Ekdikisi: A Sorcerer's Tale

[The Wandering Magus]

Will chuckled. "No more disgusting than what's above. World's just more honest down 'ere. No fake li'l mask o' civility t' hide away th' filth o' th' city. Big, bad an' in yer face."

He turned off to the side and into a tunnel that apparently had been connected to the sewers for a long time, although aside from the actual connection it looked like it was natural, just expanded a bit. To his slight shock, he could see lights and hollows to either side of the tunnel, some with flapping rags covering the entrance. The walls of the cavern had what could legitimately be considered good artwork, surprisingly. Most of the junk murals seemed to depict the rich oppressing the poor, but others were simply of what he could only guess were what children down here saw as entertainment, hunting rats or throwing knives at a wooden plank.

"Welcome t' th' Underground, boy."

 

[Rumor]

Crispin lightly touched the murals, looking down in disappointment. ''The underground? How can people live down here in this filth, disease, and.. poverty. I've had a man's blood on my hands before, but I'd rather not have a man's feces on my hands or my feet. How do these people survive in the winter? It seems impossible to me..''

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe. ''Will, how long do we have to stay down here?''

 

[The Wandering Magus]

The Old Man grunted. "Howe'er long 'em Xotika keep tryin' t' get a bite o' us. Underground's warded, streets ain't. An' yer gonna need stuff ye won't find upstairs if ye want t' survive."

He ducked into a larger tunnel crowded with all sorts of beggars, thieves, outcasts and shady merchants haggling from makeshift booths of ragged cloth and scavenged sticks. He stopped at a stall with racks of sharp weapons, many of which looked stolen. The scarred one-eye with missing teeth who ran it didn't offer up too much evidence to the contrary.

"Glass ain't gonna cut it, boy. Now yer most likely t' prefer a sword, but them's hard t' carry 'round an' run with, 'less ye carries it on yer back. Pick a weapon, any weapon. On me."

 

[Rumor]

Crispin sighs, remembering his old iron sword that he had since the day he became a squire. Now it was gone forever. ''I'd prefer a sharp iron sword, preferably never used by other hands if that'll work.'' Turning to Will, he beams an idea. ''Will.. can we sell the bodies of the Xotika for gold? I bet their skin would fetch a generous pay.''

 

[The Wandering Magus]

The Old Man thinks about it for a moment, then nods slowly. "Possibly, possibly. There's a few gypsies an' apothecaries 'round 'ere what might want some teeth an' hearts an' such. As fer th' sword..."

He gave the wares a cunning look, then pointed to a simple one. "Does we want t' know th' price o' this li'l degen, smug? An' don' ye try t' fun me, ain't a pair o' rabbit-suckers with our kickseys stuffed with mint."

The one-eyed man smiled, the scars along his face making it look almost savage as he held out his hand and performed a series of bizarre gestures with his fingers. Will stared at him with a stony expression until the grin faltered and the gesture was changed slightly.

"If ye thinks yer getting TWENTY bobs fer this piece o' trumpery, think again. Ten, no more."

The one-eyed man shook his head violently and made another series of gestures.

"Fine."

The Old Man counted out fifteen shillings and laid them neatly on the makeshift counter. The merchant counted and recounted each piece, biting them and holding them up to the light before nodding. Soon as he did, Will grabbed the sword, weighing it in his hands, then sheathed it and handed the package to Crispin.

"Keep good care o' that, boy. 'At's four month's labor there if yer lucky."