6th Gemini, 1645
Sauntering down the streets of Pochaum, Krisha Ganguly can’t help but cast a critical eye over its buildings’ architecture. She can tell, even from her cursory inspection, that most of the buildings (at least in this section of the town) were designed by the same person, and though she doesn’t know that architect’s name she has a low opinion of them. How could she not? Their designs are, after all, broadly unimaginative and characterized by the same few dull, uninspired design aspects. The habitations are too open, the business fronts not open enough, and all of it because they are so minorly varied from their neighbors. Sure, they’re standing well enough, but there’s no artistry to them, no spark nor soul, and Krisha almost hopes that their long-term structural viability is as flawed as their aesthetics. At least then someone more competent might be able to design their replacements when they inevitably decay and collapse.
“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” Lucy asks, somewhat wearily.
“Mm?” Krisha tilts her head absently towards the shorter woman walking beside her.
“That thing where you think about how much better you could’ve done building this city than the people who actually did, Krisha. That thing you do every time we go anywhere.”
“Don’t be absurd, Lucy,” Krisha says in her typical calm, smooth manner, her expression the absolute picture of seriousness, “I never do that. I’m not a city planner, after all, I would never pretend to know how to lay out an entire town. Now, the buildings themselves, on the other hand… I could absolutely do better.”
Lucy sighs at the terrible joke.
“You’re incorrigible.”
She hums contentedly.
Krisha is a middle-aged woman in her early 40s, dark-skinned, of moderate height, lean build, and sporting a voluminous mane of wild black hair that reaches down to her mid back. She wears form-fitting black clothing, an elaborate choker around her neck and has smooth, pale teal prosthetic arms (her own design and make, she will quickly inform any who ask) attached just below the shoulder with hands casually buried deep within her pockets. A beauty mark sits just above the corner of her lips, which are covered in matte black lipstick and turned up in a slight mischievous smile.
Krisha’s companion is one Doctor Lucille Mort-Stergen, a short, chubby Black woman roughly a decade younger. Long, light-brown dreadlocks bounce gently against her back as she walks, her pace a little quicker to keep up with Krisha’s long strides. Her face is adorned with large round glasses, a small silver septum ring, and a touch of powdery-blue eyeshadow, and despite her exasperation with her friend and compatriot a small smile graces her lips.
The two of them make small talk as they walk, somewhat idly discussing a favorite book of Krisha’s that Lucy recently finished, whether they should stop for lunch before they talk to their target, and the finer details of Wurzelort’s burgeoning poetry scene (and its accompanying drama). Both of them are in a fine mood today, having just this morning received word from their other compatriot Veracity that she had managed to recruit not one but three promising adventurers to their little endeavor, which also makes the two of them feel more confident in the lead they themselves currently pursue. This does not stop Lucy from freezing up as they come to a stop in front of their destination, however.
“Lu,” Krisha begins gently, tone calm and smooth and well-practiced from years of reassuring her friend, “Come on, we may not be in a rush but we don’t exactly have all day.”
“Right,” Lucy nods, making no move to go inside, “I know that. It’s just… what if this one says no too? What if I make a fool of myself and it drives her off?”
“Then we’ll just keep trying until we do find someone interested. Look,” Krisha steps back towards her, placing the cool metal of her hands on Lucy’s shoulders and giving them a comforting squeeze, “The fact we haven’t got anyone yet is just pure bad luck, and none of those were your fault. I’ll admit, it’s a little… freakish that we talked to so many adventurers who weren’t sick of being stiffed but if Veracity can finally get someone, so can we.”
Lucy nods.
“Right. Right, okay,” she takes a deep breath, in and out, “Of course you’re right. Thanks, Krish.”
“’Course,” Krisha says with a confident smirk and a pair of gentle pats on Lucy’s shoulders, “Now, what say we grow our ranks, eh?”
They enter a lobby decorated rather eccentrically. Dull gray carpeting contrasts shockingly with the vivid paints of the walls, done up in elaborate depictions of flower bouquets and curling, multi-colored vines against deep-green backgrounds. At irregular intervals around the room hang interpretive illustrations representing the greater gods, with two particularly large and stylized paintings dedicated to The Oldest Woman and The Shackled Spider hanging directly across from the entryway, above and behind a wide, glossy reception desk. Below those hangs an array of symbols Krisha doesn’t recognize but assumes must belong to local minor deities. Vases of Flowers sit beneath the remaining seven pieces, and a pair of twisting abstracts occupy part of the floor space in the middle of the room.
