8:17 P.M.
January 12
Wintermonth 11
Saint Shepherd Church, Limeroom, Veotera
Gary sat in his small room in the church’s side rooms, looking over the items he’d collected spread over the floor of the room. It wasn’t a king’s ransom by any stretch of the imagination but it was his. All he’d had to do was defeat a fantasy trope of a fight and be a shit to the bastards who’d done it. Simple, but not easy… That was what he wanted to tell himself.
The truth was it had been so damn fulfilling he was instantly worried for his mental health. The System’s tutorial had mentioned that some Classes gave mental influence over their bearers. Was Plunderer one of those? That very out-of-character jolt of happiness when he’d picked up that knife was clearly out of Gary’s normal behavior to the point he’d instantly called himself out on it even through the hypocrisy of what he’d said aloud. Remmy had sat him down and lectured him on the dangers of losing himself, and it rung inside his heart. What was the point of surviving here if he failed to adhere to the warning from Earth’s saying that the hunter should beware becoming what he hunts?
A derisive snort at his melancholy dismissed the thoughts. It was time to properly check his loot. Three coin purses, the bald man’s simpler knife, the wiry man’s club, and fast man’s knife all sat on the half-tatters of Gary’s crimson cloak. Remmy had left him for the evening with a sewing needle, some crimson thread, and a surprising look of patience as he glanced at the garment before leaving Gary for the evening. The unspoken order was there.
The club was the first to be inspected. Despite the clearly crude make of the implement and rough treatment by both it’s former owner and Gary throwing it into the wiry man’s gut, it was in surprisingly good condition. It lacked a harness or holding strap of any sort making Gary believe the man had simply tucked it into his belt when not wielding it. It was entirely made of a wood with a hearty grain to it which Gary chalked up to being some flavor of oak after calling up a series of images from his Virtual Network’s archives on the matter. There were no visible cracks in the surface and none appeared when Gary poked and prodded it. A simple but solid addition to his arsenal.
The bald man’s knife was of a simple make; a double-edged dagger with a blade roughly eight to nine inches in length. The handguard was a simple rounded piece of metal before a leather-wrapped grip and unadorned flat pommel barely larger than the grip. Gary looked at the coin purses and gently ran the edge against a loose bit of string from the bigger string cinching one closed. It took a bit of pressure to cut but eventually the blade worked through the tiny target. It needed sharpening, but it was free of rust, nicks, or obvious defects. A sheath came with this one and Gary united the two before wrapping the loose parts of the tie to a belt around it and set it beside the club.
The second knife held his attention next, and as he looked more closely at it something about the wrapping of the hilt caught his attention. Holding it up to the flame light of the lantern Gary peered at it and blinked in surprise. “Is that an onyx?” Images of onyx flicked into his sight at the strong thought and Gary compared the now-obvious stone in his new acquisition to the matching images in his head. Sure enough, the hilt’s leather wrappings were hiding a gemstone right where the palm would be. “That motherfucker. He was using Onyx magic to juice his movement speed up somehow. That’s pretty damn clever.” Invigorated by the find Gary poured over every aspect of the weapon now. Had he lucked into a full relqa?
The Bowienet - at least that’s what Gary called it in his head in an inspired bout of dull mediocrity - failed to reveal any markings or etchings that would give away having such a nature. Probably not, then. It was still a nice knife once he cleaned his own blood off of it and looked as pristine as it had when it was first pulled on him. Curious at something Gary touched the onyx in the hilt and the surge of joy flipped up and down his spine again. The teenager immediately dropped the knife and leaned back. So it was the onyx that had triggered Plunderer to act like that. Taking a moment to think it made sense. Plundering was bound to feel better if it was something valuable, and this particular gemstone resonated with both his Class and Affinity.
Gary clicked his tongue at the weapon and sheathed it in the much nicer sheath than the bald thug’s dagger had. A problem for later Gary, then. It was now time for the coinage to be counted. Each bag was emptied out onto the cloth into a single pile, and Gary’s eye expertly picked through the pile as his fingers spread them out to let him see the whole thing at once. The Runees glinted dully back up at him in the lantern light, and something within him jostled excitedly when he saw the spark of silver among the warm brown color of bronze.
