Within the halls of Morlock's manor, the man had many things that he liked to show others, as well as things he liked to admire. These were trophies of his rise as a powerful baron, perhaps the last of his kind in the Cliftlands. He had no grand ideals to return to the times of nobles. He was perfectly content chasing further fortunes and seizing the day. He was the only one who could still do this in a land parched of opportunity.
His trophies were not always the conventional sort.
As a young man, growing up as a traveling merchant, Morlock despised the feeling that he was little more than a vagrant in the land, dependent on the whims of patrons who were often much more well off than he. At the first chance he got, he sold his stock and bought a small plot of land to settle down and farm off of. He ended up selling it at a loss less than two years later, hating the manual labor. Once again, he was back to being a traveling merchant.
Like many others, he ended up drawn to the stories of overnight riches in the mineral-rich Cliftlands. Using the last of his scrap money, he bought a plot on a tip and began mining for ore.
It wasn't like he had an overly tragic happening occur to him before he struck it rich. He simply made a profit off of his first buy. In fact, he made enough to buy a servant. Then, he sold the servant and the land to a sap to go and buy a greener pasture. Slowly, he grew his seed money sufficiently, allowing him to buy more and more land and workers.
Making his way through the business, Morlock learned quickly that people, like land and goods, are exchangeable just like merchandise. Servants can be sold and if you can hire a new one for a lower wage; that's a bargain made. The entire service industry is just human product being passed through the hands of buyers, the employers. So long as you pay the price, people will do anything. When you buy someone, they are yours to use, like tools and objects. Money is such a wonderful thing.
Morlock became a baron by title after he had made his tenth purchase of land parcels, owning sufficient land to challenge a local lord. However, even with land, he still needed much more luxuries to match that of other nobles. Within the competitive market for miners at the time, Morlock was little more than a speck in the ocean. He couldn't compete for better workers with ridiculous wage demands.
When mining began to fail, Morlock got his windfall. After the decline of the nobles following Ravus, the market regulation fell into shambles. Morlock hastily invested in muscle before several of his competitors, many of whom eventually just fled the Cliftlands. This left an enormous vacuum to be filled by none other than Morlock.
He now had his pick of the land and able bodies. People who came to work seeking higher wages faced a fist to the nose or worse. There are to be no negotiations. The miners could not complain. They had families to feed.
With his enormous profit margins, Morlock was able to buy out more land from under old lords in decline. He traveled with the whisper of precious stones and veins of ore underfoot, untapped. He was the only competent one fit to be called the richest of the Cliftlands.
Having bought out the landlord of Quarrycrest, Morlock eventually realized his age was catching up with him. Thus, his manse was built on top of the skeleton from the old lord's home. Living within the proximity of monsters, his hired muscle erected the checkpoint and stood outside, vigilant. All the while, he stayed in his storeroom, counting his earnings in his many overflowing ledgers.
One more move. He would mine this town dry and make one more purchase before settling down for good. That was the promise he made himself. Maybe he would buy a villa in the Coastlands, or enjoy a life of drunken luxury down south... The future seemed so limitless with his vast wealth. It had become what he lived for, what defined life in his eyes. While he might never reach the heights set by the Queen of Greed, Herminia, he nonetheless strove in her steps a bit.
He is now truly a worthy baron indeed.
…
"..."
Morlock lazily eyes the twitching lump on the floor. He didn't use his private room too often. This was rather fun for him, watching Omar beat the shit out of this puny merchant. The brat doesn't scream nearly enough, though. Ah well, Morlock can settle for him vomiting his guts out and cowering in pain.
The frugal land baron picks his ear a bit and flicks off the refuse he gathers under his nail. Omar folds his arms, looking down at Ali curled up on the floor. Slowly, the plucky merchant pokes his head out like a recalcitrant turtle and gives Morlock a glare.
"...Omar, I don't like that look in his eye, hm."
"Shall I pluck it out?" Omar chuckles with a low tone. He eyes some of the items in a nearby shelf for display, many of them exotic weapons.
Morlock's private room was far from some depraved dungeon for torture. It was precisely what it was named to be, a private room. It was a catch-all of sorts. It is well-lit and has open windows. He had fanciful things stored here for entertainment, be it erotic paraphernalia, books, or exotic weaponry to ogle at. He has some spare bags, burgeoning with money, as well as even a grand instrument known as a piano, though it was still a prototype he bought. The room also has long, coffin-like boxes with stuff like papers, clothes, and bits of jewelry. At the back of the room, it opens out to an outdoor basin fountain.
"No... Hmm... I should have some nice brandy here maybe?" Morlock saunters over to a cabinet stocked with expensive and aged liquors. He pulls out a rather high alcohol bottle and hands it to Omar, "Poor boy looks parched."
"Lord Morlock, this is surely too much for a gutter rat," Omar chuckles to himself as he uncorks the bottle with his thumb.
With his other hand, the head guard roughly yanks Ali up from the floor by his hair, exposing his torn shirt. The young man's chest and belly are blotchy and swollen, beaten black and blue. His face is only lightly marred in comparison, as per Morlock's orders to allow his face to remain at some market value.
