Gamer: Hellooo~ again everybody! And welcome to the second chapter of Displacement! I hope you lot enjoy this one, I think I did a rather good job of it.
Proto: To the reviews then?
Gamer: To the reviews!
Proto: Well, I mean, we only have one so-
Gamer: TO THE REVIEW!
Hainax: Tis gud!
Gamer: Thanks! On to the story! I, again, think I did a rather good job on this one.
[===Break===]
Within the Emerald Forest is a plethora of creatures. From the mundane to the dangerous, from birds to ants and beyond, the temperate forest was host to a variety of wildlife. Beyond the average scope of Fauna, however, were differing creatures. Fur, scales, or feathers of darkest black, black to match twilight, and white, bony protrusions in the form of armour or even weaponry adorned these monsters, and markings of blood red often times ran along the bodice of the creatures known as Grimm, beasts, monsters that craved to destroy the light of souls that shone without humanity.
Deer, birds, wolves, and any other creature were ignored by these beasts, but the scent of humans and Faunus sent the Grimm into a blood craved state, and they will home in onto the often-unsuspecting prey with the vigour of a wild wolf chasing down wounded prey.
But Mordru did not give the slightest of fucks, he just liked hacking their heads off and watching them disintegrate.
"Come on then! Gimme more than you mongrels! Yaaaaaaaaaagh!" He challenged, his Warhammer, one of many weapons on his person, was brandished with adrenaline fuelled strength, the head of the large instrument of 'killing all the things' was coated in the flickering arcs of lightning from Arcane Weapon, beating down onto the skull of an unfortunate Ursa, crushing its head like a watermelon under the deranged Hobgoblin's roaring weapon.
"Is that all you got!? Come on give me one more, just one you whoresons!" He roared. Mordru gave a yell of rage, dropping his shield and wielding the Warhammer in a two-handed grip, bringing it down with the might of a god onto the last surviving Ursa's head. Turning around with a feral look in his eyes, Mordru was disappointed to find none of the large black bear creatures that attacked his campsite had survived. What a letdown.
Huffing in annoyance, Mordru released the hold on his Warhammer and shoved it into his Bag of Holding, taking hold of his shield and lugging it over his shoulder. He turned to his campsite, a simple affair with a one-man tent pitched under the branches of a large oak tree, a smouldering campfire just a few feet away from that, and tied up body of some dog-eared fucker that tried to rob with some friends of his. Saying something about 'how the White Fang are in need of supplies, more so than the common man' yada, yada, yada. Mordru didn't care he just wanted to eat his meal in peace dammit!
His prisoner was some dark-haired man, two dog ears (now bloodied after some 'questioning' on Mordru's part) hung loosely forwards, the dog man unconscious and exhausted from . . . Mordru.
Letting a grin make its way to his face, Mordru stepped forward to the unconscious prisoner and, with no concern, slapped him right across the face. With his still gauntleted hand. Yelping in pain, the prisoner (fucking, Carter? Cano? Something like that) whimpered at the sight of the Hobgoblin, decorated in the slowly disintegrating blood of Grimm across his chest plate. Grinning to his prisoner, Mordru grabbed hold of the large stump he'd been using as a seat, and moved so that he and his dear prisoner could have another talk.
"Please, please just- can you please just let me go? I, I swear to never, never ever, ever tell anyone of this! On my life!" Cain (for that was his name) begged, knees shaking in fear as Mordru took out his Halberd (again, from the Bag of Holding) and began the usually arduous task of sharpening its blade. Humming to himself, Mordru considered his prisoners condition for a moment, a calm and thoughtful look on his face as he gently thumbed the edge of the halberds axe blade.
"Hmmm, so tell me, what was going through your head when you and your buddies decided to try and fucking rob me? Hmmm?" He questioned. Cain became pale, lip quivering as he imagined all the horrible things Mordru would indeed do if he didn't get a satisfactory answer. Or, at least, what he'd do next. "I, I- see we, we're part of White Fang, you know? Wanted- hoped and, and were trying to make a difference for Faunus, and we, well our group need supplies, right? And, and well you, you had bags and bags of stuff- things and, and stuff. So we just, well for the cause, we thought you'd, well, wouldn't mind, not totally worry, if we, had some, yes?"
