Elven mages felt the horror of the void for the first time as it touched their minds. Many of their number went mad and unleashed the sum total of their magical energies. Those who kept their sanity failed to shield the rest of their brothers and sisters, their own defenses overwhelmed with the outpouring of wild entropic magic that ate away everything it touched.
- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC.
My heart continued to thump wildly in my chest, and my body felt uncomfortably warm. Gasping for air, I lifted my helm from my head and secured it to my belt, hastening my stride to match Kidu's lengthy gait. Though my thoughts repeatedly strayed to the shapely contours of Cillis' form, I forcefully banished her from my mind and calculated our remaining funds. Our acquisitions and trade dealings had left us with five and a half silver coins of varied denominations. This was a sum that, according to the couple, more than sufficient to acquire a decently crafted bow and a modest amount of arrows from a recommended bowyer in the market. To help save some money, Kidu even told me he could make his own arrows, provided he had the tools and appropriate materials.
It was around lunchtime by the time we made it to one of the markets near the central Ark, which loomed even more as we moved closer. The scale of the beached ship simply blew away the mind, its sleek lines and sheer size defied engineering for a culture at this level of technology. It was my belief that such a creation could only have been achieved through magical means.
The market square was much as I remembered it, busy with the sound of trade conducted by scores of merchants from all across the Grieving Lands. All sorts of goods were being sold here, from mundane kitchenware to purported magical artifacts and relics of mysterious power.
At the other end of the market and opposite our current location, there stood a structure that I surmised to be a temple, chiseled from the indigenous white alabaster rock. A golden dome, towering towards the heavens, competed with the Ark for supremacy in the city's skyline. Minarets, like sculpted stone sentinels, were situated at each of its corners.
Positioned at its entrance were two guards adorned in shining suits of heavy plate armor, wielding towering, bladed polearms. Devotees of the faith walked between them into the inner sanctum, bowing as they crossed the threshold in veneration. The deity or deities worshiped inside would however remain a mystery to us, as we had more pressing concerns to attend to.
Our stomachs rumbled, and Kidu and I were focused on one thing alone. The alluring scents of barbecued meat and exotic spices drifted through the air, tempting us with their delectable aroma. Scanning our surroundings, we eventually pinpointed the origin of these smells.
On a sizzling hot griddle, a hunched-over man of indeterminate age was cooking thick pieces of meat on a stick, basting them on occasion with a honey-colored glaze. Kidu and I ordered one each in exchange for a few coppers, and we bit down on our meals in excitement. The hot and spicy taste was rounded out with a unique grassy finish. Kidu, unaccustomed to such flavors, found himself in the midst of a gastronomic epiphany, his eyes almost glazed over in bliss, much to the amusement of the seller. We quickly placed another order for several more skewers.
As we indulged in our meals, two merchants across from us were caught up in a lively discussion regarding an upcoming event, ‘The Festival of the Undrawn’, which was to be held in a far-off city whose name escaped me. I listened as their words ebbed and flowed, the topic piquing my curiosity. Yet, for now, I remained content to bask in the flavors of the moment.
Once our considerable appetites were sated, we rinsed our hands in the lemon-scented bowls of water kindly provided by the cook. I adjusted the shield strapped to my back, feeling that I was finally being rewarded for all my suffering. This was the fantasy I had always yearned for! The sight and sounds from this exotic and alien world captured my senses, and I was glad to be present in the moment without the distraction of a connected device. In my previous life, I would have feverishly recorded the meal on whatever gadget was currently in vogue, instead of living and savoring the memories and experiences. Such thoughts, however, were nothing but an elegiac lament for a way of life now lost.
No, that was merely a polite deception, I told myself. I did not harbor much sorrow for the world I had left behind for I had traded superficial and trivial pleasures for the opportunity to pursue power. This trial had given me a precious gift. A chance to forge a new identity and become someone of worth. Here, I could find purpose.
My mind returned to the present, recalling our primary purpose for visiting the market. Following Cillis' instructions, we soon found the bowyer displaying his wares on a wooden stall. The bows on exhibit ranged in length and type; from one-piece longbows to composite recurve short bows made of exotic-looking horn material, wood, and metal. Each was securely fastened to the stall with a length of small steel chain.
In one corner, an ornate crossbow drew my eye. Its sleek lines and steel wings emanated raw threat and deadly purpose. I knew from my studies that training an effective archer could take many years, but a crossbowman could be trained in just a few weeks. My mouth was almost salivating at the thought. I knew I simply must have one like it someday.
Behind the wooden stall, sheaves of arrows and bolts lay in wooden barrels arranged in a neat row, with their prices written in the local script. Noticing my interest, the man behind the stall rubbed his hands together and came closer.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
I greeted the bowyer, who looked no more than thirty, except for the lines around his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks. He was a dark-haired man of above-average height, but he looked positively small standing next to the blue-eyed giant that was Kidu. His hooded, calculating brown eyes met mine as he returned my greeting.
