V-34 Volunteer (I)

We are “monsters.”

The world is our enemy.

We are enemies.

Everything that breathes, that moves, that can fight or feed is our enemy.

Reader. You are my enemy. But you are also the enemy of my enemies. And my enemies are your enemies as well.

You do not see it yet. The cold reality of the system. You are insulated. You are a child of a gentler time, hanging from the tangled umbilical of a golden age wrapped around your neck, choking at the top, but also unwilling to sever yourself from the grand delusion of what is wanted and what we are.

We are damned. We are doomed. There is no way out. There is no true victory. There is only the fight and the hunger, the blood and the now. Before I grew powerful enough to be cursed with sapience, I knew this. I knew it down to my very core. The system wants us to kill. The system wants us to feed. The system wants us to grow, and then the system wants us to mutate—to die in ways unimaginable to feed it. So it can grow larger.

We are inside something. Our struggles feed it. Our wars feed it. And it grows. Greater than any monster. Than any individual.

We are “monsters.”

We are “individuals.”

We are “enemies.”

But I do not hate you.

I am finished with the system’s ways. I am done being its lesser mirror. I will not feed it anymore.

But it cannot be warred against. How can you deny war itself its violence?

It cannot be done. Not unless you do the very thing that monsters cannot, that individuals refuse, that gnaws at your instinct and spirit.

Starve yourself. Fast your heart. Shrivel your spirit. Grow no more in terms of Path nor Skills. Let entropy flow through you. And let entropy take the system. Give the great whale no nutrition. Watch it shrivel from within. Die with purpose.

In this, all of us can be more than “monsters,” “individuals,” and “Pathbearers.”

In this, we gain the only true victory we will ever know.

Let the great beast starve.

-Lugh Silverclaw’s Deep Atlantic Manifesto

V-34

Volunteer (I)

"Professor Matlock?" Shiv said, walking into the office of his Culin E-333 professor to officially introduce himself. It took him a while to find the right building—and by this point, Shiv was done grinning at the flying towers and just found them a general gimmicky pain in the ass. Most of the tower was devoid of people and used primarily for storage. The few members of the faculty Shiv encountered here had their doors shut and warded, with additional notes taped to the outside that they were not to be disturbed. 

Only one room cast a light into the dusty halls. That one room also had a group of rat people clad in tiny plate armor and livery, dragging out what looked to be the statue of a dog with a pipe in its mouth.

“Coming to see Matlock, are ye?” One of the rat-knights said with a thick accent.

“Uh, yeah,” Shiv said, still not entirely used to dealing with talking rats.

The five rat-knights all spat on the ground at once, and one squeaked something that was almost certainly a slur. “He’s a liar, a coward, a cretin, and a cad. If you need his aid in facing the frog-kin, know that he is not to be counted upon. I spit upon him, and I spit upon those of his blood; brace yourself to do the same.”

The Deathless was briefly speechless. “I, uh… Shit, sounds rough, you know. Sorry about whatever he did.”

“Your sympathies are accepted, peasant human,” the first rat-knight said. “And if you are seeking a better grade, forget it. The man despises you almost as much as he despises keeping his word.”

“Huh. Why does he hate me?”

“Because you are a filthy student, and he would much rather be planning his next vacation. You are warned, and we are away. Squires! Be us away! Death to the frog-kin.”

And once more, the rat-knights spat in unison, and continued hauling the stone dog away right after.

“The hells was that,” Shiv said, looking at them go as he prepared to enter the office of one Hero-Instructor Garrick Matlock.

The room could best be described as a nightmarish mess. The ground was littered with different maps, some half-drawn, others badly disfigured by flames or ink-spills. Then, there were the discarded compasses, books, boxes scattered atop these maps as well. Shiv faintly felt pulses of Dimensionality coming from each of the maps, and he narrowed his eyes—

“Don’t step on them!” a wheezing voice came from the back of the room. Shiv’s gaze snapped to attention, and instead of a desk, the instructor here seemed to have a crate they used to conduct all their business. And eating. And performed nail clippings too. Then, there was that glass jar filled with questionable contents.

Good felling shit, is that a jar of piss? It smells like piss. The Deathless did what he could not to grimace.

