The bustling streets of the city were a stark contrast to the cold and unforgiving world that Xavier had known since he was eight years old. He had been living on the streets, scraping together what little food and shelter he could find, left to struggle and survive alone.
At sixteen, Xavier had grown into a resilient young man, his determination to survive never waning. But the constant struggle had taken its toll, leaving him with a sense of weariness that seemed far beyond his years. The prospect of a better life seemed like a distant dream.
One day, as he wandered through the city's labyrinthine alleys, he overheard a conversation in a dark, smoky tavern. Men with hardened faces spoke of a place where those with no other options could find work, albeit of the most dangerous and brutal kind. It was the Mercenary Guild, a well-known organization that operated on all corners of society.
Desperation drove Xavier to seek out the guild. The entrance guarded by imposing men with swords strapped to their belts. Xavier approached them, his heart pounding in his chest.
"I need work," he said, his voice steady despite his fear
As Xavier spoke to the intimidating guards, one of them raised an eyebrow, judging based on his attire and condition, they didn't need a run-down on Xavier's situation. They exchanged gazes and reluctantly let him in.
Inside, the guild was a grand yet chaotic place. Mercenaries of all kinds milled about, their armor clinking, and their weapons glinting in the dim light. Xavier felt like an outsider in this world of hardened warriors.
Its headquarters were The guild's facade was adorned with towering pillars of marble, intricately carved with scenes of heroic quests and mythical creatures. The massive double doors were embellished with intricate ironwork depicting swords, shields, and dragons in battle. Above the entrance, a grand archway bore the guild's emblem, a shield with crossed swords, and a blazing sunburst in the background.
The interior of the guild was equally impressive. The main hall featured soaring ceilings with wooden beams, and an enormous chandelier hung from the center, casting a warm and inviting glow. Walls were adorned with tapestries depicting legendary adventures and the kingdom's history, and long wooden tables filled with adventurers engrossed in conversation lined the hall.
In the heart of the guild stood a massive wooden reception desk, where a kindly receptionist welcomed members and guests. The guild's symbol, a blazing sunburst, was etched into the desk's surface.
Xavier was directed to the guild master by the receptionist, a grizzled man with scars crisscrossing his face. Xavier explained his situation, and how he had been abandoned by an orphanage and had nowhere else to turn.
The guild master nodded thoughtfully. "We don't usually take in younglings like you, but we have a job that needs doing, a job nobody else wants." Even he seemed reluctant to pull Xavier into such a life.
"I wouldn't be here if I had a choice." Xavier said with his small fists clenched and desperation visible in his eyes.
"You'll be our handyman," the guild master said. "You clean up after us, kid. Trust me, it's a dirty business." The guild master said after giving the matter some thought.
Throwing Xavier back to the streets was no different from death. At least here he would be given a chance to survive.
Xavier accepted the job without hesitation, knowing it was his only chance at survival. Little did he know the grim reality of his new role.
As a handyman for the Mercenary Guild, he was responsible for cleaning up the aftermath of the guild's missions, bloody battlefields, gruesome crime scenes, and the bodies left in their wake.
It was a brutal introduction to the harsh realities of the world, and Xavier had to harden his heart to the sight of corpses, blood-soaked earth, and the stench of death.
He scrubbed, scraped, and dug graves for those whose lives had been violently extinguished. The work was grueling, and the nightmares that haunted his nights were relentless.
The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the grand estate of the wealthy merchant, Lord Reynard. Xavier, now a seasoned member of the Mercenary Guild, had become accustomed to the gruesome aftermath of their missions. Yet, even he felt a shiver run down his spine as he and a small team of handymen approached the opulent mansion.
The news had spread like wildfire throughout the city, the assassination of Lord Reynard and his entire family, a brutal act of violence that had sent shockwaves through the upper echelons of society. The Mercenary Guild had been called in to clean up the mess, a task that Xavier had performed all too often.
The mansion's imposing gates creaked open, and the handymen, carrying their tools and supplies, entered the sprawling courtyard. The scene that greeted them was one of chaos and destruction.
Blood stained the marble floors, and shattered glass glittered in the moonlight. Xavier's stomach churned at the sight of the lifeless bodies of Lord Reynard's family members, sprawled in grotesque poses.
Their task was clear, to remove the evidence of the gruesome act, to scrub away the bloodstains, and to make it appear as if nothing had happened within these walls. It was a macabre chore, one that had become all too familiar to Xavier.
As the handymen set to work, Xavier's thoughts drifted to the unknown assailants who had perpetrated this heinous crime. The motive remained a mystery, but he knew better than to ask questions. Mercenaries didn't delve into the affairs of their clients; they simply cleaned up the mess.
Bang.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the mansion. The handymen froze, their eyes darting toward the grand entrance. The massive double doors burst open, and a group of heavily armored soldiers stormed into the building. Their armor gleamed ominously, and they carried weapons that spoke of formidable training.
Xavier's heart raced as he realized that these soldiers were not part of their guild, nor were they expected. Panic rippled through the team as the intruders shouted orders and advanced with purpose. It was clear that they had come for a reason, and that reason wasn't the cleanup crew.
One of the handymen, a grizzled veteran, made a swift decision. "Get out, lads!" he barked, his voice filled with urgency. "Leave the tools, and run!"
Xavier and his companions needed no further prompting. They abandoned their cleaning supplies and fled through a side door, their footsteps echoing in the empty halls.
The echoing footsteps of Xavier and his fellow handymen reverberated through the dimly lit corridors of Lord Reynard's mansion as they fled from the unexpected intrusion of heavily armored soldiers. Panic hung in the air, the urgency of escape palpable in every step. Xavier had no idea where they were heading, but he knew that staying behind was not an option.
The narrow stairs leading to a room at the back of the castle beckoned like a lifeline. Desperation fueled Xavier's determination as he followed the others, his heart pounding in his chest.
But as they rushed up the narrow staircase, a sudden misstep sent Xavier tumbling forward. His foot slipped on a slick patch of marble, and he fell, crashing onto the cold stone steps. Pain shot through his body as he landed hard, his head snapping backward with a sickening crack.
For a moment, the world seemed to spin around Xavier as he lay there, dazed and disoriented. His vision blurred, and he struggled to catch his breath. But there was no time for recovery. The sounds of hurried footsteps continued to echo above him, and he realized that both his fellow handymen and the relentless soldiers had not noticed his fall.
In a cruel twist of fate, Xavier found himself alone on that narrow staircase, his body battered and broken. The pain in his neck was excruciating, and he knew something was terribly wrong. Panic welled up within him as he tried to call out, to scream for help, but his voice betrayed him, a weak and pitiful whisper.
With every ounce of strength he could muster, Xavier attempted to crawl, to claw his way up the stairs, but his body refused to obey. He watched helplessly as the shadows of his comrades and the soldiers disappeared into the room at the top of the stairs. The door slammed shut behind them.
In the agonizing solitude of that narrow stairwell, Xavier realized the chilling truth, he had been left behind, trampled upon, and forgotten. His breath grew shallower, and the world around him faded into darkness as life slipped away from his battered body.
"Was so focused on my bad job that I forgot about my horrible luck. It seems the world has come hunting for me again."
In his final moments, as Xavier lay there broken and forgotten on those treacherous stairs, his mind managed to conjure one last, thought;
"Well, this is just my luck. Survived the streets, and countless gruesome clean-up jobs, and now I meet my end tripping on a fancy staircase in a haunted mansion. If this isn't the world's worst job hazard, I don't know what is."
With a dark, ironic sense of humor, Xavier's consciousness faded into the abyss.