SCBM
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Current works update
🕑 Added 2022-08-14 04:46:16 +0000 UTCSup everyone, first update coming at you. My current project is coming along swell, I'm guessing the whole thing will be around 50k words long by the end. I want to post the first 2900 words exactly here as a kind of sneakpeak/preview. Hope you all like it!
Chapter 1
Through the thick morass, stalks of overgrown shrooms raise above a thin bloom of brackish liquid. The serene babbling of running water was punctured by footsteps clad in plate and armour, pacing across a ground that held the consistency of wet mashed potatoes.
He held an arm over his eyes, shading them from the afternoon sun as he noted his orientation. Parchment crinkled as the man slipped something out from one of his many belts that crossed over his torso. The leather strips and pouches concealed here and there a breastplate coated in black paint, the dark makeup flaking towards the edges, the coat uneven, like the colouring had been hastily done.
The man unfolded the parchment with a hand gauntleted in armour, his blue eyes scanning over the writing once more. The neat handwriting and astute vocabulary reminded him of a wedding invitation, the endless stretches of swamp a contrast to such a formal proposition.
The man grumbled under his breath as he read over the directions offered, getting the feeling he was lost. He had to give the writer some credit, the offer radiated a certain professionalism his inner academic could respect.
He was just about to double back, when he stopped upon hearing the audible tension of a string notching an arrow.
“Halt! Friend or foe?”
“Right, because if I was your enemy I’d just admit it.”
It was a far cry from the reasonable reaction one would have to a hold-up, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been held at arrow-point. Yet the situation was still worthy of at least one quirked eyebrow as he turned around, the glint of metal catching the light bringing his eyes up to the cap of a nearby shroom.
The head of the arrow was shaped like a half-moon, the clean steel contrasting with the black colour of the rod. The other end was braided with long feathers, clutched in the scaly grip of a four-fingered hand.
The nails were long, black like onyx with razor sharp ends. Calling them clawswould be better suited. His gaze trailed up the slim arm - it was covered in crimson scales, their bumpy surface smoothing out as they neared the bicep, disappearing behind an ornate, leather pauldron. The pauldron was connected to a band that covered a pronounced bust before clasping over to the other shoulder, with no pauldron on this one. From the sternum down the body was bare, the red scales taking on a pinkish hue as they travelled down the softer underside, the scaled belly flaring into wide hips that were clad in leather buckles and pads that resembled a ripped sash. Red scales could be seen here and there about the hips, a drab green cloth that covered the front of the belt like a loincloth the only thing that covered their modesty.
Two bent thighs exposed themselves from below the belts, bulging with defined muscles as his sneaky assailant shifted on the spot. They tapered in as they met the knees, giving the bowman a distinct hourglass figure. Calves rippling with muscles lay concealed beneath a paunch layer of scales, the legs ending in raptornoid feet, where three toes extended out of a flat foot, to end in curved talons bigger than his fingers, with a dewclaw a little further up above the heel. Curved round one of its ankles was the end of its thick tail that sprouted from its rear.
A lizard-folk. That explained how it managed to stay out of sight, but he’d never seen one so red before. Green and blue were the most common, anything else was rare, and such a bloody shade didn’t blend well to the background, though it certainly was eye-catching in its starkness.
He looked up at its face, the light from the sun behind it making it hard to make out. Two eyes blinked sideways at him, the iris’ expanding as they drank in his details. They were as red as its body, a shade lighter perhaps, the eyes becoming more yellow towards the edges. Below them rested two slitted nostrils at the end of a stubby snout.
Pearly white teeth peeked out from behind a wide mouth, the corners stretching up just a little, like their owner was trying not to smile.
“Don’t ruin it,” the lizard said, adjusting her footing, for it indeed was a her by the tone of the voice, and the fullness of her exposed, curved thighs. Lizards he’d spoken to before had voices like hard stone, but not this one. If he’d shut his eyes he could imagine the speaker was a fellow human. “Everyone else gets to say it, so why can’t I?”
It took a second, but the man realised she was waiting for an answer, and he shrugged up at her, his armour creaking. “I’m here about th-”
“Wait wait shaddup, you’re supposed to say one or the other, then we go from there, that’s how it works. Let’s try again, shall we? *Ahem* Friend, or foe?”
With a roll of his eyes, he answered. “Friend.” He held his parchment up, the paper waving in the breeze. “I’m here about the notice?”
The lizard raised one half of her brow. “The cleaning job?”
“Right.”
“You look a tad above this kind of work.”
“What makes you think that?”
The arrow trailed off to the side. “Well for one thing, you’re wearing armour worth more than my bow.”