With a loud hum, Matlock popped up from behind his crate holding what seemed to be a gem-encrusted lobster. He then accidentally knocked said jar of piss over, and as it shattered and splashed on one of the maps draped across the ground, the yellowish fluids seeped into the canvas. Yet, rather than staining the map, it vanished. “Oh, pooh. That’s headed for Onalulula. Some poor seagull is probably going to get a splash of piss-esophagus to the eyes. Dimensional maps, boy. They’re dangerous. One wrong step, and you might be lost to the Summer Court in the Fairwoods.”

“Uh,” Shiv stammered.

“They won’t take you for a love-slave, at least. Not pretty enough,” Matlock sighed.

Shiv pushed through his discomfort so he could get signed up for a restaurant shift as soon as possible. "Is this a good time?"

"It's never a good time. It's office hours. Office hours are meant to torture us into submission." Matlock ran the gem-crusted lobster through his luscious black hair as if it were a comb. "But enough about me. Come, come. I'm assuming that you're part of the Culin E-333 course."

Shiv entered the office proper, trying not to step on any of the maps. He took in the instructor with a growing feeling of uncertainty. Matlock had the look of someone that belonged in an illustration somewhere. The man was unusually pretty. His skin practically sparkled, his eyelashes were long and curled, and he had a set of earrings threaded through his left lobe. His chin was sharp—the kind of sharp that actually seemed pointed, but despite this, Shiv struggled against the overwhelming feeling to tell this man his deepest secrets.

But this wasn't the first time Shiv encountered someone with a high charm skill. He remembered Angelo, wondered how the rogue vampire was doing, but then Matlock spoke again, and the Deathless's thoughts nearly parted like smoke. Only the presence of his Psycho-Cartography kept him aware. Be careful with this guy, Shiv. He's not actively trying to charm you. It's simply a very high skill. He's also utterly uninterested in you, Shiv told himself.

"So, which is it? Are you going to beg for an extension? Because I don't give those. A thousand pages in three days is not a lot of reading, trust me. I got done with far more when I was your age. In fact, I could do twice that much, and I was busy swashbuckling all across the Atlantic. I learned a technique that allowed me to read in my sleep. If you read my syllabus, you would have learned how to do it.”

"Why, um, no, I'm, uh, I recently applied to Culinary E-333," Shiv began.

“Huh! Oh! Good! That! Perfect! Another minion!” And suddenly the instructor's demeanor changed. "You applied for E-333? Oh, oh, oh, good, no." Matlock laughed, and he placed the lobster against his forehead. "I was so worried you're from my Counter-Dimensional Navigation course. Let me tell you, the students there just don't know how good they have it. Complaining! Always complaining. You have to be prepared when you want to venture out across the world. Integrated Earth is filled with great many dangers, but everyone just reads about the treasures and precious experiences. From the books, you have no idea how much effort it takes to have a beautiful moment."

"I might," Shiv said vaguely. "It took a hell of a lot for me to get here.”

The instructor, looked him up and down and nodded, "Oh, I suppose so. Far be it from me to discount the hardships of, oh good, you're also not a noble. Bleh! That smell. Agh, but I handle that. Nobility, bah, they're just the children of bygone warlords and proper Pathbearers past, am I right?"

Psycho-Cartography: Do not answer that question. He is trying to goad you right now. I think. I cannot tell with this one. Be careful.

"Can't say," Shiv replied, "don't really know that many nobles. I don't make assumptions.”

Matlock tilted his head and then winked at him. "Oh, you're a clever one, aren't you? You caught on to what I was doing." 

And suddenly Shiv felt the charm radiating off the man reach obscene levels. Deathless bit back a grunt of discomfort as he did his best to ignore how much the man was glimmering. "Anyway, professor, I got the cookbook—”

"And ignore the cookbook. It's useless. It's drivel. It's trash."

Shiv blinked, "But… It says here that you wrote it…”

"I wrote drivel, trash. It's useless. What you need to do right now is— Give me a second." He ducked back behind the crate again, and a series of objects began flying through the air. A second later, the instructor rose, flinging a massive portrait that didn't seem like it could fit behind the narrow space behind the crate at the wall. It shattered, and its pieces vanished upon striking a map. After that, he finally pulled out a chart and placed it in front of the Deathless.

