He opened his eyes. He was on the ground. Last thing he remembered, he had just made it out of the Holy Lands and had descended into a valley that was thick with fog. Fog thick enough that he struggled to see more than ten feet in front of him. He remembered the sounds of battle and the screams he heard as he slowly traveled through the fog. Eventually, night fell, and his already poor visibility became even worse.
He had found a nearby rock face to lay his sleeping roll on and fell asleep. He remembered being woken by the sound of someone in the foliage around him; however, night had only gotten darker, and the fog obscured everything around him.
He closed his eyes. If he wasn’t going to be able to see them, he might as well eliminate the distraction of trying altogether and rely on his other senses. He listened closely as the footsteps came closer and closer. How many were there? Two? Four? More?! The number of footsteps seemed to keep increasing as the sound of his would-be attackers crept closer and closer. The scent of stale blood filled his nostrils as he sensed the first attacker lunge.
He quickly dodged out of the way only to be tackled from behind by another. He quickly pushed the creature away as though it were a child. Given the thin nature of what had tackled him, it seemed he had encountered the rumored Fogmen: Hive savages who had abandoned their Hives and chosen a life of barbarism in the Foglands, preying upon and sacrificing foolish travelers to their Fog Princes.
He had barely had a chance to stand up when he was grabbed by another. Then a third. Then a fourth. Soon, he was being beaten by a dozen different Fogmen.
And that was all he remembered. He sat up slowly, rubbing the knot that was still on the back of his head. He hadn’t been eaten, and he wasn’t bound to a pole, so something must have happened while he was out.
He looked around to find he was in the center of a town. What’s more, he was actually able to see the buildings around him. Had he been carried out of the Foglands?
He looked down to notice he had been stripped of all his belongings aside from his cloth pants and a rusty iron stick. The Fogmen, or courtesy of his “saviors”? he wondered. Checking his bag, he found he still had his Cats.
“Well, they didn’t rob me,” he mumbled to himself, “so I guess that answers that question.”
He stood up as a dark-skinned woman with deep red hair was walking towards him.
“Excuse me, Scorchlander,” he said, holding out his hand to halt the woman. “I apologize for da intrusion, but vhere am I? Da last zing I remember, I vas traveling through da Foglands vhen I vas attacked und captured by da Fogmen. Now I vake up here, stripped of all my belongings, ja.”
The Scorchlander looked at him…or at least, in his direction. As Frelka looked at her, he noticed there was a lack of light coming from her glazed gaze, as though all drive or hope had been driven from them. After a moment, the woman spoke up.
“The name’s Shryke,” she said, her tone as flat as her affect. “And if the last thing you remember is being captured by Fogmen, then I’d say you better thank whatever god you worship that you’re still alive. You know what they do to their prisoners don’t you?” She paused and shook her head. “Nevermind. If you don’t, you will soon. We can hear the screams of those they capture every night when their Fog Princes come for their sacrifices. Why they don’t kill their victims before they eat them is beyond me. Maybe it tastes better that way. Regardless, you’ve been spared a terrible fate, though I’m afraid that’s where your luck runs out, traveler. You’re in Mongrel now: a solitary island in this sea of fog and death. You can’t leave. No one can. Not unless you want to die, that is.” The despair in her voice was mirrored in her eyes.
Frelka felt a tinge of pity for the poor girl. No one should have to live like this. Kenshi was a hard enough planet as it was without the need of this added trouble. He put on his biggest smile and flexed his muscles as he said, “Frelka is never trapped, ja! I got here, und I vill get out. Nozing vill stop me!”
Whether it was the presence of hope in a place where such a thing was devoid, or his dominating features, Frelka wasn’t sure, but he could see the glimpse of hope that sparked deep in her eyes.
Warily, she said, “What makes you so sure you’ll be able to get out when so many have failed, huh? What makes you think you’re any better than everyone else that came before you? Hells, the only reason you’re even here now is because you got lucky and some kind soul rescued you.”
Frelka felt the accusation stab through him like an arrow. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Despite his impressive physique, Frelka had only just started his journey a week ago. He had managed to make it through the Holy Lands largely unscathed, though this was only because he was human…and male. Had either of those things been different, he likely would not have even made it to the Foglands in the first place.