[https://i.imgur.com/uESbg0x.png]
This was the coin of the realm. It was one of the anachronistic parts of the world of Veotera he’d found. It was your standard hard currency made of valuable metals, but what made these ones special was the fact they were hexagonal. They were consistently hexagonal such that when stacked they formed a single smooth line of metal. It pointed to a clearly sophisticated minting process as the interior had a ring of raised relief entwined around the central emblem. It varied in shape depending on the value of the currency itself as well as the type of metal; the bronze ones having a somewhat stylized lower-case ‘r’ with a line through part of it to make it feel more ‘money symbol’ while the few silver ones in his sight had a second line going through it in addition to the first. He could only presume there was a gold version that would likely have three lines if the pattern held, though he had yet to see one.
It was still a surprising amount of money for three thugs randomly accosting a priest and his escort to have. This wasn’t enough to consider it advance payment for a planned robbery but way too much for three random brigands to be carrying around casually. That combined with the onyx in the Bowienet pointed to these three being part of an organization. Gary frowned at that revelation. If that was the case surely they’d have already gotten word out to their compatriots on the outside about himself. Criminals had connections and skills like that which had nothing to do with the System.
Gary sighed as he scooped the coins up and placed them into the sturdiest of the three coin purses before pausing, fishing out the silvers, and using a second bag to store the much fewer coins. Come the morning, he’d ask Remmy if he knew anyone he could see about a piece of armor. The silvers were far more valuable than the bronze but he doubted he’d be able to get more than perhaps a pair of bracers or the like. Any armor would be preferable to none. He could practically feel the storm approaching now. His sorting done, he called up his information on tailoring and started to puzzle out the rents and gashes in his cloak before tentatively taking up the sewing supplies.
----------------------------------------
The stockades of Limeroom were dimly lit by the morning sun filtering through high-set barred windows into the large pen-like cells that comprised this floor of the main guardhouse of the city. A few individuals lingered here and there as they languished in their sentencing or waiting to be sentenced, giving the air a melancholy feeling of impending doom and forlorn acceptance.
The three men that had accosted the priest of Saint Shepherds and his escort were huddled in a half-lit corner towards the front of one such cell, largely healed of their injuries from the swift and brutal encounter but collectively shook at the display they’d seen and the indignity of being robbed in broad daylight in front of the guards in payment of some asinine “Asshole Tax”. The tall young man with the glinting silver eyes had seemed somewhere between annoyed and enraged at the trio for interrupting the old man’s almsgiving and had made them pay with swift unyielding violence.
“You three look like drowned rats.” The sound of the smooth and cultured voice drew their attention as a figure stepped out of the gloom in the walkway between the cells. The trio perked up at the sight for a moment before freezing at the sight of the man before them. The look on their faces showed they knew they’d messed up badly, causing the new figure to frown at them which triggered trembling.
“Apologies, m’lord; we didn’t..” The bald man had found his voice first and attempted to stammer an apology out before the figure imperiously raised his hand to quiet him back down. Stepping into the light well enough to be seen the man used his other hand to set down a decently-high wooden stool for himself to perch daintily upon before the hand waved lazily at the wrist to allow him to continue speaking. “We didn’t know the old man would be escorted. We’re sorry, m’lord. Please don’t kill us.”
“Escorted?” Now that the figure was close enough to the light from the windows it would be clear the man was foppish and of some much higher means than anyone in the building, prisoner or guard. A velvet doublet in a rich wine red covered the man while his black trousers were stuffed into immaculate shiny black leather boots that came up to his knees. The man’s face was adorned with a well-waxed handlebar mustache which curled strongly at the tips into a three-layer-deep spiral. “My boy, there would have been no need to send you if he were escorted. Tell me what happened.”
“Yes, m’lord. We came across the old man in the slums just like planned. It would have been smooth to get his relqa if he’d been alone, but he wasn’t alone. There was someone new, a tall kid with eyes like silver… He.. He moved to protect the priest like he’d been expecting us. Dobby went in first, tried to club him only to catch a fist in the guts that made him barely able to breathe. I went next and he did some weird spinning kick on my knee and sent me laid out on the ground. Romund went after that. It looked like he was gonna be able to cut the kid but he kept ducking and weaving and using his cloak to deflect some of the swings. He was getting cut here and there since Romund was using his stone to keep the pressure up. It was workin’ until the kid used 「Stealth」 right in his face. It was a weird one, m’lord; like he turned to shadow an’ went in ten different directions all at once! He used the moment of confusion to slip behind Romund, grabbed him by the waist, and did some weird move that slammed him up an' over nearly face-first into the cobblestones. Broke ‘is arm in two places on the landin’!”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
The obviously richer man referred to by an honorific sat silently through the explanation, his face shifting to an expression of concerned contemplation. A hand rose to stroke his clean-shaved chin as he was clearly pondering the implications of this description of events. It matched the report from the observer that they’d sent to make sure the taking went smoothly.
