Chapter Text
Martyn was not the kind of man to give up.
He’d had a lot of opportunities to over the years. A lot of people telling him to. He’d gotten pretty good at not paying them any mind, dodging and weaving through them like the traps he’d become an expert at evading. Avoiding them like the plague or like the handful of crushes he’d managed to develop as a kid. He’d gotten pretty good at pushing forward.
Martyn was not the kind of man to give up, but, well—
This wasn’t looking good, was it?
Four years into adventuring, five years after having acquired his dungeoning license, and he still didn’t even have a party. Just floating from one to the next like a quest-giver or some kind of brainless tag-along. Martyn had watched as slowly but surely the handful of friends he had found their own parties of like-minded adventurers with common goals and he stayed on his own. It wasn’t that any of the parties he’d been with thus far were bad, per say, they just really clearly weren’t his. They weren’t who he was meant to be with.
He may or may not have used his “ability” to tell as much once or twice. He wasn’t totally sure if it even worked like that, but he figured if he was going to be able to see people’s past lives, it had better be good for something other than chasing away those who were more paranoid. Which, of course, seemed to be just about everyone he talked to.
Bar one.
“Please, Martyn?” Grian begged, looking at Martyn from across the table with this perfect innocence that Martyn just knew meant mischief wasn’t far ahead. “It’d mean so much to me to have my best friend cheering me on from the stands.”
“Oh, I’m your best friend now, am I?” Martyn teased and Grian nodded sincerely.
“The best I’ve ever had.”
“So why am I not competing with you?” Martyn questioned and Grian squawked.
“That is so not my fault.” He said, jabbing a taloned finger at Martyn. “You’re the one who told me that we weren’t a good fit. That I should wait to find my soul-entwined.”
“And you’re the one who asked that I read your fortune.” Martyn shrugged. He had yet to tell Grian that that wasn’t, in fact, something that Martyn could do, but it worked out, didn’t it? Grian had ended up finding his soul-entwined, and now the three of them were taking on tons of other rookie adventuring parties in the big tournament this weekend.
A tournament that they’d competed in every year for the last three years, and that they’ve also come second in every year for the last three years. It was honestly impressive how good “The Buttercups” were at almost-winning-but-not-quite. “Yeah, ‘cause who wouldn’t? Everyone wants to know their future Martyn, I’m not odd for that.”
“You’d be surprised.” Martyn laughed, thinking of the last time he nearly joined a party only for them to get really cagey when he off-handedly mentioned being kind of an oracle.
Kind of, because he also kind of wasn’t one. But no one ever wanted to hear that part out.
To be fair, Martyn had never really wanted to explain it either.
“Well, some people are stupid.” Grian shrugged. “But I think you’ve been trying to avoid something here, hm?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, G.”
“Come on, Martyn, we’re actually going to win it this year! I’m no oracle, but I can feel it deep in my brittle bird bones.” Grian said, as if that actually inspired any confidence. Martyn laughed and Grian squinted at him, a mischievous grin taking over his face. “Could also be a good way to finally scout out a party.”
Martyn stopped laughing. For a moment, he considered it. Of course he’d paid attention to the other teams in the years prior, but not for any reason other than watching the competition. As soon as the tournament packed up, so did most of the teams, since parties tended to just come for the tournament and leave once it ended. He’d never thought about using it as an opportunity to scout.
He’d never been that desperate, a little voice in the back of his head whispered. One that still wanted to find a party the old fashioned way, bonded through blood in the depths of a dungeon or scattered around a tavern, the only people in the room able to actually slay the random monster that showed up. But what good had that done him? Maybe it was about time for a new strategy.
“Okay.” Martyn sighed. “I’ll go.”
“Yes!” Grian cheered, though the volume was largely lost in the bustle of the tavern. “Oh, Scar’s gonna be thrilled!”
“He does know I can’t actually change events, right? Just foresee them.” Liar.
“Eh, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Grian smiled. “And three years in a row of second place can’t be all coincidence, can it?”
“I guess not.” Martyn shrugged. “You really think you’ll win this year?”
“Oh, I know it.” Grian said, whipping out a little notepad and shaking it like a pouch of coins. “Mumbo and I were up all night strategizing.”
