Vincent Salvador

It was difficult to decide which was more beautiful to Vincent. The return of his youth in this revitalized body or the recently acquired sword that whistled so prettily in the air. It may have been plain steel, but it was a precious symbol of a dream come true. The design options had seemed near-infinite when he had picked the warrior class. A light, long blade with no accents had been his choice. With an easy grace, he moved into several forms that flowed into an elaborate dance. At the end of his sequence, there were waves of glee washing through Vincent’s body. This moment of delight led to a sense of serenity expressed to the world as a lazy smile.

“What a joy it is to be young again,” he whispered. Time had not quite yet turned against Vincent before waking here, but it had become noticeable that it was grinding him down. Suddenly, the stiff and sore muscles prophesying the coming of old age were gone. Dust in the wind brushing against the steel of youth.

Of course, he was wary at the prospect of being kidnapped to this strange place. Like many he had spoken to, panic had been his first impression of the stone hall. Malachi’s revelation had blown the panic away and the obvious concerns had dimmed in his mind. A life lived by the sword had been the path Vincent had pursued as far back as his memory could go. He had focused solely upon that purpose, even though it only could ever be half fulfilled in the modern age. For the simple, dreadful fact was that he had the unfortunate luck to be born in a time that had little use for the sword. It was only in play and show, that his valued skill had any worth to the times. Now, in this strange place, a life dedicated to the sword would avail him to the degree Vincent had long given up hope.

A childhood dream of swashbuckling and knight duels had led to fencing classes. The sport had come as natural to him as the fantasies. Fencing had even seen him to the height of that profession, with a gold medal around his neck. Still, fencing had never felt enough. The drive to find the purpose for his sword skills and dreams had led to other aspects of his life. Whether as a professional actor, a weekend LARPer, or others of the same vein, all had given Vincent more avenues to use the sword. The experiences amongst those who had the same desire for adventure, or just the need for the skill, had filled his life with a joy that comes from knowing you were not alone. Yet still, only a life half fulfilled.

Perhaps for too long, he had held on to a childish dream. Shouldn’t Vincent have just been satisfied to live a modern life of awards and comforts? Most would never have seen such success from a childhood fantasy. A swordsman's life was often just blood and an early grave. Glory was rarely found in life and soon forgotten in death. Even faced with the promise of death and monsters, the golden thrill surged with the hope that the dream would be realized.

I am not a complete fool, thought Vincent defensively at the silent self-accusation. He had tried his best to be rational about the danger ahead. The warrior’s path had come with picking out some simple armor. Rather than go for restricting leather or heavy metal, he has gone with an extra thick gambeson dyed gray. His one sword style would be best used with quick maneuvers and freedom of movement. The practice sequence had shown him that the armor had been settled well on his frame.

Confidently, Vincent strode across the hall to join a small gathering that planned to take a peek at what awaited them beyond the giant gate. The redheaded man, Malachi, had announced his intention to scout through the unlocked door. Once the sixtieth person had selected their class the last dot had appeared and then all sixty had grown brighter. The core of the light spread from the dots to cover the whole door. The brilliance of that light had brought forth a blinding dawn to their underground hall. Then suddenly a gloomy night returned and left them with a burned image of the door over their vision. There had visibly been no difference from before, but there was a change in the aura of the door that said it would no longer bar their way.

Curiosity was apparently not enough for most of the sixty, as most people headed towards their claimed rooms. Harried looks or blank expressions marred most of the faces of those that left the hall behind. He noticed some went to make use of the part of the communal area that had couches and chairs around long-dead fire pits. Talking looked sparse there as most read books and perhaps just wanted someone nearby inside being alone in a strange room. Vincent didn’t blame anyone needing a moment to find firm ground before heading out through the gate. It was insane what happened to the sixty of them and it would take time to accept wherever they were. Add monsters into that equation and there was no surprise most refused to take part in this venture. For now, Vincent was content to be one of those to gather information for the rest. Regardless, a smaller group would be better for the quick in and out Malachi had discussed.

Vincent’s eyes flickered through the few of the sixty that had decided to join the scouting mission. There was, of course, Malachi looking regal as he discussed formation with the brutish man Warner. Slightly hidden by the mass of the thug was the icy Molly, who occasionally input a word or two. A partial second group had formed around the chattering Clarissa. The cheery redhead had a bow made of silvery wood twirling in her fingers with comfortable ease. Her companion Julia had chosen a gambeson as well, though one dyed royal blue. Nervously the dark-haired woman held the handle of her sheathed sword, while a shield leaned against her leg on the ground.

