Arrion awoke to Einhold’s hand jostling his arm.

“Get yerself up boy, somebody’s coming!” Einhold muttered urgently.

Arrion shook himself awake and shot up, swinging his musket from his back. Then. Arrion heard them; voices drifted through the woods toward their resting place, getting louder by the second.

“Why can’t we just say hello?” Arrion whispered, confused as to why they were hiding from what sounded like a group of teenagers.

“Those are the Arel boys. I… had a sort of run in with their father yesterday night, when we, uhh...left,” Einhold said in a voice of forced calm. Arrion smacked his hand to his forehead, so hard that Einhold winced. “No enemies, huh?” he said desperately, loading his musket.

“Well, apparently not! Sorry my boy, but I thought nobody would notice the bastard was dead until we were long gone!” Einhold explained, the voices drew even nearer, so near that Arrion could make out their conversation: “---orry Rovern, we’ll find him, and he’ll pay for this disgrace.”

“The damn mason’s a coward! Shooting our dear father in his own home, and bolting like a frightened rabbit!”

Arrion counted three hixen men at the most, and they seemed to be heading right past the tree which shielded him and Einhold from sight.

“I’ll chance a peek,” Einhold whispered. He slowly leaned forward, his head turned to observe the foes.

“Three of them, all armed with pokers, ha! The fools, and they knew I had a tuber!” He said. Arrion nodded to him, and they both stepped out from behind the tree to face the trio, guns aimed.

“Drop your twigs, gentlemen!” Einhold said loudly, cocking the striker of his tuber. The men turned around and froze, but did not lower their pokers.

One of the men stepped forward, “You! You fraking rat! You’re paying the debt NOW!” He said, angry tears pouring down his ruddy face.

“Your father was no better, boy. He sought to deprive me of what little I already had, and I would have no more of it,” Einhold said gravely, tightening his grip on his pistol.

“Didn’t warrant murder, you bastard!” The hixen boy said, taking a step forward. Einhold aimed his tuber at the young man’s head. With a roar, the man charged at Einhold, iron poker held aloft. The tube gun spewed a cone of fiery smoke that enveloped the young man, clearing only to reveal the youth’s neck torn open. The man in the middle took a ferocious swipe at Arrion, which he avoided. Arrion backpedaled frantically and let loose a shot straight into the attackers chest. The third man backed up, dropping his weapon and withdrawing a small crossbow from his waist, drawing it back as he raised it. Arrion quickly grabbed the barrel of his gun, wielding it like a club, and blindly lunged toward the young man. The adversary took a panicked shot from his hip, which narrowly missed Arrion, who struck the man across his temple, splitting his head open and releasing a spatter of blood that stained the frosted grass a deep red. Arrion and Einhold both stood panting amidst the three bloodstained bodies.

“That’s three of ‘em. There’s a fourth brother of theirs, too, but I don’t know where he is,” Einhold gasped. “Let’s haul it, we’ve no doubt drawn attention - all this frakin’ shooting,” Arrion said between breaths. Einhold murmured assent and shoved his tuber behind him into his pack. They dragged the bodies into a ditch left by a fallen tree and made a quick departure. For half the week, they made their way quickly through the grassy open hills that dominated the land for hundreds of miles.

“Only a few leagues left. Come now, boy,” Einhold urged, a bead of sweat making its way down his nose. Arrion, who had also been uncomfortably perspiring for the last few hours, readjusted his backpack and wiped his brow, nodding.

“Einhold, can I ask you something?” Arrion asked as he jogged up to Einhold.

“Hmm?”

“Well, why did you agree to come with me so easily?”

“What do you mean, boy?”

“I expected it would be days before I convinced you to accompany me. Instead, after only about an hour after meeting me, you gave in,”

“Boy, have you ever been as bored as I have with your life?”

“Can’t say, I hardly know you.”

“Well, it consumes you, whenever you just stand back for a moment and look over what you’ve done so far…” Einhold trailed off.

“What?” Arrion pushed.

