KILMAL

Shortly after leaving the Full Purse, Kilmal stood in front of a large fountain, centered in a small park, holding his axe as if it were a walking stick, and marveled at the statues that played among the flow of water. A human woman holding a laughing child near a constant gentle splashing, two elves sitting with feet in the basin eternally looking at each other, a gnome leaning over the edge to see his stoney reflection, and a dwarf holding a tankard up, catching some of the runoff, among others.

The work of the piece was incredible and held so much historic meaning for the town that the brass plaque explaining it was as wide Kilmal’s arm span and came up to his shoulders. As he thought, it was Dwarven masons and sculptors that had crafted the piece, and the unique sweep of each curve and subtle style of it made him feel a little closer to home.

P’yar caught up to him, silently arriving at his side. The hood of the robe did not lift, but P’yar was taking in the sight as well.

“You left in quite a rush.” P’yar stated plainly.

“Had to play my part. Be grumpy, look mean. Figured a bastard would be sick of talking to so many new people. Knew you’d follow, give you a reason to go back to the ship.” Kilmal replied, a kindness to his words.

Kilmal had never been the rough-and-tumble drunken bastard type of Dwarf. He had a certain softness to him that he accepted as part of who he was, but covered up with false gruffness in front of those he did not wholly trust. A soft Dwarf was not unheard of, but was rarely granted the highest respect amongst other Dwarves.

“It is greatly appreciated.” P’yar said before a final moment of artistic appraisal, and then they were gone, drifting off, out of the park and towards the docks.

Kilmal thumped the heavy head of his axe on the ground once and took a look around with a content smile. He wandered the park, happy to simply be on stable ground again, away from the hellish ebb and flow of the ocean. He breathed in deep, and sighed with a smile. There was so much less sea salt in the air here. He could still smell the sea, of course, but it was off to the East and not surrounding him.

A ball bounced on the grass and rolled to a stop against the end of Kilmal’s axe. He turned his head and watched as four children ran after it. He bent, picked up the ragged leather thing and tossed it in his hand. It was small enough to hold with one hand and while he had thought it’d be full of air, it had a certain heft to it. The thing looked well used to the point of being near garbage, but it felt far more solid than it seemed. The children approached.

“Heya, mister.” the tallest one said, slightly out of breath. He looked like a twig wearing a brown mop head. “Sorry ‘bout that. Can we ‘ave our ball back?” He asked.

The other kids stopped short, perhaps afraid of Kilmal, or simply happy to let the thin one speak for them.

“O’ course!” Kilmal responded and tossed the ball to the boy with a gentle underhand.

“Thanks! You play?” the boy asked.

“Play? Play what?” Kilmal asked right back.

“Gruz-Thak.” the boy grunted.

“Gruz-Thak?” Kilmal carefully pronounced. “That’s Orcish. Means.. Er..” he racked his brain for what little Orcish he knew.

“Throw and Hit!” a younger boy exclaimed. “You throw the ball around and try to whack it with your arms or kick it at somebody else. If you get hit and it hits the ground, you lose a point!”

“Not sure I’d be much good at it.” Kilmal offered with a smile. “But I’d be happy to learn if you’d let me watch.”

“Right!” the thin boy hopped, turned and tossed the ball into the air. It came down quick and his leg came up to meet it, kneeing it back up towards one of the others. “You just gotta keep the ball moving.”

Kilmal leaned on his axe and watched the children play and explain the rules. It was a simple game: send the ball flying at another player with the intent of hitting them in a way so they cannot deflect it onto another person. If the ball lands, whoever touched it last loses. The point wasn’t to hurt each other, but sending the ball at somebody fast enough was a way to keep them from hitting it back. It was based on an old Orcish game that used a rock, so the small leather ball was a gentler way to play. Even so, Kilmal would rather not get beaned in the head with either and was more than happy to just watch the joys of youthful energy and friendship play out.

Kilmal had learned the boys’ names before most of them had to scurry off to home. Emmet, the tall one, stayed behind. He and Kilmal had a pleasant talk about the city and Kilmal tossed the boy a coin for teaching him about the game. Emmet caught it with an expert hand and Kilmal noted to himself that the coin was snatched and pocketed with much quicker reflexes than he had seen during play.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As much as he’d like to stay and chat with the suddenly interesting child, the day was sauntering by and Kilmal had business to attend to. So, off he went, axehead clunking on the paved stone road as he walked. Kilmal took in the colorful signage that peppered the buildings. Stores that sold a little of everything, stores that sold one very specific type of thing, places to repair, to design, to learn. Maydale was an explosion of information and people and opportunities.

