Dungeon Titles <- Mirror
Little boy, little boy, where have you been? Up the alleyways and back...
Little boy, little boy, where have you been? Up the alleyways and back...
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Chapter 1
Dungeon Titles <- Mirror
Little boy, little boy, where have you been? Up the alleyways and back again.
Little boy, little boy, where will you go? To the dungeon and fight I know.
Little boy, little boy, what will you get? A pile of riches and fame I bet.
It was a stupid little rhyme sung by stupid little kids running up and down the street with a stick and ball made of rags typically. One of the many stupid little games played by the street urchins. Poor boys and girls with little money in their families and more energy than sense. The poor sector of the city was thick with them.
Samael was one of them most of the time. The lines of friends and enemies shifted and changed every now and again depending on whims of children.
Today he was the 'boss monster' and brawling instead. Fists swung clumsily through the air, and kicked flew wildly, and more than a few kids bit and scratched. It was a violent mess that had black eyes, lost teeth, and bite marks around all the kids until a weary adult saw the mess and broke it up.
Boss monster wasn't a fun game for Samael. It involved one person being chased and the rest trying to fight him. In gentler places it was probably pretty fun. On the streets it sometimes involved sticks and broken bones. This was one of the better times. By the time the day ended, Samael just had mostly bruises and had lost a baby tooth.
He still lingered as the sun set though. It might have been fighting and painful, but it was better than what waited at his home. Eventually though, the last of the other children left, and he was alone. The sun was just starting to slip beneath the horizon.
Tiredly the boy moved to where he was staying. An old and fraying church down the street near the center of the ghetto. Quietly he slipped into the back of the church and through the unlocked door.
The roof had seen better days. The pews were old and creaking. The priest that attended the place was old, tired, and hunched over. He smiled when Samael entered, but the smile was just as tired as he looked.
"Fighting again Samael?" He stated more than asked.
The boy shuffled around nervously and scuffed his foot against the floor in reply. His bruises and the new gaping area in his mouth made it fairly obvious.
"Wash up in the back and go to bed." The priest sighed out and gestured the boy away with a trembling hand. "I've spoken with you again, and again about it. I'll speak no more."
The boy winced with a bit of guilt, but scampered off to his room, what amounted to small closet in the back of the church. There he diligently washed up as requested, and grabbed the small meal. Then moved over to his books.
The books were Samael's prize possessions. 'Guide to Adventuring', a small book without a cover and filled with dense text. 'Flora and Fauna of Dungeons', a massive and thick book worn and covered. 'Magical Basics', a book with diagrams and pictures. 'In Heaven', a religious book covering the Angelic faith. 'To Think', a book on philosophy that Samael could barely read.
Today he was going to try to read the adventuring book again. It was hard, but he could if he sounded out the words.
The boy grabbed the thing and found his rune light. A little stone with markings atop it. He affixed it to it's usual place and reclined on his ratty old bed.
"Adventurers are the backbone of our so-ci-ety." The boy began. "Without them, we would not have the magical me-cha-nis-ms."
Grumbling to himself, the boy flipped past the boring history part. Then smiled. This part he had practically memorized.
"An adventurer becomes an adventurer when they find and use a Spark. These sparks can be found in dungeons. When used, a Spark changes a normal person. They become faster and stronger. They can use magic. They learn skills. Most importantly they never stop growing.
The first adventurer learned how to swing a sword, and at his peak was able to cut through a castle wall in an instant. The first mage learned the secrets of the world and could incinerate armies.
To be an adventurer is to be something more than human. This makes a Spark one of the most valuable things in the world."
Samael grinned and kicked his feet as he read it. The knock at his door frame made him frown though.
"You're reading it again." The old priest stated quietly.
"I've read the other ones too." Samael replied with a pout.
The priest groaned as he settled down on the stool that Samael had tucked into his room next to a tiny desk. "Those books are older than I am. I'm glad you're studying them though. Being an adventurer is hard and dangerous work."
"You want me to be a Priest though." Samael stated quietly.
"Those that heal are always in high demand." The man continued with his quiet tone and picked up 'In Heaven.' "It is marginally safer if you have good allies, and you never want for allies."
"It's boring. Mage is better if you want magic. Summoner can call forth demons. Heck, Medic is a better healer. Priest just does holy things." Samael argued back.
"Holy is on the way out I suppose." The priest chuckled bitterly. "I won't even blame them. Heaven is so distant for some people. The miracles of the holy ones are sometimes not enough. But that's not why I'm here."
Samael pouted. "You're talking about fighting again."
"Your little book doesn't say how titles come about." The priest responded reasonably and creaked as he leaned forward on the stool. "Titles like Priest and even Swordsman come from what you are and what you do they're hard to change once you settle in."
"I know that." Samael stated mulishly and crossed his arms over his body.
"You know it, but you don't understand it." The man's voice finally rose up as a bit of his frustration leaked through. "Right now, if you keep fighting, you'll become a Brawler. Your parents wouldn't want their last gift to become that."
"What's wrong with brawler?" Samael grumbled.
"Brawler is an undisciplined, reckless, and wild fighter that fights with whatever they want. It's also useless as a title for an adventurer." The priest snapped back.
"Nah uh!" Samael countered with a head shake. "They're strong in group fights!"
"No, you're not getting it." The priest sighed. "No one wants brawlers. It's a dead end."
Samael turned away with a frown. "I wanna be a Wizard anyway."
That got a wince from the older man and he pulled back. He wanted to encourage that, he really did. They both knew the truth though. Wizard was the title for those that studied magic. It was one of the highest titles that one could get as a magic user, especially as an beginning title. Unfortunately it cost a hellish amount of money to get a good enough education.
It wasn't a total barrier. It was fully possible to start small and move up with other titles, but that required dedication and focus. Which a child didn't have.
"I sometimes wish your parents could have waited before giving you that Spark." The old man sighed out wearily.
Samael sniffled a bit. "Not their fault. Stupid fire."
"Yes. Stupid fire." The man agreed bitterly and watched the child cry into the ratty sheets.
The most horrid thing about the entire thing was that it had been a stupid fire. Their parents had been so proud to finally save up enough for the Spark. Then the accident had happened in their apartment building and the entire place had started to go up in flames.
Children weren't meant to have the power a Spark gave. They lacked the needed focus and drive. It had been the only thing that saved Samael from that fiery death trap. The cost? That was still up in the air.
----
Omake:Bonnie Viewpoint
Little boy, little boy, where have you been? Up the alleyways and back again.
Little boy, little boy, where will you go? To the dungeon and fight I know.
Little boy, little boy, what will you get? A pile of riches and fame I bet.
It was a stupid little rhyme sung by stupid little kids running up and down the street with a stick and ball made of rags typically. One of the many stupid little games played by the street urchins. Poor boys and girls with little money in their families and more energy than sense. The poor sector of the city was thick with them.
Samael was one of them most of the time. The lines of friends and enemies shifted and changed every now and again depending on whims of children.
Today he was the 'boss monster' and brawling instead. Fists swung clumsily through the air, and kicked flew wildly, and more than a few kids bit and scratched. It was a violent mess that had black eyes, lost teeth, and bite marks around all the kids until a weary adult saw the mess and broke it up.
Boss monster wasn't a fun game for Samael. It involved one person being chased and the rest trying to fight him. In gentler places it was probably pretty fun. On the streets it sometimes involved sticks and broken bones. This was one of the better times. By the time the day ended, Samael just had mostly bruises and had lost a baby tooth.
He still lingered as the sun set though. It might have been fighting and painful, but it was better than what waited at his home. Eventually though, the last of the other children left, and he was alone. The sun was just starting to slip beneath the horizon.
Tiredly the boy moved to where he was staying. An old and fraying church down the street near the center of the ghetto. Quietly he slipped into the back of the church and through the unlocked door.
The roof had seen better days. The pews were old and creaking. The priest that attended the place was old, tired, and hunched over. He smiled when Samael entered, but the smile was just as tired as he looked.
"Fighting again Samael?" He stated more than asked.
The boy shuffled around nervously and scuffed his foot against the floor in reply. His bruises and the new gaping area in his mouth made it fairly obvious.
"Wash up in the back and go to bed." The priest sighed out and gestured the boy away with a trembling hand. "I've spoken with you again, and again about it. I'll speak no more."
The boy winced with a bit of guilt, but scampered off to his room, what amounted to small closet in the back of the church. There he diligently washed up as requested, and grabbed the small meal. Then moved over to his books.
The books were Samael's prize possessions. 'Guide to Adventuring', a small book without a cover and filled with dense text. 'Flora and Fauna of Dungeons', a massive and thick book worn and covered. 'Magical Basics', a book with diagrams and pictures. 'In Heaven', a religious book covering the Angelic faith. 'To Think', a book on philosophy that Samael could barely read.
Today he was going to try to read the adventuring book again. It was hard, but he could if he sounded out the words.
The boy grabbed the thing and found his rune light. A little stone with markings atop it. He affixed it to it's usual place and reclined on his ratty old bed.
"Adventurers are the backbone of our so-ci-ety." The boy began. "Without them, we would not have the magical me-cha-nis-ms."
Grumbling to himself, the boy flipped past the boring history part. Then smiled. This part he had practically memorized.
"An adventurer becomes an adventurer when they find and use a Spark. These sparks can be found in dungeons. When used, a Spark changes a normal person. They become faster and stronger. They can use magic. They learn skills. Most importantly they never stop growing.
The first adventurer learned how to swing a sword, and at his peak was able to cut through a castle wall in an instant. The first mage learned the secrets of the world and could incinerate armies.
To be an adventurer is to be something more than human. This makes a Spark one of the most valuable things in the world."
Samael grinned and kicked his feet as he read it. The knock at his door frame made him frown though.
"You're reading it again." The old priest stated quietly.
"I've read the other ones too." Samael replied with a pout.
The priest groaned as he settled down on the stool that Samael had tucked into his room next to a tiny desk. "Those books are older than I am. I'm glad you're studying them though. Being an adventurer is hard and dangerous work."
"You want me to be a Priest though." Samael stated quietly.
"Those that heal are always in high demand." The man continued with his quiet tone and picked up 'In Heaven.' "It is marginally safer if you have good allies, and you never want for allies."
"It's boring. Mage is better if you want magic. Summoner can call forth demons. Heck, Medic is a better healer. Priest just does holy things." Samael argued back.
"Holy is on the way out I suppose." The priest chuckled bitterly. "I won't even blame them. Heaven is so distant for some people. The miracles of the holy ones are sometimes not enough. But that's not why I'm here."
Samael pouted. "You're talking about fighting again."
"Your little book doesn't say how titles come about." The priest responded reasonably and creaked as he leaned forward on the stool. "Titles like Priest and even Swordsman come from what you are and what you do they're hard to change once you settle in."
"I know that." Samael stated mulishly and crossed his arms over his body.
"You know it, but you don't understand it." The man's voice finally rose up as a bit of his frustration leaked through. "Right now, if you keep fighting, you'll become a Brawler. Your parents wouldn't want their last gift to become that."
"What's wrong with brawler?" Samael grumbled.
"Brawler is an undisciplined, reckless, and wild fighter that fights with whatever they want. It's also useless as a title for an adventurer." The priest snapped back.
"Nah uh!" Samael countered with a head shake. "They're strong in group fights!"
"No, you're not getting it." The priest sighed. "No one wants brawlers. It's a dead end."
Samael turned away with a frown. "I wanna be a Wizard anyway."
That got a wince from the older man and he pulled back. He wanted to encourage that, he really did. They both knew the truth though. Wizard was the title for those that studied magic. It was one of the highest titles that one could get as a magic user, especially as an beginning title. Unfortunately it cost a hellish amount of money to get a good enough education.
It wasn't a total barrier. It was fully possible to start small and move up with other titles, but that required dedication and focus. Which a child didn't have.
"I sometimes wish your parents could have waited before giving you that Spark." The old man sighed out wearily.
Samael sniffled a bit. "Not their fault. Stupid fire."
"Yes. Stupid fire." The man agreed bitterly and watched the child cry into the ratty sheets.
The most horrid thing about the entire thing was that it had been a stupid fire. Their parents had been so proud to finally save up enough for the Spark. Then the accident had happened in their apartment building and the entire place had started to go up in flames.
Children weren't meant to have the power a Spark gave. They lacked the needed focus and drive. It had been the only thing that saved Samael from that fiery death trap. The cost? That was still up in the air.
----
Omake:Bonnie Viewpoint
Last edited:
Chapter 2
Time passed. The boy turned into a teen. Trouble started to rear it's ugly head in places that were almost expected.
"Hey, hey. You've gotten sparked right?" The man was ratty and sickly. It made Samael sniff disdainfully and back away. Which didn't seem to phase the man.
There were few reasons to be dirty in the city really. Despite the poor conditions, cleaning supplies were fairly easy to find. Especially if one took the time to buy one of the cheaper cleaning runes. Samael might have disagreed with his guardian in quite a few things, but being clean wasn't one of them.
"Yeah…?" Samael finally answered when the man didn't seem dissuaded.
"Got information for people like you!" The ratty man smiled unpleasantly, revealing several missing teeth.
"Not interested." Samael immediately began to walk away.
"Aw come on! Got loads of marks. The thieves guild is always looking for more, and you're golden for it." The man chuckled greasily as he scrambled to keep up.
"Sure if you wanna be hung up by your entrails." Samael grunted. "Plus not interested in being titled a thief. Or even a Rogue."
"Hey, Rogue is an honorable title!" The man protested, seemingly genuinely offended.
Samael sighed and looked at the ratty man and gestured down to himself. "Do I look like I'd be a good Rogue?"
People who had taken a spark were humans improved. This included in appearance. Samael was already turning handsome, even with the fights he got into. Shaggy black hair that still shined no matter what he did with it, rugged chin, and muscles. He was crossed between a boy and a man, yet he still looked spectacular.
"Hmm. I'd say yes?" The ratty man took a step back to evaluate the teen. "You're already turning into a heartbreaker kid."
