Almund is a thriving township with a dark side. With houses made from the wooden bodies of decommissioned ships, there are many opportunities here, coupled with many dangers.
In the dark of twilight, a woman was unceremoniously tossed into the snow outside a tavern by two thick bouncers. She landed roughly with only her forearms preventing her face from digging into the snow. She tongued at her bottom lip, tasting the iron that signified a bruising cut was indeed there. "You didn't kick me out!" Max shouted shamelessly at the bouncers as they turned their backs to walk back into the tavern. "I was already leaving!" She rolled over onto her back to look up at the cloudy Cylus sky.
It wasn't enough that every business in town was jacking up their prices on her, and she'd no hope of working as a mercenary in Almund for the rest of her days. The Hounds that were once her co-workers had gotten their licks in, too. Every time she wandered into a tavern as of late, it seemed she was bound to run into a small pack of them. Her middle tightened with shame when they rested their gazes upon her. She'd done her best to ignore them, but such a strategy was nearly impossible for her to bear when they dug at her with taunts. It always ended in fisticuffs, and this time was no different. They managed to get some good shots in once or twice, but for the most part, the ex-mercenary had done a damn good job of holding her own before the bouncers broke it up.
Chrien take them all.
Maxine got back on her feet and began the bitter trek home. All the while she couldn't help but replay each insult in her head over and over. She had half a mind to storm back into the tavern and rain down yet another beating. It would be a single layer of gauze over a gaping wound. Forcing them to shit teeth wouldn't change the fact that being shunned by The Kennels and The Merchant Guild had left her in low social standing in Almund. So long as she remained back on the bottom where she'd started, this was going to be the way of her world. It was a notion the proud Rusalka couldn't bear.
She didn't stop when she got to her door. Instead she walked around the modest building all together in favor of an old, sturdy, wooden post her neighbor had used to hold up one end of her clothes string. Likely it was once the mast of a small ship, and for Max's purposes, it would do. She wrenched her sword from its sheath with more force than necessary. The fingers of her right hand clutched the hilt tight. Her caramel stare turned dark as she dared down at the shining steel blade.
The anger was boiling over an already small pot. It had to go somewhere. She had to force it to manifest into the world for fear she'd go insane if she didn't.
Ned's sword still felt alien in her grip. She felt like no proper swordman when she wielded it. Tonight, she didn't have to. She only needed something deadly to swing, and for that it would serve its purpose with enough finesse to feed her need to express herself with violence. First she let the fire build within until it was an internal pyre that might make even Merces tremble to behold.
Who the fuck do they think they are?
Gibney and Dana were a pair of old, washed up mercenaries with swords as dull as a river stone. They hid behind their talented Hounds, reaping the benefits of another's labor and basking in the light of Almund's gratitude. She doubted Dana had ever stepped out from behind that damn desk a trial in his life to get his hands dirty. He was little more than a bookkeeper. His power came from a quill and an inkwell rather than polished steel. Who was he to have questioned how she'd done her job? How could he pass judgement upon her when it was his bum buddy, not him, that was accustomed to the smell of the dead and the blood stained clothes? Her grip upon her sword's hilt turned white knuckle. The nails on her left hand dug into her palms her fist was clenched so tight, threatening to break the skin and fill her grip with her own blood.
I did every-fucking-thing they asked! I gave them every-fucking-thing I had every trial. Every trial! This is what I get in return? A big "fuck you"?
Her cheeks knew the sensation of knuckles driving into her face. They weren't just those of tavern brawlers or childhood rivals. Even before her falling out with The Kennel, she'd taken a beating from Hounds during Gibney's twisted vetting process. It had been her first trial on the job. She hadn't even been officially hired yet. A faux kidnapping turned into torture to test her loyalty. The reputation of The Kennels hadn't been worth the beating she took by her employer's command. She didn't owe them a damn thing, but she kept her mouth shut about their business despite that. Had her show of dedication been rendered truly worthless? Just like that?
Maxine brought the sword down from above with a shriek of frustration. The short sword left a long, diagonal slice across the buried ship mast before her. The newly exposed wood stood out, a soft tan line contrasting its canvas of a dark, weather-worn exterior. As soon as she cleared the target she turned with an equally angry back swing. Had the mast been a body rather than the corpse of a tree, guts might've spilled like red rope from the wound.
Bastards thinking they know every damned thing. Acting like they're the fucking gods of Almund, all-knowing and shit.
Remembering what Dana had said to her the trial she and Merces returned to The Kennel after their mission raised her temperature. He'd claimed that they knew everything. No, not just that. He claimed that they always knew everything, too. If that was true, she hadn't lied when she went off on the man. He implied they knew what horrors Merces was capable of. He implied that they knew she had set out to do the job right, to do it honestly. It meant that they knew they'd sent her out to a massacre wherein she'd have to choose between self-preservation and morality. Omniscience like that meant accountability.
