…Without the church, not even the gods could salvage humanity from the overwhelming tide of demons that besiege the land. Niorr is undeniably the Goddess of Mercy…
…Hell awaits those who refuse to seek salvation.”
- Excerpt from a section of “Dogma of Niorr’s Church” - Unknown
Sebas’ eyes opened to the eerie silence that filled his room. What was once a building that shook from drunken patrons trying to make their way home, was now quiet enough for him to hear the floor creak under the pressure of his feet.
As he walked through the halls and down the stairs to the guild's hub, he noticed that only two guild workers were present. One was at a handler station, while the other, an enforcer, was awkwardly flirting with anything that moved.
The empty tavern had only seven patrons. Two people, a half-gnome and a human were engaged in a quiet conversation over a collection of metallic bits and bobs, while a large, oafish man slept face down at a table. In another corner, students were absorbed in their books, eating grain meals from wooden bowls mechanically.
Sebas grabbed his wrist, losing the belt tourniquet that had kept his blue hand from bleeding throughout the night. The bleeding had finally stopped. His expression hardened as a throbbing pain and numbness radiated from beneath the bandages. Addingitss own note to the symphony, his stomach growled.
Sebas navigated the rows of tables in the guild hall until he reached a wooden counter, which had been consistently designed. Behind the counter stood a large woman with greenish-pale skin and a hairnet that blended in with her black perm. She was leaning forward, fiddling with a trinket, a rectangular crystal, that Sebas found uninteresting. He approached her and said, “Could I get a fried fish?”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?”
“No means no.”
“I paid for a fish last night, the cat- the Felanid, who was working last night said the room came with a fried fish?” he said in a confused tone.
The orc woman leaned her head back ever so slightly to look at him, and said “Ah” before turning back towards her device, “You're room sixteen, Aren right?”
His eye twitched a few times before speaking, “Sebas.”
“Yeah, something like that, look kid, fish lasts a long time, three hours to a day and a half since it gets caught, and considering I already cooked it and you never showed up for it,” she poked a clawed finger into his chest, “I fed it to the strays that eat out of our trash.”
“But I paid for it!”
“You didn't eat it, did ya?”
“No… but-”
She looked up from the counter to lock eyes with him, a gesture that succeeded in shutting him up.
Sebas sucked air in through his teeth, “do you have anything I can eat now?”
“Eggs or bread.”
Sebas scratched his head, “How much for eggs and bread?”
“Ten copper pieces.”
“… how many eggs?”
“Four.”
He pulled out his coin pouch with an attitude-filled sigh, dug his fingers into the leather bag, and watched as his focus caused a small blue transparent window to appear above the bag, he grabbed coins with his fingers, which made the number slowly go down until he saw that nine coins had left his wallet.
[CoinPurse: [1S 28C] ]
[CoinPurse: [1S 19C] ]
He pulled the oxidized coin from his pocket and tossed it into the disorganized pile of copper chips.
The orc woman glanced at the pile, then extended her hand while keeping eye contact with him. "I don’t know who raised you," she said, "but it's polite to place your coins in the hand of the vendor you’re buying from.”
Sebas stared her down and slowly and awkwardly scooped up the coins in twos and threes with his functioning hand. He placed them in her outstretched palm and maintained eye contact with her the whole time.
She dropped the copper into a strange lockbox that sat on the counter that she fiddled with, and turned around after she closed the bulk mechanisms on it, “Gimme two minutes, it'll be out in a momen’ after that. Just wait there.”
A wooden bowl arrived, containing runny fried eggs with orange, creamy yolks, accompanied by a small round loaf of bread nearly the size of his plate. He initially prodded the reflective yolks with disgust, but his stomach soon reminded him with a sharp pang that he was hungry. After taking a mixture of wet egg and toasted white bread on his spoon, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. He scrambled the yolks with the flat end of his spoon, popping them and mixing them together before eagerly devouring the rest. Finally, he used the bread to soak up the leftover bits in the bowl.
He held a quarter of the loaf of bread in his mouth as he left through the side door, where a large barrel of clear water and a bucket were waiting outside. He took as much of the bread as he could fit in his mouth, then poured a swig from the bucket into his mouth and dumped the rest over his head. He swallowed the mushy bread and placed the last scrap of the loaf into his mouth before he began scrubbing the blood and dirt from his face and now-wet hair.