Still, his father had been a successful adventurer, and his father’s father before him. All the way back as far as his lineage could remember, every Frelka took the mantle of adventurer and went out to prove himself in the world around him, helping those along the way and doing what they could to make the world a little better. This was his journey, and he wouldn’t be the first one to fail his family now. If he was stuck in Mongrel, then that just meant it was where his story was supposed to begin.
He placed a hand on his hip while the other reached out to pat Shryke on the shoulder. “You fret too much about zings zat don’t matter, ja. Zese Fogmen are thin tvigs to snap beneath Frelka’s boots. If zey get in my vay, I crush zem.”
Whatever had sparked the initial flame of hope in her seemed to have been pushed to a smolder with this confidence. Slowly, Shryke allowed herself a tentative smile. “Then,” she began, her hand inadvertently reaching for the rusting glaive on her back, “if you’re so sure, allow me to join you. If you can get us out of this hell, I’ll stay by your side.”
Frelka smiled and nodded. The more the merrier. Adventurers don’t prove themselves on their own, and having her by his side would not only help her, but allow him to help even more people.
“Vell, now zat zat's settled, let’s go to da gates, ja.”
Shryke’s face, just beginning to remember the warmth of hope, visibly sank again and Frelka worried he had lost what little progress he had made. “Why are we going to the gates?” she asked, her voice thick with concern.
Frelka continued his confident façade. “Because vhile ve may not be strong enough to take on a full group of zese Fogmen just yet, ve can certainly build up our skills if ve stick to da outskirts of da skirmishes vith da guards at da gate.
“Eventually, ve’ll be able to venture out und tackle smaller groups on our own. It von’t be an easy process, but nozing vorth doing ever is, ja.
“Come, ve’ve spoken long enough–I’m itching to pay zese Fogmen back!”
With this, he strode past her, leaving her no choice but to follow along behind him. They walked past the dilapidated buildings. Perhaps it was due to the nature of its solitude, but Frelka was impressed with what he saw. He passed a bakery, weapon smith, armor smith, mechanics shop for prosthetic limbs, three bars, a police station, and a faction HQ for a local guild. He also saw a number of homes listed as vacant and for sale.
Homes weren’t exactly cheap, but buying a home would eventually become cheaper than paying the fifty Cats per person to rent a bedroll at the bar each night. Plus, they’d be able to start setting aside items they wanted to keep without having to carry them around everywhere. And with their own space, they’d be able to buy research books and begin learning how to make weapons and armor. Or, if he was so inclined, learn how to bake, cook, and create various liquors. Of all the places this town did have, he couldn’t help but notice there was no Frelka’s Tavern. Even if there were three bars, every town needed a Frelka’s Tavern!
They finally reached one of the three gates into the city just as a group of Fogmen were running toward them, yelling. The city guards wasted no time rushing out to engage them, their protective armor and shiny weapons sparking a bit of uncharacteristic envy in Frelka.
He shoved his thoughts aside and charged in. He and Shryke found a lone Fogman and engaged him. It was armed very similarly to Frelka: just its cloth pants and a rusty iron stick as a weapon. But Frelka’s muscles weren’t just for show, and the twig-like form of the Hive Fogman didn’t stand a chance against his might.
He swung and struck at the Fogman only to find his attack miss! Faster than he looks, he thought. The Fogman smirked before the unseen glaive of Shryke struck at him from behind. Had it been of better quality, it likely would have killed the creature then and there. As it was though, her glaive was in little better condition than his iron stick, and what should have been a cut served more as a bash. Still, Frelka saw the twinge of pain in the creature’s eyes as it winced at the blow, turning its attention to the small Scorchlander.
Seeing his opening, Frelka ran and tackled the creature from behind, bludgeoning its head with his stick. Before he could even stand back up, he felt the sting of another club against his back. Scrawny though they were, Frelka realized there was a hidden strength to the Hive physique. He felt the crunch of a rib as a second blow struck him. He looked to see Shryke being similarly overwhelmed and dashed towards her, scooping her up with one arm and retreating to the safety of the guard’s defenses.
