Runeblade

As Kaius crossed through the gates to Deadacre, the sounds of the city washed over him. The heavy background buzz of chatter and thumping boots, the clack of carts rolling over uneven cobble, and the odd cutting bark of a laugh or crying babe.

Overwhelming, sure, but also full of the vitality of life. Something pleasantly different after so long with little company in his surroundings.

Brown canvas tents lined the square that the gates opened to, stacked up tight to the wall with barely walkable alleys separating their fabric walls. Emergency housing. Several guards wandered the open space, directing people where they needed to go, or helping one of the more desperate into the waiting arms of those that were getting people settled in the tents.

A guard in chain whistled, waving them over—a woman with sandy hair cropped short and piercing blue eyes.

“You boys alright? I doubt you need shelter here, given your dress, but I thought I'd check and see if you knew where you were headin’.” the guard asked.

“Ahh, we’ll be fine, thank you. I’ve been here before, so I know my way well enough around.” Kaius said, thanking the woman, who nodded and waved them on.

Kaius set off for one of the main streets that exited the square, companions in tow. Masonry buildings lined the streets, three stories tall and made from the same rustic rough-cut stone as the rest of the city. Looming over the streets, they made navigation tough if you didn’t know your way around with how they blocked sight of any landmarks. Especially since the layout of the streets looked like someone had traced a tangled length of yarn onto a city plan and called it a day.

“Well, we made it through the gate with little issue, though that Sergeant was a tough bastard to hide from.” Porkchop said.

Ianmus chuckled. “When he called us over I was totally convinced we’d been had. Thank the gods it was just a registration issue.”

Kaius groaned. Such a small thing, but it had nearly done them in. If his and Porkchop’s stats weren’t so artificially inflated, they would have been toast, for sure.

“The main thing is we’re in the clear now.” Kaius said, before he turned to Ianmus. “I know this is your first time here, so I can show you to the road that leads directly to the caravaneer’s office by the far gate. It’ll be a bit of a trek, but it's a straight shot.”

The half-elf smiled at him. “Thank you, and thanks again for making sure I made it here in one piece.”

“It’s no problem at all. Only what any decent folk would do. Listen, if you’re stuck here for a bit while you wait for an empty slot, feel free to stop by if you see me around the guild house. It’d be nice to see a familiar face.” Kaius replied, waving off Ianmus’s thanks.

“It would, plus it would be nice to have someone else to talk to. It’s going to suck pretending to be an unthinking beast.” Porkchop grumbled.

Ianmus nodded with a smile, but he had enough sense not to directly address his brother in a crowded square.

While the square was packed, it parted before them with ease. Understandable, all things considered. Ianmus was wearing the classic attire of a magi, while he was fully suited in armour with a giant of a beast at his back. Most people, regular people, weren’t the type to get in the way of obvious monster killers.

Exiting the square, the heady smell of smoke, dust, and sweat washed over him. It wasn't strong, per se, but it was pervasive. With his senses sharpened since his last trip, he did his best to ignore the odour, though inwardly he missed the fresh air found outside of settlements.

He’d spent too long in the wilds to enjoy city life overmuch.

The road they followed wound its way through the city, dozens of side streets and alleys splitting off to tangle their way through the thickets of stone buildings. Eventually, they reached a fork.

“This is it.” Kaius said as he came to a halt, turning to Ianmus. “Follow that road to the end and you’ll reach the other gate. No turns onto another street or anything, just straight there.”

Ianmus paused, giving him a slight nod. “Well, I suppose this is the end of our little soiree. I guess this is goodbye.”

Kaius gave the man a warm smile before clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t be like that. If the fates will it I am sure we will run into each other again soon. Chances are we’ll end up in the Dukedoms soon enough, where are you planning on heading?”

“Satrinsale. They’ve got some entrances to the Depths that are well aligned with my affinities, and with all that's going on I want as much strength as I can get. I’ll probably join the Guild when I’m there.” Ianmus replied, smiling ruefully. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened with those terror birds.”

Kaius nodded. In all likelihood, they probably would meet the man again. Satrinsale was one of the larger cities in the Dukedoms, and would have a large Guildhall indeed, let alone libraries. A good place for him to do a little digging on his family, and the goings on of the world outside of Vaastivar.

“Well, we might see you there then! Just leave a message for us at the Guild when you get there.” he replied.

“I will. It would be nice to see a familiar face.” Ianmus smiled. He scratched at the back of his head absentmindedly for a moment, before he offered his hand. “Well, goodbye, I suppose.”

Kaius returned the shake, giving the man a wide grin. “See you soon.”

Ianmus nodded, before he turned and left with a wave. Kaius watched the tall half-elf go, his silver hair standing out head and shoulder above the rest of the crowd.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Be safe, elfling!” Porkchop called after him. Ianmus turned, shooting his brother a smile, before he kept walking.

“Well then, I suppose we best be off.” Kaius said, once Ianmus had rounded a bend in the road. He nodded towards the other branch of the intersection. “Come on, it’s just down here.”

…

The stares were getting old.

He didn’t like the way people ogled. Sure, he was tall, heavily armed and had a beast taller than he was at his side, but you would think that most people would have some sense of propriety. They did in Three Fields, at least.

