I run the alleys of the village, until I find a solitary door in the middle of a dark and long passage. Above the door is an etched circle with two lines inscribed on both sides of it. The symbol is one I know well as this is the only place that will do business with me. The magnum opus of my people, the barn of the mana smiths in all its glory, and the many shops of town turn me away, but here is where I find people who accept my work and coin.
I open the door and behind it are several stairs that lead to the underground world of the black market. I descend into the dark abyss and accept its welcoming embrace. Those that walk, smith, and sell in the light have spurned me, but down here I have found a people that cares not for what light reveals.
My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I find myself on a sidewalk that sits next to a river of sludge. The odor isn’t pleasant, but down here there is an energetic vibe that is similar to the excited anticipation of the festival preparations above. Holes in the walls of this cavernous sewer have been dug out to make small stalls and homes for the downtrodden and those that sell items of dubious history and quality. These are my people, not by choice, but by necessity.
“Red-Eye! Boss wants to see yuh,” says a young man clad in ornate armor, that bares my makers sigil. Two eyes upon a hammer inlaid with cinnabar gold is emblazoned on his shoulder pauldron, which brings a smile upon my face. At least someone proudly wears the make of my hands.
“Keith, thanks for getting the allfather slepnic horse clippings for me,” I say walking up to Keith and examining his armor. I want to make sure that it wasn’t damaged and make a sort of examination of the quality of my work. I had made the armor by infusing it with the air mana of a wind fairy wing, and though it is full plate it weighs less than leather armor. I also used a salamander tongue to infuse it with an emergency defense that will ignite the armor if the person wearing it is pinned. As fire and wind are not opposing mana energies they do not cancel, but the sheer amount of mana in the armor was tough to forge and make sure it didn’t explode from the sheer energy contained in the metal when I made it.
Keith gives an exasperated laugh as he watches me make mental measurements and absent mindedly lift his arm and move his legs to make sure the armor still has the range of mobility that I took great care of imbuing the armor with. Keith may be my only true friend in this world, which is strange to say, as he isn’t even a mana smith. Keith hails from the kingdoms of the elementals where the Sultan of the Tsunami Leviathan reigns supreme. The elementals are a mana blessed people that take mana from the materials of mana beasts into themselves so they can themselves use the power of said beasts. Most of the time the powers they receive from mana are some form of elemental kinesis but depending on the beast the mana can have intriguing effects upon their physiology as well.
“Can you please put down my leg, as again the boss wants to see you,” says Keith forcefully putting his foot down to break his leg from my grasp, “also, this armor is fantastic. If it wasn’t for that little fire trick that you put into this thing, a mush boar would have caved my chest in. Though, one of its tusks did gash my face a bit, but scars are stories.”
“Maybe the next time I need a material I’ll make your commission a helmet,” I say happy to know that the armor worked as intended, “Also, I need to talk to that dastard. He sold me faulty orichalcum! My project would have worked if the orichalcum didn’t fail at the last second.”
“You, did it?” asks Keith taking me aside and guiding me into a more secluded nook of the black market, “you actually made a soul?”
“Yeah, and if the orichalcum was actually of superb quality like I was assured, the automaton would have worked perfectly,” I complain my anger festering at my number one patron’s lack of diligence.
“That’s weird… I was the one selected by the guild who got that orichalcum for yuh and double and triple checked it at several jewelers just to ensure that it was of perfect quality,” says Keith looking a bit dejected, “Are you sure you got the orichalcum that I got yuh? The boss may be a black market regular, but he ain’t dirty. I mean every one of his striders relies on your gear, and ever since you came along not a single hunt has seen a fatality. The boss makes sure to keep yuh happy.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t actually pick up that order, as I was doing work for my father the day pick up arrived. My mentor Black picked up the order, and I can’t bring myself to believe that he would do anything shifty. He’s basically a second father to me,” I say trying to process what Keith had just told me, and I might have to accept that maybe I did screw up when making the bottle that blew up trying to hold the created soul.