He tipped the bucket back toward the basin, pausing as his reflection caught his eye. Chewing and swallowing the last scraps in his mouth, he stared at the gaunt figure in the water. Running his fingers through his tangled hair, he scrubbed at the dried blood caked on his face.
Leaning closer, he squinted at his hollow, emaciated features and tugged at his eyelids to inspect himself. With a heavy sigh, he slapped the water’s surface, rippling his reflection, then dumped another bucket over his head. He scrubbed vigorously until the blood was gone, leaving his skin raw but clean.
“I need a haircut,” he muttered to himself, shaking droplets from his hair.
Sebas returned inside, his hair soaked and tied back into a small rattail. As he walked past a carpet stall, he stopped in his tracks when he noticed a decent-looking black shirt with long sleeves. Turning to the white-haired shopkeeper, he gave a questioning glance with the shirt held out in front of him.
“Twenty-six pieces!” he exclaimed, wringing his hands with mercantile arrogance.
“Can you break a silver?”
The merchant pursed his lips as he rummaged through a large pouch, revealing its contents to Sebas. “I’m a bit low on copper pieces at the moment, young adventurer,” he lied. “How about this? Perhaps you could help out a poor merchant like me who wouldn’t want to leave a valued customer like yourself in a bind over a pocketbook discrepancy~”
“I don’t like you,” Sebas replied bluntly.
“Come now, dearest customer, there's no need to bring feelings into this,” he said dismissively, “Just a simple favor for my benevolence?”
“What could an injured urchin possibly do that you couldn’t?”
He clapped his hands together in a strange gesture that made Sebas feel uncomfortable before launching into a new rant. “I could really use the help of a hardworking young adventurer to take care of my chores!” he said with a small chuckle.
“Surely you jest,” Sebas replied hopefully.
“Certainly not!” he exclaimed excitedly. “If you can do just two—” he said the word "two" very quietly, “small favors for me, I’ll reward you in the spirit of adventure! You’ll get to choose one free item,” he continued, “thoughdependingontheitem,extrachargesmayapply,andtheremaybeafter-purchasefees,” he said all at once.
Sebas squeezed the side of his head as he watched the white-haired merchant adjust his glasses, feeling increasingly bothered by the man’s insistence. “What do you wan-” he tried to ask before he was cut off.
“There’s a modest little store in this hamlet called The Chipped Anvil, run by a dwarf named Gis Solina and his business partner, Jenva Fayeth,” the merchant began, his tone light but pointed. “You don’t need to concern yourself with what’s inside, but I have a small package for you to deliver. After that, I’ll need you to take my earnings to the bank. And don’t even think about pocketing so much as a copper- there’s enough tracking and alarm magic on it to disorient a Quetzalcoatl,” he added with a chuckle.
Sebas picked up the black shirt from the blanket of the floor stall and slipped it on, tossing a silver coin toward the nimble merchant. He watched as the merchant caught it with ease and asked, “Remind me again, why do you need an adventurer for this? You could handle it yourself without roping in some injured kid.”
“Bandits, lad! Bandits!” the merchant exclaimed theatrically. “If there’s one truth about Eruka, it’s that we’re not some picturesque grain town- we’re a backwater den of hicks and cutthroats. And our noble lord? Oh, he collects taxes aplenty but wouldn’t spend a single copper on crime prevention. Truly, a man of unparalleled integrity,” he said, his voice dripping with sincerity.
“Articulate and beautiful,” Sebas replied dryly. “It would be my honor to rip you off.”
“Splendid!” the merchant declared, ignoring the jab. “I’ll make a proper mercantile of you yet, m’good adventurer.” With a grin, he heaved a massive sack of coins from his lap and dropped it at Sebas’ feet, along with a small rolled leather pouch. "Here’s the package and deposit. Don’t let me down."
“So, I’ll get something from your little stall if I go to this blacksmith and drop off… whatever this is, and then take your ‘good day's work’ to the Eruka bank?” he asked, shaking the bag in his hand.
“Number one, don’t shake it. Number two, fewer questions are better, dear customer,” the vendor replied.
