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World: MSS - Loading...
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I saw more inhabitants of the Slums and not all of them bothered to cover themselves up like the ones closer to the city. None of them were what I’d call healthy. The 'healthiest' among them had scars or contusions. The worst among them? Mangled pieces of flesh with missings limbs or large black-purple-and-blue tumors growing all over their body. A deer beastman child with open sores all over her face watched us from afar, sucking on her thumb.
I felt sick.
“What is this place?” I had been expecting something like this but.. Seeing it and imagining it were two different things.
“The Slums.” Kyrian whispered. “The descendants of slaves, the losers of the Jayu Civil War… and loose ends that needed to be cut off in order for the wealthy to become wealthier.”
Skaris made an angry growl. “I have been outssside of Zimmsssskar for lesss than a year and never have I sssseen ssssuchho rrible thingsss. I believed that the prejudicssse of the humansss, the elvesss and the dwarvesss exssstended only to our kind but it exssstends to their own. How can you let your own kind live like thissss?”
“There are beastman living in Jayu too.” Kyrian answered quietly, his voice subdued. “I’d bet they’re quite influential. How do you think they got their gold, Skaris? What business ideas could a race of former slaves have to quickly raise capital? Where do you think the beastman in the slums came from?”
“Becausseee your racssseee ensssslaved ussss!” He roared.
The crowd around us turned and fled at the red-scaled beastman’s anger.
“If I can pay for the sins of my forefathers, I would have.” Krian continued. “But I cannot be faulted for the choices of yours.”
Skaris stopped in his tracks, glaring at Kyrian.
“You are a noble. Jussst like them.” He spat. “How many ssslaves have you owned, mage? How many of my kin? How many of your own?”
“You do not know my past, Skaris.” Kyrian answered, facing him. “It is not fair for you to presume I am the same as other nobles.”
Holy shit we were in the Slums for less than a day and already there was infighting, not even among others but among my most trusted friends.
“Both of you, stop.” I stepped in between the two, addressing Skaris first. “Skaris… look around you. Look.”
Skaris’s face was scrunched up into a scowl but he slowly turned his gaze.
Next to the little girl was an elf boy, holding her hand. He had a huge tumor on his neck like an ugly leech and the weight of it caused him to hold his head at an angle. One shoulder was higher than the other and the arm on the side of the tumor was black with flesh-rot. Behind them was a dwarf woman, pock marks all over her face. Seeing Skaris glaring at them, she quickly put her arms around the two children’s shoulders and led them away.
His expression softened.
“You’re scaring them.” Something caught in my throat. “So please. Calm down.”
“They are not too far off.” The guide cut in.
Without a word, we began to follow.
“I apologize, Kyrian.” Skaris spoke, all signs of anger gone. His red scales were dimmed here, no sunlight for them to reflect. The beastman looked deflated… and defeated.
“It is nothing. Perhaps I spoke too harshly as well. This place… it brings dark thoughts.”
I knew what Kyrian was thinking about or could guess where his thoughts were. Growing up as the bastard child who had basically been kicked out of the household and his mother murdered to make a point… I was sure he could sympathize with the downtrodden and the weak.
Or perhaps he was thinking about how good he had it compared to these people.
I made a mental note to find out more about Skaris’ past once the opportunity presented itself.
It only got worse.
The smell of rotting corpses, feces overwhelmed the air and I saw the black dog take out a handkerchief and cover it around his mouth. Grimacing, I ripped a piece of my shirt sleeves and did the same; for my advanced sense of smell it was almost unbearable. I could only imagine what the Black Dogs were experiencing.
Bedridden individuals just lying on mounds of garbage, piled atop one another like some sick monument in a constant near-death state. Deformities on hands, faces and legs were the norm; there were no more of those occasional houses. Just individuals living in small groups of three to four, scrounging and boiling bones of things I didn’t want to know about.
“Lock… this place.”
“I know.”
It was worse, much worse than I thought.
Also the existence of drugs was worrying.
If the people that depended on me started to use drugs, we’d never get out of this place. I knew what drugs did, they trapped you in a never ending spiral of need and fulfillment; one leading to the other. I’d seen it more than once. I wasn’t a socio economist; I couldn’t exactly mathematically calculate how it would damage us. But my instincts screamed that the introduction of a foreign substance like this, was like a virus; it’d kill the group from within.
Finally the black dog scout led us to a huge crowd of people, our people. They were clearing away the garbage and trying to create a relatively flat ground. I saw them spread out cooking utensils but not bringing out food. Already, I saw some semblance of shelters being put up. But seeing 150 people huddled in the hull of a boat and seeing them out here trying to create a home for themselves…
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We needed so much more space than what was here.
“Slaveborn.” Kellin gave me a barely perceptible nod.