"Hello there, the name's Ashan. I am a humble bowyer of Ansan City, selling the finest bows in all of the Grieving Lands," he said, his lines coming off as rote despite his friendly tone.
“Looking for a bow,” Kidu rumbled in his deep voice, looking down at the man.
“Yes,” I added, “Cillis the smith of the Soot-Stained Pig recommended you to us, Ashan. What can we get for three silver for my friend here? And, out of curiosity, how much is that crossbow going for?” I inquired.
“Ahh, you have a fine eye, good sirs! And a friend of Cillis is a friend of mine. That is a weapon from the faraway island of Quas, all the rage these days with the nobility, they say. A fine specimen like this one? For you, a special price, just a single gold piece!” the merchant exclaimed, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “As for a more modest choice for this large gentleman, I would recommend this excellent weapon here,” he answered, gesturing with exaggerated motions to a single-piece unstrung longbow of almost two meters in length.
“This is what I require,” said the giant simply to the merchant, looking him steadily in the eye.
“We’ll take it if you can throw in the string for the bow and a discount on some arrows,” I said quickly, not really wanting to bargain, and eager to conclude our business.
“Very good, sir,” Ashan said obsequiously, pathologically rubbing his hands in glee, “That will be three silver for the bow, and half a silver for some hunting arrows and forest spider silk string from the Sainba. Consider the quiver a gift for a first-time customer.”
I paid the merchant his money, impatient to be on my way. Kidu held his new bow, unstrung, like a staff as we walked. It was clear that our funds were dwindling rapidly, and as we strolled along the outskirts of the busy marketplace, the realization weighed heavily on my mind. Putting all our trust in Elwin's assurance of finding a fence would be unwise. I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way to earn some much-needed coin quickly. The thought gnawed at me like a hungry animal.
I stopped in my tracks for a moment, as the scene before me became suddenly familiar. This very street, I had witnessed it from a wholly different vantage point, when I was imprisoned in the cold confines of a cell. A wave of anger threatened to overwhelm me, for we were near the jail where I had been incarcerated when I first came to the city of Ansan.
The guards at the entrance were lazily leaning on their spears, indifferent to the bustling traffic passing them by. Their faces were vaguely familiar but distinguishing one local from another proved challenging. We walked past them, and I pulled my hood further down, hoping to avoid recognition.
However, a small part of me longed for them to recognize us, yearning for a quick and violent confrontation. As compensation for their failure to recognize me, I made a point to etch their faces into my memory and vowed to return one day. The temptation to incinerate them in their metal armor almost overwhelmed me. I forced the impulse down until my anger grew cold. Calculating.
The gods or fate, however, would soon deliver unto me a welcome present. A lightly armored man was retching into the mud in an alley between two wooden buildings, just opposite the jail. I smiled at Kidu, a knowing grin tinged with a hint of madness. The wild man looked at me quizzically but followed me nonetheless as I stalked toward my prey. Softly whistling a forgotten tune, I cast an Identify spell at the poor man struggling with the contents of his stomach. My confidence grew with each stride as I closed the distance.
Bataar Jargal - City Guard Recruit (Human lvl.7)
Health: 62/71
Stamina: 18/25
Mana: 7/7
My eyes quickly assessed the man's weakness and vulnerability as I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, feigning friendliness. Murmuring his name in a concerned tone, I drew my newly acquired dagger with a swift and fluid motion, slicing his throat. Blood and vomit mixed as he gurgled his last breath, and I propped him up against a building, his mouth frozen in a silent scream with crimson liquid flowing down his front. My deception was seamless, and to any casual observer at a distance, I was simply a concerned friend.
A few moments passed, and I watched the light slowly fade from his eyes. I saw fear there—the fear of the end—and a part of me resonated with that emptiness. A breath later, received a notification of the man's death, accompanied by a paltry twenty experience points. I tsked to myself as I rifled through his purse, which contained only a handful of coppers. Truly pathetic, in every sense of the word. For a fleeting moment, I pondered whether the reward for experience points was proportional to the difficulty of the kill.
Whatever it took, I was determined to avoid meeting a similar end. Death, its dark oblivion, terrified me. The voices within concurred, pleased with my conclusion.
My heart pounded in my chest for what felt like an eternity as we made our way down a few streets. Suddenly, Kidu's eyes hardened, and his mouth formed a grim line. He spoke rare words to me, his hunger evident in his gaze. "That was a well-struck blow in the name of vengeance."
A guffaw escaped me, grateful to be spared a sermon on the inviolability of mortal existence. "The next one shall be yours, I vow," I offered, to which Kidu responded with a resonant, earthy chortle. It seemed as though a shadow had been lifted from him, a darkness I had not perceived until that moment when his smile broke through, sincere and unfeigned. At long last, he was unshackled from the chains of impotence that had bound him, some of the gloom in his eyes dissipating.