A cheap, pocket-sized map of Ingcaster led me straight to Caspier Street. It lay tucked away in the northeast residential district a few miles from the Gilded Boar. The street sat opposite of an idyllic neighborhood park.
I sat on the edge of a stone bench, overlooking an open green framed by neatly trimmed hedges and manicured trees. A short cobblestone path looped through the self-contained acres, offering quite the view. I activated Void Seer and leapfrogged from shadow to shadow, invading people's privacy one household at a time.
Each house shared the same design: a compact stone structure with a tiny front porch, built in a straight line with no backyard, leaving only inches between neighbors. Inside, a small living room flowed into a narrow kitchen with a single bedroom and a side-washroom.
I found him in the second house from the last, on the end of the street.
Target: Jaxen Crowe
Level: 13
Karma: +3755
Additional Data: A scion of the once-noble Crowe bloodline, he grew up beneath the weight of his father's disgrace. Rose through the ranks of the Gilded Boar before forming the Crownless Raiders.
Bonus Information: Drinks an average of 965 cups of tea per year. One sugar. Extra steep time.
He sat back in a lounge chair, feet kicked up on the worn padding of a footstool, reading a book titled "Gwennifer's Ninety-Eight Dresses." Scars littered his wrinkled flesh like he'd been worked over by a meat tenderizer. Unkempt gray hair hung over his brow, with a scraggly beard creeping down his jaw.
My vision swooped across the ceiling of his humble home and he glanced up from his book.
Can he sense me?
He shivered, and grabbed a throw blanket from behind his chair, draping it over his legs and feet.
"Goddamnit Gwen, jealousy is not an attractive trait. Get out before he snuffs out your light," Jaxen mumbled as he turned the page.
I snapped my eyes open, walked out of the park and up to Crowe's house, knocking twice. I saw movement beyond the door's smudged pane of glass. Our eyes met, then he turned and walked away.
"Hello?" I knocked again, watching as he returned to his lounge chair.
"Get off my porch or I'll throw you off," he shouted without getting up.
"Excuse me. I'll pay for your time." I held a handful of gold coins up to the glass.
Finally, Jaxen opened the door, greeting me in a pair of patchwork sewn trousers, and a stained white cloth shirt.
"How did you find me?"
"Xodoven told me you lived here."
"That whelp?" Jaxen tugged on his beard, smoothing it out. "I never thought I'd hear his name again unless it was in an obituary."
He blocked the doorway with his imposing frame, holding out an open palm. "For my time."
I gave him five gold coins and he led me inside. As we walked through the living room and into the kitchen, he hid his book underneath the blanket in a literal coverup.
"Tea?"
"No, thanks."
He threw a pot of water on top of a wood burning stove, turned a dial, and flames flickered awake. I pulled out a chair, but he responded with a fierce scowl.
"Did I say you could sit?"
The chair legs scraped across the floor as I tucked it back under the table, punctuating the awkward silence.
"You have until my tea's ready. Then, I must ask that you leave."
I pulled out his hefty book and set it down on his table.
"You want it signed?"
"No. My name is Cyprus, a noble adventurer—"
"You're the novice who found the chaos shard!" He laughed loudly, shaking his head. "How's that good fortune treating you?"
"Poorly at first. Then I found a private buyer. I'm using the funds to bankroll my own adventurers' group—"
Jaxen interrupted me as he slapped the top of his wood burning stove, ignoring the sizzle of his own flesh. "I'll save your life and money. Quit now. If you desire adrenaline, join the Royal Guard's front line."
"It's a matter of honor," I said.
Checkmate.
Honor was the ultimate cheat code for justifying anything in Gadika. Claiming the chair with the best lower-back support? I have to, honor demands it. Sleeping in on Sundays? Being well-rested and able to operate at peak performance—matter of honor. Slicing someone's face off? Sorry, had to, I didn't like his eyebrows and honor called for it.
"Honor's a common excuse for man to kneel to his ego. Ask what you want about the book, then get the fuck out."
"Your book's way too long. I decided I'd be better off training than reading it."
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
"If you haven't read it, why are you here?"
I dropped a coin pouch with 50 gold on his table. "I want to hire you to narrate your novel while I train. That way, if I have any questions I can ask you point blank."
The tea kettle whistled, but Jaxen ignored it, too busy counting out each coin under his breath. Once finished, he put them back into the cloth sack and tied it tight, leaving it in the middle of the table as he made a cup of tea.
[Quest Alert]
Save Duskblade - Make haste! Your friend Duskblade is in danger in the forests southwest of Ingcaster.
Rewards - 500 XP
[Accept Quest? Y/N]
The questing module's loose use of the word friend disturbed me.
Sorry, Duskblade.
Saying it was a pleasure to know the former leader of the Twilight Raiders would've been a lie, and I had carried enough of those. He wasn't a bad guy and I respected the man for walking a path of redemption. But he was overbearing, and a mere 500 XP wasn't worth taking a stroll up the street let alone wherever the quest could take me. I wanted to be back at the loft by sunset, and picking through the rest of Daven's criminal enterprise by midnight.
I winced as my hope for the new questing module took a devastating blow. To me, Duskblade was less relevant than Greymane—my original companion who I liked to imagine was living a care-free life on a peaceful pasture.
Declined.
[Quest Alert]
Save Duskblade - Make haste! Duskblade’s in danger in the woods southwest of Ingcaster.
Quest Priority Rating: Critical
CCFV3.37C Annotation: Trust the module.