That got a snort in return, and Samael honestly thought of it a moment. He tried to imagine himself sneaking around and trying to decipher traps. Or stealing from dungeons. The image didn't click really. Running over rooftops sounded like the only thing that was fun. Then the boy smacked himself mentally.
"Sorry, not interested." Samael finally stated with something resembling regret. Even if the man was on the up and up, this was a losing proposition.
"Fair enough kid." The ratty man shrugged and started to move away.
Samael considered it a good decision on his part. Newbies in guilds were usually the first to be smacked around. The thieves guild around here was particularly scummy by all rumors. Joining up even as an Adventurer would be a losing proposition for him. At best he'd be on crap duties. At worse, he'd be coerced into someone's bed in exchange for 'favors.'
Rumor had it there were better guilds out there, like an actual decent rogues guild that did mentoring, but here everything here was held by the local duke. He was as rotten as they came, and that rottenness trickled down to everyone.
He probably should have remembered the the guild also didn't take well to rejection.
The first sign of a problem was on his way to a local pub. Two men came up beside him, and Samael had a moment to be worried before the club slammed into his stomach.
Winded, the teen bent over. Panic and knowing what would happen next had him go limp and drop as the next strike hit from above.
Thug. Capitalized. A title signifying brute force and low intelligence. It was an ignoble title. They had few skills, required little ambition, and less training. About the only thing they were good for was damage and taking damage. They were the one of the most common titled people. That was what these two likely were just based on their sheer presence.
Samael couldn't take them. He instead flattened himself on the ground for a brief moment. Both men attacking him raised their clubs to continue the attack, and he grabbed at the cobblestone road and pulled while kicking off with his legs.
A normal person wouldn't have moved much. Samael lurched forward enough that the clubs hit his legs. The pain was agonizing, but nothing was broken, and more importantly he no longer surrounded.
"Fucking kid!" One of the Thugs grit out.
Samael didn't waste his breath in reply. He just sprang to his feet and began to run down the alleyway. More thugs were in his way. These ones weren't titled, but there were a good six of them.
Cursing, Samael ran into them anyway. The first aimed at his head. He ducked under the strike and rammed his shoulder into the man's midsection. He rocketed through the crowd, and gave the teen a brief opening.
They closed in on him as he tried to push through. Most of them hefted clubs and planks. This close the long weapons worked against them though.
Samael punch kicked and elbowed his way through. People screamed and cursed. He was certain her broke an elbow and a rib. Maybe more. It was hard to tell as he had to keep moving. A plank broke against his head and he saw stars.
Then a flash of intuition had twist to avoid a knife jabbing at his stomach. Instinctually the teen grabbed the hand as it missed and twisted. The knife dropped to the ground, and then suddenly Samael was free.
He saw why after a moment. Two men were down, and the Thugs had managed to get close enough.
They were far different than the riff-raf. They moved in concert. One going high, the other going low. Samael was forced to block with a shin and a forearm. The hits hurt horribly, and then the two had him surrounded again.
Without surprise they had a harder time. Samael bent over practically backward to avoid the next swing, and then bent his knees as the man's partner tried to take out his knees.
Two more whiffs and a block, and they had settled into something like a rhythm.
"Danger Sense." One of them grunted at that point.
The other Thug gave an acknowledging grunt, and then Samael's instincts screamed as something went flying through the air from that angle. He immediately tried to move away from it, but that ran him right into another club strike.
Bits of sharp metal fell across his back and down his shirt as Samael slumped to the ground with his head ringing.
"Just so ya know. Nothing personal." The Thug stated grimly as he slammed the next strike into Samael's back.
Something cracked in the teen's body, and another strike came. Then another, and another. Until Samael was sure he was dying.
"All right! No more!" The teen couldn't tell you who spoke at that point. Someone bent down to him and brushed at his face. "He'll live."
Samael coughed out a bloody laugh. Really? He didn't feel like it.
"Brawlers get Danger Sense quick. It takes practice." The whisper in his ear made Samael cringe. "Take something like bits of sharp metal, throw it at the wiseguy, and well, ya see what it does. Just so ya know."
Stupid titles. Stupid city. Samael felt tears coming as he lay there on the ground and bled.
He got home eventually. The priest fussed over him. He got a bit of healing. He got a bit of care. The wounds healed physically. The mental wounds though? The lingered and piled up.
"Hey, hey. You've gotten sparked right?" The man was ratty and sickly. It made Samael sniff disdainfully and back away. Which didn't seem to phase the man.
There were few reasons to be dirty in the city really. Despite the poor conditions, cleaning supplies were fairly easy to find. Especially if one took the time to buy one of the cheaper cleaning runes. Samael might have disagreed with his guardian in quite a few things, but being clean wasn't one of them.
"Yeah…?" Samael finally answered when the man didn't seem dissuaded.
"Got information for people like you!" The ratty man smiled unpleasantly, revealing several missing teeth.
"Not interested." Samael immediately began to walk away.
"Aw come on! Got loads of marks. The thieves guild is always looking for more, and you're golden for it." The man chuckled greasily as he scrambled to keep up.
"Sure if you wanna be hung up by your entrails." Samael grunted. "Plus not interested in being titled a thief. Or even a Rogue."
"Hey, Rogue is an honorable title!" The man protested, seemingly genuinely offended.
Samael sighed and looked at the ratty man and gestured down to himself. "Do I look like I'd be a good Rogue?"
People who had taken a spark were humans improved. This included in appearance. Samael was already turning handsome, even with the fights he got into. Shaggy black hair that still shined no matter what he did with it, rugged chin, and muscles. He was crossed between a boy and a man, yet he still looked spectacular.
"Hmm. I'd say yes?" The ratty man took a step back to evaluate the teen. "You're already turning into a heartbreaker kid."
That got a snort in return, and Samael honestly thought of it a moment. He tried to imagine himself sneaking around and trying to decipher traps. Or stealing from dungeons. The image didn't click really. Running over rooftops sounded like the only thing that was fun. Then the boy smacked himself mentally.
"Sorry, not interested." Samael finally stated with something resembling regret. Even if the man was on the up and up, this was a losing proposition.
"Fair enough kid." The ratty man shrugged and started to move away.
Samael considered it a good decision on his part. Newbies in guilds were usually the first to be smacked around. The thieves guild around here was particularly scummy by all rumors. Joining up even as an Adventurer would be a losing proposition for him. At best he'd be on crap duties. At worse, he'd be coerced into someone's bed in exchange for 'favors.'
Rumor had it there were better guilds out there, like an actual decent rogues guild that did mentoring, but here everything here was held by the local duke. He was as rotten as they came, and that rottenness trickled down to everyone.
He probably should have remembered the the guild also didn't take well to rejection.
The first sign of a problem was on his way to a local pub. Two men came up beside him, and Samael had a moment to be worried before the club slammed into his stomach.
Winded, the teen bent over. Panic and knowing what would happen next had him go limp and drop as the next strike hit from above.
Thug. Capitalized. A title signifying brute force and low intelligence. It was an ignoble title. They had few skills, required little ambition, and less training. About the only thing they were good for was damage and taking damage. They were the one of the most common titled people. That was what these two likely were just based on their sheer presence.
Samael couldn't take them. He instead flattened himself on the ground for a brief moment. Both men attacking him raised their clubs to continue the attack, and he grabbed at the cobblestone road and pulled while kicking off with his legs.
A normal person wouldn't have moved much. Samael lurched forward enough that the clubs hit his legs. The pain was agonizing, but nothing was broken, and more importantly he no longer surrounded.
"Fucking kid!" One of the Thugs grit out.
Samael didn't waste his breath in reply. He just sprang to his feet and began to run down the alleyway. More thugs were in his way. These ones weren't titled, but there were a good six of them.
Cursing, Samael ran into them anyway. The first aimed at his head. He ducked under the strike and rammed his shoulder into the man's midsection. He rocketed through the crowd, and gave the teen a brief opening.
They closed in on him as he tried to push through. Most of them hefted clubs and planks. This close the long weapons worked against them though.
Samael punch kicked and elbowed his way through. People screamed and cursed. He was certain her broke an elbow and a rib. Maybe more. It was hard to tell as he had to keep moving. A plank broke against his head and he saw stars.
Then a flash of intuition had twist to avoid a knife jabbing at his stomach. Instinctually the teen grabbed the hand as it missed and twisted. The knife dropped to the ground, and then suddenly Samael was free.
He saw why after a moment. Two men were down, and the Thugs had managed to get close enough.
They were far different than the riff-raf. They moved in concert. One going high, the other going low. Samael was forced to block with a shin and a forearm. The hits hurt horribly, and then the two had him surrounded again.
Without surprise they had a harder time. Samael bent over practically backward to avoid the next swing, and then bent his knees as the man's partner tried to take out his knees.
Two more whiffs and a block, and they had settled into something like a rhythm.
"Danger Sense." One of them grunted at that point.
The other Thug gave an acknowledging grunt, and then Samael's instincts screamed as something went flying through the air from that angle. He immediately tried to move away from it, but that ran him right into another club strike.
Bits of sharp metal fell across his back and down his shirt as Samael slumped to the ground with his head ringing.
"Just so ya know. Nothing personal." The Thug stated grimly as he slammed the next strike into Samael's back.
Something cracked in the teen's body, and another strike came. Then another, and another. Until Samael was sure he was dying.
"All right! No more!" The teen couldn't tell you who spoke at that point. Someone bent down to him and brushed at his face. "He'll live."
Samael coughed out a bloody laugh. Really? He didn't feel like it.
"Brawlers get Danger Sense quick. It takes practice." The whisper in his ear made Samael cringe. "Take something like bits of sharp metal, throw it at the wiseguy, and well, ya see what it does. Just so ya know."
Stupid titles. Stupid city. Samael felt tears coming as he lay there on the ground and bled.
He got home eventually. The priest fussed over him. He got a bit of healing. He got a bit of care. The wounds healed physically. The mental wounds though? The lingered and piled up.
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
Who knows, he might develop into a Monk.
I have no idea what to expect, but I'm really liking this so far!
Chapter 3
Sometimes, all one could grasp was rage. The world was unfair. Samael had found that out through harsh lessons. As he grew up, the rage came to fill his life. To his credit he understood this somewhat. His method of dealing with it left much to be desired.
Being poor didn't mean people didn't have fun really. It just meant that their versions of fun by necessity didn't cost much.
In this case, if you had a few coin, you could drink at a pub. The alcohol was cheap swill, but it was bitterly potent nevertheless. Samael had rapidly developed a taste for it. It dulled the rage some. That is until the bar fights started.
Samael laughed as the mug flew through the air above his head as he ducked. Another fist came his way and he took it on his chin to no effect. His hand lashed out and grabbed at the man's shirt gently in reply. Then savagely pulled him forward and threw him.
A chair was lifted and thrown at the teen. He grunted as it hit, but ignored it and waded forward through the flailing limbs. A few strikes flew out, and people started to groan from the hits and back away.
"Barley any contest." The teen grunted as he stepped over a knocked out man.
It really wasn't. He hadn't even bothered to dodge the normal people's attacks. It hurt sure, but his Iron Skin skill was enough that most of it bounced off.
"Whoops! Knife!" Samael immediately lashed out with a quick hand as someone tried to stab him. "Poor form!" He scolded almost happily as he broke the grip and twisted the hand of the man in question.
This was the power of the Brawler. In groups fights like this, they excelled. Samael was a practical god at the moment compared to the people he was fighting, and he milked the high for all it could get.
"Police!" A shout from the door made Samael blink.
"What in Heaven's downward gaze are the coppers doing here?!" The teen half asked, half shouted.
"Fucking Brawler!" The bar owner called out from his place hiding under the bar.
"Not my fault!" Samael shot back. "There's a reason you have the cheap chairs!" He grinned with unrepentant glee. It was true, though the owned didn't like it judging by the continued cursing.
"Everyone out, or we'll come in!" Another shout had Samael groan and move out, gingerly avoiding the people unconscious.
Outside there were more than a few men in leather jerkins and holding clubs. Each of them had on a police cap, and most of them looked grim. Samael sighed as he saw them and raised his hands. Not that it would do either of them much good.
"Don't want any trouble." The teen stated solemnly.
One of the police officers stepped forward, and Samael felt himself tense uncomfortably. He had a presence that indicated a title. Not a weak one either. It was hard to tell, but he could typically get an idea of their general power and experience just by looking thanks to Danger Sense.
"Samael the Brawler." The officer drawled out and hefted his club. There was a simple wooden shield on his back that he pulled out as well. Far more than the other officers usually had. "I am Harold, the Guard."
Huh. So that was what announcing sounded like. Samael mused with part of his mind. The rest of it was scrambling. This was shaping up to be bad.
It wasn't that Guard was a strong title. As far as titles went, it was either an ignoble one, or transitory one based on who you asked. It was considered a useful title though. Guards 'guarded' as their title implied, and they were very good at it. They weren't a slouch in combat either.
"Listen, I can just go ahead and head out." Samael stated quietly. "I didn't start the fight."
"This is more a lesson for you." Harold stated quietly. "Your guardian asked me to come down and show you why Brawler is a bad path."
That got a snort from the teen. "It's better than me getting shanked."
"I will show you why that's not even true." Harold began to move forward, leading with the shield.
Snorting, Samael glanced around for a moment, trying to decide if he was going to be able to flee. Then he realized that the guard would just come by to where he lived.
"Damn it all." Samael cursed and lauched himself at the other man.
"Brawler means no discipline." The guard intercepted the teen with his shield as he spoke.
Samael's fists impacted the wood of it, doing little more than denting it. The man's club lashed out and Samael grunted as he took the hit and continued to try to crowd him.
"Brawler means no focus." The man kept the shield between them almost casually. Each time Samael lashed out, the club licked out in reply, hammering the same spot he had first hit.
"Heavens damn you." The teen grunted and backed away as the pain started to register. He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.
"Probably most importantly. You lack range and power." The guard kept the shield in front of him as he explained dispassionately.
