Father of Monstrosity

After his latest stint in the Pleasure District, Veks was making his way south to check up on the developments of the ruined Market West at the behest of Jakob.

His cloven hooves shattered tiles as he landed on the sloped roof of a two story. He slid down its curved overhang, before launching himself forward with a powerful kick, sending ceramic chunks crashing into the alleyway below.

The rush of flying through the air, propelled by nothing but his own superhuman physique, was an exhilarating feeling, though it hardly alleviated the incessant whisperings, whose greed was truly boundless. The Boy would pay him for playing scout, but even that promise seemed so very distant, when the craving wanted to be satiated now.

“A quick detour then,” he told the whisperings, arresting his momentum when he landed on the next rooftop. He looked around for something to steal and did not have to wait long, as a heavily-guarded wagon rolled over the bridge that led out of the district he was in.

Veks’ forked tongue licked the blood off his clawed hand, while the last survivor was slowly dragging himself away on the cobblestones, his legs ruined and useless. He would not make it far before the bloodloss killed him.

The Incarnate quickly rifled through the corpses and their belongings, finding some trinkets and jewellery that made the whispers enraptured and jubilant. There was also a chest which he opened with a few powerful kicks of his hoof on its lock, but sadly it only held books and paintings, and nothing shiny.

As though his acquisitions immediately forgotten, the whispering voices started bickering with themselves, before turning on him.

“I must find more,” he told himself.

“Hey Boss,” the demon-man said as he entered Jakob’s lab from the courtyard entrance.

“You’re back,” he observed.

“I couldn’t get close enough to look, without attracting the Royal Guard to me. The whole of Market West is locked down, almost as if they’re trying to prevent an infection within from escaping.”

Jakob blew out a puff of spent air.

Sensing his master’s displeasure, Veks quickly continued, “But I found something peculiar.” He lifted a squirming hairless rodent-like creature in his hand. It was slightly bigger than a squirrel, with a long bushy tail and six legs. Its eyes were massive, taking up two-thirds of its head. If not for the swirling madness they held, it would have been a cute little monstrosity.

“Drop it,” Jakob said hastily.

As Veks obliged and released its tail, the creature started contorting mid-air. It landed with a heavy thump on the stone floor and continued writhing uncontrollably.

“There were many of these buggers hopping around Market West and its environs,” Veks explained, as he observed the creature go through its death throes.

“It is one of Grandfather’s scout chimera,” Jakob replied absentmindedly as he too watched the six-legged rodent spasm and die on the floor of his laboratorium. “Stand back,” he then warned the former Thief as the rodent stilled.

Veks had only just moved away, when the entire thing spasmed anew, something emerging from within. The entire skeletal structure of the chimera lifted itself out of its body, discarding skin and flesh, with many additional bone legs also emerging from its ribcage. When its horrific transformation was finished, the skull with the two huge eyes was revealed as its central core, with twelve legs around it, like a demented Daddy-Long-Legs. The swirling mass within those two big eyes started spinning, and a faint violet glow came from them, as well as strange particles of floating light like the spores of some mushrooms that grew in the bowels of the sewers.

“My son...”

Jakob winced when he heard the voice.

“What have you done to my servant? I can no longer contact Heskel.”

“He is fine.”

“I want the Tomes, son. I am no longer asking.”

“Sending Raleigh was your way of asking!?”

“I do not know how you managed to defeat him, but I will get those Tomes. I will find wherever you scampered to. No walls will keep me out. Give them to me willingly, and you will be spared my displeasure.”

“No,” Jakob replied stoically, before smashing the bone chimera with his tail.

He bent low to grab the crushed abomination and tossed it towards the ceiling.

“Fetch,” he said, and Loke skittered across the rafters above and took hold of the ruined chimera just as it started falling back down again. Then the construct retreated inside its nest in the far end of the laboratorium, where a funnel of hair-like silk covered the entire back wall.

“I didn’t know it could spin webs too,” Veks observed dully, as though he had not just witnessed the chimera nor heard the ominous declaration-of-war.

Jakob was trembling with unspent fury and indignation, but he let it go with a heavy sigh of vapour streaming from his mask. “His name is Loke.”

“A worthy name,” Veks replied respectfully.

“To answer your question, I designed his abdomen to produce keratin strands, like the hair on your head, and, using his spinnerets, he is capable of controlling its output, intertwining the strands, and adjusting the adhesion.”

“That seems very complex.”

“I’m quite proud of it, but Heskel deserves the lion’s-share of credit, since he created the organic components within the bone carapace that I sculpted.”

The Wight nodded with similar appreciation of their work.

“Anyway, about my reward?”

“It’s upstairs. Hargraves just finished brewing it an hour ago. It should be quite a bit more potent than what you sampled yesterday.”

“We’ll see about that,” Veks replied with a devious grin. After all, he was quite resistant to the previous batches of euphorics that the Magister had created. “What tasks do you have for me afterwards?” he asked, already eager for the next reward.

