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Hardluck Henry's Guide to Cultivation
Side Story : The Rats Nest

Side Story : The Rats Nest

The district of Rat Nest winds and snakes for miles in the heart of Altari. Like a cancer that has latched on and not killed its host, it has stood the test of time and conquest. Altari has changed hands many times, yet the Rat Nest has remained untouched.

The residents of the Rat Nest hated strangers, and the strangers did not care much for their residents. Life is hard and fast in the Rat’s Nest, laws are flimsy things here like paper lanterns in a storm. The only rules were the ones that were dictated by the strong and obeyed by the weak. Every alley held a knife for a purse and a blade for the soft neck of tourists. No one wanted to live here. They were made to live here either through circumstances or misfortune.

Strangely enough, the residents never seemed to want to leave. It was as if they had been changed so thoroughly by the district that they could not survive outside of its soot-covered walls. The walls themselves were massive. Some ancient deities placed Four giant stone slabs-like sheets to contain the district. These walls kept the world safe from the residents of the Rat Nest.

One might ask why Altari put up with this mass of depravity and debauchery in the heart of its mighty metropolis. Well, the short answer is that this is where folks go to blow off steam. Packing all its vices and monsters into one district spared the rest of the city from the corrupting influence of those nefarious forces. It also helped the local law enforcement when some ancient evil decided to wreak havoc. The Rat Nest polices its own demons and hordes its own enterprises with jealousy. It does not play well with interlopers.

Some Casterian gang tried to move in on the Fey dust trade a few years back by selling it outside the walls. It took three days before the City Watch discovered in front of the city gates, pinned to the walls in a neat row, all the heads of the Casterians. Underneath was a little wooden sign that read, “Accept no substitutes for your pleasures, Come for the Best or Die like the Rest,” signed, The Ebony Fangs of the Rat Nest. Needless to say, the illicit drug trade died overnight.

The City watch left the Ratlings(that’s what they called the citizens of the district} alone; they knew it was just better this way. They could keep the regular, good, hardworking folks safe, and the Ratlings could keep their own monsters locked up in the district. The fat sack of money sent to the Watch every month also helped. There were even perks for the good watchman who turned an eye when walking through the district. Cheaper girls, more potent drugs, hell, maybe they would even get tipped off by an urchin that they really shouldn’t walk down a particular alley at a specific time.

Everyone knew about the Rat Nest, and no one cared; they knew that good boys and girls avoided it. There was no better place to go if you wanted some bad boys and girls. This is not a tale of the Rat Nest but one of its residents. There have already been too many stories and myths about this district. No, this is the tale of a simple dishwasher. This tale is about Nikolai, the dishwasher of the Witches Tit. A poor orphan boy who was found at the steps of the tavern swaddled in dirty rags and deathly silent. Fat Chen, the tavern owner, found him when he went out for a nightly smoke and took a shine to the boy. From later accounts by Fat Chen, he claimed the boy drew him in with his demon black eyes and enchanted him. From other accounts the residents said that Fat Chen had five daughters and no son, some say that he was cursed to sire no sons. For whatever reason, that night, someone did a selfless and kind act in the Rat Den. It happens sometimes, even in places like this. Don’t get used to this happening often, it is the Rat Nest after all.

Fat Chen held this pink little butter ball with a mop of black hair and obsidian-piercing eyes and tilted his head. The babe tilted its head, cooing softly. Fat Chen raised one bushy eyebrow and then the other. The babe attempted to raise one eyebrow but was betrayed by the muscles in his face. He concentrated and scrunched up his face, straining and turning red, trying to waggle his eyebrows. Something must have cleared inside of him because a quiet little toot emitted from this babe. Fat Chen, surprised by the noise and smell, couldn't help but chuckle. The babe chuckled a baby laugh.