His chestplate was highlighted at the edges with a few golden trimmings, where the paint didn’t quite hide them. His arms were encased in flexible plate designed to offer mobility without sacrificing protection. A skirt of mail protected his thighs and legs, greaves with triangular kneecaps sticking out of the deep mud, the steel not as filthy as one would think after spending hours traversing the swamp. She must have had a good eye, even from up there she could tell it was quality.
“It’s not exactly mine,” he explained, giving one of his gauntlets a flex. The finger pads clicked together. “And I’d trade it for your bow any day.”
Her weapon was not made from any metal he knew. The center grip was flanked with right angled stalks, probably to help with aiming. The rest of the bow was constructed in dozens of jagged pieces, giving it the appearance of a hundred connecting knives. The only thing familiar about it was the string joining the two ends, but even that didn’t look quite right, it was hard to explain, like it wasn’t string but wire. She’d probably found it in some Ancient vault, where almost all of today’s most dangerous weapons come from.
“Whistlewind?” The lizardess glanced at her weapon. “You like her? She’s sad and doesn’t say much, like my mother, but she’s good at finding your weakness – also like my… mother.”
“Sounds like quite the lady,” he said. “Where did you get her? The bow, I mean.”
“It was a gift,” she said, but seemed like she didn’t want to explain further, the stalk of the shroom leaning to one side as she adjusted her footing. “Anywho, we were talking about you, metal-guy. Why’re you interested in the job?”
“Pay is pay.” He shrugged.
“I thought the nobles sent others to do this kind of stuff.”
“I’m not a noble,” he said.
“Oh come on, guy.” The lizard scratched behind her ear-hole. The sides of her head were flanked by tall fins one might see on a fish, rising above her scaly crown and curving towards the center of her cranium, a bit like horns. “You can’t fool these eyes. You were born holding twin silver spoons.”
She hopped down from the shroom with a splash, one of them smiling and one of them not. It wasn’t hard to guess who was doing which. Now on ground level, Raynor had to look up a little to meet her gaze, the lizard taller than he.
“Come.” The lizard turned a different direction to where he was going before. “I’ll take you to the others.”
“Others?” He fell in behind her, each step followed by a wet splotch as they moved through the bog.
“There’s more than just you and me interested in the job.”
“Wait. You’re not the one who posted it?”
“Do I look like the kind of girl who has the time or money to scrounge up every sellsword in the province? Us non-nobles don’t have time for things like learning to read or write, your majesty.”
“You can’t read?”
“I know how gold is spelt, that’s more or less it.”
“Have you ever tried to learn?”
“Yeah, once. But reading and writing are pretty much worthless when you’re staring down the length of a knife, so I don’t bother.”
He felt like her logic was flawed, but he opted to turn back to the original topic. “And how many others are there?”
“One or two.” She looked over her shoulder at him and winked. “Or twenty.”
He made a sound like he’d suddenly got goosebumps, the lizardess frowning at him. “What? Afraid of a crowd?”
“No. I prefer to work alone.”
“Can’t stand the company of the lower-class? I get that.”
He stared at her backside for a second, weighing his reply in his head. He got the feeling her eyesight was more than exceptional. Hopefully she was just an outlier.
“How can you tell?”
Her grin was a blend of victory and pompousness, creating a smirk that dug into his skin the more he looked at her. “Didn’t take long for an admission.”
“I admit nothing. I’m just curious.”
“Curious to know how I know,” she snapped, the man thinking she could see straight through him. “You got three tells. Accent’s the most obvious – nobody who grows up outside stone walls talks like that. Second’s the way you carry yourself, it screams decent training, and I’m thinking it’s the academy kind of training. Only the rich can get their kid into an academy. How am I going so far?”
He tried not to show a reaction, but that seemed to be enough of an answer anyway, the lizard chuckling as she turned back round, leading him between a pair of chimney-like shrooms. Something about her bugged him the wrong way, and not just because of her attention to detail.
He ducked under a branch and said, “You said there were three tells, but you only told me two.”
The corners of her lips twitched, a sliver of her long teeth showing. “Okay, and?”
He blinked, feeling he was being led along. “And what’s the third thing?”
“You’re the one who wants to hide it, you figure it out.”
He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially from such a prideful woman. “… Have I offended you in some way? When I commented about your ability to read, was I coming off as arrogant?”
“A good try, but wrong. I’ll give you one more guess – don’t expect an answer if it’s wrong.”
“I’ll… have a think about it.”
“Don’t strain yourself, the bog gets deeper up ahead.”
With each pace, the lizard’s long legs sank halfway up the calves, and the human’s knees almost disappeared beneath the muggy water. She did not wear any protection on her legs, yet carried on unhindered, like she had done this before.
Slop pooled into his boots until his toes were mucky and wet, his knees reaching up to his chest from his over-exaggerated strides. The coat of paint that blackened his breastplate was starting to erode away from how much water sloshed about, revealing its original, chrome decor.
