Hello~ It's me again. I know I said to be patient and not to rush me... but I already have another chapter for you! I know, I know, I'm shocked too. Anyway, read the prologue and Ch1 first for general warnings and such. This chapter is also very detailed, so some might find it boring. If the teaser was to grab attention and Ch1 was supposed to introduce characters, then this chapter is introducing the city/lifestyle/other characters. This chapter is a sexy 6,270 words. Enjoy. Warning in advance, I spent very little time PRing this, because I wanted to get done.
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Winds of Change Volume 1: The Oncoming Storm
Chapter 2: A Boy and A Burden
Fear is a weakness… and humans, just like every other predatory beast, will attack anyone holding such a scent.—Unforeseen Dangers of Adventuring
People wear names like they do masks, if they’re not careful, they’ll forget who they are underneath.—Unforseen Dangers of Adventuring
Though his not-mother had taught him a lot, there was still a lot he didn’t know. The woman’s name… the boy didn’t know it. He, as well as any acquaintance from the slums, only knew her by her trade name. She answered to Carver or Cripple. And if she knew the name that the boy’s mother gave to him, she had never spoken it.
Names, in this world, are very important. A normal person is given a name at the moment of their birth. That name is then blessed by a priest of the Divine, in order to protect the child. This is done because a name is a representation of oneself. If someone knows your true name, they can obtain power over you. The blessing of a Divinity is an offering. Your name is offered to a God or other divine being; this being protects your name from the influence of others. Of course, this is done early because children are the most vulnerable to outside influences. Children, therefore, have no say in the God responsible for their name, the God they worship. However, since each race has their own distinct god, there are rarely problems.
Half-breeds and mixed bloods were different in this regard. Since there is no God responsible for mixed bloods, they have to find a lesser Divinity to swear their name to. Or, they go unblessed and remain at risk. In ‘Carver’s’ case, her true name was blessed by a lower divinity, so she had little to worry about Demons stealing her name and using it to control her. However, since she was born in an Elvish village, her name reflected her heritage. Half-breed elves make popular slaves, so it is only natural that she would hide it.
In the boy’s case, she didn’t know if his mother had blessed his name. Probably not, considering the time and effort it takes to get a priest to bless a mixed-blood. If she hadn’t, she had kept the child’s name to herself for safety. After all, if even the child doesn’t know his own name, the demons can’t take it from him.
For the first several years of his life, Carver had merely called him “boy,” and it was only three years ago that she gave him a nickname. That name was Spark. He didn’t remember it, but it all started with a story.
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Three years ago
“Carver, how does magic work?” The boy had been curious back then, not exposed to some of the worst sections of the slums, as innocent as he had ever been.
“Why do you want to know? You can’t use it.” The boy reddened and protested fiercely.
“I’ve heard stories about magic, I wanna know about it. Pleasepleaseplease.”
“Ok, but pay attention, I don’t like repeating myself.” Carver really just wanted to shut the kid up. She was getting a headache.
“YES!” The boy sat up straight immediately, waiting eagerly for the story to start.
“I don’t use magic, so I don’t know everything about it. Don’t get your hopes up too much.”
The boy deflated a bit at that, but was still hopeful.
“In order to use magic, a being has to possess or use mana. Mana is all around us, that’s why magic items work. When a magic item is forged, it draws in the ambient mana in order to maintain itself or activate itself. Spells work differently. Spells require a mage to use the mana inside them.” She said it all as quickly as she could, as through trying to finish talking about something distasteful.
“-What if they run out of mana?”
“Don’t interrupt me, boy, or I won’t tell you anything.” The boy hurried covered his mouth.
“A magician has to be careful not to use all of their mana, they could die if that happens. Or sometimes they just get really sick.” She decided not to describe the intricacies of magic exhaustion. “Sometimes, if they don’t have enough mana, their life force is taken in exchange.” She paused for a moment.
“But how does it WORK?” he asked emphatically.
“I’m getting to that! Don’t rush me! Magicians have to first visualize what they want to happen. They do this in their mental landscape. -DON’T YOU DARE INTERRUPT-. A mental landscape is a place in their mind that looks just like this world, but they can change things there. Then, they bring that change into this world by using magic.” He looked more confused than anything else.
She sighed, “It means, when they imagine something, they can make it real.”
The boy suddenly started concentrating intensely on something.
