A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 1: Chapter 40: Practice Makes Perfect

Book 1: Chapter 40: Practice Makes Perfect

Research into the necromantic arts, sped up by the twins Need and Necessity, had opened dark channels into another plane of existence. Here, the sibilant denizens of the void promised a quick end to the war with something that was translated by the magical researchers as the ‘Seed of Oblivion.’ Grasping at a chance of total victory, the leader of the Republic accepted the dark bargain and brought the Seed fully into the world.

- On the Cataclysm by an unknown Quassian Scholar circa 103 AC

I opened the shutters, drinking in the sights of the city before me. A steady flow of people traveled along the streets; a mix of travelers, merchants, and the occasional military patrol. These patrols were heavily armored and mounted on half-barded and intimidating horses. I gritted my teeth as I saw a chained line of miserable-looking slaves, their eyes hollow and their postures stooped in suffering. I was glad that Kidu was asleep, as I was unsure of how he would react upon seeing such a sight. I would need to have words with the large man to hopefully prevent him from potentially causing a scene in the future.

I was lost in thought as I watched the people of the city go by, and my mind went back to thoughts of the old world. Years of constant study into the depths of the night had made caffeinated drinks my constant companions. I realized that I could probably kill for a simple cup of caramel soy latte, both figuratively and literally.

After judging that about an hour had passed, more by instinct than calculation, I shook my companions awake. We changed back into our clothes, leaving the borrowed robes outside the room door. Kidu and I collected our meals on a tray from the innkeeper, paying him the required coins, which he took brusquely.

The inn’s repast was some sort of red stew, which had a rich inviting smell, served in a simple earthenware bowl. Globs of unknown meat and the occasional shape of what must be some sort of vegetable was in it. On the left of the bowl was a simple side of what looked to be some sort of brown rye bread. The stew had a tangy taste, sharp and piquant, with an edge of hot spice. This was, without doubt, one of the better meals I had sampled in this world.

The meal was filling, and my companions and I ate it with such great gusto that we almost had to stop ourselves from licking the bowls clean. Politeness was so ingrained into my very being, that I offered to return the trays. Descending the stairs, I went to the counter where Athinad was still busy cleaning some mugs and left the empty trays of food there. He gave me a small nod in thanks. Turning back to return to my room I noticed that the denizens of the inn were all very deep in their cups.

A flashing glint of steel caught my eye, as it flew through the air like an arrow before it embedded itself in a target on the far wall. The blade quivered from the force of the throw causing a few whoops of joy and cries of disappointment from a small crowd. It seemed that the locals were engaged in a knife-throwing competition. My curiosity was piqued, and my earlier promise to treat this town as enemy territory was quickly forgotten as I made my way toward the crowd applauding the throw.

“Hey, hold up there mate,” slurred a rat-faced man, blocking my path, “Can’t you see this is our little corner of the Boar?”

“No problems, Devon,” Athinad called out from the bar at the other end of the room.

“Jus’ being welcoming, Atty boy,” Devon shot back, annoyance lacing his words like an annoyed fishwife, before glancing nervously at the shortsword at my hip.

“Not looking for trouble, Master Devon. Just interested in the game that you’re playing. Looks rather fun. Perhaps I could have a try,” I said with feigned nonchalance.

The man I was addressing, Devon, had a mop of unkempt dull brown hair that framed a face that perhaps only a mother could love. Narrow slanted eyes and pronounced front teeth added to his impression of an avaricious rodent.

“Fun, eh? You hear that, boys? Looks fun it is. And a ‘Master Devon’ to boot!” this lad’s got a good eye for persons of quality he does! Feels like I’m at court, I do! So you fancy trying your hand against the best in Ansan, eh? Hope you got the coin and stones to back that up!” Devon guffawed along with his crew.

“Well, I never said anything of the sort,” I chuckled and held my hands up in agreement. “Also, that would be difficult as I have never thrown a blade in my life before. You could at least make it a fair game if you taught me the rules and how the basics of how to throw a blade,” I declared, playing the role of the easy mark. Seeing the potentially easy target, the men lurking behind Devon grinned like sharks before a feast of chum and laughed along with me.

Devon rubbed his chin as he looked me over, “Well that won’t do at all, will it, lads? Can’t be letting it get said that Devon the Dirk is a dishonorable sort to be taking coins from unwitting lads like you, eh? Guess the ol’ Dirk can teach you a thing or two on how to throw a blade. In return you could I expect a few coins for my time, being a ‘Master’ an’ all” he said, looking at his crew behind him, “An’ perhaps a drink for all the lads so they don’t start getting too restless.”

Looking at Athinad behind the bar, I gave him a nod as I counted a few bronze coins out from my small purse. A few moments later, Athinad came round and served drinks of brown ale from utilitarian horn mugs, plonking them down gruffly before adding, “Just to remind you, boys, no trouble you, hear?”

