It Takes Two

“Lucas…I beg you…shut your mouth for once.” The dwarf had replied in a coarse, hungover voice to a rude comment that Lucas had made to him.

“No! I won’t! How about next time you try to do something as stupid as that you at least warn us about it first!” Uthgar had tried to get some bit of focus to say something smart again, but the moment he raised his arm up he toppled over in the carriage, nearly banging his head against the bench he once sat on. “I get it, you have the powers, the knowledge, all the ‘wonderful skill’ you claim you have, but you know what you don’t have? Discipline! How about you try cleaning up your act and-what are you doing?”

By the time Lucas was finishing his sentence, the dwarf had managed to climb back up to his bench and began pissing out the carriage window.

“What? You don’t want us to stop and risk capture, do you? A dwarf’s gotta go when he needs to.”

“Why you little…I’ll kill you for being so nonchalant about the dire situation we are in!” Lucas yelled. The others had to intervene.

“Lucas, I know you’re mad, but now’s not the best time to be shouting,” Belyn replied. It was very rare to find a sensible thief in this area of the world, but Belyn was a perfect fit to at least calm the two down when it was needed. A voice was heard from upfront.

“Everything alright back there?”

“Yes Aeven, we’re fine,” Lucas said through his teeth, eyes still on Uthgar.

“Yeah, Aeven boy, we’re fine. Don’t worry abo-“ The carriage bumped over a rock, knocking Uthgar back into the bench.

Lucas laughed in his face, without even trying to help him up. “A person of the cloth, yet a drunken thief that sees greed over anything else.”

It was like Uthgar had his insults on standby; he was usually good at that.

“An elven warrior, who carries a big sword to compensate for a small-” He was quickly cut off by a smack to the side of the head.

Lucas was right though: the group was in a dire situation. They had started on a simple journey from the small fishing town of Phiscabel to the kingdom of Thothvet. They had heard that the kingdom was having some trouble with a possible invading threat but was hiring mercenaries for their garrison. The group, a bit dry on gold and willing to travel, decided to go there for their own reasons (but mostly for the reward of course).

The biggest city and the most significant stop in the middle of their journey was Varrivia, a place known for travelers and traders from all over the world. Regardless of their variety of personalities, it would make the perfect spot to relax for a while but begin the trek into the desert that stood between them in the second half of their trail.

That was until a certain dwarf wanted to steal a ring from the marketplace.

It took the group nearly a full day to make it out of the city without being spotted or captured. The entire time, Lucas continued to comment and make light of how it would be much easier if Uthgar just surrendered himself for the good of the group.

Uthgar didn’t like that very much.

After sneaking onto a merchant carriage and “borrowing it” from him, they need to take the longer route to Dustwall to avoid the Varrivian guards while trying to reach the desert.

By the time they reached Dustwall, it had already been around four days since their rough encounter. They didn’t see any guards on the trail so they were hoping that nobody in the town would recognize them. It was about midday when they arrived. There wasn’t a whole lot of farmland or shops of any kind here, but it was a good spot for travelers to rest for a night before going on their way.

It was the kind of spot that bounty hunters would check first if they were looking for someone.

As they approached, there weren’t many residents wandering about, but those who were didn’t seem to care that a carriage had arrived. Like always, they must’ve assumed that it was just another group of people passing through. The group found some farmland to put their carriage on before disembarking and exploring the town.

“Can you at least take the ring off?” Lucas said toward Uthgar who had mostly sobered up by now. They had run out of ale earlier that morning when he had finished the rest of it.

“That’s…not a bad idea.” He said while taking it off and giving a final look before returning it to his pocket. It was bright green in color, very distinctive from the rest of his tattered robes and cloak that was mostly dark gray. The gem itself was easily identifiable as a cut emerald, with a small engraving of an owl at its center, seated on the ring itself which was made of gold.

The others tried not to think about how much that would have cost.

Aeven took the lead in exploring, trying to find a general store to get more supplies. He was the most experienced of the group, once having a history in sailing. Somewhere along the way he picked up the magical arts and took up the route of a spellcaster. It took some practice, but through a lot of studies, Aeven himself had turned out to be a fine wizard and a better gentleman when it came to talking to others.

He pointed out what looked to be what they were looking for and led the group inside.

“Afternoon to you folks, how may I help you?” An older gentleman stood behind the makeshift counter. Two whole shelves of various items and tools stood at either end of the giant room.

“We were hoping to get some more supplies for a trip in the desert. Spare tools, rope, kindling, some rations if you have some, things like that.” Aeven replied.