“You can’t do it without mana, idiot.”
“But how-”
“Just stop right there! If magic is like making a fire, then creating something on the mental landscape is like making a spark. To turn a spark into a flame, you add wood and kindling onto it. To make a spell reality, you have to add knowledge and mana to it. Knowledge and intelligence is needed so that the mage knows how to use the mana they have.”
“But magic doesn’t just become fire.” He said stubbornly.
“Of course not, magic is like a spark, and that spark can become anything. Well, as long as you give it enough mana.”
The boy was staring at the fire now, “But regular sparks just become fire.”
“Or they get smothered. That’s an idea, why don’t we make that your name?”
“What? Fire?” he asked dubiously.
“No you idiot, Spark.”
“I don’t wanna be smuthered!” He cried out.
“Then you’d better work hard. Whether you’ll be smothered or become something great is up to you.” But the slums has a way of smothering even the brightest sparks, went unsaid.
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Today was going to be busy for Spark, but at least there would be food. He woke up early and redressed in dirty clothes. Then he did his daily chores: rekindling the fire, gathering new water and setting it over the fire to boil, and gathering more firewood and reeds to be dried. Then, he placed the small bundle for the broker in his baggy tunic, and set off.
The slums were much safer in the early morning than they were at night. The drunks and druggies were passed out in their homes or on the streets. The filthy prostitutes weren’t as appealing in the light of day, so they either stuck to the darker parts of the slums, or rested during the daylight hours. Muggers and thieves were also less likely to be out, the decreased traffic made it unprofitable to do their jobs, since they were more likely to be caught and recognized.
That didn’t mean that the slums were safe, or even remotely so. There were other dangers to traveling the streets in the early morning. It wasn’t uncommon to see bodies lying in dark corners. Sometimes they were only drunks who hadn’t made it home, sometimes they were unfortunate victims of someone’s ire. In spite of the lack of people to clean the filth off the streets, bodies never stayed for long. People could find a use for almost anything here.
The slums were divided into 3 separate parts, the outskirts (where Spark lived), the middle, and the border. The outskirts are for fishermen and others who live mostly off the river or off dock work. Outsiders didn’t visit there, and that was the way they liked it. The border was just how it sounded, a border between the slums and the upper city. The border contained those who either were just under the amount of money they needed to live in the upper city, or those who could afford to live there, but chose not to for unsavory reasons. Enforcers-those responsible for law and order-don’t come to the slums, so people had no fear of being Judged. The middle section contained everyone and everything else.
The thoroughfare would be full of beggars no matter the time, hoping to get sympathy from passing adventurers. Many of them were children, most missing limbs or an eye. It was one of the most disgusting parts of the slums. Not because they were missing limbs, a common enough danger to living in such a dangerous environment. No, it was because these children were intentionally crippled by their parents. Forced to beg on the streets and give their earnings to the very ones who put them there. They had no other way to make a living, and couldn’t even run away. Spark had no desire to see such a sight, so he kept to the less traveled streets, for all that he might find a body instead. His destination was in the border, so things would get worse before they got better. He was careful and vigilant as he went, staying wary of too-quiet streets. If there wasn’t a rat eating waste, it wasn’t a safe place to be.
He gave a wide berth to the home rumored to belong to a fallen noble. He didn’t avoid it because of the chance that the former noble had hired guards, but because of the rumors that child slaves often entered there never to be seen again. The broker lived on the same street and had guards of his own. Spark walked up to the back door (obviously he wasn’t welcome at the front where anyone could see him).
He knocked on the door and it was flung open sharply. He jerked back automatically, leaving the small stoop.
“Who’re you?” Tall and heavy, the man in front of him looked more like a thug than a hired guard.
“I’ve got a delivery.” Spark answered. He’d been here before, if the bastard didn’t bother learning his name, there was no point reminding him. Besides, it was better not to stand out.
“Wait here.” The door was slammed shut in front of him. He sighed. He’d hoped it would be a quick drop-off. He wanted to get food before going to work. He wrapped one arm around his stomach to ease the grumbling and sat on the steps. He hadn’t eaten since last night, and it was telling.