“Do tell.” Martyn goaded, though he tuned out pretty quickly. He couldn’t help glancing around the tavern, wondering who in here—if anyone—was an adventurer, or if any of them would be taking part in the tournament. If any of the people in this tavern right now could possibly be a member of the party he’d spent so long searching for.
Martyn knocked back the rest of his tankard and kept listening to Grian’s ramblings, trying and failing to follow the weird strategy being laid out before him.
~~~
The first time Martyn met Grian, it was while the both of them were training to get their dungeoning licenses.
Dungeoning licenses weren’t super strictly enforced—obviously, it’d be kind of hard to station a random officer at every single dungeon, especially when new ones were being discovered all the time—but they were a pretty good thing to have. At least, that was what he’d been told by people way more experienced than him.
So, here Martyn was wasting time getting a dungeoning license. Well, maybe not wasting it, but he figured he could be doing something else instead. Like finding an actual party instead of bumbling around with the random people that the ‘suits’—armors?—at the guild had stuck with him. Just a bunch of novice adventurers trying to get certified. He was almost certain none of them would actually be in his party. They just didn’t click. They weren’t bad, though. Not all of them.
There was this one guy, around Martyn’s age, with this air about him like he was just meant to be constantly embroiled in chaos. Even just outside the entrance to the dungeon they’d be doing their test-crawl in, the guy already seemed like he was up to no good. He’d already scaled a tree, for goodness’ sake.
“Lose something up there?” Martyn asked, in spite of his better judgement. The guy turned to see him and smiled, hopping backwards out of the tree and catching himself on the brilliant parrot wings that sprouted from his back. A part of Martyn wondered why in the world this guy had even bothered climbing if it was clear he could’ve just flown up.
“Just practicing.” Bird-guy grinned. “You never know what we might run into.”
“You think you’re gonna need to climb a tree in the middle of an underground dungeon?” Martyn sent a pointed look at bird-guy’s folding wings. “Why would you need to climb anyway?”
“Well, genius, maybe I’ll need to scale my way out of a pit or climb up something like a pillar. Maybe my wings will be incapacitated and then what? I never learned to climb ‘cause I thought I wouldn’t need to, so now I just die? You’ve got to think of every possibility.” Bird-guy explained and…okay, he did have a point. But then, Martyn had never claimed to be great at planning. Bird-guy stuck out his hand for a shake. “I’m Grian.”
Martyn hesitated a second before shaking the outstretched hand. “Martyn.”
“Cool gloves.” Grian commented, but where Martyn would usually expect some kind of teasing, he just sounded genuine. Right, they’d just met. Grian hadn’t had time yet to realize that Martyn always wore these gloves. Hadn’t had time to theorize about the crazy reason he might have them on. Martyn did always get a kick out of hearing those rumors, though. His favorite had been some guy who’d gone around saying Martyn didn’t have hands, period, and that the gloves were actually enchanted so it just looked like he did. That one was especially fun to disprove because all he had to do was just take the gloves off for a single second and poof, rumor gone.
“Thanks.” Martyn said. “Cool, uh, wings.”
“I got them half-off. Pretty good deal, yeah?” Grian said, laughing when Martyn’s face dropped in confusion.
“You’re a right weirdo, huh?” Martyn said.
“Oh, this is going to be fun!” Was all Grian said in reply, and Martyn was pretty sure that, whether he’d wanted to or not, he’d just made a friend for life.
~~~
Martyn had never exactly loved colosseum seating. He’d always felt far too squished in, especially when the event actually started and everyone stood up to cheer on their favorite competitors.
Oh, the things he did for Grian.
Speaking of whom, Martyn found himself pleasantly surprised at just how insanely loud the crowd cheered for The Buttercups when their party name was announced to the arena. Apparently, those second places had in fact done something for their name recognition. Who could’ve guessed?
But Martyn was also trying to focus on the other parties this year. The big, the small, the in-between. He tried his best to imagine himself alongside each and every one of them. Some he could kind of see. Strong fighters to offset his more hide-and-avoid sensibilities, good planners to compliment his tendency to run into things headfirst, strong leaders to tell him what he was supposed to do, and good leaders to trust him to do the right thing. Every team undeniably had strong suits, but it also seemed like whatever role Martyn could fit was already taken. It seemed everyone already had a Rogue, a wild-card, and a follower. Maybe Martyn really was just doomed. Too copper-a-dozen to ever stand out from the crowd.