"Ugh!" Ali growls and tries to kick Omar between the legs. There is the sound of a metallic clunk when his foot connects with the codpiece.
"You are tenacious. But that does nothing for the weak," Omar glowers down at the merchant.
"Y-you... can eat it!" Ali shoots back lamely. He ignores his throbbing toe and spits at Omar's face.
"Don't you merchants have any more class these days?" Morlock sighs, looking amused, "Though, you Sunlanders always did things a bit more... on the side, eh?"
Omar roughly shoves the bottle opening at Ali's face, not caring if it even goes in his mouth or nose. He pours a thick stream of the strong liquor on Ali's face as he holds him in place. Fight as Ali might against him, Omar is like a sturdy statue. He coughs and sputters as the drink splashes into his lungs and dribbles down onto his shirt and the floor.
"Ali, son of Maruf, hm? Maruf... Yes, that is a familiar name," Morlock chuckles to himself, "A dirty rat I have to say. Thank the gods I never had to deal business with his ilk."
Ali chokes and gasps for air after the bottle is empty. Any angry words he had to defend his father came out pathetically slurred and garbled. Omar tosses it aside, smashing it on the floor, still holding Ali with his other hand.
"Ah, he's all dirty... Where are my manners? As a host, it is customary to wash the guest in the Sunlands, isn't it?" Morlock says with a nasty grin.
Omar nods and roughly drags Ali to the basin, already filled with water. In one swift motion, he dunks Ali's head in deep, until the water reaches his elbow. He holds Ali there as the youth struggles still, despite his injuries. Morlock pours himself a glass of liquor, listening to the splashing grow weaker and weaker, until it is soon quiet.
"It's easier to sell them for parts once they stop moving."
Money is such a wonderful thing.
…
"This place is deceptively large, isn't it..."
Primrose sighs with irritation at another hallway they find that is lined with rooms, none of which contain Morlock or Ali.
"Floor plan was renovated probably," Therion mutters, thinking over what they've explored so far in his mind, "Guy has a lotta time and money."
"We've run into more of those sentinels than I care for," Primrose sighs, "And these rooms are filled with things useless to us."
Morlock's spare rooms were filled with extra furniture more than anything else. Books that were never read and couches are lain out to gather dust. There were no chests of money, though they did find one of clothes. Luckily, it was an assortment of costumes rather than anything like the creepy lingerie Helgenish would have kept. Still, it was too early for the dancer to say if he was any less scum than her old pimp.
So far, they had a few run-ins with surveilling sentinels. The dancer and thief would usually pull Tressa along as they ran to avoid confrontation rather than shatter however many of these things were floating around the manse. They did have to end up incapacitating a few guards though.
"Huh, this stuff isn't half bad, honestly," Tressa drags a finger appraisingly over some dusty tomes and cushions, "Could fetch a fair price."
"Aren't we here for your errand? You sure you got time to be looking around like this while your boyfriend gets the daylights beat out of him?" Therion rolls his eye.
"B-Boyfriend?!" Tressa seems to take offense to that, "I told you, he's my rival!"
"Uh huh, I still say no one sticks their neck out for a rival," The thief shrugs.
"Hmf!" Tressa huffs, "A thief wouldn't get it... but merchants have a code of honor!"
"Now, now, you both will probably never see eye to eye on this merchant-thief business," Primrose chuckles, "Tis probably for the best that you agree to disagree whilst we focus on the subject at hand, hm?"
The thief and merchant look at each other. Tressa huffs and marches on, next to Primrose. The thief sighs and trots along, still keeping an eye out for something worth stealing.
As they near the inner circle of rooms in the east wing, they can see that a portion of the rear of the mansion is built into abutting stone that surrounds the nearby area. The manse is actually much larger than it initially appeared.
"Hmm..." Primrose pokes her head out from one of the lavish rooms they duck to take cover in from a roving group of guards, "This is getting us nowhere. We don't have all day to check every room... And it will be night soon. We didn't exactly come here at the earliest hour... and who knows what monsters will be present when we return."
"Relax, we made decent time," Therion sighs, "We should just head toward the center of the place then."
"Huh? Aren't we looking for a cellar or something?" Tressa perks up, "That'd be like, where people are kept in dungeons, right?"
"The rock here doesn't really support basements," Therion sighs, like he doesn't want to explain, "It's hard enough to mine. Making the shapes for rooms and whatnot would be pretty ugly, honestly. Unless you got a sandstone place, though that has its own issues."
"Oh..." Tressa seems to think hard for a second.
"Hehe, I knew you would be comfortable here," Primrose chuckles, "We'll take your word for it then, dear thief."
"I guess you do know some stuff," Tressa says with some reluctance as they navigate the halls, "How do you figure this layout anyhow?"
"Comes with experience. Too long to explain," Therion pulls his collar up.
"Well, unless this Morlock has a separate building in the estate, there's only so many possibilities, I suppose," Primrose seems to think.
"Turn in this way."
Under the thief's directions and guidance, the trio weave their way through the surveillance areas through the fancy hallways. As they enter deeper, some of the paraphernalia on the walls and the paintings start to show a bit more of something about the manse owner.