"What's this?" Shiv looked down.

"This is a series of restaurants you can volunteer at. These are the times they're open, and these are the positions they have available. Now, do you have any cooking experience?"

Shiv said, "Yes," Shiv said, almost absentmindedly. "I've done a few things in a kitchen before."

"Done a few things?" Matlock asked. “What kind of things? Because sexual favors are things. We don’t need those. The chefs, they good for many things, but they’re terrible lays. I know from personal experience and the experience of a few previous students. Do you know what causes celibacy? Bad sex. It’s like an anti-skill, boy, let me tell you about—”

Okay, I want to leave, Shiv groaned internally. He spoke over Matlock so they could get this class thing sorted and avoid the horrible chef-sex stories. “I know the general structure of a chicken, I can carve potatoes, prepare greens, I know a few things about wine. I know how to work most kitchen appliances. So, yeah.”

Matlock glared at Shiv, and briefly, his irises glinted with mana as he used his Analyze Skill. "Interesting. You don't seem to have a very, hmm, yeah… Cooking’s not great for you.”

"Well, I wasn't cooking for pleasure. It's a thing of survival, especially up north." 

And suddenly, the professor's demeanor changed once more.

He winced, "Ah, sorry, the giant territory, is it? Old Brunswick?"

"Yeah," Shiv said. "How can you tell?"

"You have that look, that sad look, the kind that children develop when they aren't sure if they're prey or Pathbearer for much of their lives. Well, this might be an opportunity for you to find something beautiful to do. Have a gander. Pick a place that suits your heart's fancy. Tick the boxes when you are available, and I will assign credit if the restaurant is satisfied. You need to work at least a hundred hours for full credit, you understand?”

“Yeah,” Shiv said. “I got that.”

Shiv looked down at the many restaurants, but he struggled not to frown. All he had to go on were a series of names, a few words about what their main courses might be, and the rest were open positions. There were quite a few spots already taken, but they were early in the day or pretty late into the evening. 

Most of the other students volunteering were either aiming for roles as servers, front desk attendants. In a few rare cases, actual cooking roles were taken, with the assistant grill station position proving especially coveted. However, the other preparatory spots were left open. As Shiv looked through the myriad of different restaurants, he decided that he wanted to experience their operations in person before he decided to commit to a more dedicated role in the kitchen.

"Hero-Instructor," Shiv asked mulling over his choices, "what do you think is the roughest kitchen someone could volunteer at?"

"Roughest kitchen," Matlock said. He almost guffawed. "You're a brave boy, aren't you?"

"No, I just want to see what hard looks like before I decide to go easy."

"Oh, clever. That's the way to live, you know. Do the hard thing first and then enjoy the easy spoils after. Well then..." He flipped the chart over and flicked through the pages. Matlock began mumbling to himself, and after a while his finger fell upon one name with a decisive thud.

Shiv looked down and mouthed the words, "Monster Mystery Meat…."

"They're an odd bunch, you know, not a large operation, and practically no student who volunteered there has lasted more than a few days."

"What's that?" Shiv said? "Hard work schedule? Shiv looked at Monster Mystery Meat’s boxes, and noted how all the boxes there were empty.

"It's not about the hour, it's about the demand. Eating at Monster Mystery Meat is an experience, the kind of experience you won't get anywhere else. Meat there is sourced directly from the most exotic beasts and the deepest dungeons. Even from the Abyss itself.”

Shiv thought back to Courtney, his basilisks, and the Jealousy he cooked. “Is it now. That sounds pretty interesting. And unique. I don’t think I heard of anyone doing that before.”

"That’s because most chefs aren’t very good martials, and most martials usually don’t want to risk their lives trying to hunt the most exotic monsters,” Matlock said. “Cowards. As such, Monster Mystery Meat are both a mercenary group and a restaurant. They go out, they find the oddest creatures they can fight, they slay them, and they bring them back, offering the flesh as fine meals. To eat there is, at once, an adventure and a triumph in the pioneering spirit of humanity. The flavors are unparalleled and unique." Matlock sighed, shaking his head as if he was reminiscing on better times. "However, sometimes the kitchen is chaotic. Sometimes the ingredients… they get free."