“And this next team is a real surprise!” The announcer spoke, voice echoing around the stadium with this tinny quality to it from the amplification magic. “All solo adventurers who enrolled in the competition, these three wayward adventurers have been put into a group together on necessity alone. Will they have what it takes to rival the synergy of established parties, or will they crumble before the rest? Give it up for the Three G’s!”
Martyn watched with a bit of mirth as the three entered. A blue-haired elf with a regal air about him, a truly frightening looking hooded girl, and someone who looked like they might actually be a zombie. Martyn wondered only briefly where that one’s necromancer was, but he figured whoever it was was in the stands somewhere, puppeting around their creation for a bit of easy money. A new kind of scheme, to be sure, but Martyn was a bit fascinated by it.
Martyn felt sorry for them, for a moment, knowing from years of watching just how hard it was to do well in this tournament without team synergy. He’d never even heard of this kind of thing before. As far as he knew solo-sign-ups just got turned away. So did these three just decide to form a party when they found out they couldn’t do it alone? Why would the event organizers even allow that? Just for the drama of it? Probably. A bunch of rejects was definitely an interesting team to set people up to root for, but Martyn could see it happening. Some of the people who placed bets for this thing wouldn’t know good team synergy if it bit them on the ass. A team with no synergy at all? Well, it would at least make for a nice underdog bet. Any place above last would probably get you hundreds.
And then Martyn thought about it a second longer and felt a grimace settle on his face because of course this was the first team he’d seen all day that he could actually probably get into. The rejects. The definite-last-places-and-everyone-knew-it. Maybe that was all he was destined to be.
He shouldn’t have come to this thing.
~~~
“Martyn.”
Martyn groaned lightly, blinking his eyes open. He immediately caught sight of Grian hovering above him. Martyn sighed and sat up in his bed roll, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes, given how the fire still looked like it had a couple embers to it. “What?”
Grian shushed him, glancing around at the rest of the group sleeping in the little alcove they’d holed up in. They were on their third dungeon test and, so far, no one had died, so Martyn was feeling pretty good about his chances of getting his dungeoning license. And the chances of the rest of the people he was here with, he guessed. Martyn sighed and repeated himself quieter. “What?”
“You’re an oracle, right?” Grian asked, and Martyn was actually starting to regret telling people that. Especially people as curious as Grian. He did not want to be asked any questions about his ‘powers.’ Lying was hard enough when he wasn’t exhausted. Martyn just shrugged and nodded. “Could you tell me something about my future?”
Martyn shrugged again. “No promises.”
“Are we going to be party members?” Grian asked. “Like, you and me? Fighting monsters and traversing dungeons together?”
Martyn paused a bit at that. It sounded nice. It really did. Grian and him got along really great, after all, and he was sure that wouldn’t change if a few more people were added into the mix. But Martyn was also very aware of the fact that things weren’t always up to him. Sometimes, the Gods and the world itself had bigger things planned. So even though Martyn kind of figured that Grian wasn’t actually asking for a reading he held out an ungloved hand. “Want me to read your palm?”
“Oh.” Grian said. “Oracles can actually do that?”
“Some can.” Martyn said. He had no idea if real oracles could read palms, or if that was just some scam humans made up, but it worked in his favor here.
“Alright.” Grian said, extending his palm. Martyn held up his hands for a second and took a deep breath. He hadn’t used his “ability” on purpose in a long time, so he wasn’t sure how this would go, but he figured as long as he didn’t scream and wake up everyone in the alcove, things could always be worse. After a moment's hesitation, he brought a hand down onto Grian’s and closed his eyes.
He saw bright flashes of color for a few seconds—reds, blues, oranges, yellows—until the colors turned to scenes. In just under a minute in real-time, Martyn watched every single life that Grian’s soul had ever lived flash before his eyes. It was always hard to gather information from the first flashes. Martyn had learned from experience that his visions of people’s past lives got more vivid the more he looked at them. Sometimes he even got full scenes from specific lives. But on the first look, it was kind of just a jumbled mess. If he was lucky, there’d be something glaring there that he could grasp onto and investigate further.
