In the dense and shadowy forests of the Grieving Lands, particularly abundant in the Sainba and the King’s Forest of Aranthia, the insectoid Happy Feet can be found.
The Happy Feet is a colossal millipede-like creature, stretching up to twelve feet in length with a segmented body covered in a glossy, chitinous shell that ranges in color from dark green to a muted brown. Each segment is lined with hundreds of tiny, rapidly moving legs, giving the creature its unsettling, skittering motion and the somewhat ironic name "Happy Feet." Its antennae are long and sensitive, constantly twitching as it navigates the dense underbrush of its forested home.
The Happy Feet feeds on deadwood, mulch, and other decaying plant matter, playing a crucial role in the forest’s ecosystem by breaking down organic material and returning nutrients to the soil.
Despite its somewhat unnatural and fearsome appearance, the Happy Feet is generally non-aggressive. It prefers mostly to burrow into the forest floor during the day, emerging at night to forage. When threatened, it secretes a foul-smelling substance from its underbelly, deterring predators and would-be hunters.
While the Happy Feet’s flesh is edible, it is a last resort for desperate peasants during harsh winters or famines. The meat is notoriously bitter and tough, requiring heavy use of spices and flavoring to become even remotely palatable.
However, the creature’s real value lies in its durable tough yet flexible shell. The segmented chitin exoskeleton can be fashioned into primitive armor, offering a surprising amount of protection. This makes it a favored material for the military levies of Aranthia and poorer adventurers who cannot afford more refined armor.
In Aranthian folklore, encountering a Happy Feet is considered both a blessing and a curse. The creature is seen as a symbol of resilience and survival, but its presence often foreshadows hard times ahead, given its association with scarcity and desperation.
- Monsters of the Mortal Realms by K. D. Fidditch.
Rent and torn in places, my armor had become a battered mess, but my body remained for the most part almost unscathed. Still, I felt a mental weariness from having to put in actual effort. To the casual onlooker, I must have looked like a creature out of a nightmare, with gore and viscera splattered across my form. Most of it, I might add, was not my own.
"Is there anyone else? Anyone else!?" I challenged those still waiting for their turn, high on victory’s wings.
All of them, almost to the man, looked away and only silence answered me.
It seemed that this had been the final straw. The remaining challengers shuffled back, and silence fell as the line of people dispersed. No amount of gold could convince them to pick up the gauntlet I had thrown down.
Damn that ape Beastkin for forcing me to reveal some of the cards I held close to my chest.
*****
The armorer of Salahaem, a man who introduced himself as Kipikarui, took my measurements in my apartments with sure and practiced hands. By his name and appearance, it was clear he was not a native-born Lazarian. He was a small man, chubby and content, with the look of one who enjoys his meals with relish. As he worked, he hummed softly, engaging me in idle conversation, probing my preferences in armor with casual yet professional curiosity.
After careful thought, I instructed him to craft or acquire pieces of armor as thick and as heavy as possible where appropriate without compromising my range of movement—thicker even than the usual standards. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement as he asked for the reason behind such an unusual request.
I lied, telling him it would serve as a sort of training armor while my regular harness was being repaired.
Kipikarui explained that an alloy of Adamantite and steel would be required—an exorbitantly expensive proposition. Or simply lead if it was just a matter of weight, which, of course, I promptly rejected. The Adamantite alloy’s weight was roughly one and a half times that of steel and was typically reserved for parts of weapons or selective armor plating. To fashion an entire suit or harness from such a material would be impractical, unwieldy, and ruinously costly.
The Princess, the nickname I had given to Aelayah in my private thoughts, had set aside fifty gold pieces for my equipment—a veritable fortune if I were honest. To this, I supplemented my own funds, instructing the armorer to spare no expense or effort in its creation. Despite his continued objections, I stood firm, finally explaining to him that I possessed more than enough strength to bear such protection.
I would be a pauper, but a well-protected one.
With a resigned sigh, he placed both palms on his head and bowed deeply, accepting my command.
*****
Word had spread quickly about yesterday's events, and now there was no longer a line of challengers waiting for their turn. I sat back in a comfortable chair, relaxing as much as I could in a suit of borrowed armor—a coat of thick, interlocking scales over fine mail—and sipped on iced Lanelo juice. It puzzled me how they had managed to acquire ice here without modern refrigeration. Perhaps the locals had discovered evaporative cooling or simply employed some magical means.
As I finished my juice, I gestured for a servant to take the cup away. A part of me was frustrated that no one had mustered the courage to face me all morning, and now, well into the afternoon. Yet for all of that, another part of me was relieved, savoring the quiet, leisurely life a little longer.
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I looked around, remembering that Elenora had asked to be excused this day, claiming that yesterday’s events had been somewhat unsettling for her stomach. In my largesse, I forgave her feminine foibles. The woman had indeed looked a bit sallow, weaker to some degree. Perhaps I had been a bit too rough with my recent affections.
Closing my eyes, I drifted off into a lazy nap. However, some instinct soon stirred me to a semblance of wakefulness, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. There was a palpable tension in the palace, thickening the air and setting the servants behind me to whispering nervously.
The Princess, the Lady Aelayah, strode purposefully across the manicured lawn, shaded by servants holding parasols and flanked by two score of guards. Behind her retinue, a solitary, mysterious figure clad in flowing robes of white followed with such grace that they seemed to float across the grass.