Here every third person craned their neck to keep staring at him as he passed. It wore at his mood, and made the general press of the crowd even more irritating than it had been at first.

Still, walking through the city was an eye opening experience. Other than inns being far more full than normal, you’d think that nothing was amiss with the outside world. No one seemed…ready. They were just going about their days, in their dyed cottons, shopping and working.

He didn’t understand it. How they could live their lives while beasts were growing stronger by the day. Sure, most people didn’t have a combat class, but they could still grow stronger with levels, or work towards some way to empower those who could.

Thankfully, as they drew closer to the district dedicated to the Delver’s guild, things got much better. Fewer folks, and those that were present were far more used to the sight of artefacts and arms. Here, almost everything catered to the rich, both monetarily and in personal strength. Taverns with brews that could knock out a horse with a drop, alchemists with vials full of vibrant swirling colours in their windows, and all manner of artisans ladened the streets.

Blacksmiths hammered, and leatherworkers sewed, creating wares only to pass them on to waiting runewrights, finishing the craft to sell at a premium. At least here there was a sense of urgency, a resolute tone of seriousness that pervaded the general air of the place.

Here were the fighters, and those that supplied them. Here were those that understood what was at stake.

Few common citizens lived here, and the ones that did were either local delvers or the proprietors of the establishments who served them and their travelling cousins.

It was the enchanters and general hawkers of artifice that caught his attention the most. They had loot to sell, and there were plenty of artefacts that could come in handy for them in their future delves and work for the Guild. That, and they still needed to get Porkchop’s armour enchanted with Self-Repair.

“Where are we going to stay, Kaius? Half of these doors I can’t even squeeze through.” Porkchop asked, looking at the buildings they passed with concern.

Patting his brother on the shoulder, Kaius met the question with a soft chuckle. “There will be inns near the Guild that are suitable for people with bond skills. They’re uncommon, but not THAT rare. We might need to pay out the nose for it, but we’ll find a place that fits you. Worst comes to worst, we’ll find a place with some stables and we can both sleep there.”

Porkchop grunted, unconvinced, but let the matter lie. It wasn’t like there was any better option.

A short while later, they turned the bend and the guildhall came into sight. Regal and tall, it stood a good two stories higher than the surrounding three story terraced buildings that were common in Deadacre. Polished smooth stone blocks formed its stout walls, a quality rarely seen otherwise, while wide widows revealed a warmly lit wooden interior.

Dozens of tables littered the space, while a wide counter stretched across two walls. One side served drinks and food to the waiting delvers, while the other had a receptionist with a queue in front of her.

A guild worker, where one could accept missions and deal with other matters relevant to membership. That was who he would have to talk to.

Joy and anticipation thrummed through him as he took in the enduring strength of the building, as he looked at the thick and polished oak door - a sigil of a crossed sword and stave engraved on its front.

A moment that had been a long time coming. A dream of his that had finally arrived. A destiny he had sought and strived for.

Becoming a delver. A duty, and a promise - of riches, power, and responsibility.

One he was happy to make.

It wasn’t just the hall itself that held him enraptured, but the clientele as well. The place was packed. Full of all sorts of peoples, each and every one suited up and ready for war. Men in full plate, with tower shields, great swords, and other heavy armaments sat at tables next to lithe individuals in leathers, blades belted everywhere from their chest to their arms. Magi in robes chatting with archers in light mottled clothes, and every other combination and combat style imaginable.

The variety was staggering, no one person looking alike in their chosen methods of defence and attack. That is, with one exception. Telltale scriptwork covered almost everything he could see, both inscrutable system runes and man-made creations alike.

A springing bounce entered his step as he picked up his pace, tugging Porkchop forward.

“Come on, we’re here!” Kaius said, hurrying towards the door.

Porkchop grunted, but followed closely. “Just remember to keep your Mask up.” he warned.

Rolling his eyes in response, Kaius wove his way around the small amount of foot traffic before coming to a stop at the stone steps that lead to the entrance. He paused for a moment, savouring the significance of his first steps towards his future.

Every legend, every good story, and every bardsong started in a guild hall. They were where strength was built, and reputations were earned. It was here that he and Porkchop would be able to make a name for themselves. Where they would be able to build an unassailable reputation. It would be here that he would be able to start his quest to discover the secrets of Aspects, and gather the backing needed to start looking into his father’s killer.

Something nudged him in the back, forcing him to take the first step. Kaius turned, finding Porkchop right behind him, watching him.

“Walk tall, Kaius. You deserve to be here.” Porkchop encouraged, nosing him on the shoulder to encourage him forward. Taking a breath, he nodded and strode towards the door.

Gripping the brass handle, he braced himself. Preparing his Mask. Throwing his chest out and plastering a confident smile on his face he opened the massive door wide and strode into the foyer, Porkchop close behind.

Silence washed over the room as what felt like half of the delvers present turned to look at him. A moment later a dozen different analysis skills hit his Mask. They were light things, almost polite. Like they weren’t seeking the truth, just what he was willing to give.

They still smacked him upside the head like a sledgehammer with numbers alone. Muscles bulged as his jaw clenched tight, a forced wince hissing out from between his teeth as he clutched his head.

Distantly, he heard someone laugh. “Fresh meat! Every fucking time, never gets old.”

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