《Tales of Ordinary, Completely Unremarkable Contractors》'Round Midnight: III [REWRITE]
Advertisement
The shadows of the rubble littering the floor of the expansive room danced to the tune of the torch's flame. The chairs, tables and their pieces haphazardly scattered all over implied this was once a dining hall; various cracks, canyons and holes in the stone walls, floors and ceilings of the room likewise implied this ‘once’ was long past. Underneath the thick layer of desolation and destruction coating the rock surfaces, one could see the engravings of masterfully chiselled lines. Many centuries ago, these would have come together to form a portrait, or maybe a landscape - unfortunately, time did away with anything that may have been glimpsed between the fissures penetrating each image. Drawn in white - a stark contrast to the dark stone - various maps, diagrams and paragraphs coated almost every patch of floor and wall even slightly less damaged than the average. Joakim stood in the room's centre, admiring his handiwork. The man was skinny. Indeed, most would also see him as frail. The many layers of torn clothes he wore were soaked through with grime, dust, blood - his overgrown hair and beard were equally filthy. Coated in a thick layer of chalk, his palms constantly rubbed in an attempt to restore their former colour. Despite this, Joakim was humming a tune. “The officers are dead,” a voice interrupted his thoughts. A female voice. He turned to face the source. A woman stood in the entrance to the dining hall, barely lit by the torch. The flame couldn’t penetrate much further - the hallway behind her was engulfed in a void of darkness, smothering any trace of light with its thin fog of dust. “Seems like they did a number on you, fräulein,” he replied. Her face was heavily bandaged, with thin slits for her eyes and mouth. Blood had already seeped through the cloth on one side. “Seems like you were wrong about High. Your mistake cost me my face.” “And your hand?” He pointed to one of her palms, wrapped in a thick layer of gauze. “One of them was a vampire, but you could not have known that. It is still mostly functional - anything below the index finger has lost dexterity, but not completely.” “A very surgical way of describing a lifetime wound,” he sighed. “Another thing - did anyone see you bleed into the gruel?” “If they did, I would not be here.” He sat down on a boulder, setting the torch on the ground next to him. “I suppose that is true. Moving on, I’ve finished mapping all ruins I have dug through and joined them with the exclusion zone you graciously explored for me. With this much written out, I’m sure I can figure something out in terms of structural points to bring this whole place down.” “What I need is the landslide map. I have no use for simply dealing further damage to something already beyond repair.” Joakim tapped his head. “Have some trust. What you need is me alive and I want to keep it that way for as long as possible. Show me the sun and I’ll bury these ruins like nothing else could.” “You need not worry. I have no illusions for the basis of this alliance, Joakim.” He shrugged. “I can only hope that what you say is what you feel, fräulein. Now, as for my end of this deal - if those old dwarven carvings of this fortress’s design were accurate, I believe I have a good grasp of where I can find what I came here for.” “You have not set out yet. This means-” “That it’s in the exclusion zone, yes. I will need your assistance to find it." She was silent. "Or, you can stay here and leave me to die alone in the search," he quipped, "That could also work.” “It would not work.” Joakim paused, looked up at her eyes in the small gap between the bandages. After a few seconds, he shook his head in defeat. “Yes, it wouldn't. That was, in fact, the joke. Either way, you’ve arrived just in time for me to leave - I’ll let you make up your own mind when it comes to following me.” He stood up and picked up his pickaxe, disturbing a few stones. Rolling down the shallow slope of the dining hall, they slipped into deep cracks or were otherwise swallowed by the sea of black beyond the flicker of the torch. “You have a weapon, fräulein?” “I do.” He nodded, full of confidence. Unfortunately, the only confidence he had was in the fact - for it was very much a concrete fact - that any confrontation they encounter in the depths of the dwarven fortress would have the same outcome with or without weapons in their hands. The prisoners’ faces were sullen, their eyes sunk deep inside their sockets. Shuffling along in neat rows, they scraped the stone of the winding stairwell with their bast shoes. Some left behind sticky, red footprints; any trace of this suffering leaking through woven strips of wood was quickly smeared into nothing by the following tide of similarly tortured legs. Between every single man and woman in this cruel procession, there was not a single murmur. And yet, the echoes of laughter and conversation carried themselves all across this vertical tunnel. Through the entrance to this spiral of stone into the abyss, another group sauntered in to descend - these men shone with cleanliness, especially when placed next to the browns and greys of the countless layers of filth sticking to the unwashed clothes and bodies of the prisoners. Waltzing in the air, embers flaked off the many torches held in the bony fingers of the prisoners. The faint, orange aura of light each emitted could not reach far before suffocating in the still black abyss and its accompanying fog of dust. The guards following the tortured crowd carried much brighter and much safer lanterns - the hard soles of their leather jackboots stomped down with certainty, adding to the cacophony of their small talk with resounding, satisfying crunches. Then, the creak of leather being stretched tight over skin. The prisoners’ ears had long learned to pick up this sharp sound. Almost lost amidst footsteps and chatter, the noise forced their bodies to recoil not unlike under the crack of a whip. There was no need for any to turn their heads or shift their eyes to see the source - it was permanently engraved in their retinas, forcefully thrust into view by their minds. Flay followed the small platoon of guards into the stairwell entrance. He had a real name, of course - this was little more than a moniker adopted by the convicts, a name to call him in their suppressed whispers. Unfortunately, there was no hidden meaning behind this name. Having finished adjusting one of his two gloves, he reached his hand for the other. His face was set with grim satisfaction; tormenting the prisoners with little more than a simple reminder he was present seemed quite amusing to him. Hooking the edge of black leather with his thumb, his fingers gripped the glove in a vice. Flay pulled. Joakim blinked, his eyes stinging from sweat. It dripped from his forehead, cold, in spite of the underground chill penetrating his bones. Strangling the chalk-stained handle of the pickaxe, his skin stretched taut over his knuckles. In large, steady gulps, he adjusted his breath. Sticking to the inside of his moist mouth and throat, the dust forced a few coughs. ”I must have forgotten to ask,” he said, turning to face the woman, “did you remember to check the bodies for any signs of life?” “Have some trust, Joakim.”
