“Whispered to be born from the depths of the Abyssal Sea, the Lílakdals have a penchant for destruction and chaos. Destined to worship and seek the return of The Corrupted King in a vein attempt to better their lives. Not through hard work, but through corruption and malice.”

~ The Anthropology of the Scarred Lands, Chapter Three: Lílakdals by J. Bennet

As the two bounty hunters walked back to Valeaux, Andrei kept an ear out for any predators that may skulk around. Those hiding just behind the treelines, eagerly awaiting the next meal. As the darkness was enveloping the forest of Vendral, Andrei felt a familiar cold chill brush past him. He suppressed the urge to shiver as Emil looked over to him. An amused look covered his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Andrei held up a hand, not bothering to honor Emil with words. The suave mercenary sighed, his eyes once filled with excitement now only showed dejection that Andrei couldn’t tell if it was real or just played up for some ill-timed amusement. In any case, the two pressed on in silence. By the time they reached the main road to the capital, darkness had completely enveloped the land. 

The old road slowly became more coherent and maintained the closer they reached their destination. At the pace they were going, he hoped to be in the city within the next few hours. In the meantime, he would continue thinking about the peculiarity of the eye that he had requisitioned from the thief, questioning what exactly was wrong with the eye. The wretched thing, no doubt rolling around in his bag, had given him an unnerving vision. Andrei shivered at the thought, pushing on and trying to focus on being able to rest their bodies at the Drunken Dragon.

 Between the two of them, he had enough coins to sleep in Hawthorn Square, but he knew that the coin would go farther elsewhere in Valeaux. Besides, there seemed to be no better place to rest than in Lower Lapointe. Of the two sides of the city, he always felt more at home in the latter. Something about the mood and the aesthetic of the place suited him more, anyway. Though he couldn’t tell if that was his Lílakdal side or his occupation that made him have such a preference.

 During their walk, the two passed several travelers, some carrying large backpacks, hunched over as if the weight of their bags would crush them at any moment. Others lead large cows and oxes on leads, the livestock eyeing Andrei curiously before exhaling dispassionately in his face. Despite the travelers that eyed at Andrei with intrigue and scorn, the roads themselves were mostly empty. The only company around them was the occasional wild animal that dashed across the old road, ducting in and out of cover as if playing a game with the men. As the night drew on and the two grew closer to Valeaux, the roads became completely devoid of life. Not even the fauna in the surrounding forests dared a moment on the road, understanding that the capital was a place to be avoided for the likes of them. Even under the pale light of the waning crescent moon, they saw the large, grand wall that separated Valeaux from the outside world.

 He wondered how much use King Toussaint had gotten out of these well maintained walls. Has he ever even walked these walls or are the walls of his own castle good enough? His mind wandered to the bad memories attached to the city. Flashes of his past played in quick succession: the rowdy guild of fighters, a wax-sealed bounty with an “M” in the center, those damned cultists. As he relived the memories, Andrei didn’t even realize he had stopped moving. Emil had kept walking a few paces, turning around and noticing his friend’s absence. 

Emil walked back up to Andrei and put his hand on Andrei’s shoulder, a weary but sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Hey, we got this,” he said in a soft, reassuring tone.

His words were enough to snap Andrei out of the memories. He nodded in acknowledgment, continuing down the path. As they drew close, a member of the guard, torch in hand, stopped them at the kingdom’s gates. Clad in heavy steel armor, including a helmet that obscured their face, the guard looked intimidating even to Andrei. On the chest piece was an emblem of a roaring lion, printed onto the uniform. His side sheathed a matching steel sword.

“Halt!” a voice demanded from the closed helmet, his left hand in front of him in an authoritative act of superiority. “What business do you have in Valeaux?”

Andrei raised an eyebrow in mild amusement, his lips pursed as he held back a smug smirk. “I am returning with news concerning a lost item stolen from House Nerelle.” He retrieved his notebook and flipped to the bounty of Jean, holding it up to the guard, resisting to express his annoyance.

