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“I would’ve kicked his ass no problem,” Glish mocked as he jabbed the air a few times before uppercutting nothing. “Wouldn’t have needed some stupid line about ‘writing a butt kicking’ or whatever.”
“Scribe an ass whooping,” I drunkenly snapped. “I literally just said it.”
“And I wouldn’t have needed it,” The Hafflin reiterated, continuing to box the shadows. “I’d have hopped right up there and just knocked the crap out of him. One shot. Out cold. No problem.”
Vergusson slammed his drink on the table with a huge burp. Giving Glish a curious look he declared, “I’ve never seen you knock anybody out?” They may have been on each other’s team in the vast majority of scenarios, but Vergusson’s true loyalty seemed to be whatever he felt like saying in the moment.
“That’s because people don’t mess with us…” Glish hopped on the counter top. “And why would they? Look at you. You’re a mess. And I’m right at everybody’s nuts.” He circled his fists in the air, right around where someone’s nuts would if they were standing on the counter next to him.
Syrielle was very entertained watching me grow irritated, but decided it was time to stand up for me. Likely due to her own annoyance with the hafflin. “Glish, how many fights have you won?”
“What?”
I was happy to push the momentum, “Yeah. You ever take someone down?”
Glish looked embarrassed before he said, “Remember I smashed that dude’s leg when he wouldn’t give us a dog.”
“Then I kicked him in the chest,” I whipped my leg out imitating myself.
“And I put my foot on his throat so I did two things and you did one.”
Syrielle looked at me with great sarcasm, “His math adds up, it’s just a numbers game.”
“Well that doesn’t count?”
Her hands held out as a scale and she shook her shoulder’s emphatically, “Well then what are we counting? Have either of you ever won a fight?”
It turns out she wasn’t actually standing up for me. She just thought Glish was a douchebag. And she probably thought I was a douchebag too.
The hafflin and I looked at each other as we both pondered our past battles. Not that there were that many actual fights I was in. For some reason I felt like there was more, but honestly I did do a lot of standing around and watching. “Well yeah I won that bar fight.” I remembered excitedly. “That’s what Glish was talking about. So I won a fight.”
“And I beat up Larry Porter,” Glish held a finger up. “I kicked his ass.”
“Oh yeah,” Verg nodded, “I passed out but they told me about it later. Glish won a fist fight. All by himself.” The half-orc high fived his little buddy.
Not done with her bullying the samurai continued to press us, “And how about a sword fight? Either of you cross blades with someone and come away alright without one of us stepping in?”
Without hesitating I said, “No not at all I’ve been defeated literally every time there’s been a weapon in my opponent’s hand.”
Glish snickered at me.
When she looked at him he frowned and said, “No.”
“I was about to get the better of a goblin before his friend stepped in,” I pathetically added. At the moment I didn’t even fully recall what happened, I just remember I thought I was going to win. But when I played it back in the deep dream later, I was even more confident I would have had him.
“Doesn’t count,” Glish said, “I did the same thing.”
She nodded, “Okay. interesting.” There was a competitive fire in her eyes. Much like what I saw when she’d argued with Vergusson about who killed more goblins. Or even last week after getting back from Portertown we found out Vergusson and some others defended a nearby mine from raiders. She was pissed because he clearly fought way more people than she did. Though she was pretty sure she was duking it out with high level sell swords in Portertown so her battles might have been cooler.
I had a feeling their pettiness was going to be an ongoing thing, and it was pretty clear from her face it was all about to get weirder.
But the least strange thing of all, was that Vergusson was on the same page as her, as if they formed some kind of antagonistic hive mind. “Glish is gonna kill someone first. He’s way tougher than that pussy.” His half-orc finger extended right at me.
The samurai pointed her human finger back at him ferociously declaring, “Elrin’s about to scribe a slaughter.” Shrugging as pretentiously as she could, the swordmaster added, “Glish’s tiny little weapons are adorable and all, but he ain’t nothing in a fight.” Having spent nearly a month training me she was sure that I was twice the fighter I was when I stepped onto the Grumbsy dock.
Still, she basically just said, “My best friend can beat up your best friend,” but called both of us goobers and that was just kind of embarrassing so the urge to defend myself was overwhelming.
My eyes locked on the tiny dude’s. I summoned as much arrogance as I could muster into a devious little smirk. “First round of troll for a week says I win a sword fight first.”
“A month,” He shouted and I agreed without hesitation.
From there we bickered obnoxiously and honestly none of it was clever so I don’t even want to talk about it. To be perfectly candid it’s really not a healthy relationship, we don’t bring out the best in each other.