Mordru hummed again, adjusting his Halberd to rest on his shoulder, yellow eyes peering at Cain in wonder. "Sooo~ You wanted to rob me? Well I figured that for myself, I want to know why me precisely. I mean, there's probably a bunch of other campers and all that shit around, yeah? Did you just think I'd be an easy target, is that!?" He challenged, Halberd moving from his shoulder to resting near Cain's crotch, blade dangerously close to certain 'assets.'
"We- we just thought with, with 7 on 1 it would be easier is all! We didn't think you'd be weak I swear!"
Again, Mordru hummed in contemplation, he seemed to be doing that quite a lot recently. He tilted his head to the right, and shrugged. "Alright, fair enough."
Cain felt a bit of hope rise in his chest, a new sort of energy filling his veins and his eyes widening. He closed them again, and thought back to his daughter and wife. He'd quit the White Fang, return to them, get a proper job and do whatever he had to to earn their forgiveness and love again-
.
.
.
Mordru felt no guilt as he brought the Halberd down, blade slashing through Cain's skull with ease, as it always has done. Blood splattered against the tree and ground, pooling around the dead body's feet, whilst around hero dislodged the blade, and turned around. Grinning, Mordru took out from his bag, not his Bag of Holding mind you, and produced a few strips of jerky. He was no professional hunter or Ranger of course, but he could still bag a few rabbits and maybe a deer once in a while. Enough to satiate his hunger for a night at least.
Above him the stars shined cruelly, forever bright and beautiful even as a horrible murder was conducted under their gaze. But as always, they were uncaring things, as broken in soul as the moon in body.
The next morning woke to find the campsite packed and the fire smothered under dirt and soil. Mordru usually hated get up any earlier than 10, but for this stranger of land, he'd make an exception. For now, at least.
Humming a jaunty tune about 6 whores and a Priest of the Platinum Dragon, Mordru made his way northward, a good direction as any. He had found a large river that flowed northwards, surging and, if his sense of smell was trustworthy (which it was) brimming with fish, trout most likely. Maybe after he procured the local currency and established some contacts and such, he'd come on back for a bit of fishing and drinking. Who knows, he might even get a friend or two to come with. That'd be fun.
For now, however, he planned to follow the river for as long as it goes. To him, a powerful and plentiful river like this most likely led to an aqueduct and fishing settlement, from which he could most likely procure transport to whatever the capital city this new country he found himself in had. Even if it didn't lead to such a settlement, the river was clean, and filled with fish, so he could certainly live off the land for a while. For now, however, northwards were where his journey led.
Thankfully, the forest was in the period of spring, not too hot, and not too cold. The sun cast a cheery light down through the green leaves above him, but was not sweltering or unbearable to trudge through. The air was fresh and clean with a pleasant odour of blooming forest flowers. Honestly, if Mordru ever made it to such an age, he just might retire here.
And ode to yonder,
Of restless hands,
I make my journey,
Of uncharted lands~
The lands grow,
And fall like waves,
But my heart won't rest,
Till I sate what craves~
And in my hand,
I hold dear,
A mug of ale,
To make my mind so clear~
A little ditty he heard a few times within the better taverns of the cities. Simple, fun, and easy to remember. What more could a song need, really?
Maybe some bloodshed?
And so Mordru sung and whistled a tune here and there, passing through a glade or four whilst his steps reached steeper ground, the land going to a slight downhill turn after the River (which he decided to name the Plenish, after its plentiful bounty in fish) reached and passed through a fjord before doubling back south-west for an hour or so. A bit annoying, but really, he was in no rush, and the fjord itself had a small inlet to the side that wild berries grew near. Mordru made not to see if he couldn't make a simple brew out of them.
Stopping about midday, Mordru decided to sate his little hobby, and began drawing a map. It was no masterfully crafted map of infinite detail, and the landmarks he came across were simple and not too plentiful, but he decided to continue exploring the area at a later date. Looking up, Mordru placed his hand flat and horizontally to the horizon, and was pleased to find he had some 5 or 6 hours before it would grow dark. Rolling up his newly minted map and placing it into his bag, Mordru procured a few more strips of jerky and, from his Bag of Holding, a simply huge jug the size of a small child. It was his Alchemy Jug, and though it had some more practical liquids that it could dispense, such as some basic poison, acid or oil, his favourite was most definitely the wine it produced. Surprising considering it also dispensed beer, but the wine itself was something he could enjoy a bit more 'casually' in his opinion. It was sweet and flavourful, crisp and cool whilst tasting of winter berries and warm spices, he preferred it for relaxing moments such as this then the beer the jug could could produce, which he really only drank to get hammered. To be fair, that was almost every night.
