Chapter 10: Early Mornings and New Horizons

[Eleven Months after Seofon defeated the Poachers in the Cursed Lands]

The city of Chador is one of the few cities in the continent large enough to warrant a spaceport for travel off-world. The entire city was surrounded but massive stone walls thirty feet deep and sixty feet tall.

Etched into the huge walls are Anti-magic Wards designed to draw out and repel mana in Enith’s mana rich atmosphere.

This prevented the mana to interfere with the Spacecrafts’ electronics and opens up a well free of mana to allow travel into Enith’s orbit.

The reason for all of this is that Magic and Technology don’t play nice but even in an Arcane World like Enith there is need for Space travel.

The Anti-Magic wards also had the auxiliary benefit of restricting Magic usage within the city of Chador’s boundaries. The less mana there is in the atmosphere the less mages and other magic-users have to draw on for their spells.

The City of Chador is divided into eight districts: the four inner districts are home to the nobles and aristocrats of Enith’s society, while the outer four districts are for the common rabble and the artisans. Markets dot the huge city in every district but while the four inner districts house the famous and renowned craftsmen and businesses; the outer districts markets are ever evolving mazes of shoddy stalls and random corridors.

In the outer western district, the market there was fondly nicknamed “Folly’s Web”. A fancy name with a dark meaning. This place was home to the shadiest and most desperate of Chador’s denizens, and if you weren’t careful, you could be caught and tangled in its web of debt and devoured by the crime bosses that call the market home.

There was another name for the outer western district’s market: “Folly’s last resort.”

The early morning sunrise broke over the horizon to an unusual spectacle for Folly’s Web.

The normally drab and downtrodden market was abuzz with activity. The cold moist air was practically vibrating with excitement.

The reason? The adventurer’s Guild had announced a Dungeon has been discovered just inside the Cursed Land’s eastern border!

In a masterful feat of intimidation and coercion one of the crime bosses of Folly’s Web, a Vampire known as Boss Morgan, has gotten enough support to get a jump on the rest of the competition and arranged a push into the tiny town that had settled next to the dungeon. It would be the perfect foothold on establishing a monopoly on the Dungeon and its resources.

On the outskirts of Folly’s Web sat a line of horse-drawn carts fifty-four strong, most were laden with supplies while the few left over would transport personnel.

The workers had dark circles under their eyes and some even shook from exhaustion. However, every single man and woman there had hope in their eyes and a spring in their step. No one needed to work them hard, they were hell-bent on this. Settling a Dungeon was an opportunity of a lifetime!

Along the mud slogged street, just outside one of the main entrances into Folly’s Web Market proper stood a freshly erected stall manned by a reedy looking Dark Elf dressed in a neat black coat and a frilled business suit. Dark Elves are a normally nocturnal race of elves that tend to dwell underground. It’s ash grey skin and red pupils coupled with an Elf’s typically sharp and angular features give their kind an almost sinister continence.

Flanking the neatly dressed Dark Elf and his stall were four massive and imposing guards clad in gleaming plate and chain mail. In front of the stern Dark Elf and his guards were a sizable portion of Folly’s Web’s denizens. Beings of nearly every race and nationality were lined up and laden down with weapons, armor and whatever possessions they could strap to their backs. They were here for the caravan, or rather the chance of joining the caravan.

Anxiety was the word of the day for these Dungeon Delver hopefuls. There were slots on the carts that needed filling and a slot on this caravan was a shiny new lease on life, a fresh start with easily reached tools of potential.

Dungeons were widely considered forges for the growth of adventurers and others crazy enough to risk plunging into its depths.

A tall human man stood before the unimpressed Dark Elf in hastily stitched leather armor and a rusted spear that looked as if it had, until recently, served as a broom handle.

“Put your hand on the Status Plate.” The Dark Elf drawled.

The buff “warrior” gave the Elf a nervous twitch of a grin and with shaking hands placed his sweaty palm on a stone plate engraved with a complex magic circle on its surface.

The magic circle flashed once where words and numbers scrawled themselves onto the blank square of stone facing the Elf.