“I may not have a whole lot, but I think I can put together a package for you all. Do you have an exact list?”

“Sure, give me a second.” Aeven begin to write down words from a piece of parchment he pulled from his side pouch.

Continuing to inspect the place, Belyn looked up and down the shelves hoping to find something interesting while Uthgar and Lucas stood awkwardly next to each other. They were fortunate enough not to want to cause trouble in front of someone else. Eventually, Belyn came across a flyer that was posted just at the end of the shopkeeper’s counter that read:

Boxing Week at the Dustbowl!

Come See the Toughest Fighters Around!

5 Silver Entry Fee to Fight!

You Never Know WHAT

Is Going to Happen!

He picked up the flyer, thinking to himself about the number of days it has been. “Shopkeep, it’s the 27th right?”

“That’s correct son.” He noticed the flyer in his hand. “Oh, you noticed the flyer. I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“What’s the ‘Dustbowl’?” asked Belyn.

“It’s just the name of the tavern we have in town. Ran by this scruffy fellow who’s been ‘round for a while.” The more the shopkeeper spoke the more of a folk-person’s accent he had. “As I said, I’d recommend it to anyone.”

“Interesting...” Belyn thought. “We’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” Folded the flyer, sneaking it into his back pocket when the shopkeeper wasn’t looking.

“Anyways, this is the stuff we were looking for.” Aeven finished up his list and handed it to him. The shopkeeper studied it and chuckled.

“You know, it’s rare I’ve seen an elf in this neck of the world. Even rarer that he knows how to write in the common tongue.”

Aeven smirked, as if proud of himself. “Thank you, I take that as a compliment.”

“Now I can certainly get most of these things. May take some time to put together complete rations, but if you give me a day, I can get it for you all. How does that sound?”

“That’s okay to me.” He looked back toward the rest of the group. “How about you all?” They each nodded their heads in agreement, Uthgar and Lucas of course still acting funny around each other.

After paying a deposit for their goods, the group moved on hoping to find a place to stay for the night. Not originally intending on staying here in the first place (and not having the means to camp elsewhere), they decided to follow up on the Inn the shopkeeper had mentioned, having a casual conversation while they tried to find the place.

“The flyer said they had boxing?” Aeven asked Belyn.

He nodded. “I mean we get dinner, a show, and a place to rest. Sounds like the perfect place to spend a night or two.”

Lucas interjected. “Now hold on, we only need to stay here for a night. We should keep moving while we can.”

“Oh, relax will you!” Uthgar replied. “Nobody is coming to this dusty town to hunt you down.”

“You know what, you’re right. They’re coming to hunt you down.” Uthgar rolled his eyes while Lucas continued. “We shouldn’t have to worry about you all the time. We have been saving you from day one from getting yourself killed. We-“

Uthgar snapped back at him. “You were hurdled by undead when I came along to save you. You were badly wounded from said encounter and were crying for your mother. But you know who saved yous all? Me.”

Belyn shrugged. “He’s got a point ya know. The dwarf’s useful.”

“Well, there’s a difference between being useful and being a hindrance. You may have helped us then and at least been trying to help us know, if not to make a heavy pocket,” Lucas said that last part under his breath. “But you can’t just run around causing chaos because you have ‘divine power’.”

Uthgar wagged a finger toward him. “You see that’s where you’re wrong. They're all sorts of people that have powers and abilities that, whether they like it or not, end up using it for the purpose of the world. Not to say that it’s a bad thing to ‘protect the people’ or whatever bull phrase people say nowadays, but there’s nothing wrong with making sure that you are taken care of first. And for me, if it means spreading a bit of my own ‘good will’ with my own methods and maybe getting a bit of gold out of it, that’s fine by me.”

Lucas stared down at the dwarf in disdain. He himself came from a holy land itself, with a lifelong pact to protect his people from the dangers of the world. He had genuine care for others, regardless of their background or noble class. Hearing of the possible invading threat to Thothvet, Lucas was quick to take up arms and join the defending forces, if also to ensure it didn’t move on to his friends and family at home. He was commonly found in his tent reading over scriptures and tenets from his elven culture, almost like he was praying for blessings whenever he could. The warrior strived to be something above himself, be a savior to those in need.

Uthgar was a different story.

