Slavery. Without a doubt, it is one of the most disgusting practices in the current world.
Despite this, most of the ‘civilised’ races use slaves, and even a couple of other races.
Amusingly, the only civilised race that doesn’t selectively treat its citizens as animals are the beastmen. Perhaps they received enough scorn around the topic of ‘beasts’ that engaging in the practice would draw an uncomfortable parallel?
But that is a topic for a different study.
Because of the expense of developing restraints for individuals of great strength, execution is often preferred – if possible. More common slaves simply have manacles on an arm or a leg, and are often ‘trained’ before being sold to their new owners…
-An unknown scholar
From the bandits, we have managed to scavenge various pieces of equipment. I find another gauntlet, a pair of iron boots, leather arm guards, a leather helmet and a leather breastplate.
And a single iron greave.
The other of the pair isn’t on any of the bodies, so we can only shrug and give up on it. They are all scratched up and dirty, but Boaz whips out a few cloths and stones and has them all cleaned up in a jiffy. A few of the joints are still slightly stiff, but less so than before.
There are also a variety of bows and arrows, but they’re all shoddy, homemade. They probably aren’t worth much, and we’re carrying enough as it is, so we leave them there.
As for melee weapons, clubs are more common than swords. They never got to use them. We leave them where they lay.
The swords are in various states of disrepair. Rusty, nicked with dull edges…
They are mostly useless as weapons, but they should still sell for a bit, so we grab them as well.
However, I do manage to find myself a knife that’s in reasonable shape.
Apart from that, we scrounge up several silver coins, as well as a small pouchful of coppers.
After we scavenge everything of use, we continue towards the town.
Dong… Dong… Dong…
A bell tolls as we wait in the line to enter the city. A clock tower is visible above the walls, the hour hand on the number four. It has a different arrangement from Terra’s 12-hour ones, with fifteen numbers arranged evenly around the perimeter, since the days here are 30 hours.
I scratch idly at my bandaged face as I shift my gaze downwards.
The walls themselves are made of large grey blocks of - presumably – stone, standing about ten metres tall with soldiers patrolling around the top of them.
The soldiers, like many of the others lining up to enter the city, are demons.
Demons are of the same shape and size as humans, but their skin is a dark purple – were it a bit darker, it would be black. Some of them have horns, some of them don’t. Their hair – for those of them who have it – isn’t restricted to the mundane colours of us humans.
Blue, green… pink, there are all sorts in the line. Their eye colour doesn’t have as much of a range, generally being red or white.
In other words, they have protagonist hair.
After some time, we enter the city. Lining the neatly paved streets at regular intervals are things you can only see in old movies nowadays: gas lights. Since it’s day, they are unlit. Another interesting thing is that many of the signs on the buildings have words on them, whereas in other cities, it was mostly just images.
Seems the literacy rate is a bit higher here.
Our first order of business in this town is to find a blacksmith where we can sell all this junk. Just as I’m about to ask some passer-by where we can find one, Boaz points at a thick column of black smoke coming from another part of town.
“That smoke be from a forge.” He says simply.
Alrighty then, let’s try there.
As we walk along the side of the street, a cart bearing a cage passes us. Within it are men clothed in rags and chained to the bars.
They have slavery in this world?
How… disgusting.
We leave the blacksmith a while later with heavier purses than when we entered.
At least, the twins do. Mine is a bit lighter. I had to get myself a new weapon, and I got another greave while I was at it. The design doesn’t quite match, but whatever.
Walking feels a bit awkward, now. I’d never worn heavy armour before, and the weight is making itself known. Even if I am only wearing a few parts of it.
Next is accommodation, then we’ll probably visit the adventurer’s guild, check out the requests. Perhaps even do one for once, who knows?
(POV ???)
Strewn across the table in front of me are scraps of metal in all shapes and sizes, carefully stoppered containers of acids, poisons, regular old oil, various mechanical parts, wires… the list goes on.
Stretching, I relieve myself slightly of the tedium that is my latest project and look around the room.
A crossbow that can be cocked with a crank, mechanisms that trigger at the slightest touch, a small clock and many more that I don’t care to mention. More than I can even remember, and I’m the one who made them.
Out of sheer boredom, I act against my better nature and pull a lever on the wall beside me.
With a metallic ‘twang’, a crossbow fires a bolt across the room and into the dummy placed there for that specific purpose.
Which bolt is it that I’m testing this time?
With a groan, I get out of the chair and go towards the target dummy, picking up a knife on the way. It just had to be the bolt I specifically designed to be hard to remove, didn’t it?
