Baroness Jovana Vukosavljević studied the pair. Heroes, Bojak had called them, though she doubted it. Stripped of grime and the patchwork armour, likely taken from bandits, they appeared different now. She wouldn't admit it aloud, but they were certainly easy on the eyes.
She turned her attention first to the woman, Vera, an enigma of high-born grace and primal strangeness. Vera carried herself with a poise that belonged in a court, not a mercenary camp, her fair skin nearly glowing against the dim light. And that hair, a river of vivid crimson that fell unashamedly to her knees, but it was when she looked at Vera that the breath caught in her throat. Her eyes were a beautiful nightmare, with no white to them, only a void of pitch-black sclerae that made the molten gold of her irises burn all the brighter. On closer look, Jovana could see the pupils, a central black sun flanked by two smaller ones, perfectly symmetrical, watching you with a precision that felt decidedly inhuman.
Switching to Adrien, Baroness Jovana observed that he lacked the sharp, lethal edge of his companion but possessed a magnetism just as unsettling. His skin had a peculiar quality—not a tan, but a soft, golden radiance, catching light even in shadow.
Jovana found herself leaning in as she looked at Adrien's eyes; they weren't just eyes; they were a glimpse into a clear night sky. The irises were a deep, piercing blue, but within that sapphire depth, the pupils shimmered with the likeness of a crescent moon and distant stars. Looking at him felt less like looking at a man and more like staring into a reflection on a still, midnight lake.
"I see. To lose one's history is a heavy burden," Jovana said, her voice dripping with a sympathy she didn't feel. The story was absurd—two people appearing in a forest, clad in rags and stripped of their memories? It was a tale for children or fools.
She watched them closely. 'The way they held themselves, their effortless grace, practically shouted 'nobility.' These weren't common ruffians. Spies? Perhaps, though their exotic lineage made them a bit too conspicuous for the shadows.' Then, a sudden realisation hit her like a bolt of lightning, 'Elopers. It would explain the secrecy and the high-born manners. As long as their drama doesn't bleed into my streets, I don't care whose hearts they've broken,' she mused.
Jovana finished the letter, the scratch of her quill the only sound in the room. She pressed her seal into the hot wax and slid the envelope across the desk toward Adrien.
"A recommendation for the Mercenary Guild," she said. "It will bypass the usual prying into one's origins. I trust my faith in you isn't misplaced?"
"Rest assured, Baroness," Adrien replied smoothly. "We'll live up to the investment."
"I expect nothing less from the 'Heroes', and for your trouble…" She slid a small, heavy purse of coins toward them.
The duo gathered the payment and turned to leave, but Jovana found herself speaking before they reached the door.
"A word of advice," she called out, stopping them in their tracks. "In all my years, I have never seen your like. You are… unique."
Vera tilted her head. "Your ladyship?"
"Uniqueness is a double-edged sword," Jovana warned, her eyes narrowing. "In this world, it can easily become a curse. Keep your faces hidden and your heads low. You don't want to catch the eye of the kind of people who collect rare things."
The heavy oak door of the cabinet clicked shut behind them, sealing the Baroness and her warnings away. As they moved through the manor's vaulted corridors toward the front entrance, Adrien's eyes scanned the shadows. Even though the halls appeared empty, he felt the weight of eyes, servants and guards lingering just out of sight, watching their departure.
As they stepped into the pale frontier sunlight, Adrien glanced down at the heavy parchment in his hand. A translucent window shimmered into existence, hovering just above the wax seal.
━━━━━━━━━━━ [ ITEM IDENTIFIED ] ━━━━━━━━━━━
Name: Letter of Recommendation
Rarity: Rare
Origin: Baroness Jovana Vukosavljević
Recipient: Vera & Adrien
Properties:
*Grants immediate entry to the Mercenary Guild.
*Waives all standard initiation and background-check fees.
*Losing this document will significantly damage your standing with the House of Vukosavljević.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Well, let's get back to the inn," Vera said, her voice dropping to a low murmur as they cleared the manor gates.
"Then we see if this guild is all it's cracked up to be." She paused, looking back at the stone walls. "We've been living on the Baroness's charity so far. When do we move out?"
"We stay," Adrien replied, his gaze fixed on the bustling street ahead. "But we start paying our own way. I like the inn, the food is decent, it's clean, and the atmosphere suits us. Besides, moving now looks like we're running."
Before Vera could answer, a second notification bloomed in their vision.