Talking eagerly, but shyly, was a man that Vincent wasn't familiar with. This one had a shield strapped ready to go on his arm and kept the sword out. The man had chosen a breastplate for armor and he was pleased to note it came with some padding to go between. There was also a thin man by the name of Rueben who stood by the side of both groups. That one’s attention was fully on the group as he played with the dagger in his hand and gripped a short sword in its sheath.

As the swordsman joined the group, Malachi grinned in greeting. Pulling away from the mountainous shoulders, Malachi began, “Alright, Vincent! Glad you decided to join us in taking a peek.”

“How could I miss our first steps through such daunting doors?” Vincent melodiously replied. Clarissa directed a smile at him, to which a wink was his response. “How shall we proceed?”

With an ease that the swordsman wasn’t sure Malachi was aware of, the red-haired man explained how he would like them to position themselves. “None of us have been in a monster-filled dungeon before,” started Malachi. “At least for real, and regardless of our theories, we need to treat this like it is. That doesn’t mean we can’t use some game logic to our advantage. Warner has volunteered to take point… pretty confidently, so I am inclined to go with it.” Malachi frowned at this as Warner’s grin widened and with a rockslide shrug.

“I got some real world tussling experience, so I ain’t gonna flinch if something gives us a fight,” explained the shoulders.

“That’s something we’ll need to ask everyone at some point,” Malachi distractedly said as he nodded. “What experiences they have. Maybe have a list of jobs and hobbies ready if we run into a problem?”

“Jules and I can take care of that,” offered Clarissa. “We’ll also collect what path everyone picked... Figured that would be useful too.” The dark girl whispered a little heatedly at the cheerful archer, who just waved it away with a smile. Vincent heard something about it being fun to meet everyone. Malachi gave the women a grateful smile that shone more for Julia and was returned with a warm blush by her.

“Glad we thought of that, but let’s focus back on the scouting,” said Malachi as he regathered focus. “So Warner is at point… Reuben offered to poke out ahead of us, but I think this time around we stick together so we make sure we all get out. We’re just taking a peek. Julia… Phelain… I want you on either side of Warner. Shields up and just a half a step behind. This isn’t the legion so we’re not talking about the tightness of a Roman phalanx. Just be in range to support, but not in the way

“Clarissa and Molly will be in the middle behind Warner. Molly since, well… since we haven’t figured out magic yet…. you’ll give our archer the right away for shots. As for you Molly, you’ll be an extra set of eyes since you insist on coming. Call things out if you see anything we miss and don’t forget a staff is a melee weapon too.

“Vincent and Reuben, you guys are going to be watching our sides. Make sure nothing tries to flank us. I’ll bring up the rear to watch our backs while judging how far to go and when to turn back. Alright, that’s our formation. Remember eyes open, that means looking up and down, not just ahead. We’ll each keep each other aware of our surroundings by calling out what you see. Keep calm so we can get in and out smoothly. Anyone have anything they would like to add?”

The group murmured, but nobody had anything to add so they readied themselves. Weapons came free as the scouting group moved into the decided formation. More or less in sync, they moved up to the door. Warner pushed on the door in the same manner as Malachi had before, but this time there was movement. To their surprise though, the doors did not turn on an unseen hinge. Instead, both sides of the doors shifted straight back from Warner’s push and then slid apart to the sides; to disappear into the slots in the wall. The way was clear.

There was a cavernous tunnel beyond the door that was roughly half the size of the doorway. There was a shimmering film of light that divided the cavern from the hall. Beyond the hazy field, was darkness breached by islands of phosphorous light. Glowing came from both large toadstool shaped mushrooms and patches of moss-like growth. The color of the effervescence varied in a spectrum, from alien blue to sickly green. Each member of the scouting party took a deep breath before stepping through the light. Through the dividing light came the sensation of physically being smacked in the face by the sudden moisture and a dastardly stench.

“God damn it, I can taste it!” roared Warner and then gagged.

Vincent couldn’t blame them as the wet air only made the smell permeate with every breath. The reactions varied from Molly just frowning hard with obvious strain to Julia, who held her sword hand up to the nose while shaking her head in defiance. Only Clarissa and Malachi didn’t react, with the archer having strung an arrow while staring ahead. Malachi for his part called out in a quiet tone, but cutting, “Silence, we aren’t alone.” The group froze.

