Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

hay and, in Guido’s case, sugar, and hurried to the tavern. The Bent Horseshoe, as befitted similar institutions, reeked of booze and good time. The only difference from the ninety percent of other taverns was that the food here was served by trolls, that the cook was a dark elf, and that the place was guarded by two giant orcs.

The patrons of the tavern were just as colorful as its staff. Dwarves ate their mutton with such speed that one would think that they hadn’t eaten in ages, arguing with the elves about the quality of alcohol while the latter sipped their fruity wines. Orcs shouted and cheered, smacking the backs of those playing cards with the trolls.

“Hey!” someone called.

“Ah, there they are,” Blackbeard said, shoving Ash in the rib with his elbow.

The young mage narrowed his eyes, then scratched his head thoughtfully. When they had left this afternoon, their party counted six members, but now there seemed to be thirteen of them. An elf was chatting with Tul, while a muscular orc was clumsily courting Alice. A dwarf was openly staring at a dark elf who sat on the opposite side of the room. Joining them were four more rather colorful individuals.

Ash rubbed his eyes, thinking that he had imagined it all.

But he didn’t.

“Come on,” Blackbeard said, dragging Ash along.

When the two sat at the table, they were immediately served a plate of pork chops and a whole keg of fragrant ale.

“Did you get everything?” Mary asked.

“Yep!” Blackbeard nodded. “Rhea sends his love.”

A long round of introductions followed. Ash learned that these lovely people were old friends of the Stumps. The group called themselves “The Pink Bees.” Why pink and why bees, even they didn’t know.

The next couple of hours they spent drinking, sharing stories and secrets, and discussing the latest rumors and news. The main topic of the day was, of course, the beginning of an event called “The Final Arena.” It was an annual sword fighting competition, held in the giant amphitheater in the middle of the city. Anyone who could wield a sword or a spell would come to Zadastra to participate. The prize, except experience and chance to show off, was ten thousand gold coins. People always bet on Urga the Toothless, the undefeated champion, but they still secretly hoped that one day someone would manage to steal his title.

Ale, jokes, and stories flowed like a river. The atmosphere was so relaxed that no one kept an eye on Alice and she ended up drinking a tad too much. It was then that they learned that the usually shy girl had a bad temper when drunk. They had to tie her to the chair so that she wouldn’t fight the minstrel and his “ocarina from hell” or end up dancing on one of the tables.

“Ash,” Blackbeard whispered, red as an early dawn. He was giggling at the jokes that made sense only to his alcohol-infused mind. “Bring the hnesem.”

“Now we’re talking!” Ash hiccupped.

Holding a chicken leg in his hand as if it were a banner, he stood up and moved toward the bar. Hnesem was a strong drink brewed exclusively by the dark elves, spiked with some mountain mushrooms. Half a glass was enough for the average adventurer to learn all the secrets of the universe and then flop face-first to the floor, drunk off their ass.

“De-eer s-ser,” the young mage mumbled, swaying in front of the bar. “G-Gimme, burp, y-yer best... Give! A sm-smol keg of hnesem and... and two... too pints of eel!”

“Ale?”

“Ale!”

“Twenty coppers,” the bartender said.

Ash counted the amount with difficulty and slammed the coin on the counter. With a nod, the bartender put two mugs of ale on the keg and handed it to Ash who hugged it as if it were his beloved wife and carried it to the table.

But just before he reached his destination, he stopped, swaying on one leg. His gaze wandered to the lone figure sitting at a corner table near the window, bathed by the light of Mystrial.

Ash let out a drunken chuckle.

Puffing out his chest, which was hidden by the barrel, he moved toward the mysterious lady clad in a velvet cloak. Pointy ears peeked through the slits in her hood. By the reddish gleam of her eyes, one immediately knew that she was a dark elf.

“Sit down,” she said, pushing a chair with her foot.

“Thank you.”

Putting down the keg, Ash plopped down on the chair and handed her one of the mugs. She drank it empty in a blink of an eye.

“What can I do for the lovely lady? I’m a mage, y’know! Ask, and I shall grant you any wish!”

“The Master sent me.”

“Really?” the mage drawled and then laughed. “Is Kessa the Unarmed running errands for the Order now? Or did you miss me that much?”

“Stop fooling around, Ash.”

“I don’t want it!” The young man stuck out his tongue and took a huge gulp of ale, almost emptying his mug.

Before him sat the most skilled assassin on the Continent and the seventh Master of the Order — Kessa the Unarmed. She had gotten this nickname by chance, rather than as a reward for some feat. She had just finished school when she got her first mission, the goal of which she had never revealed. From it, she returned with the legendary Blades of Invisibility, the history of which dates back to the first eras. It was because of these blades that they called her “the Unarmed.” It was also because of this that she was eager to prove to everyone that it wasn’t her weapon that made her strong, but her skill.

“You’re a part of the Order, such behavior is unacceptable.”

“I’m not,” Ash argued, still grinning. “I just happened to get in a fight with Ironhead.”

“Which