Chapter 6

The lost city of Arcadia was said to be the most beautiful city in the world. The bards say it was blessed by the holy mother herself, having been the first and only place a god has ever appeared in person, its main cathedral towering into the clouds. Legends say that the first one to find Arcadia, would be graced by the goddess able to lay eyes on her divine form, granting the lucky viewer eternal life.

Arcadia was said to have descended from the heavens, a city beyond compare with wide canals filled with crystal clear water that when drunk could heal any wound, with seventeen towering spires to protect its enormous population. It was said to have indoor plumbing to every house, and flowering trees that grew on the walkways of the canals, filling the air with a fresh smell of budding flowers. 

Most of the tales of Arcadia had doubtless been over-exaggerated, played up by the order every chance they got. After all, one day, as fast as it had arrived, Arcadia had simply vanished, a time known as the age of cataclysm. Rifts had started opening much more frequently, the inner reaches growing so dangerous that most of humanity was pushed back to the outer band of the continent. 

Perhaps the mythical city was still there, at the very center of the continent, or perhaps not. No even the holy church and its Templars, or the Cult of the Dark god had been able to take back what was lost in the cataclysm.

In stark contrast to the legend of Arcadia, the city of Svarten was a dump. According to the latest reports gathered by the church, over a million humans lived inside Svarten's walls, the sound and smell like no other. The city had long since exceeded its planned size, and now buildings started growing upward since they ran out of space.

Archivuald had heard rumors of the legendary odor and deafening racket, but experiencing it in person was not the same. It similar to a pigpen, the squeals of rusty axles and the sound of a blacksmith's hammer filling the air. Even so, the hectic atmosphere and pungent odor were like the sweetest nectar. 

It had taken two weeks of hard travel through the harsh wilderness, avoiding any signs of people, but they had finally arrived. Two weeks of foraging and hunting with little success.

By the time they reached Svarten, they were all hungry and exhausted. Yurlan had been right, they had all tightened at least one notch in their belts. At least getting inside the city was made easier than expected with Yurlan's connections. Archivauld and the bandits entered the city through a smugglers passage that went under the south wall, paying a hefty sum of two silver each. 

Two silvers that he could have used to buy weeks worth of food. His stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of roasted boar, or a whole pot of chicken soup with a buttered loaf of bread. 

After a few hours of waiting the the forest outside the south wall, they met a weasel of a man. With little words he led them to a hidden trap door, a passage directly into the slums.

Silvers changed hands. Archivuald hadn't heard more than a couple words come out of the man's mouth, and yet he didn't trust the man at all. Something about the way he glanced frantically around just put him on edge. Thankfully, nothing happened, and before long they found their way to a backwater tavern, with cheap beer and as Parcival said, cheap women.

The smell of pocky smoke was thick in the air as the door loudly creaked open, the four of them entering the dimly lit bar.

Many of the patrons glanced in their direction, but quickly went back to minding their own drinks. Staring too long in a place like this could get you shivved in a dark alley. Even their raised cloaks hiding their features were normal for the customers of jimmies pub. Over half the people in this tavern were thieves, dealers, and killers. 

From under his cloak, Archivuald gave the room a quick once over, the rich smell of pocky invading his nose, his eyes never lingering for too long. Noone seemed to stand out, but then again the dim atmosphere and thick smoke to help obscure faces was the reason most came here. At the head of the group, Yurlan led the way to the back of the bar, and they all ordered drinks from a scantily clad waitress.

"Hey beautiful, why don't you come join us, i'll buy you a drink," Parcival offered, giving the short and well-endowed waitress a once over. 

She gave Parcival a pleasant smile. "Sorry, I can't right now, Jimmy won't be happy if start drinking on my shift," 

"You won't have to worry about Jimmy with me around. Come on you pretty thing, I'll treat you right, what do you say?" Parcival asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her onto his lap. 

The waitress laughed, leaning in close, their lips separated by only a hand's breadth. 

"You can't afford my services," she said. With a deft movement, like she had done it hundreds of times, she slipped out of Parsival's grip. 

"If that will be all, I will get your food and drinks," she said with a coy smile. 

As the waitress turned to leave, Parcival smacked her shapely ass, which made her laugh. 

Archivauld thought the interchange would have drawn attention, but apparently not. 