Surprisingly, he did in fact grow up in a religious environment. A small clan of dwarves who had migrated to Elrathia, the sanctuary of the five gods, a few hundred years ago has become accepted by the acolytes and priests that lived there. They began studying multiple religions, beyond those other dwarves around the world had known before. From the moment Uthgar learned to read, he was enthralled by the stories and legends he had read. Deities, myths, and gods have shaped the world to their own vision. That was something Uthgar wanted. Over time he became sharp-witted and has even been able to plot out the most complicated of problems, whether for his people or for himself.

Nobody really knows why he decided to stray from the path he seemed destined to. He hadn’t seen his clan in nearly twenty years since he left Elrathia for some unknown purpose. But in the moments of his departure, it did seem to the others that he had a specific goal in mind.

Only time could tell what Uthgar was up to.

By the time they reached the Dustbowl, which was more pleasant looking than they expected, the sunlight was just starting to dim. The inn itself had a bright red trim that complemented the soft cream-yellow paint. It had a front patio with two men outside smoking, who didn’t pay much attention to them. A large frame that arched over the door itself had a post sticking out along with a hanging sign that said The Dustbowl Inn. When they stepped on the patio, they began to hear the rumbling from inside. General rowdiness came from the Inn’s patrons.

Inside, the place seemed to look much larger. A staircase was built on the wall to the left of the entrance that led to the various rooms. The stained oak almost darkened the atmosphere, but the lively spirit of the place’s residents, along with a fireplace and strung lanterns kept the feeling of a “warm welcome” to visitors. But with this week’s events, it was doubtful that anyone who stayed here would get much sleep. In the center of the main room, a ring was constructed out of planks with no railing to prevent the fighters from falling off. They watched as the crowd around them cheered and shouted at the fighters in the center, one of them having a pegged leg. He ate a punch and rallied his opponent.

“C’mon you crusty baboon. Show me what ya got!” The one-legged fighter threw a haymaker but couldn’t land the hit as the much larger fighter managed to dodge and parried, landing a blow straight to his stomach. He was about to get struck again but he kept his composure, ducking left and landing two jabs to the jaw.

His opponent spat blood. “I could curl lightweights like you.” From the looks of it, he wasn’t bluffing. He had massive biceps and bulging muscles that really did make him look somewhat like an ape. It was a shock to most that anyone would even dare take someone like him on.

I suppose one would say they would also feel bad about fighting a disabled person, but they didn’t seem to care.

“Now this is a show!” Belyn said, nodding his head and joining in on the cheering. Take it for a rogue to enjoy seeing bloodshed. Uthgar, finally rid of his hangover, seemed to take a liking to the sport as well. The crowd jumped and cheered as the peg-legged fighter landed a stunning uppercut, knocking his opponent to his back, and claiming victory.

Still wondering if this was a good place to stay, Aeven looked around for the innkeeper. Noticing the bar towards the back of the room, he squeezed his way through the crowd towards it, the others following behind him.

A large burly man stood behind the counter, cleaning off a glass mug to serve another customer. His forearms nearly stretched the red plaid button-down he wore, which seemed to have been dirtied through ale and dirt.

Well, at least they hoped it was ale.

There was a stubble of hair across his face, with him being completely bald. It was clear he didn’t care too much about professional appearances, but if you’re running a boxing ring in your own inn that should be expected. After pouring fresh ale into the cleaned mug and passing it to another patron, he finally noticed the newcomer’s approach. Not saying anything, he looked towards them, waiting for their request.

“Greetings. We were hoping to stay the night here. How much would it cost.”

The man looked at the four of them, and in a flat deep voice responded. “How many rooms?”

Lucas called out, trying to be heard in the room. “Four please!”

“Four rooms? Twelve gold pieces total.”

Belyn, in a lull of the moment, overheard the price and tried his luck. “Any chance we can get a discount? I’m a capable fighter myself you know?”

It was like the innkeeper’s eyes had daggers protruding from them. Belyn quietly returned his attention to the fight while Aeven pulled out his coin pouch, paying the fee. The innkeeper pointed to the stairs they had noticed earlier.

“Up the stairs, last four rooms to the right.” He said while preparing another drink. Aeven gave his thanks while the rest of the group looked for an open table, hoping to rest their feet for once and enjoy the scenery. By the time they found one, the previous fighters cleared the stage and made way for another pair, this time one of them having various tattoos covering his entire back.

“We should’ve come here instead of Varrivia,” Uthgar said. “Away from the rest of the world, ale in our hands and get to watch people punch each other.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “How does a man of the cloth enjoy stuff like this?” He said while giving him a hand gesture.

“How does a fighter like yourself not?” Uthgar replied doing the same thing.

“For me, it’s about principle. I don’t go around wavy a shiny sword just for the fun of it. It’s about protection, dignity, honor.”

