Harmonious lay on the still form of Jojo, the coppery taste of his blood in his mouth and the smell from those lying dead around him. Bodies had a habit of losing control as they gave up the stench of faeces and urine accompanying the metallic blood. The horses whinnied and skittered where they had witnessed the violence, nostrils flaring and hooves striking the ground in agitation.
You need to move Harmonious!
You cannot lay here!
The voice not his own, or was it? Harm really wasn’t sure; his shoulder screamed at him. Not just where the bolt had struck and remained embedded, but also where he had triggered his Bash skill when he shouldered Jojo. In his days as an adventurer, he had worn a chain mail shirt with plate pauldrons. He had also previously carried a shield in his inventory for when he was needed to support the group’s dedicated defensive tank. A shield was your friend performing Bash, or at least plate pauldrons; even a chain shirt would have reduced some of the impact more than the oversized leather jacket he had taken off the dead thug.
He gasped for breath; his endurance was so low, and it had been years since he had fought for such an extended period against half-decent opponents. His display icon flashed in his vision. He hadn’t paid any attention to it for a long, long time. Harm wasn’t going to bother now. There were seven dead bodies to search, and he had to get away from wherever he was. There was also the requirement to get patched up.
Harm pushed his body upwards, teeth clenched and groaning in pain, trying to use his left arm as little as possible. The bolt that had struck his left thigh had not stayed there, tearing through its flesh, and as he balanced precariously, he could feel the blood that seeped from the wound running down his leg. There was much he needed to do. This wasn’t his first fight, and he knew his thigh was the priority. If he lost too much blood, he knew he would collapse. Unfastening the belt that held the scabbard, he pulled the scabbard from it before securing the belt above his torn flesh. Not too tight, but enough to reduce the flow.
He focussed on the remains of Jojo and looted them. If he were lucky, one of them would have a healing potion, salve, or tonic, something to help give him the strength and stamina to finish up here. Slowly and carefully, Harm began the macabre task of searching his victims, but before he did, he moved to where Florence lay, picking her up. He caressed her blade lovingly, raising it, placing the cold metal against his cheek, a grin forming on his broken lips. She had once again saved him.
It would have been a strange sight, if not disturbing, if anyone had seen the figure almost covered from head to toe in the blood of his and his victims, with a mutilated face from the vicious beating he had received and the unmistakable shaft of bolt sticking from his shoulder, lovingly caressing the blade of a long sword. Some may have questioned how he even now stood upright, others whether this being was sane.
A moment passed and was gone as Harm added Florence to his inventory in its primary weapon slot. Harm was a talented fighter. He could dual-wield and had basic defensive skills with a shield. He was a well-rounded fighter overall, not an expert in one area, although his skill with a long sword had always been his highest.
It was as Harm looted Dasir that his luck changed. Jojo, Fitwell and the dark elf had little worth his attention. The weapons were all common, and any armour worn by those who were was old and tattered. These men or beings hadn’t been fighters but unskilled thugs. The findings up to now had been a few coins, which were nice, and the dark elf had a small five-slot bag of holding, which now sat in Harm’s inventory.
Dasir, though, was different. As Harm checked the loot, four things got his attention. The first item being Dasir’s boots.
Boots of Agility +3
The buff was poor but much better than the boots he wore with nothing, and the bonus with enhanced boots was their ability to resize. All enchanted items would; it was just a fact of the world. With significant effort, he removed them from Dasir before pulling them on. Harm’s stats still hadn’t recovered to his pre-drinking days, but they were getting there, and the boots bonus took his agility back above where it had been before. Harm felt the adjustment, and even if minor, his Dexterity improved.
The second and third items were a significant sum of coins and three deeds. Deeds gave a being rights to land or buildings, and the three he now had were for the warehouse which must be this one he was in, Larky’s store and Dasir’s farm. Their value was significant, and Harm had never understood why someone would ever carry their deeds on them. The one for his farm was buried in a small lockbox on his property; only Dahlia had known its location. They gave irrevocable rights, and many battles led to bloodshed over land deeds.
The fourth item was a tonic, it was only mild but it would help and he eagerly pulled the cork from its top and gulped it down. He felt its effects almost immediately as his health ticked upwards. He was only back just above half now, but the fuzziness he had been feeling from blood loss had lessened. It wouldn’t last long as he still bled, but it would give him extra time before the shadow of unconsciousness may take him.
Over his years, he had known many fall foul post battle, putting on a brave face and brushing off a wound to regret it then when their body gave way from new young and naive adventurers. Only a legionnaire got away with such amateur and mistaken behaviour, their improved regeneration allowing their injuries to heal over time, even without healing in many cases. Legionnaires were different; they weren’t from Amathera but appeared from time to time in what had become known as starter zones. No one knew where they came from. Some said the gods, others had even mentioned other worlds, and others said that a being greater than the gods brought them. No one knew why they came, but apparently, it had always been that way. Whether you agreed with legionnaires or not their benefits brought wealth. They could combat dungeons and die, to only respawn at the dungeons entrance. Amatherean's didn't respawn once they were killed they died.
Harmonious continued his task.
You did well today! I am pleased!
