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

Ash just shrugged, thinking that she was talking to herself, and focused on the dancers. Bangles and earrings glimmered in the firelight as they danced to the lively tune. Their dresses rising to their knees as they spun more skillfully than any dervish. Now and again, the wind would blow away their luscious curls, revealing their pretty faces, only to hide them again behind the same curls or colorful scarves.

The music continued to flow, the flames crackled, and the girls looked like fairy lights that lured inexperienced and careless travelers into their deaths.

Mary sipped the tart wine and turned to ask Ash something, but the mage was gone. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she let out a weary sigh. By now, she had gotten to know him well enough to know that he’d use any opportunity to get close to a pretty woman. And lo behold, that was exactly where he was — dancing among the girls and dazzling them with his smile.

“How does he do it?” Lari grunted, nibbling on some grapes.

“Does what?” Tul asked, playing with his dagger. He’d pull it out of his sleeve and then pass it between his long, thin fingers, making it shine in the light of the fire.

Lari pointed his finger at Ash, who was so close to one of the dancers that they were basically grinning against one another.

Blackbeard, lazily sipping his wine, waved his hand as if he was chasing away a fly and nudged his friend’s shoulder.

“Jealous?”

Lari was about to answer him, but his eyes met Alice’s. She pretended that she was too busy with her food to hear them, but he knew that she was listening. With a sad sigh, he looked away and stuffed his mouth with food.

“Nfo,” he mumbled, making Tul and Blackbeard laugh, and Alice and Mary roll their eyes.

Closer to the bonfire, Ash was having a lot of fun. His staff somehow remained magically glued to his back, leaving his arms free to hold a mug of rum and the waist of the lovely girl that asked to share a dance with him. Slowly, but surely, his soul and mind were becoming lost in the marry atmosphere.

“Your friend looks like a fae,” sad a somewhat raspy, but still pleasant voice.

An elderly woman appeared next to the Stumps. Her once-dark hair was now the color of soot, thin and interspersed with gray, almost white strands. Despite her age, she radiated youthful strength and energy. She was dressed in a mottled dress held in place with a thin belt upon which were various small bags that moved in time with her movements.

“And you are...?”

“This is Irba,” said Raland as he joined them.

He plopped down on a huge pillow, which caused a miniature earthquake. Taking a deep breath, he emptied a pitcher of wine, and wipe his beard with his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Irba,” Mary said. “We’re—”

“Ternites,” Irba said, waving her dry, wrinkled hand. “It’s hard to confuse you with anyone else,” she added with a hint of a smile in her voice.

Mary pursed her lips, but stayed silent. There was no point in arguing. After all, they were guests and they shouldn’t anger their hosts. Especially since they didn’t know where these lovely people had tucked away their horses and cart full of supplies.

“What are you pouting for, girl, eh?” Irba snorted and leaned back against a flagpole, where a flap of cloth fluttered to indicate the direction and strength of the wind. “No respect for the elders,” she grumbled and closed her eyes.

“Irba,” Raland grunted and shook his head. “I apologize,” he said, turning to his guests. “Pay no attention to her. She spends way too much time alone with her crystal ball. She has forgotten what common decency is.”

“It’s all right.” Mary smiled a little stiffly.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Raland smiled and motioned for his mug to be refilled. Even Blackbeard, who was, let’s call it, a wine enthusiast, couldn’t believe with which speed Raland could drink without getting drunk. “Let’s talk business then, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Mary agreed, putting down the fruit cake she was about to eat.

“As I far as I know, you need to cross the Erld.” Raland’s voice turned from cheerful to businesslike.

Mary nodded. The Erld the name of a strong stream that snaked through the hills and fields of the plain. At its widest point, where the ford was located, it was a quarter of a mile across and calm. Here, the current no longer tried to carry you along with it and break you against sharp stones and drown you in its many rapids.

“Dear Stumps,” Raland had never asked for names; he didn’t need to, he knew the insignia well, “you’re guests tonight, but things are different on the ferry...”

“We’ll pay,” Mary said, her heart breaking at the thought of needing to spend even more money. It was no secret that the ford belonged to the Aqueals and that they asked for a toll. Depending on their mood, they could charge you a handful of berries or everything in your traveling bag.

“Glad to hear that,” Raland said, downing his fourth mug of wine. That was the end of business, and Alice was finally able to ask a question that had been bothering her for a while now.

“Sir Raland,” she timidly called.

His face lit up when he saw her sweet smile.

“Yes, dear?”

“You said that Miss Irba owns a crystal ball... Does that mean... Can she...?”

“Yes,” the raspy voice replied, “I can see the future. Damn those charlatans that ruined the business for all of us decent seers!”

Alice’s eyes twinkled like the stars.

“Would mind telling us a fortune?!” she blurted out.

“Alice!” Mary snapped at her. “Do