“Honor also gets people killed.”

“I’d rather die with honor than live without it.”

“Tell that to the Tower of Magus.”

Lucas recoiled at the comment. “How could you be so nonchalant about the deaths of innocents? Hundreds of people died from that?”

“And hundreds more die every day from disease elsewhere.”

Aeven began to look annoyed as well. Having once studied there, he took it personally and weighed in on it. “It was deaths that could’ve been prevented. Entire families were slaughtered by an invading threat. Probably the same one heading to Thothvet right now.” Most of them began to look grim. They hadn’t fully realized that, regardless of why they were doing it, they were about to fight a battle against an army known for its ruthlessness.

“I don’t know about that.” Uthgar chimed in. “This new threat seems different. Besides didn’t the other attack happen some ten or so years ago? May look the same but the leaders change.”

“True, but it’s still nothing to think light of.” Lucas responded. A bellowing cheer from the crowd, and Belyn who had not been paying attention to the conversation the others were having, came from the tattooed fighter being knocked off the ring from a devastating blow. Uthgar had an ale given to him by a stewardess, which he tipped a silver coin and already had half of it in his stomach.

“You think there’s a prize for the winning fighters?” asked Beylen.

“I would think so. The place seems to be collecting a lot of revenue from the event.” Aeven said.

Belyn had a deep grin on his face, he couldn’t resist. “I think I’m gonna go for a round, to see what happens.”

The other group didn’t look too surprised. “You sure? Some of these guys look like they traveled just to fight. You could get hurt.”

He didn’t seem to care, already standing up and taking off his sheathes which held his daggers. “If I didn’t get hurt that would be disappointing. What’s the fun in it if there isn’t any danger?” Belyn walked towards who looked to be an official and paid the five-silver fee.

Belyn was joined in one of the corners by a boy, roughly fourteen or so, with some rags and a bowl of water, as well as some forearm, wrapping to protect the fighters’ knuckles.

“Arms please.” The young voice said while holding up the bandage. Belyn allowed him to wrap up his knuckles and forearms, doing so skillfully like he had done it a thousand times before. “Have a good fight, sir!” He said while standing by in his corner. Belyn let off a wink, before fully getting onto the platform and looking at who he was fighting: another tattooed fighter, but this one had a long tooth of sorts pierced in his nose. Belyn didn’t try and question too much about what kind of tooth it was as he opened it with a flying punch, only to completely miss and take the brunt of several blows to the chest.

Uthgar watched in silence. He enjoyed fighting and seeing action, but he was much more of an observing type. After the first few moments of the fight getting underway, he began to look around to study his surroundings. The shouts of the crowd. The bartender was still looking grumpy. The person handing out payments to the winning fighters. Many people have assumed Uthgar to be careless and chaotic like he had no worries at all.

Those who underestimated his strategic thinking often found an early grave.

Uthgar studied the ring itself, watching the planks of the wood cave and bend as Belyn and his opponent moved and bounced around in circles. He watched the corner boy, occasionally dousing water on Belyn’s face every minute or so. Something caught his attention: Belyn’s wraps had to be doused with water; the corner boy had him clench his fists into the bowl of water to clean the wraps and make sure they were still intact. Moments later he would return standing, back into the fight, successfully landing a blow across the fighter’s face, cutting the eye.

Uthgar had a wicked smile across his face. A sinister visage that he commonly had whenever he plotted something horrific. Maybe it’s time he tilted the scale in his favor.

“Hey, Lucas,” Uthgar said, his eyes still watching the fight.

He rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“We should fight next.”

His mouth dropped open, before breaking out into a laugh. “Ha! Are you serious? How could we even compare?” Aeven heard this and began to listen as well.

“You always say you’re a fighter, so why not sh-“

“Warrior, Uthgar. I’ve practiced warfare all my life. A clobbering mess like you would be demolished.”

Keeping his deep grin, he turned with cold eyes towards Lucas. “Show me then.”

Lucas could sense a bit of death in his gaze, but he wasn’t going to pass on this opportunity. “Alright then.” Just as he accepted, the grizzled fighter that Belyn was fighting fell, although not without giving off a few bruises in return. Belyn washed off a final time, before helping his opponent up in a good gesture, taking his reward and returning to the table.

“Twenty silver coins for winning a fight! How about that?” Belyn said with a black eye, looking at the others. “What’s going on with you two?”

Uthgar piped up. “Belyn, do me a favor and be my corner boy.”