"... Wow," Primrose covers Tressa's eyes as they pass a painting of a nude Morlock surrounded by angelic women in skimpy outfits with their nipples showing.
"Eh?" Tressa whines as her vision is blocked, "W-what is it?"
"Something ladies don't need to see. Come along then."
"What happened to treating her as an adult?" The thief smirks.
"Even adults can afford to avert their eyes now and then," Primrose frowns at some similar narcissistic art around the halls, including sculptures, even, "He really must have too much a fortune to be spending it on such..."
"They have the money to do anything," Therion shrugs, "It's almost boring to them, so they spice it up with weirder and weirder fancies."
"So Therion must've seen some weird stuff?" Tressa pipes up, eyes still covered.
"I would say so... It is true that those with wealth and power often don't know how to use it..." Primrose sighs.
There is a sudden familiar voice that yelps and then someone gruffly yelling "Shut up!"
"Ali...!" Tressa gasps, "C'mon!"
The dancer and thief run quickly as the merchant suddenly darts forward with a burst of speed.
…
Just as Ali's thrashing at being drowned was lessened, Morlock finds his private room invaded suddenly by that familiar merchant girl, a woman in red, and a man with a purple poncho. He might not have quite remembered the latter two from earlier in the market.
"Morlock!" Tressa yells. The sight of the room and Ali puts her at a loss for a second.
"Hm?" Omar looks up and lets go of the Sunlander, leaving Ali collapsed in the basin halfway with his legs hanging out. The head guard turns to see the three intruders, "Ah, you again, little girl."
"Oh, I see you just let yourself in?" Morlock idly swirls his glass, "Were you that eager to come work for me?"
"A-Ali...!" Tressa's eyes bulge seeing half of Ali's body in the basin, his lower body hanging out limply. She runs past Omar to help pull him out, throwing aside her polearm. The head guard lets her do so, smirking.
Ali is motionless at first as she hauls him out of the water, with a clammy complexion. He sputters to life, coughing out water.
"G... ea..." He murmurs weakly, gasping. His face isn't too badly beat up compared to the rest of him, but that was a small consolation considering that he might have just drowned almost. He seems to pass out from his ordeal in Tressa's arms.
Tressa can see the numerous bruises from the harsh beating he took to his body. They were kicking him even while he had shown he couldn't fight back. He wasn't a threat. But they didn't care. She bites her bottom lip as she lays him down against the wall. She then turns to Omar and Morlock with indignant anger in her eyes.
"Oh boy..." Therion says under his breath. He and the dancer are already readied for a fight. He was also equally ready to turn and flee, of course.
"What eyes on you, girl," Morlock says with narrowed eyes, "I frankly don't take kindly to them."
"Why... Why did you do this?!" Tressa bursts out, "He didn't do anything awful and you... you didn't even treat him like a person! Who does this? It's sick!"
"... A bit of a loud kid, aren't ya?" Morlock puts down his glass and goes to pull out a luxury cigar, using a clip to cut the end off, "From the moment he sullied my name and made money off my property, he became a slandering thief in need of punishment."
"You could have just taken his money and... and, you already gave him a shiner back at the market! This is just cruel!" Tressa points at Morlock, "You're just a sadist, aren't you?!"
"Now is that any way to call a man of worldly interests?" Morlock lights the cigar, eyeing the merchant girl from under the brim of his hat, "Anyway, a criminal is basically due to pay off their crime. That's that he's doing; paying it off by amusing me."
"Amusing...?!" Tressa seethes, "You're morally bankrupt!"
"Shut your yap, girl."
Before Omar can swiftly slap Tressa a good one, Primrose throws one of her returning knives, forcing him to retreat a little, back to Morlock's side. The dancer catches her dagger back in hand with ease. Omar narrows his eyes and pulls a mace staff off a weapon rack nearby. Therion inwardly curses as he hears the sound of guards closing in. Their suave break-in welcome is coming to an end.
"Morals? My dear girl, are you not a merchant? Don't you know that frilly stuff has no place for us? In the world run by money..." Morlock grips his thumb and forefinger together, "There are no taboos with prices to be paid. If you have the money, you can do whatever you want with those who have prices."
"That's-!"
"For example!" Morlock points at Ali, "Did you know that idiot's father, the famous Maruf, was a high-class swindler?"
"Huh?" Tressa pauses.
"That's right. Maruf of the Sands was your regular class-act of a merchant who sold without care for his customers! Lies coated in honey shlepped to willing sheep! Eventually, his antics caught up with him and now he is but a ruined man! Greatest merchant of the sands, my foot!"
Morlock laughs as if he'd just told the funniest joke. The guards arrive just about now and Omar steps towards the party menacingly.
"Those who play by the rules go nowhere. Only those with skin in the game make the profit, see?" Morlock puts his thumb and forefinger together, "Let that be a free lesson for you."
Primrose and Therion look warily at the numbers against them, ready with their weapons.
"Alas, for trespassing, I'm afraid you aren't eligible to work for me after all," Morlock shrugs, "Quite a shame. Oh well. You'll pay for the damages with your bodies, like that street rat."