“Describe the boy, please.”
“Tall, ‘bout half a head over you? Short dark brown hair, slim and strong build from what I saw of him. Those eyes! Maybe gray? Looked more like polished silver than anythin’! He was wearin’ darker priest clothes but it didn’t look like he had the crosses or anything like a normal priest would have. The Church doesn’t have anyone who can fight proper but the Holy Order, but this kid clearly had trainin’! That’s why we thought he might have been an escort we hadn’t been told about. We’re sorry, m’lord!”
“Hn. This matches the reports I’ve gotten about our old friend in the church, and a curious bit of news from the west gate a few days ago. Seems we have ourselves a new player on the field, and I’m honestly surprised you three made it out alive. Word is the boy’s an Origin.”
The mood in the cells had shifted. Everyone that was cognizant had been unable to help listening in due to the otherwise silent nature of the mostly-open-air room, but all the prisoners who had awareness of the world around them froze at the sound of the word. All three men who were near the higher-ranked speaker went ghost-white at the news.
“Oh, God. That’s why he was like that, ain’t it?” That earned him a manicured brow quirk. “Afterwards the guards showed up and none of them stopped him as he robbed us right in front of them as the priest healed Romund’s arm after scolding the boy. He called it an ‘Asshole Tax’, like we were a bunch of tax-evading deadbeats!”
“Technically you are tax-evading deadbeats.”
“True, but still! It’s the principle of the thing!” That got an amused huff out of the visitor.
“Indeed. You three should be commended for knowing when to stay down. No one in Limeroom has the strength to stand up to an Origin on a rampage. I think he only went easy on you because the old priest was there to chide him. And yes, you were being watched.” It was a matter of course for the lower ranks to be watched even during a supposedly routine robbery attempt. Things like this were possible to happen and there wasn’t going to be any bits of information that would be permitted to slide past unnoticed. The three failed thugs nodded at the last part. It wasn’t that they weren’t trusted to do their job, it was more so that someone could report back if something crazy happened like it had this time.
“So we’re not in trouble with you?” The tone was meek and hopeful, wholly unsuited to the man who spoke it. The foppish man nodded once in confirmation, and the trio started silently weeping in gratefulness at the seeming act of mercy. The man stood, not bothering to reclaim the stool as he loomed over the trio.
“Obviously you will have to be punished by the law for your attempt, but we remember loyalty. You said nothing, and so nothing will befall you. Take your lashes with pride, and lay low for a while. The Shadows are numerous, but those who remain loyal to the one who casts them endure.”
Without another word, the well-dressed man retreated with dignified strides out of the cell area and soon enough encountered a guard at the door to the cell area. The door silently swung open such that the man didn’t have to break stride before clearing the door closing behind him. A glance from the now-stopped gentleman to the guard earned a light bow from the guard.
“See that they are lashed properly. Salt water on the whip. I’ll leave the exact number up to you lot.”
“Yes, Lord Wevre. Carlos has been itching to break in his new whip.” A noise of acknowledgement then the now-named Lord Wevre was off again, moving through the building partially like he owned it and partially evading the attention of most who worked there. Those that did see him opened doors without question and deliberately offered shifts of the eye and disguised gestures of respect before the man made it out of the main guardhouse and into the waiting carriage. Once set safely in the vehicle that took off the moment he was settled, Roland Wevre laced his fingers in his lap and stared ahead with the blank look of someone lost in his own thoughts.
This young man was a problem. He’d disrupted the plans to gather up the old priest’s relqa, a simple and standard thing as far as one could call the bespoke items ‘standard’. Pearls were extraordinarily hard to come across this far inland. Other gemstones were far easier to source be it from local mines or through trade channels he had available. Pearl magic was going to be vital going forward in the future, as healing was most easily accomplished by the light-manifesting touch of the aquatic-sourced gem. Roland’s thoughts were interrupted as a hatch in his carriage’s roof slid open for a few moments before shutting itself.
The figure fading into existence on the backwards-facing seat before him didn’t faze him in the slightest. The figure was swaddled in dark clothing with only his top two-thirds of his head visible. The figure bowed deeply in his seat and Roland leaned a bit further back into his seat to observe the skinny man dressed in what was clearly intended to be a set of gear for skulking about silently while under the effects of 「Stealth」.
“Report.” Roland watched the man with his brown eyes as the ne’er-do-well type before him spoke up in response.
