Waking up in an abandoned slaughterhouse should be a terrifying prospect. The spirits of the thousands of, relatively, innocent sheep that had been cut open and torn apart within its walls should haunt your mind. The stains that cover the floors and walls should fill you with unease, and the occasional odd noise should keep you on your toes and on the verge of panic. The brutal rusted tools that lie abandoned should haunt your dreams with their gory purpose.
It is not the kind of place one should wake up in with a contented yawn, and a big lazy stretch. And it most certainly isn’t the proper place to perform a series of stretches and movements to promote flexibility and good health.
Rose walked over to the wall containing her armoury. She considered the axes for a few moments before shifting her attention to the club. Pulling the sturdy length of hardwood studded with metal off the wall, Rose started her second workout of the day.
This one was started with a series of flowing dancelike movements with the large club being slowly swung into imaginary enemies, and blocking imaginary blows. The movements start slow, almost glacial. Then they gradually speed up to a writhing blur of violence, only to wind back down to that initial glacial movement.
That was exactly how Rose started this, and indeed, every day. The tortured sheep spirits must be most upset. But the concerns and worries of those already dead were of no interest to Rose. She had enough to worry about without adding them to her plate.
Although yesterday had not gone as she had planned. Rose was certain today was going to be a good day. She hung her club back up, polished her fangs with a frayed stick, ate some giant rat jerky for breakfast, grabbed her second and third favorite knives off the wall, and strode outside to find out what was in store for her. She swung by a nearby, functioning, slaughterhouse for some sheeps blood to renew her tribal-ish markings. Then went looking for her favorite degenerate.
The world of Dunia was a wonderful place. Jam-packed with ancient temples, forgotten kingdoms, and mysterious dungeons. Once you stepped outside of the established kingdoms borders, a place known simply as ‘The Wilds’, you could hardly throw a rock without hitting a treasure, relic, or artifact of some kind. These treasures were always guarded. Whether by ingenious traps or indigenous peoples acquiring the treasures was always a dangerous venture.
Enter, the adventurers! Brave, or poor, souls willing to leave their homes behind in the hope of finding fame and fortune. Most adventurers were from poor backgrounds. Desperate, hungry, and untrained they rushed into the unknown. Looking for their big break. Most never returned from their first adventure. Of those who did, most never went on a second.
The stories they told spoke of haunting horrors, wretched deaths, and terrible injuries. And yet, every year there were hundreds, if not thousands, more young, poor, and delusional people rushing happily into The Wilds. Certain, that it couldn’t happen to them. That they were special.
But they were not. No, the special ones were the nobles. Sons and daughters who had no chance of inheriting their parents titles or lands, and were unwilling to spend their days lounging about drinking and gossiping. They were trained by veteran adventurers. Who had been hired to teach the little lordlings and ladies all about the dangers lurking in The Wilds, and how to best survive them.
They were given the best gear to ensure their success. Status stones, teleport tokens, life shields. All things that had been plundered by adventurers long ago, and then replicated by the various kingdoms since. These items cost incredible amounts of money, and quite often couldn’t be bought for any price. As they were a significant part of a kingdoms strategic strength.
The system worked like so, adventurers found the treasures, and sold them to nobles. Nobles funded research groups, and sought to replicate and mass produce the treasures. If they were successful, then the nobles would offer the replicated tech to their liege. Who would then reward that noble house with an increase in rank, or comparable prize. Then the rulers would make use of the new tech to improve their kingdom or army. Which has resulted in an ongoing arms race between nations.
This entire system is based upon successful adventurers. So rulers will often give promising young adventurers some of the best gear available, in return for vows of loyalty. In the hopes that they would find more treasure, and increase the power of the rulers nation. Loyal and successful adventurers would be praised and rewarded lavishly. Parades, propaganda, peerage, and massive monetary rewards were common.
This leads to adventurers being idolized. Which leads to more desperate poor young people rushing off to seek their fortune in The Wilds. Even so, those who run off to be adventurers are a minority. The dreamers, the desperate, or , in the case of nobles, the dreadfully bored. Those who are comfortable with their lives might enjoy hearing stories of adventure. But have no desire to seek it out themselves.
And so all is good for those who return bearing treasure. They are heroes to the public, useful tools to the powerful, and if they can repeat their success they become fabulously wealthy. They are treated with respect by all. As long as they don’t try and slip their leash.
But what of those who return empty-handed? Who managed to fight free of The Wilds but came back with nothing more than the clothes on their back and new scars, both physical and mental. What about them? They are reviled. Considered cowards and fools. “Better to have died seeking treasure, than to have come back with nothing!” Shout their former friends and allies. They often take their own life, or crawl into a bottle. Seeking to forget the things they’ve seen.