I start picking apart the soft material of the dummy around the short length of the bolt that isn’t lodged inside of it with the knife, slowly removing more and more clumps of it.
I try yanking on the bolt, and after a moment effort, it comes out… along with a large ball of the material stuck on the head of the bolt.
Well, I suppose I can call that one a success…
I look back at the dummy, missing a huge chunk directly where its heart would be. And I’ll need a new dummy… again.
Sighing, I toss the bolt and dagger aside onto another bench, and look through the neat row of bolts I have lined up beside the crossbow. Now, which one won’t be a huge pain to remove next time?
My eyes pass straight over another model of the earlier bolt, several variations which I’m expecting to be inferior versions, and stop to rest on the last two bolts.
One is designed for accuracy and flight speed, while the other… Well, I’ve been trying to get that one to work for a while without success. Ugh… may as well see the failure earlier rather than later.
Gingerly picking it up and placing it into the slot on the crossbow, I crank it until the string clicks into place.
…I’ll need to wait until I get a new dummy, right?
I slump back into my chair, sighing again.
Day in, day out, nothing but this blasted monotony.
I’ll get back to this, then, I suppose.
I look down at the half-assembled piece of strangeness in front of me. I have been trying something different for once. A modified grappling device with hooks that screw into the ground after hitting it.
I made a working prototype, but… I glance at the corner where I put it. It’s still a hulking piece of oversized junk.
I’ll need to build a specialised bow for this thing once it’s done, but there’s no way I can launch something of that size reliably…
Ah, who am I kidding? Who’d need something of that size, anyway?
The little one, though, I might be able to use.
The door to the room opens, and a tall man with red hair parted by a pair of long horns sprouting from his forehead walks in.
“How’s the latest project going?”
I brace myself internally. This isn’t going to be enjoyable. “The usual. Getting there.”
He strolls over and peers at the mess on the desk. He points at a random assemblage of parts that I’d been playing with while I thought. It doesn’t do anything.
“What’s this thing?” He asks.
“Nothing. I’m working on this right now.” I point to the half-finished grappling hook.
He looks at me impatiently. “And what is that, then?”
“A modified grappling hook, designed to-”
He cuts me off, coldly saying, “And who’s going to buy something like that?”
“Adventurers, explore-” I protest, before he cuts me off, again.
“Adventurers don’t have money, Xiltroth!” He shouts, knocking it off the table and onto the floor, some of its less secured parts spilling out. He knuckles his forehead, then runs his hand up one of his horns in an attempt to calm down. “What about that new bolt design? The military will always buy new weapons.”
I wordlessly point at the demolished dummy. For the barest moment, a smile flits across his face as he looks at it.
Then he returns to the same old cold look. “See if you can make some less effective versions.” He orders, before turning around and walking out again.
As he goes, my eyes flick to the row of bolts that should fit that bill precisely, but I don’t say anything.
He closes the door behind him with nary a glance.
Some father he is.
(POV Aaron)
We, that is, me, Jakin and Boaz, are currently headed west from Vaaslav city. Also with us is a staff member from the local adventurer’s guild.
You see, we have decided to take a request at the guild – Eliminate or capture a local bandit group. And while we can probably kill bandits, knocking them out and tying them up as we go along may be outside of our capabilities.
Thus, we chose elimination. And, well, it’s not exactly like we can drag their corpses into the guild building as poof, is it? Therefore, a staff member has to go out and check for times like these. And if they’re going to send out a staff member, they may as well send them with the adventurers doing the request.
Safer and quicker for everyone. Of course, he won’t be helping us, other than guiding us to their location. He’ll be hanging well back from the battle, or so he tells us.
“They should be in that cave over there,” He says, gesturing at an innocuous-looking hole in the side of a hill. “I’ll stay back here, call me when you’re done.”
Nodding, we set off towards the entrance. Right now, my gaming instincts are screaming at me to stealth the heck out of this, but my real body isn’t so capable of quietly creeping around.
Especially since I’m wearing a few pieces of iron armour, which are by no means stealthy equipment.
As we approach, I hear the soft peals of a bell echoing out of the cave. Well, looks like they’ve noticed us.
Jakin and Boaz go through the narrow entrance first, shields forward and alert for any sudden ambushes that may be awaiting us. When I follow, I see Jakin at the front pushing back a very awkward looking sentry with his shield, which takes up a majority of the corridor and is making attacking a difficult prospect.
Lanterns hang from hooks in the walls every now and again, providing much needed light.
I can only hope the cave will widen out further in. Otherwise, we’ll just end up backing them into a corner and bashing them against the wall.
…Which wouldn’t be such a bad conclusion, actually.
