Rogue Razor

The first few days weren’t too bad. Only about slightly longer than the trips they used to take as a team, but the illusion broke when the next week came.

Hadwyn had brought food with him, of course, so he wasn’t hungry, but he couldn’t afford a house. He had rented his whole life, and it seemed to be harder these days than ever to find a house. Hadwyn had been told by Guild members that it was a bad idea to buy a house, because Adventurers are always traveling, so the house would be a waste of money.

Hawdyn regretted not at least reserving interest. Sellers always preferred an Aldarian buyer because they were willing to pay more money.

That was also one of the problems. Sellers expected Hadwyn to not haggle or try to pay less than they wanted. Any conversation with a potential seller would end as soon as Hadwyn tried to negotiate with them. Most of the sellers were Aldarian. Hadwyn couldn’t find an Anivor seller no matter how much he looked. He didn’t know why he tried, it wouldn’t make a difference. He didn’t have enough money anyways.

Maybe it was because of the way he saw Anivors. Not at a lesser race to be protected and watched over, but as equals. Yes, It was an exaggeration, but Hadwyn saw how Aldarians talked of their counterparts. They were always referred to in group form.

Hadwyn often fantasized of knocking on the door of an Anivor and being received and housed. He never had a family of his own. No mother or father.

It was starting to get later in the year now. Winter crawled in, slowly but surely. There was no snow yet, but it was beginning to get so cold that Hadwyn found himself leaning against walls of warm buildings.

But he might have pushed his luck too far, because the owner of one of the buildings, a baker, spotted him and chased him with a stick.

The building was most comfortable, with a bench he could sleep on right next to it. And for the next few days the man stood outside the building with a wooden stake in his hands, he would move towards Hadwyn if he approached. But one day, Hadwyn saw him standing outside, but instead of holding a wooden stake, he held a loaf of bread. Hadwyn saw the man as not threatening, and let him approach. The man handed him the bread. Apologized profusely, and re entered his bakery.

Hadwyn munched on the bread as he took shelter next to the building. He was looked upon like a god, and it felt good in his mind, but somewhere in his gut, he felt twisted with wrongness.

Things began to get worse for the next few weeks. Irritated Aldarians who had been locked out of yearly progression quarreled in the streets. They were more brutal with monsters that spawned, mutilating them and hanging them on signposts. They fought one another frequently, forming gangs, they quarreled with guild members and sometimes attacked them out of spite. Hadwyn laid low, like always. At this point, it was becoming hard to find food. Everyone had their doors closed, and the snow came down hard.

People walked by, some pitied him, but no one gave him anything. He found himself a bowl and left it out. He never saw anyone donate.

A few days passed with no food, then a miracle happened. When he woke up, he found a bunch of coins sitting, wrapped with paper in his bowl. It had been given while he slept. He continued to receive these coins from that point, It would always be the same amount, 20 copper. Perhaps an Anivor felt bad for him, but didn’t want to have direct contact. Hadwyn could understand. He had seen firsthand how desperate the starving were. He saw one time a group of people jumping on a woman carrying out day-old food from his restaurant. They attacked her until Hadwyn ran out and scared them away.

“Get- Go away!” He yelled, waving his sword. It had worked and they ran away. Saving the young woman had filled him with some pride. And for his bravery, she and her husband let him dine with them that day for lunch and supper. They then offered to let him stay for the night.

It should have been a no-brainer but Hadwyn’s conflicting ideals forced him to refuse. If he couldn’t get on his own feet, He didn’t deserve the praise. The people he had chased away were exponentially weaker than him. And what he did was no different than what an Anivor would have done. If an Anivor had chased away the assailants, would he be praised in the same way? Hadwyn bid the couple farewell and condemned himself to another week under the cold skies.

Besides searching for potential threats to innocents, Hadwyn also spent most of his time keeping an eye out for people who he might have pissed off, or people who would find him an easy target for mugging. He saw people he recognized from the shadows. The man Dale, from earlier. He was alone this time, and he looked devastated.