“Name, Erith Mare. Race, Human. Age, 41. Main Class, Carpenter. Level, 19.” The Elf mumbled off as the words on the plate fizzed out and the young human watched the Elf’s face with a desperate light in his eyes.

The Elf consulted a series of books that surrounded the stone plate with agonizing slowness as the human watched on and trembled. Then the Elf opened a leather bound book and swiftly annotated something on its pages with a quill pen. When he finished the Elf pointed the feathered tool over his shoulder at the caravan.

“Cart 21 mister Mare.” The Elf said in a disinterested monotone drone.

The young man nearly burst into tears.

“T-Thank you sir! Thank you!” He sniffed as he gripped his gear tighter and made off to find his cart before the Elf changed his mind.

“Next!” The Dark Elf shouted. His red eyes roamed over his books for a moment longer before looking up at his next customer. An imposing human much like the one before stood before him, though his armor looked professionally made as did the sword strapped to his hip. A confident smirk was on the man’s boyish face.

Looks like someone with financial backing.

“Put your hand on the status plate.”

The human did so and the Elf read the words that flared up onto the plate before him.

“Name, Coller Doren.” The Elf’s eyes flicked up to the man’s face and narrowed for a split second before turning back to the status plate. “ Race, Human. Age, 32. Main Class, Swordsman. Level, 14.”

Instead of carefully combing through the lagers stacked around him the Dark Elf went straight to an unassuming little black leather book tucked away underneath one of the larger lagers. Seeing the literal “black book” in the Dark Elf’s hand The human’s confident front quickly morphed into wide-eyed dread.

The Dark Elf flipped through the little black book and upon finding whatever he was looking for snapped the book closed and slid it back into its hiding place. When their eyes met the Dark Elf’s bored frown evaporated into an amused grin.

“I regret to inform you Mister Doren that you do not qualify for this expedition.” The Dark Elf wasn’t feeling an ounce of regret at all. “Your outstanding debts to Boss Morgan bar you from leaving the city. Please exit the line and vacate the premises.”

A furious scowl burned over the Human’s trepidation. He opened his mouth but the Elf beat him to the punch.

“Did you really think you could escape your outstanding debts with Boss Morgan that easily Mister Doren? You assumed you could hop a ride out of town from right under our noses and skip town?” The Elf sniffed. The man’s face turned red with fury, but one glance at the Elf’s high-level entourage quickly extinguished any immediate thoughts of violence.

“That’s a good human.” The Dark Elf sneered. “Get out.”

Coller Doren beat a hasty retreat, all the while cursing and nursing his petty rage at his failure.

“Next!” The Elf’s previously nasty and animated grin melted back into his normal dead expression of indifference.

A hunched over old human covered in a threadbare cloak and a pair of young girls stepped up.

Upon seeing the next expedition hopefuls The Dark Elf’s indifference cracked into an annoyed frown.

“Sir, this caravan is going on an expedition to the edges of the Cursed Lands, not a family vacation resort. Move along.”

“And what makes ye think we ain’t aware of that?” The old man chuckled and removed his hood. He was mostly bald with a few wisps of white hair struggling to hold on, though his gray beard was filling in nicely over his wrinkled face.

The Dark Elf was about to say something else when once of his guards interrupted.

“Hey old man, that’s a weird spear ya got there.”

The Dark Elf shot a glare at his guard but noticed the guard glancing back at him unfazed. It seemed like he was trying to hint at something. The Dark Elf pursed his lips and took a closer look at the odd old human and the two girls.

All three of their clothes were ratty and filth clung to their frayed edges. The old human looked worse for wear. He seemed thinner than was healthy and his skin hung loosely off him in some places but he looked coherent and unusually confident for someone of his stature.

The Old man tapped his spear on the ground, drawing the Dark Elf’s attention. The guard was right, it was an odd weapon.

The Spear was completely made of a deathly pale white wood, the razor sharp spearhead was seemed to have been grown from the shaft as one single piece. Leather binding was wrapped around the shaft in some places for added grip and a decorative tassel hung from the tangled roots the spearpoint was grown out of. It was a weapon the Elf had never seen before.