Growing up in a small village near a complex assortment of Dwarven mines, Kilmal had needed to expand his mind several times in his adult life. First, after a hellish beast untombed from the mines ran rampant and destroyed everything he had ever known. After that, living in a bigger town with no underground areas to retreat to for comfort, the only way to escape the open sky being wooden and thatch ceilings. Most recently, experiencing the utter madness of total openness that was the ocean. No walls, no roof, no rocks, no shelter of any kind but the inside of an ever rocking box floating on an unimaginable amount of water with who knows what beneath you.

That being said, Maydale was the first real, proper city Kilmal had ever spent any time in. While the busy energy around him tickled his nerves, and the sky overhead made him only slightly dizzy, the closeness of the buildings, their height, and the sometimes cramped feeling of passing through a crowd gave Kilmal enough comfort to enjoy the walk.

After a brief sight-seeing stroll up and down several streets, Kilmal finally saw something he had been looking for: an apothecary off the main roads. The sign swung on a pole, bearing the name Vine Brew Potions and Remedies. The building itself looked well-kept enough, but tiny. It was a door set in a small wall between two other buildings. As if somebody had simply put an entrance on a narrow alley.

Inside, the shop was a narrow strip of floor leading to a chair and a counter. Behind the counter, the building opened up into a cluttered section full of shelves and bottles and all manner of plants drying on racks. A dwarven woman approached the counter, summoned by the tiny bell on the door. The cramped layout made sense, suddenly.

“Yeah, Whaddaya need?” She huffed. Kilmal took no offense, glad to be able to talk to a fellow Dwarf in the matter-of-fact manner that was customary. He reached into a pocket and pulled a small pouch out. He turned it over and poured the contents on the counter, seven small amber stones.

“Know what to do with these?” he asked in a tone that would sound gruff and angry to anybody else.

“Aye. Where’d ya fin-”

“Aht.” Kilmal tutted, stopping the question.

“Yeah, yeah.” the woman responded, waving her own question away before picking up the stones with one hand, using the other to lift the small brass eye scope hanging from her neck to her face. “Looks real. Looks good.” She hummed and inspected for a long moment before finally setting them back down on the counter. “I can do five bottles with this much. Price is either 50 gold or one of the bottles.”

“Bottle. Deal.” Kilmal stated bluntly and jabbed his hand outward over the counter, index finger extended. The woman hooked a finger around his and they shook on it. It was only then that Kilmal noticed the woman’s scar. He hesitated, thinking it would be rude to ask, but quickly returned to his roots, and much like any other Dwarf would do, blurted out, “What’s that, then?”

“Bottles can explode sometimes.” the woman replied, touching the aged deep gash on her cheek. “Happens when you’re young and don’t know what you’re doing. But the scars keep ya from doin’ it again.”

There was a pregnant pause as the two just watched each other.

“You wanna split a bottle with me when you’re done?” Kilmal asked. The woman nodded and finally smiled.

THE BELDINS

Across town, in a private room, Eryl lowered himself into the incredible waters of Tannenmor Spa. He let out a long, quiet groan of relief as his nude form descended next from his wife’s. The water was blueish, and so very perfectly heated. Eryl could feel every muscle relax and unclench, points of tension he hadn’t even known about melting away. It was well worth the price tag, which Eryl was too relaxed to even think about anymore.

Bridgette sidled up next to him and wrapped an arm around his own, holding him tight. Her wet chin rested on his shoulder and she kissed his neck softly. A ripple of illusionary color expanded out from them across the water from her hand.

“You know,” Eryl started after a long, enjoyable silence. “There’s the game hall just across the street. Maybe we could win back what we lost last time we were in town?”

Bridgette responded by lifting a hand out of the water and forming a series of images that told Eryl they had enough money to never gamble again. Furthermore, they had been having such good luck lately, that to push that luck would be foolish. She finished up the pictographic response with an image of gold coins falling into a building, representing the Adventurer’s Guild.

“Yes, I suppose dues are due. So we should do the dues. Do do do dee do.” He giggled and Bridgette smiled and shook lightly with her own silent laughter. “Gods. It has been too long since I sang.” Bridgette nodded enthusiastically.

“Let’s see.” Eryl thought to himself, and after testing the acoustics of the room, decided to sing just loud enough for his audience of one.

To the guild we’ll go

Oh, to the guild hall.

To pay our dues in full.

We signed our names,

So we remains,

In debt to those who rule.

Our band of friends,

They can depend,

On us to pay the bills.

By delving deep,

And and righting wrongs,

Fulfilling destiny's wills.

We’ll renew our card,

It ain’t that hard.

Our licenses to kill.

It keeps things fair,

The world needs– ooh!

Eryl winced and Bridgette gasped silently, a concerned look replacing the admiration that had been all over her face. Eryl grasped at his side and groaned. As Bridgette held Eryl in worry and Eryl tutted at his wife, once again telling her that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, something dark moved across Eryl’s skin beneath his hand. Something inky and purple, like a living tattoo, fading into and then out of view.