“The old priest is tending to the church as usual. I left Dillian to watch the place.” Roland nodded. There was to be no theft on Church grounds. That would draw the attention of said Church and Roland wanted nothing to do with anything near the zealous hunt their Holy Order would bring onto Limeroom. “The boy is out in town and is apparently hunting through local armorers and blacksmiths for a bit of protection and some maintenance tools for his newly-acquired knives. I doubt the smiths around here would have given him the time of day if he hadn’t chosen to wear his cassock out and about. Even without being clergy he understands the mental impact the image bears, and wears it well.”
“He’s smart. Likely the moment he started rifling through their coin purses he understood those three were Shadows. He’s hunting for armor because he’s expecting retaliation and even if he is an Origin he understands that doesn’t make him invincible to the locals. I applaud his quick uptake on the situation.”
“Farman’s still panicking about the boy finding him spying. I think it might be best if we send him to another town for a while so he can calm down.”
Roland sighed and dismissively waved a hand on the topic, earning him a silent nod at the instruction. The boy clearly had a forthright attitude and preferred to handle things directly. If you want something done right, do it yourself. “It might be worth it to see about having a chat with the boy. An Origin would be a huge boost for the Velvet Court’s strength.”
“I doubt it, my lord. The kid’s way too open and brazen with his movements. He’s a natural draw to the eye; what between his stature, his eye color, and his general demeanor thus far. That report has him as a Plunderer, so why isn’t he plundering?”
“I think that’s exactly what he did with those three Shadows. A rather vulgar term was what he used for it, too; an ‘Asshole Tax’ since he considered those three to be ‘assholes’ for disturbing his and the priest’s good work. I can see his logic, however. If he steals and robs out of the blue he’s going to bring the law down on him and he’s clearly smart enough to understand that while Limeroom lacks the power to stop him there’s clearly going to be someone capable of it and he doesn’t want the unneeded challenge. But if he takes things from others by right of conquest in full view of the local law? He’s in the clear and can plunder to his heart’s content.”
The shady man nodded along with the logic explained to him, rubbing his masked chin as he thought about the explanation. “Hmm. So maybe he’s chosen the path of hiding in plain sight? Being brazen about his actions lets him build a clear reputation, and making sure to involve the law means he can maintain a legal right to whatever he brazenly takes. It’s a clever tactic but prone to backfire if he doesn’t strive to maintain the actions.”
“Which is probably why he sought out work at a church. Who would question a fit young man protecting an old priest on his almsgiving rounds? Or staying there to earn room and board as an able-bodied assistant, as the reports suggest? He is indeed too brazen to operate as a proper thief and so he has found gainful employment where if he just so happens to.. say.. ‘protect a priest from being robbed’ no one would question him enjoying the fruits of his labors as he practically steals everything but their undergarments.”
The two lapsed into a comfortable silence for a time as the carriage moved through the city, slowing and speeding up here and there from the traffic outside. The masked man spoke up again. “So should we try to recruit him? With some proper training and maybe moving him to another city…”
“Monitor him for now. We’ll let him stew in his own juices. I’ve already sent a missive to the higher-ups in the Court on the matter before I went to see those Shadows. News of an Origin-grade Plunderer is bound to draw the attention of The Whispering Sovereign. It’d be suicide to move without getting word from leadership on the direction they wish this to take.”
The masked man’s eyes went wide for a bit as his gaze locked onto Roland’s face, seeming incredulity as obvious as Roland’s contemplative look in return. It made sense that the Velvet Court’s highest power would be interested. The grade alone drew attention, but one built into a Class reserved for the darker parts of society? No matter how powerful The Whispering Sovereign themselves were, such a thing could not be ignored. That went double if the situation was botched up and this new player decided that the Velvet Court was a direct threat to his continued survival. The war in the shadows would spill far too much blood for anyone’s liking.
“Yes, monitor and observe. If you see a chance to get the relqa, seize it. Don’t send anyone higher than a mid-rank Shadow for the actual attempt however. Expose no one in the Court under any circumstances.”
“Your will be done, my lord.” The man stood, opened the panel in the roof, triggered his Skill to disappear from sight, and Roland felt the vehicle shake just a tad as the man leaped up and out of the interior before closing the door behind him. The seeming noble was left to think quietly as the carriage trundled on to his home. He had to admit this was an exciting puzzle to work out. He’d at least be praised for relaying the information, and if he could recruit such an individual? His standing in the Velvet Court would climb mountains and lord over so many of his brethren.
For now he’d wait and see. The game didn’t benefit from hasty actions, the dance didn’t forgive a misstep. Slow and steady would win Roland this race or at the very least ensure the Velvet Court didn’t lose it.