“But it worked, you said it did. What happened?” asks Keith earnestly trying to learn of the automaton that he has seen slowly come together piece by piece over the years.
“The soul coalesced, and the automaton came to life. It was amazing, the colors that irradiated out of the light of the soul reminded me of something you told me about from your adventures. Your description of the northern lights would be an almost perfect description of what the soul looked like but spiraling much like a hurricane for its birth and coming together into a mini sun made of the northern lights in its fully formed state. However, despite the initial success, all of a sudden, the energy of the soul overwhelmed the orichalcum bottle and it exploded,” I say recounting the events that had just barely occurred.
“Maybe it’s just not in the cards for smiths to make souls. Making souls may not be one of the great two taboos of your people, but it could be pretty close to being considered one,” says Keith biting his lip hearing the news, “I know you want to show off a soul as your project to win your people’s hearts, but maybe you should cut your losses and ask a few people down here for some favors. Every one of the striders down here would be more than willing to show off the gear that you’ve made us. You literally protect us from harm. Even though we kind of paid for your gear through hunting down all manner of dangerous mana beasts, we came back safe from your commissions thanks to the way you paid us. Not to mention some of the striders here have been able to ascend out of debt and become paladins in profession and no longer are tied to the black market because of you.”
“I don’t think armor and weapons will necessarily win over my people, especially if they find out that I’m a black-market smith. I can’t trade with my own village or enter the mana smith barn, so I had to rely on the black market to get what I need. But even though I needed to rely on this place out of necessity, that doesn’t mean my people will be as understanding as many of you down here. There is a stigma behind being a black-market smith, and I’m already tarnished enough in their eyes,” I say with a disheartened sigh and I look away from my friend’s face, “Even down here, only those that come from the other mana blessed peoples of Elem will talk or trade with me. I need something that will utterly overwhelm my people and win their hearts. Right now, though I may become chief by tradition, I worry that my people won’t accept me as their chief in their hearts and minds.”
“I know that your parents respect their people’s wills and do not exercise their authority over them to help you with actually being able to obtain the same treatment as any other mana smiths, but as a strider I can say that your people are idiots for rejecting you. You are the best damn smith in this entire village, and they’ll be lucky to have you as their chief. I only wear your stuff because the quality is top notch and has never failed, and if you need anything, I’ll get it for yuh, given that you throw in a little bonus,” says Keith placing his gauntlets upon my shoulders and letting out a hearty laugh.
“Thanks for saying that. Though I somewhat understand why they hate me. It’s like I’ve somehow committed one of the taboos. I’ve never smithed human lives or souls, yet it’s like most of my people think that’s exactly what I’ve done. I swear that sometimes it feels like Unabolgath gets a better rap than I do, and that Heretics’ Blade looks like a holy sword next to me,” I say shaking my head in frustration, only for my gaze to catch on Keith’s now shocked face. He looks around nervously and his eyes are wide hearing the two unholy names that I let spill from my lips.
Keith places a hand over my mouth and looks around again to make sure that we are alone and says, “You know just as much as I, that saying those two names could get your ass into a heap trouble down here. Though the black market doesn’t respect much, those two evil, accursed, vile creations demand respect down here. Don’t you dare say that you are worse than the sins of the lost tribe of smiths that nearly destroyed the world.”
“I know, it’s just everything is going wrong today, and now I have to haggle just to get something that if I was allowed in the mana smith barn, that I would literally just need to sign a rental form for. I need passage to Brenwick, as my mentor has bought materials for a second chance at making a soul and his Cogs Men buddies are over in Brenwick ready to sell or hand over the goods I need,” I explain, and I know that I’ll probably be charged a premium just to obtain passage to Brenwick. What most likely will occur is that I’ll have to buy a slepnic filly, when I could rent one for free if my people were actually on my side.
