I was thinking that I should go down there soon and visit the Norns to ask them why they intervened with my death and cursed me with Extra Life when Liara's voice drew me out of my musings.
"You're drooling," my guide teased.
I turned to face her with a rejoinder in mind, but the words got stuck in my throat. Because, as she stood there on the bridge basking in starlight's pale glow, Liara's otherworldly beauty shone, and I was begrudgingly charmed by her.
'Don't forget that she's half ljósálfar, pal… The fairer they are, the sharper the knives they hide.'
"Do you have anything to warm yourself with?" she asked as she put on a blue cloak that protected her from the strong breeze. "Nights in Lower Yggdrasil can get chilly."
Her consideration seemed so sincere that I couldn't help but answer honestly. "I don't get cold..."
It was chilly on the bridge, but 'cold' was relative to someone who'd repeatedly felt the icy touch of death. Truthfully, I could probably stand in the middle of a blizzard and not feel it at all. Although I would still die from frostbite, pneumonia, or any number of complications caused by extreme weather.
Liara didn't seem impressed by my statement though. The eye-rolling gave that away. "No one likes a show-off."
Beyond the bridge was an impressive-looking tower that had been shaped out of a pillar of stone rising from a portion of the tree branch that was separated from the larger section we were on. Unsurprisingly, this made the bridge the only way to the tower. While it kept some of its natural jagged shapes, the tall tower was also ivory-white from top to bottom. Its surface was covered in leaf-like geometric patterns indicative of elven design. Two lifelike ash trees chiseled at intervals appeared over each of the tower's floors, their branches bowed like arches over the windows.
The closer and closer we got to the tower, the more I could feel the spine-tingling sensation of magic at work. I mentioned this to Liara, and she explained I would eventually get used to sensing the invisible arcane wards protecting this side of the campus.
"This is what your new badge is for." She revealed. "A novice wouldn't be able to enter the tower without one."
At the other end of the bridge was a series of wide steps that led up to the massive wooden doors that swung open automatically to allow us passage. Warm light filtered out to greet us. It was accompanied by the smell of roasting boar and chili mead, aromas that made me smack my lips in anticipation.
"Liara!" someone yelled from within, causing a cheerful grin to appear on my guide's face. It was a very captivating smile that almost made me forget she was part ljósálfar.
I followed Liara past the threshold and into an entry hall that was quite unexpected. Because it was like stepping out of a magical realm and into a place of instant familiarity.
There was a fire pit in the very middle of a wide circular space that housed a two-meter-high roaring bonfire which brought both warmth and light to the great hall. Around this pit were several tables paired together with mismatched seats—from divans and couches to Lazy Boys and ottomans—with each seat filled by people of all shapes and sizes, many of them sporting the same blue cloak as Liara's.
At the other end of the hall and nestled between the two stone stairs that spiraled up past the hall's high ceiling was a bar. The kind one might find at a coffee shop on Earth. Behind it was a female whose skin was a lighter shade of green than her hair. It was obvious from the way she was cursing at people, "Stop spilling mead on my counter, you bacrauts!" that she was either one of the tower's leaders or its lone bartender. Either of which sounded like a terrible job to have around such a rowdy crowd.
"That's Holly. She's a dryad. She's also one of the top druid specialists in the Academy," Liara explained after she noticed where I was looking.
My stomach grumbled.
"Can she cook too?" I asked hopefully.
"No, we've got sprites for that," Liara answered.
I heard the familiar sound of lyrical verse that drew my eyes to the right of the great hall where a wooden stage had been set up. On this stage were two elves; one whose skin was a much darker shade of blue than his cloak, and another whose skin was as pale as Liara's. Both of them had the same platinum blonde hair, although they styled it differently from the other.
"They're the brothers Grimm… The tower's two best 'flyters'," Liara explained.
Two brothers, one who was obviously part ljósálfar while the other was part dökkálfar. This caused my brow to furrow. "A bright elf with a dark elf brother... how does that happen?"
"Same human mother two different elven fathers," Liara shrugged. "It happens. Lots of humans are groupies for the other species..."
I could hear a tinge of sadness in her voice that I might have asked about if the brothers Grimm's rhymes hadn't stolen my attention just then.
"So you think you're a flyter but I'm better than you," the bright one rhymed.
"Test your wit against mine and we'll see how you do," the dark one replied with his counter rhyme.
