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2
Fog-Eyes
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THE LAST TIME VIKTOR FOUGHT A SANGUINE CURSED, he lost two hundred men. That time, it was in the form of a shapeless behemoth whose entire body was a mass of teeth and limbs. When it opened its thousands of mouths, an eyeball could be seen in each inside, and when its limbs moved you could see its organs flowing like water inside its body. When it died, all of its teeth fell to the ground like fruits falling off a tree. And through the craftsmanship of Viktor’s companions, they stuck them together into a cape of tooth and fang.
Viktor wore that cape until he became king, in the same vein that he now wore the cursed bear’s fur into a cloak around his back. Most of the limbs' fur wrapped around his legs into pants, while the head’s fur rested on his left shoulder.
Still, he felt cold. He was sure of it now. His skin sweats and the sun was hot, but still he felt cold. Like a dead corpse who lost the last of its warmth.
Carefully, he pulled another ligament from the bear’s body and used it to finish the weapon he’d been making. It was a war hammer as long as his arm.
Its handle was made from the bear’s spine, with dried ligaments tied together as the handrest.
The hammer itself was the upper half of the bear’s skull, crowned by its shaved jawbone, and protruding at its opposite side was the beast’s largest rib.
It was good enough. The Sanguine Cursed never rots, they never die, no matter how much you mutilate them. Even now the bear tried its best to breathe as Viktor roasted parts of its body.
Their bones were sturdier, they heal their own cracks even after they were removed. So were the flesh parts, still beating before they were smoked.
This is why Viktor’s old cape was still in pristine condition even after numerous battles. In the same vein, this very bear would try to maul him given enough time. Just as Viktor’s war hammer and cloak would repair itself given minimal damages.
When dealing with the Sanguine Cursed, the best thing to do is to drop it in acid, or burn it. Down to the last part.
In this case, Viktor ate it until he was full. I should find some grumans, he thought.
It’s been four days since he was reborn.
He’s been camping beside the bear for three days now, half-hoping some goblins would notice the fire or the smell. What he needed most were men.
His arm healed within a day and his leg started working four hours ago. His hands were hard with callouses now—they don’t bleed over simple scraping anymore.
His arms had better performance too. Like exercise. Like working out. Destroying your body heals it to be stronger.
He started walking around the river, collecting branches for the fire. He imagined how far away he is from Amanila; the distance alone might take him months, perhaps years. He was sure he wouldn’t survive that alone.
The lands beyond the wall were filled to the brim with worse beasts than the Sanguine Cursed. Especially intelligent creatures like the orcs and the roaming Nonimals. Size and strength alone mean so little against insight.
That was why the wall was thirty meters in height. Amanila was humanity’s only city. The one bastion that saved their species from going extinct.
It’s been four days. He figured he would need to search for the goblins himself; baiting had already worked for him once, and only fools are fond of fortune.
When he returned, he found someone sitting beside the fire.
“Good afternoon,” the man said. He had a smooth voice under a scholarly tone, like a conman who went straight and became a librarian. “It occurs to me that you’ve killed my thesis,” the man continued, pointing at the bear.
He was wearing a pair of thick, oversized glasses just above his snout. A pig snout. When he speaks, Viktor could see his black mouth which made the impression that he’s been eating some weird, dark berries beforehand.
“Thesis?” Viktor asked. He did not raise his war hammer.
The man wasn’t wearing any armor aside from the swamp-green cloak he had with him. Most of his head was hidden behind a hood, with his dark green hair of moss reaching his chest.
His attire and the dirt and dreg on his body made it obvious that he’s been camouflaging himself for weeks. There were two antlers protruding from the man’s head. Viktor assumed he wore them because they looked impressive.
“My name is Faren,” the man said. It was clear to Viktor now that he is an orc. “Although my colleagues just call me Fog-eyes—you know, based on the uh,” the man pointed at his glasses, “—thing on my face. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Viktor,” the goblin replied. He noticed that his own voice sounded much younger now, fresh, deep, and clear. Like someone speaking from the bottom of an ocean. “Your thesis,” Viktor emphasized. “Tried to eat me.”
What first baffled Viktor was how skinny the orc was. All the orcs he had met before were fat, being that they were supposed to be intelligent, bipedal pigs. Swine and boars standing on two legs, averaging in eight feet tall, and eating every species they encountered that was not them.