“If all you need is a ride, I’ll take you there myself. The ride is a short one and shouldn’t tire my main steed Sleipnon or my second steed Epona. Let’s go see what the boss wants, and we’ll ride for Brenwick where we should arrive right before sundown,” says Keith with a large smile, “We could call this a bro-cation. I can’t wait to get you out of this hell hole for a little while. Brenwick is a hub for many different peoples, so maybe we could bolster your confidence a bit. I know this one whor… wonderful woman who could introduce you to some ladies that may be interested in a Red-Eye commission, if you know what I mean.”
I chuckle at Keith’s insinuation and say, “I’m already promised. I can’t betray my betrothed or my destiny. Also, I thought you liked men?”
“That’s true, and before you think I’m just another strider who goes around whoring, I just want to say I like her company and conversation and would never purchase such lascivious and lusty services. I just like making friends, and she may be a woman of the night, but she’s fun to talk to,” says Keith shrugging his shoulders. A bit of pain is reflected in his eyes, but a fiery hope shines through the pain. Keith has endured a lot on his journey becoming a strider desiring to become a Paladin, and all of it for a desire to love and be accepted.
Keith ran away from his people because, just the way he is and chooses to love would have gotten him killed under the laws of the Sultan. Though, terrible it is to say, if it wasn’t for the Sultan, I wouldn’t have a best friend, and I hate myself for thinking that way. Keith learned of the Hero Saint Cumhaill and was drawn to him because he was raised by the two Hero Trainers Luachra and Bodhmall whose love was akin to the love he desired to have and cherish. The monster hunting order called the Heroic Paladins of the Saint Cumhaill attracted him because they were more accepting than his people and would look at him as a person and he wouldn’t be at risk of death for loving who he loves. We are kindred souls as we are both spurned by our birth peoples. In fact, he was the first person to take a chance on me, and through him I have been able to obtain a foothold here in the black market.
Keith’s moment of emotional weakness subsides and the welcoming confidence in his eyes overwhelms the pain that dwelt there for the briefest of moments. He slaps me on the back, and we walk out of our secluded corner of the black market and stroll over the river of sludge using a shoddily crafted bridge. We travel amongst many people making deals and trade, and a few women cat call Keith, and Keith returns their attention with a polite wave in response. We both know these women do this just to tease him as most know Keith personally down here in the market. Though, when the women see me walking alongside Keith and see the glowing red light emitted from my eyes in the darkness they immediately walk back inside their homes and shops and shut their doors tightly behind them. This sort of behavior should make me feel something, but at this point I’m so numb to such interactions that I don’t even care anymore.
Keith stops and turns to open a door in the side of the walls of the sewer and invites me to enter. Inside the door is a rowdy restaurant and bar where burly and heavily scarred men and women wearing armor and weapons with my mark eat, drink, and fight amongst themselves.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Hail Red-Eye, savior of our guild of miscreants,” yells a drunken strider who hobbles up to me to try and give me a gesture of respect but ends up barfing on my shoes.
A tall woman who has the ears of a rabbit and long legs to match her bunny like appearance kicks the man away from me, her agility being surprising wearing heavy and bulky plate armor, but at the same time expected as she is wearing another one of my creations, and a variation of the armor I made for Keith. Magda wears an armor infused with Roc feather mana and fairy wing mana, which according to her makes it feel like she is fighting wearing nothing at all with how light the armor is. The armor also makes her capable of falling from great heights without risk of harm.
Magda spits on the drunken lout in front of me and says, “He’s a hopeless drunk, and I apologize on behalf of the guild for his rudeness.”
I merely nod my thanks to Magda and she returns to her drinking companions and angrily eyes the rest of the striders in the bar, and with each pass of her glance the once lively energy quiets into more controlled whispers. A door crashes open behind the bar and a fat man with a mohawk of feathers shuffles up to the bar.