“Wha- I’m not a boy!” Belyn said.

Lucas glanced towards Aeven, implying that he should be his corner…person…as well. Neglectfully he agreed, the four wandering towards the ring, paying the entry fee before stepping to their respective corner.

Once Belyn and Uthgar had time to talk to themselves, he questioned him. “Okay dwarf, I see that look. What are you doing?”

Careful not to be noticed, he reached into a small pouch and pulled out two items. The first was a slim but dense set of brass knuckles, which he was quick to cover up in the hand wrapping. “Just wrap me up.”

Looking stunned in the face, he almost contested the request at first, until he continued wrapping Uthgar’s fists. “Cheat your way huh? I’m not surprised. But you gotta give it to him, he’s a much more capable fighter than most.”

“I’m not looking to win this fight.” Belyn had a confused look on his face. Uthgar then picked up the second item, a small vial filled with red liquid, and handed it to him. “When I come clean the wraps, empty most of the bowl and replace it with this instead.”

Belyn picked up the vial, tilting it around to see the dark red liquid inside. “What is this?”

Uthgar once more gave his usual smirk, stood up, and turned around for Lucas, who had just finished a small prayer and stood as well.

“You sure you want to do this?” Lucas said while shaking his arms out. “I’m not looking to stop you bu-“

The dwarf moved faster than expected, leading with a flying punch like Belyn’s. Just graving Lucas’s chest as Lucas dodged right, returning with a left hook aimed straight for Uthgar’s face. Not expecting the speed of the elf, he bit most of the punch but remained standing. He had been in fistfights before, but Lucas was true about being more than an average fighter. The elf followed with two jabs, both landing on Uthgar’s chest, pushing him back. Just when Lucas was starting to get the lead, the dwarf grounded himself and landed an uppercut to his stomach. He stopped for a moment but ignoring the pain Lucas went for a cross punch, only to have Uthgar dodge left and land a hook into his side.

Why are his punches hurting much more than normal? I don’t remember this much pain so soon the last time he landed a punch on me.

Lucas was growing impatient, he wanted to end this fight in seconds. “Try this one on for-“

“Hold it!” Uthgar shouted, raising his hand just as Lucas was about to launch another series of attacks. He looked towards him with a grin on his face. “A moment, please”. The dwarf began to walk towards his corner, Lucas seething with rage.

Belyn remembered what Uthgar had asked, and after making sure nobody was looking, he dumped most of the water out and poured the contents of the vial into the bowl. Uthgar knelt, placing his fists inside the bowl, grinning wider and seeing the dark red liquid seep into the bandaging around his arms.

Now, I get you off my back forever.

“What are you up to dwarf?” Belyn whispered.

Belyn had always kept a sharp eye on Uthgar throughout his small time of knowing him. Beyond his normal street smarts of always being wary of trouble, he always sensed something…different…about the dwarf. The race of people for the most part share similar personality traits: stubborn, hardy, and thick-headed. But Uthgar was the black sheep. Beyond that, he was always crafty, cunning, and typically one to think five moves ahead of others. While most would have never taken notice of it, Belyn sure did.

As the liquid continued to color his wrappings, a quick flash of memory returned to him. Uthgar remembered one of their stops a few weeks back: a small town called Lunalock. Despite it mostly being known for its shipping cargo service to Cyrus, there is a bit of legend around the town that he got a first-hand account of. Still, under the pretense of performing clerical duties, he heard cases of lycanthropy occurring in the town, with people going missing in the night only to be found shredded to bits the morning after. While most feared going out during that time, Uthgar, whether out of bravery or ignorance, investigated to learn more about it. When he and a couple of others dealt with the problem, the dwarf realized that he had stumbled across a revolutionary discovery in his realm. A field that combined religion and science that he had hoped would aid him in his future endeavors.

Tonight was the night that he would test his theory.

Lucas once again was already standing, jogging in place ready to end this. He was confident he could do so, ready to take on his short-term rival and put him in-

A dark gloom covered the top of his face, yet a sinister grimace took up the bottom half of Uthgar’s face. Lucas felt a bit stunned by it but maintained his composure. The dwarf’s two arms hung down at his sides with red droplets falling from each of them. Everyone would have assumed that it was blood. He began to let off a slight chuckle while raising his fists in a fighting stance, ready for whatever Lucas thought he was going to land.