From looking at it, one would never guess the business it represents is a school for martial training.
Behind the reception desk, a thin caprican with a blond mullet, a silvery ribbon looped around one horn, and a rather impressively waxed moustache looks up, breaking into a wide smile as he spots the two of them. He quickly stands and bustles around his desk, feet shuffling slightly against the floor as he moves eagerly to meet them in the middle of the room, holding out a hand for each of them to shake.
“Allo, allo, welcome! You must be Miss Ganguly and Miss- er, pardon, Doctor Mort-Stergen, oui?” He shakes their hands vigorously, with all the eagerness of a golden retriever.
“Oui,” Krisha can’t help but match the man’s enthusiasm, and Lucy seems to brighten up a little as well.
“Excellent, excellent! I am Michel, we exchanged correspondence this past week regarding your… venture,” he leans in and lowers his voice some, eyes twinkling as if the word is some exciting secret best kept from any prying ears, of which there are none. As he leans back he sobers up, “Now, I know I said this in one of my letters but Andromeda is… well, she may be resistant to this idea at first, but I believe this will be a good opportunity for her. I’m certain she’ll come around on the idea without too much persuasion.”
“I appreciate the reminder, Michel,” Krisha inclines her head in a gesture of gratitude, “As well as you affording us the chance to meet with her. Though I must admit – and, not to look a gift bull in the horns – I’m surprised you have. Most people wouldn’t be keen on the idea of letting a star employee go like this.”
“We’ll certainly miss her around here, it’s true,” Michel nods, folding his hands together in front of him, “But Andromeda is like family, and it pains me to see her not living up to her full potential here.”
“Well, no sense putting this off then. Shall we?”
“Of course, she’s just out in the yard, should be finishing up a class as we speak,” he gestures for Krisha and Lucy to follow him as he leads them through the building briefly then back outside into a shady courtyard area.
The courtyard is occupied by a half dozen slightly tired-looking children of varying ages between thirteen and seventeen and one adult. Five of the children stand on the far side of yard in a line, watching their sixth classmate and instructor spar. Or, to be specific, watching their classmate attempt to penetrate their instructor’s defenses, armed as she is with nothing but a heater shield.
The student wields a pair of wooden hand-axes, both seemingly made out of two different types of wood to better simulate the balance of the real deal. Their swings, though somewhat sluggish, are remarkably precise and well-controlled for someone their age, hardly ever losing any control over their arcs or leaving themselves open to any hypothetical counterattack. Even so, the barrage of strikes all either whiff or glance harmlessly off the instructor’s shield, the defensive implement being wielded with a preternatural speed… until one particularly clever attack with both hands by the student allows them to smack the head of one of the axes into the instructor’s shin, causing her to call the bout.
“Good hit, Ollie,” the instructor says a bit breathlessly, shaking her leg out, “Your form’s gotten a lot better over the past week, but it still needs work. Keep practicing. You also still need to watch out for overexerting yourself, I could tell how tired you were getting at the end there. You got lucky, and you should never rely on luck to win a fight.”
“Thanks, Miss Starr,” Ollie nods, a slight smile spreading across their face.
Andromeda glances over in the direction of the three observers before turning to address the rest of her class.
“Alright, everyone, that’ll be it for today! Make sure you stretch and cooldown before you head home – especially you, Eli! – and remember to practice your footwork over the weekend. I’ll see you all on Tuseday.”
Immediately, the gathered students start to chatter amongst themselves. Andromeda goes to a rack of practice arms similar to Ollie’s hand-axes to start organizing it better, re-slotting skewed weapons and placing a few that had fallen to the ground. Krisha saunters after her, waiting quietly to be acknowledged.
Andromeda is a Black nearthkin woman of above-average height and leanly muscular build. A short, tight afro radiates out from her scalp, a tad uneven in places and varying slightly in how dark its brown coloration is. A soft-looking yet somewhat worn scarf, rich purple with blue accents, sits around her neck. Watching her organize the weapons rack, Krisha’s gaze lingers appreciatively on her sweat-slicked arms and the parts of her back left exposed by her workout clothes, all remarkably unmarred by scarring for someone in her line of work. When Andromeda straightens up and turns to face her with a sigh and a look of impatience in her rich brown eyes, she can’t help but make note of the silvery freckles that dot her cheeks and nose like a constellation inlaid in her face.