Placing her down on the ground near the inside of the gate, he quickly bandaged her wounds and stabilized what were undoubtedly a few broken ribs of her own. She’d still be able to fight, but it wouldn’t feel pleasant. He then turned his attention to his own wounds, placing the wraps tightly around his chest to hopefully hold his rib in place while he fought.
Satisfied that Shryke was safe, he turned back toward the gate, prepared to train some more only to find the guards casually walking back, a score of Fogmen dead behind them.
“Damn,” Frelka muttered under his breath. “Vell, vaste not, vant not.”
He walked back out onto the battlefield, grabbing the iron sticks from each of the corpses. They served no good to sell as a weapon, but he’d still be able to sell them for scrap metal at least.
He continued his looting and made his way back to Shryke, who had found her footing again and was looking toward Frelka, dejected.
“What did I tell you?” she asked. “We’re stuck here. We wouldn’t even had made it out of the gate if the guards hadn’t been here.” Her shoulders slumped further. “And I would’ve likely been captured had you not rescued me.”
“Don't lose hope, ja,” Frelka said, his infectious smile wide as the thrill of battle filled his veins. “Zat vas just our first battle–zere vill be more to come. Come now, da day is still young!”
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The rest of their day continued like this: they’d sit outside the main gate waiting for a raid, join the guards in the defense, get beaten to almost unconsciousness, heal up, and loot the battlefield for whatever goods they’d be able to sell.
By the time the moons were beginning to rise, both Frelka and Shryke were bloodied and exhausted. “Come, let’s see how much ve can get for zese at da veapon shop before zey close, ja!” he said and turned to hobble back into town.
~~
As they sat in one of the bars counting their Cats, Frelka couldn’t help but frown. He knew they wouldn’t get much for the looted weapons, but they had barely made enough to cover their food and bed for the night. At this rate, they’d never be able to buy a house. Frelka looked down at his weapon and scowled. Hells, he thought, we’ll never be able to even afford to buy me some good armor or a good weapon.
Despite it being what he had woken up with, Frelka wasn’t used to using a one-handed blunt weapon like the iron stick. He much preferred a large greatsword. Something he could swing in a wide arc. Something that matched his size. As it was, he felt his current weapon served him little better than his fists.
He let out a long sigh and Shryke said, “I assume you’re probably starting to see what I meant when I told you leaving here was hopeless?”
“Ve fought all day und barely made enough to last us for a single day,” he responded, too tired for his usual boisterous demeanor. “Training und getting stronger is great, but if von of us suffers an injury zat puts us out for longer zan a few hours, how are ve supposed to eat?”
“Well,” she replied, “that’s just because we got unlucky. If we can get a Fog Prince to be part of the attack, we could sell its head for six thousand Cats!”
Frelka’s eyes widened. “Six thousand?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Frelka smiled at her, “So much for ‘no hope,’ huh? Vasn’t it you who vas just telling me zere vas nozing ve could do, und now you’re da von encouraging me? Vhat’s gotten into you?”
Shryke let out a small smile, “I just can’t stand to see such a large man look sad. Besides, I was just giving you information, I never said we were going to find one. Fog Princes rarely attack the gate. We’d likely have to lure one in if we wanted to get one. And that would require venturing into the fog, which, as I stated before, would last all of about ten seconds before we were both knocked out and eaten for dinner.”
Frelka took a big swig of his grog and slammed the tankard down on the table in front of him. He looked around the adobe building. The main area as you entered the bar was littered with misaligned rectangular tables and stools with rugs scattered underneath them. A group of sitting pillows lined the front wall to the left of the door where various patrons sat comfortably and drank while they complained about the day. Stairs at the back of the bar across from the door led to the roof where makeshift tarp awnings that covered the beds the bar had for rent. To the right of the door was the bar itself, which ran two-thirds the length of the room. Behind, the barkeep tended to his customers. Foods of various types sat out open on the shelves. Meatwraps, rice bowls, dried meat, meatcubes, the entire menu could be found on display behind the bar. Barrels housed the bar’s grog. On either corner stood two guards, ensuring the patrons didn’t get too rowdy. The bar had a variety of patrons–Greenlanders like himself, Scorchlanders like Shryke, Hive, and Shek–all desperately drinking their worries away. Terrified of the fog that surrounded them. Hopeless for their lives to improve past what it currently was or in their ability to escape the surrounding fog. Their misery draped over the establishment like a wet cloth clinging to a body. As he was getting ready to respond to Shryke’s comment, a Hive walked towards their table and said, “Beep!”