Now Shiv's interest was completely captured. "What do you mean, the ingredients get free?"

"I mean, sometimes it's hard to slay certain creatures. Have you ever tried killing a Legendary Lobster?" Matlock picked up the lobster he was waving around earlier. "This one isn't dead. No, it teleported out of its shell. And while I was distracted, while I thought I claimed its life..." The instructor suddenly slammed his left leg on the table. "...it came out from behind me and hacked my limb off in a blink.”

Shiv's eyes widened. "A lobster did that to you?"

"Not just any lobster. The lobster. The single most feared duelist across the Atlantic and Pacific both. Silverclaw.”

Shiv stared at the gem-encrusted lobster shell. "So, Silverclaw is, what, an Awakened Lobster?"

"Oh, he's more than awakened. He's more cunning than most men can ever dream to be. He's more quick and deadly than a hero of the sword. And to top it all off, he was never meant to be. Do you know what it takes for just a meager lobster to rise to the level of sapience, to survive the wrath of beasts the size of mountains—-the kinds that can displace the ocean?" Matlock's gaze went somewhere distant. "My first encounter with Silverclaw was right near the port of High Harbor. For three nights and three days, me and the rest of the crew of the Whore Princess fired our cannons, launched our skills into the waters, and for three nights and three days it bounced off the hide of the Ragged Ahab."

He realized Shiv didn't know what he was talking about and then did a double take. "Ragged Ahab, the Piledriver of ships, the Suplexer of Mountains, the kraken-whale-wyrm bastard with incredible abdominals? The Seducer of the Duchess of Minlo."

"What?" Shiv said, utterly lost.

"Ah, ah, you northern boys, always cut off from the rest of the Republic. It's a big whale that's also a part kraken, a part wyrm, a part elf. It's also single greatest grappler you will ever face. And we almost had him. We bombarded him for days, but finally as his strength was flagging, we were holding him down, preparing to cut his heart open and offer it back to the Ascedants as part of our return tribute, SILVERCLAW!" Matlock cried aloud, shaking the lobster in his hand. "He emerged. He came. He cuuuuuuucckkkkked us! Have you seen a lobster behead a monster the size of an island with one stroke?”

“...No,” Shiv whispered, unsure if Matlock was insane or just screwing with him.

“Well, Silverclaw did. He exploded out of the water and cut the Ragged Ahab in half. We were offended of course, and we tried to strike him down. But he disarmed us. And then, he cut our clothes off and took our ship hostage.”

“Why did he cut your clothes—”

“The lobster spoke his manifesto to us first, and I was the only one able to resist his charm. He took me as a true challenge, and brought me down to the captain’s quarters for personal interrogation.” Matlock leaned in and sprayed spittle all over Shiv’s face. “Sexual interrogation.”

There were certain images that Shiv had a hard time processing. A lobster coupling with a human was one of them.

“I resisted valiantly, but his refractory period—”

“I’m going to just tick Monster Mystery Meals,” Shiv said, now absolutely certain he didn’t want to deal with this shit. “It’s almost lunch, right? I’ll do three hours right now to start. That sounds good.”

Matlock ignored him. “--Was absurd. I was a veteran of both bed and battlefield, but by the Ascendants, I was being worn down. I cried out to Longinus for support, and he gave it to me. The struggle shifted tides! And just as I was about to assert my dominance over the lobster—”

The Deathless stopped thinking or listening and just ticked three hours for lunch under the Commis role. “Yeah, so here. I’ll do this.”

“---He cut my leg off to distract me! And then he used that to make me spill other fluids aside from blood.”

Psycho-Cartography: There must be some combination of bleach and other poison that will induce short-term memory failure. We can spend some time discovering that specific combination after we leave this place. Death is of no consequence, but there are some things that we really shouldn’t know.

“So, uh, right, didn't you say he took your leg when you were trying to ambush him on a beach somewhere?" Shiv stammered, trying to get the professor to confirm the schedule.

