Disclaimer: I don't own Darkest Dungeon, all rights to the owners.
Just a short, simple story as a change of pace from my usual. Hope you enjoy.
The devil waits along the Old Road. He watches, laughs, as countless fools wander through in search of treasure or glory. If the brigands don't kill those fools, then the pigmen and fungal monsters surely will.
I never thought I'd be one of those fools. I'm not in search of glory; no, instead I look for something equally unattainable: redemption.
The old, fancy coach clatters along the uneven dirt. Years of disuse have led to plants building up along the path, and without traffic there's been nothing to keep the ground pounded flat in submission.
I have two companions with me. One is my employer, a cloaked figure with a soft and androgynous voice who keeps a pair of ornate gun-daggers in holsters on their hips. The weapons look unblemished, and have probably never seen use.
The other is a man called Reynauld. He wears full plate armor, and carries a broadsword and a slightly tattered banner on his back. His armor is dinged and battered from years of combat, but shines with polish showing the good care that has gone into maintaining it.
I'm easily the roughest looking of our group with my old overcoat and tattered red scarf. My old pistol and knife are probably the only clean things on me. I look very out of place in this fancy coach.
"O-Only a few more miles to the hamlet my liege." Our coach driver, an ancient man with a constant mad grin on his face that my employer called 'the caretaker', says in an unstable cackle. "Be on the lookout! This is the worst of it…"
A particularly harsh bump jostles the three of us in the cart. This happens a few more times, and when one of our wheels break with a sharp snap I don't immediately realize it's not because of the rough road. Only when I step out to look and see a bullet lodged in the side of our coach do I realize what happened.
"Bandits!" I bark and pull out my weapons. I cautiously peer into the the treeline as the knight comes rushing out of the carriage. "Our wheel didn't break, it got shot."
"Lord Nox, we have to proceed on foot." Reynauld grunts. "We have no spare wheel and no means of replacing the damaged one."
"I see…" Our employer steps out of the coach. They don't seem particularly phased by our predicament. "Is the caretaker still here?"
I peer around the front of the coach. "No, he's gone."
"Hmm, unsurprising." Lord Nox murmurs. "Well, this is what I'm hired you two for. Let us move."
Me and Reynauld share a glance. "You lead?" I grunt. "You have armor."
"Of course." He nods. "Then you must make it worth my while. If I am to be shielding for you, then you must deal damage for the both of us."
I raise my pistol. "Done. We should stick to the side-path for safety. We're easy targets on the main road."
We march our way through the shrubbery to one of the side-paths. It's overgrown with roots and uneven beneath our feet to an even worse extent then the main path. It's strangely familiar to me, maybe because I've spent so much time traversing these sorts of paths myself.
We round a bend, and suddenly find ourselves face-to face with a pair of bandits. Reynauld's combat reflexes are more finely-tuned than my own, and he instantly swings his sword at the closest of the two.
His large sword cleaves into the man, and my pistol shot immediately after makes short work of him. The other bandit slashes his pair of daggers wildly at us, which Reynauld endures without much issue. The metal blades barely scratch his full plate armor.
This time I lunge forwards and draw my knife across the bandits neck. It doesn't kill him, but a steady flow of blood is coming out of his neck now, and I know from experience he will eventually bleed dry.
It's unnecessary to wait for that though. My follow-up shot kills him easily.
"Well done." Lord Nox murmurs as I start shifting through the corpse's pockets. They were patiently waiting behind a tree while me and Reynauld fought the bandits. They didn't even help despite having pistols. "Let us press on."
I snag the coin purses off the corpses and take a rolled-up painting I find in one of their backpacks. The paint is cracked and half-ruined now, but maybe it can still be useful for something. Some collector will probably buy it for a decent sum.
"Looting dead men?" Reynauld scoffs when I catch up. "Fitting of a ruffian."
"Passing up perfectly good gold when you're low on money out of pride? Typical zealot." I shoot back.
"Tsk." Lord Nox tuts. "I must side with Dismas here Reynauld. These men are undeserving of the gold they hold. We are not looting, we are taking back what they stole from my forefather. I would suggest you to do as Dismas does whenever you have the chance."
I can't see Reynauld's expression, but I'd bet my knife he's scowling under that helmet just like I'm hiding my grin behind my scarf.
We trudge along for nearly an hour before we find anything of interest. A small clearing with a shoddy wooden chest in the middle catches our attention, and we cautiously step over to it.
Pain suddenly erupts in my back, and I fall to the floor just in front of the chest. My vision is blurred from pain, and forcing myself to stand only makes it worse. I can hear the din of combat behind me, and I know I have to get involved.
I turn around and see Reynauld fending off a massive brigand with a scourge in one hand and a pistol in the other. There's also a scrawny man with a shoddy blunderbuss in hand; he's probably responsible for my wound. I got shot in the back. At least he missed my spine or I'd be dead.
I can't aim carefully with my shaking arm and slightly blurred vision, so I shout "duck!" to Reynauld and fire my pistol several times in a grapeshot blast at the brigands.
Reynauld sharply smashes the pommel of his blade into the giant brigand's face, and the man reels back for a few seconds as he tries to see through the blood of his now broken nose. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I dash forwards and drive my knife into the man's stomach and rip it out as violently as I can which sends blood everywhere. Reynauld's long blade manages to catch the brigand in the head, which sends the man toppling unconscious to the ground.
