It sickens me.
It's been a few weeks since the incident that killed that kind family took place.
Their lifeless bodies replay over and over in my mind, haunting flashes of blood and stillness. And amid the horror, I can't shake the memory of Aengus—the gentleness he showed me, despite my being a person who had killed and stolen.
I'm sick of it.
I've taken to drowning my sorrows in the dim haze of a tavern, the air thick with smoke and regret. Night after night, I spend what's left of my coin on bottle after bottle, chasing numbness at the bottom of a glass.
Drinking alone at an isolated table in the corner.
I glance across the tavern and see a bundle of people—arms linked, laughter spilling from their mouths, eyes bright with warmth.
They're lost in joy, untouched by the weight that crushes me. It feels like another world entirely, one I no longer belong to.
I look down at my cup filled to the brim with cheap booze, as I fiddle with the rusty ring still on my right ring finger.
I reach down into my pocket, thinking of getting up to get another bottle, but it jingles a little.
I'm almost out of money.
But I don't want to kill like that again.
I can't bring myself to take the lives of innocent people any longer.
They have families and people who care for them.
I simply can't strip them of that.
A loud laughter then burst from a table right next to mine, followed by a large conversation that I ended up overhearing.
"Drink up, Edran! We hit it big today—the drinks are on me tonight!" a man with long, tangled brown hair and a dented helmet bellows, laughter spilling from his throat as he downs another bottle with reckless joy.
Opposite him, a hulking figure with a long, thick neck hunched over his cup, his heavy frame tense. His eyes were clouded with worry.
"Are you sure, boss? These drinks are a bit expensive."
With a hearty laugh, the man gave a good-natured whack on the other's head. "Come on, don't be such a downer! We're celebrating—after a haul like this, how could we not?" His grin was wide, full of reckless joy.
The long-necked man looks down and his face starts to brighten up, "You're right, boss. Well then, if you don't mind," he says, chugging his cup.
"That's more like it!"
They have a long conversation full of laughter.
How nice.
It must be comforting to have someone to drink with.
I glance across the table, and the empty seat seems to glare back at me like a silent accusation. The weight of absence presses down, and my heart sinks deep into a well of aching loneliness.
Why, after 18 years isolating myself from others, do I now crave the presence of someone?
It wasn't like this before.
Did I change?
Were people not just ants below me, at the mercy of whether or not my foot crushes them?
I don't know anymore.
A few moments pass, and something from the men's conversation sparks an interest in me.
The long-necked man, a bit drunk with an arm on the table, asked, "Hey, boss, don't you think we should start doing harder jobs now?"
The helmeted man looks at him in agreement.
"Exactly! It's just the two of us—untouchable, unstoppable!" His laughter fills the room, loud and proud. "Nobody in the guild dares to challenge us!"
My face jolts up.
Guild?
Is this said "guild" where they got their money from?
They mentioned something about jobs as well.
I rise slowly from my seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the wooden floor with a sharp screech. Step by step, I make my way to their table, each footfall deliberate. I come to a stop, casting a shadow over them as I loom above.
Their laughter comes to a halt as their attention pans to me.
"Can you tell me more about this guild?" I asked, my voice gentle, almost disarmingly kind.
The helmeted man casts a look of thinly veiled disgust in my direction, then turns away, lifts his cup, and downs a long drink before facing me again.
"Get lost, kid."
He turns back to the long-necked man and continues his conversation.
I steady my voice, doing my best to remain polite. "Please, sir, can you tell me where this guild is?" A practiced, insincere smile stretches across my face.
He turns back to me slowly, then rises from his chair in one heavy motion. Without warning, his hand clamps onto my cloak, yanking me off the ground with brute strength.
"What did I just tell you?" he growls, face twisted with rage. "Piss. Off."
Then, with utter disdain, he spits directly into my eye.
My eye instinctively shuts as the spit hits, warm and vile. I raise a hand, wiping it away with a grimace.
Disgust coils in my gut. Absolutely revolting.
I'm done with this charade.
I've tried to show him kindness, but he apparently doesn't know what the word means.
In one swift motion, my hand snaps to his, gripping the fingers that dared lift me. Energy coils beneath my skin as I silently begin to ready a spell, heat and fury building at my fingertips.
Armament.
My body hardens as he drops me. He stumbles back, clutching his hand, where fingers once were; only gory, open sockets remain. Blood spurts in rhythmic pulses. His scream tears through the tavern, raw and agonized.
