Shaking her head in disbelief, Meen-Tra descended from the tree. She was here because of her class. She’d never wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps; she wanted to be a craft-orc, not another Grazha Trailfinder. Exploration wasn’t for her; a bit of gathering on the edges of the city trees' domain was fine, but dungeon diving – absolutely not, she was an artisan through and through.
All Grazha knew was the Wayfarers' Guild; she’d worked her way through the ranks until she became a titled member, Grazha Trailfinder. Her mother always spoke of the great Yuki Bogbinder -- and how she was also titan-marked, thinking to use her as yet another reason why she couldn't be her own orc.
She touched her titan-mark, a simple band stretching from either temple, its color matching her long, inky black hair.
She had a bad feeling about her class, one she’d never had reason to before. When she’d first gained it, all was as it should have been. Falling asleep in her master’s workshop, sandal leather pressed to her forehead, she’d been awoken – her first time hearing that legendary sound, the escalating chime and its metallic resonance.
Levels and her first class – [Sandalmancer], she’d been so excited to get a rare magical class, on her first go. She would be able to ascend to the highest ranks of a master!
After her first level up, crafting had become her obsession; she wanted more skills. Her hard work had paid off; she gained an ultra-rare [What Should I Wear Today?].
The problem was that she didn’t know what it did. It was passive, and passives could be tricky. Ulra-rares came with prestige even if the skill effects weren’t immediately known. Her advancement had propelled her to journeyman, and she’d been happy.
She slipped, losing her handhold, sending her heart racing as she scrabbled for another purchase. Distracting thoughts lead her to be careless with her foot placement. Cursing herself a fool, she once again blamed her rune-mark, her class, and now her ultra-rare skill.
She’d been exploring the day before and thought herself lucky, finding a whisker from the legendary albino blood fly.
As she did with all new ingredients, she’d toggled her skill to test it out, still not having an idea what the ultra-rare did. Sometimes, skills needed the right ingredient or situation to trigger, and as she held the albino whisker, that's when it happened.
So she’d gotten to work, one albino whisker held fast in her cobbler's clamp, and hammer in hand: White, tooled straps stamped with blood fly heads, and whisker-infused soles.
She’d put them on; they were made for her, after all. As soon as her toes slipped through white, tooled straps, the blood had drained from her face.
Her sandals bade her go, where all good orcs knew they never should – the spirit veil.
Accessing the veil wasn’t hard; every orc and beastkin could climb before learned to walk. She crawled onto her roof, where she’d spent many an evening looking down on her guild's district, a shimmering city atop a tree. She lived in a smaller locale, whose platform encircled a titan tree, instead of resting atop it. Her home grew up the side of its titan, and gave her a head start to the canopy far above.
Climbing was easy, and large spiraling titan trunks provided an easy path. She’d lost her nerve a bit, passing into the leafy greens–only ever seen from far below. Her sandals had pushed her–there was no stopping, she knew. The veil had enveloped her, whisking her away and making her feel safe, until it had brought her here.
Deposited her in the lower canopy of some unknown titan–the sun, real sun had kissed her skin for the first time. The majesty of the moment was instantly shattered, as the air around her wobbled, threatening to tear her eardrums free.
So thick and heavy were the sounds that she’d been unable to locate their source until the silence had come, a welcome balm to the dizzying pressure. Until something more had come, a shockwave of light and sound had drawn her attention to – a pink orc, as he sailed in the opposite direction, of what had to be the most enormous blood-fly swarm in the swamp's history.
Now she was here.
“I’m a fool – but I don’t care. Garzah is never going to learn about this.”
Cursing her bad luck again, a sandaled foot pushed against the ground, firm, and nothing like the soil of her homeland. She was never telling anyone about this – ever.
He went unnoticed by all but three sets of eyes. A domestic bog dragon caught his scent–its tongue flicking out, side eye tracking. Cloaked on the periphery, shadowy figures tracked his movements. Far overhead, almost out of sight, a dirigible's red light blinked in increasing agitation.
A domestic bog dragon flicked their tongue – catching his scent. A small red light blinked steadily from the cockpit of a dirigible as it tracked him. And a cloaked figure on the periphery traced his movements.
Ren – happy as a clam, head in the clouds, wandered a street bustling with people, going about their day. There were bears, turtles, frogs, orcs, and people he was generally confused about; Ren loved every second of it. He’d stepped into the pages of a manga.
The smell of milk tea caught his attention, bringing back memories of home and the late nights he spent working.
It was aromatic and intoxicating — parched from his run, the pull was irresistible. Scanning the crowd, he found his target. A blue cart, shaded by a tin parasol, held a large yellow sign, written in bubble text, with the words 'Churi's Milk Teas' making him smile.