A flurry of bullets come flying past our faces as the brigand in the bushes fires on our position. I hide behind Reynauld and let the shots be blocked by his armor. We both rush and easily dispatch the scrawny man. As I pick through his pockets Reynauld goes to investigate the chest, and Lord Nox steps out of the trees from where they were hiding.
I grab the extra bullets the gunman had on him, and peer into his coin pouch to see a small yellow gem along with a few gold pieces. I add those to the prizes I took from the other bandits.
"Dismas!" A voice shouts. "Behind you!"
I whirl around with my pistol out, but the pain from my wound spikes through my arm I drop the weapon. I scramble backwards as the large brigand, who apparently wasn't dead from his hit to the head, raises his pistol at me with a snarl. "You ain't the first guards I killed, an' you won't be the last."
I raise my knife in futile defence. I can hear the clank of armor as Reynauld tries to reach me, but he's several strides away. I squeeze my eyes shut as he pulls the trigger.
A gunshot rings loud, and I hear a thump. There's no extra pain, no feeling of impact. I crack open an eye to see the giant man lying face-down in the grass with a hole blown in the back of his head, and Lord Nox standing across the clearing with one of their gun-daggers raised in my direction. Smoke trails from the barrel of the weapon, and residual blackpowder stains the blade it's built into.
"Next time, make sure they're dead." Lord Nox says quietly as they lower the weapon. They pull out a cloth to clean the stain off the blade. "See what he has on him, quickly. I want to get to the hamlet before sundown."
I do as I'm asked, and scoop up my own pistol along the way. I find a blue gem, a sapphire, on the large brigand as well as more bullets I can use. I pocket all of it, and turn to see what Reynauld found in the chest.
"Blast it!" The crusader says, and starts coughing violently as he backs away from the open chest. "Trapped! There's nothing in here."
"Poison." I grunt as I move over to inspect the mechanism, and grimace at the smell. It looks like they had this set up so that when the chest was opened, it would spray a liquid over the opener. "Probably rotberry juice, that's the easiest to make. It's gonna feel like shit for an hour but you'll be fine."
The rest of the march to the hamlet is awful for the me and Reynauld. The crusader has to stop to vomit at least twice, and my wound isn't getting any better. Reynauld bandaged it and took out the bullet but that's not really enough for such a severe wound.
Finally, as the sun in just starting to set, we arrive at the hamlet. To my surprise the caretaker is there to greet us, and he eagerly takes the loot we got off the brigands and nods at Lord Nox's instructions to put them towards making a new coach.
From there on Lord Nox leads us. We move first to the tavern, where an older balding man raises an eyebrow upon seeing us enter. Our employer demands three rooms for the night (until we can figure out their own accommodations) and orders me and Reynauld to get rest for tomorrow's work.
Just as I'm finishing maintaining my weapons and about to turn off the lights, I hear a knock at my door. I reluctantly rise against the protesting of my wound and open it.
Seeing Lord Nox outside my door surprises me. I would have assumed they were sleeping themselves. More surprising still are the medical supplies they hold in their hands: disinfectant, spare bandages, and a needle and thread for stitching. Also behind her is the caretaker carrying a bin of water and an empty glass, which they leave in the corner of the room and scurry out afterwards.
"Sit." Nox instructs.
"With all due respect Lord Nox, Reynauld-"
"Is not a good healer." They interrupt. "And there is no healer in town. I can guarantee you I am the most qualified person here. Now sit, Dismas, and take off that coat."
I do so reluctantly, sitting sideways on the chair in my room. I can hear Lord Nox pulling the bin of water over, and the rustle of fabric as they toss their elbow-length gloves to the side. They then peel of the bandages, and whisper "this will hurt. A lot."
I grit my teeth as they get to work. Water is first poured down my back to flush any debris from the wound, and Lord Nox also uses a pair of tweezers to pick out any bits that the water doesn't catch. After that happens they stitch the wound (which is exceedingly painful without numbing paste) and apply the disinfectant before wrapping me with clean bandages. It takes about half an hour in all.
"Done." They murmur. "Sleep on your front tonight. This will need to be changed tomorrow, and everyday for the next week or two unless we get a magic healer. You're lucky your coat stopped the worst of it. No organs were hit, only your back muscles, and they weren't totally broken so you should fully heal in time."
"Thanks m'lord." I grunt as I gingerly rise from the chair. "I guess I owe you one."
"Don't thank me. I can't have my hired help dying on me so soon. I don't have any replacements ready." They say pragmatically as they rise and clean their bloodied hands on a cloth. I note how surprisingly delicate their fingers appear, but Lord Nox slips back on their gloves before I get a long look.
"Er, right…" I cough at the reminder of how unimportant I am. That's pretty cold of them, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This is a noble after all.
"And Dismas?" They say as they carry the equipment out of the room. "You passed."
"Sorry?"
"The test." They say calmly. "I didn't help because I wanted to make sure you two were as competent as you claimed, and despite this minor slip up you've met my expectations. Do try to stay alive, good help is hard to come by."
They turn the corner and close the door, leaving me very confused as to if I'm supposed to be flattered or insulted. I decide on both, and drop down into my bed for a night of rest.
I looks like I've got some long days ahead of me. I'm looking for redemption, and redemption for me is going to be long, bloody, and painful... and this squalid hamlet, under Lord Nox's command, seems like just the sort of place than can give it to me.
I've always wanted to write something with Dismas, I'm unusually fond of him. Hope you like it. Also, gun-daggers are a real thing. I didn't make them up.