"You...!" Tressa grinds her teeth.
"... Well, this certainly makes things easier..." Primrose chuckles and sneers at Morlock's words, "Scum like you, I have no trouble dealing with."
"Hey, shut up and get on the ground!" The guards by the dancer and thief bark, holding their pikes out. One of them goes to poke the thief. Therion launches himself up, grabbing hold of the point, and then squarely jamming his foot into one of the guard's necks before he uses the pike shaft as a lever to vault over other heads.
"How about 'no'?"
"Uargh!" The guard falls back.
Then, the restrained violence breaks loose.
Omar lunges for Tressa first, his weapon swinging in a wide arc. Tressa yelps and dodges that, quickly picking up her fallen polearm.
"You best not resist, little girl," Omar growls, "Morlock is lenient to servant-"
He is surprised by a blast of darkness from behind, pushing him into the water basin with a splash mid-sentence. Tressa looks to Prim, who sent the energy wave.
"T-thanks!"
"Be careful!" Primrose whirls as a guard tries to cut her with his estoc, only to have his weapon jam on the ground where she was a second ago. Her fingertips lace with dark energy, which she sends straight at his face, sending him flying out of the room with a crash.
"Wha- do your jobs!" Morlock barks, not expecting such resistance, "I pay you all too handsomely to lose to a couple of street rats!"
Omar stands, water splashing off his armor and dripping from his hair and clothes. Now he was thoroughly annoyed. Tressa remains the one closest to him. With a small twist of his mace, the head of the weapon extrudes axe blades out.
"W-woah there!" Tressa balks at the wicked sharp weapon, "You mad?"
"Master Morlock, do you mind if I made dog feed out of them all?" Omar asks with a growl.
"Tis a waste of bodies that could be priced otherwise..." Morlock sighs, "But they have been causing me enough grief. Do it."
"With pleasure."
Omar's face twists into a wicked grin and he makes a wide swing with his weapon. His strength, coupled with the reach, can reach even the door where guards have piled up. Despite being on the same side, he scatters them, hitting a few. The dancer and thief nimbly jump out of the way. Tressa is less fortunate, as she tries blocking with her new weapon. But her strength remains a lot to be desired. The strike sends shudders through her and flings her off her feet, slamming her into a nearby shelf of collections. Miraculously, her polearm somehow remains in one piece despite the huge dent.
"AGH!"
"Tressa!" Primrose swiftly darts to help the girl.
Omar moves to block her with another sideswipe. Therion sends a guard's helmet at him as a momentary distraction.
"Hmf," Omar scoffs as the thing bonks off his head harmlessly, "Scrappy, just like thieves."
Therion whips out his sword and holds it in a reverse grip as he takes a defensive stance. From behind, he can hear other guards closing in. What a pain.
Primrose helps Tressa up, "Are you alright?"
"Uhh... y-yeah..." Tressa totters a bit but remains standing with support from her polearm. She wipes away some sweat from her face.
"Stand back," Primrose goes to re-engage Omar.
"..." Tressa frowns. She knew the odds were against her, and probably them as well, honestly. Ali is still out of it, not that he should do anything to make the situation worse.
"You still got a way to go learning words... that's a merchant's best weapon!"
Because Ali didn't take his own advice, now they were in this situation. But dwelling on that is a bit pointless.
Tressa glances to her side that Morlock is just enjoying his cigar and brandy as he spectates. He was lucky Tressa didn't have the stomach for violence, or he might be on the unpleasant end of a polearm right about now.
"Hmf...!" The dancer weaves about Omar with fluid rhythm, her fancy footwork too fast for the big lug. Her daggers seem effective at picking the chinks and weak points on his armored body, though he seems able to shrug off her damage.
Therion is largely occupied with the footmen that now ran in to replace the guards they had knocked over. They wear wide, plate like helmets that the thief easily uses against them. He parries their blades swiftly and evades their strikes while knocking them over with their own momentum.
But between Omar and the guards, the thief and dancer are slowly being pushed back-to-back. Tressa bites on her lip and her eyes light with a certain fire. The tingling sensation, followed by a light breeze from the open yard outside, allows her to slowly calm herself and focus.
Talking might not get me out of this... but I've got magic now! And I'm not afraid to use it!
She had seen Primrose send out that blast of black energy. If she could mimic that and control it, it would be more useful than how she threw those condors all willy-nilly. Maybe if she had a conduit...
"Haaa!" Tressa gives a war cry as she runs forward with her polearm raised.
First, the small fry.
Her polearm tip coats with a funnel of green energy that swirls like a tornado. She swings with the miniature tempest at the nearest footman. The impact sends him whirling into the air and into the basin with a yelp.
"Aargh!"
"Hey, it worked!" Tressa grins with pride at her own ingenuity.
"Don't get distracted," Therion says, kicking another opponent over.
"I-I won't!" Tressa huffs as she goes to recharge and swing again.
She gets interrupted as Primrose slams into a display case behind her. The dancer's seemingly fragile frame sends glass shattering, along with shards from curiously shaped pottery that was in the case.