While he waited, he looked around. A few houses down, a woman put wet clothes on a line. A man was stumbling in through the front door, only to be assaulted by a young pregnant girl. He watched a woman in a short dress leave a nice-looking house. From her appearance and the fact that she-too had left through a back door, she was obviously a lady of the night. The woman at the clothesline scowled at her and went back inside. No doubt later she would complain about it to her husband and gossip about it to her friends. It would end up an exaggerated rumor that no one but middle-class housewives with nothing better to do would care about. They would talk and talk, and all the while ignore when their own husbands stay out late and come home smelling of another woman.
The so called lady walked towards him, her steps wide and slow. She was showing off her conquest and promoting her wares. She was good enough for a border man. The longer she was here, the more chances she had for someone wealthy to spot her, but if she stayed too long someone would set their guards on her.
Spark hadn’t meant to be staring. He was just tired and hungry and had nothing else to do while he waited. He noticed that she was pretty; she had clear blue eyes and fine delicate features. Her dark hair was wavy and bounced with each step. Her hair wasn’t the only thing that bounced, as her breasts were ample. She smirked at him as she got closer, and Spark hurriedly averted his gaze. Not out of embarrassment, but rather because he didn’t want her to get any ideas. He didn’t have any money, and if he did, he wouldn’t spend it on a whore.
She didn’t continue down the street; she walked right up to him. He felt himself stiffen at her closeness, but didn’t look up.
“Well well. What’ve we got here?” She had a sonorous voice, no doubt one other selling point. Spark looked up at her words to find her eyeing him.
“Looking for money, love? They sure do start early these days don’t they? Aren’t you a bit on the scrawny side?” She leaned even closer to him, causing him to almost gag on the musky scent coming off of her. She suddenly jerked back in distaste, “And a filthy brat too.”
Spark gritted his teeth. Finally he looked up; she wasn’t as pretty up closer, caked with too much makeup. There were hints of a fading black eye under the paste she’d use to give her skin an even tone. Her too-red lips looked plump and obscene from the bright lip paint. “What’s it to you?”
She smirked at him, her suspicions confirmed. She looked back up at the house, no doubt noting it for potential blackmail purposes. It always paid to know who liked children. Even with their unsavory profession, there were some prostitutes who would be disgusted by such people, but she clearly wasn’t one of them. Her business mindedness was almost admirable.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “if you really want to profit…” She hesitated as though unwilling to give valuable information. When he didn’t respond, she continued, “You should try that house after you’re done here.” She pointed down the street to the house of the fallen noble. “There’s a well-off lord there who would be happy to have your services.” She spoke so kindly, if you had no idea the rumors behind that house, you would be tempted to believe her. But Spark wasn’t someone who believed in the goodwill of others, was suspicious before she even began. As though there could be a good reason someone like her approached a child like him.
“Thanks miss. I’ll keep it in mind.” He had no reason to discourage her line of thinking. If he told her the real reason he was there, there’d be people waiting to ambush him on his way back through the middle sector. This way, they wouldn’t expect him to be back for a long time, so any ambush she tried to set would be too late.
She smiled and walked away. No doubt to return to her master and tell him the night’s earnings. It was a pitiful lifestyle, to sell one’s body to another, to be seen as nothing more than a commodity. Only different from a slave in that you could (on occasion) choose your own clients, and also that you are seen as valuable to someone, even if that someone was your master. There was always the hope that your master might see something special about you, and make sure to keep you safe and away from clients that could break you. In the meantime, he’ll take all your profits for living expenses and cut you off from everyone but clients as a way to control you.
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By the time the door finally opened again, people were walking the streets. It was still early, but not so early that people wouldn’t notice him. A second thug, another big hairy fellow, let him in and led him down the hall to the study. It was different from last time. Last time he’d been left on the doorstep, a package was shoved into his hands, and he was told to be on his way.
The broker’s appearance was a surprise. Spark had been expecting bald man fat off of other people’s money, instead he found a tall, thin, and dark-headed man behind an oak desk. He had a sharp gaze and a hawk-like nose. The broker got straight to the point. He was too busy for Spark, he didn’t want to waste time on him.
“The package?” His voice was a sharp as his gaze. The man looked at Spark like he was less than dirt. Beneath his notice.
Spark put a hand in his shirt, pulling the package out in front of the broker and his two guards. He took a moment to enjoy the distaste on the other’s face before holding it out. The broker obviously didn’t want to touch the package with his bare hands. He gestured to the first thug, Ronald, if Spark remembered right; these people had blessed names, even if they chose not to give them to a person from the outskirts. The man ripped it open to reveal the contents.
