"One of these days you're going to have to tell me the whole story about you and the captain," Lara said as they were leaving Administration, about an hour later. They were laden with notes, Sarmon and his aides having provided them with anything they could think of that might help.

"I must do no such thing," Mabb said firmly.

"Oh, come on, brother! I've told you everything, everything about Tendy. You've got to reciprocate at least a little!"

"Your inability to keep anything private while drunk doesn't oblige me to do anything."

"Pssh. I'll get it out of you one day."

Mabb gave her a long-suffering grunt. "We should tend to our gear and prepare to leave the outpost, not gossip about one another," he said primly. But secretly he was pleased. Not that she was so insistent on digging at his past with Sarmon, but that her mind seemed to be entirely off her family and her own pain, at least for a while.

"Yeah, yeah," she said. "So you really can fight, huh? I don't need to worry about you too much?"

"I can, yes."

"I wish you'd told me."

"It never seemed relevant. Besides, I don't particularly like it anymore." Not that he'd relinquished his Levels, but he had his reasons for that.

"Not relevant? What about all those times I babysat you in the swamp while you went harvesting?"

"You were well compensated," Mabb pointed out. "Besides, I enjoy your company."

"Alright. Fair enough. But, like, you can fight for real? Not just handle yourself in a scrap? I mean, if we've got that many potential revenants out there… they're not like the gods-damned rodents. Revenants are fucking nasty."

"I've fought revenants before."

"Huh."

"Indeed."

"So… what weapons?"

"Anything." Mabb paused for a while and then added, "As long as it's a melee weapon or can be thrown. I'm no good with bows or crossbows or the like." He knew that it might encourage Lara to continue a conversation he'd rather end, but while he wasn't going to give complete information, what he gave might as well be correct.

And Lara was indeed encouraged. Her eyebrows rose and she said, "Oh, damn. You took the time to Merge your Skills?"

"It just happened."

"Getting every category of melee weapon and Throwing to Level 10 doesn't just happen," Lara objected, more interested than ever. "It took me over a year of concentrated effort once I put my mind to it. Gods curse the Short Blades Skill!"

"Well, it just happened," Mabb repeated. And it had. Over the course of 25 Levels as a Fighter and its Evolved Classes, and then 30 Levels after Mabb Reset to take the Master Tier Class that he still had. He'd never made a concentrated effort to level his weapon Skills; he just kept switching for the sake of variety.

"If you say so…" Lara said, her tone making it clear that she didn't believe for a second that there wasn't more to it.

Mabb sighed. "Little sister," he said, "if I promise to tell you more once we are outside of the settlement, will you let the matter rest?"

"Yeah?" she asked, perking back up. "Deal!"

With neither Mabb nor Lara having any real commitments in the outpost, they decided to leave the same day. Their meeting with the captain had been early, and they both left the outpost regularly; making sure that their gear was in order was second nature. All they really had to do was to stock up on perishables and consumables, easily done with a trip to their provisioner and alchemist, and to gather any information the captain hadn't been able to provide them with. Specifically, Mabb had noted that there was no statement from the Outpost's resident Healer.

The fact that a decades old Splinter with a population of over a thousand souls should have three or four Healers was neither here nor there. Especially a miserable, disease-ridden place like Misery Splinter. Unfortunately, even most Healers had limits to their selflessness; the Splinter was lucky to have one at all, even if the poor man was a nervous wreck.

The Healer's clinic lay near the central square, on Main Street, as was so common throughout the Splinters. Having made their purchases, Mabb and Lara went there together, knocking on the weathered door and entering without waiting for an answer.

The front room was empty, but that was nothing unusual. It wasn't like there was anything to steal, and if someone were to be found to have robbed the Splinter's only Healer they were likely to go missing right quick. "Master Trislan, are you available?" Mabb asked loudly, and a moment later there was a sound of a door closing somewhere inside the building.

"Sit a moment, just a moment!" the Healer called out urgently. "I just need to—" There was the sound of another door closing, and then the man himself scurried into the front room. There hadn't even been time for them to sit on the padded bench that stood along one wall.

Though he never brought it up, it often amazed Mabb how much alike Trislain the Healer and his friend Lara looked. If not for the fact that he knew that Lara was female and Trislain male, Mabb would even have had trouble telling which gender either might be. They were both of the same height, with similarly lithe builds, though Lara's hips were a tad more pronounced and Trislain's shoulders might be just a little wider. They both had an androgynous handsomeness to their faces, and wore their hair in similar short, practical cuts. They even had quite similar voices; Lara's was low for a woman, and Trislain's high for a man.

When Trislain had first arrived, five cycles earlier, Mabb had been so convinced that he was a previously unmentioned brother of Lara's that he'd gone to her, full of excitement, to tell her the news. It had been a shock to find that there was no familial relationship whatsoever. As far as Lara knew, anyway. Mabb wasn't so sure. Hells, they both had that telltale trace of Saminel accent to their Inter-guild. That, and he found the notion of a long-lost sibling to be far too romantic to just give up on.