“Sebas,” he corrected, feeling annoyed.
“Ah, well, dear Sebas; I’m Ito, Ito Jella,” he said, raising a round flask that might have contained an endless variety of liquid beneath its metal body. He took a drink and added, “To your success in your mission.”
Sebas covered his eyes with his wounded hand as the bright sunlight pierced through, searing his gaze. The light seemed to intensify as it spilled over every black shingle on the rooftops, further souring his already irritated mood and cynical hostility.
Suddenly, his eyes widened as a snot-nosed adolescent ran headfirst into him, screeching in a high-pitched tone that grated on his ears. The boy and his friends pointed at Sebas, and the largest of the group began to call him “Red-haired Goblin.” The rest of the trio quickly joined in, chanting the name as they continued to shout and yell.
“GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I KILL YOU,” Sebas screamed at them, which succeeded in scaring them off.
Sebas wandered through the streets of Eruka, searching for The Chipped Anvil. A bag of coins was slung over his shoulder, and his good hand gripped the neck of the burlap bag as he kept his head on a swivel, reading the names of the stores.
He meandered through the sparsely populated streets until he found himself in Eruka's bustling hotspot. The area was filled with crowded streets lined with occupied storefronts, high-rise duplexes, and townhouses that surrounded a massive mansion situated on a circular property with a moat. Four entrances were guarded by pairs of guards who protected the gates from whatever absurd fears the wealthy might have.
He wandered over to the nearest gateway of the lord’s manor and addressed the lax guard without making eye contact, keeping his gaze focused on the still water below. “Do you know how to get to The Chipped Anvil?” he asked.
The guard nodded politely. With a cheerful tone, he replied as if the conversation provided a welcome distraction from his boredom, “Of course, Jenva and Gis are regulars here. They’re fine artisans in their own right and aren’t too far from here. Just head south, and you’ll probably hear that dusty old anvil ringing.”
Sebas turned sharply and walked away, not bothering to thank the man for his answer. Sure enough, high-pitched clinks echoed, accompanied by the occasional ringing of metal against steel, resonating from the house in the distance. A thick smokestack billowed smoke from its chimney.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Inside the log cabin, a half-elf woman sat behind a counter, her eyes fixed on the pages of a thick book she was reading. She turned as the jangle of the broken shop bell announced the arrival of a wounded adventurer who walked in slowly.
She greeted him with an unreciprocated smile as he approached. He stopped at the counter and dropped the giant sack of coins, before he pulled out a parchment and a parcel, and placed it on the counter.
“From some merchant, white hair, glasses, annoying, goes by Oli?” He said, questioning himself, before a shrug raised his shoulders, “Really annoying.”
“Yep! That’s us, thank you, mister?” She began, prompting him for his name.
“No problem.” He said, hefting the burlap pouch over his shoulder again.
“I see. Could I interest you in any of our wares while you’re here?” she asked, her tone polite and hopeful.
“No. I couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to, Miss,” Sebas replied curtly, already turning toward the door.
“Well, that’s not true-” she started, but the sharp slam of the door cut her off. She flinched at the sound, her words faltering. “Oh…kay… have a good day, I guess,” she muttered to the empty shop.
A stout man with singed hair peeked out from a doorway behind the counter. His ash-streaked hands left smudges on the wall as he leaned against it, his expression sour. “What a rude little bastard,” he grumbled, watching her examine the letter and package. “I ought to chase him down and break my foot off in his ass.”
“Oh, simmer down,” she said with a smirk, barely looking up from the letter. “You’re such a drama queen.”
Sebas had resolved to use his recovery period to focus on self-improvement. Exercise had never been his strong suit; the repetitive, monotonous nature of training had always seemed like a waste of time. Still, he couldn’t ignore the need to grow stronger, even while recuperating.
Gripping the sack of money, he tossed it upward with calculated effort, watching as it barely cleared the edge of a nearby rooftop. Taking a few steps back, he broke into a sprint toward the wall and launched himself upward. His fingers found a grip on the rough brick of the overhang as he dangled precariously, his legs swinging for momentum. With a burst of strength, he vaulted himself onto the rooftop, landing with a controlled roll before rising to his feet, his breathing steady and determined.