"Ugh-"
"P-Prim!" Tressa runs to the dancer lying motionless on the floor, forgetting about her tactic.
"Hey, watch out!"
Omar moves to attack the merchant with his bladed mace as she turns away. Therion swiftly picks up a whip from a nearby rack and manages to catch Omar's aim, making him miss Tressa's by a narrow margin. The slice does clip her bag though, sending a lot of merchandise spilling all over the floor. The merchant is too distracted to notice.
"Hmph!" Omar growls and yanks on the whip to pull the thief towards him with a good tug.
"Tch..." Therion jumps as he is tugged and kicks a nearby bottle at Omar, smashing him in the face with some strong-smelling stuff that scatters like powder. It distracts Omar enough that he lets go, allowing Therion to glide under his defenses and make a daring cut, snipping a strap of armor.
"Are you still not done with these children, Omar?" Morlock grumbles.
"Prim, Prim!" Tressa worriedly kneels next to the dancer and grabs her shoulder. She feels a bit nauseous, seeing some blood trickle down the dancer's head and arm as she lay among the glittering shards of glass and pottery. Primrose seems unconscious, giving a slight groan.
"You'll get your money's worth, Morlock," Omar growls as he catches Therion's following strike with the staff portion of his mace. A wicked glint flares in his eye as he bats the thief away and draws his weapon high overhead.
"... no, you won't," Therion spins about and quickly hurls the whip to lash about Omar's arm.
"Like that will stop m-" Omar feels a stabbing pain in his arm before he can bring it down. He glimpses the hilt of a dagger protruding from one of his arms, with the whip wrapped around the handle. It had slipped into his wrist, where the gauntlets he wears do not cover.
"Wha-"
Therion sneers and pulls hard on the whip coiled around Omar's arm. It pulls on the dagger and slices cleanly around his forearm in a spiral motion before clattering to the floor.
"AAHHH!"
Omar drops his mace axe with a heavy thud, clutching his mutilated arm as blood runs from the wide gash onto the floor. Hearing his bodyguard's anguish, Morlock's attention turns immediately, and he balks.
"W-what?! Omar!" The baron drops some cigar ash onto the front of his suit, "Don't you dare lose! Do you remember how much I've priced you?!"
"Ugh..." Omar grunts as he moves to grab his weapon despite his crippled hand. Therion steps on the blade so he cannot lift it easily.
"You shouldn't move too much," Therion flicks the whip with decent expertise, so it pulls his dagger up from the ground and into his grasp. It's the viper fang dagger, "The poison will just spread faster."
"Ah, this is..." Tressa scoops up a handful of the powder from the floor and sniffs it tentatively, "Smelling salt...!"
She quickly holds a fistful of the strong-smelling stuff near Primrose's face. The dancer groans and stirs, opening her eyes.
"... Ugh..."
"Prim!"
"Omar...!" Morlock bellows, "Get rid of them!"
Omar growls. Between his screaming boss, his lame arm, and the pain, he was having a bad day. With a sluggish lunge, he tries to tackle the thief, but Therion easily sidesteps him. The thief then slams his elbow hard on the back of his head with a slight crack. The bodyguard's eyes rolled up into his head as he falls down unconscious.
"Sir Morlock!" Some spare footmen arrive a bit late to the party. Therion clicks his tongue.
"T-Take them away! Kill them! DO IT!" Morlock blubbers, clearly frazzled seeing Omar go down.
The footmen are not oblivious to this fact either. Only the stupid and reckless one among them charges forward at the thief. Tressa sticks her foot out so he trips and tumbles onto the unmoving body of Omar instead. Before he can get back up, Therion kicks him in the head, stunning him thoroughly.
"Ugh!" He flops motionlessly on his side, on top of Omar.
"Ugh, indeed..." Primrose stands now, lightly shaking her head and dusting off the shards of glass from her dress, "What brutish men..."
As her head stills, she feels the growing tide of darkness roil. She was fortunate it had not unleashed itself while she was unconscious so far. She looks with a flat glare at the footmen. At the sight of her darkened, red eyes, the footmen look on the verge of pissing themselves and running away. All signs of their macho bravado drain away quickly.
"E-Eep!"
"S-screw this! I wanna live!"
The cowardly footmen run out without so much as another glance back at their employer.
"Haha! Yeah, that's right, you better run!" Tressa says pridefully as she stands. She doesn't even feel her legs wobbling under her after her usage of magic.
The high is short-lived, however. Therion glances from the corner of his eye to see Morlock scramble to where Ali had been slumped over. The noble pulls out a bejeweled knife and holds it close to Ali's unconscious face.
"T-this is all your fault...!"
"Ah- hey!" Tressa shouts, "What are you doing?!"
"Don't come any closer!" Morlock looks to her with a crazed expression as he holds Ali by the scruff of his shirt, "I'll gut him like a chicken!"
"Like I care," Therion wanted to say. But he didn't have the stomach to see that, exactly. He hangs back, his perceptive eye looking about keenly for a weak spot.
"Don't do anything crazy!" Tressa puts her hands up to try and appear nonthreatening, "No one's dead yet... let's keep it that way!"