But, we’re still a couple more bodies to help out with the task of drawing out the bandits that had been assaulting small groups on the road between Grumbsy and Crudingdale. An equally large town directly to the East and right near the end of the forest. Trant heard reports of merchants leaving Crudingdale for Grumbsy, only to never arrive. And from his understanding, several people left Grumbsy without reaching Crudingdale either.
The quickest suspicion on everyone’s mind was bandits. Though others thought it was a beast. While others thought it was more along the lines of wicked trickers. Anything is possible on the continent of Kayos. But bandits are the most common problem. All we knew is that Trant didn’t like merchants going missing, and was willing to spend a fair amount of gold to see if we could figure out what was going on.
When he asked for help there were four people in the Titan’s Trap eager and ready to go. That was about a day before we made the wager to see who’s the better killer. Which was an extremely disturbing thing to gamble over the more I thought about it, but if there were bandits out there hurting people there aren’t really a whole lot of other solutions to the problem.
As gross as it was, this was the life I chose. A Hero’s life. The life of an adventurer. And with horror around every corner in the land of Kayos, it was my duty to shine a light in the shadows. If that means slaying some beasts, and putting some nasty folk in the ground, then that’s what that means.
Syrielle had shown compassion and mercy on multiple occasions. There is no denying she has a bizarre taste for war, but the way she knocked out those town guards in Portertown, and from some of the other stories she’s told me, the samurai took pride in her mercy. In fact, unless her foe is particularly wicked, she’ll almost always try to keep them alive. Sometimes, even if they are rather naughty, she won’t kill them if she doesn’t need to.
Vergusson loves to brawl probably more than he loves to fight with his battle ax. From what little I’ve seen he only pulls that bad boy out when he’s in danger. A few people have threatened him around town, and he just punches them. Then he laughs about it. He never wants to hurt anyone, he just doesn’t care if he does.
But once it’s time for war, the barbarian’s rage is as untethered as any I’d ever seen.
Glish would probably fight more if he was taller, but he also probably wouldn’t have an attitude. But to his credit, he hasn’t ever shown himself to be all that bloodthirsty. Unless there’s a blade in his face or someone kicks a dog in front of him he doesn’t display genuine aggression. Just a big mouth that would get him in trouble if he wasn’t standing next to a half- orc.
In the end it was a righteous enough group. Perhaps not perfect, but two of us were the perfect people for a job like this. And the other two of us were here to distract them with our competitiveness combined with our near competence.
The more I thought the more I dreaded it. For both the fact I wasn’t sure what it would feel like to end a life, and also the fact that my life might end. As confident as I was, as brave as I was, I do keep getting my ass kicked. Without Nydorri’s cream and berries, or Roan’s left hand I didn’t have the option to have immediate medical attention if I’m wounded.
Same with Glish. What if I just got him killed by challenging him to a wager?
A hero doesn’t get people who annoy him killed. That’s not what heroes do.
Buck Station, a small Tavern & Inn, halfway between Grumbsy and Crudingdale didn’t have any other patrons besides us at the time. It wasn’t a part of a town, at least not yet. The owner said there were a lot of settlers that had homes in the area and lived off the land. Occasionally they’d contribute meat from their hunts and other items.
The owner explained the economy didn’t help Buck Station on its own and that the establishment was often subsidized by Trant and Samson Monolo, the mayor of Crudingdale. They wanted a comfortable location halfway between their town for traveling merchants. Both men figured it was worth the investment to build a trade between their villages as they grew. Sooner or later, Buck Station may grow as well.
And so there we were. Four people without a healthy dynamic among us. Doing what we shouldn’t be doing the night before we embark on a day’s attempt to draw out a group of potentially murderous thieves.
We passed out pretty early and were on the road at the first crack of dawn. For the most part we refrained from the trash talking, but it was clear that tensions were rather high at this point. I was exhausted, but had fought through far worse many times.
A couple more hours down the same road went by with nothing interesting happening. Then suddenly a deer ran in front of us. We thought it would be interesting, but it wasn’t so we let it go. By day’s end we made it to Crudingdale. It was barely the size of Grumby the day I hopped off the dock, but it was much closer to a small mountain with plenty of resources inside. In fact, Buck Station wasn’t even closer than the nearest town. We drank again and talked ever more shit before passing out.
The next day we spun around, for yet another boring walk.
Upon hitting Buck Station once again, we spun around one more time.
This time, about a third of the way up the road, a man walked out from behind a tree to stand in front of us with his arms crossed. He wore the fur of a wolf on his back with his bare chest exposed. Two swords sat on his waist.
More mysterious men in animal fur of several kinds emerged from the bushes around us. None of them had their weapons drawn yet, but from what I could see they were all armed.
“Howdy there,” Syrielle shouted. Then she bumped me in the shoulder and whispered. “You’re the talker. He’ll probably flirt with me or something weird.”