However, that eventuality does not come to pass as the passage gives way to a small room, within which are another couple of demons, who look at us angrily with weapons in hand. We guardedly stepped out of the corridor before lining up in front of them.
“Fuck off and we’ll let you keep your lives!” One of them growls.
Boaz snorts in response while I keep my silence. Jakin is chuckling for some reason, making me raise an eyebrow involuntarily.
Jakin says amusedly, “Right, right, yeh’ll be letting us live. Pull the other leg, Pinky.”
The demon who spoke earlier curses angrily at Jakin, his vibrant pink hair making his enraged face look strangely comical.
Then the fight is on. The aptly dubbed Pinky roared and rushes Jakin with his sword, which clashes ineffectively into his shield. Jakin bashes at Pinky’s stomach region – arm height for Jakin - with his shield, causing Pinky to lose his balance and stumble backwards.
With a sharp motion, Jakin sends his pick piercing through the air after his enemy. It hits the demon’s leather armour, and with a crunch, punctures through and into the flesh behind. A spurt of blood remains in the air for a moment, before it too falls after its former vessel.
Meanwhile, Boaz is dispatching his enemy with a similar ease and efficiency to his brother.
On the other hand, I am currently in the process of dodging my opponent’s wild sword swings. He has no technique, and it is at this moment I truly appreciate how skilled the soldiers back at the keep were.
We were taught how to use a sword for at least a month there, and they were still able to deflect or dodge our blows with minimal effort. I imagine that they would have felt then as I do now – this guy is entirely out of his league.
He slashes down at me with all of his might – I’ve already taken a step to the left. He stops his sword with some difficulty, and lifts it towards me again in a swift cut – I lean backwards.
Jakin and Boaz are now looking on in amusement.
Frustrated, he charges at me, thrusting his sword. Taking a deep breath, I accurately whack the side of his sword with my weapon with a loud clash of metal. His arm can’t help but follow the sudden change in direction, flinging outwards, while he is still moving towards me.
With both hands on the haft of my weapon, I wrench it upwards and into the swiftly approaching jaw of the demon. The bones in his jaw audibly snap and cave in when I make contact, crushing through it and demolishing his throat with a nauseating sensation.
Several bloody teeth are sent flying from the impact. His eyes bulge outward in a short instant of intense pain before they loose focus for all eternity, his body arching backwards and crumpling onto the ground lifelessly.
…That felt disgusting. I took one hand off my weapon, rubbing the wrist of my other hand. Both were tingling from the impact. I look at my weapon.
A handle of middling length – much longer than a sword’s, but much shorter than a spear’s – leads down to a heavy head featuring several thick flanges of pointed steel.
A flanged mace, and made of steel, no less. Particularly effective against armour, and relatively easy to use, the method of which can be described through the use of a single word – smash. Or crush. Or… anything of that nature, really.
When using a sword previously, I had frequently felt frustrated at my inability to breach my enemy’s defences. My sword wasn’t sharp enough, it wasn’t hard enough, and I wasn’t skilled enough to use it to its full potential. The only way I had to defeat some enemies was to hack down hard enough that the impact itself would deal damage, rather than the sharpness of my blade.
And if that was what I was going to do, then why not use a weapon specifically designed for that purpose to do so?
Anyway, it’s about time we move on. I step gingerly past the mess I created, and we advance further in. There is another corridor opposite the one we came in, which we start moving down, again single file.
As we go along, there are a few tunnels, and just as we turn the last one and see the entrance to another room, a soft click comes from beneath Jakin’s foot.
My heart lurches as a metallic twanging is shortly followed by the chink of metal hitting stone.
Boaz urgently says, “Are yeh hit, brother!?”
Jakin turns around, scowling, and points to the metal bolt in the wall… above his head.
“I feel insulted. Relieved, yes, but insulted.” He growls. Jakin then peers at the opposite wall, putting his eye up against a tiny hole in the rock. I inwardly cringe. Nothing good ever comes of looking in a hole like that.
“Hidden crossbow trap.” He grunts, “Best avoid the bolt, may be poisoned.” He moves upright again, ignoring the bolt and moving forwards again.
Boaz follows him, and I gingerly inch my way around it after them.
After that incident, our exploration of the caves is strangely easy. We find the room where that crossbow was hooked up, a room with several makeshift beds, but still not a sign of any bandits.
Eventually, we have searched through the entire place with nary a peep from anyone. We find a small stash of coins, food, a small well… but no bandits.
Boaz speaks tentatively. “Maybe… they might be from the same group as the bandits we killed on the way to the city. That would explain why there be only three of them here.”