"Get out of my town! I'll have the army after you! Oh yes..." Morlock raves, "I'll have all your heads! Where are my guards?! Get in here and execute these trespassers!"
"That's enough outta you!"
As Morlock is spewing spittle, raving mad, Ali seems to have woken up. He drives an elbow into the side of the man's face. The older man gives a shrill cry as he stumbles back and trips over some of his own collection, flopping onto his behind without grace and dropping his weapon.
"Ahh...! Agh!" Morlock cradles his bruised face, "Y-you street rat!"
"Ali!" Tressa says with renewed hope. She runs over to the other merchant, who seems pretty spent despite his sudden strike on the baron.
"Ugh... h-heya, Green Pea..." Ali manages a pained smile, "So... ya came for me?"
"S-shut up, you idiot!" Tressa says as the adrenaline of the battle begins to fade. She hastily wipes away any water accumulating by her eyes, "I just … don't want you to miss me beating your sales!"
"... What a sap," Therion sighs as he ties the blubbering Morlock up with the whip, "I guess kids'll be kids."
"Gah, n-no! You thieving rats! Let me go!" Morlock snaps toothlessly.
"... You can leave him a bit loose..." Primrose says airily, "I will deal with him."
The tone and look on the dancer's face is enough to bring a chill to the thief and baron's blood with a glance. Morlock falls silent and tries scooting away from the dancer, only for the thief to block him with his leg.
"... Sure."
"Wh-wha?!" Morlock pales.
"C'mon, let's get back before, I dunno, more guards come or something..." Tressa huffs as she goes to help Ali stand.
"You three go on ahead," Primrose calls to them, "I will meet you back in town."
"Huh? Prim?" Tressa turns to see the dancer remain by Morlock, who looked on the verge of pissing himself.
"D-don't leave me here with this woman! I'll pay you double, no, triple what I gave Omar!" Morlock pleads, "I'll leave, I swear! You'll never see my mug around again!"
"Quiet, you," Primrose says icily at the baron, "After all this trouble, we'll have a nice, long talk, see..."
Morlock pales significantly and seems scared speechless.
"Uh..." Tressa looks tentatively at the dancer as the thief walks to leave as well, "Y-you sure, Prim? You got banged up a bit..."
The dancer keeps from looking to the merchant girl. She wordlessly fingers one of the tinkling ornaments near her waist, lightly grazing the hilt of a concealed dagger.
"Let's just go," Therion says tersely, "Your rival here's got to see a doctor. A certain idiot with a green vest."
"Ow, ow..." Ali grasps at his ribs, wincing, "Say, you guys picked up my bags, right..."
"... Fine..." Tressa sighs, "You take care, okay, Prim?"
The tone of worry doesn't quite reach the dancer as she is about to let loose her dark power, which is howling inside now. Perhaps it was Omar's overhead strike... or maybe she had been holding back so much after seeing those black hoods again. Those hateful ravens...
Once the merchants and thief have left the ruined room despite Morlock's pleas, the darkness coalesces fully around Primrose, like an aura of dark tendrils. Her eyes glow maliciously red and Morlock shivers, teeth chattering at the shadowy vixen before him. His eyes are as big as saucers, filled with fear. Endless pleas tumble from his babbling lips.
"Nononononono... Please, I-I'll do anything... Please please please..."
Unheeding his pathetic requests, Primrose draws out her family dagger, a ringlet of darkness encircling the hilt. It gives the blade edge an otherworldly sheen. Morlock whimpers seeing his captor's expression turn more vindictive and demonic.
"Now... about these Obsidians..."
…
Ali remained somewhat conscious enough as Tressa helps him limp out of the manse. Therion walks alongside them, keeping an eye out for any remaining sentries or guards. He quietly notes Tressa panting a bit and lagging as she labors to carry herself and Ali along with her ripped backpack.
"Hey, if you can't carry it, leave the bag," Therion sighs, "You bought too much here anyway."
"N-no, I can do this! I'm the daughter of the Muscled Merchant!" Tressa huffs, "I've caried h-heavier...!"
She feels her knees knocking a bit with a few more steps. Stubbornly, she forges on.
"... Idiot, you used a lot of magic. And you're a newbie Gate, remember?" Therion looks at her, unamused, "If you fall over, I'm not carrying you."
"A-all the more reason to keep going! Hmf!" Tressa sticks her tongue out at the thief.
"G-Green Pea, slow down... ugh..." Ali feels his bruised flank, "You're... wobbling."
"... Mgrgrgrgr..." Tressa grumbles, "Fine, fine, let's just get outta here first, alright?"
Outside the manse walls, it is already dark by the time they exit. A sky of beautiful stars and nebulas has blanketed the world. The area around the manse has an eerie silence to it. All the guards they had felled earlier have all but vanished. Shadows of the nearby mountains, plateaus, mesas, and boulders make an uneven landscape against the glowing sky. At the very least, there do not sound to be monsters here either. There is only the slightest, distant glow of fire showing Quarrycrest in the distance.
Therion lights a torch from Tressa's pack as she instructs him with a tinderbox she also carries. With the small light, they settle up with their rear against a tall, flat-faced slab of rock. Tressa slumps down with Ali next to her to catch her breath. She takes out a waterskin and drinks thirstily from it. She takes out another one for Ali and Therion.