The Dark Elf studied the human for a moment longer before settling back under his mask of indifference and waving at his desk.

“Place your hand on the Status Plate.”

The old man cracked a grin and placed his hand in the center of the magic circle.

Like before the circle flared with blue and white arcane light, unlike Before however the flare of light grew larger and brighter until the Dark Elf was forced to close his eyes and look away.

The light finally died a few agonizing seconds later and the Dark Elf blinked to get rid of the afterimages with a barbed rebuttal on his lips.

Until he looked down at the old man’s status displayed on the stone that is.

“Name, Rufus Hollins. Race, Human. Age, 194. Main Class, Ranger. Secondary Class, Apothecary. Level…”

The Dark Elf’s eyes widened. “Level, 77.”

The four guards surrounding the Dark Elf flinched.

This harmless little old man apparently wasn’t so harmless after all. Level alone suggests Rufus was strong enough to overpower all four of them on his own.

“Still thinking I’m here for a vacation?” Rufus chuckled at the Elf’s stunned expression.

“N-no Mister Hollins.” The Dark Elf pulled his jacket straight and squared his sharp shoulders. “Just a moment sir, I need to check the lagers to make sure you do not have any outstanding debts.”

The Dark Elf swiftly blew through his books and in record time his quill recorded Rufus’s name across the caravan list.

“You are good to go Mister Hollins. Cart 21.” The Dark Elf flashed the old man a respectful smile.

“Oh, just one more thing Mister…?” Rufus asked.

“Ali’han Darim.” The Dark Elf answered.

“Mister Darim.” Rufus gestured to the girls behind him. “These two are my students and I’d like for them ta accompany me.”

Unease clouded the Dark Elf’s professional smile. “T-they would have to still be screened just like everyone else Mister Hollins.”

“Of course.” Rufus gave the taller of the two a gentle push forward. “Go on Honey.”

The girl timidly shuffled up to the desk and hesitantly let her hood down.

Two black, orange and white camouflaged ears sprung up from the girl’s short chopped black hair. Her eyes were vertically slit like most Feline-folk, surrounding her thin pupils was a sea of deep emerald that shone in the early morning light.

Though most of her figure was concealed by her cloak what skin that was exposed was crisscrossed with countless scars that marred her otherwise charming looks.

“Place your hand on the Status Plate please.” The Dark Elf requested respectfully.

The Cat-girl’s face flushed with anxiety as her palm pressed against the plate and the circle flared with a weak light.

The Dark Elf scanned over the girl’s status.

“Name, Arleen Saoirse. Race, Cat-folk. Age, 21. Main Class, none. Level, 8.”

The Dark Elf nervously looked over to Rufus.

“I’m sorry Mister Hollins but the minimum requirement to qualify for the expedition to the Dungeon is Level 10.”

Arleen’s eyes widened in devastation but Rufus chuckled and waved off the Elf’s comments.

“Ya saw my Level Mister Darim, correct?”

“Yes sir I did.” The Dark Elf tried to hide his unease. Rufus’s grin turned predatory, almost like he smelled the Elf’s weakness.

“The only way I will bother with your expedition at all Mister Darim is if my students can come with me. You asked where I got this spear?”

The old man casually spun the simple weapon in one gnarled hand and watched in amusement as five sets of uneasy eyes watched the spear’s wicked point whistle through the air.

“I got it from the Cursed Lands after a battle with The Avatar of Kern.”

Rufus was telling the truth, just omitting the fact that in said battle he got his wrinkled ass casually handed to him on a silver platter.

Before the stunned Dark Elf could get a word in edgewise Rufus crooked a thumb at the nervous cat-girl busy making puppy-eyes at the Dark Elf.

“Both my students were there as well. I suspect as of now the three of us have more experience out in the Cursed Lands than any others in this caravan. Yeah?”

The spear thumped against the dirt and Rufus cracked a grin.

“Levels can be trained, but experience is only for the survivors. Even with low levels my students would be an asset.”

The Dark Elf glanced at the Cat-girl and sighed.

“Very well Mister Hollins, bring your other student over and get her checked out as well.”