The sounds of their reactions died. From ahead echoed the clatter of the tunnel. The skittering of claws on stones and cries of aggression revibrated back to them. Still distant, but too close for those standing in the damp dark. The group scoured for any source of the noises, but only caught glimpses of shadows.

Vincent took the moment to study the terrain they would have to use as they explored this floor. The tunnel had the appearance of a natural cave. There were no signs of any human attempts to shape the stone. Behind them where the screen of light had been was now just a wall of stone. It was unnaturally flat and as the swordsman stared at it, the illusion wavered enough for him to see the hall beyond. Their retreat was covered and the swordsman shifted his feet to learn how the floor responded to his movements. He could feel that the floor of the cave was covered in mud. The shifting of his feet caused the smell to strengthen, leaving him to assume some of the rankness came from the mud. Observation of the group showed Vincent that everyone was a little green at the gills and more than one person, him included, had watery eyes.

Vincent’s eyes snagged onto a strange reflection of light from his arm. Pulling up the sleeve of the gambeson revealed three rings of gold on the skin of his forearm. As if someone had given Salvador a tattoo or painted a circuit around the arm three times. Running a finger down the skin of his arm, Salvador felt no change in the texture. It was clear to his eyes that it was there, but he couldn’t feel it at all. Looking up from the gold rings, he called their attention to their own arms. Each had the same three rings. He could tell that they all were thinking of the same phrase from the Commandments, “Thrice shall death be barred.” A mixture of frowns and stoic faces were the only open responses.

Behind them, the sounds of the cave continued, wriggling and sharp chirps.

Their silence continued for a time as they all contemplated the sign of expected death written upon their arm. Vincent shook himself to limber up and got Malachi’s attention. This led to a quick exchange that everyone was willing to continue. Clarissa put the group’s feeling best when she whispered, “The adventure I had in mind wasn’t this smelly, let’s see what there is to see and end this weird ass day.”

Vincent smiled eagerly when Malachi gestured for them to move forward slowly. The entrance end of the tunnel was entirely in the darkness. Illumination increased as they drew closer to the babbles of struggle. The smell changed as they came closer to become more musky and rotten. At the edge of the faint light was where they got their first look at a monster. The sight was enough for the swordsman to forget about the smell entirely.

Unsightly rats scurried about before the scouting group. It was as if some foul god had taken what humans found most disturbing and disgusting in rats, then rebuilt them in the image of nightmares. To Vincent, they were a reflection of Lovecraft’s Martense fiends with the mold of human features in the faces and hands of the rat monsters. As large as cats, their bulbous size made the twisted details all the more revolting in their clarity.

Cringing from the sight, the group stood still as the monstrosities went on with their horrible little lives. The rat things gorged themselves on the glowing flora as they warred amongst themselves over it. In these territorial fights, blood was drawn mercilessly by tooth and claw. Half-eaten corpses hoarded by hissing cannibals showed what became of those pushed beyond light and sustenance. Death or depravity awaited the weak. Before these few of the sixty, the monsters feuded for resources until the rats noticed the newcomers. In the middle of whatever the rat things were doing, noses began wetly snuffling and turned towards the queasy humans.

A chorus of rat thing shrieks was the only warning Vincent and the others had before the monsters attacked. From the light and the dark, the mutant rats charged drooling. The leader of the pack met Warner’s fist as it leaped at the brawler’s face. It was forcefully sent back, but even after a rough landing, it was scurrying for them again in moments.

With a battle cry that was more a scream of fear, Julia stood next to Warner with her shield up. Slashing wildly at any target that came close while keeping the shield between her and any monsters that darted at her after dodging Warner. Struggling to contain repulsion to the rats, Reuben was behind Warner and Julia to act as support. The man roared out curses while insulting the creatures for their disgusting features while striking between people to catch the attackers at different angles.

Behind the battleline, Molly was panicking as she readied her staff to swing at anything that came near her. “Damnit Molly!” the woman cursed herself. “You just had to take a look for the sake of strategy while your only weapon is a gods’ damn stick!” Malachi was calm, but his steel was showing as he moved back and forth down the line to fight where it was needed. Their accepted leader roared tactical support where he could not offer himself.

The only one who seemed unfazed by the assault of the abominations was Clarissa. A glow of pure concentration in her eyes as the archer kept smoothly firing at targets. Vincent noted as he supported Phelain on the left side that there was a mechanical precision to the redhead’s firing. Practiced motions saw arrows plucked from the quiver and placed perfectly on the string. Sharp, serious eyes over a smirk would find a target as the bow was drawn. In the next instant, one of the rats took an arrow somewhere vital or distracting if the target was instead attacking someone’s blind spot.