“Oye, ye welp, I have a commission I wish to ask of ye,” says the strider guild master, “also, sorry for the rudeness of Claude. He just got back from a hunt, and well he drinks himself under the table to celebrate. Who am I to discourage that though, when all the coin on drink goes right back into the guild?”
“Look I get it, you’re a group of non-registered monster hunters, so every hunt could be the last. If this is his way of celebrating life, I get it, I just hope he throws up on someone else’s shoes the next time,” I jest before getting down to business, “what is it that you want? Rather, who wants something?”
“New recruit needs a weapon. He’s willing to pay in materials from a hunt of your choice. Says he can take on a hurricane eagle if you’d like,” says the guild master, “look I know that you are busy given the festival and the presentation and all, but the new guy he’s impulsive and might get himself into some trouble. Hell be, a hurricane eagle is too much even for the entire guild to take down. He talks such a big game that he claims that he could take down Unabol… the heaven grasping world eater. Honestly, he needs a weapon on par with his ego, and well that may be a large order to fill as maybe even the soul reaving blade may not be large enough to quell his pride.”
I shake my head and think of a time frame for when I could finish the order and the price for my services, “um… I wouldn’t be able to complete the order until after the festival, and I don’t have any more burner materials, so he’d have to supply the materials for his commission. As for payment, give me a portion of whatever he takes down to supply materials for his weapon and to start resupplying my stash of mana beast materials. I know the guild makes money off of splitting the creatures it hunts into all its essential bits from meat to mana, so I only ask for a piece of the pot not all of it like I always do.”
“Really, no magma manticore claws, or anything like that?” asks the guild master with a raised feathery eyebrow.
I shake my head again, “Honestly Nebah, I don’t have any projects or materials that I need hunted down at the moment, so that is literally all I’ll ask for as payment.”
“Yeh are too good to us and push us to ever higher horizons. The whirlpool manatee and allfather horse were especially lucrative hunts and your armor and weapons brought everyone home. The materials that we reinvested in yeh have provided our striders with better gear and more and more of my men break the chains of debtors and ascend into registered monster hunting as paladins of various warrior saints,” says Nebah with a hearty laugh as he notes some dirtied and empty glasses on the table that he quickly nabs and begins to clean, “my guild is beginning to become quite notorious, and the name of Red-Eye is becoming legendary in strider circles. Some call you the Guardian Saint of Striders, or the Red-Eyes of a Hundred Ascendant.”
“Nice to know that I have a positive rep at least somewhere in this world,” I say and Nebah quickly fills me a cup of his own special brew of herbal tea, as he washes various platters and mugs to begin serving many of his patrons and guild members.
After serving mugs of ale and booze, and a few platters of bar grub Nebah returns his attention to me, “Look Red-Eye I called ye here not just for a commission but to offer yeh a business opportunity. Yo gear is becoming known across the world, as nearly anyone can become a paladin wielding any of yo creations. The saint orders are getting wind of yeh, and a paladin actually came down here to my bar and guild to ask for yeh. I’d hate to lose ye, but I hate it even more, that ye are so beaten down by yo people. Yea, I do know that yeh are in line to be chief, but why be chief of a people that hate ye. Why not just jump town, and start over?”
“I was here when the paladin was vehemently trying to track you down. Apparently, some smiths and people have been trying to imitate your mark to cash in on your name. However, no one has come close to making anything close to what you can. I mean almost every piece of gear you make has been infused twice over, and none of the pretenders have been able to replicate that,” says Keith taking a swig of a mug he had just been served.
I look into my cup of tea and a desperate part of me wants to accept the offer, but I can’t abandon my people or their dreams. Even if they don’t accept me entirely, they have waited so long for the blood unification of all the tribes, and I can’t take that from them. Letting out a bitter sigh I say, “I can’t accept. Don’t get me wrong, I really want to, but my people have been waiting years for the children of unification to produce a true ruler of all the mana smiths. I can’t just abandon them.”
