving forward. For now, the only thing he can do is try to get some rest, and look at things with a clearer view in the morning...