Savouring a last sip of wine, Mordru stoppered the jug and stashed back into its resting place. Lugging his bag back to his shoulders, Mordru once again began his trek along the river Plenish. Along the way was a few noticeable landmarks, a particularly large and oddly shaped rock here (which he called Witches Grovel, since it appeared vaguely as a kneeling witch from fairy tales) and an interesting tree there (now titled the Fishermen's Pole, due to its branches dipping over the river like a fishing rod.) These he memorised and wrote down after another break, taking some bites of jerky and just a sip or two of wine to keep him going.
It was moments like these that could surprise someone, anyone really. Most of the time, Mordru seemed a drunk, blood crazed whoreson of a Hobgoblin that only thought of fighting, sex and partaking in other forms of debauchery. It was these very specific moments however, where one could sometimes, though very rarely, find Mordru sitting upon a rock, sipping his favourite wine and humming soulful tavern songs that warmed the heart and lighted the brain the fire of adventure.
Reaching a bend in the Plenish that wound its way right back northwards, Mordru took stock over his environment. The Plenish had turned back north, and was soon to reach a large dip into a valley of forest that, within the center, levelled out into wide clearings and plains. Within the valley (named simply the Plains Eye, since it was that the plains were in the eye of a storm of valley forestry) and not 2 hours ahead of walking as the Hobgoblin walks, was a village. As he thought it appeared it was a fishing village of sorts, as the Plenish swelled and reached a huge freshwater lake, with a scattering of buildings across the lakes right and even dipping into the lake itself, placed up foundations to keep the houses above the water.
He'll save naming the lake itself for now, or at least until he reached the village. After all, maybe it was named already.
Deciding that there was no time like the present, Mordru began the simple trek downhill, still following the Plenish as it wound its way towards the fishing village. Along the way, the Plenish would sometimes have small streams run off to the side, leading to small inlets that, for now, would remain unnamed and unexplored. The journey was actually somewhat shorter than Mordru imagined, taking only 1 hour and a half, with the village itself being somewhat bigger than he originally assumed. Oh well, no harm no foul.
The village, which from the sign that was left along a crossroads that had begun running alongside the Plenish halfway into the hike, was called 'Drunics Touch.' Odd name, but he won't judge.
It was a sad affair. Despite Drunic Touch being large enough to house some 3,000 people, it became apparent that it was overpopulated. The homeless, dirty and unwanted littered the streets, and prostitutes seemed to work at every corner. The houses themselves, along the edge of the village at least, were squat, hastily made buildings worked on and renovated over time, becoming no less unpleasant to look upon even after who knows how many years had passed since they were originally built. Any building above a single storey appeared to be a crappy hotel, an Inn or Tavern, or some sort of corporate building from the looks of things.
The saddest sights were the people, however. Some appeared to be the 'Faunus' creatures that Carn or whatever his name was mentioned. A majority were humans however. From his (limited) knowledge, Mordru assumed that the Faunus were treated as unequals by the humans, the bigotry and hate forcing many to take up more illicit jobs if required. However, it seemed a different case at Drunic, for the people themselves shuffled by, uncaring and unfeeling of the different races that mingled together like the meeting of two very different streams. Mordru himself may have garnered a look of mild interest or two, but for the most part the people just huddled on by, forgetting of Mordru himself and continuing with the day to day, too sorrowful and depressed to care about a strange looking traveller.
Within his mind, Mordru called the village Sorrows Touch instead.
"Well, may as well get acquainted with some of the populace," He mumbled. Crossing the muddy and pockmarked road, Mordru had no trouble finding a Tavern or Bar, as there seemed to be at least two on every block. The bar he currently found himself in was quaint, a rustic look contrasting the modern depression outside greatly. Tables littered the right half of the floor at random, uneven but with enough space to be comfortable, whilst a bar occupied most of the left half, a shelf of bright or dim coloured bottles behind an average bar, clean for most of it, except for where a space was occupied.
A couple of the patrons turned to look at the newcomer, blatantly stared for a moment at the freak, before turning back to their only loved ones, the cheap beer or ciders in their glass.