Advertisement
Advertisement
Nameless: Ascent
Everybody has a Name. Names are a path to power, a gift from a god. When a child receives their Name, they learn the path their life will take, and they can see the strictly defined system that lets them rise beyond human limitations. When Maiz receives his Name, he has the chance to become something he has only read about in history books--a God Chosen. But his path will force him to serve a dark master, and question what he will do to gain power. Shadar is the Dungeon King, a man who spent years earning the right to lead an army of monsters in their struggle against humanity. He holds immense power, but he is constantly plagued by unrest among his subjects. Two men poised to create new legends with ancient powers. Two men who must learn who they are in a world of Names. (Contains an RPG-based magic system)
8 153Moonsneeze
Josef awakens in a bubbling goo-sac only to learn he has 164 hours to live – at least, that’s the longest record for a goo-drinker reborn at the underfunded Ba’ha Grotto outpost. Forced to flee or be instructed towards his death, Josef must learn to live and survive in the strange and wondrous world known as The Lush Heap. Along the way, he’ll meet a stupendous cast of heroes, quasi-heroes, and nomadic woebegones, each angling to discern the secrets of The Gentle Void. He’ll uncover magical sects and pathways, kingdoms visible and invisible, and the strange powers brought by the conjoined worlds. For fans of fantasy with a light touch the bizarre and a good helping of world-building.
8 134P.A.R.A.D.O.X. PROJECT: Aeon Genesis
The first project focusing on four protagonists within the same world set around fictional 14th-century Europe.This is the first P.A.R.A.D.O.X. PROJECT focusing on 3 (+1) protagonists within the same world set around fictional 14th-century-esque Europe. Each story has its own protagonists (Male or Female Lead), genres (mainly Western Fantasy), and can be read as a standalone. Status: OngoingUpdate(s) per week: 1Words per chapter: 3000 - 6000 *** ‘A human or not; a king or a servant; hope or despair; a hero or a villain.’ Depending on one's perspective and how each story portrays, one will view an individual or a group as evil or virtuous. Because of that, it depends on the reader and listener to believe which one is the truth. More people read and trust multiple (trusted?) sources that either complement or contradict one another. The contradiction becomes the source of debates between those who believe and those who don’t. From that difference in belief, two groups appear: The Majority and The Minority. The majority, having more people, suppress the minorities’ beliefs, claiming theirs, the majorities’, to be the truth. However, the majority are not only composed solely of those who share the same belief but also those who know the truth but afraid to admit it. They have to keep quiet and turn a blind eye for their safety. The majority had to submit to those with power and authority. With the majority under control, those with power and authority can create, manipulate, and/or fabricate truth and lies by force. The reason was for one’s or group’s personal benefits. In the end, there is no such thing as ‘absolute truth’; only sugar-coated lies created by the top. Don’t believe me? It is up to you to decide. Go and read it yourself.
8 104Hero
Kuren is just your average boy. He's just been asleep for one thousand years. Heroes and grand epics. Kuren doesn't have the time to think about things like that, nor does he really care. Join Kuren as he wanders the fantasy land of Alurca in search of his lost memories and the reasons behind his lengthy slumber. This is sort of a reboot of Anomaly, the first novel I tried to write. I gave up Anomaly after going to college. I thought about going back to it, but... when I look at it now, it's not very good. It was very edgy and not much substance behind that edge. The story wasn't quite going anywhere since I hadn't given the main character a goal. I had planned out a story, but I forgot to to plan out the details between the beginning and end. So this one's for real. Hopefully you won't be disappointed.
8 144Hannah Forteza and her Forte Persona
Everyone has an alter ego, but none as terrible as on her. Do you know who is Hannah Forteza? She has a forte persona.
8 166Tales Of Zephyr
Coffee, conversations and adventures in a fantasy world of sky islands and mystical spirits. Come and join a sailor, a summoner, and a eloquere as their friendship blooms in an adventours feel-good story that is bound to go places as more chapters are added.Get comfortable, maybe something warm to drink, and discover the fantastical world of Zephyr.
8 87