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Edge of apocalypse 122
🕑 Added 2023-09-15 12:30:26 +0000 UTC122 – Scrappy boy
The large stone gates of Bastion hung wide open, and the paved road – which did not extend more than a hundred meters away from Bastion before reverting to a bland dirt road – was devoid of people so that the large convoy could pass through without issue. To the side, standing in the fields and in the ditches, the travelers waited for the caravan to pass.
It was a procession of many carts pulled by beasts and monsters, covered in drapes of fabric of many colors and indicating many houses, the players of the game of politics inside the walled city. Escorting the caravan, many soldiers dressed in sweltering armor gleaming under the sun, the steel black and thick, were accompanied by mages and adventurers. It was easy to spot the latter category of people, dressed as they were much differently than the organized militia of the city.
Without the Focus to ask the universe yet another Intent-loaded question, Albert trusted that they were adventurers affiliated with a guild like what he had seen in the first village he encountered in this future version of Earth. The name he had forgotten, and the sole thought of Earth disfigured by the passage of time threatened to ruin his mood.
Feeling himself grow restless, he firmed his will and thought of literally anything else.
I just realized that we only used Intent when I did the Bending to ask the Universe for the name of the city, not when we did the Appraisal. Do you think the mana acted as a bridge, or a fake-Intent?
Another theory: I have my own Intent and it works like your does when interfacing with the Universe.
But not with mana.
Nor with Focus.
Albert hummed. He spotted more carts preparing to leave Bastion, but a small gap in the line would probably allow him entry if he was fast enough.
He hurried inside, slipping past the procession and earning more than a few shouts from the people waiting patiently at the side of the road. The only ones who didn’t seem to care at all were the farmers, silently tilling the earth, pulling weeds and occasionally whistling a song out of tune.
Their life, Albert wondered, must be either quite idyllic or utter nightmare, depending on who you asked.
As soon as Albert crossed the gates and entered Bastion, the atmosphere changed. Outside it was bright and clear, pleasant despite the cold wind that had begun to sweep the valley from the north. Inside it was cramped, dark and stuffy. Little wind made it past the walls from above, mainly through the open gate. The walls themselves, the buildings and the watchtowers encroached, blocking the light and plunging the city in perpetual dark. The ground was mismatched stones covered in dirt, puddles of mud here and there where the many animals and carts had dug holes deep enough for water to gather.
Albert stopped to rest in the middle of the small plaza overlooking the gate, taking in the sights, smells and overall feel of the place. There was a bustling of activity, with people running left and right, clad in armor and leather. Some of the carts were yet to leave the city, stashed against the gate and queued up along the only road wide enough to fit them. All around, people shouted, merchant advertised their wares and even food stalls tried to make a living.
There was one particular food stall that sold grilled meat of questionable origin, but it was next to a smith’s shop and the black smoke smelled of charcoal, molten metal and nothing else. Sitting on the ground, holding up a sign Albert couldn’t read, was a young boy. Wisps of what Albert came to call Doom energy, formerly Alignment Energy, hung about the boy’s body like a magical residue.
Albert looked at the sign the boy was holding. He had to Bend himself so that he could understand the local language, like he had done at Tulebord village to speak with the Chief there, which meant that wherever he was, he was still quite far from Sitea.
“I am hungry.” The sign read.
“I am hungry.” Albert shook his head as he muttered to himself the words written on the sign, repeating them in English. One corner of his mouth quivered, the right edge of the lip trembling and his eyes stung. The boy holding the sign was short, thin and frail looking, no older than fifteen. He was dirty, wearing clothes that were worse than what Albert was wearing, if that was even possible. His black hair was long, dirty, covering his sunken face.
Albert walked up to the beggar boy, wondering if anyone watching the two of them would think they were in the same situation. It hurt his heart to see people reduced to this just to survive.
Focus dropped, and with a hint of Intent Albert produced a coin of the local currency. Enough to buy a hot meal, or as close to that as possible.
“What’s going on with them?” He asked, shooting a look at the caravan and dropping the coin. The coin was snatched from the air before it could fall thirty centimeters. The boy was fast.
“It’s a caraven going to Tulebord, among other places, kind sir.” The boy said. He had a very young voice, girlish. He spoke with a slight lisp, stretching all the ‘s’.