“Heskel and I are heading to the Guild District tonight, so you’re free to do as you please.”

“I can’t come with you?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“You may indulge yourself as you see fit however, so long as my laboratorium still stands when we return.”

Veks’ grin seemed to split his face in half, the double-rows of sharp teeth giving him a predatory look. “You got it, Boss.”

The Incarnate was hanging from one of the ceiling rafters, swaying back-and-forth unseen while customers thronged the store. Sig would have found the scene hilarious, if not for the fact that she worried he might fall upon anyone below whenever his current high wore off.

Hargraves snapped his fingers, breaking her stare at the ceiling and the wacky Devil.

“What?”

The Magister pointed at an unattended customer and Sig let out a sigh, before vaulting the counter and heading over to help a woman struggling to reach a skin tonic on the top row of one of the long shelves.

This is so beneath me… she complained internally as she put on a fake smile and helped the lady.

As the customer went to the counter to pay Hargraves for the tonic, a jostling of jars and ampules caught Sig’s attention and she turned to look at the shelf behind her, the Incarnate perched on its corner precariously.

“I’m bored,” he said with a sombre tone, while the nearby customers walked by unawares.

“Hargraves can probably brew up something stronger for you,” Sig replied dismissively and returned to the row she had been organising mindlessly.

A clawed finger poked her in the back of her head sharply.

“The Boss is gone for a while. We have free reign to do whatever we wish.”

She turned around to look at him, his whole body leaning off the edge of the shelf towards her, somehow not upsetting its balance, and his face only a handspan from hers.

“Whatever?”

“So long as his laboratorium still stands when he returns,” Veks answered, his warm breath brushing against her face and filling her nostrils with the scent of sweet cinnamon and acrid copper.

“I have some ideas that you may find entertaining.”

Veks grinned deviously in response. “Pray tell.”

Sig pointed at one of the customers, a beautiful noblewoman with an expensive dress. “Bring that one to the basement, then I’ll show you.”

The journey from Market North to the Guild District required the pair to traverse four heavily-guarded and monitored districts, but they managed to make the crossings unseen, though a few corpses of the guards in the way were tossed into alleyways or courtyards, but not enough to trigger a city-wide alert, or at least Jakob hoped not.

The sun had set by the time their feet hit the marbled streets of the Guild District and opulent buildings of the finest wood, stone, steel, and glass were arrayed before them. Greatest amongst the many fancy buildings were the Bankers’ Guild, the Merchants’ Guild, and the Adventurers’ Guild. The latter of the three was situated in the centre square of the district and had four tall spires that somehow looked even bigger up-close. Long and slender moss-green banners with indistinguishable sigils waved in the wind from atop each spire and, though it was dark out, voices boomed from within its cathedral-like hall and people were coming-and-going nonstop. It seemed that the Adventurers’ Guild was open all day around, unlike the rest of the Guilds where most of the lights were out by now.

“Any idea how we join?”

Heskel pointed at the wide-open door.

“Fair enough… Guess I’ll ask inside.”

Heskel walked in front of Jakob to clear the way through the stream of people, and the Fleshcrafter noticed new markings on the back of his stitched-flesh apron. Even amongst the patterns of multi-hued bruises, the charcoal symbols stood out, their many lines forming a whole that was as uncomfortable to look at as the sun at noon.

“You put the ward against Grandfather’s spying on your clothes?”

The Wight stopped and turned to face him. Then he nodded.

“That’s an interesting application.”

“Only work on dead flesh not steel.”

“Wait, are you saying you could make the codex of Chthonic letters with pages of human skin?” It had been an ongoing struggle to find a material that would not violently combust or self-destruct when inscribed with the alphabet of the powerful language.

“We can try.”

Suddenly joining the Adventurers’ Guild to learn more about magic seemed an unimportant side-quest, but they were already here and going back to the lab would take a while, so in the interest of efficiency and research, he would go through with joining the Guild to see what knowledge he could acquire through them, if any.

They had drawn quite a lot of attention by the time they made it inside the enormous Guild Hall, due mostly to their appearance, but also because the Adventurers of Helmsgarten were curious by nature and found intrigue in sizing-up newcomers to their fraternity.

A counter, not too alike the one in the Apothecary, albeit upscaled, stood near the back of the large hall, and queues of people were lined up at the six different people who manned it.

“Are you here for the trial as well?” the guy in front of Jakob asked, after eyeing him up-and-down with a peculiar sort of interest that lacked any kind of self-preservation.

Jakob nodded simply, though, truth-be-told, he was unaware what the young man was speaking about.

“Me too!” he replied excitedly. “I’d heard there was a surge in applicants since so many Adventurers perished in the Market West Disaster, but this is quite a lot more than I expected.”

“I see,” Jakob answered, realising that all the people who thronged the hall and filled the queues were in large part there because of the decimation he had caused within the metropolis’ south-eastern sector.

