An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

A Day in the Life of a Tree

Lorenzo liked to think of himself as calm and collected.

He hadn't always been that way—as his Aunties would harp on to anyone who'd listen—but years of working as partner to Chiara 'anger issues' Cadorna had mellowed him out considerably.

So when he realized he'd fallen asleep in a random field again, he didn't even so much as blink.

Getting to his feet, he stretched his arms high over his head with a tired yawn. Glancing around absently, he took stock of where he was.

A farm of some kind, obviously. Golden stalks of wheat rose around him, high enough that his eyes couldn't see over the grains, casting the small clearing he'd fallen asleep in an early morning shadow. Stifling another yawn, he concluded that he had to have made it some distance from the city if the farmers here were growing wheat.

Humming curiously, he asked the wheat where he was.

The wheat giggled, flustered and breathless, and what he had done the night before suddenly slammed back into him.

By the Goddess he can't believe he did it again.

This was his father's fault, surely. The damned bard's proclivities had to have been genetic, that was the only explanation for how this kept happening.

Well, his Aunties probably didn't help, but he wasn't brave enough to blame them for anything, so his deadbeat father—who deserved it, really—got all the blame.

The wheat nymph started to materialize, all tall, golden, and eager. And as he looked upon her form once again, he wondered if it was really so wrong to—

He slapped himself.

"Thank you for your company last night," Lorenzo gave the nymph a smile, using her confusion to rush from the farm as quickly as propriety would allow. "But I'm going to be late for work if I stay, so I'd best be going now! Have a lovely harvest season!"

Fleeing the wheat farm—and then fleeing from the wheat farm's significantly shorter neighbor who he'd apparently rejected last night—Lorenzo swore to himself that this would be the last time he'd let Johanna bait him into a drinking contest.

Eventually, once he'd put enough distance between himself and the wheat farms, he let himself relax. He sighed, gaining more energy as the sunlight hit his shoulders, and he slowed down into a calm stroll as he hit the vineyards closer to the city. Now knowing where he was he turned, heading deeper into the vineyards rather than make his way to the guild.

At this point he'd have already missed breakfast anyway, so he might as well enjoy the morning while it lasted.

Eventually he reached the edge of the vineyard, and passing through the living gate he stepped into the clearing beyond. It could be called a neutral gathering place, though that made it sound grander than it really was—it was more or less just a place for the locals to gather and chat whenever they had the time.

The clearing was empty other than a beautiful young woman with yellow-green skin and black olives growing from her hair. She sat on the dirt, absently humming a magical tune that caused small olive shoots to grow between her legs. She stopped when she saw him, giving him a wave and a grin that showed off her razor-sharp teeth. "Ah, good morning, Lorenzo!"

"Good morning, Olea," he returned the olive nymph's toothy smile with one of his own. "Is it just you so far?"

"Well, I am early," she shrugged her shoulders absently, before frowning as it caused one of her olives to fall to the ground. He sympathized. Harvest season was always an uncomfortable time of year. "What about you? I figured you'd be eating in the city today?"

"Ah, well, you know, I felt like it would be a good change of pace."

Olea gave him a look that told him she didn't believe him in the slightest and knew exactly why he was here, but she didn't call him out on it, which put her a step above Chiara. And Johanna. And Anima, and Charles, and…

Hm. He needed better friends.

Regardless, he settled down in the clearing, spearing a couple doves out of the sky to prepare while he waited. The rest of the local nature spirits slowly congregated in the clearing, bringing with them their own appetizers to the area's morning potluck. Raw fox tail, salted rat skewers, and even steamed cricket soup. It all looked delicious, and Lorenzo felt himself salivating as they waited for the rest to arrive. But, as was tradition, they couldn't feast until everyone had gathered, which meant it wouldn't be until another hour that they could finally eat.

Grabbing some fox tail for himself, Lorenzo made his way over to where his friends sat, taking a seat next to where Olea was listening to Vitaceae complain—again—about her farmer's kids.

"It was like, so gross!" The grape nymph groaned around a mouthful of bat's head. "He was eating them straight off the vine! Like, just shoveling them into his mouth like an ugly little pig. It made me want to puke! Like, ugh, I know humans eat them, but to they have to do it in front of me?"