The only one to pay any heed was the bouncer/ bar keep who was probably the Jimmy she was referring to, looking like he chewed rocks for fun. With the others distracted by the interplay, Archivauld took that opportunity to snatch the folded drink stained paper on the table and started reading.

As he did so, his grumbling stomach was momentarily forgotten. The front page was of course dominated by a picture of world renowned bard Kalasa Cavrial, probably one of the most famous people in the outer band, her melodic voice and beautiful appearance giving her almost as large a following as the holy mother herself..

Archivuald had never had the pleasure of hearing her sing in person, but everyone had heard her through the extremely popular recording stones for sell at nearly every market. 

"What i would give to have her in my bed," Parcival said with a lecherous smile.

Tanur guffawed, slapping the table. "Like she would be caught dead with a wastrel like you. Her cloak alone is worth more than our entire fortune combined. And besides, she probably has every high lord from here to the inner reaches trying to win her attention," Tanur said.

Parcival scowled, "Well, a man can dream, can't he?" 

Tanur laughed boisterously, "You, with that frail little thing? You would break her," Tanur said.

Archivuald ignored the two turning the page, his mouth going dry, and his eyes widening.

with a but the second was alarming. 

Word of the inquisitor's deaths near Carven should be a distant thing. And yet, there they were. The church's response was even more intense than expected, with four crudely drawn faces taking up half the second page.

Archivauld's hands shook slightly as he held up the paper, the group growing quiet.

"What is it?" Yurlan asked.

"Look for yourself," Archivuald said, numbly turning the paper, a pit forming in his stomach.

The table suddenly went deathly quiet as they all took in their own faces with their names listed above. It had them listed as the Red Star bandits. A small part of Archivauld had hoped he wouldn't be lumped in with these bandits, but that hope was killed and run over by cart. 

As if in defiance of his expectations, his name was listed above a picture of him. Archivuald Souder. Staring back at him was a tall, thick-faced man with grey eyes and a pudgy face, his curly black hair cut short.

Seeing the image of himself, with a mind boggling five gold bounty made his stomach lurch with anxiety. That was a staggering amount of wealth. Archivauld could live comfortably off five gold for the next forty years.

So much for the information merchant keeping his mouth shut. But how did they get images of their faces so quickly? Archivauld wished he wouldn't have gone to meet the merchant in person. 

 Yurlan and the others seemed just as flummoxed, the table quiet as they stared at their own posters.

Yurlan's poster showed a barrel chested, grizzled man with a square scarred chin and blond hair who was wanted for fifteen gold. Parcival was worth ten gold and looked more like a snake, with a hooked nose and thin lips, his eyes oozing malice even from the pages. 

 Tanur, worth ten gold as well, was big and beefy, with wide shoulders and a mean look in his eyes. 

Archivauld was the lowest bounty by half, even so five gold was an incredible sum, enough to make anyone take note. Every bounty hunter or rift walker enclave from here to Carven would be on the lookout in hopes of a massive payday.

It was not a pleasant thought. He knew the order would not take kindly to so many of their members being killed, but this seemed excessive.

At the back of the tavern in a private booth, it was Parcival who broke the uncomfortable silence first.

"I'm going to flay that damned loose lipped merchant alive," Parcival said, grinding his teeth together. 

"Not if I get to him first," Tanur growled." I'm going to break all of his limbs,"

Yurlan frowned, sitting back in his chair and tapped a thick finger thoughtfully on the table, the gesture drawing the group's attention.

Despite the unexpected situation, his voice was steady when he spoke. "The Order's response is quicker than expected, but it doesn't change much for us. Archivuald, this does put a damper on our agreement, though. With this high of a bounty on our heads, my contacts in the city will rat us out for sure. I will still uphold my end of the bargain, but we will need to go to Aslo first. I know a guy there who is reliable and trustworthy, even in the face of so much gold," Yurlan said.

Archivauld inhaled sharply, his mind a whirl of anxiety and self recrimination.

How had things become this dire so quickly? Nervin Cerque was likely doing a happy dance as he read the papers. That asshole of a priest had always had it out for Archivauld and this was just the thing to make that slovenly man go ballistic. 