“What for?” Albert asked, cocking his head and crouching next to the boy.
“I am not sure, sir. I think they are getting supplies for the war. I also think they will demand their share of Sap ahead of time you know, for the coming war? That’s why they have the big loaders, and not some magic bag or something. That I think. But they won’t let me close to the carts, they won’t. I tell you, sir, those carts are very valuable.”
Albert smiled. “Very protected too.” He said. Then, noticing the smile, he cursed himself for letting his emotions through. He could not afford to get attached. Not with what he planned to do. Not with the destruction of this version of Earth so imminent.
A stray thought occurred to him. Tulebord was sure to be in upheaval, with the Chief dead. He wondered how the villagers were going to react, and whether they would report him to the soldiers going there to extort them of their sap ahead of time. In fact, without Chief there, how was the village supposed to even try to deal with the soldiers?
Nightmarish. Albert felt a wave of vertigo sweep his feet, and this time it wasn’t even due to a drop in Focus. This, this was called guilt – an emotion he wished he would never feel again. He wanted to vomit, and the burnt smell from the food stall didn’t help.
Albert closed his eyes, and pictured the past. His mother, fighting against a lithoid invasion on her own. The whole modern world, gone. Replaced by… whatever this was. There was only one possible explanation why it had come to pass, and he didn’t like the implications. Above all, he missed his family. If the system had sent him here, then there was a way to get them back.
And a price to pay.
Time travel, after all, was but an old friend to him.
The boy’s voice shook Albert back to reality. “Thank you for the coin, kind sir. Perhaps, for another coin, I could show you around? I know all sorts of places around Bastion, that I do.”
Albert hesitated.
“You look very strong, kind sir. That I know, but many others don’t have the eyes that I do. They might think you easy to pick upon, if you end up in the wrong part of town. I can show you the right places, that I can.”
“What’s your name?” Albert asked.
The kid shot to his feet. “Scrap, kind sir!”
The boy beamed, and grabbed Albert’s hand with both his hands, with feline grace and shook it vigorously. It seemed that Scrap had already decided the deal was done, and was officializing it.
Albert slowly got to his feet and looked down at the boy. Only now did he realize just how much taller he was than the people here, especially the short kid shaking his hand. Even with both his hands, the kid could barely wrap his fingers around Albert’s palm with space left to spare. If Albert wanted, he could crush the tiny hands with little effort. After a quick Bend, Jeff placed Scrap’s Physical Power at less than 0.5. Another tidbit of information that made it hard for Albert to leave the boy here to rot.
With a sigh and a curse, Albert produced another coin. “Well played, Scrappy, well played.” Then, under his breath, he added: “This might only buy you a year, and will bring me so much pain. Your fault. Not mine. I didn’t choose this.”
The boy pouted, either heedless or uncaring of what Albert muttered. “My name is Scrap, that it is, not Scrappy.” Then he paused, considering. “But I can make an exception for you.”
He beamed another smile, and it was so full of life and joy that Albert once again cursed his own choices for letting this happen. Now he was attached indeed.
Jeff, I authorize a full scan. Use the damned COPY:skills, but don’t brag about it. Power rating and name, please.
Scrap. No surname. Power 1. Physical Power 0.3
Minimal traces of organized mana and Doom energy. Investigation is highly advised.
Thank you.
“Alright Scrappy.” Albert said, looking around. “It’s late enough that I need an inn to sleep and rest. Why don’t you guide me to one?”
“Of course, sir. I can do that.”
“Name’s Albert.”
“Sir Albert, sir. How much coin are you willing to spend, sir Albert?”
Albert smiled at Scrap’s antics. “Don’t care about the price.” He checked his Focus and nodded. He could create enough coins as long as they were the non-magical variant. “Just find a decent inn with a comfortable room, a shower and food. Ah, also… one that does not discriminate.”
Albert ran a hand through his hair and revealed his ears. Scrap’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments before the boy steeled himself. Then he nodded.
“Of course, lord sir Albert, sir.”
“What the fuck are you doing with all those honorifics? Lord sir?”
Scrap looked frightened. Albert smiled, hoping he was not making it worse. “Just drop them and call me Albert.”
The boy nodded, and beckoned for Albert to follow.
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