“It’s rather disappointing in my case, because I haven’t the head to commit to anything meaningful, I suppose. You know I’m thirty and two, and I have done nothing but idle about.”

Before Arrion could reply, Einhold held up his hand, “Enough. You have offered what I’ve needed for a long time, and I’m taking the chance,” he said dismissively, to which Arrion nodded and fell silent. They continued on, and soon glimpsed the stone hightowers and domes of Gerendal which proudly surveyed the barren grassland to which they seemed to lay claim to. The city was eventually upon Arrion and Einhold, though they had to make their way through numerous expanses of farmland and small villages which surrounded the main city like moons around a planet.

“No walls means no insecurities. With any luck, this should be a splendidly benevolent community!” Einhold proclaimed, throwing an arm around Arrion.

They gradually entered the city by virtue of simply walking down the nearest gravel pathway; however, there was really no definite border or boundary which determined the city. It was not unlike the illusion of the sun, where when observed - you could not tell where the actual sun itself was in the intense glow that radiated from it. The urban sprawl graduated toward a center which was seemingly undefinable.

The farms and storehouses slowly turned into large apartments and winding market places, the likes of which Arrion had never seen before. Narrow streets with dozens of drapes and banners of white and silver, lined with three story apartment complexes as well as public service buildings spanned across the city like hundreds of thick veins. Arrion detected a very faint scent in the air that seemed to be very citric, not unlike a freshly peeled orange.

“First thing’s first, we must buy supplies and better clothing!” Arrion shouted above the bustling mass of people and voices. The pair pushed their way through the increasingly densifying crowd of the market until they reached a lit alley where they could receive some respite from the commotion.

“Alright, let’s first get something to eat, I’m frakin’ dying,” Einhold complained as he kicked an empty crate aside.

“Let us walk,” Arrion replied. They exited the alley onto the opposing street, which, fortunately, was significantly less packed and offered a more pleasant atmosphere compared to the sea of citizens they had endured earlier. Arrion grew almost nauseous with the sheer vividity of the colors which draped the streets before them, but Einhold was busy turning left and right in his search for a place to dine.

“Behind you,” Arrion heard them say with hints of exasperation, he twisted around to see a very quaint bakery nestled between two large tenements which cast their looming shadows over a large section of the street. Einhold caught Arrion’s movement in his peripherals and turned accordingly.

“Ah, how about there, the Sorian,” He read, putting a hand on Arrion’s shoulder. They turned around and headed back down the street toward the bakery, which quickened their pace with every step as it emanated a very enticing smell of freshly baked citta. Once inside, Arrion went to ask where the lavatory was, which was rather difficult considering the majority of the building was strangely vacant of customers. Einhold stood at an empty counter, waiting for somebody to attend to his requests, meanwhile, Arrion managed to brush off the feeling that they were being watched.

“Anybody at hand?” Einhold queried loudly, slamming a hand upon the counter with a loud SLAP. “Oh dear, yes-yes, I am on my way sir!” a woman called out from a back room, which Arrion presumed was the baking chamber. He walked over to Einhold’s side as a short, dark haired grey lady approached the counter.

“I’d be most grateful if you could bring us a loaf and some wine,” Einhold said in a softer tone, to which the woman replied, “Nyxean or Herasian wine?”

“Herasian. We’re not looking to get floored,” Einhold affirmed, turning away and gazing out into the street.

“Somebody else is here,” Arrion heard them say. “I know, I felt it too,” He muttered, low enough so that Einhold wouldn’t hear. He scanned the bakery interior, filled with chairs, stone platforms, and shelves laden with various pastries, but found no other person within the room. The lady returned with a bottle of wine and a paper wrapped loaf of crisp *citta, the aroma of which drew Arrion’s attention back to the counter.

“What kind of money do you accept?” Einhold grunted, rummaging around in his pockets and unslung pack.

