After a refreshing night's sleep, the Ratter had taken care of business at The Ringing Bell. Nothing had been out of the ordinary, and she'd been able to spread more bait without incident. The entire affair was anticlimactic, and she'd not seen, heard, smelt, or felt any sign of the rats. It seemed that the one she'd caught and killed yesterday was more aggressive than the others, or perhaps the remaining rats had witnessed her handling yesterday's ambush so readily and deemed her too dangerous to fight. Or perhaps they'd determined that as a food-bringer, there was merit in allowing her to come and go unhindered. Rats aren't sapient, so far as anyone knew, just a mass of instincts that react without thought. As such, there was a limit to how well one can interpret their behavior or predict their actions, as opposed to humans, who could become more predictable the longer you knew them.

Regardless, since the morning had passed without incident, she decided that today, she'd see about getting a pass to travel through the sewers and begin scouting. Again, it was rather anticlimactic, the attendant at the front desk handing it over with only a warning to be careful since more than a few young adventurers didn't return from their first solo expedition to the sewers, along with a recommendation of forming a party. The Ratter had considered it, then decided against it. Her teacher had drilled into her the methods of silent infiltration and it was difficult, bordering on impossible, to manage that with a group of people not similarly trained. Besides, today wasn't about hunting, it was about familiarizing herself with her future hunting grounds. She was going to have to spend a lot of time in the sewers if she was going to wipe out every giant rat in the city.

Since she was aboveground and comforted by the presence of the Crows on seemingly every street corner, she allowed her mind to relax as she walked down the otherwise empty streets, and her mind drifted slightly to other things as she made her way through the city. Naturally, her thoughts quickly turned towards giant rats and what she'd learned about them over the last five years.

Giant rats in cellars were a symptom of a larger disease. The sewers were infested with the creatures, and they could and would tunnel upwards into any building with a cellar if even the smallest crack was present to let out the smell of food. Rats, even giant ones, were excellent diggers and can contort their bodies to such an amazing degree that if they can fit their head through a hole, they can twist to squeeze the rest of their body through it as well.

But perhaps more importantly, there was a limited supply of food down here in the sewers since they were, you know, sewers. Giant rats eat a proportionately larger amount of food than their smaller kin, so they tended to exceed their own food supply swiftly if left to their own devices. Dire rats, though rarer, eat even more. If the population of the local giant rats wasn't regularly hunted down to acceptable levels, they'd come to the surface to hunt in swarms.

And all of this was because, back during the days when the dungeon was still in operation, the corpses of monsters were left to rot in the sewers after material extraction, rather than being burned.

As the Ratter waited for her sewer pass to be reviewed by the clerk who managed one of the sanctioned entrances to the sewers that adventurers were authorized to use, she reflected on that fact. The gods created dungeons, allegedly as either a test to the mortal races or as a divine punishment for some ancient and forgotten sin during the Age of Splendor. The dungeons, while full of wonderful objects of magical or divine power, were also the source of monsters. Monsters were beasts that literally did not exist in nature, abominations that only exist because the dungeons exist. When the Lord of the dungeon, the creature at its lowest level, is defeated, the dungeon stopped producing monsters, and the monsters that it had produced weaken and slowly die.

Monsterkin, however, are a different story. Creatures who fed on the flesh of a monster become monstrous themselves. Slimes were allegedly microorganisms that consume dead flesh, for example. There were flying monsterkin like gorekites that were once carrion birds that fed on corpses. Goblins were rumored to have once been children who, during times of famine, tried to consume the flesh of monsters in desperation, corrupting their minds and bodies into the things they were today. And so on, and so forth. More importantly, unlike monsters, monsterkin can breed, creating more of themselves without the need for additional monsterflesh to aid in the transformation. Once something became monsterkin, it and all who followed it would remain as such.

These creatures were dangerous enough, with the monster "cells" within their bodies lying mostly dormant, according to what she'd once heard a wizard say. However, these creatures can and will eat the flesh of man, dwarf, and elf, and if they consume enough of it, those monster cells activate, and the monsterkin tend to get more monstrous as a result. Slimes become giant slimes, and eventually king slimes. Goblins become hobgoblins, and eventually orcs. Gorekites become doomkites, and eventually nevermores. As for giant rats, they became dire rats. If there was any "evolution", to coin the wizard's term for it, beyond dire rat, no one has ever encountered it and lived to report back.

As the Ratter climbed down the ladder, she admitted to herself that she was glad that the dungeon wasn't active, at least. Without a supply of monsterflesh to consume, the number of potential giant rats was finite: No monsterflesh, no new monsterkin, asides from when the giant rats breed. So, if she could wipe out all of the giant rats in the sewers, no more would emerge, barring the appearance of a new dungeon and more monsters. Mission accomplished. She could leave this city and move on to another one, proud to say that she'd done her part to make the world a better place. Other adventurers could fight monsters and clear dungeons. All the Ratter intended was to wipe out every giant rat on the planet, no matter what it took.

The moment her feet touched the ground, the Ratter turned her mind back to more serious affairs, her guard back up. She adjusted her knapsack to where it set more comfortably across her shoulders, then scouted the surroundings with all of her senses, but sensed nothing. That wasn't surprising: Rats, even giant ones, learn quickly to avoid places potential enemies frequent. The entrance to the sewers was a place where adventurers of every rank could enter, and while a rookie might be easy prey, a veteran adventurer was a far more dangerous target.

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The only thing the Ratter could hear was... someone talking, and coming closer. While she'd never heard this voice before, the words it spoke told her who it was. Her teacher had told her a great deal about the Sewer Hermit.