Lucas charged. Attempting to land another flying punch, he scrapped Uthgar, but it was just enough to make him stumble. Uthgar retaliated, landing a left hook to his side, the same one he had hit previously. The warrior felt it. That was so painful. He pivoted, landing a couple of jabs back at him. Uthgar took the hits. Although in visible pain, he didn’t care as he managed to land a couple more jabs, one of them striking directly at Lucas’s cheek. He was getting maniacal, moving forward on his own, launching a small barrage of punches. Lucas was able to dodge most, but not all.

Aeven continued to watch, occasionally looking around to see the crowd on its feet, cheering on the two. He glanced to the other side of the ring and noticed Belyn looking at him like he was trying to say something. Trying to mouth the words out over the crowd, Aeven was unable to translate them and went back to watching the fight.

An overhand right took Lucas by surprise, as the punch nearly knocked the wind out of him. How could a clergy do this well in combat? He tried not to think too much, watching another jab head straight for his face, Lucas deflected the punch by smacking the cleric’s fist. He didn’t notice at first, but the wrappings had begun to unravel on their own, presumably from never being doused in water in the first place.

Uthgar continued to laugh, landing a few punches every now and then, but none of them were enough on their own to knock out his opponent. He got cocky, not seeing Lucas’s change in stance, along with a hook of his own, and took a punch straight across the face. Uthgar fell to the ground, not unconscious but obviously in pain.

Why is he still laughing to himself? What’s going on?

Lucas walked over towards him, who was still sitting, and then stopped after something caught his eye. A shiny bit of metal at the end of one of Uthgar’s wrappings had come undone. Brass knuckles…that’s how he hit so hard! “So, you meant to cheat your way through this? It’s too late now, I’ve caught wind of your scheme.”

Uthgar glanced at his arm, noticing that they were visible, and quickly tried to cover it up.

Lucas ran towards him, placing his own knee over the dwarf’s arm, pinning it in place. Uthgar’s smile diminished. The elven warrior had that much more weight over him than he was immobile. Lucas reached over towards his arm, taking the brass knuckles off his hand. Uthgar desperately tried to punch Lucas off, but his attacks were useless. The warrior grabbed the cleric’s other arm, making sure he couldn’t strike anymore.

Lucas put on the blood-covered brass knuckles in his one free hand.

No! You don’t understand! Uthgar thought.

“Normally I would be honorable and let you face your own guilt, but you have been too careless and need to be taught a lesson.” He raised his fist, brass knuckles dropping the mysterious liquid over Uthgar’s face.

“STOP!” Uthgar shouted.

It was too late. Lucas rushed his fist down, a single punch straight to Uthgar’s face, who had been knocked unconscious by it. The crowd went silent. Bystanders noticed a clear gash across the downed fighter’s face, blood seeping from it. Lucas stood up, going to his corner to wash himself off while Belyn went into the ring to help Uthgar up.

The crowd went wild.

“That was unbelievable! Incredible! Such a display of strength! I got my money’s worth!” Various people shouted.

Aeven helped wash off Lucas’s wounds but occasionally glanced up towards Uthgar as if checking to make sure that he was okay as well.

Lucas noticed his worry. “He got what he deserved, but he’ll be fine.” He said while wincing at the pain in his sides. He had bruises and cuts all over the brass knuckles.

Eventually, Belyn, barely strong enough to carry Uthgar, wandered over to them. “We should go to the rooms and get these two some rest. I think Uthgar is going to be out for a while.”

“I agree,” Aeven said. “Should be the last four rooms to the right up the stairs.” Hauling the dwarf up the stairs wasn’t too challenging, but enough to make Belyn tired. Lucas was able to walk on his own, calmly entering his room without another word from him. As Aeven and Belyn got Uthgar in bed, the dwarf slowly began to regain some bit of consciousness.

“What?” Uthgar began to whisper.

“Try not to talk, you took a bad hit,” Aeven said. “But apparently you were the one that caused it being he used your own weapon.”

Uthgar tried to sit up, disregarding Aeven’s wishes. He looked towards Belyn, who returned a questioning glance, once more referencing what he was plotting earlier.

“Aeven, do you think you could get another bowl of water for Uthgar? I think his wounds may need it.” Belyn asked. Aeven nodded and left the room. Belyn looked towards Uthgar. “Okay, what’s up? What happened down there?”

“We need…” Uthgar spoke softly, still feeling numb to everything. “We need to get out of here.”

“What do you mean?” Belyn asked.

“The vial. I made a mistake. I need to get out of here!” He began to speak a bit louder.

“What was in that vial? What did you do?”

“There’s not enough time. Please, lead me from here, to the woods.”