"Heh, you certainly pack inventory like a merchant," Ali gives a weak smile as he sips. He coughs a bit before being able to swallow without trouble.
"Of course...!" Tressa pouts in the torchlight, "... I can't slip behind you, after all!"
"... Thanks for coming," Ali says softly, "I mean it."
Tressa blinks but doesn't meet his gaze, instead looking down to her shoes.
"I thought I'd die in there, honestly," Ali half chuckles.
"... Yeah, well..." Tressa wipes her nose, "A good merchant knows another good merchant when they find one. So... Yeah."
Therion stands by with the torch to ward off creatures of the night, keeping vigilant as the two merchants make banter.
"I mean... I guess I did learn some stuff from you," Tressa says, scratching the back of her neck, "You're right. I was missing the big picture."
"Oh yeah? Tell me whatcha learned," Ali looks expectantly to the other, holding his swollen belly.
"What people in the town need... is what makes them happy," Tressa says with a small sigh, "The people in this place mostly just have work and daily mundane stuff. They know it's a shanty and that it'll close. That's probably a weight on their minds... but our sales can change that and give them a small spark that breaks up those worries."
"Yeah. You did come up with a novelty. But you were selling it like any old pretty rock. The key is to transform it with our power of words."
"...But, in that vein, it's not what they really need, either!" Tressa adds quickly, "What they really need is change! So that even the workers can afford something nice! Not just the rich people!"
"...Heh, that's true. But we merchants aren't bringers of change, really," Ali scoffs, "We sell things that might inspire it, though."
"Oh yeah? I have a feeling that after tonight, things'll change after the butt-whooping we unloaded on ol' Morlock!" Tressa says smugly.
"You do realize... you might have just collapsed the entire mining livelihood here, right?" Ali says with mood-ruining practicality. Therion has to resist giggling, since that is what he might have said.
"... Uh... W-well, they were being scammed anyway, right? So, they should look for fairer employment elsewhere! Yeah..." Tressa says, an edge of nervousness creeping into her voice, "Plus, getting scumbags like Morlock out of the game is a net win!"
"You have no idea..." Therion sighs, "Get rid of one baddy and three more take their place."
"Huh? What do you know?" Tressa folds her arms.
Therion thinks back to the scene he saw in Sunshade reluctantly, "It's more likely his muscle men will stay and take the power. Not like the folks here will be able to stop them. They can take the mines and make this their den if Morlock is gone."
"W-what about the law here?" Tressa frowns.
"The Cliftlands has even less central authority than the Coast," Ali sighs, "No nobles or monarchs here. It's why dirtbags like Morlock rose so high to begin with..."
Tressa opens her mouth too suggest something else. But, as the thief and Ali's words sink in, she closes it. She really hadn't known anything.
"T-then... what, are we supposed to just leave Morlock in charge?"
"If he survives, he might deserve it," Therion scoffs, "It isn't our problem anyway."
"But … we were the ones who charged in and..." Tressa bites her lower lip, "... Tsk..."
"... This is why you don't get involved in big things like this," Therion sighs, "We're not heroes or anything."
His words make her briefly flinch. Normally, she wouldn't have advocated for this violent ending. However, seeing and hearing what Morlock had done... it was similar to when she drew her drawstring on those pirates. She just couldn't leave it alone. Unfortunately, Morlock wasn't a simple bad guy like those pirates. The situation is nowhere near as simple.
"... Hey, I don't think you did the wrong thing, Green Pea," Ali says with conviction, patting her hat down suddenly, "You saved me, for one. And, who knows, you might have started something here in the end."
"Eh..." She looks to him with uncertainty, "B-but even you said... Their livelihoods..."
"Well, yes, at the immediate time. Haven't you heard of long-term investments?" Ali chuckles and winces when it hurts his ribs, "Ow... ahem, anyway, yeah... Staying like this would've ended up with a dried out mine anyway... So, at the end of the day, it wasn't wrong. You just need to be more observant and mindful as a merchant."
Tressa's expression turns pensive now.
"... We're merchants, but... I guess you are the kid of the Muscled Merchant," Ali smiles softly, "If you didn't cause a ruckus, no one would know!"
Tressa feels herself flush a bit at his words to cheer her up.
"... You guys wanna spend the night out here or are we done resting?" Therion interrupts.
...
I pull one of the dark strings. It sends out a reverberation. The portion of the soul it ties to responds and drags the flesh with it. Morlock stands before me, a helpless puppet tied as my dark thrall.
He's very similar to Helgenish in build. They're both portly men who have too much of the good stuff for themselves, resulting in a turgid stature. He might be a bit older than Helgenish, with more white hairs under his ridiculous hat. At the moment, he's nude and suspended by his wrists, standing on his toes under my dark spell.
Dark tendrils, like the web of a spider, crisscross the room, tying onto him and the walls and ceilings. The night chill seeps into the darkened room, where only sparse rays of moonlight reach in. But it doesn't bother me.
