Master's Journey: Stranger in the Stacks #2

Author's Note: Answer last time was Low Elf! So, here goes!

[story]

_______________________________

‭“How am I not surprised it’s one of your kind in here?”

Your kind? Right. You assume she must be referring to the fact that you’re a low elf, one of the pointy-eared miscreants from beyond Vauntreux’s western borders. You’d sorta hoped your people’s reputation hadn’t reached all the way out here... but it looks like you were wrong.

“Quite the wily one, her,” Hom, the dwarf, joins in. “Hate to see this little no-val out on the streets like she’s one of us.”

“Don’t worry,” the woman sighs. “The streets will eat her, the same way they eat everything else. Open the cell.”

Hom pulls a ring of heavy iron keys from his cell, stubby fingers jamming one of the smaller ones into your cell door. He turns it with a heavy clunk, and you hear the echoing, metallic click of the lock opening. The door swings open, and the human woman extends one hand -- dangling from her finger, a pair of steel handcuffs. “Put them on.”

You narrow your eyes for just a moment -- but as much as you don’t want to comply with even the simplest request, there’s nothing you want more than to get the fuck out of this cell, wherever else that ends up bringing you. With a muted sigh, you take the cuffs and click them into place around your wrists, arching a brow at your two jailors in a silent ‘There, happy?’ They seem to be.

“Compliant for a low,” Hom chuckles, “might do better than we expect, Masata.”

“It would be just like you to make your fuck-up everyone else’s problem,” the woman scoffs, then turns her attention back to you. “Come on, runt. Let’s go.”

You stumble out of your cell, blinking your eyes as you’re brought under the harsh glow of the tinkerlights above, light that doesn’t fully reach into your cell. Your legs are unsteady from lack of use, but you find your footing quickly enough, following the two officers back the way they came. Down the hall, through another large steel door, and into a sort of processing area. There’s a desk at the north wall, a door mirroring the one you came through that likely leads to another prison wing, and a large door carved from darkwood -- perhaps the way out and into civilization. Huge, sliding metal shelves contain the past lives of those now incarcerated here, and in front of them is a table of unclaimed contraband, yet to be either sorted or disposed of. Some paperwork, some drugs. Mostly weapons.

Behind the desk is an older human man, sporting a full, grizzled beard and half-moon spectacles, sorting out paperwork before the woman, Masata, approaches him, leaving you with the dwarf. Relying on your keen elven hearing, you manage to pick up a little of what she says. “Alright, we have a prisoner that needs release. Turns out Hom caught her border-hopping and threw her in here without filling out the proper forms or properly reading out her rights.”

“Deportation, then?”

“Any of the proper forms. She could be anyone, be from anywhere. No namecard, no distinguishing markings beyond the tattoos. Nowhere to send her, no recorded crime to keep her here.”

“Pfff. Surprised that dwarf ain’t been fired, yet....”

You zone out their conversation as your eyes focus in on the table of weapons, scanning through them, imagining what you could use. If you’re going to be out on your own in Vauntreux, with no friends and no money, you’ll need to protect yourself. Maybe you could steal one...?

“Ey, no-val,” Hom nudges you hard with his elbow, a hit that might have hit the ribs of someone his height. It hits your hip instead. “You got your eye on any of that? It’s all getting disassembled later... I could make sure one of ‘em gets to you on your way out. Call it a ‘head start,’ eh? Go on -- pick one.”

You blink, giving the dwarf a brief look before turning your attention back to the table. There’s a lot there, but not a lot you’d want. A lot of junk, a lot of repeats. Some things do stand out to you, though....

1) Sword -- Swords are solid all-around weapons, able to effectively beat against magical defenses and armor alike. Not too flashy, and not too stealthy either, but plenty dependable.

2) Dagger -- You want something you know you can hide. The deadliest strike is something nobody sees coming.

3) Pistol -- Just one shot, will it be enough? Pistols are loud, slow, and absolutely devastating, shredding through armor like cardboard. Not good at penetrating magical defenses, though.

4) Fetish -- Held in the palm, fetishes are the perfect way to concentrate magical power. You’ve studied a bit of sorcery in the past, and while you don’t consider yourself a master at it, your best bet may be with one of these funky little talismans.

5) Crossbow -- Lacks the power or portability of a pistol, but it’s quiet, and will penetrate arcane shields.

6) Hatchet -- The best weapon is a good tool. You’re a survivalist, through and through, and you’d rather get your hands on something that will keep being useful when nobody’s trying to kill you.