However great the similarities were between the two, they were entirely superficial. Spending ten seconds with each of them made that abundantly clear. Lara was friendly, steady, and reliable — assuming she wasn't drunk or in one of her black moods or both. Trislain, on the other hand, was anxious to the point of being twitchy, and constantly morose. Not that he'd always been that way; he'd once been bright-eyed and optimistic, always willing to go the extra mile for his patients. Now he did his job, then waited with dread for the next person to walk through his door.

Mabb wondered how long he'd stick around.

"Yes? What is it?" the Healer said. His tone was brusque, but his eyes were worried as he looked them both over for any trace of illness or injury. "Did you get bitten again, Miss Lara? I've told you, there are prophylactic potions for rockjoint! All you need is a little bit before a fight, and you won't have to suffer all the way back here."

Lara rolled her eyes. "No, Master Trislain, no rockjoint. I did, in fact, take your advice some cycles back."

"You were here—!" Trislain glanced at Mabb, seemed to decide that Mabb and Lara were likely to be close enough for confidentiality to be more bother than it was worth, and said, "You were here not three weeks ago, Miss Lara, complaining of stiff, swollen joints."

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"Yeah, well, I ran out!" Lara huffed back, shifting awkwardly.

"And I've told you I can furnish you with more if you can't get hold of it yourself, for whatever reason!"

"Doesn't matter, anyway. That's not why we're here."

"You are aware that there have been a number of disappearances these past two weeks, yes?" Mabb asked. He was loathe to interrupt the Healer's fussing over Lara, but they did have a task at hand.

Trislain deflated, wiping his hands over and over on his loose trousers. "Gods, yes. I've heard. It's awful."

"The captain has asked the two of us to try and figure out what's happened to them, but we couldn't see that anyone had spoken to you yet."

"Oh, no. No, they haven't. Why would they? I never leave the outpost."

"Well," Mabb said patiently, "we wanted to ask if you'd seen anything strange in the past several weeks. Some new illness you didn't recognize. An increase in the number of people who'd suffered attacks from demons, or even revenant sapients. Anything else which might help explain why people are suddenly going missing. Things like that."

"Oh. Um…" The Healer fell silent, combing his fingers through his hair in a way that was almost suspiciously similar to the way Lara did when she was nervous or embarrassed. "No, can't say that I have. Sorry," he finally said.

"Ah, well. It was worth asking. But in that case, we won't take any more of your time. Think on it, though, would you, Master Trislain? Perhaps having the question asked will help jog something loose."

"I certainly won't be able not to think of it now," Trislain lamented.

"Very good," Mabb said, opening the door and gesturing for Lara to exit. "We'll be back in a few days, when we return."

When the door had closed behind them, Mabb turned to Lara and said, in a low voice, "Really, little sister? You ran out of prophylactic?"

Lara scowled, looking away. "Look, it was just the one time, alright? Shit luck that I took a few bites the one time I ran out."

"And why did you leave the outpost without a full bottle in the first place?" he asked, following as Lara started back toward their neighborhood with angry steps, the boards of the walkway clunking and squelching under her boots.

"I was going to restock in the morning, before I went out! I forgot, okay?"

"You do not forget such things," Mabb stated. "Nagging Feeling wouldn't let you."

"Well, I— okay, I didn't forget. I just wanted to get out as early as possible. I drank too much the night before, and I needed to not see anyone for a while. Drop it, alright?"

Mabb nodded, though she couldn't see it. Three or four weeks ago, Lara suddenly missing their customary breakfast… yes, that sounded familiar. And if he remembered correctly — which he did — there had been a girl looking for Lara that day. She'd been rather upset.

He'd wondered about what exactly had happened between those two. Now he burned with curiosity to know what indiscretion had driven Lara to flee so urgently that she hadn't even replenished her potions. But this was not the time to press; that was a recipe for a miserable afternoon, even by Misery Splinter standards.

Two hours later they were past the southern gate, following the staked path through the marshes and into the swamp beyond. Seven of the twelve missing people had been heading south when they were last seen, so that was where they'd start. They'd discussed taking someone else along, but decided not to; there weren't many combat or hybrid Classers in the Splinter, and they didn't really get along with the few that there were. Their Party of two would have to do.

Party members:

Lara, Human Slayer (26), Leader

Mabb, Farl Herbalist (37)

 

Party effects:

Pack Vigilance (Lara): All other Party members count their base Perception as 5 Points higher for all effects except Enhancements. Bonus increases with Class Level. This cannot raise their effective Perception above yours.

Stalker (Lara): All other Party members count their Stealth Skill, if they have it, as 5 Points higher for all effects except Perks. Bonus increases with Class Level. This cannot raise their effective Stealth above yours.

