“Final count for inventory?”
Beryl asked, organizing our guild knives to present to Krakow’s gate guard. I carried the viper-vines severed head over my shoulders, using two of its horn-like branches to carry the mark in the manner of an elk's head.
“Eight kills, seven marks worth fifty each, and one worth one-hundred-fifty. Payout should be around three fifty after the guilds cut and supplies, I think, maybe a bit more.”
Vaughn tapped my shoulder with his sword.
“Well worth it, the effort. May have been harder than the Gorgonops last month, but it didnt take half the time to get each kill.”
I shrugged, shifting the head for comfort where it rubbed against my neck.
“Mhmm, though I’ll take it or leave it.”
“Why the mane though? Isn’t the head all we’ll need?”
Vaughn prodded at the mane of leaves and twine at my back, his finger sifting and searching as he inspected it.
“I have some questions about it, namely for the carving counter. I might reserve our right to keep this portion and collect pay just for the kill.”
Vaughn continued his prodding, curious of the somehow neutralized gas as well. It no longer dissipated from the mane like it did when the viper-vine was living.
“Why? It's hardly a trophy without the head. And we’ll still have to carry it back to Brenton.”
I shook my head, looking at him as he questioned me.
“It might be similar to another common stimulant, only it forces such an extreme amount into its gas that it can floor you.”
I felt around my gums with my tongue, the sense of nicotine overestimating everything at once leaving echoes from my life before.
Sweet fuckin snus… with self healing? No cancer– No, stop it. This isn't our life alone here. Can't fuck Kiyomi up like we did ourselves. Fresh start– fresh start.
They say the hook of nicotine never really leaves you, even with years of abstaining from the stuff. The addiction completely faded after I had awoke In this body I was charged with, but after a fresh taste, it rushed back all at once.
Great, another thing to keep me awake at night. Better watch myself for any snippy mood changes.
I chastised myself, Vaughn nudging me free of thought.
“It's not hard enough to know why. The stuff looks like tobacco.”
Vaughn nodded to the mane once more.
“Pa rolls his own cigars. Not gonna lie, I've stolen a few and taken a swipe or two across the arse for it. The pollen this thing put out gave a similar sensation.”
He'd gone green in the face for a moment.
“I vomited my guts out from those too. Just doesn't seem obvious given the effort it would take to collect it.”
I nodded back.
“Way too potent at first to be sensible as well.”
And another little background to you. You're the same as I was at your age, huh?
As we walked, I took in Krakow's horizon. It was different compared to Brenton, newer with a far lower city wall. It was roughly twenty feet at its tallest and barely ten at its shortest, with wooden palisades making up a majority of its construction. There was no central keep, at least not from where we could see. We were generally left in the dark in regards to the city, simply being told that ‘its just another hole punched into the earth.’ It was odd, considering the city was not much older, historically, than Brenton. Both cities were founded within a similar time frame, though with Krakow, it gets fuzzy. The city, as far as its basest history is concerned, was largely an imperial army settlement until the slow decline to the east drew its attention from the frontier. As far as we could tell, the city was barely even a settlement to the outside eye. Nothing over three stories in height protruded amongst the palisade walls. Nothing, save the only gate in and out of Krakow. A massive thing, flanked to either side by crumbled walls that may have once hinted at a pre-existing structure. It was white, with orange and green tiles sloped steeply over its lookout towers. Four stories tall by itself, the gate seemed something comparable to the Arc-de-Triumph. The only excluding factor being the stonemason's absolute abhorrent skill at displaying imperial eagles and iconography of birds and harpies. The sheer white of its exterior was pockmarked all over by varying shades of gray, either splotched all at once in some spots or trailing along like smoke trails in others.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Look at that one, marble? Limerock?”
Vaughn pursed his lips a moment, shaking his head.
“Nah, straight stone. It’s white, sure, but it's stone.”
Vaughn points to a few sections under baked tile and petrified wood that marked smaller covered viewpoints.
“Weathering is doing funny shit to it, like the rock it's made from is especially susceptible to freezing. Those lines? They’ve patched up cracks. Doubt the structure won't crumble within a hundred years.”
Vaughn nodded to himself a moment longer.
“You’d take that bet, though, aye? Heard demons can get pretty old.”
He attempted to joke dryly, but it wasn't hard to tell he was trying to distract himself from the soon-to-come workload. The two werent stupid, and they knew vaguely of the bond between us all. It was more of an unspoken agreement. Even less so than my longevity, which was still, as far as I was concerned, an avoided subject.
“Another time for those jokes, bud.”
I sighed.
“Another time for you two to be so in arms together over dusty stonework, too.”
Beryl remarked in a way she usually did when work came first. This was her professional attitude, especially now that she’s damn near an adult.
How old is she technically? By earth's passage of time? Twenty? She barely looks like it. Unless we all just age slower in general. Callum and mother, what, in their thirties? They barely look the part, either.
“Aye, stuck on the layout of materials and the project time frame. I’m going to have to recalculate the entire timeline and hope to the Gods that I can make it close to the original.”
Vaughn's words were followed by a grumble of frustration, one he hardly adopted over his sing-song ‘I'll take care of it.’ The attitude he’s maintained around his father. The crowd of awaiting admittees to the city crowded around the gate, occasionally parting for a wagon to leave and return to smaller hamlets surrounding the city. Farming villages, all the same as Brentons. Supposedly, however, the city found itself instead taxed to handle its supposedly standard intake of visitors. The natural order for inter-city travel proceeded, as we were instructed countless times before setting off from Brenton.
“Citizenry to the center of the road, merchants and travelers to the right until their cart is waved through, and adventurers to the left.”
