Damon looked at the cloppers, and he saw that they were terrifying.

Their base shape was that of a horse, but everything was wrong about them. They were creatures without fur, a smooth dark gray skin like a sphinx cat, taut over its body in a way that revealed the layers of muscle underneath. The tail was snake-like, about a meter long. The vertebrae were punctuated with foot-long spines pointing upwards all the way to the head. Its head was longer, more sharp and angular to that of a horse, more reminiscent of a crocodile, especially in how it had fangs lined the outside of its mouth rather than contained behind lips. The creature’s eyes, azure blue with rectangular irises, were angled in a slanted way, but facing forward far more strongly than a horse’s. Two sharp horns pointing forward adorned its head. The last difference was its legs. Unlike a horse’s that were ended in hooves, this creature had cones that reached all the way up to its knees, the leathery gray skin turning into hard and metallic.

Getting trampled by this monster would turn the victim into Swiss cheese.

Damon swallowed as he kept himself well outside biting, kicking, and general range of the creatures, thinking of the wooden club that hung from his hip and trying to consider how likely it might be to find escape if things got messy. Which meant that, unlike the rest of the village, he was not approaching the caravan of merchants that had come rolling in and parked at the center of the village. The merchants that came with a dozen or so users, all of them looking haggard, worn, and clearly in severe need of some rest.

They were mostly sasins, recognizable by pale green skin and silver ears. But there were others he hadn’t seen before. One of the merchants had bunny ears standing atop his head, tall, fluffy, and white. The man’s nose was flat and broad, covered in a criss-crossing of metallic veins that betrayed the existence of a graft. Another was a man wearing a large hood and cape that kept most of his features hidden, but Damon spotted his hands were a deep blue, with sharp black nails.

The whole thing was a hub-bub of activity. The users kept the villagers from overwhelming the merchants, while the merchants bartered away just about everything in their caravan. This was, after all, the end of the line. Even Sybil and Han were an active part of the whole thing.

And from time to time, some member of the caravan would look his way, eyes widening ever so slightly before focusing. And then shooting wide open far faster. The number of fingers pointing his way as he just stood there, arms crossed and watching, grew by the minute. But the villagers would quickly speak in hushed voices, and the gestures would become far more discreet.

He ignored it, mostly curious about what the village traded with. Apparently, most of it came from either the blue wood, or things made out of the blue wood. Damon figured the fact that it glowed in the dark was something that made for quite the sales’ pitch.

“The soil here is bad for crops, but I have a small garden for personal use.” Linda stood next to him, giving a friendly wave. “That said, most of the food we get is by trade, most of it from the logging and users. Lot less users these past few years.” Linda shook her head a little.

“Users came here often?”

“This village is the northernmost point in the kingdom, the last point before just wilderness and mountains. The traffic came from a ruin-hunt-rush before my time. But the ruins were picked clean years ago, so things have been dying out ever since.” A yawn was followed by a warm smile. “With a point of power being discovered, things will grow again.”

“There are ruins?”

“From the age of ruin. If I remember correctly, that was… seven hundred years ago? Most of the best preserved ruins are from that age, probably why it’s called that.” She shrugged. “It’s a small city of sorts, a trip further north, about thirty days away. The kingdom sent orders to pick it clean, looking for anything they could get their hands on to help repair the thalaring temple in Sky Bridge.”

Damon nodded absently. “Have you ever thought of becoming a user?”

“Not really.” She shook her head. “My father was a cobbler, and he taught me what I know. I like what I do. It’s the role I grew up with. I’m proud of my work.” She pointed at his boots, smirking. “And by the looks of it, so are you.”

“Oh, definitely. Best damn boots I’ve ever had.” He proclaimed. “I’ll make sure to wear them out and come back before I wear out the second pair.”

“Careful with promises like that.” She poked his shoulder. “I might get mad if you show up with someone else’s boots.” With a slight bump of her hip, she stepped forward. “Don’t let me hold you back on getting better gear as soon as you get the chance. Good gear can mean the difference between living or dying out there.”

“These are some good boots.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to show who’s in charge.”

She reached up to pull him into a kiss, one that lingered for longer than strictly necessary, and was followed by her turning to head towards the caravan. Damon’s eyes lingered on her ass as she clearly kept the sway on purpose. There was some interaction as the users and merchants were hurriedly looking between her and Damon, and he could only chuckle. More so when the villagers parted to let her through like she owned the place.

Two merchants zeroed in on her as she began to talk shop. Damon just tuned it out until he noticed someone from the caravan approaching him. A man with long light hazel hair tied into a ponytail and dark skin, he wore a white tunic with golden embroidery. And a small pointy hat. For a moment Damon thought he was human, if perhaps shorter, until he noticed the man’s eyes were glowing a dim blue, as were his arms from under his robes.

“Are you the user Damon?”

“I am.”

“I had been told you have a condition where you cannot hear hymns nor do you have one of your own. You must excuse me, as I delayed my introduction due to the shock of actually seeing the… silence, in person. I am a Messenger.”

“Is it like knights where you sort of have to give up your name?”

“For Messengers, it is a custom, rather than an edict.” He answered. “My task is to assess the goods you received, and to deliver the amount of gold equivalent to however much you would trade with the order of knights.”

Damon thought of this for a moment, rubbing his chin. “Is the knight’s house part of the order’s property?”

“It is. But everything within is not.”

“Idina’s in the house right now, she said everything’s ready to be cataloged.”

“I see.” A light bow of the head. “And is there anything you would dispute from her? Or are you both in agreement of what each of you keep?”

