Desiderium
Chapter One
Desiderium
noun: an ardent desire or longing
meaning: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost
'Riots broke out within Mantle's mining camps yesterday as Faunus rioters attacked SDC guards without provocation, according to the SDC Human Relations department. Jacques Schnee is expected to address the unrest at the next RTG Association. In other news, Vale is in mourning due to the tenth anniversary of the fall of Mount Glenn. This prosperous and upcoming settlement fell to the Grimm and set back expansion aims for Vale by decades due to the blunder of the once famous Huntsman and then Militia Leader Gin Merrick, who is accredited with the fall. The only known survivor was Deputy Mayor Rofe Cutt, who warned the Kingdoms in time to defend against the oncoming tide in time. Rumored reports in lower Mistral have spotted sightings of skirmishes between the Gypsy Caravans and the Raven Horde. The Mistralian Council is voting on whether to send for a detachment of Wardens to settle these disputes. In brighter news, a litter of puppies was recently born-'
"Seems like everything is just becoming more and more shit recently." A brown-haired man sitting on a stool said. The tavern's interior was rustic, with a smog of cigarette smoke barely clouding his vision of his companion sitting beside him. The TV was just loud enough to drown out the rest of the chattering amongst the rest of the tavern patrons while the bartender cleaned mugs and conversed with the regulars.
"You can say that again, mate," The other blonde-haired man replied, who nursed his pint of ale as he watched the TV above him, a frown on his face.
"Are we sure this was a wise decision coming out here? I mean, we didn't even finish a proper test run yet and-"
"Will you relax, Bron?" The blonde turned to Bron, his brow furrowed, "The test run is tomorrow, and it'll all be fine, so stop yapping and neck your pint so we can head to bed."
"You know you don't have to be such an asshole, Edgar?"
"Consider it part of my timeless charm."
Bron rolled his eyes and looked around the room again. They were further out from Vale and the academy than he would have liked, but unfortunately, this was the closest and safest settlement they could find. While everyone here seemed nice and normal compared to regular city folk, he noticed a few oddities, such as the large cloaked figure slumped over a few stools with a spilled-over pint glass that dripped onto the floor.
'Brothers, that is one big bastard. Must be part of the local militia or a mercenary.'
Bron felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of tomorrow and looked over to the barkeep, who had finished chatting with the regulars. He waved him over as the barkeep flipped a cloth over his shoulder.
"Bron?" Edgar asked, but Bron ignored him.
"Hello, lads, another round?"
"Uh, no, thank you. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"
"Well, I guess so. What's on your mind?"
Bron pulled out a map from the satchel pinned by a twin axe medallion crowned by a wreath.
"I just had some questions about the surrounding area of this settlement; I mean, uh-" He drew a blank at the name of where they were.
"Lamplight?" The barkeep supplied, which Bron smiled in gratitude.
"Yes, Lamplight, thank you. If you knew what areas to avoid, you know dangerous aspects such as Grimm and that."
The barkeep rubbed his chin as he looked at the map.
"Did you two boys just get here?"
"Yes, we've just recently arrived from – "
"Bron…" Edgar warned from beside him, making Bron swallow what he was about to say.
"-out of town, so to say."
The barkeep glanced down at Bron's satchel, peeking at the medallion, but said nothing about it. He pointed his finger down to the surrounding area a mile out.
"Well then, you must not have heard that the town has been locked down ever since that Councillor's niece was kidnapped by a bandit plaguing the local area. Nobody has been allowed to leave without permission by the Militia commander. Grimm are probably the least of your worries if you go outside the walls."
Edgar spoke up.
"A bandit is causing this much trouble? Why don't they get a Huntsman to deal with it?"
"Ay, if it were any other bandit, I'd agree with you, but this one's ex-huntsman. So, it's a whole different load of trouble." The barkeep rubbed his forehead, "Sick bastard hasn't even made any demands yet, from what I've heard."
"Well, my question still stands then."
"Huh, I would have thought a few Beacon boys would understand why we can't send a Hunter?"
A look of panic flashed on the two men's faces as they stumbled to try and find an explanation. The barkeep raised his hand.