Jak’tur said nothing, his blue eyes just looking at me with neither blame nor resentment.
“This is the most open place we could find; we are working on shelter. But the most pressing thing is food and water.” Kellin spoke without preamble.
“Thank you for your help Kellin.” I saw him hesitate, on the verge of saying something. “What is it?”
“I will be taking my people and leaving here.” He gestured with his hand. “This place, it is not a place for anyone to live.”
I had expected it but hearing him say it finalized it for me. I probably failed to hide the look of disappointment from my face because Kellin turned away, refusing to meet my gaze.
“I understand. Do what’s best for your people.”
“For what it’s worth Slaveborn… I will always be thankful.” He took a black leather bracelet from his pocket and handed it over to me. “This is the mark of my people. Call upon us and we will aid you. No questions asked.”
I smiled as I took it from him. This was like a quest item. But with all the time I spent in MSS, it was hard to just identify it as a ‘quest item’. It was more appropriate to think of it as a mark of friendship.
“Thank you.”
Kellin took his Black Dogs and left, a large chunk of the beastmen leaving with him.
“Yes Jak’tur?” I noticed him still standing there while looking at the retreating backs of the Black Dogs.
“You have held up your end of the promise. Go and be free, Lock Slaveborn.” Jak’tur rumbled. “My people will find a way to survive. We always do.”
“I’m sure they will.” I turned, seeing the remaining refugees working quickly. “But I think I’ll stay for a little while yet.”
The giant orc warrior shrugged and walked back to his people, helping them.
Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work. My shelter made of garbage wasn’t going to build itself.
Skaris and I were moving pieces of garbage towards the stock; trying to create the area where we would build our shelter. Subconsciously, I noticed that Kyrian had taken off his mage’s robes and were doing the same. Due to his background as a noble and mage I thought he’d turn his nose up at this work. But the young man was determined and worked twice as hard as anyone else.
“Ssslaveborn?”
“Hmm?”
“Thisss placsse mussst change.”
Skaris wasn’t moving things any longer, staring off into the road. A crowd of people, the people from the Slums not our own, had gathered and were watching us. Many of them were kids.
“What did you have in mind, Skaris?”
“...I do not know. But it issss painful. My heart achesss. Sssseeing children like thisss. It issss wrong, Ssslaveborn.” The red-scaled warrior shook his head. “Thisss csssity. It isss all glitter and gold but it is sssick. Jusst that no one knowssss it or wantsss to talk about it.”
“No one sssshould live like this.” He finished.
I didn’t have an inkling of idea what kind of life Skaris led and the past me wouldn’t have wondered. It was only because of L’teya, Clover, Arrosh and Kyrian that I stopped what I was doing and gave my friend my full attention. The pain in his voice alarmed me, it was the first time Skaris was behaving this way.
“When you appeared Ssslaveborn, you sssaved me.” Droplets of rain began to fall. “Are you planning to do the ssssame here?”
“I don’t know yet.” I answered lamely.
He stayed silent.
“We dont even know what we can do about this. I was just a slave, Skaris.”
Truthfully, I was overwhelmed. What was I doing here? Was I really going to make life better for a 100 people? And then what? Could I solve the problem in the slums?
I had no qualifications for doing any of this. How could I be expected to lead? To find water source, food and solve a housing crisis that even an entire city couldn’t solve? I wasn't a humanitarian worker or some kind of great billionaire who could throw coin to make problems go away.
I was just me. I was overwhelmed inside and Skaris was touching upon every insecurity I had been suppressing.
“I don’t even know where to begin to be honest. These people don’t need me. They need healing. They need gold. They need-” I gestured at everything around us. “-help.”
I shook my head. “And I need more information.”
Suddenly Skaris smiled.
“I noticssed not oncssse did you sssay it isss not your problem, Ssslaveborn. Not oncsse did you sssay that you wouldn’t do sssomething. Only about thingssss they need and thingsss you need to do.”
He was right.
I hadn’t.
Had I made up my mind that easily? To try and do something about this place?
The clouds had opened up and the pitter-patter of rain turned fierce, each impact actually stinging like someone flicked me. Kyrian ran over to us, holding a wooden crate over his head.
“What are you two doing! Come on! Get a move on! Why am I the only one building a house all three of us will live in?!”
Skaris and I shared a look then at Kyrian, the usually dignified blonde mage, whose clothes stuck to his lanky limbs betraying his age.
Then the three of us got to work.
***
I was in a bad mood.
Building a house out of garbage was not what I’d call enjoyable; to the point where I compared it to my time as a slave under the orcs. I had found out the hard way that I had no talent with building things, especially since I was effectively blind in one eye and couldn't measure distance very well. At least when I was a slave under the orcs they pointed me in a direction and all I had to do kill whatever was in my way. Building something from scratch was an entirely different manner.
