//------------------------------// // CHAPTER 009: One teacher too many pt 1. // Story: Stormy and Merlos Adventures // by NoisyPegasus //------------------------------// The hustle and bustle of Halia’s city streets was deafening, but Merlos—a wizard of great resolve of spirit, dedication to his craft, and more than a little simple stubbornness, was determined to seek out something that he had wondered about ever since a certain ill-fated purchase he’d made… Halia was a small city as far as human cities went, and it took him barely the better half of an hour to cross through the jostling crowds of the docks and poorer districts to the inner, calmer areas in Halia’s central walled areas. After some minor molestation from the gateguards, he was granted access, and was then free to peruse the upscale shops and stalls as he pleased.  Within minutes, Merlos found the store he sought. The door to The Nosey Owl bookstore jingled a bell above his head as he shuffled—still half sodden and wet from the Weiser Budd’s tax exploitative fate—his way inside. His eyes surveyed the shelves upon shelves and stacks upon stacks of leatherbound reading material all around him, finding nought but the books in sight.  It was a large building, but so inappropriately packed tight with tomes, manuals, softbacks, hardbacks, handbooks, volumes, encyclopedias, guides, references, journals, and even a section of the ever so deplorable ‘Historical Fiction’ books that the store itself was clearly run by either a hoarder, a crazed person, or worse, an arts scholar. Whichever the case, whosoever was irresponsible enough to own such an establishment was begging for a fire safety fine from whomever issued such things in Halia; that is, of course, assuming that anyone did issue such things in Halia. Merlos sniffed derisively as he stepped over little piles of books here and there, feeling an uncomfortable familiarity with the disorderly surroundings.  “Hello?” Merlos spoke, his voice stifled in the tightly packed building.  A loud, sawing sound answered him, to which Merlos raised his eyebrows as he turned to find an old, grey haired gnome asleep with his forehead resting atop a stack of wobbling books.  “Honestly, you’re going to hurt your neck doing that.” Merlos hmphed loudly in a half-hearted attempt at waking the fellow up, before dismissing him and walking to the centermost portion of the bookstore. There, he pulled a scroll he’d prepared ahead of time aboard the Weiser Budd and cleared his throat in preparation to unleash its magic. The arcane words and supernatural sounds that sprang from his voice reverberated around the room, filling it with an otherworldly air. The sound slowly faded from the room and brief silence followed.  All at once, brilliant lights in the form of little glowing lines tipped with arrows in various shades of color raced out from under Merlos’ feet and into the bookstore. The rays zigged and zagged around books and up walls and into shelves, seeking their respective quarries as determined by Merlos with magical fervor. “Ah, excellent, it worked.” Merlos smiled appreciatively. He wasn’t surprised the spell succeeded, but was nonetheless happy it had, at least in practice if not yet confirmed to have done so in result. “Well, mostly.” One arrow was stuck in what looked like an endless loop, circling itself over and over in a never ending spiral. Ignoring the solitary, errant arrow, Merlos first followed the magical blue shaded arrows, and began plucking books from shelves and from beneath piles of other written works one by one, stacking them in an arm. Once both his arms were full to the point of wobbling, he deposited them at a miraculously clear table near the front desk, then began to follow the green lines to more books, and then the yellow, and finally the red.  By the end of the search, there were about thirty or so books in total altogether. Merlos wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and exhaled at the sight of various books from all manner of authors, topics, genres, languages, races, and countries.  “Well, this is going to be a challenging search,” Merlos mused, thinking of what clues of Stormy’s predicament to look for. “And hopefully this won’t take longer than a couple hours...” He cracked his knuckles, then set about to reading. For three songs straight, Stormy continued to gape at the person on stage, still disbelieving of the fact that her violin—which she had thought lost to her forever—was actually across the room from herself right there in that very building.  