Frelka saw most Hive as twiggy, but if they were twiggy, this one was made of straw! He looked like he could barely hold up his frame on the thin sticks that the Hive called legs in the first place, but Frelka could sense a burning determination in the solid, beady black eyes that stared at him. “Uhh…Hi Beep…” he responded hesitantly.
The creature looked shocked, pulling its head back and widening its gaze at Frelka. “…How…how do you know my name?” it asked warily.
“Vell,” Frelka said, “You just said ‘beep’ for no reason, ja? So I thought that maybe you vere introducing yourself.”
It paused again, bringing both hands to its mouth in alarm before saying in a slightly muffled voice, “…You must be some kind of genius then?”
“Yes, Frelka is uber smart!” he proclaimed loudly to the creature called Beep. In all honesty, it was just a guess, but Frelka enjoyed being called a genius…he liked this Beep.
Beep’s look of astonishment solidified into one of seriousness. “Can I join you? I saw you and your companion fighting today. I want to become strong. I want to become a swordsman.”
Frelka looked Beep’s frame over again and reflected on their battles from the day before reluctantly saying, “You don’t look very strong, Beep.” He looked at his hip and to his back. “You don’t even have a weapon! Do you have skills perhaps?”
“I have nothing. Beep…” he paused, “sorry, I beep when I’m nervous. That’s why I was exiled from the Hive.”
“Just because you keep saying ‘beep’?” Frelka asked, stunned at the severity of the Hive’s response to Beep’s peculiarity.
Beep cast his eyes downward and slumped his shoulders as he said, “I am defective. Not good for the Hive.” He took a deep breath and stood up as straight as he could, that same fire burning in his eyes again. “But Beep doesn’t give up! Beep is strong! Since I left the Hive I can feel my mind changing. The way I think, I feel…free, having thoughts I never had before. I want freedom, but everywhere I go things try to kill or chase me. Beep tires of running. Time to stab the things that chase me!”
Frelka was sold. He liked Beep even before his impassioned speech, but the odd creature’s fire burned brighter than a bonfire on a clear, dark night. Frelka could sense Beep’s resolve and knew he had what it would take. He just needed some guidance.
“Vell,” Frelka said, pulling a nearby stool towards the table, “Velkommen to the team, Beep!”
Beep grinned widely and quickly sat down on the nearby stool before saying, “Beep is glad you will give him a chance to show his worth. Beep overheard you two talking about concerns for Cats. Beep may have an answer for that.”
Shryke perked up, “Is that so? And what exactly do you suggest?”
“Copper,” Beep replied matter-of-factly.
“Copper?” Frelka asked.
Shryke scoffed. “Sure, yeah, copper. Why didn’t I think of that! Oh yeah, because it’s in the damned fog! What exactly are you trying to pull Beep? You trying to get us captured by the Fogmen? Are you one of them?” She reached for her glaive.
“Beep!” Beep chirped before holding up its hands. “No! No! Beep is not one of them. If Beep was one of them, Beep would be out in the fog or dead at the gates! Beep promises! Beep!”
Shryke looked unconvinced, but Frelka held out his hand. “Come now, Shryke, vhere’s your sense of trust, ja? I say ve hear Beep out. I don’t haff any ozer ideas, und based on our conversation prior to zis, neizer do you. So vhat harm is zere in listening, ja? Go ahead Beep.”
Beep’s eyes never left the danger latched on Shryke’s back, but he slowly explained his idea to the group. “As you may or may not know, there are iron nodes fairly close to the city gates. Iron is cheap and readily available, hence why you were unable to get much more than dried meat and grog with your day’s spoils. But copper sells at a premium out here, and Beep just so happens to know of one that is close by that we could mine. All we’d need are some backpacks to load up and we’ll be able to haul enough copper to make a small fortune in Cats.”
Frelka smiled. His hopes for a place to set up a base of operations began to creep back. “I like your courage, Beep, ja! If you zink you can get us zere undetected, zen I say let’s go for it!”