After dusting himself off, he dashed off with the sack of money. He used its weight to propel himself, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, over alleyways and back streets and slid down a brick wall a block away from a large building that stretched nearly six blocks wide. He noticed two men standing nearby: one was unnaturally fat and stout, while the other was unnaturally skinny and lanky, both leaning against the walls with their thuggish mannerisms.
The fat one spoke up first, “Oi…” he began with a strange smile, Welcome to our checkpoint… we’re uh… we’re luggage inspectors… hehe.”
Sebas tried to push past the man, but he ignored the idiotic comment before another voice piped up, “My lovely younger brother means to say, drop the sack kid.” The thin man said as he kicked off the brick he stood against, and placed a firm hand on Sebas' shoulder, a strange sensation flooded through his body as if dozens of ice-cold needles were digging through his shoulder, causing him to drop the big burlap bag at his feet. He felt the warmth trickle out of his shoulder along with some of his energy.
“Take the fucking money, I literally couldn’t care less,” he complained.
He noted that the man’s skill had been deactivated, his now freezing shoulder shuddered as it tried to regain the warmth he lost from whatever the skill did to his body. He jolted as the man patted his shoulder.
“What a good lad… they don’t make smart lads like you anymore… Red,” Thug number 1 said, he ruffled Sebas‘ hair as he monologued on, “We need to check your other luggage… including but not limited to… bags, pouches.. and small coin purses.” He trailed on.
Sebas locked onto the man’s eyes as he circled him like a shark, “I don’t have any money.”
“Awwww… that’s such a shame…” he said, and looked to his large “sibling”, hereby dubbed thug 2, “Davis,” still calling him thug 2, Wee have a liar! How fun~.”
Sebas winced as the needles began to return to his shoulder, where the thug had a death grip on his shoulder, and looked down with a twitch of his eye where the black wool of his shirt began to slowly dye red with his blood as warmth trickled down his sleeve.
His eyes lost focus and Thug 1 grinned, “Look Davis, he lost consciousness… he doesn’t have much mana it would seem~.”
[Access. 5 Stat Points are available for Distribution.]
[Strength has been increased 6 -> 9]
[Dexterity has been increased 8 -> 9]
[Constitution has been increased 4 -> 5]
Sebas drew in a deep breath as the pain in his body began to subside. Muscles rippled beneath his skin, and his bones groaned audibly as they realigned, reshaping his skeletal frame. He rolled his neck in a slow, deliberate circle, loosening the tension before slamming his foot into the ground with force. Pivoting sharply, he twisted his body and drove his fist into the face of Thug 1, the impact propelling the man backward into the brick wall of the alleyway.
Thug 1 staggered, then grinned maniacally, a raspy cackle escaping his lips. “A lively one!” he sneered, pulling out a blade that shimmered ominously with a purple aura. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, thrusting the blade toward Sebas’ chest with intent to do more than harm.
Both of Sebas' hands latched onto the wrist of the knife-wielding thug. With a sharp, decisive motion, he drove his foot into the man’s lanky knee, forcing it to buckle. At the same time, Sebas twisted the thug’s arm and applied pressure to the elbow. A sickening crack echoed through the alleyway, and the knife slipped from the thug’s grasp, clattering to the ground.
“Ow-owowow! FUCK! FUCKER!” the thug howled, his voice shrill as he curled up, writhing in a futile attempt to break free from Sebas’ unrelenting grip.
Sebas felt his mouth begin to water, a feral urge rising within him. His jaw hung open slightly as the overwhelming desire to brutalize the man clawed at his mind. But instead of giving in to the primal darkness clawing at him, he forced himself to resist. With a grunt, he hoisted the thug over his shoulder and flung him into the corner where the street met the alleyway wall, folding him up like discarded trash.
Sebas turned sharply to Thug 2-Davis-and delivered a backhanded slap that sent the man staggering. Before Davis could recover, Sebas followed up with a swift kick to the back of his neck, dropping him to his knees with a groan of pain. Davis clutched at his neck, his eyes wide with shock and hurt, but he didn’t have the chance to retaliate before Sebas had already turned his attention back to Thug 1.