Archivauld took several deep calming breaths, wondering what Malakai, or his fellow acolytes would think? Yurlan snapped," Yurlan asked.

Archivauld shook himself," Ya, sorry i was lost in thought. Going to Aslo is fine. The further we can get from Carven the better," Archivauld said.

Yurlan slowly nodded.

"Sounds like a workable plan. We will gather supplies and head for Aslo within the week. In the meantime, we will keep our heads down. I know we have been on the road for two weeks, plus several weeks on our rift hunt, but this isn't the time to get shitfaced. Keep your heads down and don't draw attention." He gave a sharp glance towards Parcival and Tanur before continuing. "I will talk to the bar keep. We will stay here for a few nights until we are ready to leave, keep it low-key, got it…" Yurlan trailed off as the waitress returned, placing full mugs of beer and a platter of food in front of each of them.

Having survived weeks on rations was bad enough, but that last six days had been the most brutal. The inquisitors they killed hadn't had much in the way of food, only being a day's travel from Carven. And since they had cast off anything that would slow them down, the food unfortunately had to go too. 

Given the circumstances, it was no wonder when the group attacked their platters of food like a pack of Nether eels, gorging themselves until they were stuffed to bursting. The food, though not anything to write home about, was plentiful. The beer which was watered down swill, tasted like the sweetest nectar on their parched throats. 

Before long, the anxiety of the last few weeks were washed away, the sounds of an out of tune lute filling the tavern and brightening the mood. The night was young, the plain faced women growing prettier with each beer.

Archivauld knew he wasn't what women would call handsome, but given a few weeks for his unkempt beard and his curly black to grow out, one could say he looked handsome in a rugged way.

Counting the rift excursion, it had been over a month of rough travel and the light rations hadn't hurt his chances either. Now that he thought of it, unless you knew him, he looked like a different man from the slightly pudgy, clean shaven and short haired man on the wanted poster.

His new appearance would never fool his little brother, but people who had never met him before would have trouble comparing the two.

Archivauld had been planning to get a shave and a haircut when he got the chance, but he changed his mind.

The cute lass sitting on his lap probably had something to do with his decision. He knew Violet was just doing her job, here to encourage patrons to spend their silvers, but her soft laugh, and the way she shifted on his lap, made his stomach flutter.

By now it was very late, or perhaps early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it. Yurlan had left the table some time ago, with two more workers joining, making it feel crowded. Somehow, Parcival had managed to convince the waitress from earlier to join them at the end of her shift, and was currently tongue wrestling with the fiery woman. 

The waitress laughed as Parcival picked her up, and the two stumbled upstairs, with Tanur following closely behind with his own lady.

Silvers would no doubt change hands, but Archivuald was too deep in his cups to mind paying a couple silvers for a night with a woman. The spindly lass, Violet, gave him a sheepish grin.

"Shall we retire to your room?" She asked, tracing her finger across his bearded chin.

His stomach fluttered at the proposition. All he could do was nod as she gave him that coy smile. Archivuald hadn't been with a woman in quite a while, atleast two years, since he was kicked out from the order. Add a few too many drinks, and how could he say no?

She led him up the stairs, his heart racing as they went back to his small room. The door had hardly even clicked shut before she was tugging off his pants, their lips entwined as she pulled towards the bed.

The room was thankfully dark, but even so, he gently batted her hands aside as she tried to take off cotton shirt. Even as drunk as he was, Archivauld was no fool.

One glimpse of his dual tattoos could end in disaster. Even if she was just curious instead of horrified, it would be very noteworthy, something Archivauld couldn't afford.

He wanted to be as forgettable as possible. Thankfully, she took the hint, her hand traveling lower instead. It was bliss, the touch of a woman after so long. Especially when she tucked her head under the blankets. Archivauld revealed in the sensation. The feel of her mouth was bliss.

Weeks of rough travel, and the threat of the church were washed away under Violet's expert touch. The night was young and Archivauld was more than willing. 

Archivuald awoke with a start, his head throbbing as light filtered in through the shuddered window. His small bed still smells like Violet's perfume, her side of the bed still warm.

Archivauld stretched, the blanket falling away to reveal his naked torso and its two opposing tattoos. He couldn't remember when exactly he lost his shirt, but Violet had been quite persuasive. 

