Aaric

As he stepped out of another completed run of the Drumwater Dam dungeon and back into the regular world, Aaric frowned. Had it been the fifth or sixth time now that they'd gone through that one place, and all for a single elusive drop? With Rhett tanking and Quinn 'healing,' all the runs had gone quickly. He'd genuinely lost track, as he refused to count what he was starting to view as failures every time the final boss didn't drop his blessed necklace.

It was true that Aaric had grown quite a bit thanks to all the repeated dungeon runs. He'd gotten to level 19 a while back, after all, and any sane critic would call his leveling pace meteoric. To Aaric, it still didn't feel like enough.

He wanted that necklace. He wanted to have actually perfect gear prior to hitting level 20, which he'd calculated to be, based on the amount of experience gained in each run, in maybe five or six more runs. It wasn't too much to ask, and he was so close already!

He knew he'd been incredibly lucky with the other dungeons they'd blasted through, getting precisely the loot he'd required in the first and second runs. Now he had the best rings instead of just the great ones the Steelbloods had crafted especially for him.

But I still want that blessed necklace!

"Are we going again?" the scout asked, leaning against the archway that held the portal back into the Drummwater Dam.

"You know the answer to that," Aaric shot back quickly.

"You could just let it go," Quinn replied, adding a seemingly nearly forgotten "sir" to the end.

Aaric cracked his neck as he rolled his head left and right. "Absolutely not. This necklace is literally the single best piece of gear for an ice wielder in this tier."

"So?" The shifter asked with a scoff. "Aren't you about to tier up anyway?"

"I have at least a handful of runs left before that," Aaric replied. "Besides, I'm not going to have led us all the way to the middle of nowhere just to turn around and go back empty-handed."

The red-skinned elementus, Rhett, stretched his arms and flexed his fingers. "I'm along for whatever you want, Longbloom, but know that even leaving now we'd be far from empty-handed. We can sell a lot of the loot for quite a fair bit of coin, and the experience I've gained with you has been plentiful, steady, and safe. More than I could ask for normally. We've each grown over a full level."

Aaric sighed. He knew that the tank wasn't wrong. In fact, Aaric had gained more than just one level when factoring in the gains to his new Secondary Class, Time Mage. It might not have been as flashy as when Rhett had tiered up several runs ago, but each level was still important.

And I wonder, with how hard I've been pushing, if I've caught up to Tristan yet.

He didn't linger on that thought though. He had to keep pushing himself forward, just as he knew Tristan would. The next step, after he got all his gear together, would be tiering up.

It still impressed Aaric how Rhett had handled his tier-up. The frost mage had almost been afraid the tank would ask to leave the party. Instead, he'd extended his contract. It felt like the beginnings of loyalty, no matter how mercenary the transaction truly was. Aaric appreciated that.

Unfortunately, the 'healer' wasn't wrong either: Aaric was within striking distance of tiering up. A part of him wondered just how much help the necklace would really be as a result.

If I'm just going to tier up in the next few days anyway...

No. That felt like giving up, and Aaric didn't want to become that kind of person. He would be patient and persistent, and taking his time now would help him be better prepared later. Besides, they were making great strides grinding. He shouldn't let his minor disappointments cloud his judgment, or they might turn into full blown problems. Like Quinn.

"We're going again," he said, locking eyes with each of the other party members in turn, ending with the scout. "When the end result is so important, and easily attainable, I'm not going to stop. Besides, what would we be doing otherwise? Drinking at a bar?"

"That. I'd much rather do that," the shifter replied.

"We're all well aware," the scout sniped.

"I've got my orders," Rhett said before smiling, placing his hand on the arch, and closing his eyes.

Aaric could tell the elementus was going through the process of 'resetting' the dungeon. It was one of those deceptively simple processes that anyone could do, but to truly understand all the magic that went on after someone clicked "Reset"... that was something that piqued Aaric's interest. He figured it involved lots of likely-divine levels of magic. Just like how multiple groups could be exploring the same dungeon or raid at the same time without running into each other. They were in separate 'instances' of the location, or that was what all the researchers' books he'd read had decided to call it.

Eventually Rhett reopened his eyes. "Alright. We're good to go in again. It's reset."

Aaric had a good feeling about this run. He knew that he only needed to get lucky once, after all. He'd always felt it was better to be good than lucky, but now he was starting to have his doubts. Regardless, he was patient. He knew that, with enough time, even glaciers moved.

"Alright, in we go," he announced. "This will be the run."

- - - - -

That run had, in fact, not been the run. Neither had the next, or the one after that. They'd done six runs of the same dungeon in one day by the time Aaric was convinced to take a break, and that was mostly because the scout himself had spoken up.

"I'm thirsty, and it's getting late enough that we should at least consider not skipping dinner, too."

Aaric kept his head held high as he said, "Yeah, a break would be prudent. We'll get back to it tomorrow."