“Do you need something, Miss, or were you just going to stare?”
“My name is Krisha Ganguly,” Krisha states, matter-of-factly, as though it might impress Andromeda, “I’m looking to offer you some long-term work – a partnership of sorts.”
“Right. Would I have to move away from Pochaum to do it?”
“Yes.”
“Not interested,” Andromeda turns back to organizing the rack.
Krisha frowns. Michel had in fact warned her, explicitly, extensively, and repeatedly, but the rejection is still more abrupt and definitive than she expected.
“…Wouldn’t you like to hear more before writing me off like that?”
“Not especially,” Andromeda huffs, “I’ve heard it plenty of times before, and I’m just as sure that I’m not interested as I am that you’ve heard great things about me from Michel and whoever else told you about me.”
“May I at least ask why you’re not interested?”
“Because I have responsibilities, here,” Andromeda finishes her task and straightens up again, meeting Krisha’s gaze with a steely one of her own, “not that I’d expect one of you adventurous types to understand that, way you gallivant all over the place without a care in the world beyond feeling like you’re some kinda hero.”
She stomps off, shooting a slightly less intense glare at Michel (who had been watching the exchange with Lucy) as she passes, whose mustache almost seems to droop a bit in response. He and Krisha exchange looks and shrugs, apologetic and nonchalant respectively, and she follows. If Andromeda is aware of her continued presence – and Krisha feels reasonably sure she is, because it would be embarrassing for her if she wasn’t – she makes no indication of it, only moves further into the building.
“I’m actually an architect, you know.”
Andromeda freezes in her tracks, and when she turns around almost all hostility in her expression is evaporated, replaced with befuddlement. Krisha feels pretty satisfied at that.
“…What?”
“Well, not just an architect, really, I also do a lot of work on sculptures, larger scale art pieces, and… hm, let’s call them ‘defensive installations,’ but mostly I work on buildings. Designing, planning, overseeing construction…” she trails off a bit, counting off on her fingers as she goes.
“Wait, hold on a second,” Andromeda puts a hand to her brow, “But you- if- why are you coming to me?”
“What, can’t an architect have use for mercenary services?”
“Uh-uh – well, I mean, maybe, but you said partnership,” Andromeda stumbles a bit over her words, and Krisha’s smug smile deepens. She always finds it so damn cute when she can get a gal flustered like this, “But I don’t know thing one about building… buildings!”
“Got your interest now, ay?”
“…You have my attention,” Andromeda begrudgingly admits.
“Good enough for now. I’ll start by saying this: You’re right that I won’t be having you do architectural work, you will definitely be fulfilling a more adventurous role if you accept this position. However, this isn’t about ‘playing hero’ as you put it – this is about trying to carve out a life for ourselves in this nasty little world we inhabit.”
“And who is ‘we’ exactly?”
“The Unioknights!” Krisha proclaims enthusiastically, throwing her arms wide as though she were presenting some grand hall, “An organization of myself and,” Krisha pauses to do a quick mental tally, “six others so far, dedicated to aiding the meek and holding the powerful accountable! To working in concert with one another to achieve greater feats than any of us could alone, to breaking down the walls of division between the commonfolk, and to leaving the world better than we found it!”
“Okay,” Andromeda rolls her eyes a bit, “And how does an architect fit into all that?”
“I’m… an administrator, you might say. My work has allowed me to, over the course of a few decades, build up a modest bit of wealth and experience with creating certain tools. I’m bankrolling this operation and providing its members with a few trinkets to make their jobs and lives easier. Not to mention I was actually one of the two idea women for this whole thing, alongside my old friend Zhuan Chirita.”
Andromeda looks at Krisha like she just grew a second head.
“…I’m sorry, did you just say… Zhuan?”
Krisha smugly quirks an eyebrow.
“Oh? Have you heard of her?”
“I…” she hesitates, breaking eye contact, “Yes. My parents occasionally crossed paths with Miss Zhuan in their heyday. More than a few of the stories I heard growing up involved her.”
“Then I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the kind of person she is.”
No response.
“Your reservations are understandable, Miss Starr,” Lucy tells her, having followed after the two of them alongside Michel, “To be honest, we’ve had to be selective in who we even approach about this endeavor. Recruiting the sort of adventurer you take issue with could very easily undermine what we’re trying to do here, and Miss Zhuan understands that better than most. On the other side of that coin, that attitude makes me think you’d be a great addition to the union.”