It took no detective to figure out he had been kicked from his party. Now he too roamed this area in search of another party.

Hadwyn had stayed out of his way. No way of knowing if Dale still carried a chip on his shoulder, but he did know how Dale acted. He was quick tempered, impulsive, and generally rude. Hadwyn could explain why they kicked him.

One of the days, a man carrying water from a well accidentally bumped into Dale, who cursed and then pushed the man over, causing him to spill his water. The man ran away and Dale shouted curses. When Aldarians got into a fight and whatnot, he often asked himself: Where are the police?

But Hadwyn already knew the answer to that question. There weren’t any.

Well, there were police. But not police who dealt with Anivor crimes. There were no police in the sense of people tasked with dealing with Aldarians specifically.

Yes, a police officer could arrest an Aldarian, (if they were given the authority, of course.) and most Aldarians would comply peacefully, usually getting let off with a warning, depending on the severity of the crime. But even the weakest of Aldarians had the strength of a dozen men, and this posed some concerns, because there were certain crimes that the police would let the Aldarins get away with out of fear. Selling illegal drugs was a big one. If a police officer found a drug cartel, he would simply look the other direction. They haven't disturbed the peace, so why would you poke the beehive?

Anyways, one time, Hadwyn got too close to Dale, and Dale looked in his direction. When Hadwyn saw this, he slipped away. Since then, he didn’t know whether Dale had seen him, but he didn’t want to find out.

But unfortunately, Hadwyn’s luck ran out.

Hadwyn crossed paths with Dale while on his way to the square. Dale saw him and began following him. Hadwyn ran faster and made twists and turns, but Dale must have been an expert tracker, because even after Hadwyn lost sight of him, he still found him. Hadwyn retreated into an alley. It was dark and cold, and he pressed his body against a receded segment of the bricks.

Dale stood in the moonlight outside.

He was cold, bitter, and he was looking for a fight.

The nights outside had done a number on Dale. He had traded out his armor for a coat. But he had not gotten the best coat, for it was riddled with holes and coming apart at the seams. His face was gritty and filthy and his fingers were purple from the cold. He kept his sword.

Hadwyn didn’t make so much as a peep. He just waited, hoping Dale didn’t actually know that he was there.

“Hadwyn!” He barked. His voice oozed with hate and hurt pride. “Come out now and I will leave you with legs to walk! I won't ask again.”

When Hadwyn didn’t move or respond, Dale pulled out his sword. It made a screeching sound as it did, It gleamed with dried blood and had nicks in it. But the steel was sharp enough to reflect the light, which illuminated Hadwyn’s boots, he cursed silently and compacted his limbs, but it was too late.

“There you are, you piece of shit!” Dale seethed. “Get the fuck up and face me you coward.”

Hadwyn got up. Partially because of the insult testing him, and partially because the deal of not having his legs bashed in was starting to look pretty good about now, even though Dale would probably change his mind.

Dale’s face looked even worse than his clothing, his hair was unshaven and he was missing a tooth, which caused Hadwyn to suspect that he had gotten into another fight with another Aldarian and lost. His arms were covered in bruises. Hadwyn would have felt bad, if It weren’t for the fact Dale was going to give him the exact same treatment.

Hadwyn’s eyes darted around, looking for an exit. The alley was a dead end, but he was looking for a way to slip past Dale.

Dale saw this desperation and pulled one of the rubbish tubs near him, narrowing the exit.

“Well?!” Dale asked. “Are you gonna fuckin’ apologize?”

“Apologize for what?” Hadwyn’s voice cracked.

“For the shit you pulled back at S-games, bitch! You think i-im just gonna let that go? You think that's how shit works? The arbiter was bullshitting me, but I dont fucking let people disrespect me like that! So come over so I can teach you a lesson.”

So that’s why he got kicked out. Hadwyn thought. Dale had punched the arbiter, at least it seemed like that was what happened. But then why was he covered in bruises? Had the arbiter fought back?