Belyn was about to question him, but instead, he shook his head and got Uthgar up. Aeven returned with a bowl of water, standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Uthgar looked towards Belyn as if expecting him to cover for him. “Uthgar just wanted some fresh air, we’ll be back in a bit.”

“Are you sure? He looks really beat up?” Aeven asked cocking his head.

“He’ll be fine, he asked for it!” Belyn said while another drop of blood splashed from Uthgar’s face. The two continued to make their way out of the inn, pushing past the crowd of people who were still watching the last few fights for the evening, and made their way outside.

Lucas lay in bed in silence. Despite using a lot of energy, he didn’t feel that tired. He glanced over at his sword, which had a beautiful elven hilt made from the metals of his homeland. The moonlight shined through the window, reflecting rays off it. He lay and thought of his travels, his aspirations, his enemies, pretty much anything to wind down and settle his mind to not worry about the throbbing pain from Uthgar’s attacks.

What’s his game? He thought to himself. Why come so far? Risk so much? Just for a bit of “glory and chaos” as he puts it.

Lucas looked outside his window, taking in the peaceful scenes. A calm wind blew through the town. A few pedestrians taking an evening stroll. Lanterns and candles are lit at every few doorsteps. The stars looked extra bright tonight. The clouds parted above, revealing the vibrant moon above.

Lucas’s stomach began to twist and turn

Aeven watched Belyn carry Uthgar down the stairs, still concerned about his health, before making his way to his own room. He had his hand over the doorknob before thinking he should check on Lucas one more time. Skipping over to his room, he knocked on the door.

“Lucas? Can I come in?”

Silence. He’s probably sleeping. I shouldn’t bother-

Aeven heard a loud thud from inside. He knocked again.

“Lucas? Is everything okay?” Aeven opened the door ajar and poked his head inside. He saw Lucas, quivering and shaking on the floor by his bed. “Lucas! What’s wrong?” He rushed over to his side, trying to find the issue.

He couldn’t respond. He grabbed his stomach, being under an immense pain that throbbed from there. Lucas’s whole body shook, his face covered in sweat. He let out slight groans and heavy breaths. “I’ll call for help, give me a mom-“

Aeven was hit with a strong kick which launched him against the wall. It knocked the wind out of him, and he soon had to catch his breath. He continued to watch Lucas curl and roll in every direction. Under the moonlight, Aeven noticed the warrior’s skin begin to darken. Tiny black dots grew from his pores. Laying on his back, his muscles began to contort into different shapes. Aeven watched in horror as the elven friend he once knew had his limbs morph in an elongated manner; his fingers and nails extending beyond a humanoid’s figure, his neck stretching and cracking under tension. The black dots turned into thick hair that broke through the skin, forming various patches of thick fur.

“What…is…happening…to…me?!” Lucas barely snarled in a deep garbled voice. Aeven, unable to do anything to save him, watched from afar, a sense of him wanting to hide somewhere. Finally, dark fur covered Lucas all over most of his clothing stretched and torn apart from the transformation. He got on all fours, still shaking and twisting, as if trying to adjust the newly grown muscles in his body.

Looking out of the window towards the full moon above, he howled.

“What’s going on?!” Belyn watched Uthgar morph and transform out in the woods.

The little bit of dwarf left at the creature spoke out. “Leave…me…”

Belyn hesitated but slowly started to back away before bolting straight toward the town. What about Lucas than?!

“Ale all around men! And double for our fighters this evening!” Everyone in the inn cheered as the ringleader gestured towards the innkeeper as if to say: “I got this round as long as the business keeps booming.” The people happily took to their tables while a few helped fold up the makeshift ring for tomorrow. The bards began to play a tune to relax the atmosphere. “Alright, good sports everyone! Same time aga-…what in the bloody hell?!”

The ringleader stood in horror as a creature covered in fur with long canine teeth, took up the entire doorframe with a man’s hand in its mouth. More began to watch as one person drew their sword attempting to cut the beast, only to have the sword stuck in its arm with no reaction. The beast slashed his claw across the man’s jugular, causing him to gargle blood while desperately trying to hold his hand to his throat.

And the crowd went wild.

The furred monstrosity barged its way into the crowd, shredding the flesh off any who got near it. A few hunters tried to grab their weapons, but the creature was faster, launching itself into them, prying open their chests, and exposing their insides. The barmaids screamed as they tried to escape, with a few unfortunately being caught in the jaws of the monster. Crossbow bolts were fired from across the room, a few landings into the beast’s back. It let out a thunderous roar before leaping from table to table towards the archers. They were barely able to let out a scream before the former warrior tore apart their organs and skin. It was a blood bath. By the time all the surviving residents left the inn, the bodies of at least twenty men and women lay on the floor.