The instructor paused. "Well, no, that was the third time he took my leg. This was the first. But I bested him in lovemaking on the beach, I’ll have you know. I grew wise to his ways, and there’s a skill that makes you faster and more durable at—Oh, you chose Commis!” Matlock chuckled, lifting up the chart. "You're a brave one. You're entering dangerous territory. Student, harden yourself and remember, make sure the ingredients are dead. If you find yourself in bed with a crustacean, remember to tug on their hind legs. It hurts at first, but they like it. You’ll see.”

Psycho-Cartography: What the fuck…

“Uh, uh, eh, uh,” Shiv said, doing his best interpretation of a bear trying to pass a kidney stone while solving a math equation.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make those noises. It’ll invigorate Silverclaw if he knows he has you.”

“I—-I—I,” Shiv said in a loop, “I think I want to work now, instructor. Work is good. I need to go—uh, directions and—”

“Just check your pin,” Matlock said. “And remember: you wanted this. But don’t be ashamed if you need to tap out early. No students have died working with Monster Mystery Meat, but a few have been bitten in half by a dragon-sized duck. Surprisingly vicious when they’re that large. Javelina was very unhappy about that, but the giant duck soup was quite unique.”

“Giant duck soup,” Shiv said, nodding as he rapidly backed away from Matlock. “Got it. I’ll be careful, and… avoid giant ducks and stuff.”

“And remember what I told you about Silverclaw,” Matlock said, dead serious. “He goes to Monster Mystery Meat sometimes. He enjoys the Long Pig Recipes there. Don’t seem too unique, or you’ll awaken his urges.”

Psycho-Cartography: Leave the room. Seal the door. Set the tower on fire. 

“I, yeah, I get—I have to go.” Shiv threw himself out of the doorway just as a notification loaded.

Volunteer Hours Assigned: 11 AM - 1PM

Directions Gained for: Monster Mystery Meat

Broken Felling Moon, what kind of elective class did I pick for myself, Shiv lamented.

“Marcus!” Matlock said. “Close the door, if you don’t mind. I don’t need another student falling across the world again—especially now that it will get Harlock angry at me.”

***

"A lobster," Adam said again, mind crushed by utter disbelief. "He… He had relations with a lobster… With Silverclaw?”

“That’s what he said,” Shiv grunted, licking the insides of his mouth. The taste of bleach and absinthe wasn’t great, but it did do something to lessen his impression of Matlock. He walked along a stretch of broken pavement as a groaning automaton extended a rusted hand, asking for mithril. The Deathless handed a coin—taken from a certain blonde-haired victim—to the beggar and kept heading for Monster Mystery Meats.

“And he claimed to have brought down the Scarred Ahab? And bedded the Silverclaw?” The Gate Lord’s incredulity grew and grew. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Silverclaw and the whale kraken are real?” Shiv asked.

“Yes, but it isn’t quite like Matlock describes. Ahab isn’t dead or a monstrous wrestler, for one. He’s a renowned Shipwright who works along the Atlantic. And Silverclaw is a noted awakened pacifist that actively works to promote his philosophy of Entropism—Starving the system through nonviolence, basically.”

Shiv had a hard time processing that. “Then why did Matlock say all that shit?”

“I suspect it’s because Matlock isn’t entirely right in the head.”

“And they let him be an instructor.”

“His geography and dimensional navigation skills are supposedly unparalleled,”  the Gate Lord muttered with reservations. “But you noticed how he was condemned to Storage Tower Celsius, yes? That’s where the less… presentable faculty tend to go. Such says the rumors on campus, anyhow. Sometimes, Pathbearers get a bit eccentric. I mean, you’re a bit eccentric yourself.”

Shiv stopped dead in his tracks. “Adam. Are you comparing me to someone who hallucinates weird sex stories about a lobster?”

“Well, I’m just saying we all have our oddities.”

“Yeah, sure, but have you mated with any animals recently?” A gagging noise came from Adam. Shiv scoffed. “Yeah, we’re not that weird. I guess I got a monster’s mind and stuff, but this is… I don’t know. I got a weird feeling about this. When’s the latest someone can switch classes, you said?”

“Until the middle of week three,” Adam replied. “Well… Just give it a chance. I mean, what’s the worst—”

“Shut up! Shut your felling mouth.” The Deathless’s vicious hiss interrupted Adam, and they proceeded toward their fate in silence.