The long-necked man lunges forward, delivering a brutal punch to my face. But my head remains unmoved—like a stone wall. His fist shatters against me, blood bursting from his knuckles as he screams in sudden, agonizing pain.
I tower over the helmeted man, my patience shattered. With a swift, unforgiving grip, I seize his neck and hoist him off the ground. He struggles violently, desperate to break free, but my hold tightens like iron.
"Let me ask you one more time," I growl, voice dripping with menace. "Where can I find this guild you spoke about?"
His eyes lock onto mine, wide with pure terror, and after a moment, he breaks—his voice trembling like a shattered whisper.
"The g-guild h-hall… it's on the o-o-other side of town."
My grip loosens as I drop him to the floor.
"Just fucking say that in the first place."
I turn away, pulling the hood of my dark cloak low over my face. The cold eyes of the tavern's patrons burn into my back as I slip silently through the door.
I head back to my inn and head to bed.
The next morning, I set out for the guild hall that I'd been tipped about on the other side of town.
Walking around, I got lost but ultimately found my way and made it to a large stone building in front of a town square.
This must be it.
I shove open the two massive wooden doors, stepping into a cavernous hall that looms like a fortress. The space thrums with the murmur of countless figures, shadows shifting among the gathered masses.
There were multiple tables in the middle of the large room where some people ate, and people were lining up at a counter where some ladies were. It looked like it was some sort of information center. But the majority of people were in front of a large bulletin board, stretching across the entire wall, which filled up with paper as people examined it.
I need to find out how to register as a guild member.
Or is it an adventurer?
I decided to line up behind the information counter and wait for my turn.
Finally, at the front of the line, the lady behind the counter greets me, "Good morning, sir, and welcome to Briarhelm's Adventure Guild Hall. What can I help you with today?"
"I was wondering how I could take up jobs."
The lady looks at me with a smile, "You must first register as an adventurer before you accept any quests from our bulletin board." She points to the large bulletin surrounded by a horde of people.
"I see. How do I do that?"
"I can help you register right now, as well as administer you your adventurer's card."
She scurries with her hands behind the counter, grabbing a small stone tablet.
"May I ask for your name, sir?"
I slowly open my mouth, but hesitate for a bit before pausing completely.
I need to create an alias. I refuse to let anyone know my real name.
I don't trust anyone in this world.
"Oryn."
"I see," she says, putting some sort of spell on the tablet. It glows and reconstructs itself, engraving small writing on the face and hands it to me. "Here you are, Mr. Oryn."
Staring at the small stone tablet now in my hands, I try to read the words that were engraved.
Oryn.
Adventurer Rank: Grade 1
I look back up at the woman as she gives me an explanation, "This is your adventurer card. Every time you take up a quest, you simply head to the bulletin and rip off one of the papers. Once you're done, you turn in the paper, as well as evidence of completing the quest, and show your adventurer card at this counter."
I glance down at my adventurer card and point at the small writing, "What does 'Adventurer Rank: Grade 1' mean?"
"That corresponds to the difficulty of quests that you are able to take. Since you are grade 1, you are only able to take grade 1 quests, but once you advance to the next tier, you are able to take more difficult quests. And of course, the harder quests give better rewards. Grade 1 quests typically give two iron coins."
"How do I get to the next tier?"
"Every adventurer starts out at grade 1, which is the lowest with grade 5 being the highest. In order to get to the next tier, you simply take up more quests, and your adventurer card will eventually update. Keep in mind that adventuring is a difficult job, and it usually takes adventurers years before advancing to the next tier."
I stare even harder at the card, bringing it to my eye.
"What do you mean by my adventurer card 'eventually updating'?"
The lady sighs; it seems like she's tired of explaining all of this to me.
"The adventurer card is imbued with magic, and the card corresponds to your own body. If you get stronger, the card will recognize that and determine whether you advance to the next tier or not, and change on its own. Of course, you are welcome to decline and stay at the same tier if you wish."
She glares at me, eyes sharp and unyielding, silently pleading for me to take the hint and move on. I glance over my shoulder—an impatient line of scowling faces stretches back, their frustration thick in the air.
I look back, thanking her as I left.
Seems like adventuring is a tiresome task and has more risks than rewards. Grade 1 quests give two iron coins? That's far too low. But it's probably a trivial task, like something along the lines of collecting some sort of fruit, or slaying rabbits and harvesting their hide.
A slow, sinister smile twists across my face as I approach the bulletin board, its surface cluttered with blood-stained notices and torn parchment. The crowd clustered around it shifts uneasily, casting wary glances as I draw near, my steps deliberate.
Now then...
What job to choose?...