Without hesitation, Sebas stomped down on Thug 1’s head, eliciting a loud, pained screech. The sound echoed in the alley, a mix of desperation and rage. Sebas sighed heavily, the adrenaline in his veins beginning to subside as he leaned down to retrieve the scattered bag of coins.
But before he could fully straighten up, a sharp, burning pain erupted in his lower back. Sebas screamed as a knife plunged into his flesh, the blade twisting cruelly. A large figure had appeared out of nowhere, pinning Sebas to the ground. The force of the attack drove him onto the spilled coins, and the man followed up with a brutal headbutt that slammed Sebas’ face into the cobblestones.
Stars danced in Sebas’ vision as blood trickled from his nose. Disoriented, he could barely make sense of the commotion around him, but he heard the heavy boots of a bank guardsman approaching and the authoritative roar of his voice:
“HEY!”
Thug 1 scrambled to his feet, clutching his injured arm as he shouted frantically to his brother, “Davis! We gotta go!”
Meanwhile, Davis, still pinned Sebas with the knife in his back, glared at Sebas with a mixture of fear and anger, his hand gingerly rubbing the back of his neck. But the sound of the guard’s voice snapped him out of his daze, and he staggered upright, ready to flee.
“But the money…” Davis asked pathetically.
“You do what you want, I’m not gettin’ arrested.”
The men fled from Sebas as the guard crouched down next to him, tossed his spear to the side and yanked the dagger out of Sebas’ shirt while lifting it, and poured a vial of green liquid into his wound. Sebas thrashed and screamed as he coughed blood out and punched the ground, audible creaking from his gritted teeth.
[You have consumed a
“You… mother… what?” Sebas asked as the pain began to fade from his body.
“I just used a potion… it should have healed that stab completely.”
“Great. How much is it?”
“Sir… it’s not that big of a deal.”
Sebas let out a bitter, cynical laugh that echoed through the alley. "Go on, do your job," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Go kick their asses for me- before I do it myself." He bent down, scooping up the scattered coins from the cobbled alley, his movements slow but deliberate despite the blood dripping from his shoulder.
The young guard hesitated, his hand tightening nervously around the hilt of his spear as he picked it up. He swallowed hard, glancing between Sebas and the direction the thugs had fled.
“I-I’ll… do my best, sir,” he stammered, his voice thin and uncertain, as if he were trying to convince himself.
Sebas didn’t even look up, waving him off with a dismissive flick of his bloodied hand. “Sure you will,” he muttered under his breath, smirking to himself as he continued to gather the coins.
The guard hesitated for another beat before mustering what little courage he had and jogging after the fleeing criminals. His awkward, uneven steps echoed in the alley, a stark contrast to the weight of Sebas’ grim confidence.
Sebas finally finished collecting the coins off the ground, not enough respect for the requester’s request to make an effort to clean the coins, and slung the sack over his shoulder once again, opened and closed his once wounded hand, and tested his grip with a two-handed carry on the sack.
He made his way into the opulent tripeak rooftop building with way too many stairs and unsatisfying four pillars that held up the whitestone overhang. He grumbled in the lines and counted the freakish shapes on the carpets as he waited behind a line of three people. He dropped the sack onto the counter with a resounding thud, and stared the receptionist down at the counter, daring her to make him fill out paperwork.
“… Deposit?” She asked.
Sebas chose this time to not nod or shake his head, leaving no snarky answer to her obvious question.
“Account name?”
“Ito Jella.”
Sebas stepped out of the bank, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stretched his back with a tense arch. He stared out at the sun, its golden light glinting off the spire of the Church of Mercy's belltower in the distance, a proud silhouette cutting into the sky far across town-well out of his way.
For a moment, he entertained the thought of heading there. A church, priests, and healing magic for free. It made practical sense, but the idea curdled in his mind, twisting into bitter disdain. A low, guttural chuckle escaped his lips, dark and mocking, as he raised his middle finger high toward the heavens.
"Yeah, not a chance," he muttered, the sneer on his face stretching wide as he turned his back to the church and walked on, long strides made towards the guild house as he cackled to himself.
Sebas’ gaze settled on Ito from across the bustling guild hall, and he made his way over, his steps steady despite the dried blood staining his right shoulder. He stopped at the edge of Ito’s humble blanket stall, looming over the older merchant like a shadow.