Skaris and Kyrian got used to it pretty fast. Skaris said he used to build nests as a hobby for his friends and family; and Kyrian played in the woods a lot as a kid. Raindrops fell all night and brought forth smells that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies, the Black Dogs and other beastman whose [Smell] stat was on the high end groaned and moaned throughout the entire night.
Next day, we entered the guild building with all of us smelling like garbage.
Immediately, the other adventurers reacted the same way that the pedestrians had. First with a look of outrage like they were going to tell us to get off the street then with shock as our odor overwhelmed their olfactory senses. They backed away from us, holding their noses. It was kind of like the New York Subway, where if a homeless person stank enough everyone gave them a wide berth.
I walked to the counter and the same woman from yesterday was waiting there. Her face was red from holding her breath but she didn’t try to hold her nose. Professionalism at its best.
Skaris handed her a handkerchief stained with… with stuff.
She refused.
“Any news about the Fracture?” I didn’t bother wasting time with a greeting or small talk, I wanted to spare her by spending as little time in her presence as possible.
“The Guild Master is waiting for you upstairs.” She gestured with her hand towards a set of stairs.
Kyrian, Skaris and I ascended the stairs towards the Guild Master’s office immediately, no point in making her suffer no matter how petty I felt. On the way up, I admired the wooden stairwell and the simple but tasteful decor. Red carpetry on the floors and the walls were spotless; the door to his office was plain and simple. Even his nametag on the door was bland: Marc Pointell.
“Let’s see who the master of this branch is.” I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Marc Pointell was just like his decor; unremarkable in every way. He was average height with a face that could be easily forgotten; brown eyes and black hair peppered with gray. He wore a gray shirt with a brown overshirt over it; a simple pen tucked in the pocket. Even when our odor of garbage filled the room, he made no remark on it whether verbal or physical. He simply gestured at the couch in front of him.
We sat.
“Marc Pointell, guild master of the Miltus branch.” He held out a hand.
“Lock.” I said simply.
“Kyrian Tricilan.”
Ssskarisss of Clan Deepeater.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you all.” He crossed his legs and leaned back; studying each of us. “I have heard that you wish to be part of the raid that’s entering the Fracture tomorrow. Is that true?”
I nodded.
“And Mr. Yousef was the one to tell you?”
I nodded once again.
“Hmm…” He tapped one finger on his thigh, in the meantime I studied him to see if there were any hidden weapons on him.
He didn’t give off the sense of danger but no bureaucrat could rise to become the branch master of an Adventurer's Guild. There would be no way to keep order if your clientele were the rowdy bunch and stronger than you to boot. So reason dictated that this guy had to be powerful but I couldn’t sense anything off of him.
With a startling realization; I sniffed.
No scent.
This guy had no scent. That was only possible by absorbing Cores with very specific properties. Namely, Cores that dropped from Spirit-type monsters with ephemeral bodies.
“Is he a necromancer? No… that there should be a faint smell. He might be the type who turns incorporeal.”
“Normally, we wouldn’t thrust any new adventurer into a raid no matter how much they asked. But Mr. Yousef has vouched for you.” He waited for us to interrupt. “I am also curious as to how Mr. Yousef’s newest adventurers perform. He seldom lets go of his new colosseum fighters.”
Then he paused like he was waiting for something.
I looked Marc Pointell over one more time.
“You don’t like Mr. Yousef.” I finally ventured.
It was hard to put a finger on why I said it; but it was the way the man’s voice said the name ‘Yousef’ or perhaps the mild mannered man’s general attitude. But my instincts screamed that this was the right choice when the ghost of a smile graced his lips.
“It is hard to like your business rivals… especially if they recruit all your talent.”
I understood what he was getting at.
The adventurer’s guild was the training grounds for these adventurers and once they got strong enough; Yousef would invite them to the colosseum. If the fight money was as lucrative as the dwarf merchant claimed; adventurers would be drawn to the colosseum like moths to a flame. You wouldn’t have to go dungeoneering for days or months on end; you only had to show up at the allotted time and risk your life. If you were risking your life in the dungeons anyways, why not risk it at the colosseum for more money and less trouble?
From the guild’s perspective, it was rightfully so that someone like Yousef would be a poacher.
“That’s why he’s letting us enter the Fracture in the first place. The guild doesn’t have the personnel necessary for send into Fractures… wait does that mean?”
I had a sinking feeling.
“How many adventurers in this raid were chosen by you and how many from other guilds?”
Marc Pointell blinked slowly then held up two fingers.
“Two from other guilds?”
“Two from ours.” He corrected.
“What?” I nearly cursed. “I think I heard you wrong, Mr. Pointell.”
He nodded. “No, you heard me correct. Two are from this guild. Including your party that’s five. Ten members of this raid are from a different guild.”
This time I did curse.
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