Rewards - 500 XP
[Accept Quest? Y/N]
Between the new quest priority rating and the module's annotation it boiled down to one big, "Trust me bro..." And after the previous quest line burned me, I hesitated, not interested in playing a game of "Find Duskblade in the Forest."
Trust, huh?
"You suddenly look like shit. I take it you sense I'm declining your offer." Jaxen stared down at the coin pouch, agony slipping past his poker face as he pushed it away. "It's a generous offer. But one must remain true to himself. I have no interest in helping someone whose aura buzzes like flies hovering a corpse."
I let the washed-up legend's insult slide, too focused on the bold text blocking his face. Unable to overcome the quest module's insistence, I accepted the quest.
You get one chance. Don't blow it.
I met Jaxen Crowe's rejection with a shrug.
"That's fifty gold for today. Treat it as a trial run. If it doesn't work out, you can keep the money and walk away. If we're both happy we can negotiate more favorable terms."
The counter-offer shattered his closed-off posturing. He went wide-eyed, then flashed a massive grin as he scooped the coin pouch off the table.
I opened my satchel, handed Jaxen his book, and his smile vanished. I was uncertain of what turned his mood, but didn't care to ask.
"We're starting now." I turned toward the door and froze at what I saw.
A bold white dot the size of a pool ball hovered in the southwest. Floating beside it, crisp text declared: 15.8 miles. Amazed by the quest module’s nifty new feature, I walked out onto Jaxen's porch and traced the dot across the horizon.
Incredible. What else can this quest module do?
"Hurry," I said over my shoulder, still waiting for Jaxen to walk outside.
"Give me a moment! My goddamn joints hurt. Do you know what getting tackled by a heinasourah does to a man's body?"
I blinked slowly. "A what?"
"You’re a trained adventurer and you don't know what a heinasourah is?"
"I never claimed to be trained in anything other than combat."
"It's a giant fucking six headed snake that spits acid and shits poison. The lizards, skeletons, goblins, orcs, and all the other horrific crap I've seen with these two cursed eyes—none of them come close to a pissed off heinasourah. " Jaxen finally stepped out onto the porch, with a heavy walking stick in one hand and his book in the other.
He prodded me in the shoulder with the stick. "What can I expect from a fool who's also carrying around a copy of that cunt's book? I saw it when you opened your bag. I hope you don't expect me to read you that tripe, too. I'd break Jaime Sawara's nose and dance my way to the gallows with the world's biggest smile if I ever met the prick."
"I only bought it because it's a bestseller. As a foreigner, I'm trying to get a better understanding of Aclana's political landscape."
"Oh, I'll fill you in on that for free. Politics are a cesspool, always have been, always will be. I've never known a king worth kneeling to." He spat over the side of his porch like he had to get the poor taste out of his mouth. "How is this supposed to work? Do you want me to start reading it now?"
I noticed a tipped over wheelbarrow sitting on his neighbor's porch.
"Want to ask your neighbor to borrow that? "I'll push you around while I'm training my agility. I just planned on going for a quick run outside of the city."
A light 15.8 mile jog.
"That's a ridiculous notion. You don't really think I—the world famous Jaxen Crowe would allow myself to be seen in a rusty wheelbarrow, getting pushed around like I'm some joke?"
I reached out an open palm. "No problem. I'll just take my gold back, please."
He folded without pause, limping over to his neighbor's porch. He knocked three times and yelled. "It's Jaxen Crowe, and I'm borrowing your wheelbarrow for the good of the realm."
***
"Holy shit, slow down! What ability is this?" Jaxen screamed.
"It's called running."
"Horse shit! I'd like to see you keep this pace for five minutes."
"Shut up and keep reading," I yelled, wind whistling by us as I tore up the hillside at almost 30 miles per hour, putting Ingcaster in the distance.
We had barely made it through the prologue by the time we made it out of the city. When I asked for us to skip straight to the first chapter, Jaxen insisted it tied the rest of the book’s themes together. Whether that was true or not, I'd never know because I had zoned out when we hit a five page public service announcement that dove into the dangers of trading cattle futures.
I learned about the Aclanan Commodities and Mercantile Exchange where traders handled contracts for cattle, grain, timber, and other commodities. But when Jaxen went into the bits about leverage, borrowing rates, and settlements, he lost me, leaving me wondering if I had made a huge mistake with my impulsive arrangement.
"Why would I read anymore when you don't listen? I could tell your mind wandered elsewhere during the prologue."
Pushing the old curmudgeon in a wheelbarrow was one of those ideas that worked great for five minutes until harsh impracticality set in. First off, it capped my top speed. If the front wheel hit anything at a higher speed, the old man would go flying, and I had already almost killed him twice.
Second, and far more distracting, Jaxen Crowe sat upright, legs crossed, peering over the book to make intense eye contact between every other sentence, as I pushed the wheelbarrow toward the white dot.
11.3 Miles
"Chapter One: Know Thyself. Congratulations, dear adventurer. By purchasing and opening this book, you've taken the bravest step a leader can take: admitting you have no idea what you're doing, and that you may have already gotten your allies killed."
He paused, his judgemental gaze lingering for an uncomfortable length.
"Most incompetent leaders never admit such faults. They'd rather allocate blame on their party, the terrain, moon phase, or Galdir himself. Thankfully, you've chosen self-reflection over denial and death. Knowing thy weakness is only the beginning..."
I swerved hard to avoid a boulder jutting from the ground. The jolt interrupted Jaxen's flow; he snapped the book closed and glanced over his shoulder, watching as we left the grassy plains southwest of Ingcaster and slipped into the dense forest ahead.