"If you don't want to see it then just don't look," Reticulata the orange nymph rolled her bright orange eyes. "It's natural. I don't hear you complaining about any other animals, so why is that humans gross you out so much?"

"It's because they look like us! Like, if it's a deer or a bird it just looks natural, but when it's humans it's like it's one step away from cannibalism, you know?"

Olea shook her head, her olives rustling in agreement. "I totally agree! Though I suppose we've got it easier than some others—like, have you ever heard where bread comes from?"

"Don't remind me," Vitaceae sighed, curling her grapevines around her finger absently. "I don't know. Hey Lorry, like, you eat in the city all the time, yeah? Doesn't it bother you when you see them eating an… urk… salad."

Lorenzo shrugged. "Eh, you get used to it. Though maybe it doesn't bother me as much since I'm only half tree."

Though, he supposed if he ever saw someone eating the leaves that grew from his hair, he'd also be a little put off.

"Oh yeah, that's right!" The nymph brightened. Then she glanced back and forth, before leaning in with an odd look in her eye. "Hey, have you ever, ya know… eaten a grape?"

Lorenzo paused, considering… no, no, it was best not to let her know what wine was. "No, I can't say that I have."

"Well, would you like to?" she wiggled her viney eyebrows.

"Right, we're done here," he stood up, retreating under the laughter of the other girls. Grabbing another serving of skewers, he left to head back into the city, waving goodbye as he did so.

Making his way back through the vineyards, he eventually passed by the manor overseeing the land. He nodded to the farmers who were preparing for the harvest, getting nods of respect in return.

Traditionally, the local farmers allowed nymphs to squat in their lands. It gave them a place to stay an plants to attune to, something which was in short supply around human settlements. In exchange, the nymphs used their nature magics to enhance the farmer's crops, granting them healthier and more bountiful harvests.

It had taken some getting used to when he'd first arrived. His Aunties had always looked down on such nymphs, calling them 'domesticated,' but having lived in the city for years now he'd come to realize that it was the only way for them to survive in the more heavily urbanized lowlands.

Eventually he made it back to the Rosa Guildhall. As he entered, he smiled at Ósma sitting behind the front desk, raising a hand in greeting. "Good morning! Do you have any work for me today, or am I going back out to help with the harvest again?"

The old orc gave him a tight smile, bags under his eyes. Hm, probably more harvest work, then. All of the guild leaders had been looking more exhausted than usual lately, though he supposed that with everything that was going on in the city they had reason to be.

"Not today, but soon," Ósma told him. "We're planning for an expedition to Iscrimo to, ah, expand our market. It's not required, but the guildmaster requested you come it you're up for it."

Finally. "Of course I'm up for it! Just tell me when and I'll be there."

"Good. We'll be leaving by the end of the week, once we've finished preparing. Make sure you stop by the guild in say… four days from now. Otherwise, is there anything else you need?"

"No, no—well, actually, do you know who else is coming?"

"We're bringing Chiara and Palmira, since they're young and need the work."

That made some sense, though he felt Chiara's inclusion was more nepotism on the guildmaster's part than anything. Not that he'd tell the girl that, of course. But Palmira was a good choice. She was still a bit rough around the edges, but given a bit more time he could see her catching up to Chiara's level. Plus, wasn't she from around there? Hm, thinking on that, that might be the real reason the guildmaster wanted her along.

"We're also bringing along Teresa, Anima, and Johanna, plus the guildmaster. Though that's still tentative, since we aren't sure if the three can get along well enough to make the trip."

"Really?" he raised a bushy eyebrow. "I thought Teresa and Anima were… you know…?"

"I meant more Teresa and Johanna."

"What? Why them? They get along fine…?"

Ósma waved his question away. "It's not for me to say. They're fine when they have space, but we're just a bit worried about forcing them to work together for as long as this'll take. Just… don't worry about it. This is my job, not yours. Just relax while you can, because once we leave we aren't stopping until we get to the city."

Lorenzo gave the old orc a smile and a nod, accepting the answer for what it was. It wasn't like it was any of his business anyway.

Leaving the room with a final wave goodbye, he felt himself relax, just a bit.

It looked like things were finally looking up.

--

​

It was later in the day that he stumbled across Palmira, sitting alone in the courtyard. Well, as alone as she could get with her undead staff. And her undead mace.

Hm. She was a fire mage, right?