“We hear you all right,” Devon replied, his eyes rolling at the repeated nagging, “Now this here is the game we’ll be playing once you can hit the fat bum of a passing Laur. Hit the target over there, you take a swig. Miss the target and old biddy Taper over there goes up in a huff about us damaging the walls, and ye ‘ave to drink two swigs. Like so,” Devon said, taking a quaff from his mug and burping loudly to the amusement of his companions, “Now you’ll be wanting to hold yer blade like this,” he indicated, holding up his blade for inspection before passing me a small simple throwing knife.

It was a very unassuming weapon, with a thin steel blade that flared a little in the middle, before tapering off to a sharp point. The handle was made from wood wrapped with rawhide, and it had a small bronze guard to stop the fingers from slipping accidentally onto the blade.

Attempting to follow my new instructor's example, I placed the end of the handle into the center of the palm of my left hand, with my middle finger closing the grip and my thumb on the side. My index finger rested along the spine of the weapon at the balance point of the knife.

He grunted before taking another gulp from his mug, “Not bad, not bad at all. You pick things up quick. Now the trick is...” he stood now, taking a loose stance and raising the blade behind his head, “Is all in the timing of the release!” he said as he threw his knife. Without spinning, the blade flew unerringly towards the small wooden target on the wall, sinking a few centimeters into the wood.

With a wide sweep of his hands, took a quick swig from his mug and gestured for me to have a try, as if he was a stage director introducing a new character to the stage. I nodded to him, taking a stance that approximately resembled his. My Dexterity was probably reasonably high now, considering that I had started with a mere eight points, so I felt that I would have a good chance at picking this up. Lifting the knife behind my head, I tried to copy my teacher’s throw, but released perhaps scant moments too early, and missed the target by a small margin.

Devon clapped me on the back in commiseration, encouraging me to try a few times more, and explained in a slightly slurred voice that being drunk was the key to good knife-throwing. However, totally engrossed in my practice, I did not care to drink with the others or take part in any gambling. I did however continue to order a few more rounds of drinks in exchange for further friendly instruction. Devon would give me the occasional tip, shifting my stance on occasion, and giving me pointers on how to ‘feel’ for the timing of the blade. In time, I was hitting the target more often than not, and I was granted a notification that I had long been waiting for.

You have gained 1 Dexterity You have learned Daggers (lvl.2)

You have learned Throwing Weapons (lvl.1)

You have learned Throwing Weapons (lvl.2)

It seemed that with proper instruction, I could gain skill levels much faster than just by messing about in the dark by myself. Daggers would be a useful proficiency to have in case I ever lost my main weapons, or if I had to engage in some up-close wetwork in the future. As a bonus, I had gained a point of Dexterity for my trouble.

“Thank you, Master Devon,” I replied with a small bow, which drew laughs from Devon’s crew, but I could see that Devon’s face was a little flushed with more than just alcohol. With the simple word of ‘Master’ I had appealed to his pride and had won him over. “Where can one get such weapons as these? They have a fine balance and fly true.”

His posture a little straighter, Devon smiled a little drunkenly and replied proudly, “Go down along this road outside to yer left a little way, you’ll see the sign of the Soot-Stained Pig Iron Forge. Basically, look for a black pig if you don’t know your letters. Tell ol’ Cillis Aideh I sent ya. She’ll give you a discount if you buy ten,” he slurred the last, clearly drunker, and I knew he would not be able to give much further useful instruction. Luckily, he had forgotten about our competition, for which I was grateful. For, inebriated as he was, he still had a much better aim than me which would almost certainly lead to my loss.

I thanked Devon again, and the seedy-looking men behind him raised a drunken toast in my name. Though it had cost me a few coins, I was a little bit happy with my newfound popularity. I was even happier when I saw a new notification.

You have gained 1 Charisma

Not bad, I thought to myself, as I turned to the bar and cleared my tab with Taper, before I went back up the creaking stairs to my room. Entering, I saw Kidu and Elwin attending to the maintenance of our gear. The Hunter, rather considerately, had even fashioned a strap for my helm. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was thinking of trading it in for something else at the earliest opportunity.

“That’s it. My turn now,” Elwin said, rising up from the floor like a hound that had just been let loose and dashed for the door.

“Try and find a place to sell the...” I tried to remind him as he went past me.

“Yes, yes, mother. And I’ll try not to sink too deep into my cups, nor will I be losing my chastity this night!” he shouted back at me as he bolted down the stairs, probably to engage in a round of drinking.

Upon hearing this, Kidu just grunted as he continued to diligently polish his spear, grinding out traces of rust with a coarse stone. Sitting down by the shutter, I decided to practice my magic.