After their verbal spar and Quinn’s apparent victory, Lucy nudged Mona for help getting to her feet. The large woman groaned but complied, groggily getting up and pulling each of them upright to continue their slog through the dark sewers. Quinn was holding up the best after their scuffle with the horde, having only spent around half of his stamina from the climb and subsequent fight despite his middling Endurance. Although he had never received any official tutoring or teaching, he had a decent understanding of how the different stats combined and synergised to improve his body and mind, something that many others of his circumstances did not. His high Dexterity didn’t increase his stamina, but rather decrease the rate it was burned through while maintaining the same output, making his movements and skills that used it more efficient. His stamina pool wasn’t actually that large compared to others like Mona, which he thought of as a small lake residing deep in his abdomen, compared to the deep ocean that the dwarf must contain. Rivers of intangible energy flowed through every ligament and muscle, ephemeral veins forming an intricate tapestry that all living creatures had, according to his (admittedly limited) knowledge.

  Mana was… more complicated, at least for Quinn. He only used it to activate his Eyes of Opportunity, as he didn’t have any other mana-based skills, so he couldn’t really feel it in the same way as stamina. He couldn’t trace its roots along his body because they had never even formed, only sensing the subtle pools behind his eyes that tingled and glowed when he identified the value of an object. It was a strange sensation; time seemed to freeze as a golden interface appeared above what he was looking at, numbers rapidly ticking over and mana dwindling until the true value revealed itself. The denomination was always gold, due to it being the primary currency in Gahmor, the only place he had ever lived so it was the only currency he knew. It didn’t take much mana at all, either; even big-ticket items worth thousands of gold barely taking a tenth of his total, if that. Whether it was because it was a powerful skill despite its uncommon rarity, or because the mana had nowhere else to go, he didn’t know. He did know that he loved it. He could instantly find the best pocket to pick from the clothing that held it, the best wagons to pilfer from the animals pulling it, and even the best fruit to lift from the grocers in the market district. In other words, a perfect skill for a thief.

  The group kept trudging through the dank tunnels, with Lucy and Mona taking the lead this time as Quinn became a living crutch for Argus, as frankly his height made him suited for the job. The scalekin’s right leg was still weak and shaky, and an occasional hiss of pain escaped his lips as his blood-soaked breeches clung and wadded to his pierced calf. His wound had stopped bleeding, and due to the larger scales that coated his legs it looked more like a thin slit rather than a bite. Argus saw Quinn staring down at his leg with concern and patted his head like a dog.

  “I’m flattered that you’re worried about little old me, but I’ll recover just fine without your worrying. We Scalekin have more Vitality than you… fleshies.” he gestured his hand in a squeezing motion, a disgusted look clear on his face. Quinn was unsure if it was an act or not, but he was leaning towards not, judging from the look instantly vanishing the moment his eyes met Lucy’s back.

  “...Fleshies? Also, really? I didn’t know that…” Quinn said in thought. He knew that certain races had specific stats that were more likely to increase, whether through archetype or class skills. Quinn was a good example of this; Elves tended to lean towards Dexterity, and Gnomes often gravitated around Luck, making him far more likely than most to awaken a roguish archetype. This was not a strict ruling, however, as there were many deviations that broke convention; elven warriors with bulging muscles akin to the Dwarves they often skirmished with in the outer settlements, and gnomish archers and assassins with speed and deftness that belied their small statures were just some examples he could think of. He wasn’t sure about Scalekin, but he knew Humans didn’t have an affinity for any stat at all, giving them the widest range of variation of all races he had heard of.

  “Don’t feel too bad for being ignorant, most of us avoid using that word around those such as yourselves, unless we’re especially bigoted… or especially affectionate...” Argus said with a serpentine smile, winking at him playfully.

  “So… which are you?” Quinn said back with a deadpan expression, only to get a flick on the ear instead of a response, which did nothing to stop the mischievous grin spreading across his face.

  “Anyway…” Argus continued, clearly avoiding looking at Quinn’s infectious smile, “Vitality is the most common for us to specialise in, even if it’s only the secondary stat from our archetypes. I’m no exception, as I receive two in Luck and one in Vitality each level. In many clans, having a different specialty or even just low Vitality can keep you from higher positions, or brand you an outcast… or get you killed.”.