“Look, I appreciate the sentiment there but I still can’t just leave. I have responsibilities – my students, for one. Who’s gonna teach them if I up and disappear?”
“Nonsense, Andi!” Michel pipes up, stepping out in front of Lucy and Krisha energetically, “You know as well as I that we’d be able to fill your absence. You will be missed, of course, by everyone here at the académie, but this will be good for you! Have I not always said you needed to put yourself out there more? Take chances?”
“That’s-“ Andromeda sighs, “Okay, look, I have some errands I need to run and I really don’t have time to stick around right now. If you want to come with, we can keep talking about this”
“Works for me,” Krisha looks to Lucy for confirmation, who nods enthusiastically.
“See you later, Michel. Sorry for giving you the stink eye.”
“Ah, c’est rien,” he waves his hand dismissively.
As the three of them depart (after Andromeda grabs a small satchel she slings over her shoulder), Lucy falls into step beside Andromeda. Or rather, she falls as close as she can into step, given the sizable difference in the length of their respective legs.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced, Miss Starr,” she says, “I am Doctor Lucille Mort-Stergen. I’ll be looking after the health of members of The Unioknights! both during and between jobs.”
“Good to meet you,” Andromeda says in a tone that suggests she is in fact ambivalent about meeting her, and the two of them fall into an awkward silence.
Krisha does not interrupt it, busy as she is considering how to get Andromeda on board. Her connection to Miss Zhuan is certainly a stroke of luck – she hadn’t meant to namedrop her so casually like that, but she can’t deny that doing so seems to have let her get a foot in the door, and she makes a mental note to regardless of today’s outcome ask Chirita if she keeps in touch with the Starrs. At the very least, Andromeda is less mistrustful of their intent, which leaves her current connections in Pochaum as the main obstacle. Loath as she is to admit it, it is indeed a rather significant obstacle by comparison; not exactly something that can be easily dispelled by clear communication.
Will she and Lucy simply have to give up on recruiting her? More pressingly, what does this mean for their prospects going forward? It seems so obvious now, and Krisha mentally chides herself for not having considered before that most people, even if they’re adventurers, can’t afford to completely uproot themselves to follow a risky new idea.
It’s a small mercy that the silence is at least broken up into smaller stretches by Andromeda’s frequent stops. “Some errands” apparently means quite a few to her, and none of the stops she makes are very far from one another. They stop at an apothecary, a flower shop, a restaurant, and at each one Andromeda asks them to wait outside as she goes in. Her satchel waxes and wanes in size at the various stops, at times full to bulging but still apparently fairly full even when it isn’t. After their sixth stop, something occurs to Krisha.
“Is your bag not a hammerspace?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“…Why not?” Lucy asks, “You know it’s perfectly safe, right?”
“Yep.”
“It makes carrying things around a lot easier.”
“Not for me. I don’t want to talk about it,” she cuts off the next question on Lucy’s lips and quickens her pace a bit, approaching an elderly woman whose cart troubles are being ignored by other passers-by, “Need some help, Mrs. Vale?”
“Oh, Andromeda! Yes, thank you,” the old woman says as relief immediately floods her features.
“You really oughta get this thing looked at by a professional,” Andromeda says as she starts helping clear the various items in the back of it, placing them on the ground so she can lift up the listing corner of the cart and allow Mrs. Vale to take the broken wheel off its axel, “You shouldn’t count on someone always stopping to help out when it breaks down.”
“Pish-posh,” Vale flaps her wrist dismissively and pulls a spare wheel out of the back of the cart, “There’s plenty of good samaritans around. Though I will admit, very few are quite so large-hearted as you, dearie.”
Andromeda smiles into her scarf, looking oddly bashful. After Mrs. Vale slots the spare tire onto the empty axel, Andromeda gently lets it back down and starts moving the displaced cargo back into the cart. Krisha helps, and in no time at all the cart is refilled, hooked up to Mrs. Vale’s mule, and the old woman herself helped back into the driver’s seat. Andromeda steps up next to her, one foot hanging in the air next to the edge.
“Look… I know you don’t like to think ill of your neighbors, but…” she presses some gold into the old woman’s gnarled hand, “Get your damn cart fixed, Ma’am. If nothing else it’ll save you time from constantly having to fix it on the fly.”
Mrs. Vale chortles, the wrinkly laugh lines of her face deepening in her mirth.