A deep hoarse voice responded, “Hello beautiful. Funny seeing you here.” The man with the wolf on his back licked his lips as he looked her up and down.
Syrielle turned to Vergusson, “Oh I’m killing that one.”
“For sure.” The half-orc looked to his left and stepped towards a particularly large man wearing bear fur standing in the bushes near him.
“Excuse me,” I announced loudly. “May we ask what business you have with us?”
They all giggled, revealing more than I could see. The man in wolf fur laughed the loudest before he explained, “You boys can drop whatever you have and run. The girl on the other hand…”
“I don’t want to talk to him either.” There was no reason to converse with him at all.
The samurai smiled and took a very happy step towards her purpose. “Bet.”
Vergusson may or may not have heard us. I like to think he did because he launched himself into the bushes as various screams mixed together. When I looked back to Syrielle she was on the other side of the wolf guy and his head was rolling in the dirt.
Arrows were flying at both of them, but I didn’t have time to note where they were from.
A man with a badger on his head, worn out leather armor and most importantly a short sword, jumped from the tree near me. My rapier deflected the first blow. I quickly threw my own strike but he deflected as well. And from there we just flowed. Almost like dance partners.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye one of his allies charged at us, but Syrielle handled him so quickly I didn’t even have time to panic. My focus returned to the task in front of me. The pair of prodigies would handle the enemy around me. I needed to keep my mind on his weapon and my own.
All of that training with the sword genius. Those early mornings. The long days of hard sparring. And the endless drills to perfect my technique. It was working. I could feel it. I could feel it in every move.
My muscles had finally memorized what I was supposed to do. The problem was, my opponent was just as skilled. The good news was, he wasn’t more skilled. We went back and forth, attacking and defending. Neither gaining the upper hand at any point.
For a second I backed away, trying to rethink my attack. I could hear the sound of metal clanging and Glish grunting, along with another voice taunting and swearing. For a moment I wondered if the opponent started the trash talk or just responded to it.
Syrielle casually announced, as if her supposed best friend wasn’t in a fight to the death, “I go seven.” I tried to focus on the task at hand, but couldn’t help but notice her voice, as well as the response. “Those two are dead, and those three might be.”
“Damnit,” Vergusson shouted. “I got this one.”
“6 is solid dude,” Syrielle encouraged. “There’s only 15 of them.”
“GLISH!” Verg screamed. “KILL HIM!”
“ELRIN KICK HIS ASS,” Syrielle was even louder. “END THAT BITCH.”
Then the half-orc started yelling without words coming out.
So the human girl did the same.
Hyped on adrenaline I lunged forward. I was really confident I was going to kill him that time. But I didn’t. My failure put me on the back foot.
My arms were tighter. My moves were sloppier. And he slowly started to overwhelm me. I began to think even more. But then, to my surprise, he started to slow down too. Not significantly, but the fatigue was evident.
So I put the pressure back on, while being careful. And a moment later we were both huffing and puffing. With our teammates screaming for us, I couldn’t lose. I was not going to be defeated this day.
I unleashed a flurry of strikes, ending my combination holding the sword in my right hand by swinging it across my body to the left, and then back to the right. My foe deflected and dodged only to see his own opening.
My reflexes were on point and I leaned hard on my back foot. His blade sliced across my stomach, but it was only a scratch. And he was completely off balance. With full control over myself I stepped forward jabbing the tip of my blade into his gut. My left hand reached out and grabbed his blade hand to stop him from attacking again. Then I twisted my sword in his stomach.
Blood boiled from his mouth and I felt bad.
But not that bad.
Not after what his friend said about mine. And based on her screams, she was as happy as could be. “I fucking told you. I told you. That’s my fucking boy!” I don’t know if she was trying to sound like a dude, but if she was she fucking nailed it.
The loud sounds of a half-orc whining rattled us all. And I have to admit I saw it affect Glish’s focus. He was still fighting, but he wasn’t losing until suddenly he was. His opponent found an opening, and stabbed him in the chest. The wound wasn’t deep and the hafflin shoved it out pretty quickly, but the little guy fell to the ground.
As the foe raised the weapon to attack again I shouted, “You’ll have to fight him after!” I was pointing at the half-orc covered in the blood of his comrades, with saliva pouring out of the side of his mouth.
There was no value in defeating Glish in the wager if Glish died. That would be one of the most depressing things that could ever happen to me. I would absolutely fucking hate that. Glory is built upon the success of others, not their failures.
Wearing a bunny on his head, the man growled and disappeared into the bushes, leaving the potential other survivors of his gang behind. Glish didn’t appear to be badly wounded from the battle, but Vergusson was so angry at the hafflin that he genuinely ran over and straight up punted him.
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