What was in it was no surprise to Spark. Out of curiosity, he had looked at it before leaving. It was a simple piece, a stone carved with the rune for [Weaken], but apparently it was worth a lot to the broker.
Spark held out his hand, “The payment.” Spark didn’t like being here any more than the broker liked him being here. Besides, the broker wasn’t the only one busy. He had work to do.
The broker just stared at him for a moment, before pulling out a bundle and a handful of coins. He dropped the coins into Spark’s hand, obviously wanting to avoid touching him. He slid the bundle across the desk between them. Spark picked it up, but didn’t open it. It was heavier and bigger than he expected. Spark was quickly ushered out of the house by the two hairy giants.
Just how the hell am I supposed to hide THIS from Cy?
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In the end, Spark decided he had no choice but to return home and drop off the bundle before going to work. He was going to be late, but it would be worse if he lost the package and his work money to a mugger. By the time he made his way back through the filth-strewn streets and to their humble abode, he had no time to waste. He carefully moved a piece of rotted wood making up the wall to reveal a small hiding place, knocking off the few bugs that crawled over his hand. It would be nearly impossible for outsiders to detect. The rot made any discoloration undetectable, and very few people would want to stick their hands through the rotted wood if they didn’t know something was behind it.
Spark hurriedly went back into the middle sector, towards the run-down building where he was supposed to work. He was very late. He hadn’t even had time to check the contents of the package. Carver hadn’t been home either, possibly out begging or trying to sell trinkets, maybe even lightening a few pockets while he was at it.
Spark wasn’t opposed to theft. It was a way to make a living, and they needed every bit of help they could get. If he had had enough time, he would have done some pickpocketing of his own on the way. Nobody looked at someone like him; it made it easy to steal their wallets as he slipped past.
As he approached the building, the lookout spotted him and went inside. Unlike at the broker’s house, the door was opened immediately and he was ushered in. He was known here, and if not needed, then the next best thing.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“You’re late, boy.” The Cyclops’s single eye glared at him. The other was covered by an eye patch supposedly made from the skin of the demon who took the eye. It did have a leathery appearance, but Spark had never seen a demon up close, so he had no way to judge.
“I had some other business to take care of.” Spark responded easily, not affected at all by the fierce appearance of the man in front of him. “Did you miss me, Cy?”
“Who would miss a shitty brat like you? I’ve got work for you; you’d better get it done, and do it well.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just give me the designs.” Cy grunted, but rose to lead Spark to his workplace.
It was a large room, and also a full one. There were children and young women everywhere. Though he called it weaving, he was never responsible for any of the looms. The looms for making the cloth were handled by young women, they were engraved with a Rune combination for [Decreased Strength] to make it easier to use. Spark was responsible for adding detailed patterns into pre-made cloth. Most of the children had a similar job, as using the items required having small, nimble hands. The better ones were also given magical items to work with. The gloves, with the Rune for [Deftness] sewn into them, make it easier and faster to sew. As for why only children were at work… Women could find other, better paying, jobs that didn’t require so much effort. Men were the same; they could do heavy-lifting work to make their way. Child slaves were also cheaper.
Spark was led to the very back of the room. On the way, he avoided looking at the others. He didn’t need to see the chains trapping them to their machines. He didn’t need to see their sunken eyes or bleeding fingers. He would avoid them even during breaks, because, most of all, he didn’t need to be friends with slaves. It was utterly pointless to do so. Slaves were bought to be used until they weren’t useful anymore, at which point they were thrown away. It was how this world worked, how Cy worked. It was meaningless to Spark. He was different from most of the others; he was here on his own will.
He sat down at his place; he actually had a chair and small table, and looked at the design for his first pieces. I’m doing forgeries today. The Cyclops had gotten his hands on the signatures that well-known seamstresses used. All Spark had to do was look at the design and copy it onto the cloth. Of course, the cloth was of good quality, they wanted the forgeries to sell at high price, after all.
Spark got to work, bending his head over the material and sewing the pattern into the corner of a sleeve. It was really delicate work, the pattern had to be very small, almost unnoticeable, except for those who knew to look for it. By the time he finished four pieces, it was noonday. He was given water and a slice of bread. He was glad, because he’d started to feel light-headed.
As he ate and rested, Cy came over to examine his work. He only bothered doing so with the children he paid.