The guard studied the notebook closely before staring at Andrei. Even though his face was obscured, Andrei could feel the hateful gaze of the man as he tried to assess his words. He could feel the shame and hatred rise in his throat, mixing with the bile that made its new home there. He took a deep breath, choking down the vile mixture with an unpleasant gulp, trying to collect his thoughts. As he did so, the guard turned his attention to Emil, evidently not believing the proof in front of him. “What business do you have?”

Emil’s face turned into an angry snarl for the briefest of moments before resting on a pleasant, charming smile. “My friend here speaks the truth. We are merely hoping to finish a job.”

 Appearing satisfied, the guard relaxed somewhat. “Very well, you may enter,” he said, flicking his head towards the main gates, allowing passage. His head reluctantly turning to face the old road in front of him, and he tensed up again as Andrei left his line of sight.

Without the guild sigil on him anymore to provide protection from guards, it made traveling around the country that much more annoying. A price he had to pay when he forfeited that contract. Thankfully, Emil was there to help smooth things over before anyone’s head was ripped off… metaphorically and literally. Andrei walked past the guard with Emil and through the large wooden gates, entering Lower Lapointe. Not even five feet into the district and he nearly stepped in some unknown, acrid smelling puddle. He’d grown to just assume he stepped in a puddle of water, no matter how foul the smell protested that assumption. 

The two passed countless buildings crammed as if each tree in a dense forest suddenly became a dilapidated, weather-beaten building. The only reprieve of the claustrophobic entanglement was the main streets, and yet even those were littered with holes and piles of trash. The two pressed on, passing winding allies that diverged into dizzying side paths. Given the cramped nature of the habitat, Andrei couldn’t place the location of the sounds of a struggle somewhere nearby. Even if he knew where the noise was coming from, he didn’t have the strength or motive to intervene. Emil seemed to just be following Andrei’s lead, paying no mind to the sound of a shakedown.

As the two navigated the twisting and grime filled paths, in the distance, Andrei could hear jovial laughter, clinking mugs, and occasional cheers. The two men headed towards the sounds, hoping that their beds were still waiting for them. Eventually, the two ended up in front of a weathered tavern in disrepair. A shoddy paint job decorated the outside of the building, trying to hide the mismatched woods of various colors that struggled to keep the structure standing. At the very least, one could say that it fits with the theme of the surrounding buildings: run down. An equally worn and water-logged sign above the creaking, slightly swaying door read, “The Drunken Dragon.”

As they walked in, the smell of freshly cooked roasts and the stark smell of an alcoholic warmth, contrasted by the lingering, sweet smell of honey overwhelmed Andrei. In front of him was a large area with several tables and chairs, each piece of furniture matching the derelict shape of the rest of the building. Scattered about at different tables, laughing and enjoying each other’s company, were several groups of rugged, tired customers. The back wall of the dining room boasted a worn and tattered job board. Pinned on the board were several flyers and papers of various bounties. Each paper occasionally rustling as a foreign gust of wind entered the tavern from the windows. In the corner, a set of old wooden stairs went up to the second floor. He couldn’t believe they were still standing, given how damage they looked.. To his right was a bar with a seating area. A short, bearded man waved the two men over with a large grin. The confident bartender looked on, his arms crossed, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and compact body.

The bartender tilted his head slightly. The man’s bright red hair and long beard clashed with the dark apron he wore. The apron bore stains that could only be alcohol or food. Though short, the man was quite muscular, looking as though he’d gladly arm wrestle an owlbear if given the chance. He crossed his arms, contemplating the two as a wide grin spread across his face.

“Welcome back, friends!” He said in a hearty, cheery voice, “you look tired, almost sold both of your rooms, I did. Good thing I didn’t!” He laughed. Andrei couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. But knowing Grozmaek, that was a fair possibility.

“And what would you do without your favorite customers?” Emil said, grinning devilishly, sitting down at the bar. He waved Andrei over, eager to relax with his friend.

“I’d be swimming in coin, that’s what I’d be doing!” The bartender laughed again, “besides, a Dwarf’s got to have my priorities. You two pale compared to the coin one of my more… elusive regulars bring in.”