"You just need to make up for it with speed." Samael grinned cheekily and knelt down to leap forward as quick as possible.
It was a good speed. The Guard actually had to deflect the next strike instead of taking it head on. His simple wooden shield splintered slightly under the strike and for a moment Samael was inside his reach. The weapons were a hinderance this close rather than a benefit.
Benefit of his momentum though, Samael's two strikes to the man's body just bruised rather than gave a telling blow. The Guard's replying strike was hard and far stronger than it would have been from a normal person.
Samael was driven to the ground. It gave flashbacks to the last time it had happened, and the rage came up. The Guard said something, but the teen couldn't hear it through the beating of his heart.
Instead he got back to his feet and lunged.
Hours later he was in a cell, bruised and battered. Both his eyes had been blackened.
"Think Samael. Think. It's not too late to change yourself. The longer you stay with a title the more it shapes you to it's liking." Harold had left him there with that advice.
So Samael thought in that dark and damp cell. It was a small cell. Too small to pace. Too small to do anything but rest on the pile of the straw. There wasn't anything to do but think.
For a full day he had nothing but anger and rage at his guardian. Sending Harold after him was a cruel move. But without anything to do but think, he soon let go of it.
Samael had to admit he'd been getting a bit wild. At least to himself. Perhaps he could try out the whole priest thing. It'd take time and focus, but it was something respectable.
The teen snorted at the thought. Here he was being reasonable. But he'd like to think he'd been raised properly. Plus looking back at it, Harold had been fairly impressive. Samael knew he wasn't a pushover now. He'd gotten handled like a little kid.
The door opened on that thought, and Samael blinked at the man in question. "I'm out already?"
"Your guardian has died." Harold stated flatly, but not without sympathy.
And like that, any thoughts of peace were wiped away. Samael left the cell numb.
AN: I know it's a bit of a painful story so far, but we need the intro. Things will get better.
Being poor didn't mean people didn't have fun really. It just meant that their versions of fun by necessity didn't cost much.
In this case, if you had a few coin, you could drink at a pub. The alcohol was cheap swill, but it was bitterly potent nevertheless. Samael had rapidly developed a taste for it. It dulled the rage some. That is until the bar fights started.
Samael laughed as the mug flew through the air above his head as he ducked. Another fist came his way and he took it on his chin to no effect. His hand lashed out and grabbed at the man's shirt gently in reply. Then savagely pulled him forward and threw him.
A chair was lifted and thrown at the teen. He grunted as it hit, but ignored it and waded forward through the flailing limbs. A few strikes flew out, and people started to groan from the hits and back away.
"Barley any contest." The teen grunted as he stepped over a knocked out man.
It really wasn't. He hadn't even bothered to dodge the normal people's attacks. It hurt sure, but his Iron Skin skill was enough that most of it bounced off.
"Whoops! Knife!" Samael immediately lashed out with a quick hand as someone tried to stab him. "Poor form!" He scolded almost happily as he broke the grip and twisted the hand of the man in question.
This was the power of the Brawler. In groups fights like this, they excelled. Samael was a practical god at the moment compared to the people he was fighting, and he milked the high for all it could get.
"Police!" A shout from the door made Samael blink.
"What in Heaven's downward gaze are the coppers doing here?!" The teen half asked, half shouted.
"Fucking Brawler!" The bar owner called out from his place hiding under the bar.
"Not my fault!" Samael shot back. "There's a reason you have the cheap chairs!" He grinned with unrepentant glee. It was true, though the owned didn't like it judging by the continued cursing.
"Everyone out, or we'll come in!" Another shout had Samael groan and move out, gingerly avoiding the people unconscious.
Outside there were more than a few men in leather jerkins and holding clubs. Each of them had on a police cap, and most of them looked grim. Samael sighed as he saw them and raised his hands. Not that it would do either of them much good.
"Don't want any trouble." The teen stated solemnly.
One of the police officers stepped forward, and Samael felt himself tense uncomfortably. He had a presence that indicated a title. Not a weak one either. It was hard to tell, but he could typically get an idea of their general power and experience just by looking thanks to Danger Sense.
"Samael the Brawler." The officer drawled out and hefted his club. There was a simple wooden shield on his back that he pulled out as well. Far more than the other officers usually had. "I am Harold, the Guard."
Huh. So that was what announcing sounded like. Samael mused with part of his mind. The rest of it was scrambling. This was shaping up to be bad.
It wasn't that Guard was a strong title. As far as titles went, it was either an ignoble one, or transitory one based on who you asked. It was considered a useful title though. Guards 'guarded' as their title implied, and they were very good at it. They weren't a slouch in combat either.
"Listen, I can just go ahead and head out." Samael stated quietly. "I didn't start the fight."
"This is more a lesson for you." Harold stated quietly. "Your guardian asked me to come down and show you why Brawler is a bad path."
That got a snort from the teen. "It's better than me getting shanked."
"I will show you why that's not even true." Harold began to move forward, leading with the shield.
Snorting, Samael glanced around for a moment, trying to decide if he was going to be able to flee. Then he realized that the guard would just come by to where he lived.
"Damn it all." Samael cursed and lauched himself at the other man.
"Brawler means no discipline." The guard intercepted the teen with his shield as he spoke.
Samael's fists impacted the wood of it, doing little more than denting it. The man's club lashed out and Samael grunted as he took the hit and continued to try to crowd him.
"Brawler means no focus." The man kept the shield between them almost casually. Each time Samael lashed out, the club licked out in reply, hammering the same spot he had first hit.
"Heavens damn you." The teen grunted and backed away as the pain started to register. He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply.
"Probably most importantly. You lack range and power." The guard kept the shield in front of him as he explained dispassionately.
"You just need to make up for it with speed." Samael grinned cheekily and knelt down to leap forward as quick as possible.
It was a good speed. The Guard actually had to deflect the next strike instead of taking it head on. His simple wooden shield splintered slightly under the strike and for a moment Samael was inside his reach. The weapons were a hinderance this close rather than a benefit.
Benefit of his momentum though, Samael's two strikes to the man's body just bruised rather than gave a telling blow. The Guard's replying strike was hard and far stronger than it would have been from a normal person.
Samael was driven to the ground. It gave flashbacks to the last time it had happened, and the rage came up. The Guard said something, but the teen couldn't hear it through the beating of his heart.
Instead he got back to his feet and lunged.
Hours later he was in a cell, bruised and battered. Both his eyes had been blackened.
"Think Samael. Think. It's not too late to change yourself. The longer you stay with a title the more it shapes you to it's liking." Harold had left him there with that advice.
So Samael thought in that dark and damp cell. It was a small cell. Too small to pace. Too small to do anything but rest on the pile of the straw. There wasn't anything to do but think.
For a full day he had nothing but anger and rage at his guardian. Sending Harold after him was a cruel move. But without anything to do but think, he soon let go of it.
Samael had to admit he'd been getting a bit wild. At least to himself. Perhaps he could try out the whole priest thing. It'd take time and focus, but it was something respectable.
The teen snorted at the thought. Here he was being reasonable. But he'd like to think he'd been raised properly. Plus looking back at it, Harold had been fairly impressive. Samael knew he wasn't a pushover now. He'd gotten handled like a little kid.
The door opened on that thought, and Samael blinked at the man in question. "I'm out already?"
"Your guardian has died." Harold stated flatly, but not without sympathy.
And like that, any thoughts of peace were wiped away. Samael left the cell numb.
AN: I know it's a bit of a painful story so far, but we need the intro. Things will get better.
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Chapter 4
The church was old and worn down. The pews creaked in the wind, and if they were sat on the groaned. The roof needed repairs. The altar was starting to warp. The only thing of value in the place was the archway behind the pew. There was a stained glass window. Poorly made, and mostly just colors without a sense of pattern, but that was fine to the Church of Heaven and the Angelic faith.
The arch that contained the glass was the only solid thing in the building really. The entire building was based around it. Tradition dictated that the glass be facing the sunrise. In the city with the taller buildings, the sun had never touched the glass.
Frankly it was a shitty church. It had been Samael's home though. And though he had never really practiced it, he was a member of the faith.
That didn't mean much in the end. He felt numb. He had nothing left. His parents dead, his guardian dead, and him. He had a talent hitting things with his fist. He couldn't even try being a priest. The church wasn't his. The city was going to repossess it and tear it down.
Samael sat in front of the altar and let the tears roll down his face. Numb to the world. Even the anger he had felt was gone and extinguished.
The sun set as he cried. The moon rose. The stars came out. The window that was the center of the church was dark and black as pitch.
Samael fell asleep there.
"Poor boy." The old priest sighed. "You're too young to deal with this."
"Hah!" Samael laughed bitterly as he lay against the altar. "Still gotta. Stupid life. Why do things always go to shit."
"Some would say it's because we lost the faith. Others would say that it's because the world is broken. Some, that hardship brings strength." The priest sighed again and walked forward. The crackles and pops from his bones sounded almost louder than normal as he moved behind the altar.
"I can get behind the world being broken." Samael snorted and rolled his body to keep an eye on his guardian.
"I believe that pain happen and sadness happen, but it is simply pain and sadness. Accept that it happened, and move on. Holding onto it like a beloved memory is simply self flagellation. Grieve and move on. Focus on the beauty of your life. If you keep hope, you can move forward. The world is a beautiful mix of good and bad. Remember that if you can." The priest leaned against the altar as he spoke.
"Hah. You're lecturing again, even dead." Samael started to cry.
"Let an old man keep his pleasures eh?" The priest chuckled and then sagged against the altar as if pressed against it by some weight. "One last thing."
"What?" Samael's tears stopped and he got to his feat.
"You're a brawler my son." The priest stated simply. "You love to fight. Your fists have been your only weapon by simple necessity, and people believe that his hindered you." He continued on and trembled against the altar. "That does not mean you cannot have focus. That you cannot have discipline. That there cannot be something beyond swinging your fist."
"Old Man?" Samael watched as the alter trembled and the stained glass lit up behind the old priest.
"My gift. My miracle for you. From me, and your parents in heaven." The old man stated as he dissolved in the light.
Behind him stood another man. Golden,naked, but without features. An idealized man. He placed his feet deliberately on the ground and placed his hands up in a strange stance Samael had never seen before. Very deliberately the man breathed in and out. The teen could practically see how the magic was flowing around him.
"Stand Beneath the Heavens." Something whispered.
In front of the golden man was a silver one without features. He held a sword in one hand, and a shield in the other. The shield was held up in a guard position very similar to the Guard Samael had faced.
"Advance to Triumph." Another whisper.
The golden man moved forward in a single long, deliberate step. Striking out with his fist with blinding speed. It impacted the shield with an impossibly loud clang and caused the silver man to stagger. The golden man's next foot moved to match his first foot. His next hand struck the shield again.
"Sweep the Wings." The final whisper.
Off balance from the strikes, the silver man still was able to stab out with his sword. It was a near perfect stab, faster than the fists of the golden man. But the golden man had already been moving in a twisting motion. His body flowed in a smooth and graceful twirl into the shield. His leg rose up into the air above his head and slammed down into the silver man's shield. The silver man staggered and dropped.
"Repeat."
Samael woke up with a start at the last word. It had been almost shouted. Panting, he looked at the altar and winced at the pain that had come from sleeping in such an awkward spot.
Strangely, he didn't feel sad anymore.
He grabbed at the memories in the dreams and held on tight. His family was in heaven watching down on him. He could tell that now.
The strange stance. That movement. It made sense in a way to his brawler's instincts. He couldn't say exactly how, but the idea burned in his brain.
The teen didn't bother to clean up. He didn't bother with food. He got to his feet and began to breath. Then took the stance he had been shown.
Immediately he could tell it was wrong, and Samael shifted his feet deliberately to match it. Then breathed.
Wrong again.
So he tried. Again, and again, and again. Until his feet hurt from the strange stance, and he had discarded his shoes to feel the proper stance better.
Finally, midway through the day it felt right. He started the second step, and found it wrong all over again.
By the time the sun was starting to set, he was covered in sweat and ravenous. Still it felt imperfect.
"Umm." The interruption made him look up. A few people were standing outside the door. "You're Samael?"
"Yes." The teen almost smiled, but then remembered what had happened earlier. "The priest is dead."
"We know. They're going to tear it down right?" The question was asked tentatively.
Samael winced and looked away from them. "Yes."
"Are you going to be all right? Do you have a place to go?" A mother asked quietly.
The teen had forgotten the kindness people had sometimes. He looked back at the church altar wistfully and firmed his heart. "I plan to be an adventurer." His stomach grumbled loudly. "After I eat."
"Come by to my place then." The mother stated firmly. "We can feed you."
"We will too!" Another voice chimed up. "You gotta be strong for the dungeons! That punching you were doing looks tiring. Training hard?"
Samael couldn't help the laugh. "Yes! Thank you." He stated quietly.
"Kick everyone's asses!" Several people cheered. "Show them what our church boy can do!"
Yes. Samael had to remember that there were people like this too. Not everyone wanted to beat him down.
The arch that contained the glass was the only solid thing in the building really. The entire building was based around it. Tradition dictated that the glass be facing the sunrise. In the city with the taller buildings, the sun had never touched the glass.
Frankly it was a shitty church. It had been Samael's home though. And though he had never really practiced it, he was a member of the faith.
That didn't mean much in the end. He felt numb. He had nothing left. His parents dead, his guardian dead, and him. He had a talent hitting things with his fist. He couldn't even try being a priest. The church wasn't his. The city was going to repossess it and tear it down.
Samael sat in front of the altar and let the tears roll down his face. Numb to the world. Even the anger he had felt was gone and extinguished.
The sun set as he cried. The moon rose. The stars came out. The window that was the center of the church was dark and black as pitch.
Samael fell asleep there.
"Poor boy." The old priest sighed. "You're too young to deal with this."
"Hah!" Samael laughed bitterly as he lay against the altar. "Still gotta. Stupid life. Why do things always go to shit."