“Anything, really,” The woman said over the sounds of Einhold’s struggles. He withdrew a number of different coins from a section of his pack, some of which Arrion recognized, others of which he had never seen before. The woman took three of the same types of coin with a faded imperial insignia on it and disappeared into the back room. As Einhold turned for the door, food in hand, a figure detached itself from one of the shadowy corners near the back exit of the building, darting past both Arrion and Einhold with such speed that Arrion could hardly make out any features of what he thought was a man. The sudden occurrence startled Einhold, who almost dropped the bottle when the supposed man brushed past him.

“What the hell was---,” Arrion began, but was cut off when Einhold dropped what he was carrying and charged out of the shop. After pausing for a moment to load his musket, Arrion took off after Einhold, sprinting into the street. After seeing Einhold’s heel disappear behind an alley corner, he adjusted his direction.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Once Arrion caught up, he and Einhold found themselves running through seemingly endless alleyways that wove in between the large buildings. The bright yellowish brickwork of the populated streets slowly dirtied and darkened, giving way to an incessant film of glistening grime and grease of unknown origin. The sunlight struggled to find its place in these dark sepia halls, and the lack thereof did not help their situation.

“May I ask why we’re running?” Arrion said in between breaths as he pounded after Einhold. “The bastard took my money!” He panted over his shoulder, before abruptly veering right as quickly as naturally possible for a man of his bulk. Arrion skidded, using the grimy corner of the building next to him as an anchor to swing him around more efficiently. Arrion was befuddled as to how Einhold even knew where the thief was. All he could see past Einhold’s large torso were glimpses of a black figure darting this way and that, sometimes so fast that only a blur signified that anyone was there at all.

Soon Arrion could hear the strained heaving breaths that Einhold was taking, and he too began to feel the burn of exhaustion in his muscles. The thief was losing them and widening the gap between himself and Einhold. Arrion knew he had to do something fast. As the backstreet before them began to straighten out, Arrion could clearly see the figure for a moment, as well as smaller pathways branching out from the main alley.

“I wonder… a grid patterned city block?” Arrion thought. It was a gamble, but he was willing to try it. As they sharply veered into another straight alleyway, Arrion suddenly broke off from behind an oblivious Einhold and darted down one of the side alleys. He increased his speed as much as he could, legs burning with fatigue. One, two, three side alleys passed by Arrion in his sprint. He needed to be several feet in front of the thief in order for his plan to work, and he wasn’t even sure how far ahead he was.

“Now, turn now!” they said urgently, prodding his consciousness.

“Damn it all!” Arrion decided, skidding to a halt in front of the sixth side alley leading back to the main backstreet, before hurtling down the narrow passage. As Arrion neared the main alley, he rotated his body so that he was running shoulder first, bracing for an impact. He soon heard Einhold’s ragged breaths echoing throughout the edifices. Having no time to register what happened, Arrion’s shoulder connected with the body of another, hard. The collision sent both him and the thief into the left wall of the alley, while Einhold jumped over them as he struggled to halt himself in time. Arrion rolled to the side and landed in a puddle of blackened water by the greasy wall, tasting blood in his mouth. The thief recovered quickly, springing to his feet and attempting to escape through another side alley, but Einhold’s large arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, holding him in place.

“Hold it!” Arrion hollered, straightening up. Einhold twisted the thief’s right arm into a half-nelson as Arrion wrung the water out of his cloak, scowling at the thief. The man they caught had an absurdly feminine visage. Arrion scrutinized his smooth dark brown hair and elegant face not unlike the symmetrical regality of a typical noble.

“Alright! Alright! I won’t struggle! Loosen your grip, you giant, my arm’s gonna come off!” The thief howled, beads of sweat making their way down his pale skin. Einhold smirked and released the thief, keeping hold of his right arm.

“It would serve your thieving ass right! You dare steal money from me? FROM ME!?” He bellowed into the thief’s face, squeezing the man’s wrist so hard that Arrion thought it would shatter into a thousand pieces. Seething over his injuries, Arrion limped over to the pair. Einhold yanked the thief’s hood down, revealing that the culprit was, in fact, neither grey, nor exonite, nor a man.

