MARKKUS
My grandfather used to tell me stories that confused me as a child. His temperament and arsenal of words did not help my immature understanding of what he spoke of, much of what he said flying high over my head. I understood, however, that he spoke of war and demons, of tyrants and kings, the unending struggle between good and evil, as well as the best mead in the city of Vita.
21 years of age had passed me by and the only one piece of information had stayed by my side the whole way.
The Tinkerer's Tavern, the best mead in Vita by the advice of my now late grandfather, had been my nightly home for the past few days after the closing of my market stall as I mourned the loss of my prized hunting dog and friend, Gorn, whose death had pushed me back into the bar once again. A stout bull of a thing he was, the dog stood 2 and a half feet off the ground, with muscular legs, pointed ears, a gnarly smile, and a friendly attitude towards most men. It was not necessarily the death of my dog that had made me sad, but the fact that I would never have him by my side again. We had not been hunting together in weeks, seeing as his health began to decline around a month ago, and he was finally lost to me of old age, having lived a full and mostly pampered life by my side since my 10th birthday when my mother had bought him for me. It was safe to say that she also mourned his loss, as unless I was hunting, Gorn was at home with her. Now, in my absence, the house is just empty.
A different side of the story, however, was the mead. My grandfather was right about The Tinkerer's Tavern having the best (or almost the best) drink in all of Vita, and only two blocks from my home in the city. The tavern owned a building that was about as wide as your average shop, but extra deep, as they housed one of the only distilleries within the city walls. This meant, however, that anything they made was always fresh for the customer, straight from the pot to your empty stomach. The honeyed taste lingered on my lips after each sip: not too dry, not too sweet. I was certainly enjoying every second of that feeling before the time began to edge the day towards darkness, signaling my return home.
The barkeep was also the owner of the Tavern. He knew me well by now as I'd been a fairly loyal customer over the years following my father's, and now my friend's, deaths since my 18th birthday. I paid him and thanked him once again for the mead, to which he replied that he'd better not see me again tomorrow. I told him I'd try my best, though he and I both knew that my words carried no weight.
Autumn in Vita was breezy and temperate, considering our city was a port city. The ocean winds, cut down by the tall buildings, tried their best to press on down the avenues and streets, pushing the smell of sea salt and water onto the occasional pedestrian. The most notable fragrance that normally permeated the air, however, was the food, especially in the evenings. A mixture of fish, bread, alcohol, and cheese permeated the air as some of the stronger smells that the city emanated, on top of the occasional fruit basket and pile of horse manure.
The angled sunlight hit many of the buildings at awkward angles, creating dramatic shadows across brick and cobble in the orange-pink lighting that many of our citizens would completely ignore on a day-to-day, most simply just not thinking about the beauty enough to truly see it. Many streets were straight shots downhill facing the harbor, which always provided breathtaking views of the sun setting over the Eastern sea, falling behind the islands in the distance. My home was at the end of a city block, directly facing the sea, but by the way the astronomy and the sun moved, we would only get direct sunlight straight down the road at the end of fall and in the wintertime.
My home was a two story townhome on the more middle-class residential side of Vita. It came with three bedrooms, a den, a kitchen, and an abundance of windows on the two sides of the house that weren't attached to another. A retired court mage's assistant, my mother spent most of her time in the kitchen or the den, cooking meals or working on her current home project; a tapestry depicting one of my hunts. When I entered my house that day, I knew that she had been working on the former, as the entire place smelled of bread, cooked fowl, and vegetables.
"Hello?" I said, sauntering into the kitchen, eager to see what was being prepared. My mother had flayed a pheasant that I had caught several weeks ago, its bone shell sitting upon the counter. Remnants of chopped vegetables littered the kitchen in respective groups, along with several spices and herbs; all ingredients that I recognize in belonging to a single dish: my mother's famous woodland stew. Sure enough, the reddish-brown colored soup that I recognized and had loved since childhood simmered on the stovetop, gently stirring itself with a wooden spoon.
"Markkus? Is that you, son?" My mother called from an adjacent room in an inquisitive tone.
"Yes, it's me. I closed late today." I replied.
"Like you did yesterday?" She was aware of my fib. She doesn't like me staying out at the bar.
"Lots of sales. The stall is more popular than our shop." I reply, attempting to detract from her underlying accusation.
"Rightfully so. That market is always bustling." A pause. "Did you check up on Heimdan on the way back?"
"Yes," I replied, watching the stew stir itself, hypnotically. "He's fine running the shop alone for some days until we can hire more hands."
"Alright." My mother said, to my relief, ending her inquiry on the topic of my lateness. After a few moments of pause, she chimed at me once again.
"I'm making your woodland stew."