"Some would say it's because we lost the faith. Others would say that it's because the world is broken. Some, that hardship brings strength." The priest sighed again and walked forward. The crackles and pops from his bones sounded almost louder than normal as he moved behind the altar.
"I can get behind the world being broken." Samael snorted and rolled his body to keep an eye on his guardian.
"I believe that pain happen and sadness happen, but it is simply pain and sadness. Accept that it happened, and move on. Holding onto it like a beloved memory is simply self flagellation. Grieve and move on. Focus on the beauty of your life. If you keep hope, you can move forward. The world is a beautiful mix of good and bad. Remember that if you can." The priest leaned against the altar as he spoke.
"Hah. You're lecturing again, even dead." Samael started to cry.
"Let an old man keep his pleasures eh?" The priest chuckled and then sagged against the altar as if pressed against it by some weight. "One last thing."
"What?" Samael's tears stopped and he got to his feat.
"You're a brawler my son." The priest stated simply. "You love to fight. Your fists have been your only weapon by simple necessity, and people believe that his hindered you." He continued on and trembled against the altar. "That does not mean you cannot have focus. That you cannot have discipline. That there cannot be something beyond swinging your fist."
"Old Man?" Samael watched as the alter trembled and the stained glass lit up behind the old priest.
"My gift. My miracle for you. From me, and your parents in heaven." The old man stated as he dissolved in the light.
Behind him stood another man. Golden,naked, but without features. An idealized man. He placed his feet deliberately on the ground and placed his hands up in a strange stance Samael had never seen before. Very deliberately the man breathed in and out. The teen could practically see how the magic was flowing around him.
"Stand Beneath the Heavens." Something whispered.
In front of the golden man was a silver one without features. He held a sword in one hand, and a shield in the other. The shield was held up in a guard position very similar to the Guard Samael had faced.
"Advance to Triumph." Another whisper.
The golden man moved forward in a single long, deliberate step. Striking out with his fist with blinding speed. It impacted the shield with an impossibly loud clang and caused the silver man to stagger. The golden man's next foot moved to match his first foot. His next hand struck the shield again.
"Sweep the Wings." The final whisper.
Off balance from the strikes, the silver man still was able to stab out with his sword. It was a near perfect stab, faster than the fists of the golden man. But the golden man had already been moving in a twisting motion. His body flowed in a smooth and graceful twirl into the shield. His leg rose up into the air above his head and slammed down into the silver man's shield. The silver man staggered and dropped.
"Repeat."
Samael woke up with a start at the last word. It had been almost shouted. Panting, he looked at the altar and winced at the pain that had come from sleeping in such an awkward spot.
Strangely, he didn't feel sad anymore.
He grabbed at the memories in the dreams and held on tight. His family was in heaven watching down on him. He could tell that now.
The strange stance. That movement. It made sense in a way to his brawler's instincts. He couldn't say exactly how, but the idea burned in his brain.
The teen didn't bother to clean up. He didn't bother with food. He got to his feet and began to breath. Then took the stance he had been shown.
Immediately he could tell it was wrong, and Samael shifted his feet deliberately to match it. Then breathed.
Wrong again.
So he tried. Again, and again, and again. Until his feet hurt from the strange stance, and he had discarded his shoes to feel the proper stance better.
Finally, midway through the day it felt right. He started the second step, and found it wrong all over again.
By the time the sun was starting to set, he was covered in sweat and ravenous. Still it felt imperfect.
"Umm." The interruption made him look up. A few people were standing outside the door. "You're Samael?"
"Yes." The teen almost smiled, but then remembered what had happened earlier. "The priest is dead."
"We know. They're going to tear it down right?" The question was asked tentatively.
Samael winced and looked away from them. "Yes."
"Are you going to be all right? Do you have a place to go?" A mother asked quietly.
The teen had forgotten the kindness people had sometimes. He looked back at the church altar wistfully and firmed his heart. "I plan to be an adventurer." His stomach grumbled loudly. "After I eat."
"Come by to my place then." The mother stated firmly. "We can feed you."
"We will too!" Another voice chimed up. "You gotta be strong for the dungeons! That punching you were doing looks tiring. Training hard?"
Samael couldn't help the laugh. "Yes! Thank you." He stated quietly.
"Kick everyone's asses!" Several people cheered. "Show them what our church boy can do!"
Yes. Samael had to remember that there were people like this too. Not everyone wanted to beat him down.
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
Everybody was kung-fu fighting~
Those kids were fast as lightning~
In fact, it was a little bit frightening~
But they fought with expert timing~
Those kids were fast as lightning~
In fact, it was a little bit frightening~
But they fought with expert timing~
Chapter 5
For all the problems that came with being poor and destitute, getting to a dungeon was not one of them. The Duke of Earlsburg was corrupt and bottom of the barrel as an administrator, but he knew where his money came from. That meant he made damned sure the local dungeon and adventures were properly managed. Admittedly it was still substandard management, but it was a significant step up from the rest of the province.
What it amounted to was that if you had been sparked, you could go to the dungeon for free. You didn't even need a title. You just required the spark. The sparks were even sold at proper prices and available to everyone. Furthermore, people that played games or hindered this process were very quickly punished. Sometimes lethally.
This all led to Samael being on a rickety and uncovered wagon a month after his guardian died. He had paid no fee, and had barely anything to his name now, but he was on his way. To his side were a few more people. Mostly poor men. Most had clubs and maces of some nature. One or two had rusted swords. The less poor men were dressed in robes of some nature. The one woman on the wagon had on something so puffy and shapeless that only her long hair gave her away as a female.
There was no talking. Even if they had been on the road awhile, the way the wagon shook and shuddered made it impossible to talk. Most of the people didn't look inclined to anyway. They all had a look of desperation on them. Samael wasn't surprised really. This was the free ride. Actual comfortable rides took money.
The destination was more important anyway. He could see it in the distance. A large wooden palisade with people patrolling atop it, and a town at the entrance. Almost the exact opposite of how a city could be built. The wall was meant to keep something in.
The wagon stopped at a clearing before the town as Samael examined the wall idly. It wouldn't stand up to much frankly, but at least it wasn't easily scalable.
"Everyone out!" A shout snapped Samael's attention back to the clearing and to a man in piecemeal metal armor.
Following the directions, Samael jumped out of the back of the wagon casually and lined up with the rest of the people who had come with. There was some shuffling around, but mostly vague looks of attention.
"All right. I am Xavier the Captain. I am currently the one in charge of the town you see behind you. I don't give a rats ass about you, but as fresh blood you're my nominal responsibility." The man glared at all of the people in front of him as he spoke. "So you will listen, and then I will hopefully never talk with you again."
Pausing to see if there were any commentators, the Captain nodded in approval at the silence and then continued. "This is the Bonepit! It's a five level, novice, overflowing dungeon that focuses on skeletons. That means that there are five levels, it's good for fresh meat like you lot, it uses skeletons, and if it's not culled repeatedly you get them running out and causing trouble!"
The last shouted word caused a few people to jump. Samael just yawned a bit. He knew all of this beforehand. Information on the Bonepit was fairly easy to get. There was even rumors that the dungeon was going to add another level soon, though that was a bit like predicting it would rain in a week.
"Now, you probably all know that if you took the time to research. What you don't know is what we take from the dungeon. First, is these!" The captain held up a small and blank runestone. "These are in the skulls of the skeletons. Smash them to get at them, they're durable enough for it. They're the only things that will linger. The rest will dissolve over time, don't bother with taking the weapons. Bring back as many as you can get. We need them all."
Samael nodded to himself. Sounded easy.
"Sparks are always needed, and you get a priority sell on them. You know what they look like." The Captain snorted. "If you find chests, they'll have bone type weapons and armor. They're stronger than they look, and if you can stand the look, use them. Otherwise they'll sell well enough. The biggest sellers you'll find are the books at level five. Necromancers will pay top coin for them, and that means you want them."
That got a few winces from the people. Samael couldn't blame them. Necromancer was technically a noble title. Practically it was a creepy and disturbing. In some areas it was tradition to pay money to keep a loved one's body out of their hands.
"Now for the part I love, since it lets me get rid of you all." The Captain grinned. "Titleless people with me!"
The lone girl shuffled to the man warily, but he just nodded at her and continued. Something about the process seemed to make her relieved.
"Magic users, to the man walking up on my left!" The Captain motioned to the man with the wizards hat and robes that was walking up. "Armsmen of any sort, to the rear where the man in the sword is waiting."
That had most of the people walking away, and Samael being the last one standing awkwardly. He shuffled a bit and looked around.
"Brawler right?" The Captain drawled out.
Samael nodded warily. It wasn't like he was hiding it. He had no weapons. Hell he barely had a shirt and pants. His shoes had bit the dust and he had been forced to wrap them in rags.
"Fair enough. We actually need more o' them." The Captain shrugged. "Follow me. I'll bring you to where we got them."
Blinking as the man walked away, Samael practically sprinted to keep up. There was silence for a moment and he and the girl followed the man. Then he started to speak.
"So, Brawler's got a bad rap, but overflowing dungeons need them quite a bit. We stick em on floor one and you basically smash the hordes. Easy work, and the pay's not half bad." The Captain explained with an almost respectful nod. "Do it once or twice, grab a weapon, and you'll be able to shift to a man-at-arms if you want. Or you can stay with brawling. No one will comment on it. Get some blasted shoes first."
Samael found himself put a bit off guard. No one had mentioned that option. Not that he wanted to take it honestly, but no one had mentioned it.
The man chuckled with the first real amusement he had seen. "Yeah, that's the look of someone who grew up on stories o' noble and ignoble titles. Brawlers have serious flaws, but for persistent, long crowd control there are few better. That's something you need to know too lass."
The girl started at being talked about and pointed to herself. "Me?"
"I call out titleless because they need to make a good choice. That means they need information and not to be pressed into shit." The Captain spat to the side. "Only idiots force a spark into a title. It typically ends up with them breaking shit and then shifting to something better suited." The man sounded disgruntled at that.
"I understand I think?" The girl seemed to ask rather than state.
"We can talk more on it later." The Captain stated as he waved to a large building. "That's the Brawler's place. Go on in and make yourself at home."
Bemused and slightly confused too, Samael moved into the building. At the front desk a bored man sat there reading something. He looked up at the entering teen and pulled out a key with a long suffering sigh.
"Brawler?" He asked tonelessly.
"Yes." Samael nodded.
"You have room two oh three. Second floor. Matches the numbers on the key." The man held up the key in question. "You and the rest are allowed in first at daylight to clear the field. Try not to get in each other's way. Break anything in the room and it will stay broken. Food and baths are down the street labeled. Bring a bag for the runestones." With that he threw the key Samael's way.
Well, whatever expectations he had had been shattered by this particular sequence of events. The teen caught the key and move up.
"Oh, last thing!" The bored man called out. "Brawlers are best on floor one! Floor two if you want a challenge. Don't go lower or you'll die."
Ah. That though, that was expected.
What it amounted to was that if you had been sparked, you could go to the dungeon for free. You didn't even need a title. You just required the spark. The sparks were even sold at proper prices and available to everyone. Furthermore, people that played games or hindered this process were very quickly punished. Sometimes lethally.
This all led to Samael being on a rickety and uncovered wagon a month after his guardian died. He had paid no fee, and had barely anything to his name now, but he was on his way. To his side were a few more people. Mostly poor men. Most had clubs and maces of some nature. One or two had rusted swords. The less poor men were dressed in robes of some nature. The one woman on the wagon had on something so puffy and shapeless that only her long hair gave her away as a female.
There was no talking. Even if they had been on the road awhile, the way the wagon shook and shuddered made it impossible to talk. Most of the people didn't look inclined to anyway. They all had a look of desperation on them. Samael wasn't surprised really. This was the free ride. Actual comfortable rides took money.
The destination was more important anyway. He could see it in the distance. A large wooden palisade with people patrolling atop it, and a town at the entrance. Almost the exact opposite of how a city could be built. The wall was meant to keep something in.
The wagon stopped at a clearing before the town as Samael examined the wall idly. It wouldn't stand up to much frankly, but at least it wasn't easily scalable.
"Everyone out!" A shout snapped Samael's attention back to the clearing and to a man in piecemeal metal armor.
Following the directions, Samael jumped out of the back of the wagon casually and lined up with the rest of the people who had come with. There was some shuffling around, but mostly vague looks of attention.
"All right. I am Xavier the Captain. I am currently the one in charge of the town you see behind you. I don't give a rats ass about you, but as fresh blood you're my nominal responsibility." The man glared at all of the people in front of him as he spoke. "So you will listen, and then I will hopefully never talk with you again."
Pausing to see if there were any commentators, the Captain nodded in approval at the silence and then continued. "This is the Bonepit! It's a five level, novice, overflowing dungeon that focuses on skeletons. That means that there are five levels, it's good for fresh meat like you lot, it uses skeletons, and if it's not culled repeatedly you get them running out and causing trouble!"
The last shouted word caused a few people to jump. Samael just yawned a bit. He knew all of this beforehand. Information on the Bonepit was fairly easy to get. There was even rumors that the dungeon was going to add another level soon, though that was a bit like predicting it would rain in a week.
"Now, you probably all know that if you took the time to research. What you don't know is what we take from the dungeon. First, is these!" The captain held up a small and blank runestone. "These are in the skulls of the skeletons. Smash them to get at them, they're durable enough for it. They're the only things that will linger. The rest will dissolve over time, don't bother with taking the weapons. Bring back as many as you can get. We need them all."
Samael nodded to himself. Sounded easy.
"Sparks are always needed, and you get a priority sell on them. You know what they look like." The Captain snorted. "If you find chests, they'll have bone type weapons and armor. They're stronger than they look, and if you can stand the look, use them. Otherwise they'll sell well enough. The biggest sellers you'll find are the books at level five. Necromancers will pay top coin for them, and that means you want them."
That got a few winces from the people. Samael couldn't blame them. Necromancer was technically a noble title. Practically it was a creepy and disturbing. In some areas it was tradition to pay money to keep a loved one's body out of their hands.