But what puzzled him more was the mention of a thesis. Orcs are barbarians. Tribal creatures whose smarts are used to further develop their tools and traps, war and weapons.
Not academic research.
“It does have a tendency to do that,” Fog-eyes said, almost as if he was ignorant of what the goblin implied. “So, how much for the cloak?”
Viktor doesn’t have an inkling how Fog-eyes could switch the topics without any transition. “It’s not for sale,” he replied.
“Are you sure? That parasite will—”
“I am aware of it.”
“I see, then how much for the hammer?”
“Four hundred dharmas.”
The orc laughed. “What will you do with dharmas? Carry it on a sack and hoard it?” he took a drink from his waterskin. “No proper trader in Pureza even accepts dharmas.”
Viktor wanted to ask about Pureza, but held his tongue. He was sure the orc was trying to measure him, in the same way he was trying to measure the orc. For one, none of them asked each other about how they are both literate. An orc and a goblin speaking in the human tongue; just casually conversing, one species to another like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I need it to bribe the Amanilan gates.”
“I’m no piss-drinker, goblin, give me a real price if you actually intend to sell it.”
“I’m no piss-drinker either, orc.” Viktor echoed. “I know that the moment you ‘buy’ my weapon you will end me and grab what you want with you.”
This gave Fog-eyes a pause as if he was almost surprised. “Look, alright, sure sure sure you got me you got me, keep your filthy hammer with you. What I really need is the corpse. I am aware you’re saving it for food, so how about I trade you a month’s worth of fruits in exchange? Savvy?”
Viktor took a step towards the orc. Its frame was so thin one would think it was human if not for its nose.
There were a lot of holes in the orc’s story. First, he says the goblin killed its thesis, but Viktor knows the Sanguine Curse doesn’t die unless it was burned. Seeing the state of the beast, the orc probably concluded that it was no match for Viktor in combat, so it opted for a trade.
But buying the cloak and the weapon was a mere camouflage of his actual intent. He didn’t even try to actually purchase the war hammer. He dropped the topic the moment Viktor gave him an excuse. What Fog-eyes wanted was a first-class specimen for a few baskets worth of fruits.
“What’s your thesis for?” Viktor asked.
“Since when did goblins care about education?” the orc said in frustration. It was clear that the conversation was going longer than he intended. Perhaps he knew that he was being read.
“Since when did orcs?” Viktor echoed.
“I’m a doctor, savvy?” Fog-eyes replied. “I’m doing a research on. . . err, peculiar bears, so I can get my degree and become a Biomancer.”
Now Viktor couldn’t restrain his curiosity. “What Biomancer?”
“It’s a mancer,” the orc said, as if the answer was in the world itself and it was obvious. “focused on biology,” he emphasized, “that was elementary knowledge, I thought you’re supposed to be smart.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you then,” Viktor replied. “I am simply curious as to why such crucial research on a very specific specimen is only worth a month of fruit.”
The orc stood straight up and drew two of his axes, “you blasted pig-dog, why can’t you just be a normal, pea-brained goblin?”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Viktor responded by not doing anything. Not even bothering to put a stance, Viktor summoned his sternest of voice, and from it he spoke the calmest of threats: “Do not point your weapon at me, pig-dog.”
Fog-eyes took a step back, then stared at the goblin who was half the height of him. His eyes then quickly switched to the Sanguine Beast, who was squashed to a pulp.
Viktor knew then that the orc was calculating risks.
“Fine,” Fog-eyes finally said, lowering his axes. “Just so you know, I don’t have dharmas, or any kind of coin to be exact. I’m on scholarship, and I wouldn’t be out here hunting peculiar bears if I had the money to buy one.”
“Then what do you have?”
“Food, water, proper clothes. You seem like you could use a proper bag, and a waterskin. And soap. And a toothbrush.”
“You seem like you could use a proper bashing.”
“Ha ha. I’m also keeping some creatures with me—”
“Do you have a horse?”
“Horse? In this region? Semos almighty, you are unbelieva—”
“What about elephants? Camels? Grosbacks? Tarizards?”
“I have some trained grumans if you’re so desperate for a ride.”
“I’d rather walk.”