Mordru placed himself at the bar, sitting at a corner so that he could watch the door and keeping a slight distance from the other patrons. A waitress, some young redhead with tired grey eyes in a red blouse and black skirt came over, a tired and fake grin etched into her features like poorly carved runes on stone.
"Evening handsome, what did you want from the 'Old Hill Tavern' then?" She asked, eyes begging that he made his order quick and paid cordially. He took only a moment to think, before sliding 4 silver coins over to her, "Just fetch me something that's good and keep the change."
The waitress grabbed the coins and inspected them, an eyebrow raising in confusion before peering at Mordru from beneath heavy eyelashes, "And just what are these then? You don't have Lien on you or something?" She questioned. 'Fuck, guess people don't use coins around here,' Mordru thought.
"Ah, I just travel a whole lot is all, so I have these coins for some common payment. It's silver," He explained. Technically not a lie, since from his experience everyone to coins. Maybe the metal itself would be worth enough to pay for his order. The waitress, however, looked to be shocked, her mouth open and forming an 'O' shape as she took a slow, confused turn and walked away, heading towards a door built right beside the shelf of liquor. Mordru wondered if maybe silver wasn't precious here as it was back to his lands, and he in fact was broke by their standards. He hoped that she wasn't getting some big Goliath or Orcish man who worked as security to try and throw him out.
4 attempts led to 4 counts of assault and 4 separate times in the jailhouse. He didn't want to go for a fifth.
However, the waitress came back, and brought with her a seedy looking man. Bald, lanky and with a full moustache that peeked out like whiskers on his face, Mordru guessed that this was the owner of the bar. And he was coming right for him. Shit.
"Rachel tells me that a freaky looking guy came in to sit at our bar, and that he was paying in silver. Silver. I'm guessing you're the freak she mentioned then?" He stated, voice deadpan and blunt as a hammer. Letting an annoyed growl out, Mordru then gave a resigned sigh before nodding. "Yeah, I guess. Name's Mordru though, it ain't freak."
The owner shrugged, unconcerned with his annoyance. He turned to the waitress, Rachel, and nodded. At once the girl turned and grabbed a bottle of red liquor off the top shelf, and grabbed two glasses from a rack under the bar. She then laid them down between Mordru and her boss, before walking off to serve more customers. Pouring them both a glass each, the owner took a sip before introducing himself.
"The names Hill, Craig Hill. I run this joint, pay the waitresses, supply the drink, all of that. Now I've dealt with a lot, drunken fools, bastard patrons that don't want to pay their tab, criminals and counterfeiters, all of that. But I have never dealt with some mad fucker paying one of my minimum wage waitresses in cold, hard silver. Explain that to me," He ordered.
Taking a sip himself, Mordru found that the liquid was of course alcoholic, and tasted similarly to some form of sour ale or such. Not bad, but he's had better. "Well, I ain't always got the opportunity to pain in Lien, yeah? So, I decided I'd just pay in metals. You can sell them damn easily, get good amount of money and that, and they're just about always valuable, so I thought, 'why not pay like that then?' And here we are," He lied.
By no means was Mordru a master of deception, but to convince this bar owner of bum-fuck nowhere that he carried around metals as coins to pay for shit wasn't exactly an impossible task. Craig Hill rose an eyebrow, and took a larger sip of his drink, "I get it. Thing is, this ain't exactly common, but damn could it be profitable. So, I'm thinking, you and I cut ourselves a little deal, yeah?" He pondered to Mordru. Gesturing for him to go on, Craig Hill continued, "See, I'm thinking, if you keep on paying in silver, or even better metals and such, we have ourselves a little business. If you come across something of some value that would be, 'difficult' to sell to a normal vendor, you can come to me and I'll pay some good Lien for it. I get some of that sweet metal, and some product to sell on the side, you get some Lien to make yourself inconspicuous like, and get a fence to sell any 'found' items, everyone's happy."
Pondering the deal, Mordru considered his options. For one, he couldn't exactly keep buying things with silver, that would be pretty damn conspicuous, as Craig Hill said. Sure, he was a 6"4, red skinned, yellow eyed monster looking fucker, but that could be covered up. Masks, cloves, some full covering clothes and he was set. Hell, he already had a mask that he could use if he needed! But the silver, and if it was called for, the gold coins could all be traced to him at one point or another, since it seemed apparent that he was the only mad bastard to actually use them!