Andrei raised an eyebrow, sitting down next to Emil, “and how come I’ve never met such a… profitable soul?” This was their usual place for a drink and rest when in the city, which made the owner’s claims even more curious. He hadn’t recalled meeting anyone of the sort and it appeared neither did Emil.

“I’m sure they’re quite busy,” Grozmaek shrugged dismissively, “I’ll be getting another visit eventually, much to Raya’s disliking.”

As if on cue, a very stressed looking Elven bartender ran past behind Grozmaek. Her gleaming brown hair matched the color of the two plates of roasted duck she held in her hands. As she turned the corner, she tripped slightly, but kept her balance, hurriedly going to one of the rustic tables. As he observed the frazzled woman, he couldn’t help but express a look of skepticism to Grozmaek; he certainly didn’t remember her from the last time they slept here.

“She’s a little green, but she has a way with the patrons.” He watched his employee with a certain gleam in his eye. Andrei could tell that the owner had high hopes for her. “But I’m sure you two didn’t come by just to chat. What’ll it be?!” 

“Just two hot meals and two pints of ale,” Andrei said in a weary voice, tired from tracking down Jean and dealing with everything else he’d faced today. As he took out a handful of silver, he fought to just stay awake.

Grozmaek nodded and hurried off into the back. In the meantime, Andrei let Emil entertain him with a retelling of one of his favorite stories: how he single-handedly killed a dragon. Every retelling Emil tweaked the story slightly. Despite the edits, one detail always remained the same: to commemorate his victory. He got the black dragon tattoo that winded up his burned arm. No matter how many times Andrei had heard the story, it always proved an entertaining one. Two plates of roasted duck and vegetables arrived as Emil finished his tale. The smell alone woke Andrei up, reminding him how hungry he truly was. They reminisced about some of the previous adventures the two had shared while eating.

After eating, they headed to their rooms. They walked past the patrons that were sitting around the tables, drinking mead and playing a game of cards. Some patrons eyed Andrei with suspicion, but most either didn’t care or were too drunk to care. The steps to the second floor squeaked under their weight, groaning as if surprised to be used again. The candles that lit up the corridor made the two men’s shadows dance together with the flames. As they passed several rooms, some with ajar doors while others fully closed, no sound seemed to escape from any of them.

The two stopped outside the second to last door in the hall. Andrei turned around to address Emil, catching another longing glance as he did so. The tired mercenary furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance and crossed his arms. He was in no mood for whatever Emil was thinking of proposing. Emil, thankfully, could read between the very broad lines. Without a word, he looked up at the ceiling, once again feigning ignorance, before going to the last room in the hall, gently closing and locking it behind him.

The tavern room was quaint and modest, though not the most extravagant place. It would more than suffice for a time. The bedframe was just as weathered as the rest of the furniture. The mattress, stuffed with straw, offered a rustic yet comforting respite. A short nightstand was next to the bed with a single, unlit candle. At the end of the bed, a small dresser sat to place belongings in while resting weary bones. Despite its lack of luxurious decoration or objectively “good” furniture, Andrei felt right at home.

As he prepared for bed, the bounty hunter couldn’t help but think about the strange vision he had gotten from that eye. Though it was pointless to speculate on such a fleeting vision from an unreliable source, he couldn’t help but wonder if Jean had succumbed to such visions, leading to his theft. Telling himself that there was no use mulling over such a fleeting scene, he did his best to push the thoughts aside. Opting to focus on his next steps after they finish this job and where to go for their next one.

Nightmares plagued Andrei’s dreams. He was stuck in an impossibly dark void, and yet he could still make out shadowy creatures dancing around the wretched abyss, much like the one in his vision. Yet, no matter how long he kept his eyes trained on them or away from them, they never took a definite shape. Acting like oil slowly mixing with water, rising and sinking into undefined shapes. Despite the lack of mouths or eyes, they whispered to him, reciting his failures, his regrets, and his fears. Growing tired of criticism, he lashed out, trying to strike one of them. The shadow simply reformed around his hand, slowly covering his arm. As the other shadows closed in, his breath quickened as he tried to break free from the blobs. No matter how hard he tried, he was unsuccessful. As the shadows fully embraced him, covering his face, he woke up in a cold sweat, panting and shaking.