And it is one of these reviled survivors that Rose is looking for. As she ducked into the twisting alleys of the Cull. Avoiding large groups of toughs, and scaring off small ones with her looks. Rose swung past his favorite bars, known for having lazy bouncers who don’t care if a bum makes off with a half-drunk beer. No luck there, so she shoved through the crowds at the markets, where a bit of food might be vanished with none the wiser. No sign of him there either. Which means he must be in his home. In the sewers.
Rose typically didn’t mind entering the sewers. They’ve been occupied and blocked up by people for so long, that they were usually fairly clean. As long as you watched your step and avoided the mystery puddles you’d be fine. But they were cramped, especially for someone of her stature. And her target lived in a place that was more akin to a swamp than a sewer.
Aurus Voler, her target, was a reclusive paranoid. He had deliberately flooded the area around his shack with the usual contents of a sewer. And the only way to reach him without swimming through the unspeakable was by hopping across a series of posts he had set up prior to the flooding.
For most, that’d be security enough, but not for Aurus. The cagey old coot had set up a number of traps. He strung tripwires between posts. Set up dummy posts that would sink if you jumped on them. Released a bunch of sewer leeches into the area, foot long bloodsuckers that like to jump out of the ‘water’ at prey, and had even set up a handful of enchanted crossbow traps.
To Rose, all that was manageable. The posts were tricky, but she knew the path via some trial and error. The tripwires could be handled by simply holding a knife before you at the right height. Neither the leeches nor the dull stone tipped crossbow bolts could get through her skin. The real problem, as far as Rose was concerned, was the height of the tunnels themselves.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
There was roughly just under five feet from the top of the posts to the ceiling of the tunnel. And Rose was seven feet and change. Meaning she had to jump from post to post bent nearly double. So far she had only managed to reach Aurus’ shack once, without taking a dip. But as far as she was concerned, it was worth it.
Rose wasn’t the only one who came to see Aurus. Young toughs would often swing by, bringing the old man some food or liquor in exchange for stories about The Wilds. Hoping to glean some fragment of life saving wisdom from the ramblings of an old drunk. That was where Rose and these other young people differed. Rose couldn’t care less about The Wilds. She had no interest whatsoever in becoming an adventurer.
She’d seen the parades. Heard the proclamations of their heroics. But she’d also had friends who went to try and become these ‘heroes’. It was bad enough, the ones who never came back. What was worse though, was the survivors. Broken men and women, afraid to leave their homes, much like Aurus. She’d heard their stories. The ones that bards ignored. Stories about commoners, coming together in the face of adversity. Through bitter sacrifice and bravery claiming one of the vaunted artifacts. Only to be cut down by noble adventurers. Their struggles, for naught, their treasures, stolen.
So, no, Rose did not come to Aurus to learn to be an adventurer. She came to Aurus so she could fight him. Back when Rose was new to Ramsom, new to the Cull, and new to city life in general, she had gotten robbed. A cutpurse had divested the wide-eyed young woman of her precious few coins. She had been forced to sell a precious keepsake just to get some bread, and just before she could eat it. Aurus had snatched it from her hands, and gobbled it down before the stunned teen could react. Naturally, Rose tried to rip his head off.
Aurus wiped the floor with her. Back then Rose fought much like the spiker dwarf she had killed the previous day. All blind rage and brute force. She had leaned on her great strength and toughness to pull through in her fights.
Aurus fought like water. He flowed around her punches, and threw her about like a ragdoll. His punches seemed slow, but they always arrived at exactly the right moment. His steps seemed thoughtless, but he was always exactly where he wanted to be. Rose had watched in mounting horror as a skinny old bum kicked her ass. Despite her anger, pain, and hunger she could not deny his skill. Rose had been impressed.
She had immediately asked him to teach her how to fight. He had refused. Said she could never fight like he did. Called her a brute, and an animal. Rose had attacked him again for the insult. With the same result. She was left lying in the dust, bruised in both body and pride. Then she had decided something. If he wouldn’t teach her, then she’d just have to teach herself. She wouldn’t fight like him. She’d fight like her.
So once every couple of days Rose went out of her way to find Aurus, and fight him. To try and learn something from him. Try and create her own style. That first fight had only been a couple months ago, but already she felt she was a much better fighter. She had begged violet for a series of stretches to increase her flexibility. The portly older woman may not look like much, but she was still a member of Gors Pavilion.
A religious order devoted to healing and caretaking. They were famous for both their magical and mundane methods of healing. Violet had been more than happy to show Rose a thing or two, and have a laugh as the ungainly teen fought to follow along with the simplest instructions. The stances wouldn’t help in a fight, but they would certainly help keep you fit and flexible. Which most certainly would be of help in a fight. Months of practice had moved Rose from ‘embarrassment to the practice’, to ‘semi-competent some of the time’. At least according to Violet.