Ito glanced up nervously, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his robe. “Young adventurer... Did you succeed?” he asked, his voice tinged with cautious hope.
“Yes,” Sebas replied simply, his tone calm and measured as he extended a small banknote, proof of the completed delivery.
Ito’s eyes flicked between Sebas’ face and the blood on his shoulder, his worry plain as he hesitated before asking, “Did... anything go wrong?” His hands wrung together, betraying his unease.
Sebas shook his head slowly, his expression unreadable. “No... went fine,” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of weight that didn’t match the words.
Ito fidgeted a few more times before saying “Young adventurer, how does two free items sound… I didn’t plan for paying for a guard… so you clearly deserve an extr-“
“Obviously,” Sebas said, cutting him off.
“Splendid!” Ito exclaimed, “My friend, my benefactor, please let me help you select two things from my humble store, free of charge…” he muttered rapidly to himself, “unlessitstotalvalueexceedsfivesilverswithtaxinwhichcaseillaskthatyoureconsider~”
Sebas’ eyes trailed over Ito’s stall, taking in the array of humble items meticulously arranged on the faded blanket. There were small bundles of dried herbs, their earthy scents faint but distinct, tied neatly with twine. Beside them, a scattering of crude metal trinkets caught the dim light; simple rings, poorly etched pendants, and a bent bracelet that had clearly seen better days.
A few hand-carved wooden figurines sat off to one side, depicting generic animals and humanoid shapes, their craftsmanship rough but earnest. A single tarnished brass spyglass rested atop a folded piece of linen, its lenses scratched from years of use.
Near the edge of the blanket, a bundle of mismatched tools lay tied together: a chipped chisel, a rusted hammer, and a small dagger with a cracked hilt. Rounding out the assortment were several leather pouches filled with who-knew-what, their drawstrings frayed, and a scattering of loose coins that barely glinted in the light.
Sebas picked up the small blade, and his eyes focused on it, staring deeply over the dagger. His vision seemed to encapsulate it, creating a small outline in his vision.
[Iron Dagger]
[???]
“To view this item’s stats, please
He picked up the dagger and a satchel he was able to hook onto his belt. His eyes ran over the contents of the stall one last time before he spoke again.
“Do you have any recovery potions?”
“Of the healing variety, I presume?” Ito said, wringing his hands again, “I suppose I ought to give you favor for doing me a service today, how does twenty coppers for a Lowest-Rank recovery potion sound, dearest adv-?”
“Nah, how about you give it to me for ten pieces, and give me my change back for the shirt I bought from you?”
Ito gulped, and spoke again, “That’s ridiculous, I would never stoop so low as to sell my fine wares fo-“
“Nine,” Sebas said with a small threat in his voice.
“F-for… do not be ridiculous, I am not a-“
“Eight.”
Ito’s left eyelid quivered violently and a small vein seemed to grow on his forehead “Why should I honor such a ridiculous request?”
Sebas shrugged and kept himself crouched in front of the merchant, making his temper slowly fade from broiling to a simmering bubbling.
“Twelve?”
“Fifteen.”
“… Thirteen?”
Ito pondered for a moment and tilted his head in consideration, “How many are you buying?”
Sebas held up three fingers.
“I could do three Lowest-Rank potions for Thirteen Coins each, dear customer~” his hands were once again wringing against one another as Ito was satisfied with his deal.
Sebas pulled his coin purse from his belt and held it in his palm.
[CoinPurse: [19C]]
Sebas counted out loud with his hands and slowly discovered his total.
“Seventy-four… minus thirty-nine…”
“Thirty-five,” Ito stated and began counting out coins.
Sebas held his pouch out and watched the number fill up. Until his pouch sat at a decent heft.
[CoinPurse: [54C]]
He smiled at the decently sized coin pouch in his hand and held the vials of green liquid before Ito drew his attention.
“… you know… mister adventurer… if you’re tough on the coin I could off-“
“Shove it up your ass.” He said as he cracked one of the vials of health recovery potion on his broken hand, and simmered in the steam that rose from his rapidly healing hand.
[You have consumed a
“Here’s your commission,” Sebas said, as he flicked the broken vial at Ito’s head, and stood up to leave for the dungeon once more.