“Yes, walk, that is such a good idea,” Fog-eyes said. “Why don’t we go to my place so you can pick your poison, yeah?”
“And if I kill you once we get there?”
“You won’t.” the orc sounded so sure. “I’m wearing a cloak nigh impossible to buy,” he pulled his backpack from the ground and swung it onto his shoulder. “I’d already be dead should you be a proper thieving pig-dog.”
And Viktor would already be dead should Fog-eyes be a proper orc. Perhaps Fog-eyes knew it too, but none of them said anything.
The pair decided to hide the Sanguine Cursed by pulling it into the side of the cliff then covering its body with leaves.
“It’ll be fine, I’ll be moving my operations here after our. . . transaction,” Fog-eyes reassured.
Viktor didn’t mind, he’d been there for days and the bear had been able to bait absolutely nothing. Not even scavengers or maggots. Like the fauna itself was afraid of it.
It took five hours to walk to the orc’s caravan. Eight hours worth of conversation, mostly about Fog-eye’s life, because he was talkative.
He said he lived in Gondo, the squatter’s area beside Pureza. He said that the City on the South was a lawless place. meaning it was a free city.
Goblins, orcs, and Nonimals were free to roam, enter and exit, guards and government do not exist, trades and transactions had no restrictions. “But mostly it was humans and orcs,” Fog-Eyes clarified, “goblins are more of an uh, employed help.”
“Do you have such employed help at your service?” Viktor asked.
“None,” said the orc. “Are you the type to volunteer?”
“If my job is to make you eat your boots.”
Viktor found something odd about the bipedal pig. There was a certain aura around him, something thick and dark he could almost see it. It was as if all the air Fog-Eyes breathed was so heavy that his lungs had to labor for it.
His back was hunched, and his glasses were always moist. Beneath his swamp-like cloak that looked like it was made of dreg and sludged grass, Viktor could see protruding ribs that seemed like it hadn't eaten in days.
All of these contracted how he spoke, the lightness of his voice and the way he drags the conversation.
“When was the last time you slept?” the goblin probed.
“I’m not sure,” the orc scratched its chin. “Four days ago something something; I haven’t winked since I saw the Sangui— the peculiar bear,” he continued. He must’ve noticed how he slipped, so he quickly changed the topic. “How are the primers?”
“Primers?”
“Wait—” the orc smiled once again. “You’re not a primer?”
Viktor stared at the stag staring at them. “I’m a king.”
“Yeah yeah, the king of nothing in the lands of nowhere, I’ve heard it all before” Fog-eyes snickered. “You’re not the first man who tried to rule these lands—”
“—I am not of these lands,” Viktor butt in.
“Well at least I am an actual doctor with a real license—”
“—in the middle of nowhere,” Viktor added.
“Oh, you just love interrupting people speaking do you?”
People? Viktor wanted to add, but he held himself. He never thought of goblins and orcs as people. All of them were beasts. Just beast. Such was why he went with him. The smart orc, the weak orc; Fog-eyes was everything his species wasn’t.
Soon when they arrived at the place, the first thing he noticed was the wooden caravan, with a dead tarizard leashed into it. The oversized lizard’s second half was nowhere in sight, and the remaining half was a feast for maggots and mushrooms.
“Lost my mount, but I found what I came for. Luckiest misfortune I’ve ever had,” Fog-eyes commented. “Take a look inside and tell me what you need.”
The inside of the caravan was a proper clinic. It was spotlessly clean with dozens of vials inside, presumably medicine. There were tools for surgery, beakers, thermometers and gauges. There was a jar filled with human teeth.
“That’s a part-time job,” the orc said. “A lot of people neglect their dental health.”
“Your mouth is black.”
“A very effective toothpaste; but I understand where you’re coming from.”
Just as the orc had claimed, there were months worth of food inside. Dried meat, dried fruits, spices Viktor had never heard of nor encountered. He grabbed the largest backpack he could and started filling it with what he needed.
Mostly it was herbs and spices. Toothbrush, a regular knife, then a paring knife, then he decided to just take the entire knife collection. He sacked sets of matches and flintstone, rope, glue, wax, a compass— he looked at Fog-eyes, who had twenty pieces of a compass.
“I tend to lose a lot of stuff, so I need a lot of backups,” the orc pulled out three compasses from three different pockets. “And in case one of them breaks I have two more for comparative basis.”