“You’ve got skill, boy.” The one-eyed man was leaning over the table and looking carefully at the forged symbol.
“That’s why you pay me better’n the others.” Spark said disinterestedly. Better than nothing still isn’t much. The man’s breath reeked of day old cheap booze. The man wasn’t drunk; he just hadn’t bathed in days.
Cy smirked, “Sure you don’t wanna work full time? You’d be paid even better.” He put his hand on Spark’s shoulder. The boy didn’t cringe, but the slight tension showed that he didn’t appreciate the contact.
“Not interested.”
“Cold as usual. Wonder if your father thinks the same. Huh?” Spark turned to face him. Any show of fear would never be forgotten. If he showed himself weak, they’d take advantage until there was nothing left of him. He met Cy’s eyes without flinching. He held the gaze long enough to show that he wasn’t afraid, but not so long to anger the older man.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“How much do you think it would take for him to sell you to me?” The mocking grin on the other’s face was entirely predatory. It reminded Spark sharply of just how many areas this man had connections with.
“Yeah, like he’d do tha’, he can’t even make enough to feed hisself on his own. He’d die without me.” It was true, Carver didn’t make enough on his own, and would make even less if Spark didn’t do all the deliveries.
Cy burst into laughter, slapping his thigh with his free hand, “You know your worth don’t you boy! Cheeky little brat.” Spark did know his worth, even with his skill at sewing; he wasn’t worth enough to buy passage to another city, which would be what Carver would need if he was gone.
“Tch. You sound just like him.”
“Do I? But you know… from this position, you don’t resemble your father much.” Cy had leaned closer, examining the child’s face. His expression was one that he wore when trying to figure out whether there would be more profit in selling something immediately, or holding it a bit longer before selling.
“Don’t know whether I should take that as an insult or a compliment, don’t take much to look better’n a guy with a pox on his face.”
Cy hummed in thought but finally released Spark’s shoulder.
“I’ve got two more for you to do.”
“Only two? That won’t take too long.” Spark was a little surprised; normally Cy loaded him with work to make up for days he wasn’t there.
Cy went back to the other room and came back with two new pieces of cloth. The first was dyed a light blue. It looked like something a noble might wear if they were strapped for money.
Cy pulled out a design, but it wasn’t a forgery this time. Spark lost some of his surprise. It was a Rune for [Protection]. Using magic items to help make magic items was just like Cy, and it was a pretty normal Rune. Spark didn’t say anything, didn’t give any indication that he knew what the Rune was. Runes had been slipped into his work before, but he’d never tried very hard on them. Besides, his Runes didn’t glow even when he WAS trying, why would they work now?
Cy stood over his shoulder as he sewed it in. It was a nerve-wracking experience. If he marred the cloth, he wouldn’t get paid at all. He was sure to take very good care of it. [Protection] was vague enough to be complicated. It was supposed to give defense against physical and magical attacks. Spark became immersed in concentration, so much so that he no longer noticed the foul breath by his face.
Cy took the finished product, nearly ripping it from Spark’s hands. Then he grabbed the second item and thrust it out. Spark picked up the [Protection] design again, but that was ripped out of his hands too.
“THIS is what you’re puttin’ on that one.” The cloth he’d been handed was black trimmed with silver, clothing similar to what Priests of the Divine wore. Then Spark looked at the new design.
Spark felt a chill run down his spine. This was completely different than [Protection]. He’d never done anything like that before for a piece of clothing. The center piece was a flaming star. The design surrounding it was intricate, full of loops and swirls. Spark knew it was designed to hide a single Rune.
[Pierce] is a Rune intended for combat purposes. When carved into weapons, it increases the ability to go through skin or armor. There would be no purpose to putting it in clothing. It would only be detrimental, as the armor would be easier to pierce.
This was a Rune placed for assassination. Cy was staring at him, at the cold bead of sweat running down his cheek. He couldn’t help it, no matter how much he wanted to. To avoid that stare and the questions that could come with it, Spark got to work. If he refused, he’d have to explain why and how he knew what the Rune meant. If he was lucky, he could play it off as being worried about dealing with such expensive cloth.
First, was the flaming star, the symbol of the Human god. Next, starting at the top were the swirling lines and loops. He finished with the Rune. To [Pierce], to penetrate, to stab, to puncture, to slice, to cut, there were a dozen different Runes that could have been placed instead. Why was that one chosen?