A jovial melody, the type befitting a dock’s tavern setting, came to an end, and the crowd gave the violin player another round of applause, cheers, and a hoisting of drinks that sloshed every other patron’s neighbor. Requests for songs began to be shouted from the mob, and after about a minute the performer began to play one of those songs to the joy of some and the dismay of others. Stormy finally closed her muzzle and adopted a determined look. “I have got to get my violin back.” She snorted, and her tail began to swish back and forth behind her chair. Being trapped in another world with a bunch of strangers was bad enough, but having lost all of her possessions along the way had made it so much worse. The thought of recovering one was enough to ignite a fiery determination within her. Having chugged his third mug of ale, Klee Tusk grunted, looking over blearily to the stage. “If Stormy want pretty music box, Klee Tusk will get for her.” He began to rise, somewhat waveringly from his exacerbated state of inebriation, and was promptly pushed back down into his seat by Stormy’s front hooves.  “Nooo, no no no no, no, Klee Tusk.” Stormy took a deep breath and considered how best to convince a drunken, hulking half-orc that it was actually a bad idea to go looking for a fight. “I appreciate you willing to go that far for me, but I think I should just go up and talk to the person first. Okay?” She breathed a sigh of relief when Klee Tusk shrugged, smiling orcishly at her request. “Okay, great. I’ll be right back, so don’t worry about me.” “Ohhh me no worry ever. That is the secret to long life and great skin!” Stormy smiled weakly while Klee Tusk slapped the table and roared with laughter before guzzling his fourth mug. Not waiting for another response, she hopped from her chair and moved her way towards the stage. The far end of the bar seemed the best place to wait for the performer with her violin, as the stairs leading offstage were right beside it.  The tavern room was crowded, and Stormy found herself wishing that Knott and Ges had picked a different inn that was farther away from the bustling docks. As a consequence of her distracted wishing, halfway to the stage a serving girl hooman almost tripped over her.  “Sorry!” Stormy called back, meeting the girl’s indignant glare, a glare which quickly turned into surprise after seeing what she’d almost fallen over. “I’m new here, as you can probably tell and— Ow! Alright, now that one was your fault.” She sat and held her tail gingerly in her hooves. A man leaving the bar had stepped on her tail while pushing back his stool, and goggled down at her with drunken, unfocused eyes. “I haf go’ tuh stop… stop drinkin’ sho musch,” he slurred, and stumbled his way toward the exit. Stormy sighed, and continued on to an empty stool she’d spotted, her tail pulled protectively against her side. She almost spread her wings in order to flutter up to the tall human furniture’s top, only to wince in remembrance of her broken wing.  “Stupid arrow! Stupid orc!” she cursed, carefully clambering up the stool. She reminded herself that the river battle could have ended much worse, and muttered the hundredth or so thanks to the royal sisters that it hadn’t. Once seated, Stormy resettled into listening to the violinist. Moments afterward, she gave a small gasp, noticing a detail about the hooman that she’d missed from the room’s back corner. With every spin of her dress was a familiar shape and set of features to the hooman’s legs that Stormy had not yet seen in any of the intelligent races of this world. Perplexingly, the violinist clearly sported unguligrade legs that ended in large brown hooves, though the hooves were much larger than she was used to seeing. Well, large to Stormy, at least. They more closely resembled the hooves belonging to the animals of this world than her own smoother, colorful ones, but they were hooves nonetheless.  