  “But… why? It seems like a clan would grow stronger by having more variety…” Quinn asked, clearly confused. He had never understood hating others for their differences, either by their race, class or station, unless they were nobility, of course. The nobility should always be hated. In hindsight, he had never truly met anyone like himself, so perhaps that was why he was more open to diversity. Clay was an elf, and he had never even heard of, let alone seen a fellow gnelf. Gnomes or elves weren’t known for their pleasant attitudes or friendly dispositions, and their relations with each other usually rode the line between indifference and contempt. Considering both races could live at least a few centuries even without reaching higher levels, grudges between elven courts and gnomish factions were as long-lived if not longer than their members. He tried not to wonder about the story of how he came to be, but it was always there, gnawing at the back of his mind just like those damn rats.

  “Well, partly because my people are closed-minded and reluctant to change anything, and partly because it has many benefits that keep us above many of the other races. Have you ever been bitten by a snake? You can punch it full of holes, set it on fire, break its bones, and yet it won’t let go until one of you is dead. We’re tenacious, feisty and very aggressive.” Argus ended his soliloquy with a satisfied smile, the tips of his bone-white fangs peaking through his lips. His self-aggrandizement was interrupted by Mona throwing a look over her shoulder at them.

  “A bit full of yourself, ain’tcha Argus? You scalies aint’ all that, the dwarves of the Ancestral Mountain have been holding the line gainst’ you lot since before Gahmor itself!” Mona boomed with obvious pride, causing Lucy to tap her bicep and put a finger to her lips, and Argus to poke his long tongue out in mock offence. Lucy was leading them on what felt like a detour, according to the vague sense of direction that Quinn had managed to maintain. They were still headed in the rough direction of the auction house, but they were gradually getting deeper as the walls around them grew thicker and thicker with moss and slime. Before long, the cobblestones had completely disappeared, buried by blankets of lush vegetation that seemed to twitch and pulse with a distant, alien heartbeat. Leaves that had never glimpsed the sun flourished and reached for a forgotten sky, spatters of glowing dots like fireflies spreading with each disturbance of the fronds silent resting place. Each step caused glimpses of light to spring into being at their feet, and Quinn’s curious hand running along the wall left luminous streaks that slowly faded behind them. He was in genuine awe at the simple majesty of the overgrown tunnel, but his fascination was overwhelmed by the bright, open chamber ahead of them.

  At the centre was a towering statue carved from marble and lined with gold, resting in the middle of an ornate basin filled to the brim with glimmering water. It depicted a tall and lean male elf in flowing garb, his exposed feet resting on the water’s surface as though he were standing atop it, because he was. The water around the base of the statue lay unmoving like ice, unperturbed by any ripples that approached as they simply dissipated the moment they met with the elf’s visage. His arms were outstretched in a welcoming gesture, and thick vines with protruding leaves intertwined themselves through his fingers and spread across the room like giant splayed fans. The vines spread from each point on the curved walls they touched, dividing and entwining in an endless fractal that completely covered everything from the floor to the arched ceiling above. The same twinkles of light as the tunnel were stippled across every leaf and stem, bathing the room in false sunlight that made the elf seem almost alive as he basked in its glory. There was only one discordant element in the picturesque scene before them: the dozens of desiccated husks that were once living beings strewn about the floor.

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  Each carcass was dry and withered, their flesh taking on a bark-like texture like twigs after a forest fire. There were humans, elves, scalekin, dwarves and even a few giant rats, the most prominent being a scalekin bent over the edge of the basin with only their lower half exposed. All of their clothing was left untouched, leaving the bodies looking shrunken and hollow.

  “By the Stonemaiden’s beard….” Mona half-whispered, before swiftly steepling her fingers and bowing her head, a silent apology to the Carver of Mountains above. Quinn agreed with the outburst, although not the sentiment contained within it. He didn’t begrudge others their faith in the gods, or at least he tried not to. It was hard to have faith in beings that kept him low and outcast for no other reason than they could, for no other purpose than his suffering. He was more understanding in Mona’s case, however; for races that had patron gods, such as Stonemaiden Monthaine that formed the first dwarves in her image, he understood that there was a natural reverence that one might feel towards their creator. Quinn only felt contempt, as there was no god of gnelves to claim him, only the founding gods of his mixed lineage to look down at him in disgust.

  Argus was surprisingly the least shocked of all of them, with even Lucy, who had known where they were going, not expecting such an eerie sight. He patted Quinn on the head before pushing off of him and limped into the room, an unseen breeze rustling his jacket and causing the leaves around him to glimmer softly.

  “Uuh… Argus? Do you not see the fucking corpses? You’re just going to walk into what they did?” Quinn asked in open fear and frustration, his foot hovering an inch from the border as he waited for whatever Argus was about to unleash.