"Now for the part I love, since it lets me get rid of you all." The Captain grinned. "Titleless people with me!"
The lone girl shuffled to the man warily, but he just nodded at her and continued. Something about the process seemed to make her relieved.
"Magic users, to the man walking up on my left!" The Captain motioned to the man with the wizards hat and robes that was walking up. "Armsmen of any sort, to the rear where the man in the sword is waiting."
That had most of the people walking away, and Samael being the last one standing awkwardly. He shuffled a bit and looked around.
"Brawler right?" The Captain drawled out.
Samael nodded warily. It wasn't like he was hiding it. He had no weapons. Hell he barely had a shirt and pants. His shoes had bit the dust and he had been forced to wrap them in rags.
"Fair enough. We actually need more o' them." The Captain shrugged. "Follow me. I'll bring you to where we got them."
Blinking as the man walked away, Samael practically sprinted to keep up. There was silence for a moment and he and the girl followed the man. Then he started to speak.
"So, Brawler's got a bad rap, but overflowing dungeons need them quite a bit. We stick em on floor one and you basically smash the hordes. Easy work, and the pay's not half bad." The Captain explained with an almost respectful nod. "Do it once or twice, grab a weapon, and you'll be able to shift to a man-at-arms if you want. Or you can stay with brawling. No one will comment on it. Get some blasted shoes first."
Samael found himself put a bit off guard. No one had mentioned that option. Not that he wanted to take it honestly, but no one had mentioned it.
The man chuckled with the first real amusement he had seen. "Yeah, that's the look of someone who grew up on stories o' noble and ignoble titles. Brawlers have serious flaws, but for persistent, long crowd control there are few better. That's something you need to know too lass."
The girl started at being talked about and pointed to herself. "Me?"
"I call out titleless because they need to make a good choice. That means they need information and not to be pressed into shit." The Captain spat to the side. "Only idiots force a spark into a title. It typically ends up with them breaking shit and then shifting to something better suited." The man sounded disgruntled at that.
"I understand I think?" The girl seemed to ask rather than state.
"We can talk more on it later." The Captain stated as he waved to a large building. "That's the Brawler's place. Go on in and make yourself at home."
Bemused and slightly confused too, Samael moved into the building. At the front desk a bored man sat there reading something. He looked up at the entering teen and pulled out a key with a long suffering sigh.
"Brawler?" He asked tonelessly.
"Yes." Samael nodded.
"You have room two oh three. Second floor. Matches the numbers on the key." The man held up the key in question. "You and the rest are allowed in first at daylight to clear the field. Try not to get in each other's way. Break anything in the room and it will stay broken. Food and baths are down the street labeled. Bring a bag for the runestones." With that he threw the key Samael's way.
Well, whatever expectations he had had been shattered by this particular sequence of events. The teen caught the key and move up.
"Oh, last thing!" The bored man called out. "Brawlers are best on floor one! Floor two if you want a challenge. Don't go lower or you'll die."
Ah. That though, that was expected.
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Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
I know it's just a saying, but it does feel out of place in a fantasy setting.
And it looks like brawling ain't going to be easy. I do wonder what makes the lower levels harder for a brawler, maybe its filled with ranged opponents?
Adjust that part. Thanks!
Genesys
(Discrete Mokona)
- Location
- California
I'm guessing it has less dense and more elite enemies?
Brawler seems like the kind of class that is really only good against mooks. It's the cheapest, easiest to access crowd control, other options being mainly expensive mages.
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
Yeah, but defeat enough mooks and you'll become stronger yourself, right?
I'm thinking there might be a hard counter up ahead.
Something a brawler just can't handle.
Chapter 6
Sunlight had Samael waking up and heading downstairs almost immediately. His sleep had been surprisingly restful considering the change in circumstances and the room quality, which was poor at best. You couldn't be picky with free rooms though, and at least the place had been clean.
At the bottom of the stairs were a few men. All of them were highly muscled. Most lacked shirts, but had some sort of gauntlets strapped on their hands. Everyone had pouches, bags, or in a few cases a strange looking back strapped into the small of their back. They were jostling and joking as they waited in the lobby.
"You the new kid?" A man moved up to Samael with a grin. "Hello, I'm Harry."
Samael couldn't help but boggle, because yes he was hairy. He had long shaggy brown hair, and a beard that was almost down to his stomach. It was almost fortunate that he was one of those wearing a shirt because it looked like he horribly shaggy under that too.
The man laughed at his look. "Yeah, it's not quite my real name, but it works for me." He winked and slapped Samael on the back hard. "So, new brawler. You got a bag?"
The young man actually didn't. He had been forced to repurpose his shirt for it. He held up the item in question with a sheepish expression. "Just this."
Harry winced. "Well, you're a brawler all right. Going out there with nothing but your fists and a prayer." He slapped Samael on the back again. "Kill a group or two and then head back. You'll get enough for a meal and a decent bag." He looked down. "And shoes. Hell below, you came here with nothing didn't you."
It was Samael's turn to wince. "Yeah. Money was tight while I was waiting for the next ride. That's the second time someone has mentioned shoes."
The older man nodded seriously. "Watch your footing. You'll see."
"Dawn Clear Ready!" A shout from outside the building made everyone inside start to shuffle out.
"We're going. Follow the wall until you can barely see another brawler, then work to the center until you're tired. Head to the wall first if you want to leave. It's kept clear around there." With those confusing words, Harry started to trot.
Samael paused a moment before he broke into a sprint to catch up. This wasn't a casual walk to the dungeon. It was almost a run actually. Despite that, the mood was jovial. The men joked and bantered as they ran right up to the large palisade gates that signified the barrier between the dungeon and the outside world.
They creaked open as the runners moved in, and immediately the men split off into two lines with the ease of long practice. Samael looked back and forth from one side to another, and picked one at random. As he ran, he got his first sight of the dungeon. It painted a grim picture.
There were four types of dungeon 'styles.' Open, Inverted, Secured, and Overflow. Overflow dungeons were best identified by the fact that their first floor was on the surface. They warped it to their suiting, and if they weren't regularly pruned, they would slowly expand on the surface like an overflowing bowl would spill over a table.
The Bonepit's first floor was a field of grey, gritty sand in piles and hills that stretched out to the edge of the walls surrounding it. Here and there bones stuck out of the sand. There were skulls everywhere, of all shapes and sizes. From cow skulls to human skulls to unidentifiable and obviously warped things that leered.
Samael could see why he had to watch his footing at least. He kept up his jogging though, and followed the crowd along until it was just him and another brawler. The man nodded at him and stopped soon after that, motioning him on.
Taking the hint, Samael moved on so that he could barely see the other man and stopped himself. The sudden isolation was rather unnerving to be honest. He could hear wind and feel the gritty grey sand through his toes. It was far colder than anything he had ever felt before.
A faint shout made him look up. "Dawn Clear Go!"
That was probably the signal. Samael mused. He started forward and crested the first hill of sand and bone, and he realized exactly why brawlers were needed on this floor.
There were at least ten skeletons below him. Mostly human, but a few twisted dog like things. They wobbled around as they walked and clattered. Each of the human skeletons held a club of bone. The bones that made up their bodies was bleached to an almost pristine white. One spotted Samael as he moved and made a clattering sound. Then the rest turned as one to face him.
"Well shit." The man muttered and set his stance.
Stand Beneath the Heavens wasn't a Skill. Not yet at least. It did center him though, and it was part of the greater whole. Samael had only clues as to what that whole was, but it called to him when he set himself just right. It was like a memory he had yet to grasp.
The stance also wasn't something you used for defence. Samael immediately used Advance into Triumph. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that Triumph was more the movement than the strike itself. Quick, hard strides forward, keeping balanced and keeping the breathing right.
He met the skeletons as they started to charge, and slammed a fist directly it a rib cage. The bone cracked and the thing went flying from the strike. His speed had been such that the other skeletons hadn't even managed to surround him yet. Another one died before they did so.
Samael focused on breathing and doing this right. These skeletons seemed just a bit better than normal humans. Not an extreme threat, but the amount of them and the way they instantly coordinated made them dangerous. There was no hesitation or second guessing from the things. They simply surrounded him and charged.
He still had to fight his instincts though. Normally he would have been bouncing around to throw off aim and taking with hits he couldn't dodge. This was the first fight with the heaven sent techniques, so he wanted to do it right. That ment center his stance and move only when needed.
Two skeletons swung their clubs at once as one of the dog things charged. The clubs wouldn't deal damage through his Iron Skin, but Samael could sense the dog had a bit more danger to it.
The third technique was therefore best. Sweep the Wings. The hardest of the bunch. Deceptively simple. On it's surface it looked like a high spinning kick. You had to grasp what it was needed for. The spin wasn't there because it looked pretty, it was there because that was what you turned the dodge into. Sweep the Wings was a counter move intended to slam the opponent into the ground.
That was what the man did. He twisted around, avoiding the dog and taking glancing hits from the clubs. The momentum was used to continue the twist and his leg rotated with his body. Then slammed down into the still charging dog skeleton as it passed him. His heel impacted into it's spiney bones and broke it's body clean in two.
Samael reset his stance and breathed. There were still more skeletons to fight.
Hours later, near the center of the dungeon first floor, and where the entrance to the second floor was, the brawlers gathered. They had about half their number now. While the skeletons were easy to fight, there were a hellishly large number of them. Exhaustion was not uncommon, and vets learned to pace themselves.
"Doing good!" Harry waved to the others as he came up. "Anyone Cripped?" Cripped was shorthand for wounded enough that it caused issues. Adventurers could take a lot, and there was a big difference between bleeding horribly and being unable to fight.
"Nah, one o' them got a good hit on me, but not seeing anything." Another brawler called out as he looked over the others. "Did a small sweep on my path and didn't see anything. You're last as usual Harry."
The man laughed lightly. "I'm getting old, you know how it goes."
"Hell's cursed cages man, you've been here for years, you could probably solo this entire floor. Knock it off with the old jokes." One of the brawlers called out.
"But then there'd be no fun for you all!" Harold joked with wide eyes. "What sort of Brawler would I be then?"
"A greedy…" The man calling out trailed off. "Fuck, the newbie."
"What, he cripped or down?" Harold's joking tone cut off and he practically blurred from sight. "Well I be damned."
Samael limped forward with a grim and determined gaze. The bindings on his feet and been torn and they were muddy with dust and blood. There was a bite wound on his leg that had just scabbed over, and his pants were barely keeping his modesty. Bruises decorated his body and one of his hands was dripping blood.
In his unwounded hand he carried his makeshift bag. It bulged with runestones and leaked bone dust. They shifted and clanked. The other brawlers could tell that it had more than was typical from a standard run to the center. A few trickled out as he walked, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Newbie!" Harold called out, but kept far away.
"Fuck, he a Berserker instead?" Somone whispered.
"No, those guys rage. Trust me, that's unmistakable." A whisper back.
Samael faltered for the first time, and blinked at the older man. "Oh. Did I go off track?" He asked faintly.
Harold chuckled and moved forward. "Ya know, I never got your name and title."
"Samael." The young man shook his head uncertainly and staggered as he finally registered what had happened. "I'm a brawler."
"He didn't declare." Someone accused quietly.
"Shut up, he's barely walking. We're lucky he can talk. Get him back and get him circulating before he bleeds out." One of the men scolded the rest and that galvanized the other brawlers to assist.
At the bottom of the stairs were a few men. All of them were highly muscled. Most lacked shirts, but had some sort of gauntlets strapped on their hands. Everyone had pouches, bags, or in a few cases a strange looking back strapped into the small of their back. They were jostling and joking as they waited in the lobby.
"You the new kid?" A man moved up to Samael with a grin. "Hello, I'm Harry."
Samael couldn't help but boggle, because yes he was hairy. He had long shaggy brown hair, and a beard that was almost down to his stomach. It was almost fortunate that he was one of those wearing a shirt because it looked like he horribly shaggy under that too.
The man laughed at his look. "Yeah, it's not quite my real name, but it works for me." He winked and slapped Samael on the back hard. "So, new brawler. You got a bag?"
The young man actually didn't. He had been forced to repurpose his shirt for it. He held up the item in question with a sheepish expression. "Just this."
Harry winced. "Well, you're a brawler all right. Going out there with nothing but your fists and a prayer." He slapped Samael on the back again. "Kill a group or two and then head back. You'll get enough for a meal and a decent bag." He looked down. "And shoes. Hell below, you came here with nothing didn't you."
It was Samael's turn to wince. "Yeah. Money was tight while I was waiting for the next ride. That's the second time someone has mentioned shoes."
The older man nodded seriously. "Watch your footing. You'll see."
"Dawn Clear Ready!" A shout from outside the building made everyone inside start to shuffle out.
"We're going. Follow the wall until you can barely see another brawler, then work to the center until you're tired. Head to the wall first if you want to leave. It's kept clear around there." With those confusing words, Harry started to trot.
Samael paused a moment before he broke into a sprint to catch up. This wasn't a casual walk to the dungeon. It was almost a run actually. Despite that, the mood was jovial. The men joked and bantered as they ran right up to the large palisade gates that signified the barrier between the dungeon and the outside world.
They creaked open as the runners moved in, and immediately the men split off into two lines with the ease of long practice. Samael looked back and forth from one side to another, and picked one at random. As he ran, he got his first sight of the dungeon. It painted a grim picture.
There were four types of dungeon 'styles.' Open, Inverted, Secured, and Overflow. Overflow dungeons were best identified by the fact that their first floor was on the surface. They warped it to their suiting, and if they weren't regularly pruned, they would slowly expand on the surface like an overflowing bowl would spill over a table.
The Bonepit's first floor was a field of grey, gritty sand in piles and hills that stretched out to the edge of the walls surrounding it. Here and there bones stuck out of the sand. There were skulls everywhere, of all shapes and sizes. From cow skulls to human skulls to unidentifiable and obviously warped things that leered.