Rose also tried to parry or dodge more. Instead of her old style of trading hits until someone gave in. Her morning club routine was her pretending to fight Aurus, and while it couldn’t compare to the real deal it still served to psych her up. Get her in the mood to kick some ass.
But first, she had to hop. I, hate, this, so, much. She thought, as she started her awkward bent over hops onto the posts. Why, does, he, even, need, this!? Ow! She had managed to catch the first of the crossbow bolts right in the hip, nearly tipping her into the muck below. Rose swayed wildly, her arms flailing at the air hoping to find something to hold on to. She managed to regain her balance, but the ‘water’ below her started to shift. Great, leeches, already.
She started hopping again, moving as fast as possible. Trying to get this over with. Who, does, he, even, think, would, come, after, him? The first of the leeches came bursting from the sludgy mess. Its slimy brown body flecked with red dots, and its gaping jawless mouth full of teeth aimed at her exposed arms. Rose swatted it back into the shit, nearly losing her balance in the process. Arms windmilling like crazy again. It’s, not, like, anyone, wants, him, dead.
With her left hand she slid her second favorite knife out of its sheath, and sliced through the first trip wire without slowing. He’s, a, nobody. Her knife slashed lazily through the fetid air. Cutting another trip wire, and halving a pair of incoming leeches. Another crossbow bolt slammed into her shoulder, and she barely managed to slam her free right hand into the ceiling. Pinning her body between the stone above and the wooden post below.
Half a dozen leeches seemed to sense her distraction, and took the opportunity to leap at her. She hastily cut down two of them, but the other four slammed into her. One suckered onto her leg, and started rasping its way through her leathers with its teeth. Another two hit her layers of furs, and bounced off. One managed to land on her bent back, and started squirming about. While the other simply fell back into the mire. The fourth, and last one had successfully hit her left arm, and was trying to work its way through her skin to the deliciousness beneath.
She could see her goal up ahead, so she left the disgusting creatures alone, and hopped rapidly towards the finish. The Leeches flailed about for a second, before wrapping their slime covered bodies around her leg and arm respectively. The one on her back still squirmed around. It’s, not, like, these, traps, would, even, kill, anyone. Finally, the rickety dock that led to the shabby shack of Aurus was nearly within leaping distance. With one last hop she heard the snap of a crossbow, and took a diving leap across the remaining distance to crash into the side of the dock. Slamming her knife into the slick semi-rotted wood, she pulled herself up and flopped onto the dock.
After taking a moment to savor her success, Rose stood up and stomped towards the rundown shack. It looked like someone had taken a pile of driftwood and scrap boards. Slapped them into a misshapen heap, and then thrown a torn fishing net festooned with empty liquor bottles over the top to hold it all together. The door was a series of warped planks held together by a combination of ropes and half rotted boards. Loud snoring filtered out of the many holes in the construct, and the smell of cheap booze and rotted cabbage filled the air around it.
Rose shifted her knife to her right hand, and delicately ran the blade along her skin. Slicing into the mouth of the leech, and prying the would-be bloodsucker off of her arm. Unwinding its coils from her limb, and chucking it into the muck from which it came. Then she repeated the performance with the one latched to her leg, before reaching back and fished the last one out of her furs.
This one she grasped firmly just behind the head, and as it writhed in her grip she replaced her knife in its sheath before knocking on the door of Aurus’ shack. The sound of groaning, punctuated by someone vomiting, drifted through the door. Uncaring, Rose knocked harder, and much, much, louder.
A muttered string of curses was followed by the sound of glass shattering as what was presumably an empty liquor bottle smashed into the door. More curses and whines followed that burst of noise. Rose smirked a little. And knocked again. Finally the sound of muttered curses shot up into dire imprecations, an the sound of shuffling footsteps headed towards the door. Someone, probably Aurus, then stepped onto the shattered glass with a small *crunch*. A short pause, then the swearing began again, this time much louder.
A small vicious smile on her lips, Rose lifted her hand, and knocked one last time. Loudly. Immediately, the door was yanked open and a short human male with long greasy gray hair, balding on top, and blood shot eyes glared out at Roses chest. Aurus raised his gaze to meet Roses laughing eyes with a baleful glare, just in time to get punched in the face by her leech laden right fist.
The loathsome creature immediately bit into the hungover mans nose, wrapped around his head, and rode him to the floor. Rose took two big steps back as the old man rolled to his feet with surprising swiftness. He reached up and ripped the leech off of his nose, and whipped the offending bloodsucker at Rose, who calmly backhanded it into the gunk. As he tenderly felt at his, no doubt throbbing, proboscis Rose spoke up.
“Heya, Aurus. You up for a fight?” The cheeky teen asked him, a taunt in her tone and a wide grin on her face. She was determined to enjoy this moment while it lasted.