For Grian’s soul, it was that he wasn’t alone. In every single one of Grian’s lives, the same two souls kept showing up beside him. Always the same two, always coming together eventually even if it took decades. Martyn had done a bit of research into soul-entwinement, mainly because he’d been curious when he’d accidentally read a classmate’s past lives and seen the same soul next to hers every single time, so it was pretty obvious to him what this probably meant.
Grian would find his perfect adventuring party, but Martyn wouldn’t be a part of it.
Martyn came back to himself to the sight of Grian’s awed expression. He blinked away the visions a bit more and took his hands away, folding them in his lap. Grian stared at his own hand for a second like it, itself, was magical in some way.
“Well?” Grian whispered. “What did you see?”
“Have you ever heard of soul-entwinement?” Martyn asked. Grian shook his head. “Basically, it’s this thing where souls bind to each other before they begin the reincarnation cycle, usually it means they had this super strong connection in their first life. Anyway, if you’re soul-entwined, it means you always end up playing a big role in the other souls lives. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse, but you’re always there, and sometimes there’s patterns. Like, maybe souls are always destined to be on opposite sides of a conflict, or they’re always close friends for a long time, or they always meet young. That kind of thing.”
“Woah. I wasn’t even sure reincarnation was a thing.” Grian said, and Martyn was a bit baffled by that one, because he was at least sure that was common knowledge. Maybe he was wrong though. Martyn had been surrounded by past life and reincarnation talk since he was a baby, after all. “But what does that mean? Wait, are we soul-entwined?”
Martyn shushed Grian a bit, trying to hold back his laughter. “Not us, no.”
Grian looked confused. “But then…?”
“I don’t think we’ll adventure together, Grian.” Martyn said, honestly, doing a good job of masking the bitterness he was beginning to feel. “You’ve got soul-entwined, two of them. You should wait for them. They’re going to be your party.”
Martyn was pretty sure they would be, at least. From the lives he’d seen, the three of them always appeared to be on the same side. Always fighting for the same thing—perhaps not always friends, but always comrades. That seemed pretty party-like to Martyn. At the very least, it was a safe gamble.
“Wait, I have two? You can have multiple?”
“Sure.” Martyn answered. He’d never seen it himself before, but he’d heard of it. Two strong connections in a soul’s first life, two soul-entwined. Simple as that.
“Wow.” Grian said. “You really got all that from reading my palm?”
“Well, kind of. It’s more, uh, focusing on your palm helped me focus on your future and gave me more specific visions.” Martyn fibbed. “I saw you with two people and felt something tell me that they were your soul-entwined.”
“What did they look like?” Grian asked, eyes full of wonder.
Martyn laughed, a little nervous. “You don’t want me to ruin everything, do you?”
“Alright, fine, keep your secrets.” Grian said, huffing.
“Go to bed, Grian.” Martyn said, nudging him away with his elbow and keeping his hands to himself. “You can pester me more in the morning.”
Martyn was absolutely counting on the fact that Grian would forget all of his questions by morning. Or just not have a chance to ask them with all the hustle and bustle. He was wrong.
That was one of the last times Martyn had looked at someone’s past lives. He’d done it a couple more times to check if he was destined to be with any of his temporary parties, but he gave up on that after scaring away one too many possible teammates. Besides, he was probably better off not intimately knowing the souls of every person he came across. It always did make him feel a bit uneasy. Like he was taking away their ability to be someone new by looking at who they used to be. He did hope that wasn’t the case. That him looking at someone’s soul didn’t lock them into fate forever. He guessed he’d never know for sure.
Grian had made jokes, a few times, about how Martyn was an oracle who never seemed to have a plan. Who never knew what was about to happen. Who could never just explain everything, who always had to keep some details hidden. Martyn had considered, once or twice, telling Grian the truth of his condition, but every time he found a new reason to not do that. It was just easier this way.
That was what Martyn would keep telling himself.
~~~
The first game of the tournament was, as always, every party for themselves. The top eight teams out of the competitor pool would progress to the next stage, where it became more of a standard tournament bracket. This year, the game seemed to be a real test of teamwork and communication. The arena was segmented off into pieces, basically a giant maze, with every team split from their members. The goal, as the announcer described, was to be one of the first eight teams to get all of your members to the center of the maze. Foul play and fighting was, of course, allowed and encouraged. The way Martyn understood it, every team had their own locating-stones telling them the direction of their other members at any given moment, so they weren’t completely leaving it up to luck to see who got to the center.
