Asrael had been stabbed before, but as he sat at the table and watched Ellie joylessly consume her boiled potatoes- a breakfast of champions- according to his old Master, he wished above all else to avoid being stabbed ever again. The dawning sun illuminated the tavern with its radiant yellow- reawakening Asrael’s post-torture headache. The night’s experiments had been agonizing, however invaluable. He shook from the hypnotic stupor to make another note in his grimoire and mutter: “Neda’s target suffered two-hundred stabs... thoracic and abdominal organs were more or less liquefied by the end... but the core. Striking the core immediately killed both of them.” He thought back at when Neda had finally slipped her dagger just above her target’s navel and ended the night’s abuse by cracking the dead man’s core- immediately severing the connection between the man’s constituents and Asrael.

Ahead of him, Ellie threw repeated glances towards the book at her side- hoping that soon, Asrael would let her return to her studies. Kester’s bagged-eyed, equally exhausted form appeared from the kitchen. The man looked half-dead in comparison to when Asrael had last seen him, but he had done well in his recruitment drive- having secured another two vagrants from their roadside encampment with the assistance of the women. He rubbed his face and asked: “You want some more ‘taters, there, Ellie?” Before the apprentice could decline, Asrael spoke into his book: “Yes. Do not hold the butter. If you’ve pig meat, pack it into the potato- but do not feed her human flesh... I do not trust you to cook the disease from it.” Kester glared at the necromancer whose attention seemed fervently locked to his fresh grimoire, rather than the nauseous girl seated across from him.

Ellie spoke: “M-master... I don’t think I can fit any more... I’m so full...” He looked up from his book to see the tall stack of potato skins on the edge of her plate. There was a slight, green hue to her pale, freckled cheeks and several beads of sweat had drained into her raven-black hair. He impatiently tapped his fingers against the table and sighed.

“I have told you- several times over- that the starch will keep you energized, but the skin holds the varied nutrition you need. I find it puzzling how you can memorize the demonic alphabet, but you cannot remember to eat the potato-skins-” before he could launch into another lengthy lesson about the importance of proper eating for a budding magus, Kester was nearly knocked unconscious by the kitchen door swinging into his face. Out from the back room, Neda’s grinning, dirty form arrived to spoil the calm morning. Without pausing to apologize for slamming into the tavernkeeper, she leapt across the floor to seat herself- again- uncomfortably close to Asrael- staining his black shirt with the sweat and tunnel-dirt clinging to her upper arm.

“That was amazing! I was so scared at first- it felt so weird cutting someone, but it went well and as soon as I started-” Asrael drew a long breath and clapped the grimoire shut as he realized that the time for silent study and rumination was over. Looking across the table, he could see Ellie hold her stomach and groan, but at least the skins had disappeared-… meeting Neda’s joyous glare, he could see her chew with her bestial, open mouth- offering him a direct view of her mouthful of swiftly stolen potato skins... she was getting faster, if nothing else.

“I know. I was there. You stabbed me- repeatedly... You beasts pained me for the better part of the night, which reminds me: where is Bartholomew? Did he get lost?” Neda seemed to have to ponder the question for a moment, before remembering: “Oh, nah, he took the tunnels. Something about knowing a way into that place from there? Idunno...”

Her white dress had been covered in the same muck she had dragged in from the tunnels- staining it with spots of black. She threw her magnificent mane of sun-bleached hair over her shoulders and looked to her junior female with excitement to ask: “So, what’s that? It’s a book- right? Barrel’s given me a few, but there’s all sorts of words I don’t understand.”

Asrael nodded and informed: “A tome, you simple beast... before you begin studying the runes, I will charge you with learning to read in the first place. But until then, I will have you continue your work with the daggers...” He muttered the last part. Neda had already understood that Asrael did not like her choosing to train with the daggers, and therefore: it was questionable why he had now charged her to do just that.

Unbeknownst to the girl, Asrael had watched her with fierce intensity- or rather, watched Bartholomew as he masterfully sliced his dead soldier to scraps of flesh. He had seen first-hand what Neda had told him about the duel- the movements and the strength he imagined far beyond what a human should have been capable of and this- despite being a distraction- unnerved him... he needed to know how. Neda reached over the table to grab Ellie’s plate and began licking it clean while her companion bit back any further comments about her lack of manners. A ding of the bell signaled that Barrel had finally finished feeding the beasts and, as expected, the small, round man in his new, fine suit appeared to dig around deep in his nostril and greet his fellow magi with a wave.

“Mornin’. All’s good with the hosses and Yurgen, boss.” Asrael nodded his acknowledgement and watched as the man veered off his path to seat himself by the bar, where a bottle of his preferred, white spirits awaited him.

“You’re awfully cheery, Assie. What’s up with that? You didn’t yell at Barrel or me.” As Neda put down the plate and looked to him in expectance of an answer, he came to the conclusion that he had none to give her.

“My name is Asrael. And I resent the implication that I needlessly scold you- I am your Master and I scold you when I need to... not that you ever listen...” He muttered the last part. Ellie reached across the table to grab the book, only to have Asrael steal it away from her with a strict finger and remind her: “Food. Work. Study. Food. Sleep.” She breathed a profound sigh as the junior realized that Asrael’s mood might’ve improved, but he was as rigorous as ever.

“Yes, Master. I’ll begin in the cellar.” She stood up from the seat and waddled over the floor with pained groans to signal the discomfort of her overstretched stomach. When they were finally alone, or as alone as they would ever get, Neda inched another inch closer to whisper to her Master: “Hey... you’re acting weird.” He raised an eyebrow before glaring across the tavern- determined not to let her push him off from the bench.

“I am not. Nor am I particularly pleased or displeased... things are merely going better than I had anticipated.” Was there really all there was to it? Somehow, she could not imagine that it was as simple as that. Unless... she perked up. Had he, perhaps, during that tender evening of theirs had finally begun being honest about his emotions? He could see her grinning at him in his peripheral vision- that strange, malicious smile of hers that always confused him. Seeing as he ignored her, she shifted about- mistaking his refusal to participate as leniency- and lay her head atop his shoulder. He pinched the bridge of his nose and deeply exhaled.

“You reek...”