The stand's occupant stood to the side of her cart at the moment, clearly visible. She was–well, she was a crane. She stood on one leg, which was a dead giveaway. Her beak was long, sharp, and black, coming to a needle point. Across the top of her head and covering each eye was a crimson stripe. Her overall feathers were white, with flecks of grey fanning the ends. She wore a thick canvas apron, whose straps connected to bronze-colored rings.
He paused, head tilted to the side–noticing something strange, as Churi stood at attention beside her stand. There weren't any customers, and yet the lunch rush was clearly on. Churi, if the sign had her name right, had some delightful-looking teas on display: soft orange, powder blue, and sandy white. Ren approached her stand, lifting a hand in greeting, a warm smile on his face.
"Deep roots, Churi, one glass of the orange, please!"
He pointed at a jug, one hand still resting in a kimono’s pocket, and Churi froze–
That's odd, she seems frightened.
Recovering after a moment, Churi squawked.
"Right away, sir."
She vanished behind the cart, producing loud noises that sounded like cupboards closing and silverware clattering. Her beak caught something–she overcorrected, lost her balance, and landed on her bottom. A flicker of discouragement was quickly masked by one of determination. Squaring her shoulders, followed by a shove and a flap, Churi was back on her feet. She dove behind the stand this time, like a soldier to the trenches. She quickly reemerged, striking a pose–beak-tip pointed to the sky, a paper cup between wings held aloft. Lowering the chalice of victory, she spoke while ladling out the orange delight.
"Sorry for the delay, good, sir."
Her manner of speaking was guttural with a high-pitched melodic finish. The word sir was almost trumpeted at him, giving it a majestic ring.
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"Just Ren, Vendor Churi."
Ren realised something, a worried expression creasing his brow.
"I-I'm so sorry, Churi, I don't have any coin on me."
He patted himself, finding nothing, and then handed the cup back to her.
"You're one of them, aren't you–you're here to mock me."
Churi's beak pointed to the ground, and her shoulders slumped, as she went silent. He looked around, noticing the foot traffic carefully avoiding her stall. Ren spoke gently.
"I'm not one of them, Churi–please accept my apologies. This is my first day in your city. I'm from far away."
"R–really? You're not going to accuse me of molting in your drink?"
She let out a pained sob followed by a hiccup. It would have been cute if she hadn't looked so devastated. Ren reached out his hand, grasping her wingtip. With a soft squeeze, he replied.
"Why would I do that, Churi? I can tell you take great care in your work, and you clearly have a deft hand."
Her eye slid upward, looking for any hint of dishonesty in his words, and finding none, her shoulders perked up a bit.
"My mother taught me to take great care when making teas–these are her recipes, she began teaching me as soon as I fledged.”
Ren tested the tea as she spoke; it brought a smile to his face and warmed his heart. Shifting his stance, Ren ran a hand through his hair – blades? Running his hand back and forth, his face screwing up.
Chur, head hanging, silently handed him a silver ladle. Ran peered at his reflection, he looked – awesome. “I’m cloud from final fantasy VII!” He wasn’t a fan; the game was before his time, but his mom loved it. She even kept a game poster of the character at her work. Her company had returned it to him after the incident. Thoughts of her work and her final resting place darkened his mood.
Ren sipped his tea, lifting his spirits. As he did so, he looked around, noticing nobody stopped by Churi's stand. In the silence between them, Ren asked. "Chur–I uhh, why does nobody visit your stand?"
A chortle, followed by quick, high-pitched chirps. Rens' eyes slid sideways to look at Churi. Based on the way she was burying her head in her neck feathers and those universal sobbing motions she made, Ren grew concerned.
"Churis, a bad tea maker. People don't want my teas; it has the flavor of bog muck!”
"That's nonsense, Churi. Why do you say such things?"
So saying, Ren raised his cup in a salute before taking an enthusiastic drink.
Churi only let out another sob, her neck feathers puffed–a few flew.
Ren wondered if he should share some secrets with her to help her relax. She was the type of person – or beastkin, that he wanted to trust. Whether he could trust her or not, that didn't matter to him.
"Churi, have you seen someone like me before?"
Her noisemaking ceased; after a moment, her eye opened. Beak still buried in her neck plumage, she looked up at him. She gave a muffled response.
"Nn–No, are you–is that an illusion spell. Some orcs like to change their skin colors with illusions, or rune-paints. I just thought maybe–I–I didn't overthink, I just wanted to sell you some tea."
She reminds me of Mom.
His heart warmed at that thought, his chest vibrated in answer, thrumming with power. Ren smiled, releasing the power into his fingertips – his keyboard was there now, fingers dancing and light arcing.
Something Retro, something for the moment.
“I never thought I’d meet a crane like you-uu – Meet a crane like you-uu.”
“The kind of teas that hypnotize me through!”