The smart thing to do, in Martyn’s eyes, would be to find all of your teammates before even trying to find the center, and working your way there as a group. One who could easily overpower any stragglers you found around the maze. That was exactly what the Buttercups ended up doing.
Martyn kept his eyes on them the whole time—using the looking-glass screens set up around the arena to watch since a lot of the actual arena was obscured by walls. He was thrilled, too, watching them expertly find each other and then sprint off in search of the center. All the people that stood in their way hardly stood a chance, mowed down by the three in pursuit of victory.
Martyn was caught up in the excitement of it, until something seemed to occur not only to him but everyone in the stadium. Slowly but surely, it seemed like every lone person the Buttercups came across was just completely out of it. Either stuck in a trance-like state or just fully knocked out. Someone, or a team, was going around the maze putting anyone they could find out of commission. Martyn started surveying every looking-glass, trying to find who was responsible for the absolutely insane amount of chaos afoot, but all the teams he looked to either seemed completely dumbfounded themselves or were also down a member. It wasn’t until he finally glanced at the Three G’s that it clicked.
The three were traveling the maze like a unit, but they didn’t seem to be looking for the exit so much as they were looking for other competitors. Martyn watched on in awe as they came upon some random adventurer, stranded, and the zombie and hooded girl dropped back around a corner of the maze as the elf walked out towards the person alone. No one in the audience could hear what was going on, unfortunately, but Martyn could tell they were talking. The elf moved with what looked like panic, and the adventurer barely wasted a second before they were reaching for their battleaxe. But no hit ever came. Instead, the elf’s gait seemed to change in a split second, suddenly upright and perfectly steady, speaking with this strangely calm demeanor and the adventurer just…stopped. Completely still. The elf pushed them over towards the wall and out of the way until they were leaning against it, catatonic, before calling back and waiting for his teammates to continue on.
They were trying to make it impossible for anyone else to finish, Martyn realized. The elf had some sort of magic that put people in a trance and they were just going around with the goal of incapacitating every other team. Martyn heard people in the audience bickering around him, wondering aloud if that was even fair. If they should be allowed to do that.
Martyn, for one, thought it was brilliant. And it was clear it wasn’t permanent or even that long-lasting—one of the people Martyn had seen tranced earlier in the game was back up and moving, after all—so what was the harm?
Martyn watched as they continued this little trick for the entire game. The elf putting people into trances and, in the case they ran into a group, the hooded girl and the zombie jumping in to fight. Once six parties had reached the center and been named finalists, though, their approach changed. Instead of stopping to enchant people, the trio just barreled right through and towards the center.
They were the final winning team, the eighth full team to arrive. Every other team had at least one entranced member that they couldn’t get to the center in time.
Martyn hadn’t even noticed until he was looking at the tournament line up that Grian’s party was among them—the first team to arrive, even. He’d been too focused on this new reject team and their strangely perfect teamwork. Their unlikely harmony.
Martyn decided that he’d try and make it to all of their matches, along with the Buttercups. Just in case. Who knew? Maybe this was the team he’d been looking for after all.
—
In all honesty, even having watched every fight that led up to this, Martyn could not have foreseen this being the final match of the tournament.
The Buttercups versus the Three G’s.
It was almost prophetic. The two teams Martyn had been paying the most attention to, watching them best team after team, and here it was. The final match. Martyn was honestly a bit stuck on who to root for, but then, Grian was one of his closest friends, and he didn’t really know the G’s, so in the end he’d made his choice.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t on the edge of his seat the whole time, though.
From the moment both teams entered the arena, there was a palpable excitement in the air. Either The Buttercups were about to break their three-year-losing-streak or they were going to get trounced by a party that didn’t even exist a week ago. Either way, everyone was dying to find out how this went down.
It started so quickly that Martyn almost missed it. The starting chimes sounded and in the blink of an eye the hooded girl—Pearl, he believed he’d heard people call her—had surged forward, her huge scythe slicing sideways towards Mumbo, who’d barely even moved from where they’d started. Martyn watched the blade stop just before hitting Mumbo, blocked by the purple magic shield Grian had thrown out just in time. Mumbo took the opportunity to get back and away, clutching his staff tighter and using it to block the next attack Pearl sent his way. It was clear he wasn’t fully confident in holding his own, though. Martyn didn’t blame him, every time he’d seen her fight, Pearl was ferocious. Almost monstrous.