In the midst of confused caution, his words finally explains the eerie weirdness of an empty base. Of course they were from the same group as the ones earlier!
“I think you might be right.” I say, almost laughing from the sudden loss of tension.
We make our way back out of the caves and are met with some of the last rays of a setting sun. We’ll need to get back soon.
A brief walk later, and we reach where we left the guild staff member. He stands up as we approached.
“I almost thought I’d have to leave you behind. Is it done?” He asks, stretching.
Ordering my thoughts, I explain. “We’ve cleared the cave, but there were only three people inside. We encountered some bandits earlier today and killed them, so we were thinking they may be of the same group.”
He sighs. “Something like that is hard to ascertain, but regardless, if you have indeed cleared the cave this request will be deemed to have been completed. Now, if there’s nothing else, lead the way.”
We go back into the cave. This time, without expecting an enemy around every corner, we are able to go through much faster.
Seeing the corpses and the otherwise empty cave system, he nodded. “Everything seems to be in order. Anything you don’t take back with you now will be considered property of the adventurer’s guild.”
On the way out, we check the bodies for anything useful. There’s a bit of cash, some more pieces of armour… and an iron greave.
Damn.
We head back to the city in near darkness.
I wish I’d waited a single day longer to buy that greave…
(POV Xiltroth)
I put down my tools and stretch. The candles around the room smoulder dimly as the clock on the wall of my workshop ticks evenly. Walking over to it, I take the key, winding it up so it will run for another day.
Half past nine.
A smile flits briefly across my face. He won’t complain if I ‘go to bed’ if it’s at this time.
Picking up the candle snuffer, I proceed to put out the candles, one by one. As I put out the last one, the room is engulfed in darkness. My workshop is underground, to prevent any prying eyes. I place the snuffer down gently beside the candle.
Closing my eyes, I make my way to the door with measured steps. I’d done this many times before, and the darkness doesn’t hinder me.
Opening the door, I nod to the guard outside of it and walk upstairs to my room. Closing and locking the door behind me, I change into baggy, comfortable clothing and fall into bed.
Half an hour later, the same room…
The lock quietly clicks, and the door swings soundlessly open. The same red-haired demon from before steps inside. He looks at his son for a moment, then leaves without saying a word, closing the door behind him.
As the lock clicks shut again, the eyes of the one in the bed slide open. He waits a few moments longer, then noiselessly slips out from under the covers.
Slipping on a pair of soft furred shoes, he opens a hidden compartment in his desk, taking out a small bottle and a few slim lengths of metal.
Creeping over to the window, he applies a few drops of oil from the bottle to ensure a silent opening. He then utilises the metal pieces to disengage the lock on the window, and places them both in a small pocket in his garments.
‘Did he really think putting a lock on the window would stop me getting out of it?’ He thinks bemusedly as he slowly lifts the sliding pane to its full extent, looking out cautiously for any guards that may be nearby.
Dextrously hoisting himself through the small gap, he lowers himself to the ground, his shoes making only a small sound, unheard by any but he himself. Closing the widow behind him, he stays low to the ground as he moves to the edge of the building.
He peeks carefully around the corner.
‘Guards… I’ll have to wait for them to move again.’
Motionless, he waits until the pair of guards split apart, moving in opposite directions – both away from Xiltroth.
Quickly he moves out, in-between them and out into the open area beyond.
’10…9…8…’ he counts out the seconds as he goes, and when he reaches two, he lays flat on the ground.
Behind him, the guards turn again, putting him directly in their line of sight. But they don’t see him, wearing dark clothes and still as he his, and continue their patrol unaware.
Soon, he gets up and resumes his escape, reaching the edge of the woods. Heaving a sigh of relief, he gets his bearings and moves further into the forest.
It only takes a short while before he reaches a moonlit clearing, with a small pond near one edge.
Breathing deeply, he starts stretching.
After completing them, he starts performing a complicated set of movements, shifting from stance to stance at a speed as if in slow motion.
Before long, sweat begins to drip down from his brow. Another ten minutes, and his entire body is drenched in sweat.
After the final movement, he relaxes into a normal standing position, and walks over to the pond, splashing it on his face and hands. Pausing, he takes a look at his reflection.
A slim face with red eyes, a single small horn and white hair stares back at him from the water. Not an unusual appearance... for a demon, at least.
Shaking the water off his hands, he picks up a wooden staff lying on the ground beside him. He uses it to begin another set of movements, sweating away under the light of the moon.
Later, a dark figure slips back between patrolling guards, slips through an open window and locks it, slipping once more into bed – this time with a smile on his face as he truly drifts into sleep.
I have no idea where this story wants to go.