I killed Helgenish too quickly. I was too angry. He didn't suffer enough... So, I will make up for it with this.
This is akin to a sacrificial play they perform in stories I read... to the dark gods.
I don't care. This is my catharsis...
"Discipline me with your tongue," I say with a voice nearing pleading, "Tell me I've been bad... Curse me with all you've got."
"Ugh, uh..." Morlock stares at me like a dumb animal with frightened eyes. With a flick of my finger, he slaps his own face.
"Come on, you didn't become a land baron being so meek," I goad him, "Otherwise, I'll just end this right here and now..."
"N-n-no! No, please," He blubbers, lip trembling, "I-I, uh... you... you whore!"
That familiar word. It brings such a familiar sting to it. Ah, yes... My lips curl into a smile. I wave my hand and a whip of darkness slaps him across his groin, making him give a loud yell. Men are very sensitive there.
"Again," I command.
He whimpers, but he nonetheless complies, no matter how many times I give him punishment. He wants to live, after all. If the game stops, he knows he's dead.
I know I am being cruel. I know I am committing the same crimes of undermining humans as they are... but I don't care.
Sometimes, I think I have become someone different.
Perhaps Olberic had a point in rebuking me.
That was why I couldn't look him in the eye as I gave him Sadiq's spear.
"I was wrong to... say human wellbeing had no meaning to you..."
No, you weren't wrong, Olberic. I am … just as you said.
"You see people for who they are in earnest."
Perhaps. But perhaps that is also just an excuse. I had abandoned my hesitations. I don't care for lofty ideals … I just want my own satisfaction. I want to make those who hurt me hurt more than I did. I am... convinced of my actions. I will not hide behind the dark power I wield as an excuse of influence.
While it does rear and vary in controllability, I can keep a semblance of appearance up as long as the world has such scum I can pursue. As long as these criminals have worse crimes, then I can lay punishment onto them with this power and satiate it and myself. If such a channel did not exist... then I would undoubtedly have no reason to exist either. Vengeance, this dark cesspool, has become my life.
The life if I had never been saddled with this duty and power... I can hardly even think of it now. Even the possibility is gone from dreams. All that is left is this path I have taken, and the little regret that lingers from my choice.
The desperate baron tells me what little he knows. The Obsidians came to town, but it wasn't a unique appearance. Like with the brothels, they seem to have reached in many places across Orsterra. Morlock had only bought the services of a few of their grunts to manage the mining operations. They were just goons, nothing more. He pays them directly and hasn't heard much of a peep from their managers for a while now. They are rather laissez-faire, it seems.
In other words, this was a bit of a dead end.
After I got Morlock to tell me everything he knew about the Obsidians he had hired, it just became a grueling fest of sickening torture to no particular end.
He would chastise me to the best of his cowardly ability at my behest, and then I would retaliate. I pictured Helgenish in his place. It made me feel slightly better with each cut and lash I made on his porcine shape.
By the end of the session, Morlock is on his knees, bowed forward, wheezing. His blood speckles the floor and oozes from the myriad cuts and lashes I've made on his body. His groin is nothing but bloody, ground meat. He twitches here and there, too pained and tired to plead or cry anymore. It is deep into the night now.
I feel... somehow satisfied. There is fatigue pulling at me and I dispel the dark tendrils. Morlock flops to the floor, unmoving. I feel my breath come out in pants as a slight, cold sweat beads my forehead.
When I let it take on my darkest desires, the magic does not feel as draining. It is actually more like a brilliant release.
I walk up to his motionless body. There is just the slightest sound of his labored wheezes.
"... It seems in the end..." I say that familiar phrase softly, "You were a bit of a dancer yourself..."
As I ended him, I felt that cold emptiness. It stung harder than his feeble insults. My eyes were dry, but I felt something bleeding. Like a statue, I knelt by that body as the life drained from the cut on the throat I made.
I wipe the blood from my forehead with Yusufa's handkerchief. But my hands are still bloody.
What would she think of me now? What would she say?
"On your side..."
Could you still say that, knowing what I am, Yusufa? If you had seen all that I do...
Thinking of her, I am reminded of the other person who stood at my side before her. His soft voice as he read me his poetry...
Simeon...
"You are a beautiful, unsullied flower, Prim..."
I'm no longer unsullied, Simeon. I'm no longer that red rose you praised so much from the manor garden. I've become tainted black.
I almost fathomed staying here, holed up with my new sins. I almost couldn't bear to go back and face Alfyn and the others again. It would be better if I just...
But I hadn't yet finished what I set out to do. My father's killers...
The memory of his warm face only bought me more pain now.
Please... no matter how dirty I am... no matter how low and depraved... please watch over me...
It was an earnest but unheard prayer.
I stand stiffly, not caring to wash the blood from my hands or my dagger and walk out of that dark and quiet manse. The trail of blood ends before I even step out into the cool night. There is no one to greet me, no lights to pierce the darkness.
I wonder if I will still feel such emotions when my duty is done. Will I be cold and empty, as my ancestors were, behind a mask of cold faith? If so, and I become a monster, like those who roam these barrens in the dark...
Then I wonder who will be the one to end me?