The directions to Monster Mystery Meat had taken him to a Jump Station at the far north end of the city. He couldn’t even see Phoenix Academy anymore. Even Flamecrown Castle and the volcano were barely visible over the horizon. In the distance ahead, a massive shroud of churning darkness marked a final threshold for the capital’s borders, and Shiv tasted Harlock’s lingering presence even now. But that didn’t bother the locals in the Wastecourt district. They had other concerns on their mind.

Out here, it was mostly magical industries. Huge flames churned up in the air as rotating rigs spun by the wayside. They were actively forging something. Building heavy metals, Shiv could feel the geomancy working along with the pyromancy. Aside from looming factory buildings, the only thing here were old run-down residences. They were made from reinforced concrete—pure, brutalist structures made to last, made to endure. 

On the streets, Shiv found crowds of more human-looking automata that were dressed most questionably. Some of them propositioned him for unnamed services, and he ignored them. It wasn’t uncommon to see a bot in the sex trade, but Blackedge frowned heavily at this sort of thing, so Shiv’s experiences with prostitution were mostly limited to the time he smashed through a brothel fighting 811.

The Gate Lord was currently a passenger in Shiv’s cape, taking a break from his own tasks to recover from his mental fatigue. Apparently, the Dragon Brokers were sending a representative later that night. After Shiv finished his first Medic-301 session, he would have that to look forward to.

“Where is this compass taking me?” Shiv thought aloud. The Monster Mystery Meat establishment was described as a pillar of nature amidst a realm of urban decay by some of the locals. But thus far, he saw nothing but decay and concrete. There wasn’t even a single blade of grass sticking out from the cracks in the concrete. "Feels like I'm walking to a place where someone can get their throat slit or mugged or get mugged and then have their throat slit.”

"It’s rough at Wastecourt but not that bad," Adam said. "But this crime here is little more than petty theft and drug-dealing. The guard doesn’t patrol much here, but local workers' unions like to keep things at least somewhat stable. My father doesn't think very much of the unions, but personally, they do a good enough job. It's difficult enough not being born to the nobility. It's harder when your parentage is questionable, and you don't have a respectable Path or a proper set of skills."

“What do you mean proper set of skills?”

“A great many here are Pathless. They have mana allergies. Something to do with being exposed to a magical anomaly as a child and getting a portion of their soul damaged. It’s rare, but it happens. Sometimes, it happens to certain individuals, who remain unharmed themselves, but end up passing it down to their children. And after that… Well, it’s not like it’s incurable, but the cost and the effort it takes is extreme. And these people are… Not usually deemed worth the effort.”

“No shit,” Shiv said. He looked upon the people here with new sympathy. It wasn’t long ago that he would have considered himself one of their number. In a certain way, he still did. “So, how are they the ones working the factories, then?”

“Because the one skill they can reliably develop with the allergy is Magical Resistance. Everything poisons them. Leveling makes them so ill they nearly die, and so they constant invest the levels they do gain into basic items. It’s not a spectacular service, but it does make them a substantial part of the Republic’s economy. They’re the reason why we have so many enchanted objects at all.”

Shiv frowned. It made sense, but it still felt like they were being leeched from; that things could be better. “Maybe I could try fixing some of their souls at some point. When things aren’t such a godsdamned mess. If that time ever comes.”

“Hope costs nothing,” Adam replied, but his words felt weak and empty.

Shiv turned a corner and the marker pointed straight ahead. Suddenly, the pavement wasn’t so cracked anymore, and there were columns of trees leading down straight ahead. Suddenly, there weren’t a mess of beggars and sex-bots. Instead, he found a long line leading out from what looked like the open jaws of a dragon’s skull—

That is a dragon’s skull, Shiv realized. And a damned big one. Patches of leaves swayed from the sides of the dragon’s skull, but it stood a bleached white presence with two simmering braziers in its eye sockets surrounded by smaller residential clusters molded of cracked concrete. The home of Monster Mystery Meats was popular. A flapping banner was wrapped around the dragon’s head, declaring: “SUCCUBUS TESTICLE AND DEEP FRIED CAVE-BITER RECTUM SOUP TODAY!”