“Why not! What allegiance do you owe these people! Blood, family, people, these are sometimes reasons used to abuse,” says Magda from the corner of the room sipping on a colorful drink in a decorative glass, “I was sold by my parents into prostitution for their gambling debts. I suffered at the hands of many out of some loyalty for them, but daddy and mommy didn’t return and the money that I was told they owed only increased. I had to face the facts, the only person who truly cares about me is me, and I am the source of my happiness and future. I escaped my pimp and family and now I’m a strider trying to pay doctors to fix what my parents did to me.”
I already knew her life story, and it is why she wears such bulky armor that covers up most of her incredibly beautiful and feminine figure. She hardly ever goes out into public without her armor now, as she wears it to protect herself at all times… not all monsters are beasts. When I took measurements to make the armor she commissioned, partially designed through very explicit input, and now wears perpetually, I was able to witness some of the scars of her old life. A scar goes up her belly, and from what she told me was from a surgery she had to endure in her youth after she had gotten pregnant by her pimp. Her pimp had both the baby and a portion of her organs removed, and she now desperately is searching for a way to reverse what he did to her, and not only that but heal some of the diseases that some of her pimp’s patrons left behind. She could have ascended to becoming a paladin, but her debts continue to increase as she desperately tries to expand her life span, and she has to hunt nearly three times as much as other striders in the guild to pay back debts and purchase better and better treatments.
“I agree with the lass. Hic… you should be with people that appreciate you, and not be forced into a sad destiny,” says Claude from the floor as he hadn’t gotten up after Magda’s assault, “You and I aren’t so different. I was a part of elemental aristocracy, but I wasn’t the firstborn… hic… All goes to the firstborn and if you aren’t particularly talented, or good looking, you become useless as a bartering chip to help your parents and precious first sibling ascend to further places of wealth and power. The first day my parents had directly addressed me since giving my name at birth was to tell me I was going to be married off, which I knew to be a lie. I was abandoned in the middle of a desert, where luckily a caravan picked me up before I withered into dust under the sun. From that day forward I did what I could to protect them as a mana blessed elemental and eventually became a strider. Family and people isn’t always blood, but bond. I just wanted to add to what sissy said… hic… and say take a chance on yourself, maybe one day you could be like us.”
“Drunk with your face plastered in your own vomit,” says Magda in the corner rolling her eyes, “yeah perfect way to convince Red-Eye that he should take a position with the paladin orders and skip town.”
“Thanks… sissy... hic… I knew you would have my back,” says Claude only to begin snoring on the floor, as he passes out.
“They have a rough way of going about saying they care for you. Though, they are right… maybe you should take this opportunity. I could track down an order member for you when we go to Brenwick. You should be with people that love and accept you, and not just put up with you because of blood, necessity, or politics,” says Keith and his caring yet intense gaze obligates me subconsciously to look him in the eyes as he speaks, “Bro take a chance on happiness. Why take upon yourself a future that would lead to your misery. I did everything in my power to change my feelings and emotions to comply with the beliefs of Yawlah and his chosen voice the sultan. I couldn’t change myself or the way I felt, much like you can’t change your eyes or skin. I had to confront the idea that I would either be alone all the days of my life or marry someone I had no love for just to achieve the appearance of virtue and to secure my safety. Instead, I chose to run, and run as far as I could, and eventually found hope in Saint Cumhaill and the saintly Hero Trainers. Sometimes it’s okay to run.”
I can’t bring myself to speak, as the words of all those around me speak to everything I desire. I have found acceptance elsewhere in the world and may be able to live an honorable life making weapons and armor for paladins. Paladins are the true heroes of Elem, as they are the strongest and best of us and with their might and being armored in the best smiths have to offer, they ward off mana beasts that could spell disaster for an entire city or even the entire continent. Soon, Keith won’t be a strider anymore, and he’ll go off to the home city of the Beast Kin people where the head quarters of the Heroic Order of Saint Cumhaill is stationed. If I stay, I’ll lose a friend eventually, and if I go, I may have some power to become a smith for Keith’s future order.