"It's alright; I'm not fussed about where you're from or what you're doing, but maybe try hiding that fancy medallion of yours next time, yeah?" Bron's face flushed as Edgar glared at him as he tucked it away into his satchel.
"We're not trainee hunters; we're part of the Beacon R scholarium and –" The barkeep cut him off.
"Alright, alright, no need to get riled up. Listen, we can't get a Huntsman to help because they're all tied up with the Grimm incursion coming in from the West. You would probably have more luck calling a Warden to come help, but those creepy bastards don't exactly have the best rep."
The two men silently agreed as they recounted the rumors and stories they had heard about the Warden's brutality towards Aura users.
"So, who is this guy? The bandit?" Bron asked. The Barkeep reached into his pocket and withdrew his scroll to press a few keys to present a picture of the wanted poster:
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
SLADE KISSMEIR
WANTED FOR:
MURDER, ROBBERY, BANDITRY, EXTORTION, RAPE AND KIDNAPPING
REWARD:
10,000 LIEN
Bron gulped, and even Edgar looked like he was rethinking his decisions as they took in the bandits' appearance; his grey shaggy hair was slicked back, he had black eyes, a gaunt face, and a gnarly scar that went from around his neck and up towards the left side of his face, stopping at his eyebrow. There was a cold detachment in this man's eyes that unnerved them as though there was no sense of human relatability in his soul.
"Brothers balls…" Edgar muttered.
"My words exactly. So, if I were you, I would get the first express shuttle out of here and head back to that school, ain't no sense in going out there."
"We…can't," Bron muttered as he looked at Edgar, who chewed on his finger, "If we don't do this, then we'll probably wish we took a chance out in the wilderness."
The barkeep looked between them before looking at the clock and sighed.
"Well, sleep it over and then decide in the morning. Besides, it's nearly midnight, and you don't want to stay at the bar this late."
Edgar had stopped chewing on his finger to look up, "Why? Is there another serial killer coming here?"
The barkeep shook his head.
"Nope…It is just a nuisance we haven't gotten rid of yet."
"A nuisance?"
"Ay, a nuisance."
As though on cue, the tavern door slammed open, and a foul stench consisting of piss, vomit, and booze greeted their nostrils first.
"Oi! Pate! Pour me a fuckin' ale already!" A slurred, baritone voice barked out from across the room. The barkeep sighed and reached under the bar to retrieve a glass to begin pouring. The two men turned to see who it was and were greeted by the sight of a tall, corpulent man with unkempt facial hair and a bald head. His salmon skin was red from an overconsumption of alcohol, and he stumbled when he walked. What were once lively patrons were now quiet and facing their drinks to try and avoid his gaze as he stumbled over to a table and sat down.
Bron turned to the Barkeep, now known as Pate, while Edgar turned to face the TV, trying to distract himself.
"Who's that asshole?"
Pate shook his head.
"His name is Myril. He used to be part of the Militia. Take my advice and go up to your rooms; it won't be nice from here."
Bron made to respond before being cut off by a yelp from a girl.
"Get your fucking hands off me!" Bron watched as a pretty waitress was groped and pawed at by Myril, who laughed at her.
"Oh, come on, darling, you know you've been gagging to sit on my lap all day!" He went to reach for her again, but she slapped his hand away, causing him to laugh harder as he turned to Pate.
"Hurry up, Pate! Need some liquid gold before I ride this mare tonight!" He bellowed, making Pate yell.
"Leave her alone, Myril!"
He ignored Pate and went to grab at her again before being interrupted by a glass mug shattering against his head. Silence took hold of the tavern as people turned to the culprit.
Edgar stood there with a scowl, trying to look as brave as possible. Bron knew him better, though, as he took notice of the slightly shaking leg, which he tried to keep under control. The waitress managed to get away from Myril, who brushed the back of his head to remove the glass shards. A flash of orange briefly surrounded Myril, and Bron felt his stomach drop to the floor.
'Oh fuck! He has aura!'
Myril began walking over to Edgar, where there was a noticeable height difference between them, with Myril standing a full head taller.
"Who the fuck are you?" Myril slurred, his foul breath causing Edgar to cringe. Before Edgar could respond, Myril back-handed Edgar to the bar causing him to slump halfway across it, "Don't worry; I don't give a shit."