“You have guest, Gilgamesh,” Yousef, Aelayah’s weed-thin seneschal, informed.
I got up to give them a formal greeting. “A good day to you, and of course, the Lady Aelayah,” I intoned formally, giving a bow that was just deep enough for what protocol called for.
"Alim has sent one of their own," Aelayah announced, gesturing with her fan toward the figure behind her.
The figure, possibly a woman or a very lithe man, stood with hands clasped together. Their face was concealed by a headscarf and veil, revealing only a pair of predatory eyes that watched me intently. My eyes looked down, noting the slim, curved sword encased an ivory scabbard at his side.
"My name is Zuhayr Al-Alim, if it pleases you," the figure said in a monotone voice. A man then. "Word has reached the Alim that there is someone with the skills of a Sleeper in the city of Dust."
I grimaced. “No, it does not please me. I was enjoying this fine morning with a moment of contemplation. You disturb my meditations.”
Aelayah looked tense, although she hid it well. I had observed before that she had a habit of touching her left elbow in more stressful situations. As for Yousef, he looked as impassive and calm as a still lake on a winter’s morning.
This Zuhayr person looked calm and composed, too, his posture relaxed. Too relaxed. It was something however that I was familiar with, a state of greater relaxation that allowed for the speed of a studied strike.
Without warning, his hands moved with incredible speed. His shoulders remained still, the only hint of his intention being the subtle shift in his footwork. The blade at his side flew toward me with near-invisible speed, halting perfectly still just before it touched my bevor.
A masterful martial display, but I did not flinch, did not blink. It was beneath me. Fast it had been, but compared to Fen it might as well have been a child’s wild flailing.
“It seems that we have been mistaken,” he apologized, smoothly sheathing his sword and dismissively turning around.
I answered as the rules of the world allowed me to, striking with greater precision, greater speed, at his unarmored head with my Shocksteel hammer. My weapon sang in joy, whistling as it caved in his head with a solid crunch.
You have slain a human 200 experience gained.
You have learned Backstab (lvl.4)
“Two can play that game,” I hissed, spitting on his corpse. I was mildly amused that smashing in someone’s skull from behind counted as a ‘backstab.’
“What have you done!” half-screeched Aelayah in a voice that was not very ladylike at all. Her guards tensed but did not draw their weapons. I was a well known factor to them.
“Seneschal, did not this Zuhayr person draw steel against me first?” I asked, disrespectfully kicking the corpse at my feet. At least his death rewarded me with a decent chunk of experience. Now, I had roughly accrued a third of the experience required to reach my next level.
The man remained stock-still, unwilling to answer at first. It was a good few seconds before he nodded.
“These Alims sent this creature to test your power, Lady Aelayah. They sent this one to die, or humiliate you,” I stated confidently, leaning against my hammer. “Either way, it would have been a loss. If he returned, it would have been a sign of weakness. If he died, they would have good reason to censure you in some way. I must add, however, that to draw a weapon against someone in your service and attack them… was just, well… rather rude,” I finished with a shrug.
Yousef leaned forward, looking like a tree that was bent in the wind, to whisper something in Aelayah’s ear. The young girl’s face was a mask of thought of concentration.
“Well, dishonorable as both parties might have been…” she started.
I seethed inside and must have glared subconsciously at the girl.
She looked away for a moment, breaking eye contact with me. “...As dishonorable as the Alim was, it is true that he was a self-professed Sleeper of his house. To defeat one, even if off-guard, in single combat is a great feat…” she corrected herself somewhat hastily.
Annoyed, I grabbed the Sleeper’s sword and Aelayah fearfully jumped back, intimidated. Now, her guards reached for their weapons but did not draw them.
“You can not stea… take that! The forms must be observed. You would have us at war with the Alim too soon…” the girl complained, her servants nodding in tune with her.
I drew an elegant curve of silver shining from its scabbard and took a moment to appreciate how its metal surface seemed to both draw in and reflect the soft afternoon light. Cutting down with all my might, I sliced cleanly through bone, decapitating the corpse and sinking the blade deep into the earth.
“I have no reason to take such a feeble weapon. We can return him to his House like this. A statement of Strength. A true Sleeper he has become, a guest now of the Long Dream,” I pronounced with false solemnity.
Already dismissing the fabled Sleeper from my mind and thinking about what was for dinner, I advised, “You can not appear weak to these people, Lady Aelayah. They are like snakes waiting for an opening. The forms must be observed, but we must act with as much freedom as we can within them.”
She looked aghast for a second. To me, it was as if her face frowned prettily, closer to a pout than anything else. By her expression, I imagined that she was thinking on my words.
Aelayah’s next utterance was tight and controlled. “You overstep yourself Gilgamesh… but,” she said, glancing at her seneschal for support. “But, I see that you only made the best of a bad situation. By our laws, you were not at fault. Though, I did not wish to provoke another great House of Al-Lazar just yet. Still, you have proven yet another of your claims to be true. See that you win the damned Festival, and we will talk about the other matters…” she finished, sniffing primly, the smallest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks.
“As you wish, Prin… Lady Aelayah,” I answered with an insouciant and reckless smile.
She made a small show of not answering, somehow managing to look down her nose at me despite the difference in height.