The same went for the other G’s, to be fair. None of them seemed quite right. Of course there was the zombie, Cleo, who Martyn was still a little confused by honestly. He’d never seen a resurrected corpse go on so long without needing their necromancer to step in, but maybe there was something more to her that Martyn just wasn’t seeing. And then there was the genuinely frightening magic Scott, the elf, seemed to possess. He’d yet to use that trance spell again since that first challenge, instead relying on other spells and some genuinely impressive archery. Martyn wasn’t sure why, exactly. Maybe someone in charge had told him not to, for the sake of fairness? Or maybe he himself didn’t want to win that easily, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was an honor thing. He knew that was kind of a thing with elves. Especially ones with the status of the golden antler insignia pinned on Scott’s armored robe. Martyn didn’t know much about elf culture, but he at least knew the Warriors of Aeor were kind of a big deal.
Speaking of archery, Martyn didn’t think he’d seen such a genuine shoot-out between two bowmen before watching Scott and Scar take shots across the arena at each other. Martyn was genuinely thankful that there was a blessing placed on competitors that magically prevented things like genuine headshots and killing blows, because he was pretty sure the two of them had both taken at least one actually lethal shot each. It was impressive, to be sure, when it wasn’t a little terrifying. Both in how their aim rarely faltered, and how they weaved the arrows between the melee fighting of their teammates.
For a while, it seemed almost like a stalemate. For every blow The Buttercups landed, The G’s would give one right back. For every upperhand one side gained, the other found a way to level the playing field until all of them were obviously exhausted. Martyn wondered if, maybe, they’d actually have to impose a time limit. An alternative win condition or something.
But then, just as Martyn was starting to wonder how much longer this would take, something shifted. Up until then, Mumbo had been trying desperately to not get killed by Pearl, and Grian had been holding back Cleo, but it switched suddenly. All it took was one misplaced step from Pearl, one wayward swing, and Grian had whipped around on her. There was a second of tension before the arena seemed to burst with movement. Grian threw himself at Pearl, flying up just a bit to descend on her, and when Cleo tried to follow, Mumbo threw out these little magic-bombs. Things he’d crafted himself, if Martyn remembered correctly. They mimicked mines, sending off harmless but loud and showy ‘explosions’ of smoke. It wasn’t something that could genuinely harm someone, but it could scare them off, and it seemed to work. Cleo stepped forward and set one off, an explosion rattling the arena, and in seconds Grian had the upperhand against Pearl and Scar against Scott, both of them distracted by the perceived harm to their teammate.
There was a roar from the crowd once it became clear that the explosion was illusory, and suddenly the Buttercups were throwing everything into fights against opponents who were clearly weakened by now. In just a few more moments of fighting, Grian had Pearl pinned, daggers crossed just by her throat, Scar had sent an arrow flying into Scott’s shoulder that made it hard for him to retaliate, and Mumbo had disoriented Cleo enough that it looked like she wasn’t getting back up. It was tense for a few moments before the winning chime rang out and the whole arena seemed to erupt in excitement.
Martyn watched on as Grian helped up Pearl, and the competitors all properly greeted and congratulated each other, but all he could really see was how Grian was buzzing with glee. How Scar was cheering so loudly Martyn thought he might’ve been able to hear it, even as far away as he was. How Mumbo looked absolutely shocked by the fact they’d actually done it.
They’d actually done it. Martyn had never been prouder.
—
“Martyn!” Grian shouted, practically sprinting at him through the crowd of people. “We’ve done it!”
Martyn whooped. “I knew you could!”
“There’s a reason they say fourth time’s the charm!” Scar piped in, him and Mumbo making their way over, Mumbo levitating Scar’s wheelchair just a bit off the ground. “But man was that tough. They really gave us a run for our winnings—I don’t think I even have arms anymore!”
“I hope you do.” Mumbo bemoaned. “This spell is concentration based, as soon as I fall asleep you’re going to have to push it yourself again.”
“Are you sure you can’t just do your fancy artificer-y thing and make it float on its own?” Scar nagged for what Martyn was sure was the hundredth time.