After watching “Lucas” leap out the window, Aeven released his breath. He had laid still in the shadows, knowing he alone couldn’t face a creature like that.

What in heaven’s sake did Uthgar do?! He thought. Screams and yells could be heard from below and outside. Aeven had to do something, and he had to do it quickly. At least to save the citizens of this town.

Belyn heard a distant bell ring from where he came. He sprinted back to the streets, watching a crowd of people form a few blocks from the inn. They all had torches and swords in hand, some even sporting platemail. His keen ears heard a distinct roar from the inn itself. Lucas. Belyn followed the group as they made their way to the inn, sensing a bit of fear from a few of them. By the time they were just outside, the monster met them at the door frame.

“Lucas! Stop this!” Aeven shouted from inside the establishment. He was positioned on the stairs, his book in hand in case he needed to use his magic.

Lucas looked back, snarling back towards him. The group of hunters just outside readied their crossbows once more. “FIRE!” Six different bolts flew, each being attached to netting which covered the beast, restricting his movement. Lucas tried to shake free, only to get tangled further in the line. He was beginning to break a few of them to make his escape before a couple of soldiers ran forward throwing ropes over him, tying his limbs apart while others stabbed and prodded with spears. Lucas howled in pain.

“Wait! He’s a friend of ours, we need to save him!” Belyn’s cries were outmatched by the group of hunters. They continued to tie down and snare the beast in position. Aeven managed to creep his way out from a side door and quickly found Belyn among the crowd.

“You don’t understand! Wait!” He was also outspoken by those around him. The townsfolk had already had enough deaths in their home, and they wanted to eliminate the threat as soon as possible. Once Lucas was secured in place, with twenty different men holding him down with ropes and nets, an older, stiffer gentleman with a broadsword stepped forward.

“Lycan…I have dealt with this kind before. Let’s end this quickly.” He drew his blade; a long silver trim highlighted its sharpened end.

Once more, Aeven and Belyn tried to call out. “Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“Bugger off!” One hunter in the crowd said towards him. “I’d be out of town if I were you.” Aeven watched desperately as the gentleman hovered his blade above Lucas’s neck, which had also been stretched and tied down with another rope.

“We need to go…NOW!” Belyn grabbed Aeven’s arm and pulled him away from the crowd. As they hurried away, Aeven took a final look back and watched the seasoned hunter raise his broadsword in the air and swing it down in a swift motion. Lucas’s body lay limp, his howling diminished.

A bright flash of sunlight hit the naked dwarf’s face in an open field of grass. Still feeling the pain from the night before, he winced while touching his wounds. Although they have mostly healed, he still had bruises. My clothes, my belongings, what...what happened? Uthgar had trouble remembering what happened throughout the night, but he looked at his surroundings as if he had been there before. He stumbled up, nearly all his clothes gone or torn to shreds, wondering where exactly he was. A pounding hit his head hard, making it difficult to concentrate.

It worked, didn’t it? My theory was correct…

His pounding headache bogged his mind until he realized that the noise wasn’t just from his mind, but from distant galloping. Uthgar hardly had time to react before a group of men on horseback approached him, confused as to seeing a bare dwarf out in the middle of the woods.

“Who are you, dwarf?” The lead rider asked.

Uthgar tried to look up but still felt blinded by the sun. He put a hand over his forehead and noticed the shine from the rider’s armor, along with a distinct symbol on the front of it. You gotta be kidding me…

“Again, who are you, dwarf?” the rider asked. Eventually, one of them pulled out a scroll, looking back and forth at it and Uthgar, who didn’t respond at all.

“Um…sir? Look at this?” The rider passed the scroll to his leader, who then read it and chuckled.

“Well, I’ll be damned. We got him. By order of the Varrivian Guard under the charges of thievery, I am to place you under arrest for questioning. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Uthgar glanced up, getting more adjusted to the bright light, and finally spoke: “I beg you…just shut your mouth.” He then fell back down to the ground in exhaustion. The Varrivian Guard continued to place Uthgar in shackles, after giving him a spare set of robes for decency and carrying him back to Varrivia on horseback.

~~~

Writer’s Endnote:

Thank you for taking the time to read this!

If you enjoyed it, consider checking out my other works on Gamer Empire, Wattpad, Medium, Vocal, as well as freelance services on Fiverr and Upwork!

Thank You For Your Time,

-Kadence <3