So yeah, this seemed like a pretty good deal. And if things go wrong, he could just kill good ol' Craig Hill.
"Yeah, I reckon we have a deal alright," He finalised the deal with Craig, using the good old system of a handshake. Craig Hill nodded to Mordru and picked up his glass, turning around and leaving to conduct some business of his own, leaving the bottle for Mordru to drink on his own. Taking another sip from his glass, Mordru eyed the room around him, making note of the (poor hidden) broken door just behind him, some sort of back exit. He also noted the patrons. Most of them stayed to themselves and their own groups, muttering and whispering to each other about whatever they did, to Mordru's 'not a single fuck given'-ness. What caught his eye was a headful of red hair as Rachel, his original waitress, made her way towards him, still wary but seemingly amiable to a well-paying customer.
"Mister Hill has told me that you're to be given a single free meal, within reason he said. So, what'll it be then?" She questioned. Asking what's on the menu, Rachel gave him his options, and all of it was simple but filling. Eggs on toast with coffee, sausages with gravy, roast lamb and potatoes, the basics. He decided to go with a plate of roasted chicken with some bread rolls. Apparently, the rolls were fresh from the oven but, who knows, let's see.
Mordru was patient, sipping at his glass of liquor and peering over the cup to the table closest to him. The patrons, 3 in all, glared at him from their table, messy and dishevelled as patrons of their sort tended to be. They leered at him with angry eyes, and he responded in turn with bold face boredom, unconcerned in the face of their fiery glares. One of them got up, much to the apparent amusement of his cohorts and shuffled on over, drunk but not plastered.
"Ain't ever seen old Craig Hill so friendly with someone before. All because of some coins, too. Makes a man a might annoyed," He growled, leering at Mordru with a drunken sneer. Mordru himself was unconcerned, this guy was ready to topple over from a breeze at any minute, he wasn't a threat to anyone but himself, "Yeah, he ain't ever been so nice to me, offering free food and a drink for some pretty coins, and I waste hours away at the village borders on guard duty! Fuck being annoyed, I'm right pissed off!" They continued.
Looking him up and down, Mordru was surprised to find that the drunken idiot was indeed some sort of guard, if the plate of metal armour (dirtied and scratched as it were) was any indication. The patron himself was equally dirty and dishevelled. Brown hair that might have been charming to a lady at one point was ruffled and grimy, unwashed and unappealing. A pair of beady, drunken dots for eyes were set above an ugly grimace that seemed a permanent fix across the man's features. Mordru hummed for a moment, and finished his glass before turning right around to face the drunk.
"And just who might you be then? Haven't got a nametag so I can't imagine you're someone that's useful around here," He challenged. Scowling, the drunk bellowed, "I'm Markus fucking Green! I'm one of the guards of the Drunic Touch, and I have been for near 10 years you red skinned devils bitch! I been coming here for years, and I ain't got no service like you, so what the fuck is that all about!?"
Huh, so his name was Markus. Interesting.
"Well Markus, it's simple, really," Mordru began, afore lifting the empty glass in his hand and bringing it down again, right onto the drunken guard's forehead. A small trickle of blood leaked between Markus' eyes, a slight gasp escaping his lips, before, with a quiet 'oh', the damned fool fell, backwards. He crashed into the floor with a painful groan, fall only slightly less painful than normal thanks to his drunken state. His two cohorts, both of whom were most likely guards themselves, gasped in shock and fear as Mordru reached to his waist, where his ever-faithful sword (which caused the deadly poisonous effect on Goodwitch just a week prior) was located, unsheathing it and pointing it forwards.
"Get. Lost."
The two drunks, who seemingly had more brains than their spokesperson Markus, nodded, grabbing to their fellow guard and stumbling out in a drunken but fearful haze. It was just as well they left, as Rachel come out once again a few minutes later with a plateful of roasted chicken meat and three rolls of bread. She set in front of him, and leaned forward just a bit.
"That Markus fellow's been a pain in the arse for a while now, hopefully he's learned his lesson well. The extra bread is on me," She whispered, sashaying off with a looser grin then she had before. To his pleasant surprise, the chicken was delicious and had just a little spicing, and the bread was warm, and soft. What a pleasant bar this was.