Samael could see why he had to watch his footing at least. He kept up his jogging though, and followed the crowd along until it was just him and another brawler. The man nodded at him and stopped soon after that, motioning him on.
Taking the hint, Samael moved on so that he could barely see the other man and stopped himself. The sudden isolation was rather unnerving to be honest. He could hear wind and feel the gritty grey sand through his toes. It was far colder than anything he had ever felt before.
A faint shout made him look up. "Dawn Clear Go!"
That was probably the signal. Samael mused. He started forward and crested the first hill of sand and bone, and he realized exactly why brawlers were needed on this floor.
There were at least ten skeletons below him. Mostly human, but a few twisted dog like things. They wobbled around as they walked and clattered. Each of the human skeletons held a club of bone. The bones that made up their bodies was bleached to an almost pristine white. One spotted Samael as he moved and made a clattering sound. Then the rest turned as one to face him.
"Well shit." The man muttered and set his stance.
Stand Beneath the Heavens wasn't a Skill. Not yet at least. It did center him though, and it was part of the greater whole. Samael had only clues as to what that whole was, but it called to him when he set himself just right. It was like a memory he had yet to grasp.
The stance also wasn't something you used for defence. Samael immediately used Advance into Triumph. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that Triumph was more the movement than the strike itself. Quick, hard strides forward, keeping balanced and keeping the breathing right.
He met the skeletons as they started to charge, and slammed a fist directly it a rib cage. The bone cracked and the thing went flying from the strike. His speed had been such that the other skeletons hadn't even managed to surround him yet. Another one died before they did so.
Samael focused on breathing and doing this right. These skeletons seemed just a bit better than normal humans. Not an extreme threat, but the amount of them and the way they instantly coordinated made them dangerous. There was no hesitation or second guessing from the things. They simply surrounded him and charged.
He still had to fight his instincts though. Normally he would have been bouncing around to throw off aim and taking with hits he couldn't dodge. This was the first fight with the heaven sent techniques, so he wanted to do it right. That ment center his stance and move only when needed.
Two skeletons swung their clubs at once as one of the dog things charged. The clubs wouldn't deal damage through his Iron Skin, but Samael could sense the dog had a bit more danger to it.
The third technique was therefore best. Sweep the Wings. The hardest of the bunch. Deceptively simple. On it's surface it looked like a high spinning kick. You had to grasp what it was needed for. The spin wasn't there because it looked pretty, it was there because that was what you turned the dodge into. Sweep the Wings was a counter move intended to slam the opponent into the ground.
That was what the man did. He twisted around, avoiding the dog and taking glancing hits from the clubs. The momentum was used to continue the twist and his leg rotated with his body. Then slammed down into the still charging dog skeleton as it passed him. His heel impacted into it's spiney bones and broke it's body clean in two.
Samael reset his stance and breathed. There were still more skeletons to fight.
Hours later, near the center of the dungeon first floor, and where the entrance to the second floor was, the brawlers gathered. They had about half their number now. While the skeletons were easy to fight, there were a hellishly large number of them. Exhaustion was not uncommon, and vets learned to pace themselves.
"Doing good!" Harry waved to the others as he came up. "Anyone Cripped?" Cripped was shorthand for wounded enough that it caused issues. Adventurers could take a lot, and there was a big difference between bleeding horribly and being unable to fight.
"Nah, one o' them got a good hit on me, but not seeing anything." Another brawler called out as he looked over the others. "Did a small sweep on my path and didn't see anything. You're last as usual Harry."
The man laughed lightly. "I'm getting old, you know how it goes."
"Hell's cursed cages man, you've been here for years, you could probably solo this entire floor. Knock it off with the old jokes." One of the brawlers called out.
"But then there'd be no fun for you all!" Harold joked with wide eyes. "What sort of Brawler would I be then?"
"A greedy…" The man calling out trailed off. "Fuck, the newbie."
"What, he cripped or down?" Harold's joking tone cut off and he practically blurred from sight. "Well I be damned."
Samael limped forward with a grim and determined gaze. The bindings on his feet and been torn and they were muddy with dust and blood. There was a bite wound on his leg that had just scabbed over, and his pants were barely keeping his modesty. Bruises decorated his body and one of his hands was dripping blood.
In his unwounded hand he carried his makeshift bag. It bulged with runestones and leaked bone dust. They shifted and clanked. The other brawlers could tell that it had more than was typical from a standard run to the center. A few trickled out as he walked, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Newbie!" Harold called out, but kept far away.
"Fuck, he a Berserker instead?" Somone whispered.
"No, those guys rage. Trust me, that's unmistakable." A whisper back.
Samael faltered for the first time, and blinked at the older man. "Oh. Did I go off track?" He asked faintly.
Harold chuckled and moved forward. "Ya know, I never got your name and title."
"Samael." The young man shook his head uncertainly and staggered as he finally registered what had happened. "I'm a brawler."
"He didn't declare." Someone accused quietly.
"Shut up, he's barely walking. We're lucky he can talk. Get him back and get him circulating before he bleeds out." One of the men scolded the rest and that galvanized the other brawlers to assist.
Chapter 7
"That's it. Keep breathing and eating." Harry encouraged as Samael sat against the wall separating the dungeon from the outside world.
It wasn't the first time the young man had circulated, but he didn't mind the encouragement as he choked down the bread and water. Of all the things that Adventurers could do, circulation was one of the most underestimated. They basically sat down, ate, drank, and circulated their magic around, and healed over the course of a few hours instead of days or weeks.
Samael could see similarities to how he breathed while in his stance, but there were a few key differences. Chief among them that you really did need to eat and drink at least something. It burned through something in the body, and more than a few Adventurers had come back looking like skeletons instead of people due to lack of food.
"Now, I'm going to do two things now that you're looking good." Harry stated quietly as he looked over the boy. "First." His hand lashed out faster than Samael could see and slammed him against the head. The impact was enough that Samael was knocked to the ground in pain. "You blathering, punch drunk idiot!"
Samael immediately shot back up. "What was that for!"
"First rule of adventuring. Turn BACK when you're tired. It doesn't matter how close you are, or what you want. You can't do it if you're DEAD!" Harry roared out, and Samael cringed back in reply as his outrage shorted out. "You ran yourself to the ground, and would have died if we weren't there. Idiocy means death in dungeons!"
Samael winced and looked down at the ground. "Sorry. I got focused on something."
"Shit, we all get lost in battle. That's what makes us brawlers. We live for the fight." Harry grinned slightly. "Come back to yourself after the fight's done and reassess yourself. Don't get lost in the thrill and keep going. You will overestimate yourself. You still get tired."
That was good advice to Samael's dismay. He hadn't gotten lost so much as dedicated and determined to fight. The man nodded after a moment. "I'll do better."
"You should. If you want to play on level two, you need to learn. I personally try to keep brawlers out of there until they can do a clear without getting injured." Harry grinned a bit. "That's the second thing. Aside from the stupidity, you did real good. Most newbies don't have the endurance to go all the way. Build that up and you're going to go places."
"You mean like level two?" Samael asked with a hint of bitterness.
That got the other brawler to sober up and sit down. "Ok, I suppose we need to have the talk."
"If this is about sex I'm out." Samael stated bluntly.
"Don't make me hit you again." Harry replied with a chuckle. "More seriously. This is the 'why brawlers have a bad reputation' talk."
"I've gotten that one before." Oh had he ever. The lesson was still bitter and disrupted the calm he had slowly managed to gather.
"This is from a veteran brawler." Harry responded back looking extremely serious. "I've been THE Brawler for this dungeon for at least five years. I've been here at least ten. I could easily be in a veteran dungeon, and likely into elite. There are still overflow dungeons at those levels, and they do need brawlers."
Despite himself Samael was suddenly interested. He had never heard something like this before. Heavens above, he had never even heard of Elite Brawlers.
"I keep here to hopefully mentor and keep an eye on you newbies. Someone needs to hear the harsh truths. I can dance through raindrops if I put my mind to it. I can smash through steel shields with a good hit. I can and have taken what amounts to a ballista bolt and stayed alive. I still get into trouble if I go to floor three." Harry met Samael's eyes at this point and seemed to be trying to emphasise the problem.
Samael was impressed just a bit, but also confused.
"Oh, don't get me wrong. At my level I can get down to floor five solo." Harry waved a hand. "I should just be able to dance through it instead of being careful and hope that hell's merciless gaze doesn't see me." The brawler shrugged at this point and kicked up his feet to show off the heavy boots. "You need to be able to move these."
"You mean your feet?" Samael's confusion deepened.
"Floor two has the skeletons with equipment like bows, swords, and armor. Floor three has skeleton mages." Harry stated bluntly and set down his boots. "They are just smart enough to use the spell Frost Snare and Magic Missile. They stick your feet to the ground and then kill you with magic. Magic Missile cannot be dodged, and it penetrates weaker Iron Skins."
Samael winced at the thought. He could see why that would kill a brawler. It'd also be trouble for other people too though. "What about other people? Wouldn't they have trouble too?"
"Most of the armsmen carry a throwing weapon they can get to. Shields help too. There's a reason why Man-at-Arms is one of the most common titles. Most people interested in weapons are encouraged to go there first so that they get a feel of every weapon." Harry leaped to his feet and made a few punches. "That's not what brawlers do ya know. We hit things with our fists. Pick up the weapons as more than a casual thing, and you're not one anymore."
Samael frowned a the statement. There was something wrong with that. "What about Swordsman or Swordmaster?"
"You become a Swordsman when you can cut a Magic Missile out of the air." Harry mimed a slice with a flattened hand. "You do that with a fist, you can lose the hand. It stings with me, and I've got Iron Skin as high as it can go."
Samael's head hit the wooden palisade he was sitting against and he sighed. "And no one wants to group with us either because we're undisciplined and unruly."
"Meh." Harry waved that one off. "That's what 'people' say. You ever watch a brawler fight?"
That question made the other man raise his eyebrows incredulously.
"I mean actually fight fight." Harry clarified and started to move around as if he was fighting.
"Noooo?" Samael actually had to think on that.
"We leap right into the crowds and use their bodies as shields. The bigger the better for us. You bounce, you leap, you grab, and shift. You never, ever stop moving. In turn the enemy can't focus right. We're actually less effective if there's one or two. That makes us a problem if we ever team up with someone else as we can get in the way if we're not careful." Harry explained as he did a few wide sweeping kicks.
"That still doesn't mean we're not good in groups." Samael reasoned out softly. It was a disadvantage, but it could be worked around.
Harry sighed and stopped moving. "It's one factor. Combined with the other weaknesses brawlers have, and we end up being the bottom of the barrel for teams."
Samael couldn't really argue with that in the end. There were a lot of notable weaknesses to his chosen title. He just, couldn't let it go. Perhaps he could provoke another vision at a temple when he could find it.
First though, he wanted to perfect what he had. Harry had said that it would be best to attempt floor two when he could get past floor one without an injury right? That would be the perfect test.
Well, actually. First would be to exchange his runestones for money and get some proper equipment. Samael looked down at his bare and dirty feet with a rueful expression. Walking through shattered bones wasn't fun.
It wasn't the first time the young man had circulated, but he didn't mind the encouragement as he choked down the bread and water. Of all the things that Adventurers could do, circulation was one of the most underestimated. They basically sat down, ate, drank, and circulated their magic around, and healed over the course of a few hours instead of days or weeks.
Samael could see similarities to how he breathed while in his stance, but there were a few key differences. Chief among them that you really did need to eat and drink at least something. It burned through something in the body, and more than a few Adventurers had come back looking like skeletons instead of people due to lack of food.
"Now, I'm going to do two things now that you're looking good." Harry stated quietly as he looked over the boy. "First." His hand lashed out faster than Samael could see and slammed him against the head. The impact was enough that Samael was knocked to the ground in pain. "You blathering, punch drunk idiot!"
Samael immediately shot back up. "What was that for!"
"First rule of adventuring. Turn BACK when you're tired. It doesn't matter how close you are, or what you want. You can't do it if you're DEAD!" Harry roared out, and Samael cringed back in reply as his outrage shorted out. "You ran yourself to the ground, and would have died if we weren't there. Idiocy means death in dungeons!"
Samael winced and looked down at the ground. "Sorry. I got focused on something."
"Shit, we all get lost in battle. That's what makes us brawlers. We live for the fight." Harry grinned slightly. "Come back to yourself after the fight's done and reassess yourself. Don't get lost in the thrill and keep going. You will overestimate yourself. You still get tired."
That was good advice to Samael's dismay. He hadn't gotten lost so much as dedicated and determined to fight. The man nodded after a moment. "I'll do better."
"You should. If you want to play on level two, you need to learn. I personally try to keep brawlers out of there until they can do a clear without getting injured." Harry grinned a bit. "That's the second thing. Aside from the stupidity, you did real good. Most newbies don't have the endurance to go all the way. Build that up and you're going to go places."
"You mean like level two?" Samael asked with a hint of bitterness.
That got the other brawler to sober up and sit down. "Ok, I suppose we need to have the talk."
"If this is about sex I'm out." Samael stated bluntly.
"Don't make me hit you again." Harry replied with a chuckle. "More seriously. This is the 'why brawlers have a bad reputation' talk."
"I've gotten that one before." Oh had he ever. The lesson was still bitter and disrupted the calm he had slowly managed to gather.
"This is from a veteran brawler." Harry responded back looking extremely serious. "I've been THE Brawler for this dungeon for at least five years. I've been here at least ten. I could easily be in a veteran dungeon, and likely into elite. There are still overflow dungeons at those levels, and they do need brawlers."
Despite himself Samael was suddenly interested. He had never heard something like this before. Heavens above, he had never even heard of Elite Brawlers.
"I keep here to hopefully mentor and keep an eye on you newbies. Someone needs to hear the harsh truths. I can dance through raindrops if I put my mind to it. I can smash through steel shields with a good hit. I can and have taken what amounts to a ballista bolt and stayed alive. I still get into trouble if I go to floor three." Harry met Samael's eyes at this point and seemed to be trying to emphasise the problem.
