"Announcing: Virilus Legafil, graduate of the two hundred and thirty-second class of Docet Barrington, and his party, the hunters of Varys the Vagabond, leader of the Blood God Bandits."

  Polite applause followed our entry to the party. Beornia had neither a significant noble culture nor a lot of time to arrange this event, so the party-goers were mostly local merchants and businessmen with the clout needed to have the Regency's attention.

  We descended a short flight of stairs into the mass of the great hall. About five hundred people were grouped around the hall, mostly concentrated in the half nearest the entrance and nearest the tables of appetizers. Tables were distributed throughout the hall, some filled with people and others left free, and a large open space was left in the middle, presumably for dancing.

  The decor was subdued but high-quality, with thick purple curtains, polished wood framing, and simple gold accents defining the design language. Only two portraits were visible, both on the far side of the hall: one of the Regent, Lord Edgar Braven II, and one of his wife, Lady Emelia Braven. While I was not overly familiar with the fashions of the day, I would say that Lady Emelia's gown in the painting was far too long to be practical and Lord Edgar's outfit was in line with how Drifter had dressed himself: the differences came down to fancy jewelled torcs, fancy gold threading through a purple jacket, and a fancy circlet resting on his brow.

  Underneath the portraits, twin staircases curved up to a raised dais with two small thrones, each constructed with a dark wood embossed with silver and upholstered with crimson cushions threaded with gold. They were elegant, imposing because of their positioning more than their own merits but clearly well-made regardless. I could just make out a few doorways with guards behind the thrones, presumably leading to the rest of the keep.

  This party seemed geared towards getting people to show up for food rather than company. The buffet table was stuffed with a variety of foods, about half brown, oily, and deep-fried, and half in a rainbow of colours laid out to appeal visually. People were clustered in their own cliques, and few seemed interested when we or the following few dozen people were introduced.

  I got myself a plate of food - mostly the fried stuff, I figured had I walked enough to justify being a bit unhealthy - and wandered around the perimeter of the party with Drifter. I was unfamiliar with the best way to approach this type of party; the etiquette manuals I had stumbled across were very specific to court proceedings and food culture, not so much to navigating a party where I knew no one.

  Bits of conversation floated to my ears about many of the topics Orwyn had already relayed to me: the troubles in neighbouring countries, the road to the south, contest developments, even one person ranting drunkenly about how terrible Norport was. Nothing new, though, and nothing I could contribute to, and no one I felt I desperately needed to interact with. I liked the capitalist types well enough, but when discussion about a civil war was primarily focused on rising copper prices I felt like there was a disconnect between their world and mine.

  I found myself looking at the painting of the Regent. I knew little about Beornia's recent history, having received most of my information from a century old tome titled The Genealogy of the Beornian Regency after the Fall of the Kings from 4390 to 4513, putting me about 600 years out of date. In fact, in that time the Regency had been replaced by a King again, then had a brief stint with an odd council system, then was a representative democracy, then it got taken over in a war with a Queen who was replaced by the current line of Regents after a messy succession situation of some sort.

  The only major event I could recall was that Edgar's father had died some years earlier after an exceptionally long rule. And that was merely a big newspaper headline; it would hardly be a footnote in the history books.

  "Pretty flattering portraits, aren't they?" A voice came from my side. A portly man in a gray vest and pants stood beside me, having separated himself from the mass of chatter. He held out his hand and introduced himself as "Deren, owner of South Side Grocery." I shook it and introduced Drifter and myself in turn.

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  The paintings were indeed flattering, although I did not know the Regent nor his wife to judge how much. "Should they not look so good? I'm afraid I'm new in town and haven't seen the pair."

  Deren let out a boisterous laugh. "They aren't so accurate anymore, that might be a good way to put it. The Regent has had a rough few years."

  "Politically rough?"

  "Sort of. The previous Regent had a bunch of trade agreements set up, but harvests have been bad and cold winters have slowed down some of our logging, so it's been hard to keep our side of some deals. After his father died the stress got to him."

