Small dribbles of rotten pork broth run down Aldrics mouth, he greedily devours it by lifting his makeshift bowl to his mouth.
After making 3 trips to the creek even the most rotten of soups would taste good. The day has worn on me yet it's still hours before nightfall. Im not sure what to do with this leisure time. Hopefully, I do not get another assignment before then.
Far below mountain cove and valley low lay the small slave village of Wretholt, encircled by grey hills and dense green forests. Dozens of small abodes litter a circular formation with a small wooden fort at the center, garrisoned there are mercenaries of all sorts, and inside the baron of the land resides. The forest is treacherous, this is known to the baron, in his employ are all kinds of fighters sent to clear the forest of foreign threats to his small dominion, no chronicle bearers lie among his armed men for they are rare to come by, and would not serve such a sully man as himself.
In the old woods of Wretholts borders something wanders. Tattered robes flutter wildly as brush and bramble smash against it, but it does not stop it. A large stag skull is adorned upon the head of the creature, shadowing its face as it traces its way into the village, foggy breath dissipating from its mouth, and an unnatural cold hangs around it, turning the grass yellow with every step. It stays steady on its path, seemingly knowing its destination already. Beyond the pale forest, 30 paces or so lay a small line of cobbled together homes.
The beast writhes as it shambles out of the forest, turning its head slowly, observing its surroundings, the setting sun masks the creature in shadow on its approach, its skeletal legs brashly brush against the rocky path to one of the small shambles of an abode.
Cold mist rises around it, the wooden board posted outside the home stating "5 teeth" rots as the creature passes it by, the wood turns from brown to green then to a crumbly mess of particle and grain. The stag skulled monster stops abruptly and reaches a rotten hand into its robes, the arm of the hand emerging from the neck of the creature, reaching down at an awful angle, twisting the arm backwards on itself making a sickening squelch as it does.
After its display of disgust the hand comes forth from the robes gripping an old leather bound book, plain in all looks. Black hide, standard stitching and backing of paste and yellowed pages. An old book certainly, not ancient no, nothing special either it appears.
"Papa is-"
The creature shakes violently as the sound of a frail voice graces its ears, it turns its head slowly, foul mist pouring from its mouth.
A girl, no older than nineteen years of age stands with her mouth agape, an unexpected neighbor to the creatures mission suspect. The creatures arms sprout, the arm from the neck, an arm from its back and one from the bottom half of the left side of its ribcage, it raises a hand consisting of the most formed fingers to its face, making a hushing motion to the lower jaw of the stag skull adorning its head, yellow fangs glow from the mouth of the beast that hangs below the skull, its piercing blue eyes meet the girl.
The girls short ginger hair raises for a moment and her eyes ceremoniously roll back into her head and return as soon as they had left. She drops to her knees, the tattered trousers she wears fluttering against the ground. Her head droops suddenly. The creature, satisfied with its work retracts its main arms and once more clutches the book.
It raises the book to its crusted black lips, kissing it lightly leaving a light charred mark on the front page. A signature from the beast.
"For you. My love."
It drops the book at the foot of the home. It turns its back, flipping its cloak around its body and vanishing into the wind as charcoal dust.
The book lies at the foot of the makeshift door, wind gusts over it yet the bound pages do not open. The neighbor girl shakes her head lightly and looks around confused before smiling to herself shyly, scratching the back of her head thinking she must have been sleepwalking again.
Daylight wanes and darkness begins to creep. Aldric scrubs his one and only bowl out with a rag torn off of some old clothing.
You have to take care of what you got at least.
An abrupt knocking on Aldrics door stops him.
Another? If they give me a task this late at night its certainly a cull mission. Ground-bats? Nurks again?
Aldric makes his way to the door, dropping his bowl softly onto the floor as he does.
His bony hands wrap around the cracks of the door and pull it open slowly, he peers out to be greeted by the sight of -
No one? What the hells is going on? Some brats playing a trick or what?
A small black leather bound book brushes his foot as he steps forward, his bare skin grows goose skin the moment it is touched by the book which is ice cold, despite it being a benign warm day.
What in the blazes is this thing, somebodies journal?
Aldric squats down and grabs the small book, it barely being larger than his hand. Chills shoot through his arm.
For you, my love. What?
Those words. For you, my love. They invaded Aldrics mind suddenly as soon as he had picked the book up.
My love? I must have gotten a bad batch of powder my mind is saying things I do not mean. Lets see what's so special about this book.
Aldric takes his pointer finger and pushes it onto the outer crease of the book, propping it open, with some more effort he flips it open.
Its blank. What a useless piece of shit- what the hells?
The book bursts into green flames, enveloping Aldrics hand.
Agh! It burns! Wait a second. It doesn't burn? What the hells is going on,
After a few seconds the flames dissipate, a small black line runs horizontally parallel with Aldric's forearm, some kind of tattoo. He immediately swats and scratches on the foreign art on his body but to no avail, the book sitting in his hand begins vibrating lightly.
Inked words begin forming on the page as if being written by a phantasm.
Lets see what this damned thing has to say for itself now.
The ink ceases writing finishing with a lavish swirling line.
This, this doesn't make sense what the hells.
His eyes dart across the page.