He looked to Shryke, who rolled her eyes and shrugged before taking a long swig of her grog.
Good enough, he thought and look back to Beep, who nodded. “Beep does believe he can get the two of you and himself there undetected. We will have to stay quiet as we collect so as not to draw the attention of the hoard, but Beep is confident!”
With that, the unlikely trio nodded and finished their food and drink before retiring to their rented beds upstairs.
~~
The following four weeks was much more tedious than Frelka had expected. Beep was right in his knowledge of a nearby copper node and his ability to get them in and out undetected, but the work of mining and hauling for days on end had worn the three of them out.
Every day they returned to the bar aching and sore, their backs and arms screaming in defiance from the abuse of the day. The whole first week, they had found it hard to even eat their dinner, let along work up the strength to consistently lift the tankard to their mouths.
But Beep had been right. The copper sold for almost five times the amount he got for a scavenged weapon. They could now afford the better meals on the menu. More expensive, sure, but Frelka knew the extra calories and protein were worth every Cat.
While their mining had gone largely unnoticed by the Fogmen, they had had a few scuffles with smaller patrols. It was after their first victory over one of these patrols that Beep reaffirmed Frelka’s decision to let him join.
They had just finished looting the corpses when Beep clenched his fists and screamed to the heavens, “Yes! Beep wins! Beep is the strongest warrior! All Beep’s enemies will be destroyed! Beep is the strongest now! There will be changes!”
“The fuck Beep?!” came Shryke’s irritated response as his screams drew another passing patrol.
“…Beep!”
They were fortunately able to dodge past that group and make it back to the safety of the city, but Beep’s enthusiastic war monologues lessened significantly after that.
They hit another lucky stride in their third week when, as they were mining, Shryke noticed a passing Fog Prince and his guards. Beep, being the fastest in the group, dropped his pack, and dashed out to draw the prince’s attention.
Frelka and Shryke held their breath when the Fog Prince ran faster than the Fogmen they were used to. Beep was clearly surprised too as they heard him beeping even after he had turned the corner toward the city gate. From there, he had been able to successfully lead them back to the city gates where the guards helped to dispatch them. Frelka wasn’t sure why the guards allowed someone else to loot their kill, but by the time he and Shryke made it back to the gate, Beep was smiling wider than Frelka thought possible, his arms covered in blood, cradling the Fog Prince’s head in his arms as though it were a large jewel, and a decent, though still rusted, katana on his hip, another spoil of his kill. Frelka and Shryke allowed him a war monologue that night, once they had made it back to the safety of the city.
But, aside from the few skirmishes, that was essentially it. The rest of their month consisted of mining until they could barely carry the copper, hauling it back to town to sell, and repeating the process.
As of today though, they had officially mined and sold enough copper to get Frelka a new, masterwork Samurai breastplate and a heavy, two-handed curved greatsword the shopkeeper called “Falling Sun.” They had also made enough to set themselves up in a nice three-winged, one-story building, commonly called a Y-house.
It had taken a few days to do, but they had filled it with the simple necessities: bedrolls, weapon and armor storage, and a research bench.
Beep and Frelka sat around the indoor fire eating their meal as Shryke finished reading up on how to make basic weapons. It wouldn’t likely be anytime soon, but if they could make good enough weapons, they may be able to sell them for even more Cats than raw iron. Maybe even enough to not have to keep trekking out to the copper node, which had become increasingly depleted over the course of the month.
Frelka looked up to the other two members of the team he had come to call “Frelka’s Fighters” and said, “Vell, I zink ve’ve done enough mining for now, ja. I say ve start back vith a little more training–get Beep here up to speed on da varrior he’s destined to be. Right, Beep?”
“Beep!” Beep replied.
Frelka wasn’t sure if that was a nervous ‘beep’ or a confident one, but he smiled all the same and laughed. Tomorrow their training would continue.
As he laid in his bedroll, enjoying the warmth of the fire next to him, Frelka fantasized about his upcoming adventures. Soon, they’d be able to start making their way through the Foglands. If he could rid the land of the Fog Princes, maybe he could stop the Fogman Scourge once and for all, freeing Mongrel from terror’s grasp. Then, he, Shryke, and Beep would all have the chance to get out of Mongrel and really start their adventure!