Bron stood up, making Myril leer down at him, "Oh? Did I hit your boyfriend? My mistake, little man!"
Bron swallowed back his fear as Edgar mumbled and tried to stand back up, "Why don't you-" His voice cracked halfway, causing Myril to laugh.
"By the Two! Have your balls not dropped yet?" He shoved Bron out of the way, causing him to land on the floor, "Listen, kid, why don't you take your bum boy with you upstairs and clear out-?" Myril stopped talking as he looked at the medallion flopping from Bron's bag. His face began to colour in rage as he reached down to grab Bron by his shirt collar.
"Well, well, it looks like we have some fancy Hunters here!" The smell of his foul breath wafted into Bron's face, causing him to cringe, "You fucking city trash, come here to skinny dip in the shit with the rest of us? Think you so much better than us, huh?"
Bron couldn't understand his ranting as his bloodshot eyes could barely stay open while yelling at him.
"You know what we think of little shits like you? Walking around here like you own the place!?"
"Myril put him down, or I'll have to call the captain again!" Pate warned as he reached over to grab him.
Myril slapped his arm away before jabbing his finger into Brons's face again.
"Fuck you, Pate! You know I'm not wrong; after everything they did, everything they-,"
"Oi." A gravelly voice spoke from behind Myril, causing the men to turn around to see the source.
Bron thought Myril was huge, but this guy was a few inches over him. The cloaked figure from earlier had gotten up and was standing behind him. Bron couldn't see his face, but Myril dropped him and unconsciously tried to stand taller than the stranger.
"Who the fuck are you? You city scum?"
"No."
"Then what's your prob-," Myril barely finished his sentence before the stranger's large hand shot out from underneath his cloak and wrapped itself around Myrils face. Before Myril could even try to detach himself, the stranger squeezed his grip, causing Myril's aura to shatter, and then proceeded to slam him into the countertop. Then, again and again, ignoring Myril's muffled screams before dragging him across the room to the door, where he laid Myril against the door with his back to it.
"Wuah-" Myril managed to stumble out before the stranger booted his head through the wooden door and out the other side with the rest of his body below the neck, staying within the tavern. The tavern had fallen silent as Myril's body flopped into unconsciousness, whereas the stranger crouched down and began searching Myrils pockets, withdrawing any Lien and other valuables. Getting up again, the stranger flipped back his hood, revealing his face, walked back to the bar, and tossed the Lien on the counter toward Pate.
"Sorry about the door; this is all I have to fix it."
Pate looked at the Lien and then back at the stranger, gobsmacked, before shaking his head slightly.
"Uh, yeah, thanks-don't worry about it." The stranger grunted in response before taking his seat back at the bar. As soon as he sat, the bar erupted into cheers, with some of them going over to see Myril's body and trying to pull his head out.
'Holy fuck! That was incredible!'
Bron thought to himself as he took in the stranger's features: Sharp, slightly gaunt features along with a straight nose that looked like it had been broken and healed wrong, greasy, matted brown hair with a stubbly beard that hadn't been shaved in a few weeks, and a nasty scar across his left cheek and barely crossed over his nose. He would have been considered handsome without the scowl across his face marring his features. What took Bron's attention, however, was the dull silver eyes that flicked over to Bron's as though he could tell someone was watching him.
Bron looked away instinctively and was just in time to see Edgar pulling himself together.
"Ahh, fuck…" He nursed his head as he sat down, "What happened?"
"What happened was that you got ass kicked."
"Thanks, mate, I figured that. I meant, what happened to him?" He asked, pointing to Myril's body, now being dragged out of the tavern by a few goers. Bron pointed over to the stranger.
"He did."
"Him?"
"Yep, completely wrecked that guy like it was nothing." They watched as the stranger reached inside his cloak to pull out a packet of cigarettes – Vacuo Timber it said – before lighting one in his mouth as he rubbed his eyes with a free hand. Edgar looked back at Bron with a raised eyebrow.
"The homeless man saved us?"
"Well…I don't think he's homeless?" Bron turned to Pate, who was on his scroll talking to someone for a moment before hanging up. "Hey, who is that guy?" Bron asked, gesturing to the stranger with his head.
