System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 1999 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 85
The moon, missing a sliver like a lost leg, hung high on the horizon. In Shaerrawedd’s broad yard, the Sea Scorpion’s Enigma troupe and the two newly joined companions sat around the central bonfire enjoying a roast.
Aaron sat at the head, raising his cup to the pair again and again, “Young Roy, Master Letho, I’m Aaron, on behalf of the Sea Scorpion’s Enigma I welcome you both. For the next few days, until we reach Ellander, we shall be brothers and companions!”
He drained a cup and lifted another, “But I have a few blunt words to put to you.”
“If you travel with the Sea Scorpion’s Enigma, you’ll live by the troupe’s rules. Best consult the lot of us first on matters; if anything unpleasant happens, don’t blame us for being unforgiving.”
“We’ve wandered long enough, ask for little, we’ll follow your arrangements.” The Witcher drank with a steady face.
“Good wine! If I’m not mistaken, that’s Ten-Year Pomino from Ravello Keep.” Aaron laughed heartily, the mood warming.
The suckling pig and game at the center glazed and fat, savory smoke rising in full scent.
Aveline sat beside Roy, telling of the years since she left the edge of her people and the oddities she’d met. The Zerrikanian blade-girl tinkled with laughter and nibbled at the elf woman’s ear; her eyes glittered in the firelight.
Opposite them the hooded, hooked-nosed Gwent showman Amos lasciviously fawned over the elf beauty, though she paid him no mind.
The ugly, short clown Frozz cuddled up to the muscled fire-eater Corin, each feeding the other meat and showing off their affection, greasy mouths close together. Their eyes were sickeningly full of fondness.
Clearly, two big lads were lovers—both men.
The troupe took this in stride; Roy was mildly surprised and kept his expression neutral so as not to prick them, focusing instead on the feast. Sparks leapt and the resin and meat fat scented the thin white smoke.
“Fat but not cloying, melts on the tongue; one mustn’t underestimate the cooking of this world!” The Witcher traded a look with him and chewed with a sort of contestive relish; after a week of hard rations they finally had proper food.
They would not waste it.
A guest arrived during the fevered feast—the village elder of Shaerrawedd, white-haired.
“I hear the Sea Scorpion’s Enigma will leave the village tomorrow. This old man must shamelessly ask you to stay a little longer.”
Aaron’s face did not change. “And why?”
The elder sighed, “The world’s gone to rot! All manner of filth breeds. Badgers and kobolds run on Mahakam’s slopes; spit and you’ll hit a kobold or a little sprite. Fairies and water-hags have taken hundreds of children from nearby villages. Drowners lurk in the marshes waiting for carts, strange pestilences break out one after another, makes the hair stand on end!”
“Life’s too hard!” The elder drank a slug of strong liquor, a flush of passion on his gaunt face. “If not for the good folk who came to cheer up these poor backwater people, life’d be bleak enough to wish for death!”
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