"I saw," I replied, thankful.
---
Caves don't echo like dungeons do. The square shape of a dungeon hallway coupled with the smooth, stone walls that normally adorn them create a chamber in which even the slightest sound will flow through like a roving bunch of angry steer. That being said, the voices of a Thombrian military detachment taking a short rest echoed profusely through the tunnels of a wide network situated deep in the Thombrian mountains. The eight men sat, four and four across from each other in the hall, exhausted from not having seen the sun or another human in what felt like days. They had already lost two men at the hands of the dungeon, one to a pitfall trap, and another to a horde of carnivorous insects that plagued a room that they had just recently escaped. It would be safe to say that morale among the soldiers was low, and many said their prayers and made peace with themselves during whatever breaks they could muster.
The party of soldiers was quiet. A greenhorn, his helmet nameplate reading "Berlanda", broke the silence. He spoke to his captain, an older man with a scar across his face and a nameplate that read "Jervais", asking about the origins of the dungeon, as well as its extensiveness. Jervais thought for a moment about his response.
"I don't know specifics," The captain responded softly, his words unechoing, as timid as he to leave the safety of their torchlights. "Just that the ancients crafted this ruin specifically to protect the elemental blade of thunder, Toblerinne. About the tunnels' extensiveness, I'm not so certain." The other soldiers had begun to listen to his explanation. "As to why, hopefully their reasoning revolves around keeping the blade out of the hands of those who would use it do the world harm. Unworthy souls, if you will."
"Well, do you think we will be able to make it to the blade?" Berlanda replied before the hiss of what sounded like a snake crept down the hall and permeated the air over their chatter. The sound sent a shiver down the back of each soldier. The captain stayed seated for a moment while the rest of the group stood and drew their weapons, aware of the approaching threat.
"That depends on if we are worthy." Jervais said, standing and unsheathing his blade.
The thing came quickly, its piercing yellow eyes first visible in the darkness down the hall. The eyes grew bigger by the second, the basilisk's face suddenly intruding into the light of their temporary camp. It was as big as half of the hallway, with the speed of a lightning bolt. It instantly took an unlucky soldier into its mouth, to the immediate surprise of the rest of the detachment, smashing him against the wall with the force of 50 men. He was dead instantly. The basilisk flung his body behind itself, likely thinking it will feast when it finishes off the rest.
The men scrambled to get into some kind of formation. Several strikes at the snake's tough scales left nil but scratches in its thick hide. The snake fought back against their advances, swinging its body and sending another man flying into the wall with a ghastly wail. He began to crawl backwards away from the creature in fear.
Obscured from the snake's attention, Captain Jervais scored a precise slash of his sword at the basilisk's neck with a strenuous grunt. His blade caught itself between a gap in the snake's impossibly hard scales, peeling several back to expose it's pale, fleshy skin underneath. The snake took notice, but before it could react in protection of its exposed neck, Berlanda came in behind Jervais, shouting in triumph over fear as he plunged his blade into the snake's neck, through its throat.
The basilisk screeched in agony, at this new, rare sensation of pain. It flailed about, knocking Berlanda back into the wall, and driving the hilt of the sword that he stuck into the neck of the snake into his ribs with a guttural crack, leaving a clear dent in his armor at the center of his chest. The snake receded quickly down the hall afterwards, screeching and groaning, leaving a trail of its acidic blood behind to sizzle on the floor.
Jervais sheathed his blade, immediately moving to the side of Berlanda's crumpled body, sat against the dungeon wall. His eyes had glazed over; he had broken several ribs and smashed his head on the wall. The men could tell instantly that he was already dead.
The Captain blessed Berlanda with the sign of Tobleron and stood, once more. "Let's keep moving. No more long breaks. By the king, we will get to the blade now or die trying." He said, stoic and cold. The soldiers, now 6, followed him into the darkness, their footfalls echoing in the silence once more.
---
When I would get bored with the daily cycle of city life, I would take a day or two off from my work and indulge myself in accepting a Hunter's Bounty from the bounty board in the House of the Order of the Twin Suns, a prominent knight's guild in Vita. Their headquarters here in the city was the largest of the time, despite their high level of influence in other cities.
The building had its own plot of land, on the corner of two converging streets that met in a fork towards the center of the city, downtown. Its three stories were constructed from a light brownstone, with large windows and banners plastered with the guild's sigil adorning lavish balconies. It was a bit of a hike from the residential side, as the more metropolitan area of the city was closer to the ports. The distance wasn't an issue, however, as the contracts I normally took almost always had me going out of town to hunt fantastical and horrific creatures, which was always another journey entirely.