Okay, for those uninitiated in realmsverse lingo, 'flyting' was a contest of insults conducted in verse. It was a popular game in the realmsverse, one that often led to brawls and maiming afterward.
"Your mum's a hoar as ugly as a witch!" the bright one rhymed.
"She's your mum too, you dumbass bitch!" the dark one rhymed back.
Predictably, disrespecting someone's mother resulted in one of the brothers launching himself at the other. A fight ensued, and it only made their audience cheer louder.
"Now this I could get used to," I grinned. "I'm not a bad flyter myself."
"Why don't you join them on stage then," Liara challenged.
I would have enjoyed just such a challenge as it had been a while since I'd gone flyting with anyone other than Divah—it was the one thing my master sucked at by the way—but I imagined that I'd shown off enough today. Besides, the tall, gray-furred, bear-like creature who'd suddenly lumbered into my field of view seemed to have other ideas of how I should spend my evening.
A mane of braided pale gray hair framed a savage-looking countenance that had two sharp fangs jutting out of his lower lip. He had a furry face and eyes the color of fresh blood. His frame was big like a bodybuilder's but not so big that he could measure up to Doomsday.
This being, which I guessed must be a yeti from the Shambhala realm, sent an icy glare my way, one which I returned readily. And, as if sensing our shared animosity, an uneasy quiet fell over the gathering in the hall.
"Is this the human who defeated the Academy's Master-of-Arms with rune magic?" he asked in a gruff but inquisitive tone that didn't quite match the glare on his face.
"He finished the battle with an invocation spell too—a firebolt," Liara supplied.
The yeti's left eye widened slightly. "You're an arcane adept?"
"Among other amazing things," I boasted.
Surprisingly, my bravado caused a grin to appear on the yeti's face, one that carried none of the hostility I thought I sensed from him earlier.
"I wish I'd seen that for myself." He snorted. "It's been a while since anyone made Doomsday bleed."
"You won't be seeing much of anything without your glasses on, Zen," Liara replied wryly.
The yeti named Zen reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the round-rimmed spectacles he kept there. As he put them on, I realized what I'd assumed was a glare had been him squinting at me because of his poor eyesight. Liara knew the truth though, and so did everyone else in the gathering, which is probably why they all laughed at my expense. Not that I minded. It was my fault for getting agitated too quickly.
"Don't let these veslingr color your impression of us, human... Unlike the arrogant villains of the Warriors' Lodge or the dodgy knaves of the Rogues Gallery, we tower folk are mostly sociable intellectuals," Zen offered me his hand. "I'm Zen Goremonger."
"Will." I shook his much bigger hand. "Will Wisdom."
Soon after our meeting—which Liara noted had also started badly—Zen coerced me into a drinking game that he claimed was a rite of passage for newbies to the tower. Honestly, I was tired and hungry, but I couldn't say no after Liara goaded me with, "True drengr never say no to a drinking game."
The yeti and I stood over a barrel of chili mead with a horn-shaped flagon in our hands. Funnily enough, while Zen had the bigger mouth, I proved to have a stronger gut. I downed my last swig of chili mead long before he could finish his third horn.
The audience cheered, but it was only Liara's voice I heard as she drew in close and whispered into my ear, "Well done... It's not every day a human defeats a yeti at this game."
My cheeks flared as red as apples, and it wasn't just because of the warmth of the chili mead either. It wasn't alcoholic. Somehow, I didn't mind the she-elf looking at me the way she did now. She certainly wasn't like those ljósálfar cultists I'd met. I realized that now. Or maybe it was just the chili mead talking.
To my surprise, Liara took Zen's place opposite me while new barrels were placed in front of us.
"Let's see how you do against the champ," she challenged.
"The... champ?" Admittedly, I was already buzzed at this point. Chili mead might not be alcoholic but the stuff had its own kind of toxicity that had similar effects to alcohol when too much of it was imbibed. "Bring—it—on!"
It wasn't much of a competition as I sloshed my way through three horns of chili mead before my knees finally buckled. Meanwhile, Liara was well into her fourth and final drink, which meant she would keep her title of 'Champ' for another night.
"The newbie's about to hurl!" someone yelled.
No, I didn't puke my guts out. My pride wouldn't allow it. It was my one decisive thought before blacking out, 'Don't you dare puke, punk...' Then I fell to the floor and oblivion finally took me.