He played a private song just for her, the volume low, his focus on Churi. Directing waves of light and sound toward her stand, Churi’s feathers softened, and tears welled up. She spoke through a smile, a bit of wonder in her voice.
“W-who are you?”
Ren laughed, a deep belly laugh. Churi looked sceptical as she asked.
“Did I say –”
Ren waved his hands back and forth.
“No, no, I – you just remind me of someone, is all.”
Her head shook back and forth. Ren backed up a bit, giving her room to expand her wings, and both of them did so as she lifted her head, beak to the sky. She stretched herself to her full glory before giving a flutter and retracting them. On one foot, she turned, extending the other as she faced Ren, and composed herself before speaking.
“And just who would that be?”
Ren smiled, a sad smile.
“Someone I’ll never see again.”
Not even in a photo.
Churi dipped her head at that, a gentle smile cresting her beak.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He smiled at her warmth.
“Would you tell me your story, Churi? What has you so down? Please.”
She looked a bit reluctant, still, but Ren’s song had eased her burdens.
“I’m not sure I should talk about it. The guilds can be…”
His keyboard gone, he wore nothing but an earnest expression as he waited expectantly for her to continue.
“My husband is a [Teacher], they aren’t very popular with the guilds.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. Why were teachers always getting a bad wrap?
“Why don’t the guilds like teachers?”
“Well, the Keeper’s guild has strict beliefs. They think only their class holders should store the legacies of the systems' blessed people.”
Ren nodded along, wondering what the system’s blessed were; it sounded culty, of that he was certain.
“The real problems began when a couple of young apprentices left their guild to join my husband’s school.”
Churi sighed, ruffling her feathers, as she continued.
“It’s all very boring, really, but it's the life we live here. The Keepers are at odds with the other guilds, who see them as having too much power, so my husband, Pryuuk, was safe from the Keepers.”
Churi moved around her stall, cleaning up a few odds and ends, making herself busy as she spoke.
“The master who lost his apprentices, a pair of twins, nice young lads, if a bit…no, they're good boys. Anyways, now the Keepers and their jack-booted thugs are harassing anyone to come within smelling distance of my stall. Or at least I suspect – they're very good at operating in the shadows.”
Ren took a long pull from his paper chalice before asking.
“Where do kids learn to read and write? Do the guilds teach that stuff, or–”
"Why, the system, of course, you get the skills before your first class. That way, you can make a good choice."
Ren gripped his chin, head tilted at the ground.
Churi poured a cup of the soft, blue liquid. He thought it was for her until she bent down, still on one leg, to serve a customer who lived much closer to the ground.
A deadly-looking lizard, resembling a monitor with its sleek lines and hard, sharp scales, reached up with a single claw to take the cup in hand. Churi smiled at the stray lizard, as it skittered away on three legs.
“The system sure makes life easy around here.”
Churi nodded.
“We are blessed to have the system; some say it was Daybroke’s final gift.”
Ren paused, about to finish the last of his tea.
“Daybroke?”
Churi's head bobbed in agreement.
“Yes, they say he was our god, the swamp's god – before, the Tearing.”
God’s, Ren wondered if they walked among the people, and if he might be able to meet them one day, perhaps they could bring his mom back? Or maybe tell him where she was?
More of the impossible to contend with.
With that thought, Ren said his goodbyes.
"Well, see you around, Churi. Good luck, I’ll do everything I can to spread the good word about your delicious teas!"
Churi smiled at him, a sad smile. She switched standing feet, turning back to her tea as Ren walked away.
Ren took a moment to frame the scene, unsure if he’d ever see her again, before turning to head back, the way he’d come.
A few hours later, Ren found himself in a dark alley. A sudden, intense rattling startled him. He turned to face the commotion, expectantly, but only found a box mounted in a window.
"Whoa, what is that, some kind of air conditioning unit?"
Shaking his head, he thought more about Churi's sad story and wondered how he might help. Stepping around a puddle of water, neon lights reflected across its surface.
"How did I get so lost?"
I probably shouldn’t have leaped off the side of my level.
Turning the corner, appearing out of the alley, Ren looked around for an elevator. As he moved along the street, he observed a noodle shop: barstools at their counter, rune-lit menus on display – an orc cleaning their wok with sizzling water and a brush.
Ren stared longingly at the food items, his stomach gurgling. Would he speak to the cook, perhaps trade a story for a meal? A sound behind him interrupted his thoughts.
That's strange, what is – danger sense!
A bag over his head, his vision went dark. The last thing he heard was an unfamiliar voice, "[Lullaby Larceny]". As Ren slumped forward, a cloaked figure caught him on their shoulder.
A noodle cook turned around to find an empty street.
"Bah, I'm closing down for the night; there won't be any more customers."
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