Stormy’s eyes widened more every time the hooves danced out from under the spinning fabric, until finally her thoughts began to wonder at just what she was looking at. A human pony hybrid, she mused wonderingly. Nnnno, those hooves look more goatlike… so not a minotaur, either. Still, that raises all kinds of questions I’m not sure I want the answer to. She shrugged, not one to judge others on who they fell in love with. A tap on Stormy’s shoulder made her jump, and she turned around on her stool shakily. It was just the barkeep. “Oh my gosh, you scared me.” Stormy gave him a grin, which she was worried to see wasn’t returned. “Uh, I’m underage so I’m not going to order anything. Unless if you have some chocolate milk because that would be awesome.” The barkeep fixed her with a toothy scowl, speaking through gritted teeth, as if he had some sort of injury or deformity. “We don’t sherve yer kind ‘round here, monshter. Thish ‘ere’sh a shivilized shitty. You’re gunna haf to go wait out in tha’ shtablesh with tha’ resht o’ the beashtsh. Be thankful I even allow you to tha’.” With her ears pulled back into a hurt look, Stormy’s mouth worked, not sure what to say or how to protest, or if she even should. “I— I— but I’m here with my friends!” The barkeep turned and spit into a bucket behind the bar before fixing Stormy with a menacing glare. “I don’t repeat myshelf, leasht of all to your ilk! ...Whatever yeh be. Bors! Gurishka! Tossh thish one out into tha’ shtreet!” Stormy looked over to where the barkeep had turned, and locked eyes with two giant humans with broad, hairy shoulders and more scars on their faces than she could count. “W-Wait! Uh, you’re gonna have to deal with him, first! Klee Tusk! I need a helping hoof over here! Uh oh.”  After looking back to her table, she was devastated to see Klee Tusk face down with a pile of mugs surrounding him. She even thought she could hear him snoring away despite the din of the tavern’s patrons.  Stormy turned back to the barkeep, flashed a smile, then leaped off the stool and away from the approaching bouncers.  “Hey! Get back here, ye’ lil’ wretch!” the man yelled, grasping at Stormy. Stormy tried to fly at first out of habit, and her wing protested with a jab of pain upon her trying to open it. She had to settle for a leap onto the nearby stage, rather than the glide up to the tavern’s rafters that she had attempted. The ill-planned jump turned into a clumsy sprawl that ended in Stormy sliding on her belly across the stage right towards the performer. Crap! she had time to cover her eyes with her hooves before she slammed into the hooman with her violin. A second later a woosh of fabric went overhead, rather than Stormy crashing into the performer.   “Huh?” After the crash never came, and a loud thud behind her, Stormy raised her head to see that the hooman must have jumped over her. The hooved stranger smiled down at Stormy, gave her a wink, and turned to face the two brutes now scrambling onto the stage. “Hey! What’s the big idea, Shamus? Hm? I’m in the middle of a performance here!” The hooved hooman paid no attention to the burly men trying to get to Stormy, and strangely stopped them both in their tracks with her instruments… somehow… Stormy gasped upon seeing a glint of metal shining beneath each hooman’s chin, and noticed that her violin and its bow weren’t exactly as she remembered them; both pieces had been modified and were now edged with sharp steel.  The barkeep sneered up at the stage. “Dammit, Kilyra, jusht let the boysh do their job, would you?” The two bouncers gulped, each one hesitant to back away from the steel pressed up under their throats. Stormy shifted her gaze to the hooman holding her violin. The very pretty hooman, she thought. She hadn’t seen a hooman yet that she’d have called pretty, but this Kilyra clearly put as much effort into her looks as any showy mare from Canterlot. “Oh, and what job is that? Throwing out the little people who can’t defend themselves, just because they look different?” Kilyra stomped a hoof down, bare inches from Shamus’ face, causing him to flinch back. He looked at it, still sneering, before looking back up to meet her gaze.  “Read my lipsh, Kilyra. We. don’t. Sherve. Monshtersh. You know that! They’re allowed in the shitty, but we don’t have to sherve them!” Behind Shamus, the tavern’s crowd was beginning to get rowdy, some cheering him on, some cheering Kilyra on, but most were just angry that the music had stopped. “They’re beashtsh! Ugly, hideoush beashtsh! And if I sherve one now, word’ll get out and I’ll haf a nightmare on me handsh!” “Hey, I’m not a beasht, I mean, I’m not a beast! You big bully!” Stormy got up at this point—more than a little angry from all the insults and getting chased—feeling a bit more confident thanks to Kilyra. “I’m a pegasus, and a pretty cute one, too!” She gave her mane a flick, and harrumphed indignantly. “In any case, I don’t even wanna stay in your stupid tavern, I just want my violin back!” With that, Stormy pointed up at the violin that Kilyra held, who in turned blinked in surprise down at her. “Your violin?” Kilyra parroted, donning an interested look, to which Stormy nodded vehemently.  “Yup, it’s got my cutie mark on the bottom and my initials, too, if you want proof!” Stormy pointed to her rump, and then to the keyboard plainly but exquisitely carved and painted on the violin’s body. Her initials were on the neck, but they were a bit smaller and harder to see. Kilyra smiled wanly at the markings on her instrument. “Well, I’ll be…” Shamus groaned, interrupting. “I don’t care, yah daft beasht! Just get out the Hellsh out of my eshtablishment!” He made as if to swipe at Stormy from where he stood, but Kilyra blocked him with another stomp of her hoof, narrowingly missing his pudgy fingers. “I have an idea.” Kilyra announced, ignoring Shamus and stealing the initiative. She pulled her instrument weapons back and tapped the bow against her chin, blade pointed out; the bouncers relaxed, but didn’t yet go toward Stormy, instead staring at the violin.  “How about this, Shamus,” she continued, now grinning. “If you want to entertain this crowd yourself, be my guest!” Her voice was loud and projecting, but somehow still smooth as silk and filled with honey as she gestured to her audience, which had steadily become more and more rowdy. “Or… why don’t we kill two birds with one stone? The girl here—” she looked to Stormy to get confirmation of that, to which Stormy nodded with a smile, “—wants her violin back, so instead of ousting her as a patron, let her stay and perform with me as entertainment. She and I will have a music duel, and the winner gets to keep this violin.” Shamus thumped a fist on the stage and began to protest, but was drowned out by the roar of applause and goading cheers from the crowd behind him. People were already taking bets from the crowd and everyone was now paying rapt attention to the goings on onstage. “Dammit,” Shamus hissed, and reluctantly gave a sharp gesture to his bouncers to get off the stage. “Fine, but thish ish the lasht time I’ll put up with your shit, Kilyra!” He turned, and stormed off to his bar with his back straight, clearly content to at least get the last word. Kilyra laughed triumphantly. “Two minutes, boys! Take your bets and then we play!” she announced to the crowd for another round of cheers. Stormy turned from watching the angry hooman, Shamus, go, and looked up at Kilyra in amazement. “Wow, thank you! That was… really really cool what you just did for me.” Kilyra mouthed the word cool and chuckled. “Well, we hooved girls gotta stick together.” She sweetened her voice, making it almost mocking. “But don’t thank me yet, as I aim to keep your violin.”  Stormy frowned at that. “Uhm, look, I appreciate you sticking up for me, and I’m grateful… but I’d really rather just have my grandpa’s violin back than play against you for it. It’s kind of really important to me.” “So important that it somehow came to be in my possession?” Kilyra quirked a smile, and at Stormy’s immediate protest, she laughed. “Now now, I’m sure there were extenuating circumstances beyond your control. I understand, I do, but I’m rather fond of this instrument, you see, so I won’t let it go easily. So, do you accept my conditions, or will you walk away? Surely you don’t lack the confidence in your skills?” Stormy’s frown deepened ]into its utmost exaggerated form, but she gave an accepting sigh after a moment, nonetheless. “Ffffine, but I don’t have to like it! And I’m gonna kick your butt, too!” Kilyra flourished a bow, dipping low and coming face to face with Stormy. “That’s the spirit! Let’s introduce ourselves and give this mob a performance they won’t soon forget. I’m Kilyra, just Kilyra, as I’m sure you heard. I’m an adventurer and bard by trade, and I must confess that I’m one of the best in the realm.” She looked down expectantly at Stormy as she straightened. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Stormy puffed out her chest in confidence. “I’m Stormy Weather, a pegasus pony from Equestria! Music’s my special talent, and I’ll admit you were pretty good earlier, but you’re definitely no match for me!” Kilyra grinned. “Well then, in that case… why don’t you go first?” She held out the violin and bow. “I could use a break, to be honest.” Stormy almost accepted her instruments immediately, desperate to hold them again… but instead she gulped, eyeing the blades attached to her poor eleventh birthday present from grandpa.  Kilyra quickly ascertained what the trouble was, and in two or three quick motions had the blades popped off from the violin and bow. “Ah, sorry. In my line of work these are necessary much of the time.”  “Uh, thanks.” This time Stormy took her violin back, and looked it over. It was newly polished and seemed well kept. Other than the modifications it now had, the instrument was just as she remembered it. “Alright, let’s do this.” Kilyra clapped her hands to regain the audience’s attention as she pranced on light hooves to the stage’s back, spinning into a seat waiting there. She leaned forward, and began to pay the utmost amount of attention to the fascinating development in front of her. After more than a dozen of the books he’d gathered had been searched, Merlos believed he had found something rather promising. Curiously, it had been a book directed to by the red arrowed portion of his searching spell, which indicated a less than likely relevance. At first glance, though, he could see this was what he was searching for. Merlos turned over the peculiar book in his hands, studying the fine leatherwork of the cover; it had a stitched-in design funnily enough similar, he thought, in a shape akin to Stormy’s own silhouette. The book itself, however, had seen better days, as a familiar divot similar to that of a table leg impression and other considerable wear was evident on its old cover. A standard spell for bookshops had thankfully been cast to preserve the aged and yellowed pages inside, at least.  Merlos rubbed his beard while studying the book’s contents. The writing’s syntax was odd, and seemed to be written by a foreigner in common rather than created by a direct translation of a foreign work. His gaze rose to the gnome behind the bookstore’s front desk, newly awoken; he was a skinny, short humanoid with thick coke-bottle glasses and excessively flowy silken clothing bound to his body with an embroidered rope sash for a belt. He adjusted his heavily feathered hat—the current style in Halia—periodically while waiting, presumably to itch his scalp.  Not a stranger to making purchases at upscale establishments such as the one he was in, Merlos waited for the gnome to seem at his most distracted. “How much for this tattered tome?” he asked the vendor, who was in the middle of adjusting his hat once more. “I presume by its condition that it makes an excellent prop for a wobbly table.” The gnome smirked, and gave Merlos a gracious bow of his head, almost losing his hat. “Aye, sir, it is! Such a sad fate for a lonely and unique fantasy book. Ten gold’s all I ask for it.” The vendor looked away, as if not at all concerned with the barter. Merlos sighed, holding the book out and turning it over lazily in a hand. “Ten gold? I could buy a good horse with that much. I guess it’s bundled with another volume then? Because clearly the condition of this book isn’t even worth two.” He gestured to the neglectful marks upon its cover. The gnome crossed his arms, not hesitating a moment with his reply. “Eight gold. It’s a unique volume, and is clearly the only book in the store you have any interest in… That was a fancy bit of spellwork you did there to find it, good wizard.” Merlos tsked under his breath, and hoped it didn’t show. He had thought the old gnome had been asleep and hadn’t seen his spell. He clenched his hands a moment, then gestured again at the book. “Well, you do have a business to run, I suppose. Three gold? And information about the author?” “Its author sold me that volume about two years ago and my memory isn’t what it used to be… They will be saddened that the very binding fees were barely covered. It’s handwritten and bound with good leather from the tanner.” He began to absently clean his nails with a letter opener. “I can’t in good conscious let it go for less than five gold. That’s my final offer.” Merlos hmmed and pretended to study the book a moment. “Five it is, then,” he replied, confident the gnome had meant what he said. If it hadn’t been discovered how badly he needed it, he likely could have gotten it for far less. “You mentioned the author still lives?” “Aye, Molly Williams, I think her name was. She lived north and east, a fortnight’s travel upstream, in the Lost Wood. Can’t say where, exactly… She might even still be alive, too, but no guarantees in that party of the country, I reckon’. Not a place you want to enter without many-a-companion, I warn ye’.” Merlos paid the gnome his five gold coins, putting the book into one of his sleeves. “Thank you, that is most helpful, and may you find pleasant morrows.” Merlos took a careful look at the cover before putting it deep into his sleeve. A quick spell whisked it to a simple pocket dimension for safe keeping for later when he had time to read over it. With the desire for a respite from his travels in mind, he decided to finally make his way to the Bad Drag-Inn.