“An elf?” Arrion said in bewilderment as the thief’s long pointed ears were exposed.

“Yes! I’m an elf! And what of it?” The elf retorted, working her wrist into a more comfortable position in Einhold’s grip.

“Fraking hell, fair folk resorting to crime, and I thought your kind were a well to do lot,” Einhold chortled. The elf said nothing, but glared contemptuously back at her captor.

“We can use a good thief,” They said in amusement.

“What?” Arrion muttered, low enough that he was not heard over Einhold and the elf’s bickering. When no answer came, Arrion resigned himself to addressing it later and stepped toward the elf. “Ey, what’s your name?” he asked, cutting across Einhold’s next slur.

The elf looked up after a moment of intense consideration. “Irendria,” she said quietly, while Einhold forced her knees downward.

“You’re lying,” Arrion said abruptly.

“I am not! Why should I have to lie? Once I rid myself of you, we will never cross paths again! That I will make quite sure of,” Irendria spat back, glaring at her two captors. The alley began to dim dramatically as the cloud cover obscured the sun from view, shrouding it in a silvery cotton haze. Something caught Arrion’s gaze in the distant hall: a wrinkled whitish poster that contrasted harshly against the brown murkiness of the bricks behind itself. Einhold followed Arrion’s gaze toward the grimy wall.

“Say, that pest kinda looks like you, does she not?” Einhold teased, tilting the elf’s face toward the paper. Before Arrion could pursue his curiosity, Einhold thrust the elf into his arms roughly.

“Hold her,” Einhold muttered. Arrion forced the elf to the ground with his leg by buckling her knee and gripping her shoulders.

“Oi! Here’s your money alright? Just let me go already!” Irendria yelled, extricating with difficulty the stolen currency before tossing it to the ground with a strange movement of worry and urgency.

“Oh, I think we’ll hold onto you for a while,” Einhold gushed, brushing past Arrion not unlike a large boulder rolling down a mountain slope. Irendria cursed under her breath and began to struggle again, twisting back and forth to loosen Arrion’s grip. A sharp tearing noise drew the attention of the struggling elf and Arrion back to the wall. Einhold had ripped the thick yellowing parchment free of the filthy bricks, and was examining it closely. Arrion hauled Irendria across the pavement over to Einhold, who sported an increasingly widening smile with every flicker of his eyes across the damp parchment. The poster had a crude but decent stylused drawing of what looked to be a rough visage of Irendria from the shoulders up, inscribed with multiple sentences of varying font size regarding her crimes, capture reward, and lawful sentence. Whomever had drawn the portrait had evidently never seen her face or heard any reliable descriptions however, as the visage beneath the hood was shrowded intentionally with smeared and blackened grease.

“Six thousand Aeth, eh? Arrion, I believe we can buy our equipment ten times over with this frakin’ reward,”

Arrion returned Irendria to Einhold’s custody before examining the article for himself.

“Let’s turn this ankle-biter into the enforcers. They’ll probably find some way to rip us off, but we can’t possibly go wrong with a few thousand Aeth,” Einhold muttered over Arrion’s shoulder. The elf continued to struggle, but weakly, now with a dismayed shortage of breath.

“Can’t go back… mustn't go back… “ Irendria chanted, her eyes darting over the stained cobblestones, as though searching for something. Arrion turned to Einhold, cocking his musket.

“Go find the enforcers. I’ll watch her,”

Einhold nodded, tossing Irendria forward onto a wheelless wooden cart half full of what looked to be rotten fruit. The two watched Einhold make his way down the oily brown backstreets until he rounded the nearest left alley corner, leaving them with naught but each other.

“Yo,” Arrion initiated as he watched Irendria shove herself off the wagon, bits and pieces of dried peels and fibers tumbling down her tight black tunic. The elf tilted her head up, dusting off her spliced and grayed pants.

“What?” She shot back, flicking the last orange peel off the thick rim of her boots.