It was Phelain that was currently the weak spot in their line. Julia may have been turtling and stabbing, but she wasn’t leaving openings. The shield user before Vincent understood that his shield could be used as a weapon and seemed to have forgotten the defensive use. Whether in panic, or genuine aggression, Phelain was swinging both arms in a blitz of steel. The display was, luckily, enough to make many of the rats wary to get close. It was unfortunate that Phelain’s chaotic attacks had disrupted Vincent’s ability to respond.

The swordsman had to spend as much time dodging wild swings as taking care of any rat creature that broke through on the left. It was only a matter of time before Phelain broke formation with the wrong step or the monsters were able to give the man more than small wounds. Vincent found it very concerning that even with a shield, Phelain was covered in as many wounds as Warner. Each had bloody gashes from attacks leaving them open for retaliation.

Despite all the difficulty that the man holding left gave him, the swordsman was surprised at how natural the fight felt. The cutting of flesh bothered him a little, but there was a warmth in his chest from using the skill's true purpose. His whole life felt like it had been building up to the moment Vincent could bring to bear the whole of his skills. The grueling efforts that saw the kinks and flaws smoothed out of his swordplay. That quick, efficient usage saw that the left flank held against rat things’ onslaught. A pressure grew in his chest like laughter held back. The others struggled, but the swordsman danced.

Through this swelling passion for battle, he found this engagement's rhythm. It was Vincent’s heart beating into his ear that keyed him to the beat of movement. Through this rhythm, the swordsmen claimed the bloody dance. The beat evoked in him an understanding of the patterns. Through the patterns, Vincent saw the paths that both sides of the fight would follow seconds before. The rhythm guided the very swing of his sword so that it felt more like causality than an active choice. The air whistled sweetly as one slash removed a head and another tore flesh from the throat to the tail. A red thrill twined with the golden thread that was his love for the sword.

With the rhythm of the fight, Vincent flowed to the front of the battle line. Following the pulse of the struggle, was what finally saw him beyond Phelain as the man twisted away from Warner. The rat things came to greet him. The blade flashed as the swordsman danced and in the wake of steel came red rain. He hummed a please note as he moved from target to target.

A part of the swordsman was aghast as the dance moved out from the line of allies and slowly became a lone island persevered by steel. This worry couldn’t really take hold because, despite all the civilization he had been born into, it was in this moment, in this battle, that Vincent finally felt at home. It wasn’t bloodlust, as the killing and paintings of blood did nothing for him. It was the struggle and hardwon skill that had finally gotten its full use.

The last monster leaped at his face and Vincent cut it down to end the song. He felt light-headed and leaden in his limbs. Around him were a dozen or more of the cat-sized rodents that had been cut down by his sword and a decent amount by Clarissa’s arrows. Standing out alone in front of the group should have meant that most of the kills had been his, but those fletchings suggested a different story. He had raged through the battle, but the redheaded archer had kept him alive. A cold sweat ran down his back at the realization of how easily he could have been overwhelmed. The worry from before came back with a vengeance. The lingering red thrill sang so sweetly that horror was still held at bay, but it would come. Most likely when seeking sleep and at the edge of dreams. With mixed feelings of dread and triumph, Vincent turned to the group to see how they had fared. The sight cleared anything from his heart, except dread.

Grimly the others puffed and sweated where they stood. Corpses piles lined the area in front of them, but the group looked sickly enough to draw more repulsion. Small cuts and tears bled freely despite the size and the flesh reddened as it swelled. How the wounds could look so infected this quickly was unknown to Vincent. Whether venomous rat things or the nature of the filth; it didn’t matter. The others needed help quickly and the swordsman leaped forward to aid his wobbling allies.

It was with surprise and spiking panic that the swordsman's legs gave out. Laying in the filth he saw that his own wounds were corrupting and the bleeding was bad. Vincent’s skill had seen fewer attacks land on him, but that had only delayed the reaction.

In the darkness ahead there were noises of more rat things approaching. In their weakened state, Vincent knew they wouldn’t stand a chance. It was with panic that the swordsman threw himself into a crouch, the closest he could get into a standing position. Hands flopping, the swordsman tried to frantically gesture the group to flee back through the exit. Decrepitly, they all shuffled towards the safety of the hall.