Something in Fat Chen’s iron heart melted at that sight. He loved his daughters dearly, every single one, but he always wanted a little boy. Someone to teach how to fight, run the bar, and kick out the drunks. Someone to carry his name and remember him with fond memories of when he passed. Someone who would burn the incense for him when he was in his forefather's house. His poor wife, bless her heart, died after his fourth daughter, and Fat Chen didn’t think he had the money or energy for another wife.

This child was a blessing, he thought as he reached out to touch the boy's face. With a lightning-quick reaction, the babe bit Fat Chen, who yelped and withdrew his hand. Two drops of blood leaked from two little holes where the rascal had bitten him. The babe thought this was a game and cooed happily at him. “The Old Crone be damned,” Fat Chen spoke with reverence. Just his thrice-damned luck, Fat Chen thought the kid had goddamned fangs for incisors. Fat Chen only knew of one kind of monster that had fangs like that, but he had never in all his years ever heard of a baby that was one. What kind of fucked up shit could have made this thing.

He should just kill it now, Fat Chen thought to himself. Smash its head on the dirt and bury it six feet under the ground. As if having just figured something out, the babe reached out with their chubby little hands and grabbed Fat Chen's finger, which he had bitten. A soft golden glow emitted from his hands, and the two little holes knitted themselves close. This must have taken a lot from the baby because he promptly fell asleep.

Dumbfounded by what had just happened, Fat Chen cursed silently. “The Golden Mother, save me.” The baby had just used Light magic. No child this young should be able to do this, and no child with his condition should even be able to be near it without bursting into flames. Fat Chen made up his mind right then and there as he looked at the cherubic, chubby face of the sleeping baby. Monster or saint, it was still just a baby, and Fat Chen, despite living in the Rat Nest all his life, would never be a baby killer.

Fat Chen should have killed that child that night and saved the world and the child's years of pain and terror because nothing good ever came to or from the Rat Nest.

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****

“Alex, get your ass out here and clear the tables,” Fat Chen bellowed, spraying globs of spit onto the glass that he was wiping with a rag. He probably made the glass cleaner, if anything, by adding that bit of saliva.

“Coming, pops, just helping Clotho with the potatoes,” Alex said as he swept all the dirty plates and bowls on his wooden tray. “You know how she knicks herself all the time,” he said as he nimbly stacked the plates and bowls. “Last time, the stew was more skin than potatoes, not like anyone even noticed,” Alex said as he stacked higher and higher. With grace and agility that belayed his sixteen years of age, he cleared all the tables and was currently wiping them down. “ Lachy and Atro always take forever when they go to the market; it's like, how long does it take to get some carrots and rat meat.”

“Shut up boy, you know we don’t serve rat meat, we use the finest cuts of goat meat for the stew.” Fat Chen mumbled in a hurt tone in his voice.

Alex looked at his papa with a raised eyebrow. “Pa, you and I both know that the stew is more gristly than meat and besides, you know the villains that come here will eat pig slop if it's cheap enough.”

Alex dumped all the plates and bowls into the basin behind the bar. He poured some clean water from the secret stash into a clean mug and gave his papa a fresh ale. He sits down dramatically on the chair next to his father, handing Fat Chen the ale as he throws his arm over the lumbering barkeep's shoulder. Father and son clink glasses and drain their respective drinks in one gulp, both sighing in the same satisfied manner. They make a very curious duo to all the tavern patrons: the gruff, hard giant and his lithe, almost ethereally handsome son.

Fat Chen was not fat as much as he was a gigantic mound of a man. Calling him fat would be like calling a bear fat. He claimed easy living had made him put on weight, but underneath all that jiggling beer, his belly was hunks of muscle hardened by the wars of ages long past. Fat Chen was some kind of war hero back on the frontiers until he said or did something that got him bounced to the Rat Nest. He stood six feet five and was obscenely bald. A giant black walrus mustache nestled on his lip like its own entity. His bellowing laugh could disarm you into thinking him some jovial giant, but the sharp blue eyes proved otherwise, constantly checking the tavern for troublemakers.