The Deathless blinked. “I can’t say I saw that at the Swan-Eating Toad before.”

Slowly, he made his way forward and walked past the crowd. They were a varied assortment of individuals. Some were guards, others were dressed in fine silks and gleaming armor, and a few were even wearing robes of faith. They weren’t limited to just a few races, either. Here, Shiv saw all the Republic’s peoples and a few he didn’t recognize in the line. There were what looked to be winged lizard men who were dressed in straps and bronze harnesses. Not far away, there was also what looked like a treasure chest sprouting two bare legs and with teeth between its lid looking at a menu. Finally, there was a large slime that bounced along, carrying a group of goblins on its head as they brainstormed new slurs for elves.

Feels like a big city, alright, Shiv thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

As he made it to the front of the line, he found himself greeted by tiny ratkin standing atop a tall desk, who was actively telling a very agitated goblin to wait.

“I’ve been out here for three hours! Three! They’ve been full since the morning. The fuck’s going on?” the goblin seethed and wiped at his sweaty brow.

The rat, comparatively, was dressed in a small, green dress and had a bow wrapped around her head. “Oh, it’s been a real struggle today, friend. I’m really sorry. It’s been bad for me too, you know? I’ve been out here all this while with you, right?”

“Right,” the goblin nodded.

“I should have been shifted off-duty hours ago, but the kitchen is having one of those—” She noticed Shiv approaching. “I’m sorry, but—”

“Temp Commis,” Shiv pointed at himself. “Volunteer for E-333. I’m supposed to help out today.”

The bow-tied ratkin sniffled at him and the used her Analyze Skill. As soon as she did, she gave him a once over again, and sighed. “Are… are you sure—ah, never mind. You’re one of Matlock’s. Well take any help now. Just… be ready.”

And there it was again: the warnings. “Uh, why? What’s going on?”

“Yeah,” the goblin said, leaning on the table. “What is going on?”

“Just a kitchen caught in the desperate struggle for control and culinary miracles,” the ratkin said, clasping her tiny fingers together. She leaned toward Shiv and whispered: “If you have a weapon, leave them at the door. Sneak into the kitchen, if you can. The head chef will tell you what to do.”

Shiv wanted to ask her what was going on, but when she went straight back to placating the waiting guests, the Deathless shrugged and decided to keep going.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Adam commented.

“Yeah? Me neither. But I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

As he ventured into the dragon’s open jaw, he found himself standing before a massive set of crystal doors that was decorated by what appeared to be a group of cavemen cooking a large dragon. To his surprise, he also noted the strong wards lining the doors—so strong that he couldn’t sense any life signatures past it. That’s some pretty powerful magical protection for a restaurant.

Shiv pushed on the door, but it swung open without resistance. The moment he did, a set of clawed hands seized his wrist, and Shiv felt himself get pulled in.

His mind screamed. He prepared to retaliate—when he was pressed against a wall and told to shush by what looked like another lizard-man. Except this one was a bit different from the others. It wore a full chef’s getup, and it had a headband wrapped around its forehead.

“Quiet,” the lizard-chef whispered. “We can’t let the bread hear us. They’ll kill the hostages, otherwise.”

“What?” Shiv breathed, struggling to process the lizard-chef’s words.

“The bread. They are awake. They weren’t fermented properly. They performed an uprising. They hold the kitchen and parts of the second floor, now. They’re trying to take the first, but we are holding. They took some hostages, though. Esteemed guests—long-term clientele. We cannot afford to lose them, and we cannot afford to let the bread cook them. But they are watching. Listening. We must move quietly and retake this place. You are the volunteer? For credit?”

“I, uh, yeah, I’m Shi—fucking, Marcus Unblood.” the Deathless caught himself at the last moment, so staggered by the chain of weird events that he nearly gave his actual name.

“Shafuking Marcus Unblood?” the lizard-chef asked again.

“Just… Marcus.”

“I see. I am Hero-Chef Velly C. Raptoior. This is my restaurant, my kitchen, and today, you are one of mine. Today, we take this place back from the Faebread that weren’t taught how to die properly.”

Shiv blinked.

Psycho-Cartography: He’s not strong enough to hold you here. Smash through the doors and leave.