A new guard detail, different from who I was used to seeing, stood at the entrance, apathetic, clad in the guild's signature golden-bronze armor. I approached the door and opened it nonchalantly, trying to ignore them as they stared intently at me, clearly torn between stopping me and letting me through.
The first floor of the guild's headquarters was always a rabble. It was essentially a tavern for those who were gilded enough to enter the building in the first place. The air stung with the smell of alcohol, as many warriors and adventurers alike from all across Griesheim in good standing with the guild would recuperate their feet, minds, and stomachs before setting out once more on their adventures. A knife, thrown by a bronze-skinned dragonborn at someone's flying bird familiar, flew past my head and stuck itself with a thunk into the wall by the door next to me as I entered.
I waded my way through the first floor towards the bounty board in the rear past the dining area, scanning it up and down for any mark that jumped out at me. The board was full of flyers, as usual, pinned up and ready to be taken down and accepted. Lack of space on the board meant that overlapping of papers was somewhat of a theme, almost making the thing look like its own little crowded marketplace, each flyer vying for attention in its own way.
An ad for a hunt put out by a nobleman from the northern district caught my eye. It was clearly posted recently, as it was tacked on top of several other notices. Expensive ink on expensive parchment, with well written script and several big numbers prominently displayed was the kicker. Based on the size of the bounty, I was surprised nobody had yet ripped the paper down from its perch and accepted the contract. The flyer spoke of a scourge in the north, the nobleman himself writing:
"One of my agricultural estates to the North has been quiet for weeks. Existence of a monster is highly likely. Previous adventurer who was sent there did not return. 500 gold piece reward for anyone that can return with evidence, 2000 gold piece reward for anyone who can exterminate the threat and deem the farm safe."
As I reached my hand up towards the notice to take it, I didn't notice the half-elf that had approached next to me with her dagger drawn. Before I could react, there was a knife through the paper and a firm hand on my shoulder.
"Don't take that contract." She said, as I turned and backed away in surprise, getting a good look at my possible assailant. She had the bright gold eyes and blonde hair of a highborn elf, but the facial features of a Thombrian woman. Her gaze had a somewhat intimidating intensity to it that I almost registered as fear.
"It's mine." She said, firmly, before I could ask why I shouldn't take the flyer.
"Well if you want it that bad..." I said, backing off a little further. She took my hesitance as an opportunity, and removed her knife from the bounty board. At this point I noticed the barkeep, as well as two men wearing regulation guild armor eyeing us both intently. "I won't make any trouble."
"Better not." She ripped the notice down, leaving the paper's corners stuck by the pins.
I examined her more closely. Her gray, cotton cloak was somewhat disheveled and dirty. It obscured most of her outfit, draping itself over an ornate shortsword that she wore at her waist, which exposed a pair of brown trousers and leather riding boots that were in the same condition. On her back was strapped a moderately sized metal kite shield that had clearly taken countless beatings before ending up in front of me; the mark of a seasoned warrior.
This wasn't the outcome I expected today. I wanted that prize, even if I had to settle for half, but there was something more. In her eyes, behind the tough wall, I could see dismay and distress. I could see fear and anguish, as well as ambition and stress. She seemed troubled, and I wanted to help. By now, however, the half-elf had turned and was beginning to leave. Before she could disengage completely, I blurted out for her to wait a moment, and that I'd buy her a drink if she told me why she needed the contract so bad.
"I don't drink alcohol." She snapped, looking back at me. "Now move on, human, or I..." She paused, eyeing my bow over my shoulder. Now she had a pensive, almost tender look in her eye. "You know how to use that thing?"
"Second best shot in Vita," I replied, "according to last year's annual archery competition." I had obviously caught her attention. It was clear to me now that she was contemplating another set of eyes as ranged support. I just had to demonstrate my worth. "My name's Markkus, by the way."
"Name's Aila. Greenwood." She started. "I'm going out tomorrow morning. Farm's about a half day's walk from this tavern. I'm trying to avoid the disadvantages of being there at night. Are you up for that?" She said, addressing me fully now.
"I've been on longer hunts." I answered. "Besides, I have the supplies for a much longer trip than that, of which you're looking ill-equipped."
She thought for a moment, hesitant. "What would you bring?"
"Food, water. Essentials, of which I'd assume you're missing based on your current... state." I motioned up and down, indicating that I'd noticed that she was not exactly in the best condition.
She looked me in the eyes in an attempt to read my honesty. "What do you want?"
"Half." I replied, confidently, attempting to convey my willingness to assist. "So long as we eliminate the threat that the nobleman wrote about on the notice."
"That's..." She hesitated, looking away. "...fine. I'm not really after the money anyway."