Spark tried to distract himself from the roiling in his near empty stomach. For all his bravado, for all he claimed to be unphased by anything, he was still a child. He was sewing a Rune that would be used to help kill someone. There was no point in trying to escape reality; the Cyclops obviously knew what the Rune meant. He was involved in too much to be innocent of anything. Spark was no stranger to death, he’d seen it too many times and in too many forms. A slit throat that made a grisly smile, a distended belly from lack of food, a strangling victim, eyes bulging, days old corpses fished out of the river, death was all too common here. The thought of death, or even murder, didn’t even bother him. But Spark had never killed before. He knew he could do it if it was a necessity, had killed fish, rats, even dogs for food. He even knew he would kill someone to protect himself, had been taught by Carver how to use a staff and a knife as weapons. This was different; this was plotted, cold-blooded, distant from him. A stranger was going to die by his Rune and someone else’s knife.
Spark finished the Rune, sighing in relief when it didn’t glow. He’d never wanted a Rune to fail more. It had taken hours to complete this one piece; Cy had left his side long ago. Spark stood up.
“Since I’m finished here, I’ll be taking off.” Spark was tired; sewing normally took a lot out of him, but this time was far worse than usual. It took a lot of concentration to work the magic item efficiently as well as to match such intricate designs. He wanted to get far away, distance himself mentally from assassinations, prostitutes, and slaves even if he couldn’t gain physical distance.
“Don’t be a stranger.” Cy replied casually as he passed a few coins into the boy’s hands. For once, Spark didn’t count the money, more concerned with getting out than getting paid.
“Don’t count on it.” The arrangement with Cy was tentative at best. Spark worked when he wanted to and got paid for what he did. There was nothing else to it. If Cy tried to rip him off, Spark just wouldn’t come back. Spark wasn’t lying when he said he was the best, Cy couldn’t afford to lose him, and would love to have him permanently. Problem was, he didn’t want to be involved with the shadier parts of Cy’s business. Once you get in, you don’t get out.
He wouldn’t go back the next day, it would be too soon. But if he put it off too long, Cy would think he’d been scared off. Unacceptable. No doubt the bastard would track him down and kidnap him. Cy had done it before to other, more naïve, children. They ended up chained to these magic items like the slaves he’d bought, used until they burnt out. All in all it wasn’t so bad, there were far worse fates out there for children sold into slavery, you could see them standing on street corners with the whores often enough. Cy hadn’t kidnapped Spark for three reasons: 1. As long as Spark was willing, it saved Cy trouble of breaking him, 2. Spark wasn’t an orphan, even though Carver was crippled, he wasn’t completely helpless, 3. Spark wasn’t one to give in to intimidation. He’d never let someone profit off him against his will. If he was kidnapped… no, if he couldn’t be free, he’d take his own life rather than die a slow torturous death. He had at least that much determination. He wanted to live, but he wanted to live for himself. And slavery was a slow decline until death; he’d rather be spared such a fate.
Spark looked back before going through the door. The Cyclops was standing over his work table, holding the expensive black material. The man stared at Spark, the malevolent grin back at full force. The man smelled money. That was never a good sign.
Spark left in a hurry, wanting to hurry back home and tell Carver about what he’d done. The Runes he’d made shouldn’t matter; they weren’t active so they wouldn’t work. It’s not like Spark was responsible for someone’s death. Even if they did work, the person responsible for the murder is the one holding the knife. Spark couldn’t be blamed. Right?
Spark couldn’t help but feel he’d made a terrible mistake. The dark clouds massing over the slums did nothing to dissuade the notion.
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He did exactly as directed, bought food with 3 coppers and saved the rest. He only managed to get some vegetables and stale bread, but it was enough for the two of them. They’d be able to have stew tomorrow that would last them a couple days. He ate his share of bread, feeling he deserved to have it early because of his hard work. He followed the river and checked the traps-empty- once more before returning home. He saw three large figures walking away as he came up. Is that Cy?
Spark scowled. The second he walked in the door, Carver was sending him out again, without an explanation about the package or about where he’d been earlier or why Cy was there. Now all of a sudden, Spark was supposed to explore the caves for mushrooms.