"Maybe the gods will smile on us then," Rhett offered.

"After today, I'm not sure I'd bet on that for all the wealth in the Longbloom vaults," Quinn replied, laughing dismissively.

"I can't imagine what you'd have to stake against it anyway," the scout quipped back.

The shifter formed eyebrows and pinched them together dramatically. "I've got plenty."

The scout merely waved them off. "Where would you like to go next, Aaric? For what type of food are you in the mood?"

"I don't know," he replied, "just not fancy. Something grounded." He wanted someplace where he wouldn't need to worry about being recognized or pampered. He was so worn down, both physically and mentally, that he didn't feel like putting up the facade.

"Low profile?" the scout asked, and when Aaric nodded, he added, "I know just the place."

As it turned out, and surprising no one, the scout led them to the perfect place. It was a quiet farmers' bar with day-fresh produce and a cook in the back that understood how to season and not overcook his meat. Aaric hadn't had a meal as satisfying in quite a while.

Unfortunately, after the first round, Quinn seemed to forget that they were trying to avoid calling attention to themselves, and when the bartender returned to deliver the second round of drinks to their table, the shifter began acting out.

The bartender was tall, a touch scruffy, and with hair just messy enough to be very intentional. He was clearly attractive, and as Aaric had already learned, Quinn seemed to like their men tall, dark, and handsome.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Quinn had been about halfway through finishing their meal, but that clearly didn't matter after the shifter finished his first round and took a long look at the man.

In the blink of an eye, the shifter had assumed a face Aaric recalled all too well. Aaric always seemed to remember the people who denied him something, even a thing as small as a drink. It was the bartender of the Two Crossed Sabers, Gretel. It was unmistakably her face, even down to the velvety eyeshadow. And the shifter hadn't stopped with just her face. He'd copied her body, too, with every curve precise and identical.

Aaric's lip twisted, showing his disgust as plain as day. He'd just realized that literally every form Quinn had ever taken in his presence was a real person from somewhere else.

"Hi, I'm Gretel," the shifter said, in a perfectly mimicked voice. Or, if it was different, Aaric couldn't tell, and that bothered him more for the questions it begged.

Could he impersonate anyone? Could he put on my face? How would anyone know that it wasn't me?

Unsettling was the kindest way to put it. He hoped there was some easy way of discerning, perhaps at higher tiers. Regardless, it gave Aaric the creeps, and he really hadn't needed another reason to dislike the shifter.

What followed was Quinn trying desperately to hold the bartender's attention, but clearly the man had work to do and didn't stick around too long. So then Quinn took it upon themselves to follow the man under the guise of ordering another round of drinks. There was nothing subtle in Quinn's approach, either. Their words dripped with innuendo. They threw Gretel's body around like drunken meat, flaunting her body with suggestive positioning, even rubbing against his arm at one point.

Whistles and cheers came from a nearby table.

"They're drawing attention," Aaric said with almost a snarl.

"Well, what can we do?" the scout asked, his face as placid as ever. His eyes were clearly scanning and assessing the whole room. He had to be seeing what Aaric saw--and more besides.

"Me? Nothing," Rhett said, taking a bite of his barely-grilled steak. It was almost as red in the middle as the elementus's skin. The tank's eyes remained locked on Aaric throughout. "I'm not the boss."

The scout merely smirked in response, leaving Aaric to mull over the not-so-subtle suggestion. Both of them had said as much as they were willing.

Because they're not the boss. I am. Time to act like it.

Aaric composed himself and nodded. "To be clear, neither of you is subtle or clever," he said as he stood and walked toward what was becoming more and more of a spectacle as Quinn's clothes seemed to flow loosely around Gretel's body.

"Wasn't trying to be," he heard Rhett say behind him.

When he was within a few paces, Aaric put on his best Lord Longbloom voice, the one that was just loud enough to demand attention but not so loud as to suggest he'd lost control. "Quinn. Stop."

Just those two words. Nothing more. Short, sweet, and powerful.

The room got quiet.

The shifter turned toward him, which gave the bartender just enough of an opening to slip around a table and put some distance between them.

"You're too young for me," Gretel's voice said with a snide, playful tone, "and I've got higher standards besides."

Aaric made a show of raising his eyebrows, blinking twice, slowly and silently, and shaking his head slightly. "I told you to stop. You're making a scene."

The woman's lips curled up at the edges. "And? They seem to be enjoying it!"

"They don't matter right now. This is about us, and we should be eating quietly, then leaving--"

The shifter leaned in closer, lowering the stolen voice to a forceful growl. "I've got needs, boy. You're clearly too young to understand--"

"No, I understand just fine."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, since the Longblooms can always buy their own company."

"Huh. And here I thought you were just playing drunk," Aaric said, and at last he allowed himself to smile. "You've just ignored an order and impugned my family's reputation."

The slender female arm waved dismissively at him as she tried to laugh him off, beginning to turn back toward where the bartender had clearly fled. "I don't know what you're--"

"We're done."