  I looked over at the surprisingly well put-together buffet tables, a careful arrangement designed to draw you in to eat as much junk as possible. As I had done with my own plate. "I see."

  The grocer's was no better, of course.

  "Your companion seems rather quiet. I'm guessing he's more the muscle of the group?" Deren chuckled a little, trying to emphasize that the jab was a mere jest.

  Although he wasn't wrong. "That's one way to put it. He did all the work to kill Varys, really, I just helped arrange a cart for us to bring the monster back."

  "Monster, eh?"

  "He was a giant. No lie, he was nearly eight feet tall. Never seen such a mass of muscle in my life."

  "Hell, no wonder he trounced our guards. But... what did you say your name was?"

  Drifter chimed in with "Drifter" and went back to staring at the portraits. He had a pensive look in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.

  Deren nodded. "Drifter, right. Not your birth name, I guess, but that's never stopped anyone from getting somewhere in life. If you've gotta leave your past behind you gotta leave it."

  "Mm."

  I cut in. "Is this sort of arrangement normal for a big bounty? I'm just an academic myself, but it all seems a bit much."

  "Well, no, but you didn't bring in a normal bounty, neither. I figure the Lord thinks the city can use a win with the Contest chaos going on. Varys was bad, but if Wystole or Eswar spills over the border it'll be worse. Plus the Wasteland..."

  He sort of trailed off, but I felt like I needed to pull that thread. "We were thinking of going south after this. Are there problems?"

  Deren glanced around and leaned in. "Apparently the Berserker wandered off. No one knows where. The way south was blocked off to hunt him down, even hired Godoran for it."

  My eyes widened. That would be quite the fight to witness. Godoran, the spawn of Ferom, God of Metals, pit against the blood-soaked axe-wielding Berserker of the Wastelands. A shiver went through my body imagining the superhuman clash.

  Of course, I also wondered how Drifter would factor in to that match-up. Varys was said to be a descendant of Arestria yet Drifter dispatched him with no trouble. But what of another godling with more divine blood in their veins?

  My considerations were interrupted by Drifter saying "It's time."

  A servant stepped in front of the thrones and spoke into a amp: "Announcing Lord Edgar Braven of Beorne, Regent of the nation of Beornia in stead of the line of kings, along with his wife, Lady Emelia Braven."

  The pair stepped forward from behind the thrones, and I immediately saw what Deren was talking about. Since the portrait Edgar had put on a couple hundred pounds, his frilled shirt barely containing his stomach while his blue coat refused to even try. Emelia seemed to have gone another route with her stress, appearing gaunt and sunken with her hair already graying at a young age. A dozen guards were arrayed behind and around them, including two blocking each staircase.

  Despite the comparison to their golden days immediately behind them, the pair put out an authoritative air that quieted the room. Everyone, even Drifter and I, awaited their words.

  "Good evening, and thank you for coming to our celebration on such short notice," Lord Edgar started, stepping forward to the railing with an amp in his hand and a smile on his face, "Our great city, and indeed our whole nation, has been plagued by the Blood God Bandits and their leader Varys the Vagabond for far too long. Despite our best efforts, stamping him out once and for all proved difficult in the extreme. But that extreme was met a few short days ago, and we are here to celebrate both our freedom from the tyranny of these criminals and our gratitude to the pair who brought him in."

  Edgar gestured to the empty space in the middle of the hall. "Please, our saviours, step forth."

  I locked eyes with Drifter. I could see his words in the carriage resonating through them: Let it happen.

  We stepped into the open to applause and cheers. Drifter put his fist to his chest and bowed his head; I followed suit.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Edgar's smile twitch, falter, then collapse into a scowl so full of hatred that I felt sweat roll down my back. He turned to the guards behind him, tossing his amp aside but shouting loud enough that I could make out the words anyways, "You fucking idiots, have you forgotten who killed my father? That is Henry Fucking Noman! Arrest him!"