Mabb might not even have noticed Lara's family name missing if he hadn't known, but now it was impossible not to see. But he didn't comment. Her mood had recovered in the time they spent apart, finishing their preparations before meeting at the gate, and now she was as cheerful as she ever got. He'd hate to change that.

Most of that cheer, Mabb suspected, was anticipation. He'd made a promise of sorts, after all. Still, Lara did an admirable job of remaining patient. She stuck to the task at hand for over two hours, and didn't bring up the subject of Mabb's fighting skills until they were taking a short rest at one of the few maintained — meaning the ground was kept high enough to be dry — campsites. It was no more than a few logs around a fire pit, and an open space for tents, but it was better than the waterlogged ground between the trees surrounding it.

"So?" Lara said, drawing the word out. "Are you gonna tell me?"

"I suppose I will," Mabb said noncommittally, running a whetstone along the edge of one of his two hatchets. They were his regular utility hatchets, but he didn't own a weapon actually intended for fighting, and hadn't wanted to spend the gold. If he had to fight, they would do as well as anything. They just needed a better edge than what he usually kept on them.

Lara waited with exaggerated patience and an expectant smile frozen on her face. She gave him about a minute before saying, "Well?"

Mabb gave it a few more seconds before saying, "I was an ostler." He continued sharpening his hatchet as he spoke, holding it up to see if the nick he'd been working on was gone. "I liked horses. Still do."

"You're a bit big to ride," Lara said.

"We breed them big, where I'm from." Satisfied with his inspection, Mabb went to work on another nick. "I was an ostler. But I wanted to see more of the world, so I signed on with a caravan, tending the animals. I got a liking for it, so I did that for a few years. Got friendly with the guards, learned some swordplay, how to handle an axe and a spear and shield, things like that. By then I was big enough that the caravan master offered me better pay as a guard. As he said it, we'd already been in a few scrapes, demons and such, and he'd seen me defending the animals. I may as well be paid and equipped for it. And he didn't mind me staying close to the animals if that was what I wanted, even if it wasn't my job anymore, so I took his offer. He gave me an advance on the pay to get some Crystals, the guardsmaster got me outfitted in the next city we visited, and that was that. I reset and became a Fighter. And you know, I found that I enjoyed it."

Mabb smiled at the memories that got stirred up. The friends he'd made, the hardships they'd gone through, the loves he'd found and lost. Those had been good days, and he was fortunate enough that he had nothing to poison the memory of them. "Spent a few years with that same caravan. I still exchange letters with the master every so often. But I was young, and the ruts we wore doing the same routes again and again were getting deep. So I left, with many tearful goodbyes, and I became a Delver."

"Wait!" Lara erupted. "You were a Delver?! You're here, in the Splinters, and you were a Delver? And you never told me!"

"I was a Delver," he confirmed. "A good one, too. Solid frontliner. Ran with quite a few Parties over the years. But the thing is… when you Delve for long enough, you lose people. It's inevitable. And my Class, the combat Class I still have—"

Lara's eyes nearly popped out of her skull at that. She so very clearly wanted to interrogate him about that little revelation, but she was also perceptive and clever enough to pick up on the gravity in his voice. And that was one of the things Mabb appreciated about Lara: she knew when to let someone speak.

He hadn't planned on telling her everything, but once he'd started, it was hard to stop. It had been a long time since he told anyone why he'd decided to sell his arms and become a Herbalist. Sarmon knew, of course, but he should be the only one in the Splinter. It wasn't something Mabb liked to talk about. But he'd known Lara for long enough, and thought he knew her well enough, that he could share this with her.

"The combat Class I have lets me take and recover from an immense amount of punishment. Coupled with my Defense Perks and Vitality Enhancements, there isn't much that can kill me. But over a long enough career, that means that sooner or later, you survive a situation you might rather have not. Or several. So I stopped fighting and became a Herbalist."

He stopped there. He didn't trust his voice not to break if he went any deeper. And as the silence stretched, Lara's face softened, her indignation replaced by sympathy as she understood what he was saying.

Lara shuffled over so they sat next to each other on the same log. He was too tall and wide for her to put her arm over his shoulders, so instead she put her palm flat on his back, leaning in a little so she pressed into his arm. "I'm sorry, big brother," she said. "I shouldn't have pushed."

"You need to know," he replied flatly. Not because he was at all upset with her, but to keep the pain out of his voice. "I'm surprised you never found me out, to be honest. Enough people here must be able to see both my Classes." With that he cleared his throat, forcing something resembling his normal no-nonsense tone into his voice. "Besides being a Level 7 Herbalist, I am a Level 30 Raging Storm. I rely on momentum, mostly. Much like a Berserker, but without the red haze. I struggle against the gods-damned rodents, but if we come across any sapient revenants, I suggest you let me front if possible. I can take a truly disgusting amount of punishment."

"We'll see," Lara said, patting his back. "I'd say staying here is punishment enough."

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