The voice spoke as Harm finished checking his first victim.
Harm started to search the warehouse. The goods in the warehouse were substantial in value, but Harm could do nothing with them. He stopped and looked down at Satil’s son’s blank eyes as he passed again.
This was all his fault! The voice sang, thick with venom.
“You caused this,” Harm snarled, his lips curled, his teeth bared. He kicked the boy’s face, sending the head with a sickening crunch into a crate. “You killed my family.”
Harm stared, the head coming to rest, its mangled face staring at him again. This time, though, it had only one eye. The other was where Harm had caught it; now, only a bloody mass remained.
That’s it. Hurt him more, desecrate his remains!
Make his mother scream when she finds him!
He deserves no peace in the Requiem!
The voice said, as his mind filled with laughter.
The words chilled him; he shuddered at his thoughts.
“No. I’m not like this,” Harm said, turning from the boy and limping back to the central warehouse. Yes, it had all been because of the boy, but he was dead. Harm could do no more to him than he already had.
His health was slowly dropping, and the boost from the tonic was only a reprieve. He needed to leave, but where?
The wagon and horses were his best option. The horses were still uneasy as Harm approached, but they hadn’t bolted, so Harm guessed they had smelt blood before. He strained as he pulled himself into the driver’s seat, lifting the reins with his injured shoulder, and sent a bolt of pain down his arm. The dead bodies of his victims lay around him, and he glanced at them before flicking the reins and ushering the horses forward, out of the warehouse.
The moon was still high, and Harm checked his display. It was 2 am now. The edges of his mind felt fuzzy, his vision blurred, and his health bar was at a quarter. The movement of searching had released more of his precious life fluid from his torn thigh. The tourniquet had probably saved his life, along with the tonic. He knew if he had tightened the tourniquet, it would stop the loss, but he couldn't risk doing so; he could lose the leg if he did, as the flesh would die. He had seen it happen to a colleague who lost his arm. Limbs could be regenerated by a high enough cleric or paladin, but unless you had one in your adventuring party, which was rare, then the cost was too much for most. Most Amathereans were poor, living day to day to feed their families. Few had the wealth ever to afford such a spell.
It was the grip of wealth and a better life that had pulled Harm to adventuring in his youth. His mother and father lived in a small village, and it had been adventurers passing through that had thrilled him with their tales of battles against beasts and monsters. When he had left home under a dark cloud against his parents’ wishes, reality had struck home. Adventuring was hard. The dangers were real, there was little glory, and the pay was never life-changing. It had been enough, and he had saved, and when he had met Dahlia on that fateful night when she fell into his arms, it had chosen his path.
Now, though, he had none. His family was gone. He was alone.
As he moved away from the warehouse, he eventually recognised where he was the track leading to the main route between Sallew and Hillnot. His farm was to the right in the direction of Hillnot, Sallew to the left and was within sight. The glow of lanterns was visible in the night. He was tempted to go to the farm, but why? There was nothing there for him anymore. Just the deed in the lockbox. He could head to Hillnot, but he didn’t think he could make the journey the way he was, his health continuing to drop slowly.
The chapel was his safe haven and sanctuary, and Sister Carol could heal him. Flicking the reins, he turned the wagon towards Sallew.
He pulled the wagon into a thicket on the outskirts, climbing down and detaching the horses. Harm knew he couldn’t just ride into town in Dasir’s wagon. The horses started to chew on the long grasses as Harm left them and walked the remaining distance. His gait was uneven, the pain almost unbearable from his injuries as he approached and headed toward the chapel. Staying off the streets, he stumbled along, getting weaker with every step. The blood from his thigh had gathered in his boot. His foot squelched with every step; the gloopy sensation of blood formed between his toes. As he neared the chapel, it called to him, forcing him onward. His vision in his one open eye blurred, his mind a mix of foggy confusion.
Nearly there! The happy voice said in its same demonic tone.
Then it’s round two!
What do you mean, round two? Harm thought.
Satil, you must kill Satil!
Was he losing his mind? Had he lost it already? He was talking to himself. The reality blurred with madness, and he staggered the final hundred yards. Harm knew the main door would be bolted, so he moved to the side entrance. Reaching for the handle, but it didn’t open. He cursed, then moved around to the rear. A faint light glowed from a window, its drapes drawn. He knew it was Sister Carol’s room, so he knocked. There was no reply, so he knocked harder—still nothing. Calling a dagger he had looted to his hand, he banged on the window. Nothing. Frustration, fear and anger once more. With force, he struck again, the pane breaking, glass tinkering onto the stone floor as a voice cried in shock.
Harm fell to his knees as his legs gave way; he only had a few health remaining. Toppling sideways, he rolled on his back, his breath short. As his eye fluttered, closing in on the point of no return, the drapes were yanked open; the window thrown wide, a lantern held out in an outstretched arm.
“Who’s there?” Sister Carol said, not seeing anyone.
“Here,” Harm said, his voice weak, almost silent.
Sister Carol leaned out and looked down at the broken and injured Harm, her face aghast in horror at seeing him.
Harm didn’t see her expression; all he saw was an angel as darkness took him.
