The harpy's razor talons crunched into Abram’s shoulder pauldron, slicing through the metal like flesh and yanking him off his feet. The rush of air from the harpy's beating wings punched into him even through the already vicious winds of the blizzard, the rocky ledge below him grew smaller as it faded from view in the violent snowy skies. Killing the harpy now would mean plunging to his certain death, and being carried to its nest would mean being torn apart and eaten alive by it's young. A pang of grief shot through his chest as he remembered his fallen sword, sent clattering over the edge into the snowy abyss mere moments before.
A chunk of mountain came into view to his left, just barely, through the chaotic haze of the snow storm. Abram reached over his clutched shoulder with the same arm and grabbed a tight hold of the harpy's leg, with his other arm he drew a dagger and stabbed it into the creature's calf. The harpy shrieked in fury and released its talons, dropping Abram to dangle by the grip of his hands. He kept the knife plunged deep and used it as a handhold, while the harpy swerved hard to the left from the sudden lopsided weight. It flapped its wings furiously and shrieked in panic and pain as they hurdled towards the mountain.
Armor crunched as Abram slammed into the rock face. The harpy's leg was pulled from his grip as it toppled forward over the ledge. He scrambled to find purchase, punching through the snow to find the rock below, barely clinging to the ledge as snow fell away around him. He pulled himself up and over the ledge with an angry snarl. He didn't rise to his feet, fearing the strong winds of the storm. Instead he crawled forward through the snow, pulling himself towards the harpy where it lay writhing and shrieking. Before he could reach it, the harpy began to stand. The snowy silhouette of a broken wing popped awkwardly in and out of place, twisted and mangled too badly to fold. The harpy rose to tower over him, the blizzard only partially obscuring the grotesque facsimile of a woman's body on the nearly nine foot tall frame.
The harpy shrieked, reaching for Abram’s head with four gleaming talons on its foot. He rolled to dodge, brought himself to his hands and feet and then launched forward, tackling the harpy to the ground. He heard snapping bones and more pain filled screams as they landed. He reached down and yanked his knife free from the creature's leg, then wrestled his way up the harpy's body until he sat on its chest. He thrust the dagger towards the harpy's neck--
Iris Orion's eyes shot up from the page as the bell above the entrance chimed. She sighed disheartened, and flipped the magazine closed -- the cover reading "Sir Abram Brant's Wild Adventures." She watched the customers filter in. They were out-of-towners, like most customers at Quell's Adventure Emporium -- named so despite barely selling any real adventuring gear and not being, by any means, an emporium.
There were two couples, likely stocking up for a hike up the mountain at the tip of the valley. The mountains along the edge could be peaked in a day’s hike, but at the tip where the two ridges met was a slightly larger mountain that most climbers camped for the evening before descending. Considering most of the geography for hundreds of miles outside the valley was open plains and farmland, tourists traveled a long way to climb the isolated peaks. Iris had never been impressed by it, however. Compared to the mountains Sir Abram Brant climbed, the mountains here weren't even hills.
The shop stocked all manner of gear. Clothes, climbing equipment, camping supplies, rations, even some cheaply made potions. Most of it wasn't very good quality, of course, and there was precious little actual adventuring gear since no real adventurers ever came to this town. The shop didn't even have any adventure journals, the quintessential item that every adventurer should have. It was more of an aspiring hobbyist's introductory emporium than a true adventurer's shop, Iris reasoned.
She sat at the counter, chin resting in her hand, as she idly watched the shoppers debate over how many rations they would need and which flavors they should get. She could probably get away with reading her magazine while they were shopping, but didn't want to risk another snitch reporting her to the owner.
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Phineas Quell was the worst kind of boss, the kind that expected you to look busy when you weren't and never take time to rest. Even the stool that she sat in was normally against the rules, but last time Mr. Quell tried to take it from her she'd gotten Mrs. Rousey -- the town herbalist -- to vouch that Iris needed the stool for undisclosed medical reasons. Mr. Quell had begrudgingly surrendered that battle, mostly because the whole town knew not to come between Mrs. Rousey and her patients. Of course, at the time Iris only needed the stool for a few days while she rested a twisted ankle, but Mrs. Rousey neglected to mention that timeframe to Mr. Quell.
An eternity later, when the customers had finally chosen their items and approached the counter, Iris smiled and conversed with them while she tallied up their items. In all they spent 50 gold pieces, more than Iris made in an entire month. She held in her sigh of contempt as she counted the coins.
"All here," she said with a fake smile, sweeping the coins off the counter and into a bucket. She hoped the customers didn't notice her eye twitch at the thought of sitting beside literal buckets of coin while she struggled to pay rent, "y'all have a good one and be safe out there!"
That last part was genuine, she really did hope these customers knew what they were getting into. The mountain might be nothing compared to the mountains Abram Brant climbed, but the customers were also nothing compared to Abram Brant. As the customers departed, Iris's coworker Ada entered.
"Hello!" she said cheerily, trailing the word extravagantly.
"Evening, Ada," Iris said with a faint but genuine smile.
"Another long day?" Ada made an empathetic frown.
"The usual," Iris sighed, "are you here early?" her tone shifting to curious as she noticed the short shadows outside.
"Always am," Ada said with a smile, "but yes I'm a little extra early today. I finished my chores early so I thought I'd just come right in."
"Ada, you are one of a kind," Iris said, envying Ada's seemingly limitless capacity for menial labor.
"Oh shut up," Ada said playfully, "now go on, get out of here. Don't you have some rocks to throw at trees or something?"
"Actually," Iris perked up, "I do."
The sound of the ringing bell was abruptly muffled as the door to the shop closed behind Iris. She stepped out onto the packed-dirt road and took in a deep breath of fresh air. She already felt better, but that didn't stop her shoulders from slumping as she breathed out. Something about that place just seemed to drain her. She cut through town on the shortest path towards the woods at the western edge of the village.
As she hurried through town, eager to escape into the wilderness where she could recharge her mind, she passed the town bulletin board in the central square. When she was young, she used to read the job postings there and fantasize about them as if she were a valiant adventurer completing grand and elaborate quests. In reality, every job posted on the board in a town like this was guaranteed to be something mundane like finding a lost pet or lifting something heavy. As pleasant as it was to live in the safest parts of the world deep within the empire's territory, no danger meant no real quests, and no real quests meant no real adventurers. She sighed, wishing for the ten thousandth time that she'd been born somewhere else.
She recalled one of the only eventful things to happen in this town in her lifetime -- which, to be fair, was only 18 years. It had been a particularly harrowing time for the town, a monster -- an honest to the gods magically entangled monster -- had been preying on people and livestock in the valley. It was shaped mostly like a bear, but had grown much larger than any ordinary bear ever should. On top of its size, it was said to have had a ravenous, insatiable hunger. The town mayor hadn't bothered posting a job for it on the bulletin board, instead sending a request to the regional lord to send someone to slay it. Iris had looked forward to watching the battle, but had to miss it because she was scheduled to work the shop the day the adventurer arrived and hadn't been allowed to close up to go watch. She had never forgiven Mr. Quell for that. She had spent the next week asking every customer who came in what they knew about it, eventually collecting a dozen variations of the story.
She carried on towards the forest, her mind filled with swirling fantasies of epic feats, magic powers and giant beasts.