"Oy, did you hear me?"
None would have ever thought that the once fabled "Drifting Trickster" had been reduced to a pitiful state. Years after their last job, they had made it a habit to crash at a particular guild master’s home in West Burnwood. Life was quiet for the most part—Aadovar wasn’t the type to see guests or bring back home a mistress for a creaky one night stand, nor did he particularly entertain the idea of making his home address known to the city. For Blythe, that was all they needed. Solitude was rarely valued as high as it was supposed to be, after all.
It was about time that the trickster returned to the stage, however. Aadovar babbled on and on about how Blythe wasn’t paying their fair share of rent nor did they make any effort to help around the house. They simply lounged about like they owned the place—bathrobe untied and all. Each day, Aadovar would wake up to see an entirely new person wearing his clothes. And even then, the sight of an attractive woman often lost its effect on the normally excited guild master, for it was always Blythe who was behind the shapeshifting.
“Yeah, I get it. You don’t have to shout,” Blythe mumbled, leaning into the comfy rocking chair headrest. “The gist is you want me to go on a simple escort quest alongside some of your workers.”
“They’re not workers,” Aadovar sighed. “They’re adventurers. Get that through your thick skull. And it isn’t a “simple” escort quest. It’s a matter of national security. The fate of Princess Shiloh rests on the Guild. Do you know how much work I had to go through just to convince the King to let us take this? Far more than you ought to know, that’s for sure.”
The shapeshifter shifted in their seat, crossing their legs together, pressing the weight of their chin against their palm as they peered past the sunny window pane. It was a nice day—the sky was devoid of clouds, and the weather was good. The Stormcallers had already predicted the week’s forecast, and there was a ninety-nine percent chance it would remain sunny all week long—the one percent left just in case they did make a mistake. That way, they wouldn’t have to take accountability when unforeseen circumstances struck. For the most part though, their predictions were accurate.
“So? What’s the deal, anyway? If I’m to accept the quest, at least clue me in on the details.”
Blythe knew there wasn’t much room for negotiation at that point. Aadovar seemed to be quite close to tipping over the edge, and if they pushed him too hard, he’d kick the shapeshifter out without another word.
“Also,” They continued. “You already know I’m not combat-oriented. I can fight as well as the average adventurer, but you can’t count on me if a dragon ever attacks the caravan and steals the princess. That’s the Hero’s job.”
“There’s no dragon, and there’s no caravan,” Aadovar replied. “Man, you really don’t know much about our royalty, hmm?”
“I tend to prefer stealing from their vaults than making merry.”
The guild master frowned. “In any case, Princess Shiloh is travelling only with her butler. Under imperial law, it was decided that the King was to be escorted by the Ottor Guard, which encompasses the twelve mightiest warriors in our nation. Her Highness has drawn quite a bit of attention lately due to her achievements in the field of magic, so she explicitly requested to leave for her destination with as little company as possible. A caravan would draw far too much attention.”
Blythe nodded. As cut off from the world as they were, they still knew to a degree some of the happenings that were occurring. “Am I correct in assuming the Royal Family has made way for Adovania in preparation for the Moonlight Festival?”
“You would be right. It’s the first time in ten years since the Holy War can Palavan finally celebrate our most awaited festival. That’s my reason for asking you, Blythe.”
The shapeshifter tilted their head, completely unaware of the guild master’s meaning behind the second half of his sentence.
“Alongside the quest, I want you to travel to Adovania with the Princess and the rest of my adventurers and deliver this.”
Aadovar reached into his pockets, pulling out a nearly crumpled letter that was tightly sealed by a high-level of magic. It was far too high, much so that Blythe couldn’t even begin to grasp the idea behind it and its body. Receiving the letter, they instantly tried pulling it open with a smirk on their face. To no one’s surprise, though, the letter barely moved.
“Don’t bother. I had one of my Locksmiths enchant the letter. Unless the recipient receives the letter personally, it won’t open,” Aadovar smiled, as if knowing Blythe would immediately try opening it the moment they held it.
What a killjoy, the shapeshifter huffed. “So? Who am I supposed to give it to?”
“A man by the name of Vertas M’ons. He’s quite unique in appearance, so you’ll immediately notice him. He’s got a comically long nose, and often likes wearing tuxedos, even when the occasion doesn’t call for it. He told me he’ll be wandering the city streets when you get there, so keep an eye out. Once that’s done, you can send word to me, and I’ll consider that as you paying your side of the rent for this month.”
“For this… month? Wait, you want me to take more jobs?!”
“Naturally,” Aadovar chuckled. “It’s not enough that you steal my food, you even use my scrolls without permission. I can’t remember how many Fireballs or Electric Shocks I’ve lost because you were “bored” in the middle of the day. This makes us even. You’ll be my cash cow for as long as you live in my house, Drifting Trickster.”
The shapeshifter almost felt their fist shaking as the guild master taunted them. It wasn’t every day that they were on the losing side of an argument, so it stung quite a lot. In the back of their mind, they knew Aadovar was right in a way.
“The caravan’s set to leave tomorrow morning, so pack your stuff. The quest might last for as long as the Moonlight Festival rages. I’ll be leaving now.”
And with that, the guild master left them to contemplate their life’s decisions.
Breathless and a bit red from anger, Blythe leaned onto the rocking chair, pushing back and forth a bit rougher than usual. As they picked up speed, their mind wandered to the past, reminiscing on certain details of their life.
For as long as Blythe could remember, they had always donned the moniker of “Drifting Trickster.” It wasn’t an alias they had made for themselves, but rather a title the world had granted them due to their infamy. Blythe was unique—no, they were more than that. They were unique even amongst those who were.
Blythe’s magic was unique. The world often gave birth to certain individuals who possessed power that bordered outside the typical system of magic reality had in place. Blythe was one of those people—they were called Outsiders. Their ability as an Outsider was called “Thousand Faced Chameleon.” Like the animal, Blythe mimicked the very being of a person they chose to, and kept that same identity hidden for whenever they wanted to call upon it again. It was a flawless form of shapeshifting, but it only extended to humanoid beings. They had tried dozens of times to replicate the stature of a dragon, but the magic simply refused to allow it.
From the time Blythe had obtained the Thousand Faces, they started to use it to fulfil their heart’s desires. Day and night, they’d do whatever that pleased them—they were a slave to their desires in the very sense of the phrase. Eventually, their accomplishments netted them their current title, but their disappearance into the shadows had led Palavan to believe they were dead, when in fact, they were still.
That very same trickster was finally returning to the limelight, after two years. For far too long had they hid in the shadows.