On the other hand, Alex was a sight that bards wrote tales about. Tall and wiry with chords of muscles on him. Jet black long hair leading down to wide broad shoulders accented by a long swan-like neck. Porcelain skin showed no signs of the imperfections of his teenage years. High cheekbones and soft, pouty lips that promised a candied lie and a broken heart. He bore no visible resemblance to his father at first glance. Where his papa was a bear, Alex was more like a frost similadon. Power and grace are held in check by a hunter's mind. One couldn’t be faulted for assuming they had no relations. That is until you looked at Alex’s eyes. The same startling blue eyes as his papa. Always watching exits and always on the lookout for trouble.

His papa was getting soft with age and always left troublemakers with bruises if they acted up. Not Alex, you start shit at the Witch's Tit, and you get carted out the door. Alex loved his papa and sisters dearly, and growing up in the Rat Nest district made him wary of strangers and ferociously protective of his family. He loved moments like this when he could just share a drink with his papa without his sisters harping on them or some drunk acting up.

Moments like this almost made him forget that he lived in the Rat Nest. It almost made him forget that his Papa was getting more gray hairs and wrinkles around his eyes. A war hero had many scars, and while some wore them as badges of honor, they still weighed heavily on you. Fat Chen had been a frontline man in his youth, and most of them didn’t live as long as he did.

Alex saw his father winching every morning as he woke to stoke the fire. Although he was too proud to ask for help, Alex knew he always appreciated it when he was there to lend a helping hand.

“Hey, Pop?” Alex asked, “When will you let me tend the bar and just kick back and enjoy all that money you stashed away? Maybe find some pretty young thing and get out of this shithole.”

“Bahh, first off, what money?” said Fat Chen as he looked at his son with sudden tenderness. “I’m still a married man, see,” he said, pointing to a worn golden wedding band. “Besides, I love having you and your sisters here with me where I can make sure you are all safe.” Having decided that was enough feeling for one day, his papa stood up and belched loudly.

“Ten minute break is over, go help Clotho finish the stew, we got a big dinner rush. I heard some assholes tried to knock over a betting house that was in Crimson Claws territory. Ole Otto and his boys will be famished after a good spot of murder.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Alex saluted with a flourish as he ducked a wedge of bread being hurled at him by his father before dashing into the kitchen.

Alex always loved walking into the kitchen when it was stew night. Regardless of what he had said earlier, the stew did not contain even trace amounts of rat meat. The Witch’s Tit, despite its location, served delicious food. Fat Chen knew his stuff and had collected many recipes during his travels as a young man. Tonight was Northern Tyria spiced goat stew and large mountains of mashed potatoes. The goat was gristly and old, making the stew even better. His papa had taught him that old meat tended to give more flavor and depth to stews, and he always bought the oldest beast at the market. Alex thought this was more because Fat Chen was a penny pincher than anything. Papa’s stew was always so damn good, though, so maybe there was a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

Alex stirred the bubbling cauldron, tasting for salt, and knew that this was the right time to add the pearl onions and aromatics that would have been overpowered if added earlier in the process. He grabbed his favorite knife and diced the bay leaves and leafy green onions.

Alex is fast, inhumanly so. The blade was an extension of his body, and he zoned out. He had always loved to cook, even as a little boy. The act of creating something that could bring people joy was so magical. Like a mage creating a spell, but instead of melting people’s faces, it melts their taste buds. He always had a knack for cooking. Besides his incredible dexterity and knife skills, he has an insane nose and a very refined palate when it comes to knowing what is necessary to elevate a dish.

Ever since Alex took over the kitchen from his sister Clotho, foot traffic has steadily increased. Alex sprinkled the bay leaves and green onions into the stew before taking a little spoon and tasting it. Needs a hit of vinegar, he thought to cut through the richness of the goat. Humming to himself, Alex splashed some vinegar on the stew before tasting it again. Delicious, he thought before proclaiming loudly, “Clotho, you gotta try this. It's gotta be my best one yet,” Alex said as he turned around, looking for his sister. That was when he heard the blood-curdling scream.