  “Jeez relax, it looks like your eyes are going to pop out of your head! Have you never read the poems of Jarhoon, the wandering serpent?” he asked with hope on his face, which was dashed just as quickly as it came from the blank stares pointed at him. “Uncultured fleshies…” he mumbled to himself as he walked deeper into the room, unbuttoning his waistcoat and placing it on the edge of the basin, right next to the slumped body that bore a passing resemblance. He looked up at the statue for a moment before beginning to peel off his bloody clothes, revealing more of his sandy scales and serpentine form as he read some unseen words aloud.

  “Your gift has left me wanting, its taste too sweet to bear, my life made rich like finest wine with just the drop you spare.” He sang to himself, his melodic voice playful as he dipped the tip of one of his fractured claws into the serene waters, his now naked body completely exposed under the false sunlight. “Your gift has left me wanting, with greed I drink too much, body rent like smuggled satin with just a glancing touch.” He raised his claw, holding the smallest drop precariously on the tip as he brought it to his lips. “Your gift has left me wanting, my life now yours to take, such poison to your kindness is the hunger of the snake.” His forked tongue flicked out and pulled the droplet into his mouth, accompanied by a small bow towards the elegant statue before him.

  After a moment of silence, soft dapples of golden light began appearing on his body, starting at the tips of his claws and spiraling down his scales to reach his wounded leg. In moments, the blood and dust staining him had been washed away by the glow, leaving pristine plates of yellow hide unmarred and unblemished as he turned towards the others, his nudity on full display as he smiled at the others with unabashed delight on his face.

  “That was beautiful Argus, but did you really have to, you know, reveal yourself to be healed by the statue?” Quinn asked with a sceptical look on his face as he stepped across the boundary, no longer concerned about stepping into a trap after the impromptu performance. Lucy and Mona followed, with the former’s face so beet red it her freckles had nearly vanished.

  “Well, no, I guess I didn’t have to, but where’s the artistry in that? I think your brother would approve of my display of vulnerability.” Argus said with a laugh as he looked over his now pristine claws.

  “I guess I can’t argue with success, so… how did you know?” Quinn asked, with Mona and Lucy also looking curious as the scalekin begrudgingly began to get dressed.

  “About being healed? Well, I didn’t, but I’ve read all of Jarhoon’s published works, and as I know he travelled these very sewers many centuries ago, I figured that particular poem must have some truth to it after seeing its namesake standing before us. Well, that and seeing a literal ‘body rent like smuggled satin’ on the floor…” He nudged one of the shrivelled bodies on the ground, causing it to crack and break apart like flint.

  “So… you guessed.” Mona said with a flat look as she crossed her arms, Lucy doing the same as they browbeat him with their disapproval.

  “I made an educated assertion, and as I was right I refuse to be lectured by the uneducated. Perhaps if any of you read poetry…” He retorted with a huff, before eyeing the folded body on the edge of the basin. More specifically, the boots on its feet. “Or perhaps I’m just the luckiest bastard around…” He said, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he unceremoniously pulled the body from the water. It was definitely a scalekin, individual scales falling away like autumn leaves in the breeze as he laid it on the floor. Leaning over, he inspected the boots with a scrupulous gaze, nodding in approval at the dead’s fine taste. Clean brown leather that ran halfway up the calf, thick black twine tied tight and firm with padded soles that looked rather comfortable.

  “You truly have no shame…” Quinn sighed with mock distaste as he watched a gleeful Argus pry the boots from the fallen scalekin and slip them on. He took a few test steps, and literally moaned in pleasure as he felt their plush softness.

  “It’s not my fault he was too greedy, but it’s a common problem for my kind so I’m not really surprised his eyes were too big for his stomach. Also, I think these boots are enchanted or something, I can’t even feel the sides against my feet! It’s like I’m standing on a cloud…” He said, pacing back and forth as he got used to the sensation. A quick glance from Quinn confirmed they were much more expensive compared to regular boots, with a price tag of 250 gold, which could be easily explained by having some form of comforting enchantment. They were a great find, although Quinn kept his mouth shut to avoid stroking his friend’s already overinflated ego. He changed the subject to something he was curious about instead.

  “So, what was the name of that poem? You said you saw its namesake, but there are no placards or signs in here.”

  “The poem is called Kathiel’s Gift, a footnote in a tome of true inspiration, not that you’d recognise it.”

  “Who was this Kathiel? A renowned healer from Jarhoon’s time?”

  “His name is Kathiel, but many just call him the Sundrenched Apostle, otherwise known as the elven god of nature.”.