“Finally.” The other girl snorted and threw off her hood and exposing her short auburn hair and scruffy wolfen ears. Her face was fuller than her Cat-girl companion and lacking in scars. Her brown eyes only held what Darim would describe as general distaste.

“Move over Arleen.” The Wolf-girl bumped the startled Cat-girl aside and slapped her palm on the plate.

It flared to life and the Dark Elf skimmed over her information.

“Name, Lydia Fenrir. Race, Wolf-folk. Age, 19. Main Class, none. Level 6.”

The Dark elf skimmed over the lagers and annotated their names into the caravan.

“You and your students are cleared Mister Hollins. Cart 21. Good fortunes.” The Dark Elf bowed his head.

“To you too.” Rufus cracked a grin waved as he swept passed the Elf and his entourage with the two girls scampering in his wake.

The Dark Elf and the guards let out a collective sigh of relief. The Elf closed his crimson eyes and massaged his sharp temples before slipped back into his mask of indifference and turned to face the next person in line.

“Next!”

-----------------------

“Whew! That was fuckin’ stressful that was!” Arleen exclaimed. The Cat-girl gathered her baggy clothes around her and pulled her cloak against her body as she fought the shivers that rattled down her body.

She still wasn’t used to the cold, or being outside in general, even after almost a year of living in the wilderness.

The Outside is so much bigger than I thought. She mused as he thoughts turned to the stories her mother had told her when she was a little girl.

Lydia’s condescending snort broke her from her trip down memory lane.

“Rufus already had that guy by the nads anyway. You were getting on this cart regardless.” The Wolf-girl huffed.

“Yeah, but still I was a little scared when he said no.”

“Well, he changed his mind and now it’s all good and you and I are going to that dungeon or whatever to get money and then I can finally get off this rock.” Lydia she growled. “Gods its going to take forever to get the money together. Why does everything in the Castaway Isle cost so damn much?!” She complained.

“Just be glad you get to even get this chance.” Rufus pointed out. “This is the fastest way ta get money and we get to be one of the first ta dip our paws into the honeypot, sorta speak.”

“Whatever.”

Rufus rolled his eyes at the young Wolf-girl’s bitter attitude. Her personality had only soured further since they had met. Her snide and childish attitude irritated him to no end. It left him wondering what kind of life Lydia had led before she was snatched into the Castaway Isle and captured by Poachers.

Arleen on the other hand was an absolute sweetheart without a single bad bone in her petite body. He’s lived long enough to recognize that she has had a rough life. Not counting the countless scars she bore across almost every inch of her body he knew she had been hurt. He knew without a doubt in his mind that she was still suffering from her trauma but she was actively working through it.

Rufus suspects Arleen is possibly the strongest out of the tree of them and his shriveled and cynical heart swelled when she was around and smiling.

Though he would never say it out loud but some days Arleen’s curious innocence in everything she sees and learns is the only thing that keeps him going.

It was like raising a child all over again.

“Come on you two.” Rufus stopped at a half filled cart with the number “21” scrawled on its wooden side panel with his hand out to help them up.

Lydia pushed past him and with some difficulty clambered up the cart herself. She took a seat across from the nervous human in the cheap leather armor. She still doesn’t like humans, even though she lived with one.

Arleen flashed Rufus a bright and grateful smile and took his hand. He smirked back and helped her onto the cart before jumping into the seat next to her and the anxious man.

“Y-you three together?” The anxious man asked.

Arleen was right next to him and jumped a little at his sudden question. She studied his face for a moment. Lydia had a scowl on her face and was no doubt about to say something rude when Arleen beat her to the punch.

“Yup!” the cat-girl exclaimed with a smile. Her calico camouflaged tail wiggled from behind her cloak and happily snaked around Rufus’s arm.

The man looked at them with surprise written on his face.

“What of it?” Rufus asked. He was glaring at the man and daring him to say anything ugly.

The man instead shrugged and nervously chuckled.

“You have an interesting family here sir. I hope I can bring my own to the dungeon town soon.”

Rufus quirked a brow and Arleen caught a glimpse at Lydia’s aghast expression and giggled.