Samael was impressed just a bit, but also confused.
"Oh, don't get me wrong. At my level I can get down to floor five solo." Harry waved a hand. "I should just be able to dance through it instead of being careful and hope that hell's merciless gaze doesn't see me." The brawler shrugged at this point and kicked up his feet to show off the heavy boots. "You need to be able to move these."
"You mean your feet?" Samael's confusion deepened.
"Floor two has the skeletons with equipment like bows, swords, and armor. Floor three has skeleton mages." Harry stated bluntly and set down his boots. "They are just smart enough to use the spell Frost Snare and Magic Missile. They stick your feet to the ground and then kill you with magic. Magic Missile cannot be dodged, and it penetrates weaker Iron Skins."
Samael winced at the thought. He could see why that would kill a brawler. It'd also be trouble for other people too though. "What about other people? Wouldn't they have trouble too?"
"Most of the armsmen carry a throwing weapon they can get to. Shields help too. There's a reason why Man-at-Arms is one of the most common titles. Most people interested in weapons are encouraged to go there first so that they get a feel of every weapon." Harry leaped to his feet and made a few punches. "That's not what brawlers do ya know. We hit things with our fists. Pick up the weapons as more than a casual thing, and you're not one anymore."
Samael frowned a the statement. There was something wrong with that. "What about Swordsman or Swordmaster?"
"You become a Swordsman when you can cut a Magic Missile out of the air." Harry mimed a slice with a flattened hand. "You do that with a fist, you can lose the hand. It stings with me, and I've got Iron Skin as high as it can go."
Samael's head hit the wooden palisade he was sitting against and he sighed. "And no one wants to group with us either because we're undisciplined and unruly."
"Meh." Harry waved that one off. "That's what 'people' say. You ever watch a brawler fight?"
That question made the other man raise his eyebrows incredulously.
"I mean actually fight fight." Harry clarified and started to move around as if he was fighting.
"Noooo?" Samael actually had to think on that.
"We leap right into the crowds and use their bodies as shields. The bigger the better for us. You bounce, you leap, you grab, and shift. You never, ever stop moving. In turn the enemy can't focus right. We're actually less effective if there's one or two. That makes us a problem if we ever team up with someone else as we can get in the way if we're not careful." Harry explained as he did a few wide sweeping kicks.
"That still doesn't mean we're not good in groups." Samael reasoned out softly. It was a disadvantage, but it could be worked around.
Harry sighed and stopped moving. "It's one factor. Combined with the other weaknesses brawlers have, and we end up being the bottom of the barrel for teams."
Samael couldn't really argue with that in the end. There were a lot of notable weaknesses to his chosen title. He just, couldn't let it go. Perhaps he could provoke another vision at a temple when he could find it.
First though, he wanted to perfect what he had. Harry had said that it would be best to attempt floor two when he could get past floor one without an injury right? That would be the perfect test.
Well, actually. First would be to exchange his runestones for money and get some proper equipment. Samael looked down at his bare and dirty feet with a rueful expression. Walking through shattered bones wasn't fun.
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
Sweet a double update!
Oooooh. This is important. I wonder if this could be a thing somewhere in the future, being used to deceive people.
I'd say my guess was close to the mark.
But Samael has the perfect ability to counter them.
Samael casts Fist!
Oooooh. This is important. I wonder if this could be a thing somewhere in the future, being used to deceive people.
I'd say my guess was close to the mark.
But Samael has the perfect ability to counter them.
Samael casts Fist!
Chapter 8
Being a new adventurer was hard, Jessy mused as she followed in the trail of the other two men. There were so many things to think about, and even more to learn. It was worse for one who had just sparked themselves.
"Don't worry Jessy!" The leading man, a moderately fit man in chainmail and carrying a shield, called back cheerfully. "You just focus on that spell you learned."
"The captain didn't put us with you for fun." The other man added on. He was dressed more simply in boiled leather and carrying a few smaller weapons at his side.
"I know. I'm just a bit scared.." Jessy clutched her donated staff tightly.
"Mage is an easy title to get. Just cast a few spells and focus on magic. Never did it, but I picked up mine after real quick after I sparked.." The leading man paused as they approached the open gate and turned back to Jessy. "Relax, we've been down to level four before. You just need to hit a title and we'll walk you through this level and onto level two."
"First floor's a good warmup anyway. Bit of a pain with the large mobs of skeletons, but so long as you're careful on target priority you're fine." The other man chimed in and grinned.
Jessy nodded and brushed down her puffy robe as she tried to center herself. She was reminded again of the fact that most robes for women were clingy revealing things she would never be caught dead in. This had been the only thing in her price range she could actually bother to wear.
Actually, thinking of that, Jessy tilted her head. "You're experienced Adventurers right?"
"We've just been saying that." The leading man shot back good naturedly and rolled his eyes. "I am Jack the Man-at-Arms."
"And I'm Gerry the Thief." The other man stated. "Like we said, the captain put us with you for a reason. We're probably the best intro trainers for new adventurers. Especially you since you don't have a title." He chuckled. "Captain likes to give you new ones a good start."
"Well, I was wondering, did you know why most of the robes were all." Jessy gestured vaugely around her body.
"Ahhh." Both men shifted and looked elsewhere for a moment. Gerry jabbed at Jack's rib when it became clear neither was answering.
Jack cleared his throat. "Ok, it's like this. You know how it's easier for women to be magic users?"
Jessy thought a moment before raising a finger as the thought occurred to her. "Something about the Amazon's Conundrum right?"
"Don't know the details. Just that if you want to do magic, women are better. If you want to hit things, men are better." Jack muttered the first part but raised his voice for the second. He then pulled out a small mace. "From what someone told me, it's sort of how I can swing this harder than you could." The man swung the mace as emphasis.
"How does that relate to clothing?" Jessy paused and frowned. "Please tell me it's not because some pervert wanted it."
"More…" Jack shuffled and put away the mace. "Well, it's more that the girls don't need armor, so they wear what's flattering and comfortable. Saw one Archmage woman wearing what amounted to a pair of handkerchiefs. She had enough magical armor set up that she was wearing the equivalent of plate." He shrugged at the end. "Fashion followed I guess?" He looked at Gerry.
"Don't look at me!" The man raised his hands in objection. "I don't do fashion!"
"You're going for Rogue." Jack stated flatly.
"Not there yet. Dreading that particular part of training." The other man muttered in dread.
"Anyway! We're burning daylight. We'll get you your title, show you how mages work in parties, and you'll be one step closer to Summoner!" Jack moved through the open door.
Jessy frowned at both men's back, but eventually sighed and followed. She held the goal in her mind as she stepped into the dungeon, and only paused briefly at the changed terrain.
Jack led them calmly and surely down the bone sands. He had unlimbered his shield at some point, and had his mace twirling casually. Gerry had drifted off to the side, and Jessy glanced at him every now and again.
They encountered a bunch of skeletons relatively quickly. Five of them. Three carrying clubs, two without, and one dog like skeleton.
"All right!" Jack called out and the skeletons started to charge. "Now, there's four 'places' in the standard party. Think of it like a compass." Casually the man kneecapped one skeleton as it started to charge past him . It dropped to the ground and started to crawl. He ignored it as he spoke and defended against another two. "I'm North. You're South Jessy. Gerry's east at the moment."
Jessy fumbled with her staff as two skeletons bypassed Jack and charged for her. One of them was the dog. Gerry appeared out of nowhere and slid a dagger into the dog's spine and twisted. It dropped down.
"North is pointed toward the enemy. East and West stay to North's right and left." Jack stated and blocked the other two skeletons he was fighting. "North's job is to occupy people like I am."
Jessy shrieked and tried to remember the one spell she knew. Gerry ran after the skeleton trying to get her and then kicked it's knee. It went down.
"East and West take care of things like that, and then flank." Gerry commented, and backed away as the skeleton lunged at him.
"Why are they still up!?" Jessy yelled out and pointed her staff at the one fighting Gerry.
"You gotta get practice somehow!" Gerry stated with an irritating smirk.
Jessy's breaths came in short and sharp bursts. She focused. Gather the mana into the staff. Visualize the process and target. Then evoke the Title of the spell. "Magic Missile!"
A single bolt of magic slammed into the skeleton's head and it exploded. Despite herself, Jessy frowned. That was horrible. The bolt had wobbled and there'd been only one. A good cast did at least three.
"Good shot!" Gerry stated. "You got three more!"
"What does south do?" Jessy found herself asking as she aimed at the next target. She didn't need to speak the title of the spell, but she still did to help her focus it right. It was an acceptable novice trick. "Magic Missile!"
The skeleton dragging itself across the ground had it's head exploded by the spell. Gerry was the one to answer, as Jack appeared to have focused on keeping the skeletons on him at the moment.
"South's typically support. Which means you're technically in the wrong spot. East and West prioritize them, and South prioritizes keeping up North. You'd be West if we were using this particular strategy with a full party." Gerry shrugged and watched Jack get his shield beat on.
"Umm." Jessy watched for a moment and then realized what that meant. "So I'd be flanking them instead? How? Magic Missile!" She blew up one of the skeletons attempting to hit Jack.
She was starting to feel it a little bit stamina wise, but not much. Magic Missile was pretty easy as a spell. The only reason it hadn't supplanted bows was that is was relatively short range. Well that and apparently it being harder for men to cast.
"There's a reason he said think of a compass." Gerry grinned and then threw something at the last skeleton. It's head popped off, and Jerry saw the knife flip through the air as it finished. "You'd move off to the side and get an angle."
"Should I?" Jessy asked curiously. She was feeling pretty good now that the fight was over. It hadn't been that scary.
"No. South is where people who need to be defended are. You'll need Mage Armor first. Likely more." Jack stated seriously as he moved back. "And remember this is a rule of thumb in optimal conditions."
"As in, don't do this all the time." Gerry stated with a laugh. "Now, declare yourself."
"I am Jessy, the Mage." Jessy stated as confidently as she could. Then frowned as both men started to chuckle at her. There had been no resonance with the world on that statement.
"It can be quick, but not that quick." Gerry advised and continued to chuckle.
"You tricked me!" She accused.
That set both men to laughing hard.
"Don't worry Jessy!" The leading man, a moderately fit man in chainmail and carrying a shield, called back cheerfully. "You just focus on that spell you learned."
"The captain didn't put us with you for fun." The other man added on. He was dressed more simply in boiled leather and carrying a few smaller weapons at his side.
"I know. I'm just a bit scared.." Jessy clutched her donated staff tightly.
"Mage is an easy title to get. Just cast a few spells and focus on magic. Never did it, but I picked up mine after real quick after I sparked.." The leading man paused as they approached the open gate and turned back to Jessy. "Relax, we've been down to level four before. You just need to hit a title and we'll walk you through this level and onto level two."
"First floor's a good warmup anyway. Bit of a pain with the large mobs of skeletons, but so long as you're careful on target priority you're fine." The other man chimed in and grinned.
Jessy nodded and brushed down her puffy robe as she tried to center herself. She was reminded again of the fact that most robes for women were clingy revealing things she would never be caught dead in. This had been the only thing in her price range she could actually bother to wear.
Actually, thinking of that, Jessy tilted her head. "You're experienced Adventurers right?"
"We've just been saying that." The leading man shot back good naturedly and rolled his eyes. "I am Jack the Man-at-Arms."
"And I'm Gerry the Thief." The other man stated. "Like we said, the captain put us with you for a reason. We're probably the best intro trainers for new adventurers. Especially you since you don't have a title." He chuckled. "Captain likes to give you new ones a good start."
"Well, I was wondering, did you know why most of the robes were all." Jessy gestured vaugely around her body.
"Ahhh." Both men shifted and looked elsewhere for a moment. Gerry jabbed at Jack's rib when it became clear neither was answering.
Jack cleared his throat. "Ok, it's like this. You know how it's easier for women to be magic users?"
Jessy thought a moment before raising a finger as the thought occurred to her. "Something about the Amazon's Conundrum right?"
"Don't know the details. Just that if you want to do magic, women are better. If you want to hit things, men are better." Jack muttered the first part but raised his voice for the second. He then pulled out a small mace. "From what someone told me, it's sort of how I can swing this harder than you could." The man swung the mace as emphasis.
"How does that relate to clothing?" Jessy paused and frowned. "Please tell me it's not because some pervert wanted it."
"More…" Jack shuffled and put away the mace. "Well, it's more that the girls don't need armor, so they wear what's flattering and comfortable. Saw one Archmage woman wearing what amounted to a pair of handkerchiefs. She had enough magical armor set up that she was wearing the equivalent of plate." He shrugged at the end. "Fashion followed I guess?" He looked at Gerry.
"Don't look at me!" The man raised his hands in objection. "I don't do fashion!"
"You're going for Rogue." Jack stated flatly.
"Not there yet. Dreading that particular part of training." The other man muttered in dread.
"Anyway! We're burning daylight. We'll get you your title, show you how mages work in parties, and you'll be one step closer to Summoner!" Jack moved through the open door.
Jessy frowned at both men's back, but eventually sighed and followed. She held the goal in her mind as she stepped into the dungeon, and only paused briefly at the changed terrain.
Jack led them calmly and surely down the bone sands. He had unlimbered his shield at some point, and had his mace twirling casually. Gerry had drifted off to the side, and Jessy glanced at him every now and again.
They encountered a bunch of skeletons relatively quickly. Five of them. Three carrying clubs, two without, and one dog like skeleton.
"All right!" Jack called out and the skeletons started to charge. "Now, there's four 'places' in the standard party. Think of it like a compass." Casually the man kneecapped one skeleton as it started to charge past him . It dropped to the ground and started to crawl. He ignored it as he spoke and defended against another two. "I'm North. You're South Jessy. Gerry's east at the moment."
Jessy fumbled with her staff as two skeletons bypassed Jack and charged for her. One of them was the dog. Gerry appeared out of nowhere and slid a dagger into the dog's spine and twisted. It dropped down.