“Not really going to argue over anything. The only things I’m not going to sell are some parts of the armor that were adjusted to fit me. Idina has the details.”

The man appeared to hesitate as he glanced in the direction of the knight’s house, and then at Damon. “And you… won’t oversee this negotiation?”

“I trust things will be fair.”

Not like he’d be able to know whether he was getting swindled or not without at least three more pairs of eyes present. But Sybil and Han had vouched for the Messengers, so he was willing to keep his hands clean of the mess. And it wasn’t like Idina looked like a slouch, though Damon did wonder whether she’d opt to sell the merchant’s backpack or keep it.

Now to wait until Sybil and Han were done with their purchases and get some sparring done to burn some energy.

---

“I don’t think this will ever stop being amusing.” Sybil proclaimed.

She sat as she watched Han and Damon circling one another. They’d picked a spot away from the village and from prying eyes, the privacy was welcome with how many people kept staring at Damon every other minute. Or how often they’d be startled to discover he was there at all. The amusement of having people jump and whirl around when hearing him approach had worn out rather quickly.

Damon and Han were both wielding sticks as improvised swords. The sticks were not meant to be broken, but there was a pile of broken sticks already. Both of them had a series of red welts throughout their bodies. But in count alone, Damon had at least thrice that of Han.

“This is a really weird way to spar.” Damon grumbled, rubbing the newest welt on his wrist.

“You said so yourself, you don’t want to get hit. This would be the best way to train that.” Han replied with a smirk. “Later we can do the wrestling things again.”

“I prefer the wrestling things.”

“You like winning.”

“You don’t?” He dashed forward, swinging.

To Han, it was a simple matter to parry and retaliate with a snap to Damon’s knee. It was as if he’d danced around him, the sasin able to avoid his attacks while making it look like he wasn’t even trying.

“How can you be better at dodging than Sybil? She’s like a flea bouncing all over the place.”

“Her style is horrible for fighting users, but useful against monsters. I’ve had to handle users more often.”

“More murderers?”

“No, bandits.”

Damon frowned, rubbing his wrist. “And… bandits don’t murder?”

“Not usually. Most all of them focus on stealing. Despite appearances, most bandits are non-users. So handling them involves more outwitting them than combat.”

Han skipped to the side as Damon attacked again. Though he punished the attack, Damon landed a smack against his thigh. The branch broke, and Damon growled, throwing the bit left in his hand away.

“I hit you first, you know?” Han grimaced, rubbing the welt. “Also, you broke it, so…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Damon dropped to the ground, doing push-ups.

“You’d think your arms would have fallen off by now.” Sybil commented.

“After almost a month digging holes and chopping wood? I still have a bit of steam to give.”

Though he was trying to push the bravado, Sybil wasn’t wrong about assuming he was pushing himself near to the limit.

“Having watched you swing sticks all morning, it’s a safe bet you will not be very good against other users.” Han sighed heavily, moving to sit where Sybil was resting. “You’re definitely better suited for fighting monsters.”

“Which I’d rather not do.”

“But you will have to, anyway.” Sybil proclaimed, with an edge of pride to her words.

Damon’s shoulders slumped as he shot her a half-hearted glare. “What’s the verdict?”

“If you plan to fight users, you’re better off using spears and something with longer range. You’re a bit of an oaf. Giving you some good armor would also be crucial.” Stroking his blond beard, he glanced at his companion. “Your stupid strength makes for a polar opposite of Sybil. She works by making minor cuts that wear down her opponent. You’d be aiming to bring the fight to an end with very few blows. Wouldn’t matter how fast they are, if they can’t bring you down and become tired, you win.”

He didn’t like it, but he had to begrudgingly nod at that. “And monsters?”

“That depends a lot more on what grafts you get.”

Damon’s shoulders stiffened at that, his lips narrowed at the thought of getting grafts, of replacing his flesh and limbs with… he shook his head, trying to ignore the itch at the back of his head. “And in the meantime?”

“Considering how you’ve done so far, it feels that the club is a good match for you. Definitely something to upgrade when you get the chance.” Han nodded. “You’re very weak when it comes to agility, your technique is bad, but you seem to grasp your location and surroundings well enough. Still, you just swing the thing and let its weight drag you around.”

“And that’s… bad.”

“If you find a monster that can dodge, it would be deadly.” Sybil replied. “Experienced teethers would be exactly that. The fresh ones just attack, but they become smarter as they grow older. Many overconfident users have died to an experienced teether leading a pack of younger ones.”

“The rat things? Beady eyes? Are you sure we’re imagining the same thing?”

“Yes.”

“The longer the monster lives, the more dangerous. Always.” Han nodded. “Monster lords in particular.”

Damon’s brow creased a little. “How long can monsters live?”

“No one has seen any that have gone weak from age.” Sybil’s tone felt… almost delighted? She was certainly grinning, not wearing her hood now that they were away from everyone else. “So as far as anyone’s confirmed, they just don’t die unless killed.”

“That sucks.” Dropping to the ground, Damon crossed his legs and let out a very heavy sigh, rubbing at his temples. “I’m gonna go lay down or something.”

“The inexhaustible human finally feeling tired?”

“You’ve been beating me with sticks for an hour.” He grumbled. “I need a break. Besides, we leave tomorrow, right?”

“So?”

“Gonna go plunder Linda’s cave.”

Sybil’s hackles rose, throwing a glare while Han broke into laughter, both watching him march all the way back to the village.

As soon as he was out of sight, they both groaned loudly, sprawling on the ground.

“This is worse than fighting the wither swarm.” The blond grumbled, splashing some water on his head. “I don’t think we’ll be able to keep this up while traveling.”

 

---