As far as she was concerned, Dana had given her the perfect opening to shift total blame onto The Kennels. It wasn't Merces after all that had driven her so off course from what she'd hoped to build in Almund. She'd been conned by the very men she'd respected and sought so desperately to impress. Dana and Gibney alone were responsible for the murders of all those men. They'd doomed the charred, drowned, and butchered bodies to the crows. They'd knowingly created circumstances in which Max was forced to forfeit her soul again. The blood was on their hands.
Max drove the point of the sword into the mast. The tip of her sword struck off-center, but it was enough to stick a deep nick into the post all the same. She gave the sword a vicious tug but it refused to release its bite. She planted her foot against the mast and tugged backward until the blade came free, sending her stumbling back with a murmur of profanities.
She realized then that a huge part of the story had never been teased out. Regardless of whether or not Max and Merces had stolen from The Guild, the bit they told about the thieves on the road had been anything but a lie. Before the mage had changed everything by roasting enemies and allies alike, they'd truly been ambushed by vagabonds hiding in the brush. It occurred to her that she couldn't recall Dana ever expressing an explicit interest in that fact. He was so focused on punishing his Hounds that it seemed the deceased villains were posthumously awarded a verdict of innocence in the whole ordeal. Did they not care that someone else had clearly known their exact travel plans? Were they not concerned that someone had the audacity to rob them blind before it had ever been presented to Max and Merces as a viable opportunity?
Made me their Hound and then kicked me like I was their fucking dog. I'm glad I bit first! The things I'd do for a chance to really sink my teeth into their skin...I'd set this whole fucking island on fire if it meant no one would remember the names of Dana and Gibney when the smoke cleared.
Maxine had thought she'd lost everything when she inadvertently sunk her crew and murdered Ned to drown the truth with him. Scalvoris was supposed to be her new start. It was a place no one had known her name or her face. It was a cold, dreary island, but one in which she could do everything different. She was going to find her place as a mercenary. Finally she was going to have a life for herself, one in which she didn't go to bed hungry. She'd have her house, a sealed roof over her head, and her own room with her very own bed. Once she gained a reputation with her sword she'd be swimming in gold. Maybe she'd even find herself with enough comfort and good fortunate that she'd have a family for the first time in her life. It would be a family she built and nurtured, one right here in Almund wherein a legacy could be born.
Max had been close to that route. She could taste it on the tip of her tongue, giving her life like drugs did to an addict suffering withdrawal. Finally. She was on her way. Then, like a dream, she was shaken to reality when Dana and Gibney robbed her of it. All of it. She had no job. Her reputation was in ruins. Nels were depleting from her coin pouch faster than they slipped between the fingers of Scalvoris's most popular high end whore. Cylus had arrived and she was already considering the possibility she and Merces wouldn't be able to afford wood to feed a fire. The Kennels had condemned her just like they had the men they'd slaughtered.
By now the Rusalka was practically screaming with each haphazard swing of her sword. Her hands were red with a chill she couldn't feel. Sweat beaded upon her forehead. Her arms shook, strength wavering as she willed strike after strike upon the mast. By now she wasn't alone in her armed tantrum. Neighbors peeked out of windows and opened doors with alarmed expressions. Young children were quickly led indoors by doting parents, their protective gazes staring disapprovingly but daring not to approach. Maxine's lungs burned in the wintry air and her muscles ached with fatigue. Yet it wasn't until she'd beaten nearly halfway through the buried mast that she finally collapsed into an exhausted crouch.
The tip of her blade dug into the dirt to hold her upper body upright, palms bracing themselves one atop the other on the pommel. She might've been struggling to regain her breath, but the fire hadn't left her eyes. She'd fallen deep into the alternate version of her falling out with Dana and Gibney. It seemed every trial had been plunging her further and further into the abyss. She was beginning to forget what it was to feel the warmth of the light, and she wasn't just talking about the banishment of it during the season of Cylus.
Poor Max, she really is having a rough time. I really appreciate the effort you put into your narrative tone; you are wonderfully visually descriptive. I could clearly feel her frustrations and anger with how her life has been going recently. A well done solo, thank you.
Points
XP:10
These cannot be used for magic.
Fame
-2 for fighting
Injuries
Minor bruises for two trials
Loot
None
Knowledge
Blades: Diagonal Slash
Blades: Horizontal Slash
Blades: Basic Thrust
Endurance: Fighting Through the Cold
Intimidation: Violent Displays of Anger
Strength: Lifting a Sword
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Reviewed By
Sephira
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