He had a staff in his hand, though staff was being generous. It was really just a piece of wood carved to make it fit the hand better. But Carver had put a Rune for [Lightning] at the head, so it could stun small things. Things like the rats he’d be fighting off left and right while searching for those stupid mushrooms that weren’t even edible.
Spark started to speak; he wanted to complain about too much work in one day, and how he shouldn’t explore the caves so close to night. He wanted to talk about how he’d sewn that Rune and how he should feel about someone else’s death. Carver, he knew, had killed before. He’d seen it with his own eyes. She’d even made him loot the body as it cooled. ‘Good practice’ she called it, as though it would be something commonplace in the future.
But Carver interrupted him, “Take this with you. You already know how to use it.” Carver passed him a small ring. A wooden [Conceal] ring. Just like it sounds, it is a ring imbued with the ability to conceal the wearers. The rune carved into it was complex, but didn’t require much power, as [Conceal] counted as a low-class ability.
“Is it really necessary?” Spark asked skeptically. “It can’t wait until tomorrow?” He was exhausted and hungry in spite of his early meal. Not to mention that he had to cover the hole in the roof before the rain started.
“Just use it and be grateful.”
“Slave driver.” Spark muttered.
Carver stiffened as if slapped and stared at him for a moment. Spark wondered if he’d hurt Carver’s feelings, but he didn’t really care. He’d worked all day with barely any food, dealt with being called a prostitute and being threatened to become a slave, and now he had to go into rat-infested caves to find worthless mushrooms. Was Carver trying to get him killed?
Spark followed the cliffs, hoping to stay unnoticed. He couldn’t put on the ring yet. [Conceal] was used to hide someone in shadows, and it lost efficiency in open areas. Once he entered the caves, he could use it all he liked, even when the sun was up. It would be bad if anyone saw him use it though, since magic items were worth quite a bit, even low-class ones.
He entered the caves and slipped on the ring. As expected there were rats everywhere. He spent the next two hours ambushing them and bashing in their heads. He still wasn’t able to find any of those ‘special’ mushrooms. He finally got fed up, he was tired, hungry, cold, and covered in rat brains. He grabbed the staff more firmly and carried a few rat corpses by the tail as he left the cave. Rats were too disease-filled to be eaten, but the pelts could be boiled to be made safe. And the bones could be used for stuff too. At least this way, he didn’t go back with nothing.
It had been a long day. The sun had already set. The storm clouds had blocked out most of the sky. He had to make his way home solely by memory and the feeble moonlight. Right now, he was the furthest thing from the boy who’d dreamed of magic. That boy only existed within those four walls in front of that fire. He knew better than to take dreams into the real world. Little did he know that a nightmare was about to come true.
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Author again. Yah! Very heavy and obvious foreshadowing! I still can't believe I wrote this chapter in 3 days. Praise me please. XD
On a more serious note, do you guys want me to do summaries/recaps? I will for this chapter because it was very long, but I don't have to in the future if you don't want me to. Think about it.
Summary:
Characters: Spark, Carver, Cyclops, broker, thugs
Physical Status: Spark-overworked and hungry. Carver-presumably the same as Spark. Cyclops-he's got slaves so he's probably fine. Broker-he has money to hire thugs, he's probably fine too.
Mental Status: Spark-worried, guilty. Carver-unknown. Cyclops-presumed greedy. Broker-presumed greedy. Thugs-do they have brains?
Activities: Spark made a delivery, went to his mysterious side-jobs, met lots of unlikable people, ate a slice of bread, did chores, went into the rat-infested cave. Carver:unknown-presumed carving/begging. Cyclops-oversaw the slaves. Broker-unknown.
We found out a bit more about magic/Runes/names/other things in this chapter.
Please note that how I refer to Carver changes depending on circumstances.
IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!
It is also important to note that all observations (outside of those obviously placed by me as the author to give background) are made by Spark. That means that what you (the reader) see is SPARK'S interpretation of events/people/the world. Do you think he sees things accurately? skewed? pessimistically? optimistically? At later points I might throw in blurbs done from another person's POV, but you've probably got to wait for the 2nd MC to enter for that.
Btw, I also took out a lot of the gore I originally planned for this chapter. I decided it was unnecessary. I was going to give more details on the body and smashing in rat brains. You lost out, sorry.
As always, you can comment if you like it/love it/ dislike it/hate it. If you have comments/questions. etc etc. Please. T_T Next update... Saturday? maybe?
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