“If you insist, dearie. Take care of yourself, now.”
Andromeda wordlessly waves after her as she moves down the street, looking oddly melancholic after the exchange.
“May I ask you about something that’s been bothering me, Miss Starr?” Krisha asks after what she feels is an appropriate length of silence.
“Shoot,” the edge in Andromeda’s voice from earlier is still there, but only just.
“If you have such a low opinion of adventurers in general – and believe me, I really do understand where you’re coming from – why are you teaching a bunch of kids with aspirations of becoming adventurers how to fight?”
“…Discipline,” she says, still staring intently at the corner a couple blocks away where Mrs. Vale disappeared from sight, “The ego and delusions of grandeur and whatever other bullshit that tends to define so many adventurers out there… I think it comes down to a lack of discipline, a lack of self-control. All those kids, my students? I can’t fault them for getting their heads filled with wanting to help people, wanting make a difference in the world in some grand way. I mean, nerves, I want to help people too, I just have a slightly more grown-up understanding of what that looks like.
“The way I see it those kids are gonna learn to use a sword or bow or axe whether I’m their teacher or someone else is, so I’d much rather be able to drill some discipline into their heads before they run out into the world than see them turn into more assholes who think being able to kill a fiend makes them hot shit. If I can keep even one of them from getting killed because I teach them how to control themselves and keep a cool head, then that’s worth imparting some martial skills too.”
“And do you not trust any of your peers at Michel’s school to take over their teaching if you were to leave?”
“Of course I do,” Andromeda sighs, exasperated, “Michel and the rest of the faculty share my point of view, that’s why I’m working alongside him in the first place, and most of them have been teaching longer than me. But I feel like I’m making a difference in those kids lives right now, and I just don’t think I’d be making a difference if I joined you regardless of how good your intentions are,” she starts walking again, calling back over her shoulder, “I have one more errand to run, a bit past the edge of town. After that I’m going home, so I expect you to stop following me once I finish up.”
Krisha takes a few quick steps to catch up to her, another attempt to convince her ready on her lips, when Andromeda leans over and murmurs in her ear.
“Don’t look, but there’s a woman who’s been following us for a while now.”
Krisha tenses up but, though it takes a great effort, manages not to glance behind.
“I will admit I’m curious though,” Andromeda says, tone very carefully neutral, “How is Miss Zhuan doing these days?”
Krisha meets Andromeda’s eyes in tacit acknowledgment. She keeps her tone even and the conversation light, trusting that her and Lucy’s tentative companion has some sort of plan. She trusts in this, that is, until they travel a couple minutes past the last of Pochaum’s buildings and their path is blocked by three rough looking individuals who push themselves up from various lounging positions against a low stone wall and a thin-trunked tree.
“Nines and Nerves,” Andromeda swears under her breath.
“Yo boss I found her!” A woman’s voice from behind them calls, and Krisha looks back to see their tail for the first time. She can best be described as reedy, both in appearance and sound, “It’s the short one, I heard her introduce herself to the lady with the scarf!”
Krisha and Andromeda both shoot Lucy a look of surprise. She shrinks under their gaze, looking bewildered.
“You got a lotta nerve showing your face around here after the way you swindled us, ‘Doc’,” a large, purple-haired merfolk man holding an oversized crossbow – closer to a ballista, really – growls at her, “You’re clearly not nearly as smart as you must think you are if you thought we wouldn’t catch wind of you being here.”
“Um… I’m sorry, have we met before? You don’t look familiar at all,” Lucy’s tone is a mix of apologetic and fearful. Krisha can’t fault her for that, nasty as that crossbow looks.
“Oh we haven’t met, but we definitely know who you are, Doctor Mort-Stergen,” the merman spits, “You can’t get out of this just by pretending you never heard of The Grogstack Gang!”
“…Lu, what on nearth is he talking about?” Krisha asks, not even suspicious or accusatory, just genuinely and deeply perplexed.
“I have no idea! I’ve never been to Pochaum before!”
“Cut the shit!” The increasingly agitated merman yells, aiming the crossbow in their general direction, “You know what you did.”
Andromeda sighs and holds her hands up placatingly.
“Look, folks, I don’t know what’s going on here but I’m sure we can all talk about this like-“
As Andromeda starts to step forward the merman fires his oversize crossbow, launching an almost comically large bolt into her chest, knocking her clear off her feet and sending her sliding along the ground until she lays motionless.
Lucy screams.