"Excuse me?" the shifter asked, eyebrows pinching down as the woman's form took a step aggressively toward Aaric. Clearly he finally had the shifter's full attention.

Aaric lowered his voice, though he kept the smile plastered on his face. "You heard me. We," and here he punctuated his word by pointing back and forth between the two of them. "Are. Done. Finally."

Aaric left his words to hang in the air as he turned and began walking back toward the table where his meal was growing cold.

A sudden, forceful hand found his shoulder and tried to spin him around.

Aaric allowed himself to be turned half way. "Release me," he ordered.

For a moment, the hand actually lingered. Too long, given the directness and subject of the command. It was proof, in Aaric's mind, so he spoke it aloud.

"So you do realize that you've now broken your contract."

The shifter, hiding behind Gretel's eyes, seemed a bit panicked. "You don't know what you're talking about. And you don't have the authority."

Aaric raised his chin, giving his best impression of his father's subtle smile. "You want to bet on that? You seem to have forgotten that I've read your contract. In fact, I've pored through it multiple times now, studying the wording. I know exactly what is and isn't grounds for termination..." He straightened up, his posture impeccable and under complete control. "I gave you a direct order to stop, which you disobeyed. Then you insulted me, laid a hand on me, and were slow in unhanding me despite another clear order. All of this was in public, and witnessed."

The shifter began to squirm, and their body began reverting to their true, neutral form. "Yes, of course. You're right. I'm sorry, sir. Maybe we take this somewhere else, a bit more private, and discuss it further."

"Whatever for?" Aaric asked. "You chose to make a display, so now we shall have it. I am hereby releasing you from my family's employ."

"You can't do that!"

"He can actually," the scout chimed in, still sitting back at their table. A big grin was on his face. "And he just did."

"But what about your father's desire that you have a personal attendant? Surely you don't wish to countermand--"

"He will understand, clearly, as he was the one who wrote this contract. Unless I'm mistaken?" Aaric asked, glancing over his shoulder toward the scout. "My father did write this, didn't he?"

The scout rested his chin on one hand. "He did."

Quinn's voice was fully their own again, and it hissed at Aaric imploringly. "At least let me stay with you until you hit Tier 3! You're so close. Just one more day, surely."

Aaric laughed. "Oh, I see that you remember the wording of your contract now, too! Too bad I'm not going to just give you that tier-up bonus. You haven't earned it. You've barely earned the stipend you've already received."

He turned, took a step, and then stopped. Looking back over one shoulder he added. "You know, all you had to do was be less of an asshole, about any of it, and I might have let you stay. You could have been a great healer."

With a rush of footsteps, Quinn was now in between Aaric and his table. "Please, young master Longbloom, I really need that gold. What if I just sit back and act all subservient. I can be perfect and timid, just like, guh, what was his name?"

And suddenly Jacque's face was before Aaric's eyes again.

Rage. Bubbling, boiling, bristling rage burned within Aaric. It forced its way up from his heart into his lungs, threatening to eject itself from his mouth or his fists, which were now clenched and encased in ice.

But no matter how violent a glare he gave the shifter, that was all Aaric released of his true feelings. After that first, blinding moment, he wiped his face completely clean of all emotion, and he delivered his final line to the shifter with perfect composure:

"You may be able to look like and imitate anybody, but you'll never be anything like Jacques. If I ever see you--or that face--again, he'll kill you." Aaric pointed at the scout.

"With pleasure!" the scout exclaimed, suddenly leaning back in his seat and balancing a knife, blade-tip first, on one of his fingers.

Aaric didn't even turn as the shifter stormed out. He was too excited by what might now be his favorite notification he'd ever received.

Quinn has left the party.

It took about half a minute, but the bar quickly got back to business as usual. A while later, the bartender came over and thanked Aaric, offering the next round free of charge.

As the three remaining members of the party sat around and drank their free ale, the topic couldn't help but drift back to what had just happened.

"Good riddance," the scout said.

"You hated him from the start, didn't you?" Rhett asked.

"You did, too," the scout replied. Aaric couldn't help but notice that it wasn't a question.

"Oh, yeah, for sure," the tank answered. "He's bloody lazy, and that's possibly the worst trait any healer could have. But that's also just my professional assessment. Why did you hate him?"

The scout leaned back in his seat but didn't hesitate for a moment in his reply. "He was a gambling addict, and a poor loser, which made him extremely unreliable. Predictable, sadly, but unreliable."

Aaric nodded along, reflecting anew on all of Quinn's language, especially the turns of phrase that had felt strange at the time. "That makes sense," he said aloud.

"And you? Why'd you hate him?" Rhett asked.

The question was clearly asked of Aaric.

The frost mage sat and took a slow sip of his ale, thinking about how best to explain what he'd come to realize. "Because appearances matter, gods dammit, and rather than build or earn them, he just steals them."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.