The Ring Thief - Chapter 2 - The Wanderers

 Chapter 2 - The Wanderers

Grizzel’s mace made a sickening ‘crunch’ as he lifted it from the pulverized skull of a fallen bandit. Blood dripped from the enchanted glass sphere that made up the tip of the marbled weapon. He brought a rag to clean it, and fried brain matter quickly stained the otherwise white piece of cloth. 

“Gross,” Han winced and averted his gaze, wrapping his arms tightly against his gut to hold in his lunch. Although this had happened before, he never quite got used to the way maces turned people to piles of bone and pudding. That’s why he liked arrows. Minimal blood shed and maximum efficiency. 

The apostle, a young man with short blonde hair, white skin, and bright blue eyes, grinned. “Well he shouldn’t have tried to steal from us,” he said, tossing a bag of coins up in the air before catching it in his leather-armored palms. 

“I guess,” Han almost heaved. Flies had already begun buzzing around the bloody pulp of the deceased thief. 

Compared to the hardened warrior, Han was hardly a sight. Whereas Grizzel was toned and muscular beneath his plate mail, Han was tall and lanky with arms like twigs. His short black hair was an unkempt mess, and his brown skin was as spotless as his clothing. He was hardly the warrior type, and certainly not used to seeing people bludgeoned to death.

“Welp, let’s get to it then,” Grizzel said, kneeling down and grabbing the thief by his ankles. 

Han gagged as his companion dragged the body off the road and into the brush. Blood trailed behind the corpse. At the very least, he understood why they had killed the man, but he didn’t have to like the aftermath.  

“We don’t exactly have a shovel to bury it...er him with,” Han said. 

Grizzel groaned as he pulled the body to a stop beside a boulder. Yellow tulips sprouted from the ground beside a small pond. A perfect place for a burial. 

“Doesn’t take much to make a grave, friend! Just need some elbow grease…” his words trailed off as he grabbed the bandit’s broad-faced dagger and stuck it into the ground. Luckily, it was nice and damp from yesterday’s rainfall. 

“We didn't bother burying the last ones,” Han replied. 

Grizzel panted between dagger thrusts as the gravepit became more defined. “Last time we were fleeing the city because of slavers. Not exactly a good time to bury the dead," he laughed, tossing a clump of dirt to the side. "Father was always against burials. So were the others…” he muttered, stabbing the knife into the ground. “But I don’t know. It just feels wrong to leave them out for the birds.”

Han nodded, glancing at the body. The bandit had a shirt of scraps and pants with holes that were there before his death. Probable signs of a troubled life, or desperate circumstances. Either way, he was still human.

Thirty minutes of silence passed between the two as Grizzel finished digging a small pit. Han managed to stomach his sickness long enough to help him lower the body. Then, after the corpse was buried, Grizzel plucked a nearby tulip and placed it on top of the mound for good measure.

“Want to say any final words?” He asked.

Han raised a brow. “Uh, thanks for trying to kill us?”

Grizzel nodded. “Good enough. Farewell!” he waved at the pile of dirt before moving further along the thin patchy trail. 

“So where are we going?” Han asked, looking over the distance. The vast rolling and empty plains were far different from the thick jungle forests of Kanda, where even the shortest below trees dwarfed the tallest oak. 

Grizzel opened up a pocket along his waist and pulled out one of many maps. On it was a vague outline of sites and towns along the way to the north.

“Well to get to the ruins, we need to head through a town called Woodhurst,” he said. “Maybe we can pick up some supplies there. More muscle would be nice too. No offense.” 

Han rolled his eyes.

The apostle snickered. The two then resumed their trek through the weed speckled dirt trails, and hours passed without a single bandit jumping them. Following Grizzel’s map, they eventually spotted the small trading town. 

Two guards eyed them when they approached the wooden gate. Their gazes lingered on Han for a few moments, only relaxing once they settled on the shining apostle. The taller of the two guards approached Grizzel, holding up a hand to greet him. “Welcome to Woodhurst, apostle. My name’s Gilan. What brings you here?” he asked, glancing at Han. 

Grizzel shook his hand. “Just passing through. We’re on a trip.” He grinned. 

“Doing the gods’ will no doubt? Good man," he patted Grizzel’s pauldron.

"You could say that," Grizzel chuckled.

The guard eyed Han up and down and cracked his jaw. "Lunas knows we need it in these parts.”

Grizzel gulped. It had been a while since he'd been to the outskirts of Kingswatch's territory. He knew people like Han sometimes made locals uneasy before. Not like this though. Before Grizzel could respond, the other guard chimed in.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said to Han. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. 