“What’s your real name, ‘Irendria’?''

“You know it.”

“I know you’re lying.”

“Believe what you want.”

“I will. I’m assuming you come from Ardn?”

The elf fell silent, narrowing her eyes in contempt.

“If you answer me, we can perhaps find an alternative to collecting your bounty,” Arrion suggested, copying Irendria’s expression. The elf seemed to give in after a moment of bated breath, shrugging.

“... Far away, I suppose. I mean—I don’t remember,” Irendria sighed, hanging her head back to gaze at the iron gray clouds drifting above the pair. For a long moment, Irendria remained silent, her head gradually returned to the floor, and her eyes flickered across the alley. Arrion was mildly impressed with the elf. He leveled his musket and pushed himself off the wall.

“You’re quite clever,” Arrion said with a slight grin.

“Where did that come from?”

“You’re trying to make me relax so you can escape, right?”

The elf furrowed her brow, “Do you blame me for it?”

“I suppose not,” Arrion chuckled, leaning back against the yellowing bricks, but keeping his musket aimed at Irendria’s right leg. Another long silence followed, with a vague stare-down between the two. Eventually, Irendria returned her gaze to the skies.

“I can’t go back to the mines, I’ll kill myself before I’m back to digging for that fraking salt.”

“Why resort to theft, then? Is there not the risk of being caught and returned to these… mines?”

“Think I enjoy stealing? Well, it IS pretty exciting sometimes… just knowing they will never find out it was you.” Irendria dropped her eyes back down to Arrion. “I don’t have much of a choice. If I don’t steal, I can’t eat. At least if I steal, there’s a chance for me.”

“A chance for what? For just another day of hiding? Scavenging for food like one of those wormed up dogs?” Arrion asked, submitting another dry chuckle before continuing.

“This isn’t living.”

“Heh. What do you consider worth living for?” Irendria scoffed, her face contorting into an expression of utter scorn. Arrion’s eyes glistened as he took a step forward, the musket dropping below his waist before meeting the elf’s toes.

“Adventure,”

Irendria cocked her head slightly before looking down at the musket currently pressing against her right boot.

“I could disarm you easily,” she said matter-of-factly, narrowing her eyes.

“But you won’t,” Arrion grinned. “Because you’re interested,”

Irendria raised one eyebrow.

“What exactly am I supposed to be interested in?”

“An adventure. A quest to find forgotten treasure, like in all your story books.”

“Sounds fun, but what good will it do to drag me along? This filthy place has grown on me. It keeps me fed.”

“The loot from this venture will keep you fed for a hundred lifetimes.”

Irendria remained silent once again. This time, she did not move her eyes.

“And if I refuse?” she queried, shooting Arrion a piercing look. Gray, her eyes were an impure gray, not unlike the thunder clouds that Arrion’s family used to fear during the hunting season.

“Then we’ll turn you in. We need your reward, and we have a crucial goal—”

“Crucial to you only,” Irendria interrupted. Arrion chose to ignore this. He knew the elf had no choice; all Irendria needed was a reminder of her possible fate.

“You’re welcome to spend the rest of your days as a salt miner,” Arrion hissed.

“I’m offering you an alternative to gutter life. I’m offering you a chance to make something of your miserable self,” he continued, tapping the barrel of the musket against a particularly wet and brown pavestone. Irendria’s mouth at first began to contort into a grimace, before reversing itself and curling its left corner into a one-sided grin.

“What happens when your companion returns?” she wondered, staring down the alley out of which Einhold made his exit.

“No worries there,” Arrion replied simply, retreating back to the opposite wall. After seeing the blackish streaks of filth upon the moldy straw colored bricks, he decided against leaning himself once again. A cloud soon relinquished its dominion over the sun’s power, and a gash of pure light tore through the heavens, casting the alleyway in a flood of gold. The pavestones lost their lackluster iron color, and for a moment glowed as bronze tiles.

This splendor was soon lost as the sun submitted once more to the clouds, and the backstreet returned to its execrable self.