"Hey Palmira!" he smiled, dropping down on the bench next to her, causing the younger girl to let out a small shriek of surprise. And to also accidentally set one of the plants on fire.

"Crap!" she swore, reaching up to put it out, only for the plant to bite at her fingers. "Ow! Hey! I'm sorry, I'm just trying to help!"

Lorenzo sighed, patting out the fire himself while Palmira scowled at the plants. He didn't bother chastising her, it was kind of his fault anyways. "Sorry about that. I thought you saw me. But what's got you so deep in thought out here anyway?"

Giving one last glare at the now purring plant, she turned to him, her scowl only somewhat lessening. He didn't take it personally, he was pretty sure that was her default look. "Nothing, it's just—uh, has Ósma told you about what they're planning?"

"You mean the trip to Iscrimo?" She nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Um, well, it's just…"

He raised an eyebrow, sitting up a bit straighter. If she was having this much trouble talking about it, it must be pretty serious.

"…I grew up near Iscrimo," she finally managed to get out. "And then, I spent a couple of years after… I spent a couple years in the city itself. And while there's nothing wrong with it, I… it's just…"

"Bad memories?"

"…Yeah, kind of." her lips twisted into a frown. He wondered if she noticed the fact that her ears were smoking. "Morte says it's best to face them head on, but… I don't know if I can. I tried that when I was younger, but… it didn't work out too well."

Lorenzo hummed. He felt he understood a bit where she was coming from. "I think it depends on if you feel you can face them now," he told her. "When I was younger, I, uh, didn't have a father. Or I did, but I didn't know it at the time. And then I learned that he existed, and was still alive, and didn't even know who I was. And back then, I didn't take it very well, and… well, let's just say that the reason I joined this guild may or may not have been because I scared off their previous bard. But I've grown up since then, and I think I'd react differently if I found him again now. So… I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're older now. You've had years more to come to terms with whatever happened. And maybe you aren't there yet, but you never know until you try, yeah?"

Palmira frowned, looking down at her lap. "That… makes sense, I think."

It did? Wonderful, it meant he was helping her deal with her problems better than he had with Chiara's.

"Thank you. And, uh, if you're willing, I've got another problem I need some help with."

"Of course," he smiled, internally hoping it was less of an issue than whatever emotional turmoil she was going through. "Fire away."

"Okay," she took a deep breath to steady herself. "Back when I was in Iscrimo, I kind of, maybe… burned down a couple of buildings. And, uh, that might be why I ended up leaving. And also might be why I haven't gone back since. Because I might still have a bounty on my head for that."

This was much worse than emotional turmoil. "Um, how many buildings are we talking here? One? Two?"

"…More. Um, definitely not the whole district, but…"

"…Please tell me you didn't burn down half the city."

"It wasn't completely my fault!" she snapped indignantly. "They built the city on an active volcano! If anything, they should be better prepared to deal with fire!"

Lorenzo took a deep breath. "…Okay. Okay! You were pretty young, and young mages sometimes lose control of their magic. So long as it wasn't intentional, I'm sure we can explain it to the authorities…" he trailed off as he saw her try to hide a guilty wince. "…please tell me it wasn't intentional."

"…The bastard deserved it! He tried to sell me into slavery! What else was I supposed to do!?"

"So it was self-defense," he threw out there, knowing that such a defense likely wouldn't work. But they had to come up with something…! "Do you know the name of the man's house you started the fire in?"

"I don't think that's important…"

"What?"

"I mean… it's… um…" she sighed. "His name was Aventio Visconti."

He knew that name. It was the name of the Duke who ruled the city up until half a decade ago when he perished… in a… house fire…

Well, shit. "…I've got nothing. In fact, it might be safer for all of us if you stay here. Unless, uh, has Morte given you any ideas?"

Palmira, who by this point had literally combusted out of shame and embarrassment, nodded forlornly. "He told me I should wear a mask."

"…I mean, I guess it could work?"

She gave him an incredulous look.

"Well, do you have any better ideas!?"

She did not.

In the end, when they left for Iscrimo at the end of the week, Palmira (and Morte) was sporting a cheap Paluneran mask. Much to the confusion of the rest of the expedition.

And Lorenzo took back everything he said about her being easier to deal with than Chiara. She was far, far worse.