━━━━━━━━━━━ [ SYSTEM INFO: RELATIONSHIPS ] ━━━━━━━━━━━
In Rusted Ichor, your ties to the world define your journey. How NPCs perceive you dictates the doors that open, and the blades that seek your throat.
Trade: A friendly merchant may offer you 'under-the-counter' relics; a spiteful one will bleed your coin purse dry or refuse your business entirely.
Fate: High affinity unlocks unique questlines and loyal allies. Low affinity can result in sabotage, hiked bounties, or assassination contracts.
--
💀 Negative Spectrum
Nemesis: An active, burning obsession to destroy you.
Hostile: Will attack or sabotage you on sight.
Resentful: Holds a grudge; likely to act against you indirectly.
Disdainful: Views you as beneath notice or contemptible.
--
⚖️ Neutral Spectrum
Suspicious: Actively doubting your motives.
Wary: Guarded; does not trust you.
Neutral: No strong opinion.
Acknowledging: Recognises your presence and basic ability.
--
🤝 Positive Spectrum
Respectful: Sees your worth and value to the world.
Trusted: Relies on you for sensitive matters.
Aligned: Your goals and theirs are the same.
Devoted: Fiercely loyal to you personally.
--
CURRENT STATUS UNLOCKED:
Baroness Jovana Vukosavljević: [Acknowledging]
Citizens of Ashfall: [Acknowledging]
Snow Wolves Bandits: [Resentful]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
As they stepped onto the main thoroughfare, Adrien caught a flicker of movement from the manor's upper floor. A curtain settled back into place, and for a brief moment, Adrien thought it was Jovana, but the person looked younger than the Baroness.
"Ninety Velar," Vera muttered, checking the weight of the purse she had tucked away. "After everything we did, only ninety? She's a cheapskate, Adrien."
"She's a pragmatist," Adrien corrected, his thumb brushing the edge of the recommendation letter. "She doesn't trust us yet, but she's giving us just enough to see what we do next, and I just hope this letter is worth more than the Velar."
After a quick change of clothes and room, which they could afford, the duo made their way to the mercenary guild.
Although they made sure to heed the Baroness's warnings and took a detour to the market area, they grabbed some accessories to hide their looks.
Vera treated herself to Circular, ink-dark lenses that sit in a spindly wire frame, flanked by etched metal cowls that hug her temples. The shields kill any side-glare, turning the glass into two unreadable mirrors that bury her gaze in shadow.
While Adrien tried a sharp, asymmetric split of porcelain and shadow. The top is a stark white, traced with thin golden veins; the bottom is a dead-matte black that swallows his jawline. It's a jagged, elegant wall that leaves nothing exposed.
They turned the corner onto the main plaza, and the Mercenary Guild loomed over the smaller shops like a resting war machine. It was a massive, soot-stained structure of stone and riveted iron plates, looking more like a heavy-duty bunker than a guild hall.
Above the main entrance, a massive clockwork emblem, a sword crossed with a smoking flintlock, whirred rhythmically, its brass gears spitting tiny puffs of steam.
They strode inside, pushing through the heavy revolving doors, and the muffled silence of the snowy streets was instantly shattered by a cacophony of voices. The air inside was thick and heavy, tasting of spilt ale, burnt coal, and cheap tobacco.
The layout was a chaotic blend of eras. To the left, a row of pneumatic tubes hissed and clattered, carrying brass canisters filled with mission reports to the upper floors. To the right, a massive "Contract Board" dominated the wall.
The floor was a checkerboard of scuffed marble, and the walls were adorned with bright oil lamps. Groups of mercenaries lounged, their gear a mismatched collection of leather trench coats, enchanted breastplates, and various assortments of weapons, magical glass balls, and staffs.
At the far end of the hall stood the reception desk, made of brass and wood. Behind it, clerks in stiff vests operated clacking typewriters, their fingers moving with mechanical precision.
Without looking up from his typewriter, the man spoke in a dry, rhythmic tone. "What can I do for you?"
"Good morning, friend," Adrien began, his voice warm. "I have to say, that is a truly formidable moustache."
The clacking of keys stopped instantly. The clerk looked up, a proud smirk breaking through his bureaucratic mask as he reflexively twirled one of his waxed imperial handlebars."Why, thank you, traveller. It's rare to find someone with an eye for the finer details in this soot-heap." He sat up a little straighter, his demeanour shifting from bored to welcoming. "Now, how can I help you?"
Adrien, inwardly pleased to see his social gambit paying off, produced the heavy parchment. He slid it across the brass-topped desk.
"A recommendation from the Baroness," Adrien said smoothly. "We're here to join the Guild."