Hadwyn didn’t know, just like a lot of other things he wished he knew.

“You’re still pissy over Fyrexias?” Hadwyn said, feigning bravery.

Dale dropped the end of his sword in anger. The tip hit the ground with a crack that echoed through the alley.

Nothing but the sound of the whistling winter winds filled for a few moments, then Dale spoke:

“This isn’t about the damn Fyrexias. It was about how you disrespected me in front of my party.”

He lifted his sword again. It gleamed once more. “I don’t let people just… just walk away from that, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. I know that you’re a bad sport.” Hadwyn blurted.

Dale glared at him murderously.

He pointed his sword to the ground. “Get on your knees and kiss my boots. If you do it, I'll use the flat end.” He twirled his sword menacingly.

FIGHT. HIM.

“Fight me.” Hadwyn blurted.

Dale paused for a second, stunned by Hadwyn's response. But he snorted in laughter.

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Hadwyn drew his own sword. But it was futile. As soon as Dale took his first step, he became a blur. Air wooshed around Hadwyn. Dale was running in circles around him, literally.

Hadwyn knew Dale was just toying with him. He swung his blade desperately into the blurring whirlwind, he turned again and again, trying to pinpoint Dale.

Then the onslaught began. Punches rocketed towards him from all directions, He put his arms up, but it was useless. He eventually cowered into a fetal position, with the blast of the wind stopping. Boot was put on Hadwyn’s head, and his face was pressed into the snow, suffocating him.

Dale put his other foot on Hadwyn’s sword hand.

“Apologize.”

Hadwyn grunted, he couldn’t apologize, even if he wanted to. He could barely breathe, already losing the feeling of his face against ice.

Dale pressed his foot down, parting the snow and crushing Hadwyn’s face against the ground. He felt his nose break under the weight, slowly.

Hnnnngggg… He groaned.

Dale’s smile widened. He pulled up Hadwyn by the hair and punched him in the face, sending him flying into the garbage tubs. He felt his skull hit the wall. Concussed, he struggled to let himself off the ground.

Big mistake.

Dale laughed. “You want more?”

Hadwyn moved his hand around, feeling for a loose brick. He was still dazed, and he didn’t know how accurate he would be, but he knew that if Dale got close enough, it would ensure a critical hit.

There.

As he desperately wedged his fingers between the cracked mortar, Dale approached, his sword gleaming again.

No… Not enough time!

Dale grabbed Hadwyn by the shirt.

“I don't think so!” A sharp female voice rang out.

Dale released his grip on Hadwyn, letting him slump to the ground. And without even looking behind him, whirled his sword around to cut down the visitor.

A blur.

A small clump of hair settled in place of the figure. Dale looked at it, perplexed.

A blur.

Now she was standing in front of him. Long black hair flowing, and formal pose. What a guardian angel she looked like. But Hadwyn's rational mind knew who this person was, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Not dazed, bleeding, and with tears in his eyes.

A determined look, as she turned away from Hadwyn to size up Dale, who was still distracted by the clump of hair. She put her hand up to hear head, she pulled away a clump of her own. She cocked her head. Then, she twisted her boot, crunching the snow beneath.

At this sound Dale turned, his hand twisting his sword into position.

But it was too late for him.

In a flash, the woman pulled out a stick… no, not a stick. What was it called again?

a… baton…?

She swung it with such ferocity and precision… It was beautiful…

And Dale's face caved in on impact, his jaw swung all that way open. His body flew to the side. His sword flew out of his hand and onto the street. Blood coated the wall he slumped against.

Hadwyn was awestruck when the woman turned to him. She had a small satisfied smile on her face, one immediately replaced with concern upon seeing him.

She approached him, her arms spread out. But she stopped, hesitating, as if not sure where to grab him.

Are you… Are you alright, Hadwyn?”

She… she knows my name…!

“T… t-thank… “

Then he was out cold.