No wonder Violet charged two silvers a night. Archivauld grinned, sitting up, and yawning. In his personal opinion, she was undercutting herself. With her power, and that soul stirring hip magic, Violet could charge double in a much fancier place than this dump. She had showed him her emblem, a node with the sole purpose of pleasuring her clients.

Who knew something like that could be so exhilarating? His idle thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as his stomach rumbled. The bed squeaked as he leaned off the edge, rummaging around for his clothes. 

Rugged, threadbare and dirty, but they were all that he had. Glancing around, he perked up as he spotted a large bowl filled to the brim with water.

Shambling over, he dipped a bare toe inside. Archivuald shivered. Well, at least the water was clean, even if it was cold. Better than nothing. He scrubbed himself clean, happy that it was at the height of summer, and the morning rays were already spilling inside.

Shivering, he scrubbed himself clean, all the while staring at himself in a hand sized mirror. 

As always, he was conflicted about the sight in front of him. His chest was divided in two, with the elegant swirls of the holy mothers mark on his left pectoral muscle, ending at his armpit, and the crudely carved patterns of the dark god on the right. 

The only active node on his left for his holy orb shone a bright copper, seeming a different hue from the left most eye or the dark god. 

Five eyes were still closed, with the only open one a much darker hue. 

Archivauld still hadn't activated the divine curse, even if he had funneled enough essence into it to push the node all the way to copper tier. There just hadn't been any opportunity while on the road.

He still wasn't certain if pushing the divine curse to copper tier was a mistake, but time would tell. 

As for the other five, still unawakened, they could wait until he tested out the first. Archivauld had enough problems as is, and didn't want to push his luck and find out what sort of troubling downsides the remaining curses might have.

Finally somewhat clean, he washed his dusty and sweat stained clothes before ringing the water from them. He lay in bed for a few hours, hanging his clothes in the window to dry. Eventually though, his growling stomach became too much. He put on his mostly clean, yet still damp clothes and went downstairs. 

Anxious about being recognized in broad daylight, he hadn't shaved his beard, and to be extra cautious, he let his unruly hair fall around his face. It should take a very discerning eye to match him to the man in the papers. Even so, he sat at the back of the bar, where the lighting was the worst, his cloak pulled up just in case.

As if summoned from thin air, Violet appeared, setting down a full mug of beer and a steaming bowl of soup, a genuine smile adorning her face. 

"There you are my dear," Violet said.

"But I haven't even ordered, yet," Archivuald said. 

She laughed, the sound like music to his ears. 

"This one is for the pleasant evening last night. I had a lot of fun," Violet said. 

Archivuald flushed at her words, which only made her smile widen further. 

"I should be thanking you for the memorable night lady Violet, It was just what I needed," Archivuald said.

Violet laughed. "I'm no lady, but it's good to get some appreciation for my efforts," Violet said.

"Would you like to join me?" Archivuald asked, giving her a sheepish smile.. 

She grinned. "Sorry love can't, I am working tables right now. Perhaps later, once Tessa comes down. She is late, must still be with that friend of yours," Violet said, slapping his arm playfully. With that, the woman sashayed away, her swaying hips bringing back soul stirring memories from the night before.

It was only once she disappeared from sight that he took notice of the fragrant chicken soup, his stomach growling in protest. Oh, right! He was famished.

Archivuald dug in, devouring a half loaf of bread and the bowl of slightly over seasoned soup like a rabid animal. It was still quite early to be drinking, but the beer hit the spot.

With a full belly, a slight buzz and a mostly empty tavern, he could almost relax. Eventually, Violet seemed to get fed up.

After over an hour of waiting tables, occasionally glancing at the stairs leading up to the second floor, Violet seemed frustrated. After a conversation with the grizzled barkeep, both Violet and the man who must be Jimmy went upstairs. Archivauld thought nothing of it, savoring his second beer of the morning, his worn axe resting at his side, leaning on the table. 

Parcival and Tessa were probably just sleeping in after the night's festivities. 

At first, there was some distant knocking, a sound went on for nearly a minute. The knocking stopped, just before there was a loud crash of door being kicked off its hinges, followed by a high-pitched scream. Everything seemed to happen all at once, a bellow of pain, which was quickly followed by a disheveled Parcival tumbling head over heels down the stairs.