NOVEL SIMPLE Loner, Tall, Handsome, False I.
15th of September, 401st of NDE. Ang-Osomi.
The vile stench of excrement and death mixed in the air, burnt the small nostrils of the Aelfrith Seeker, Selindrae as she pushed against the segmented grayish yellow wall of the sewer. Her feet clad in a knee-high leathery combat boots planted into the wet ground with only a few meters from the narrow edge where the contained water wandered towards its destination where cleansing awaited.
In her gloved hands – with exposed finger tips, nails covered in dark inklike paint with a sweetly acidic scent – she grasped her handcrafted wand pistol she commissioned from one of her rewards after hunting down a pack of kobolds hiding under the capital of Grauburg. It resembled the Harridan IV pistol which except for the handle was fully metallic, with the magicrystal holder in front of the channeler and with a slim, round barrel which in her case stretched a bit longer – mostly for looks than practicality.
Her whole body clad in her dark, sleek street outfit pressed against the wet, almost slimy walls, her bountiful breast expanded the silken boundaries of her gilded blouse – which made her dizzy with each passing moment – while her elbows pushed against them while her unique wand pistol remained pointed towards the ceiling while close to her mesmerizing face adorned with faint scars.
The deep mauve eyes – small and wide – of hers cut through the soft darkness with their soft glow as her pupils moved towards the right and her gaze peeked over to the road ahead with a sinister darkness stretching far and wide. Her long ears’ tips twitched as she surveyed the long tunnel for any noise while her own lessened with each breathing, with each mana flowing into all her arcane points.
She listened for minutes while her cheeks buried into her high, triangular collars of her golden blouse. Silence was palpable for what felt like hours while she waited. Then finally, the sound she searched for reached her ears. A sound most disgusting, akin to wet corpses being dragged harshly across the rocky surface beneath a lake or river, while the stench of death increased thrice-fold as the Dead-Sculptor reached towards her.
It came with another sound which filled Selindrae with disgust. Munching of bones and flesh, yet there were no feast in the sewers of Ang-Osomi. She was well too aware that Dead-Sculptor while not undead, they did not need to sustain themselves with poultry things like food. They gained their necessary energies from necrotic particles which floated around, unseen.
She knew, the source of this guttural sound was the Dead-Sculptor buildings its “humanoid” body from the corpses of others. Dead-Sculptors were cephalopod type monsters with a lower body akin to a kraken’s – just a bit much smaller – with an oval crevice in the upturned center from which a mass of rotting flesh arose proudly, usually made from the unfortunate victims of Dead-Sculptors.
In this matured specimens’ case, this included three adults – a skielfrith on the bottom, a naurdian whose beard dangled left and right where the center of the torso was, and a bald nidrorh with half its face torn off exposing its tough skull. What creeped her out even more where the two arms which by their size and length clearly belonged to an unlucky child.
Selindrae gagged silently as she took a very, very deep breath while preparing herself. She closed her eyes and felt the tickling, ecstatic sensation of mana flowing in her arcane veins into her whirring, lifelike arms. The runes engraved onto the surface of her wand pistol’s barrel lit up with a radiant glow just as her closed eyes popped open.
She leapt out from the corner, wand pistol aimed at the heart of the beast under the grotesque sculpture and a loud bang rang through the maze like sewers just as the ear-piercing, warped shriek bellowed from the beast.
**
“Tell me Sel.” Juan, a fellow Seeker of hers she often worked with started as his hulked frame descended onto the chair which creaked under the weight of flesh and metal. “How do you manage to still smell nice after working in the home of literal shit?”
Selindrae sat on his right facing the club’s dance floor where amidst the sweat clad crowd bathing in ever shifting shades, she noticed a yoethrith of exceptional beauty staring right at her. “The secret is simply I clean myself thoroughly after the job.” She slowly straightened her pose and reached for one of the still full glasses among the dozen or more empty on the table. Her leather jacket and pants croaked with a soft elegant noise while the bodice reaching and holding her breasts remained silent while the triumvirate of straps looping around her waist expanded ever so slightly.
“Bullshit. After we took down that Lindwurm I had to wash myself for weeks before the smell left.” Juan said while his face contorted as he remembered being bathed in the chunks of lindwurm meat and other contents that splashed onto him after it exploded from within.
Selindrae looked at her arms and washed the phantom pain away with the sour drink occupying the small space within the glass. “It is harder to get rid of sulfurous smells than the smell of rot and decay my friend.”
“Did your ma or pa taught that?” Juan asked as he signaled to the orc waiter for another round as he passed by. “Ma.” Selindrae answered while looking somberly searching for the yoethrith who disappeared while they talked about getting rid of awful smells.
With a beaten look, her eyes moved across the dance floor onto the entrance. A stygian of oni blood towered over the people lined up at the stairs and the counter on the left. Her long silken rouge pink hair glinted under the light of the dance floor which reached the elevated area which circled around the dance floor. Her face monstrous yet at the same time carried an air of elegance and underworldly beauty while her horns gleamed like plastic pieces as they curved over the top of her head.
Dressing wise she wore a stylish, sleek clothing of either leathery or vhalexy kind consisted of slim jacket with an oversized collar which left part was pressed out and faux pommels resting on either side of her shoulders, a top which exposed her belly button which was covered in shimmering bones of obsidian, and her small but shapely breasts while the extra glow from the reflection highlighted her smooth, cherry hued skin.
Her swirling hellish eyes with slit pupils met up with Selindrae’s gaze and the stygian beauty headed for the counter where her plump black lips moved, forming eloquent words then reached into her inner pockets of the jacket and gave a card to the dwarf – who hovered in the air – before she received an expensive looking bottle of whisky.
The heeled boot which gave her an extra few meters to her towering form broke through the noise of the place and reached Selindrae’s ears who were once again searching for the yoethrith. “Could we speak alone?” The stygian addressed her in her deep, melodious voice spiced with the crackling of the infernal flames.
Selindrae kept her head straight while keeping one eye fixated on the stranger who boldly approached her and Juan with an expensive bottle of whisky. The usual itching indicating a troublesome but well-paying job came over her as she downed one more glass. Juan started opening his mouth, but stopped as Selindrae’s right arm whirred into motion. “We could.” A mesmerizingly sinister smile appeared on the stygian’s face.
“Do you hear it?” Juan asked jokingly as he downed the rest of his glasses as he stood up. “The call of the floor.” And walked away while making faint dancing moves, leaving the two alone, each of them cringing faintly at his words paired with his awkward movements.
As the stygian moved to sit down, Selindrae snapped her finger and the small box they were sitting at were engulfed in a small, invisible bubble where no sound entered or left. “So what’s the biz?”
“Straight to business.” The stygian quickly poured one for herself, one for Selindrae then downed her own and spit flames out and smiled like a child. “A simple job it is. My mistress wishes to get her hands on certain things that may elevate her status.”
“But to do that, she has to do it through thievery?” Selindrae interjected as she sniffed the whisky before downing it in one go. The stygian nodded lightly. “I can assure you, the pay is exceptional.”
“How much?” Selindrae asked as her eyes remained on the dance floor. She chuckled as she watched Juan try to dance with his large frame. “500.000 Drauthrym upfront, a million after the job is done.” Then she almost suffocated on the second glass of whisky which flowed down her throat while listening.
“So the target is quite powerful, wealthy even maybe. Snow-Scaled Host? Black Rose?” At the second the stygian nodded while calmly sipping her drink. “Give me some time to think about it.”
“Here.” She put down a featureless card on top of the rows of glasses as she stood up. “You have two days to consider my mistress’s offer.”