“Maybe we can work together for the trial. I’m pretty nifty with a bow,” he replied eagerly, pointing his thumb at a sad display of craftmanship with a fraying string. “I’m Servill, by the way, what’s your—”

“I don’t care,” Jakob replied bluntly, then turned to his companion and said in Chthonic, “Clear the way, we’re not waiting around like these fools.”

Heskel grunted in response, then pushed Servill aside and moved down the queue, shoving the people out of the way as Jakob followed behind. Though a few people grumbled and shouted, none seemed interested in actually stopping them.

“Weak,” Heskel growled in Novarocian, berating the poor turnout in a language they could comprehend. The aspirants nearest cowered beneath the oppressive and deep thrum of his voice.

When they got to the front of the queue, not a single person in the hall was not staring at them, either in disbelief, anger, or amusement.

“Sir, you cannot just skip in line like that,” the man behind the counter scolded him feebly.

“I’m here to join,” Jakob replied.

“So is everyone else behind you,” the man said, and the people behind Jakob shouted “Yeah!” in reply, though a glance from Heskel quickly brought them back to silence.

“Look at them. They’re worthless. My Wight and I are worth a hundred of their ilk, maybe more than that.”

Though the Guild Receptionist did not openly agree, he also did not disagree, amusingly enough, and it only served to prove Jakob’s point.

With a sigh that seemed to imply that he was paid too little to handle brazen people like Jakob, the man conceded and handed Jakob a scroll of flimsy parchment. Before he could take a look at it however, the man also took out a thin wafer of tin as well as a chisel and a small wooden hammer.

“Name?”

“Jakob.”

The Receptionist deftly chiselled his name in Novarocian lettering at the top of the wafer.

“Surname?”

“It’s just Jakob.”

“And your companion, is he taking the trial too or is he—?”

“He’s my attendant.”

“His name?”

“Heskel.”

A few more deft strikes followed, the whole hall seeming intensely-silent as only the rapid tick-tick-tick of the chisel striking the tin card could be heard. Even other receptionists had stilled their work to listen in.

“Class?”

“What’s that?”

“Your profession, expertise, etcetera.”

He thought about it for a moment, then answered, “Summoner.”

This time the Receptionist did not immediately start engraving the metal, but instead looked up at Jakob with a mix of fear and respect. “Are you telling me the truth?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

A flurry of whispers sounded throughout the hall, as people were relaying the information. It seemed that Summoners were a rare breed and having only Veks’ story of the Demonologist for reference, as well as his own knowledge in the subject, he could see why people would be wary around him.

“If you pass the trial, we will of course have to examine your claim to ascertain its validity, but if it’s true, then you will quickly find a demand for your expertise.”

Jakob simply nodded in response. This was taking too long already.

The Receptionist chiselled the ‘Class’ onto the wafer, before continuing, “Age?”

“Fourteen,” he replied.

“Fifteen,” Heskel then corrected him.

Jakob thought about it for a moment, then chuckled to himself, his scent-mask letting out a cloud of spent air. “I suppose you’re correct. Put down fifteen.”

More whispers followed, which was starting to wear on his patience.

A brief moment of hesitation followed, before the Guildman chiselled the age. Then he took a long look at Jakob and masterfully made a little caricature on the right side of the tin card. Lastly, he took out a strange cylinder and, with a single strike on the bottom-right corner below the portrait, embossed a tiny version of the Adventurers’ Guild logo:

A shield with an eye on the front, the pupil of which was a four-pointed star like on a compass, and seven weapons poking out from behind the shield: a sword, mace, hammer, dagger, staff, bow, and spear.

“There you go,” the Guild Receptionist announced, picking up the tin card and revealing that it was actually two wafers stuck together, by pulling it apart to produce two identical cards, one of which he put aside on the counter and the other which he handed Jakob. It seemed to be a way for the Guild to combat counterfeit badges, since anyone with enough time and patience could easily produce one themselves.

Before Jakob could even ask, he helpfully explained, “This is your Provisional Guild License. It will let you enter places that people normally won’t be allowed to enter, and crossing the toll bridges will be free. If you complete the trial, as described in the parchment I handed you, you will receive an iron badge to prove your full-fledged membership.”

Jakob held up the tin wafer, examining the details.

“How very crude,” he commented in Chthonic.

“Blame not the beast,” Heskel replied.

After looking through the assignment required for Jakob to become a legitimate member of the Guild, he sighed in disappointment.

“Little wonder most of their roster is worthless, if this is what passes for a ‘trial’.”

The parchment described a missing necklace, that had last been seen on a young girl who fell into a sewer manhole. His task was simply to retrieve it from the sewers of Haven, and, if possible, also recover the body of the young girl who was surely dead.

“What a waste of time.”

“Endure a moment in patience; reap a field of gold.”

That was a new one. The phrasing was a little bit strange, granted, the Wight was wont to strange phrases, though a font of wisdom nonetheless.

“You’re right. In the pursuit of knowledge, what is a day spent laying the groundwork?”

“Good investment.”

Jakob laughed at the sincerity with which Heskel said it, his scent-mask sputtering vapour.

“Indeed.”