"North is pointed toward the enemy. East and West stay to North's right and left." Jack stated and blocked the other two skeletons he was fighting. "North's job is to occupy people like I am."
Jessy shrieked and tried to remember the one spell she knew. Gerry ran after the skeleton trying to get her and then kicked it's knee. It went down.
"East and West take care of things like that, and then flank." Gerry commented, and backed away as the skeleton lunged at him.
"Why are they still up!?" Jessy yelled out and pointed her staff at the one fighting Gerry.
"You gotta get practice somehow!" Gerry stated with an irritating smirk.
Jessy's breaths came in short and sharp bursts. She focused. Gather the mana into the staff. Visualize the process and target. Then evoke the Title of the spell. "Magic Missile!"
A single bolt of magic slammed into the skeleton's head and it exploded. Despite herself, Jessy frowned. That was horrible. The bolt had wobbled and there'd been only one. A good cast did at least three.
"Good shot!" Gerry stated. "You got three more!"
"What does south do?" Jessy found herself asking as she aimed at the next target. She didn't need to speak the title of the spell, but she still did to help her focus it right. It was an acceptable novice trick. "Magic Missile!"
The skeleton dragging itself across the ground had it's head exploded by the spell. Gerry was the one to answer, as Jack appeared to have focused on keeping the skeletons on him at the moment.
"South's typically support. Which means you're technically in the wrong spot. East and West prioritize them, and South prioritizes keeping up North. You'd be West if we were using this particular strategy with a full party." Gerry shrugged and watched Jack get his shield beat on.
"Umm." Jessy watched for a moment and then realized what that meant. "So I'd be flanking them instead? How? Magic Missile!" She blew up one of the skeletons attempting to hit Jack.
She was starting to feel it a little bit stamina wise, but not much. Magic Missile was pretty easy as a spell. The only reason it hadn't supplanted bows was that is was relatively short range. Well that and apparently it being harder for men to cast.
"There's a reason he said think of a compass." Gerry grinned and then threw something at the last skeleton. It's head popped off, and Jerry saw the knife flip through the air as it finished. "You'd move off to the side and get an angle."
"Should I?" Jessy asked curiously. She was feeling pretty good now that the fight was over. It hadn't been that scary.
"No. South is where people who need to be defended are. You'll need Mage Armor first. Likely more." Jack stated seriously as he moved back. "And remember this is a rule of thumb in optimal conditions."
"As in, don't do this all the time." Gerry stated with a laugh. "Now, declare yourself."
"I am Jessy, the Mage." Jessy stated as confidently as she could. Then frowned as both men started to chuckle at her. There had been no resonance with the world on that statement.
"It can be quick, but not that quick." Gerry advised and continued to chuckle.
"You tricked me!" She accused.
That set both men to laughing hard.
Last edited:
Genesys
(Discrete Mokona)
- Location
- California
So that's what declare is. Stating who you are and letting the world confirm it's true?
Probably an absolute truth, as in if the world resonates, it's definitely true. Would it accept different names? I'm certain it wouldn't accept different titles, but does it accept any name, only legal name, only name you think of as identifying yourself?
- Location
- England
Chapter 9
Adventuring was many things. A way of gathering riches. A vocation that was never quite safe. A way of life that led to wonders and horrors. What most people didn't talk about were the times when it was boring. Admittedly they probably also didn't think that it would happen while one was in combat.
Samael stepped forward. His fist slammed off the skeleton head. In a smooth motion he dodged the charging dog casually and lashed out with a kick, crushing it's spine. He bent forward to dodge the club from behind, bending a knee and using that to step away from the crowd.
It was all practiced and smooth. Little wasted movement, and precise as he could get with his level of experience. It was also boring now.
Samael hadn't even thought he could get bored of fighting! There wasn't even a rush with these mobs anymore. Just step, crush, dodge, and move. Fortunately they at least varied their patterns, but he was starting to think he would develop bad habits if he kept this up. Not even a month had passed either.
The teen finished up the mob quickly and methodically crushed their skulls with heel strikes. At least he had some equipment now. Nice and solid boots with a soft sole so he could feel his feet on the ground. A decent pair of pants. And his biggest splurge, a special box that he had strapped to the small of his back.
The box was the incredibly useful 'bag of holding.' Well, in this case box of holding. You could still get bags, but they were far more expensive. The boxes used the runestones from the dungeon to make them cheaper. They were inferior in many respects, but held larger items, and were more stable. You had to recharge them with magic less, typically.
Samael dropped his bounty into the box and looked around casually. That had been the last mob next to the entrance. He wasn't even tired really. He grabbed a bit of flatbread as a snack anyway. Dawn clear typically had breakfast after they finished, and his stomach was starting to protest a bit.
"Samael!" One of the brawlers called out as the young man approached. "You're getting fast! Not even a scratch either!"
The boy smiled halfheartedly. "Yep."
"Ah, I know that look." The brawler stated knowingly.
"Go ahead and hit level two." Another brawler waved him towards the entrance.
Samael blinked. "That's ok?"
The brawlers that had made it through their sweep guffawed loudly. One took the time to explain. "Listen, adventurers get advice and suggestions. Most people learn real quick that they don't take orders well usually. You can go all the way down to level three if you wanted. Hells below, you can go down to the bottom if you somone luck out. We're not gonna stop you."
"Ah." Samael stated and nodded. It made sense. He'd never been ordered, just advised. "All right, say hi to Harry for me."
"We'll tell him you didn't get a scratch." Someone called out as the young man walked down the stairs that were the opening to the second floor.
The second floor was far different than the first floor. Samael could see that immediately. Hallways cut roughly out of rough stone large enough for two people to walk across stretched from side to side. Runestones set into alcoves lit them up, and Samael could see one of the corridors opened up into a room. He walked down that way and paused as the first change registered.
There were four skeletons this time. One with a sword and shield. Two with spears. One with a bow.
"Shit!" Samael felt his body rush as immediately ducked and stomped forward under the arrow that the skeleton had unleased.
The skeleton with the shield moved forward to intercept him. Both spearmen moved to the sides of it and placed the spears so that they hemmed him in. Samael recognized the tactics purpose immediately even if he wasn't familiar with them. He spared a brief moment thinking about bad habits as he figured out what to do in the pause between arrows.
Had he let himself get more comfortable with the mobs, this would have been bad. Habit made him want to step back and try to get the spearmen in the way of the archer and the rest. It wouldn't have been a bad tactic, but it would have likely resulted in injury and taken longer.
Samael instead stepped closer into the shield. He slammed his fist forward.
The skeleton was stronger than a man. It was lighter than one though. Samael's strike into it's shield knocked it back several steps.
Samael moved forward again, smooth and practiced. This was almost perfect as a setup. The spears to the side weren't relevant. He was moving too quickly for them to get a good thrust.
He dodged the arrow. The leg came up, and the skeleton with the shield couldn't even block as it came down to shatter it. Samael reset his stance quickly and dashed under the next arrow as the skeleton with the bow tried to get off one last shot. It went crunch satisfyingly well.
Without the interference, it was a simple matter of grabbing the spears and using sheer strength to knock the last two off guard. Samael found it satisfying.
It still wasn't much of a challenge, but it was something. He moved on to the next room after throwing the bounty into his bag.
This room was a group of skeletons again. Though their configuration was more annoying than the last one. Six. Three with spears pointed down and covering the entrance. The archers immediately let lose the second they saw Samael.
"You can't be serious." Samael muttered and dodged best he could. One arrow glanced off his shoulder. His Iron Skin was at the level where it did little more than scratch him.
A spearwall like this meant that he couldn't use his normal tactics. Instead, Samael decided to use some old ones. He dashed towards the spears and they jabbed forward as if anticipating breaking into his skin.
Samael didn't let them. Instead he dropped down into a slide at the very last second, skidding along the rough stone for a brief, almost painful moment. That brought him just under the speartips.
Using the hand nearest to the ground he pushed off it hard. This close the skeletons couldn't bring the spears forward. He grabbed one and threw it into the other with all his might. They clattered together and fell to the ground for a moment. The teen used the opening to knock the head off the still up skeleton and then sprinted to the archers before they could get off another shot.
They did unfortunately. Three arrows sped towards him and glanced off his bare torso, fortunately not finding purchase. Three long scratches adorned his body and dripped blood, but Samael was then among them.
After that it was really just cleanup. Samael found himself in a fairly good mood. This was new and challenging! Though another thought made him frown.
There was a decent chance that it wasn't going to last. There were only so many ways that they could use weapons on him.
Samael eventually shrugged to himself as he looked over the room. He would get to it when he got to it. Hopefully his attempt to provoke a vision at the church would give results. One step at a time.
Samael stepped forward. His fist slammed off the skeleton head. In a smooth motion he dodged the charging dog casually and lashed out with a kick, crushing it's spine. He bent forward to dodge the club from behind, bending a knee and using that to step away from the crowd.
It was all practiced and smooth. Little wasted movement, and precise as he could get with his level of experience. It was also boring now.
Samael hadn't even thought he could get bored of fighting! There wasn't even a rush with these mobs anymore. Just step, crush, dodge, and move. Fortunately they at least varied their patterns, but he was starting to think he would develop bad habits if he kept this up. Not even a month had passed either.
The teen finished up the mob quickly and methodically crushed their skulls with heel strikes. At least he had some equipment now. Nice and solid boots with a soft sole so he could feel his feet on the ground. A decent pair of pants. And his biggest splurge, a special box that he had strapped to the small of his back.
The box was the incredibly useful 'bag of holding.' Well, in this case box of holding. You could still get bags, but they were far more expensive. The boxes used the runestones from the dungeon to make them cheaper. They were inferior in many respects, but held larger items, and were more stable. You had to recharge them with magic less, typically.
Samael dropped his bounty into the box and looked around casually. That had been the last mob next to the entrance. He wasn't even tired really. He grabbed a bit of flatbread as a snack anyway. Dawn clear typically had breakfast after they finished, and his stomach was starting to protest a bit.
"Samael!" One of the brawlers called out as the young man approached. "You're getting fast! Not even a scratch either!"
The boy smiled halfheartedly. "Yep."
"Ah, I know that look." The brawler stated knowingly.
"Go ahead and hit level two." Another brawler waved him towards the entrance.
Samael blinked. "That's ok?"
The brawlers that had made it through their sweep guffawed loudly. One took the time to explain. "Listen, adventurers get advice and suggestions. Most people learn real quick that they don't take orders well usually. You can go all the way down to level three if you wanted. Hells below, you can go down to the bottom if you somone luck out. We're not gonna stop you."
"Ah." Samael stated and nodded. It made sense. He'd never been ordered, just advised. "All right, say hi to Harry for me."
"We'll tell him you didn't get a scratch." Someone called out as the young man walked down the stairs that were the opening to the second floor.
The second floor was far different than the first floor. Samael could see that immediately. Hallways cut roughly out of rough stone large enough for two people to walk across stretched from side to side. Runestones set into alcoves lit them up, and Samael could see one of the corridors opened up into a room. He walked down that way and paused as the first change registered.
There were four skeletons this time. One with a sword and shield. Two with spears. One with a bow.
"Shit!" Samael felt his body rush as immediately ducked and stomped forward under the arrow that the skeleton had unleased.
The skeleton with the shield moved forward to intercept him. Both spearmen moved to the sides of it and placed the spears so that they hemmed him in. Samael recognized the tactics purpose immediately even if he wasn't familiar with them. He spared a brief moment thinking about bad habits as he figured out what to do in the pause between arrows.
Had he let himself get more comfortable with the mobs, this would have been bad. Habit made him want to step back and try to get the spearmen in the way of the archer and the rest. It wouldn't have been a bad tactic, but it would have likely resulted in injury and taken longer.
Samael instead stepped closer into the shield. He slammed his fist forward.
The skeleton was stronger than a man. It was lighter than one though. Samael's strike into it's shield knocked it back several steps.
Samael moved forward again, smooth and practiced. This was almost perfect as a setup. The spears to the side weren't relevant. He was moving too quickly for them to get a good thrust.
He dodged the arrow. The leg came up, and the skeleton with the shield couldn't even block as it came down to shatter it. Samael reset his stance quickly and dashed under the next arrow as the skeleton with the bow tried to get off one last shot. It went crunch satisfyingly well.
Without the interference, it was a simple matter of grabbing the spears and using sheer strength to knock the last two off guard. Samael found it satisfying.
It still wasn't much of a challenge, but it was something. He moved on to the next room after throwing the bounty into his bag.
This room was a group of skeletons again. Though their configuration was more annoying than the last one. Six. Three with spears pointed down and covering the entrance. The archers immediately let lose the second they saw Samael.
"You can't be serious." Samael muttered and dodged best he could. One arrow glanced off his shoulder. His Iron Skin was at the level where it did little more than scratch him.
A spearwall like this meant that he couldn't use his normal tactics. Instead, Samael decided to use some old ones. He dashed towards the spears and they jabbed forward as if anticipating breaking into his skin.
Samael didn't let them. Instead he dropped down into a slide at the very last second, skidding along the rough stone for a brief, almost painful moment. That brought him just under the speartips.
Using the hand nearest to the ground he pushed off it hard. This close the skeletons couldn't bring the spears forward. He grabbed one and threw it into the other with all his might. They clattered together and fell to the ground for a moment. The teen used the opening to knock the head off the still up skeleton and then sprinted to the archers before they could get off another shot.
They did unfortunately. Three arrows sped towards him and glanced off his bare torso, fortunately not finding purchase. Three long scratches adorned his body and dripped blood, but Samael was then among them.
After that it was really just cleanup. Samael found himself in a fairly good mood. This was new and challenging! Though another thought made him frown.
There was a decent chance that it wasn't going to last. There were only so many ways that they could use weapons on him.
Samael eventually shrugged to himself as he looked over the room. He would get to it when he got to it. Hopefully his attempt to provoke a vision at the church would give results. One step at a time.
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- Location
- England
Do you mean 'less frequently'? I think that would make more sense in context.
It was missing a comma