“Oye, ye gits are crowding the thoughts of Red-Eye, let em breath a bit why don’t cha? I was jus givin him the message of the paladin, not trying to shove it down his throat! Yea, I said what I said, but yeh didn’t have tuh pile on like dogs on the kill,” scolds Nebah slamming his hands on the table, “Unlike yeh gits, Red-Eye has a good family, just not a good people. P’haps he can change duh threads of destiny and prove all the gits above tuh be the asses they are for treating him so po’ly. He’ll have duh power tuh change things not just for himself but his entire people. Many of us were powerless and we found our place to scrounge upward in the sewers of striderhood, but he has many things tha we didn’t in our lives that drove us here. Righ’ now he has to choose his future, whether to be a chief that may be hated, but then again may be loved like we love duh boy, or leave and become a smith for the paladins. It is for him to decide, not a bunch of gits who eat and drink sewage. Now ye gits take a bounty and hunt o’ cough up the money on yo tabs!”
With the mention of the word tab, many of the patrons at the bar quickly went over to a notice board on one of the walls, quickly analyze several papers and took a paper from the wall before scurrying out of the bar. Nebah may not be wearing any of my armor, but around his neck is a crystal with a brightly glowing green orb floating inside of it. Nebah is a summoner and beast kin mana blessed, and when he uses mana he either summons his beast companion which is a legendary hurricane bringer, or takes it into himself and becomes a veritable force of nature. His father was a summoner and his mother a beast kin, which these types of mana blessed are essentially the same blessing but practiced in different ways. Nebah was trained in both of his parents’ mana arts and at times teaches beast kin who join the guild the way of summoners to help them achieve their full potential. His help doesn’t stop at helping beast kin become summoners, but he also willingly refused the way of the paladin to perpetually be a strider, all in order to guide striders out of debt and to achieve greater goals. Thanks to him, guild systems have been established for striders across the entire world of Elem.
“Why are yeh still here,” says Nebah to Keith, “Yeh still have a few debts to pay befo ye are done with yo final debt.”
“I know, I’ll pick up a bounty when I get back,” says Keith getting up from the bar, “I promised Red-Eye here to take him over to Brenwick, and after I return, I’ll do a double.”
“Yeh better! I may hate the loans my striders have to enter just to restock their cashes of mana, but what can you do when ye aren’t registered with an order,” says Nebah pouring himself a mug of beer and taking a hearty swig, “if paladin orders were a tad more lenient in their vetting process far more promising candidates would be amongst their ranks, but alas if ye are in debt you cannot fully serve a saint. The bitch of the whole situation is they do not supply yo starting gear, and their test hunt kills so many striders because they take it on woefully unequipped. Striders who do not come from wealthy lineage have to go into debt, just to have the equipment and access to mana they need to get passed the application tests. However, if you have debt, there no chance to even apply! It’s all vicious scam, but once ye get passed the test yeh get access to everything and more.”
“Nebah, I’m extremely aware of my situation, and am getting closer by the day to have it paid off in full,” says Keith glaring at Nebah for reminding him of his position and how he is separated from his goals.
Nebah gives a hearty laugh and says, “sometimes a little reminder and kick in the pants can get someone who doesn’t need it to reach higher. I mean no offense, but I do desire to see another of my guild ascend.”
Keith nods to Nebah and gives him an appreciative glance then signals to me to follow him. We wave goodbye to Nebah and exit the bar. Walking swiftly through the tunnels of the sewer, we make our way down the sludge river and bridges where we find a staircase leading upward and ascend. Once we reach the end of the staircase a ladder greets us, and we climb it to find what appears to be a cellar door. Keith pushes it open, and we emerge into sunlight. All around us are fields of golden wheat.