It took Jack three houses and one misplaced foothold to land himself onto the nicer side of this bisected town.
There had been a nearly visible divide between the slums and the town proper. It was formed not by grand walls or policed barricades, but by an architectural divide that was considerably more effective than the other two might’ve been. For if the citizens of Thistlebrush had manufactured a wall or gates, it would’ve inadvertently acknowledged the slums as part of their whole. A discriminated and quarantined piece of their whole, but a part of it nonetheless.
This reality was far more insidious, Jack realized.
By building houses, shops, and even a few seedy taverns across this invisible line, they communicated something far more vile to those sequestered near the shroud.
‘You do not exist. You do not belong here. We didn’t even remember you’re there.’
If not for the thin alleys necessary between each of those tightly clustered buildings, there would’ve been no route whatsoever between the slums and the city. That said, almost every single one of those alleys was so filled with broken crates, trash, and conveniently placed barbed wire that it was impossible to mistake the Thislebrushian attitude toward their neighbors.
Which made Jack’s fumbling descent from a mildewy iron drainpipe all the more precarious. He’d had to wait for nearly an hour until he saw a lack of red-armored guards and a decent absence of pedestrians on the street below.
He’d made it all of ten feet down the thirty-foot pipe when his boots slipped on one of the brackets clamping the iron tube to the house. With a cry, he fell to the ground, but managed to turn the impact into a clumsy roll. His spine and knees screamed their protest, but he avoided cracking any of his bones on the weathered cobblestone.
Cursing, he rose to his feet and glanced around. No one had seen him. Or, if they had, they were ignoring him for now. He made himself scarce, not wanting to draw the attention of one of the many patrols that frequented this particular street that ran parallel with the border of buildings.
Not for the first time, he really wished his pants had pockets. He knew how to disappear into crowds and make himself appear unobtrusive back on Earth, but here on Aethros, he had no idea what to do with his damned hands. Did he fold them over his tattooed chest? Did he swing them lazily by his side?
He glanced around, hoping to find some inspiration on the matter. There were a few civilians walking around, but mostly in pairs, and all of them were better dressed than his current attire, stained and bloodied as it was. They glanced over their shoulders in his direction and sneered, quickening their paces to avoid him.
Figures, Jack thought bitterly. How am I supposed to get one of these people to give me a sidequest when they all run the first moment they look at me?
His thoughts growing darker than the storm clouds descending from the north, Jack took in the town of Thistlebrush as he hugged one side of the street. There were a few shops on the street, most of which relied on iconography to relay their goods and services. Unfortunately, he barely understood half of them.
A few were obvious. There was a symbol of an anvil, with sparks coming from a frozen hammer on its surface. Another showed a tankard of ale with foam spilling from its top. Neither the blacksmith nor the tavern looked open at the time, but at least he knew what to expect from them. That was where his confidence ended.
Creaking on their black iron hinges, wooden signs displayed images such as a coin with a spear or needle piercing it, or a candle with what might’ve been a curtain or veil over it. Some were painted, while others appeared to be burned into the wood planks that composed the backdrops. He tried to glance inside a few of these shops, but glass seemed to be in short supply, as many of their displays were boarded up. Very few of the buildings looked to be in good repair.
Either they can’t afford repairs, or these shops are out of business, Jack concluded, picking up his pace to where he heard a crowd ahead.
He’d come back this way and see if any of these shop owners had a sidequest for fixing their shops, but decided to try his luck in a spot where he wouldn’t have to try his hand at door-to-door soliciting.
The street turned inward toward the heart of the city, and he followed it to where it bled into a much larger road. The worn and weathered buildings boasting cheap ale and cheaper trinkets gave way to a much more opulent collage of shops and homes.
If he hadn’t just fled the violent slums or neglected border, he might’ve considered this place peaceful. Idyllic, even.
But Thistlebrush was as beautiful as it was quaint. Most of the houses and other buildings had a variety of brick chimneys, plastered walls, thatched or even tin roofs, and a hodge-podge of terraces, balconies, and clotheslines stretched across the streets.
Lining either side of the main street was a grated gutter and a steady stream of a dark, unidentifiable substance. Jack kept clear of it. He’d had enough of tight tunnels and questionable smells for one day.
The layout of the town was erratic and bizarre. Alleys twisted around sharp corners, and some houses were built less than a foot apart. Still others had fully developed cobblestone streets behind them, while others were hard-packed dirt.
They might be better off than the slums, but they’re not living in paradise either, Jack thought as he walked along the large street.
It didn’t make their willful neglect of Titanhold justified, but at least this wasn’t some extreme dystopia where the precious few elite lived in heaven while the majority suffered in hell. If that had been the case, Jack would’ve had no choice but to tear down those border buildings and help the Spiders expand their web.
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The glint of red steel caught his attention, and he immediately dove for a side alley, pushing between two stalls. One of the vendors shouted something after him, but he ignored the middle-aged man. Boots thumped against the ground where he’d just been standing, and nearly a dozen knights strode past, their weapons practically thrumming with power in their sheaths. Jack thought he spotted Captain Stark leading this patrol, but couldn’t be sure through the crowd.
Jack let out a breath when their collective footsteps retreated around a side street. He pressed his head against the wall where he crouched.
