An Ordinary Day in Icemule
An Ordinary Day in Icemule
Title: An Ordinary Day in Icemule
Author: Opalina Jalcon
Recalled from Opalina's perspective dated: 9-27-2001
Some days become legends.
Others become memories you smile about years later.
This was one of those days.
I arrived in Icemule just as the square was waking.
The ice mule watched over the town as faithfully as ever while adventurers drifted in and out like snowflakes on a winter breeze. Someone was being healed. Someone else had just died. Clerics murmured prayers while empaths carried pain that was never theirs to begin with.
Life.
It never really stopped in Icemule.
I lingered quietly among them, watching Amh pull Redband back from Lorminstra's embrace with a beam of holy light. Around him the usual parade began—wizards wrapping him in enchantments until he positively glowed from every color imaginable.
Blue.
White.
Deep blue.
Enough magic to frighten a dragon.
I couldn't help but smile.
Some people recovered from death by immediately finding another fight.
Others simply stood there while every spellcaster in town insisted they were still not protected enough.
My own adventures were considerably less heroic.
Someone teased me over the amunet, wondering where I'd been when they needed help.
"Sleeping!" I answered honestly.
Heroes could keep their dramatic entrances.
Sleep was precious.
I wandered west through the crowded streets, letting the noise of the town carry me wherever it pleased. I paused beside an old halfling who insisted the weather was pleasant despite everyone rushing about him.
Maybe he was right.
Or maybe old halflings simply decided every day was pleasant.
I stopped long enough to reread the alteration request tucked inside my scroll.
A silver belly chain.
Dragon claws.
Rubies.
Tiny bells.
Pearls carved into dolphins.
I smiled to myself.
Some treasures weren't found in forgotten tombs.
Some had to be imagined first.
The Nightowl Pub called to me.
Dark.
Quiet.
Filled with laughter and candlelight.
Naturally...
...I sat at the wrong table.
Twice.
"Opps."
Wrong table.
I escaped before my embarrassment had time to settle, pretending I'd meant to inspect the carvings beneath the glass all along.
Instead I explored the empty Screech Owl table where the performers nearly drowned out conversation.
Looking underneath the table...
...I found Malok hiding there.
Of course there was someone hiding beneath a tavern table.
Icemule never disappointed.
By the time I returned to town, Thundrax had found me.
Or perhaps I'd found him.
With us it was difficult to tell.
A poke.
A smooch.
A clasp of hands.
Comfortable silence.
There were never grand declarations between us.
Only little moments.
Those always seemed to matter more.
Then came the boxes.
One after another.
Fel chests.
Monir trunks.
Maoral coffers.
If someone else saw old boxes...
...I saw conversations.
Every lock had a personality.
Every trap whispered how it wanted to kill you.
Little rods waiting to touch.
Hidden needles.
Tiny holes beside lock plates.
Most people saw danger.
I saw puzzles.
"Lovely little rods," I laughed after discovering another trap.
Thundrax admitted he hadn't even noticed them.
"I know," I teased.
I rather enjoyed knowing something the warriors didn't.
Steel solved many problems.
Patience solved others.
The work became almost rhythmic.
Examine.
Disarm.
Pick.
Click.
Return.
Next box.
Each successful click felt like hearing a secret whispered only to me.
Locks were honest.
People...
Not always.
Between boxes Thundrax casually mentioned he'd decayed.
I stared.
"You decayed?"
He nodded as though discussing the weather.
"No one even looked for ya?"
I couldn't imagine simply... disappearing.
Knowing everyone knew you were somewhere in town.
Knowing no one came.
The thought saddened me far more than it probably should have.
So I rubbed his shoulder.
He chuckled.
Sometimes sympathy didn't need speeches.
When the last chest finally surrendered, he slipped three thousand silvers into my hands.
I immediately handed them back.
"The kiss was tip enough."
His grin answered before his words did.
He leaned against me.
Rested his head upon my shoulder.
Asked if he should bat his eyes.
"Nay," I laughed.
"Just kneel."
His laughter echoed down North Road loud enough that several people looked over.
Worth it.
Entirely worth it.
Poor Lilsmith became my next amusement.
I hid.
Stalked.
Pointed him out every time he disappeared into the shadows.
For someone who fancied himself hidden, he certainly spent a great deal of time being found.
Eventually he sighed.
"Okay... this is getting old."
I nearly laughed aloud.
Success.
The afternoon drifted by as afternoons in Icemule always seemed to.
People searched for lost abbesses.
Others looked for rides to Wehnimer's Landing.
Games of tag were planned over the amunet.
Someone exploded.
Several more died.
The old halfling still wandered the streets asking for spare change as though the entire world wasn't forever one spell away from catastrophe.
Oddly...
...that made everything feel wonderfully normal.
When I think back on that day, I don't remember the locks I opened.
Nor the coins.
Nor the traps.
I remember laughter.
The warmth of a shoulder beside mine.
The sound of bustling streets.
An old halfling talking about pleasant weather.
The embarrassment of choosing the wrong table.
The satisfaction of hearing another stubborn lock surrender beneath careful hands.
Adventure isn't always dragons and ancient curses.
Sometimes...
it's simply spending a day among people who make the world feel like home.