[Stats: Name: Aldric | Level: 1 | XP: 12 / 100
Health: 22 / 50 | Stamina: 18 / 30
Status: Malnourished, Fatigued
Abilities:
• Myrk Hond (3/3) - Release a small missile of darkness causing minor damage and inflicting Fear]
This is. What the hells is this. There's no way is this. A chronicle? But how? Why?
Aldric stares at the words in disbelief, no doubt knowing these are the telltale signs of a chronicle, something rarely obtained by a commoner no less a slave.
Its a fluke right, just my imagination playing tricks on me, if it was real the first time I remark the spell name I should learn it and it should fly out of my hands or something crazy, this doesn't even sound like a real spell! It isn't fireball, or magic missile or anything.
Aldric chuckles and shakes his head, he opens his palm towards a nearby stump.
Myrk Hond, yeah this is just some kind of dream or imagination it didnt-
A small orb of purplish crackling light appears from the beginning of the line on Aldrics arm, it swells to about half a palms size and races up his arm into his hand, then it settles for a moment then shoots out from his hand smacking the stump with a thud leaving a small burn mark and some smoldering cinders.
What the. Holy hells. Me, I, a slave, a nobody, A chronicle appearing at my feet.
This is an odd twist of fate isn't it? Or maybe I was meant to have this, maybe the gods shine upon me on this day. With this - this power, the power to progress. Power.
I can make something of myself instead of dying in this slave camp. Damn it all I'm thinking too hard already. This meager power needs to be fostered, I will yet be a slave for longer until I can move up the ranks. I will resume my daily activities until I am strong enough to earn enough monster parts to cash in and bond out of my slave contract, with this power I can surely defeat more powerful monsters now.
Aldrics excitement takes quite a few minutes to die down. He studied his chronicle for quite a while, his only skill is not very strong and can only be used 3 times a day, but it was something. Something others did not have, something that was his. Aldric, a thrall, a man with no family name, no history and no future now has a chance.
With darkness now completely settled in he grasps the chronicle and lies down on the ground, closing his eyes slowly, despite his giddiness he is still tired from the days tasks.
Darkness lingers into the next morning, the sky is forecasting light rain and cloudiness.
Aldric, well rested and raring to test his new abilities stands firm as he pushes his door open, placing it awkwardly to the side as usual, a rush of crisp morning air rushes through his hair, despite his destitute position he is grinning from ear to ear, quite a sight for a slave to be in such good spirits
He walks triumphantly towards the assignment board.
5 teeth, no problem for me. Lets see what I can do.
Aldric draws his knife and grips it tightly, trudging his way back into the woods, he repeats his daily actions, checking various traps to no avail as he makes his way to a known nurk encampment, he remembers when the nurks were so strong in populace here before the hunters camp that they had actually begun raiding the nearby farming villages, despite being weaker than the common goblin they still reproduce like jack rabbits and have some intelligence,.
Aldric trudges for a few miles, to where he encountered the nurks from before, their half rotted corpses sunk into the ground, bones flayed from their body and cleaned off by local wildlife.
Hmm, it seems the others did not come to retrieve the bodies of their own kind. They must have been loners or scouts.. Well no worries Ill just continue on until I find some more.
He moves over their corpses, pushing through the clearing and into some light brush, the brambles slap against his bare legs, his skin toughened by the forest only appears to be slightly cut up from knife like plants. Aldric uses his knife like a makeshift brush cutter, chopping away pesky branches that are intent on smacking his face.
Aldric drops to the ground suddenly, 2 arrows whiz past him, the arrows wobble side to side as they fly before hitting the ground and bouncing off erratically
An ambush, damnable creatures.
3 nurks emerge from the trees, 2 scout archers and one with a wooden club. Their rotted leather loincloths reek a stench even from a distance.
Aldric smirks and holds his arm out, his palm facing the nurks. An orb of purple and black swirling fury shoots out at one of the scouts, upon impact the nurk falls to its knees, clutching its chest, it screams out in agony and clutches its head, shouting out in fear wildly. The other nurks look on in fear but their resolve is steadfast, the maul bearer charges forward, the remaining archer draws another crude arrow from its belt.
Aldric takes up his dagger and awaits the arrival of the first nurk. It charges forward with its club raised savagely, making no attempt at technique or finesse. Aldric easily dodges the small creatures strikes. He positions himself in such a way that the archer cannot risk a shot without chancing at hitting its companion. He moves in on the nurk fighter, sending a swift kick to its chest. Its small body slumps from the kick, blood chokes up from its mouth, splattering the ground beneath it. A dagger makes its way down onto the head of the nurk causing it to fall to the ground limply after the dagger is drawn from its head.
The remaining able bodied nurk drops the arrows in its shaky hand, it scrambles to retrieve them but its too late as Aldric is already upon him, his dagger makes its way into the nurks neck and ends it, the remaining nurk witch is still thrashing on the ground is quickly dispatched afterwards. 3 clean and easy kills. Aldric cuts the teeth out of the nurks rotted gums, he has enough to return now and pay the steward.
A light bristle in the bush catches his attention immediately, he readies himself almost instantly.
More nurks? I just killed their scouts their shouldn't be anymore.
Dark red eyes rumble from the forest, the eyes standing much taller than a nurk.
After a few moments of anticipation the beast emerges.
An Urk. Mighty and strong, dark blue skin, pulsing muscles and a large crude club across its shoulder. Standing 5 feet tall and pissed as a drenched cat.
Oh shit.