Gilan spoke over his shoulder. “Quiet, Kenly. This man comes from Kingswatch, right?” he asked, a smirk painted over his sweaty face.

Grizzel rubbed his neck. “Uh, yup! Like I said, just passing through.”

Kenly grumbled before backing off. “Right.”

"Eh, don’t mind him. Let’s get you on your way,” he paused, pulling out a notebook. “I just need to see your papers first.”

Grizzel bit his lip as an awkward silence passed between the two for a moment. 

Gilan laughed. "I'm just giving you a hard time. Enjoy your stay,” he slapped Grizzel’s pauldron again. “And be careful," his gaze rested on Han. "Locals don't take kindly to outsiders." 

Kenly snickered.

“Thanks,” Grizzel strained a smile, and the two entered the town.

“Well they seemed nice…” Han muttered. 

"At least we're not demis. That could've gone worse," Grizzel sighed.

"Guess we best be quick then," Han said. "Would hate to run into slavers again. Or those guards."

Grizzel didn’t seem to hear, however. Once they approached the plaza, his focus shifted to the tents and booths in front of him. The one he soon approached was filled to the brim with dungeoneering gear, such as torches, ropes, knives, and more. His eyes shot open like a child’s as he looked over all of the supplies they would need for raiding ancient ruins.

“Welcome!” the shop owner said, leaning in from his stool. He was a middle aged white man with tangled black hair, dressed in frizzly orange cloth robes and baggy leisure pants. “The name’s Jan. What can I get for you two gentlemen this fine morning?” He grabbed a whetstone. “We’ve got a buy one get one free deal on these right now. Interested?”

“Sorry, not really our style,” Grizzel replied, tapping his mace. Han gestured to his arrows. 

“And we’re a bit tight on budget.” Han added, nudging Grizzel.

“Ah, I see.” The shopkeeper noticed Grizzel’s attention shift to the pile of torches at the end of the purple clothed table. “Going somewhere dark?” he asked.

“Sure are,” he said. "We're exploring some ruins."

Jan grinned and grabbed one of the cloth-wrapped sticks. “Tell you what. How much you got?” he asked. 

Grizzel grabbed his money purse and rummaged through the miscellaneous change. He counted around ten coins of various sizes and materials. “I’ve got about 5 palladium.”

“Great!” Jan chuckled, slamming the torch on the table. “I’ll give you 30 of these for 5 palladium, deal?” he said. 

Grizzel winced, turning to Han. “I don’t know. Just 30? Is that a good deal?”

“Well I don’t think we should be spending that much on-” Han began

Jan butted in, “Tell you what, I’ll throw in the oil too.” He set a round green bottle beside the pile. 

Grizzel snapped his fingers, exclaiming “Deal!” before handing over his coins. Jan snatched them and grabbed a bundle of rope to tie the sticks together. He then slid the oil bottle over to Grizzel.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Jan said before returning to his chair to continue a leatherbound book he was reading.

“Thanks!” Grizzel smiled before they turned away. Jan waved them off, his nose stuck in his book. 

“Griz. You do realize you just spent all your money on sticks, right?” Han asked.

Grizzel laughed. “Silly Han. They’re torches, not sticks. See?” he said, ushering the bundle to the bowman’s face. “They come with the cloth!” 

“WE could have made our own for HALF a palladium! And now we can’t afford any help, like you wanted. Remember?” 

“Oh,” Grizzel muttered. “I did say that, huh.” He paused. Then an idea came to his mind. “But at least it came with oil, Right?” He shook the green bottle in Han’s face triumphantly. “Huh? Huuuh?” he teased.

Han groaned, and facepalmed. “Gods. Just…let me handle the money from now on, okay?” 

“Eh,” Grizzel shrugged, “I think you’re just jealous.” 

“Uh huh, sure,” he said. “At least we’ve got plenty of rations. Otherwise I’d make you eat those torches.” 

After their questionable purchase, the pair made their way to the north gate. Since there was no trade route leading further north, there were few citizens, and surprisingly no guards. From this point on, they would be able to resume their adventure. 

As they prepared to leave, however, a loud explosion erupted from a building nearby. Soon, lines of smoke escaped into the sky, accompanied by the screams of panicked drunkards and bystanders.

"What the hells was that?" Han asked.

Grizzel shrugged. His attention was on the bag of torches he was gleaming over. "Dunno."

Han rolled his eyes. "Wait here. I'm gonna check it out."