"Why patch a tapestry if no one is going to see it?" the approaching voice asked, singsong. "Do the scales need to be balanced if there's nothing to weigh? Does a game need to be fair, if no one will play it? If a tree falls on a lumberjack and no one is around, will he make a sound? If love is the answer, what was the question? What good are questions if no one wants to hear the answer? What good are answers if no one bothers to question them? Why are we here? Where are we going? Will there be a chicken dinner when we get there, or should we pack a lunch? Bring your own bib, or bib your own bring? Is there some deeper meaning to it all, or is it all just random nonsense? Who said the two were mutually exclusive? Is nonsense meaningful, or are meanings nonsense?"

The speaker finally came into view. A hunched figure who, despite his poor posture, was still quite massive, he was covered head to toe in filthy robes and his face obscured by equally filthy rags, a walking stick large and solid enough to be a respectable bludgeon clutched in one gloved hand. Nothing of the man's face, his skin, or even his build could be made out, but despite his hunched posture, he seemed quite spry.

All manner of theories existed about who or what the Sewer Hermit was. Some said that he was an ancient immortal wizard who'd gone mad and now haunted the sewers. Others thought that he might be a long-forgotten god, exiled for some long-ago misdeed and driven mad by mortal existence. A few believed that he was just a heap of dirty old clothes granted life through some arcane accident. One person had posited that he might be the spirit of the city itself, although that said a great deal more about the city than most would like to admit. No one knew for sure. What was known was that he often went from nonsensical rambling to sage wisdom and back again, sometimes in the same sentence, and either he or someone like him had been wandering the sewers since the day they were first constructed. The one thing that the Ratter's teacher had warned her of was that, while he was largely harmless, many who antagonized or mistreated the Sewer Hermit ended up encountering constant misfortune. While he might not be a reliable ally, he wasn't a man to make your enemy.

Raising her hand, she called out, "Greetings, Sewer Hermit."

The robed figure paused, then looked around, then seemed to realize she meant him. "Ah yes," he said, in realization. "I am a hermit, and I am in the sewers, so I must be a Sewer Hermit. But am I 'The' Sewer Hermit? I cannot say. There may be another hermit here that I've yet to meet. Is he avoiding me? Do I smell that bad? Would you care for a nectarine?"

The Ratter was surprised by that last question, realizing it had been directed at her. Clearing her throat, she admitted, "I'd love one. I haven't had one in years."

The Sewer Hermit set his staff aside and pulled out a dirty rag from the folds of his foul robes, then held out a hand, palm up. He placed the rag flat upon his open palm, then wiggled his fingers in what the Ratter assumed was meant to be a mystical manner. Then, with a flourish, and a dramatic "BEHOLD!", the Sewer Hermit lifted up the rag to reveal a nectarine.

The Ratter gently took it and took a moment to look it over. Despite having been held by a filthy hand, it was clean. In fact, it was perfectly pristine. How in the world was that possible, down here in the sewers? After a moment, she shrugged, then took a bite of the fruit. It was better than any she could remember having eaten before.

As she chewed, the Sewer Hermit said, "Young lady, did you come down here to hunt rats?" Unable to answer with her mouth full, she nodded, admitting to herself that despite intending to map the sewers, she'd probably have started hunting rats almost immediately. The hermit shook his head and said, "Dark deeds and dangerous men stalk the sewers today, and those men do battle when they find one another. The beasts know that more dangerous creatures than they are battling for supremacy of the city, and have gone into hiding. If you go looking today, you'll find only danger and not the kind you'll want to find. Wait for a moon for the hurley-burley to be done. Then, you'll have no trouble finding the exact sort of trouble you seek."

Swallowing, the Ratter nodded. It made sense: The Crows were here in the city for a reason, and if the streets above were clear, it likely meant that whatever or whoever they were after must be hiding down here. It would be better to stay out of the crossfire. Once all the fighting was over, the rats would come to pick clean the corpses of the winners and the losers, and it would be open season on giant rats. "I'll do that. Thank you for the warning." She paused, then asked, "The nectarine was very good. Where did you get it?"

Picking up his staff and taking a dramatic pose, his robes billowing in a non-existent wind, the Sewer Hermit proclaimed, "I have a limitless supply of nectarines!" Then he seemed to deflate, and admitted despondently, "Yet only a single pair of trousers." He paused, then asked, hopefully, "Would you be willing to trade a limitless supply of nectarines for a pair of trousers?"

The Ratter undid her knapsack, then reached into it. One of the oddest bits of advice her teacher had given her was to always carry an extra pair of pants. He'd told her a rather amusing story behind the reason why he'd always done so, involving the wife of a rather important nobleman and a long trek through the city, pants-less and hunted, on a cold winter's night. The moral of the story had simply been to avoid playing games with the spouses of powerful and jealous nobles and to always bring a spare pair of pants so you don't have to worry about finding a pair on top of everything else going wrong that day.

"I do have a spare pair. They're not your size, I think," the Ratter admitted, "but if you want them, I don't mind parting with them." If she was going back up, she could easily buy another pair. Honestly, those were an old pair, and she was close to outgrowing them anyway.

Taking the pants with a joyful exclamation, the Sewer Hermit said, "Worry not about the size. Trousers hold many mysteries, although not as many as the one who wears them." He then promptly put them on his head like a hat, then reached into his robes. After a moment, he made a confused noise, and admitted, "I seem to have misplaced my limitless supply of nectarines. I shall need to go find them."

The Ratter shrugged her knapsack back across her shoulders, then said, "It's alright. I don't have anything to carry them with today."

The Sewer Hermit said, "I promise you, I'll get them to you as soon as I can. In fact, I swear to you, whenever you need them most, you will have them."

Nodding, the Ratter said in all seriousness, "Thank you. You never know when you'll need a good nectarine."

With a loud laugh, the Sewer Hermit agreed, saying, "Words to live by."