“That was way too close,” he whispered.
“Hey! You there!” someone shouted from beyond the alley, and Jack’s heart stopped.
His eyes shot open, and he looked for who might be yelling at him. Jack’s brow furrowed. There was no one in the alley.
“Me, sir?” the middle-aged vendor inquired, his voice warbly and timid.
“Who do you think?” the loud voice demanded, and Jack spotted the red memorabilia of a lone bleeder standing in front of the vendor’s stall. “Are you deaf and dumb, or just deaf?”
“Neither, sir. I was just confused,” the man replied.
Jack used Inspect on both of them, studying the merchant first.
[Garth Millward - Level 5]
He inspected the red knight next.
[Corvin Ironwood - Level 14]
To his surprise, he got a third system notification.
[Congratulations! Through effort, your skill, Inspect, has leveled up!]
[Inspect: Level 3?4. Rank: Novice]
Curious, Jack used Inspect again on the bleeder.
[Corvin Ironwood - Level 14]
[Description: Lesser Red Knight stationed in Thistlebrush. Enjoys wielding his newfound power and status over those who had once scorned him as a child on the streets.]
[Class: Flameblade]
Jack was taken aback by the new level of detail and insight into the people of this world. He immediately wondered if there was a way to hide details, or if it had anything to do with level disparity or something like that.
Naturally, he used it on poor Garth the second the other system message was done rolling across his vision.
[Garth Millward - Level 5]
[Description: a struggling textile merchant who is behind on several payments on his stall license.]
[Class: Weaver]
Jack was brought back to their conversation a moment later when he heard Corvin slam his gauntleted fist into Garth’s wooden table, cracking the sturdy furniture.
“You listen to me, you small, miserable, little twat! I’m a red knight, and you’ll do as I say! If I say that your payment is due by sunset this evening, then it’s due this evening. I want all of it, you disgusting old goat. All. Of. It.” Corvin punctuated each of his final words with a prodding finger into the merchant’s chest.
“But I have until the end of this month to pay my–” Garth began.
Corvin backhanded him, and the merchant spiraled into his own wares, sending neatly folded bolts of fabric spilling across him. He moaned in pain and shock, but no one moved to help him. The other merchants in the stalls to either side of Garth pointedly did not look or respond to Corvin’s violence.
Corvin scoffed down at the vendor and his ruined stall. “Clean this mess up. Sunset. Don’t forget.”
Jack was already on the move, slipping across the shadows provided by the alley until he was right at the edge of them. The moment Corvin walked away, shoving his way through the busy street, Jack rushed to Garth’s side.
“Are you alright?” he asked, moving to help the man up.
“Of course I’m not–” Garth’s words died in his throat the instant he took in Jack’s mediocre state. “Get off me, you filthy rat! Get out of my shop before I call the guards!”
The merchant scrambled to his feet and stood tall, though his lip continued to quiver. Whether it was from the pain of his split cheek, anger, or panic, Jack couldn’t tell. But he knew when he wasn’t welcome, and so slipped between the stalls and returned to the street.
“That’s right, rat! Go back to whatever sewers you crawled from. We don’t want your kind anywhere near our city!” Garth called after him.
Jack halted in the street, his back still to the wounded vendor. His knuckles creaked beneath his calloused fists. He took in one breath, then let it out slowly.
Runt. Dog. Now a rat. I’m getting pretty sick of these people’s cute nicknames for me.
With deliberate steps, Jack walked away from Garth Millward. Let fate decide what happened to him. If he turned down a helping hand, no matter where it came from, maybe he deserved a few of the harsh lessons coming his way.
Mood fouler than the sewers on either side of the street, Jack continued to stride forward, careful not to bump into any more of the bustling merchants and pedestrians. He wasn’t sure he could control his temper if anyone else provoked him.
As he walked, he glanced upward and spotted a few interruptions to the otherwise even roofline. The first was a steepled building that looked like an odd mix between one of Earth’s cathedrals and a fortress. It was made of black stone so dark it was nearly reflective. Obsidian, if he had to guess, though, how it retained that much weight and detail was beyond him. Crimson statues of knights in armor were carved into several large alcoves along the cathedral’s surface.
He couldn’t see the courtyard below, as a stonewall barricade obscured the lower half of the building. Guards in red armor strode around its balustrade, wielding long pikes and what he guessed were crossbows on their backs.
The second building to stand out like a sore thumb from the majority of humbly built homes and shops was placed in the northernmost tip of the town, farthest from the shroud and slums as possible. It was a gated estate with white marble columns framing a Victorian-style mansion. It had stucco roofing and enough gold accents to practically glow in the noonday sun. Red banners flew from several balconies that lined the front of the massive house.
If that’s not the mayor’s house, I’m going to eat my left shoe, Jack surmised with a crooked grin.
Jack strolled forward and seriously wished he had pockets to put his hands into. With a muttered apology that went entirely unnoticed, he slipped past two yelling merchants, who were arguing about the proximity of their carts. Shuffling through a few more people milling about, made it to the town square.
His grin evaporated the moment he noticed why there was such a large crowd.
There was a gallows set up in the center of the town.
And it wasn’t empty.
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