I ignored that comment, as I had no real reason to be interested other than the thousand gold pieces I would hopefully be getting from weeding out whatever creature lurked at the noble's farm.
She turned to leave. "I'll meet you here when the sun is just peeking over the horizon."
I nodded, and she left, and after a few drinks, so did I.
---
Romilly jerked awake late in the night in a cold sweat, alert and aware of her surroundings, frightened by something in her sleep. Beherut slept loudly in the bed next to her, oblivious. The fire that he had lit in the hearth hours ago had gone out, leaving behind nothing but white ash and charred wood. Muffled sounds of the city slowly waking up crept in through the walls, but ultimately fell victim to the dense silence of the inn that the two slept in. Cold moonlight trickled in through the window between them, illuminating the floating dust particles in the room that slowly fell like tiny snowflakes. A pair of lilies in a vase on the side table that separated the two beds sat still, white in the moonlight. Romilly found her gaze locked intently upon the flowers, trying to remember the dream that woke her so suddenly.
A tapping at the window behind the flowers interrupted her train of thought. Curiosity turned to confusion, and confusion turned to fear. Who would be tapping on the third floor window? Romilly thought quietly to herself. Leaning further forward, she peered to her left, attempting to look through the frost as more of the outside came into view. All that was visible were the buildings across the street as well as a little bit of the road below.
Curious, Romilly pulled the covers off of her bed, swinging her legs over the side and putting her feet on the floor. Hesitating for a moment, she stood completely, allowing her nightgown to drape down to its full length, and crept towards the center of the room in an effort to better see the source of the noise. The floorboards spoke under her feet, telling a tale of wear and age as the full view of the window slowly became apparent. Romilly stared intently, waiting for the source of the noise to reveal itself once more, wondering now whether or not she actually did hear someone - or something - tap at the window.
Standing upright in the middle of the room and staring out of the window showed Romilly nothing of note. Dust continued to flutter, mirroring the snowflakes outside. The lilies remained still in the moonlight. Beherut continued to snore. She decided, after attempting to return to her sleep to no avail, that now was as good a time as any to go and take a walk around the inn, thinking that the activity may help her recall what had woken her up in such a violent fashion, and that her mind would allow her to fall asleep if she figured out what it was.
The doorknob was cold to the touch. Romilly thought it to be the opposite of a house fire, coming to the conclusion that the hallway was likely quite cold. As a precaution, she draped her blanket over her shoulders before she left the room and entered the hallway. The frigid air outside of the bedroom affirmed her suspicion, but she pressed on, huddled within the warmth of her blanket.
Heat from behind Romilly caught her off guard. The heat was gentle; unlike a fire, more comparable to the warmth of the sun on your back. She quickly whipped around one hundred and eighty degrees to suddenly find herself overlooking a staircase that descended down into a massive labyrinth wedged between three large mountains with some of the sheerest cliffs she had ever seen. Circling above her and the labyrinth were flaming birds native to the fire kingdom. Romilly stared in awe and confusion at the humongous place she had just been thrown into. Upon turning around, she noticed she was in a courtyard reminiscent of ancient Fluratian ruins. Depictions and etchings of the fire god Ascherinne adorned the large columns that surrounded the courtyard, seeming to draw attention to a large doorway directly opposite of where Romilly stood. The entrance seemed to be carved directly into Mount Fluvius, the only volcano in the land. A short flight of stairs let her down into the middle of the main courtyard, where Romilly let her blanket fall back off of her shoulders and to the ground. It was obvious to her that she had somehow stumbled across the continent into the labyrinth of the blade of fire, but something was strange about it. She thought to herself that she must be dreaming, yet even the stone bricks under her feet felt real with each step she took.
Upon slowly approaching the entrance to Mount Fluvius, a bellowing roar took Romilly by surprise, sending a chill of fear down her spine. A giant, ghastly hand of an unknown creature, dripping with dark magical energy, shot out and gripped the top of the doorframe, leaving cracks and fissures in the stone. Romilly gasped and took a step in reverse, tripping over a barely exposed brick and falling backwards onto her back. Two huge eyes, glowing with dark power, illuminated themselves in the darkness of the doorway. Fear gripped Romilly as tight as a vice. She could feel her heart beating in her chest when the thing roared again, louder this time.
Romilly once again jerked awake in a cold sweat. This time, however, she remembered what had frightened her so bad. Beherut slept loudly in the other bed, only separated from her by a window and side table. The fire that he had lit hours before was still smoldering, with several large embers still refusing to die. A pair of lilies in a vase on the side table that separated the two beds sat still, white in the moonlight. Romilly found her gaze locked intently upon the flowers, thinking about what she saw in the dream, before eventually finding her way back to sleep once more.