“It occurred to you that you can do the same by looking at the sun, right?”
“Have you seen my glasses pisses-drinker? You want me to burn my eyes?”
Viktor filled the rest of the backpack with rope—sturdy things like these don’t grow in the wild. Next, he grabbed a small sack and filled it to the brim with dried fruit. Then finally, three waterskins, two empty pouches, and three leather shirts.
“Do you have a pair of boots?” Viktor asked.
“Why, do you wanna lick them?”
The goblin started pulling out his war hammer—”Yeah, no," the orc responded. "I only got the pair I’m wearing.”
“Then I’m done,” Viktor concluded, showing Fog-eyes the contents of his bag.
“You’re not gonna take any toothpaste?”
“I like my teeth white.”
“Your loss then,” the orc murmured. “What’s up with you and rope?”
“Lots of uses,” Viktor said, already he was using the rope to better tie his war hammer.
“Alright, now take these.” Fog-eyes threw an iron hatchet at him. “Makes better log than dead branches.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What’s with you giving me this?”
“Well," the orc scratched its chin. "As you can see I am a traveling researcher—"
"—and?"
"—and if you ever find yourself in a desperate need to dispose of peculiar . . . creatures, I’d appreciate it if you think of me.” Fog-eyes handed him a packet of green powder. “If you make a fire at night and throw some of this powder, the smoke will will be thicker and will dissipate wider. It will also turn bright green, so I’ll know to where find you by then." he continued, then paused, as if waiting for Viktor for an answer. "So?”
“. . . What?”
“Is there anything you particularly need? I’d be sure to uh, collect them should we happen to find ourselves at a crossroads.”
“Mounts. Metal. Goblins.” Viktor answered. “Alive goblins.”
The orc nodded. Fog-eyes had been packing his things too, and the goblin was surprised by how foldable everything was. The surgical table, the chairs, the cabinets, the bed collapsing into the size of a small box.
The orc finished picking which test tubes to take, beakers, vials, potions and herbs, then a bunch of metals and (presumably) medical tools Viktor didn’t recognize. He brought with him a lot of papers, documents, and books, slid neatly into a giant, portable, wooden cabinet, which the orc carried on his back.
The goblin noticed that he also took another two compasses with him. It made Viktor wonder if he should take one for himself too, but he discarded the thought.
When they went back to the cliffside where they hid the Sanguine Cursed, they found it being looted by a group of four people.
Fog-eyes was visibly alarmed, his walk turned into a sprint turned into a run towards the scene. Viktor did the same, albeit he was noticeably slower.
The biggest difference between them, meanwhile, was that Viktor had the biggest smile on his face, perhaps the smile he ever had since he was reborn.
Because from a distance, the broken body of the beast was being prodded by nothing else but a group of goblins.
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The Sanguine Rot
[Entry from The Gaian Expeditions, courtesy of the Empire of Amanila]
Nobody knew where the Sanguine Rot came from, or how one even gets infected, only what it did. The most prominent feature starts with the malformation of the body: an extra finger growing out of the hand, skinless and full of flesh. Perhaps an additional limb growing, or a neck stretching. One of the most prominent examples was of Harris the Tamer, who was last seen growing wings of bone out of his spine and two extra eyes beneath his original. And these are just the symptoms.
The true rot, ironic of its name, comes from the lack of it. Any creature who has fully manifested the Sanguine Rot is called a Sanguine Cursed, because they never rot, in a sense that they never die. One can cut a Sanguine Cursed into a thousand, separate pieces and still find it alive and breathing. The blood on it flows from vein to vein ignoring the spatial constraints. If you cut the head of a Sanguine Cursed, you will notice the blood on its neck flowing into nothing, and then into the head as if it was still one body and the act of cutting it never took place.
There are only two ways to kill the Sanguine Cursed. The first is to kill the infected before the Sanguine Rot fully manifested, and the second is to burn it or melt it in acid.
Although unencouraged and highly unrecommended, King Viktor was noted to cook and eat the Sanguine Cursed and found no side effects. There are also theories that claim that this act was the reason for reaching his old age of a hundred twenty-one.
There are only thirty-seven sightings of The Sanguine Cursed recorded in history, all of them in The Land Beyond The Walls, and only nine of them were known to have been killed.
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