“That would be almost impossible.” Mumbo said. “I have to use redstone for most of my magic, and it can only do so much. The enchantments that that would take would be difficult to master, not to mention the expense for material, and this thing is already so enchanted that modifying it even more might actually—”
“Sorry, I thought you guys just won a tournament, why are you bickering?” Martyn asked, unable to keep a fond smile from his face.
“We’re always bickering.” Scar grinned. “It’s what makes us such a great team.”
Mumbo sighed. “You’d think he’s joking.”
“If we weren’t so annoying to each other we would’ve never come up with that magic-bomb strategy.” Grian agreed. “You would not believe how much we fought over that.”
“Oh, I believe it.” Martyn laughed.
“Couldn’t have guessed how good the opposition would be, though.” Mumbo commented. “We’re lucky they weren’t any better.”
“How much do you guys want to bet they actually do know each other and the whole ‘strangers’ bit was just a publicity stunt?” Scar wagered.
“No way am I betting anything against you, mate.” Martyn said, which just prompted an innocent smile from Scar.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“I for one want to talk to the necromancer behind that zombie.” Grian said. “Having it move on its own like that for so long is insane. I can’t even imagine.”
“Getting into necromancy now, huh, G?” Scar ribbed.
“Hey, if the bosses are interested, so am I.” Grian said, and Martyn felt a bit of a shudder down his spine at the implication. He didn’t really know how to feel about the Watchers wanting to learn necromancy. Sure, Martyn wasn’t as afraid of them as he once was, but it was still a bit concerning. He could never be fully sure what they were up to. And he knew Grian couldn’t be either, despite how in-tune he seemed to be with his patrons a lot of the time.
“I want to talk to that elf some more. I haven’t met another archer that good in years.” Scar said. “But enough about the other guys, let’s celebrate! Pints on Mumbo!”
“On me?” Mumbo groaned. “Oh my.”
“Sounds good with me.” Martyn grinned, starting to lead the group towards a smaller tavern farther into town, knowing that the main one would be filled with tourists and just generally crowded. This one, though, while still probably a little bit of a tight-fit, would at least be filled with more familiar faces.
The group sank quite comfortably into the evening once they arrived, drinking and laughing and talking. It was a bit sobering for Martyn, though, every time someone would come up to congratulate the others on their win and he’d just have to sit there. Not a part of this group, clearly. Just a random guy who thought he belonged. A barnacle on their hull.
“Fancy seeing you here.” A voice, lilted, greeted suddenly. Martyn looked up from their conversation to see the elf from the G’s standing by their table.
“Oh, howdy!” Scar greeted.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Mumbo said, tilting his head. “You know about this place?”
“Other one was just too crowded. I’ve never been one for tourist traps.” Scott said. “Not the building kind, at least.”
“Is there another kind?” Scar asked, and Scott just shrugged playfully.
“Who knows?”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Martyn said, finding it as good a time as any.
It was only then that Scott seemed to actually acknowledge Martyn. He winked. “I’d certainly remember if we had.”
“This is Martyn.” Grian said for him. “He’s an adventurer too.”
“Where’s your party?” Scott asked.
Martyn shrugged. “Where’s yours?”
“Somewhere.” Scott hummed, lips quirking up into a little smile. “You don’t have a party?”
“Nope.” Martyn said, popping the ‘p’ and taking a swig from his tankard.
“Are you looking for one?” Scott asked, and Martyn had to stop himself from reacting when Grian kicked him under the table. He did glare at him though, which only prompted Grian to give him a very persuasive ‘don’t screw this up’ look before he was redirecting his attention to whatever Scar and Mumbo had started bickering about in the meantime.
“I wouldn’t be opposed.” Martyn said, before giving Scott a little once-over. “You don’t even know me.”
“You seem pretty easy to read.” Scott said, with this simply enchanting quality to his voice. “We’re leaving tomorrow at suns’ down. Pearl’s got this dungeon she wants to go through a few days' travel away. Meet us by the gate?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think too long.”
And then Scott was gone, whirling off into the tavern in the blink of an eye. Martyn did notice, however, the smile that Scott flashed before he left. The sharp, serrated teeth that made it up. Something told him that Scott wasn’t, in fact, just an elf after all.
Martyn felt a bit like a sailor being sung into the rocks. A sheep being led into the wolves' den. There was something other-worldly about the G’s, something that spoke that none of them were quite how they appeared.
Martyn could get behind that.