Beryl reminded, slithering off to the side of a line about the length of a football field. We walked past the mostly disorganized citizenry as they hobbled forward. While the line for townfolk was quite sizable, one was hard-pressed to spot a single adventurer or mercenary among the group. Until nearly underneath the arch itself. We were a hundred feet from the line, comprised of roughly twenty people. Each carried some sort of remnant of their kills, and some carried nothing at all. Then, a familiar and very grating voice managed to scratch its way into my ears.
“Being assured of our time is all well and good, aye! But to bug around and be stuck here?! What do you mean they plan to retain anyone that enters for five days minimum? On the authority of the bloody damned duke?”
Ah… Her.
The ear-scratching voice could belong to no one other than Sabine, arguing with some guard who's trying to simply warn of entry conditions.
“Aye, ma’am, aye. We’re sorry for it. We have harpy messengers well and are already prepped for messaging to Lyoh and Brenton. If you wish to enter even then, I’m sure you can send a message out regarding your extended stay. That is the condition; it is non-negotiable, no matter the family or position. If you care to enter, remain in the queue. If you're looking to quibble further? You’ll receive no other reply than the one I’d just given you.”
The guard seemed fed up as if this weren't his first explanation—not to Sabine, and definitely not the first excluding her. He turned, eyeing her over his shoulder as she sneered at him, her jowls clenching as she bottled up any remaining protest she may have held inside. I looked her over once more, taking her in properly, considering our only run-ins had already been sporadic and sudden at best. Judging by the length of the line, we were going to be waiting beside each other for a while.
She’s my age, right?
Her posture practically echoed trained confidence, standing at full height with her arms crossed. As before, she stood a head below me, well-built, fed, and cared for. It felt strange, trying to actually assess someone else once again. Or at least someone I wasn't already acquainted with.
Why this feeling of… distrust? No– that's not the right word. Am I feeling challenged? Why? We’ve met only once. Why with the constant confrontational atmosphere?
She was clad in a chain shirt, its sleeves ending just below the elbows while the rest ended just below her waistline. Atop it, she wore a white hooded cloak swept over one of her shoulders, though stained by grass and dirt. The sigil of house Moreau glinted against the sun, silver enough to denote status but sufficiently cheap to discourage most thieves. She wore a skirt, split along one side, padded with some sort of heavy linen on its interior lining. It was a deep blue, whilst a yellow and white sash hung, tied from her belts. Of her belt, she had three; one per sword she carried and another across her chest for what seemed to be a spear, wrapped tightly in cloth, possibly for cleanliness. Behind her stood three team members in varying outfits between them, and all of them were human.
“Do you know her, Kiyomi?”
Beryl asked, leaning into my view.
“Ah, sorry, we met briefly.”
My voice was heard now, Sabine tensing up suddenly before turning to face us.
“Hollowpoint…”
Her expression of anger did not change in the slightest, but she seemed to level her gaze in a much more analytical fashion.
“I do have a name, you know. Kiy–”
I chided with more snap in my voice than intentional. Sabine rolled her eyes, seeming as if she had just enough spite in her to take notice of me but not enough at the moment to not push the interaction.
“Kiyomi, I remember ‘Hollowpoint.”
She seemed stuck looking at us, shifting in silence as she moved her eyes to Beryl and then Vaughn. Her shoulders sunk as she sighed, unable to uncross her arms in some unseen fear of lowering her intimidation factor.
“So I finally see all of you at once. I am Sabine. My party here is ‘Vulpis’.”
Her tone seemed more gentle when not referring to me. It was so much so that it oddly felt–
Insulting?
She pointed to her team members, two older men and a girl similar in age to the rest of us.
“Marissa, Jeane, and Logan.”
Each member of the team just behind her, the men simply nodding while Marissa gave a weak wave, shrinking behind a staff presumably functioning as a focus.
“And you two?”
Sabine asked, looking to Beryl and Vaughn respectively, still with her softer, less-edged tone.
They get the nice treatment?! Bitch! So it is just me, not a damn team spat. What the hell did I do?
“Should I truly answer that with the eyes you keep giving Kiyomi?”
Beryl was faster to read the situation, or atleast the tension between Sabine and me. The air of protectiveness she had with the conversation some nights prior lingered fresh in memory. She looked at me through the corner of my eye, and I nodded begrudgingly, shrugging silently. Nodding, Beryl returned the introduction.
“Beryl.”
Then Vaughn followed suit.
“Vaughn.”
Sabine looked them each over before nodding to herself, her scowl shrinking in intensity.
“We’re going to be here a while.”
She motioned to the gate with her elbow, in the distance, the guards seemed to be looking over each adventurer, traveler, and citizen as they entered.
A pat down for contraband or something of the like?
“Any idea the reason for the extra scrutiny?”
I asked, dragging Sabine out of her newfound calm and back into her unexplained passover aggression. She looked over me with the same underlying tension as a moment before until she shook her head.
“It seems to be, that a parasite or disease of some sort has the city authorities alarmed. They are vetting everyone regardless of who they are.”
The tension was there, but it seemed to be mediated somehow. Like someone constantly had a hand on her shoulder to moderate her hostility.
“They refuse to discuss it further, so I really cannot tell you more than that. The information I have is the same as yours. We are playing the waiting game, it seems.”
She appeared prim and proper. Unwilling to allow even the slightest hint of deviation in her speech. Turning around, it was clear that her olive branch of an explanation was at its weakest.
She seemed to atleast not be so hostile as to leave us in the dark, but I can’t tell if that's from general decency or a simple professional courtesy. What the hell is wrong with this girl?! Shit! I can’t get a fuckin read on her.
One of the men with her, the one named Logan, shrugged to us, seeming to speak of a sentiment held by the other team members. A wordless sigh of, ‘it is what it is.’