Pate shook his head, "No idea; he came in this morning and has been drinking all day before passing out at the counter. He asked me some questions about the area but not much more." He leaned in, "I thought he was a gypsy at first being all covered up, but he wasn't bothering anyone, so I left him alone. Now, I think he might be a bounty hunter or a renegade."
Bron stroked his chin, and Edgar groaned, "A bounty hunter, eh?"
"Bron, whatever you're thinking of, don't."
"But you don't even know what I'm going to say!"
"I know that face; it's the face of 'Ed; I've got an idea that sounds good on paper but is going to end up biting us in the ass later' Sound familiar?"
Bron turned his nose at him and then stood up, "Nope, not at all."
"Where are you going?"
"To thank the man who prevented you from going into a coma." Edgar groaned but made no move to stop him.
Walking over, he saw that the stranger had finished his cigarette and was now stubbing it on the ashtray. He glanced towards Bron, who was standing next, but said nothing. Bron cleared his throat.
"Excuse me, sir, but I would like to thank you."
"For what?" The man's voice sounded like it had been used sparingly.
Bron cocked his head.
"Well…for saving me and my friend here," He gestured behind him to Edgar, still nursing his head. The man looked confused for a moment before dipping his head slightly.
"Well, you're welcome, I guess."
"Do you…did you mean to help us out?"
The man shrugged.
"Nope."
"Oh." Bron rubbed the back of his head, now embarrassed, "Well, why did you attack him?"
"He was too loud."
"Huh. Anyway, I'd like to buy you a drink to thank you." He waved over Pate, "A drink for my saviour here—what do you want on tap?"
"You pick."
"A pint of Atlassian Ice, please."
"Coming up," Pate replied as Bron turned back to the stranger, who was now slightly turned to Bron.
"Thanks."
"It's no problem." A silence fell between them as Bron struggled to present his pitch to the stranger, "Sooo…Are you here in town for business?"
"You could say that."
"Are you looking for something or someone?"
"Someone."
"A friend?"
"No."
"Does he know you?"
"He will." Bron gulped at the undertone of threat in his voice and wisely decided to drop the topic.
"Well…If you aren't looking for him now, perhaps you would be interested in some work in the meantime?"
The stranger raised an eyebrow, "Depends on the work."
"Well, my friend and I are looking to do some—" he rolled his hand around."- tests in the local area, and we are open to hiring a bodyguard to keep us safe from the local dangers." The stranger said nothing, but Bron could tell he was interested, so he continued.
"We would pay a hefty amount as we must get this done as soon as possible so we may leave. We are open to negotiations – for a reasonable price, of course. What do you think?"
Pate slid the pint before the stranger, who greedily drank away at it. He put the glass back down and wiped his mouth, "What's your offer?"
"2500 Lien for three days with the stipulation that we both survive. We will then pay you at the end." The stranger looked into his pint momentarily before looking back at Bron.
"Half now and half when we finish."
"I don't think-"
"You're desperate." The stranger cut him off, "You wouldn't be asking a complete randomer to do something this dangerous for you if you weren't entirely out of options, and judging by how your knee is bouncing, you know that this is your last chance."
The stranger turned in his stool to look at Bron, who could see that he wore a metal chest plate on top of leather armour.
"So it's half now and half when we finish."
'Was I that easy to read?'
Bron rubbed his forehead before sighing, "Very well, friend. You seem to be able to read me like an open book." He stuck his hand out, "We have a deal."
The stranger firmly shook his hand before withdrawing. Bron stood up and returned to Edgar to tell him about the transaction. He turned one final time.
"We'll meet at the gate exit by eight-thirty AM. Is that agreeable?"
"Fine by me."
"What's your name, by the way? I'm Bron, and that's Edgar; I can't call you nothing the whole time we're together."
The stranger met his gaze, and Bron could swear that his eyes had flashed momentarily.
"Grit."
Hello. I originally had a previous story with a completely different tone and idea than I wanted. I did enjoy how I had written before, and it made me violently cringe as I had fallen into the pitfalls of bad writing and incomprehensible story flow. Now, after a year or so, I want to rewrite it and make it a much more grounded story.
There will be a better focus on quality rather than quantity, and I hope to have updates out more regularly, which can be more enjoyable for me and you the reader. Thank you, and I will get back to you soon with an update.