“The notice forgot to mention we’d be working in waist-high swamps,” he commented bitterly. Seeing the lizard so unaffected was annoying him a little.
“I’m doing fine,” she said, gesturing at herself. “It’s all in the technique, plus I know these swamps like the back of my foot.”
“It’s hand.”
Pausing by a stalk rising out of the bog, she looked back at him. “What?”
“You know things like the back of your hand.”
She looked down at her arm, extending her long fingers out in a flex. “Is it really? No wonder I’ve been getting all those strange looks.”
“Why would you know what the back of your foot looks like?”
“It’s a… lizard saying?” She explained, more to herself than him. “You humans wouldn’t understand. You’re always wearing boots or covering your feet up in armour. Those useless little toesey-thingies must be fragile. Not like these bad girls.”
Her leg came up from the water and planted against the stalk, her talons raking from left to right as she kicked out. The towering shroom listed off to the side and fell to the ground with a long splash.
The human gave the decapitated shroom a look before they moved on, the stalk as thick as his arm and packed with protective fibers. He wouldn’t want to be kicked by this lizard.
It wasn’t long before through the soup of condensing earth, a round piece of land broke through the waterline, green and mossy like they had come across the back of a giant turtle. Thin, hungry-looking trees sprouted up and out to create a wall of leaves, and through them he could make out the red and yellows of a bonfire.
“Camp’s just ahead.” She waved him on. “Come, I’ll introduce you to our new boss.”
“What’s his name?” he asked, the two pressing through the treeline.
“Diego Rou-something. He’s a wealthy guy from the upper-classes… hey, just like you! He’s hired his own entourage of personal cronies, plus all us mercs. He’s usually hanging around his big suave tent. Come.”
Within a sudden clearing, a group of tents huddled together with a roaring fire at their middle, there corners impaled into the soft dirt by long pegs. The perimeter was unwatched save for a lone human sipping at a tankard, giving the human and lizard a lazy nod as they passed. They must have thought their numbers would ward off any hostile fauna, the man spotting at least a dozen people milling about the camp, and many more voices murmuring behind the flaps.
Shrugging off an initial hesitation, he followed his lizard guide towards the largest tent, the sound of quiet voices and the occasional laughter reminding him of a tavern’s ambience, mixing oddly well with the background noise of crickets and sloshing water.
They stopped next to a long table set up in front of the most official looking pavilion. A man sat behind it, quill in his hand as he wrote down on slips of parchment, stacking them together once he was done. The setup reminded him of a bank lobby.
The lizard bowed, waving an exaggerating arm over to the table. “Here we are. Diego’s over there, you’ll have to sign up first, though.”
“Sign up?”
“Very official, isn’t it? Diego’s got a history of dealmaking, I think. He’ll need your signature before he’ll let you tag along.”
“Did you sign it?” he asked. The lizard rolled her eyes and said of course she did. “But how?” he asked. “You said you couldn’t read or write.”
“They read it out to me. As for signing it… I got by.” She smirked. “Chop chop, your lordship, go put those fancy reading skills of yours to the test.”
Her emphasis on lordship did not go unnoticed, and neither did the earlier bow. Folding his arms he said, “I think I’ve figured out how you know.”
“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow, or at least one half of her brow.
“My gear. It was the first thing you noted about me. Compared to everyone else here… I might as well be wearing jewelry.”
That smirk again, as if even though he’d figured it out, she was still amused by his participation. “Thought I had you stumped. Good to see you’ve got at least half a brain. Walking around in expensive plate isn’t exactly inconspicuous, you know.”
Even the vague torchlight surrounding them was catching the silver finish here and there, the contours of the breast piece angled in a way that would deflect blows from the front.
“And what’s with the colour?” she asked. “It’s like you’ve dipped the whole thing in a giant paint can. It looks terrible.”
“To deter any would-be thieves.”
“Shaddup,” she laughed. “You’re afraid someone will recognise your life of wealth. That’s so stupid. Look.” She cupped her hands over her snout and shouted: “Hey everyone! This man here was born in nobility!”
In the following silence, someone coughed, and another called out that he was too. The lizard gave him that smug again, so condescending that he had to will himself to not grit his teeth. “See? Only one person here actually cares.” Her claw tapped against his breastplate. “You. Question is, why?”
“Twopeople, actually. You remind me every five seconds, and I doubt you’ll stop.”
“You’re right about that, at least until you admit it.” She gestured towards the bench. “You shouldn’t keep the boss waiting, lordship.”
“Not coming with?”
“Someone has to guide you new guys in. I’ll be around for the big show, don’t worry, lordship.”
He tried to not let it show her new title of him was irking, instead giving her a grin and holding out his hand. “Just… call me Raynor.”
