When was the last time that I left the house?
Before I came to this world, before fighting for my life became a daily chore, when was the last time I went to a public building, a park, or anywhere outside my neighborhood?
I vaguely remember going to the library in Springfield with my mom, sometime about three weeks before the Grafted Scion tore apart my home and skewered me like a fish. At the time, I wanted the newest volume in a popular series I was following, heard that the library had it on the shelves. Turned out someone beat me to it. I never did get to read the book; it was always checked out whenever I checked the library's website. A shame, though it was a fantasy series. Happen to be in a fantasy now, living out what I only ever read on paper before.
So far, I'm not a fan.
Whatever the case, the library visit was the last time I ever went somewhere. I was holed up in my room after that. The last time I was in a crowded area was even further back. Might've been when our family went to Disney World down in Florida, sometime four years ago. That's the last time I was in a place where people were standing shoulder to shoulder. I didn't like it then; being squished and threatened to get separated. I certainly don't like it now.
We entered the settlement from the western entrance, Kalé left his weird donkey tied up at the gate. When I first rounded the corner, I was honestly taken aback. The town is small, no more than twenty or so buildings, all lined up in two parallel lines. I thought that maybe 70 people could live here, and that was me giving a liberal estimate. In all reality, if I gauged this based off my home neighborhood, the number of residents might number as low as 40. But I don't see 40, 70, or even 100.
I see nearly a thousand…
That's an exaggeration. But there's only one street in town, running from east to west, lined on both sides by twenty houses. The street is wide, it could comfortably fit two carts moving side by side. Right now, the street is packed to the gills, a river of bobbing heads and stamping feet going every which way. There's several hundred here. It's a scene somebody could see at an amusement park or county fair during the height of summer vacation. I physically take a step back.
"Best we be off then."
Kalé saunters on by, and dives right into the crowd. I spot his exotic hat sailing away in the sea of matted hair and ashen faces, braving the storm without a shred of hesitation.
I hesitate.
I don't like crowds, don't like being surrounded on all sides. The loud noises, the chaotic movement of it all. I'm not good with people to begin with, and something about places like this tick me off.
Lance. Are you alright?
I take a deep breath, giving Melina's light at my side a glance.
I'm fine.
I don't have time for this. I'm a guard now, my first real job. Can't slack on this.
I dive in after Kalé.
Were it not for Kalé's hat, I wouldn't be able to discern him here. But I can spot that red and white stocking from a mile away, easily catching up with the shrewd merchant. He didn't seem to notice my absence.
We move through a crowd of crestfallen faces and hunched shoulders, taking our sweet time getting through the town. Everyone here looks like Kalé, or at least similarly. Like the soldiers I've fought, and my new partner, everyone has wrinkled faces, grey skin, and nearly golden-yellow eyes. Unlike the soldiers, however, people here are shorter; I can honestly say I'm an average height now. Not only that, but they're skinnier, similar to Kalé. Men and women, children too. Some elderly, some close to my age. They all look tired, eyes sunken and expressions slack.
But despite that, there are some who are smiling, others laughing away at what their friends said. Some moving in pairs, others in small groups. A couple are ridiculously tall, with long necks to boot. Their legs are short and spindly; it seems they have difficulty walking on them. A name comes to mind for those ones, Albinauric. Not sure what the word means, but my mind seems to find that it fits. I can only guess that the grey skinned people are human; they don't look like dwarves or elves, or anything else in typical fantasy settings. I don't think Elden Ring even has the usual fantasy species.
Whoever they are, they give me more than a handful of glances, some even stare. Maybe they're looking at my partisan; Kalé told me Roard is well known in Limgrave, some might recognize the peculiar spear. Maybe they're looking at my armor, the shining mail that peeks out underneath the tears and holes in my clothes. Melina herself said the mail is fine, a rare quality in a war-stricken land. But they look me right in the eyes, look at my smooth face, my light skin. No wrinkles, eyes a dark blue. Brown hair, young features, manicured, washed, and tender. Like plopping a 21st century kid into medieval Europe; actually, it's exactly that.
"Don't sully your eyes on the stares." Kalé pipes up, not even needing to look behind at me. "Your head's warning enough for a highwayman."
What does that even mean?
"Kalé." I speak up. The merchant can't hear me. "Kalé!" I shout.
Kalé looks back at me.
"Where are we going?"
Kalé doesn't answer, he simply take a sharp right. I try to follow, nearly getting caught between two older men holding a conversation. One of them looks right at me, his eyes reading a sense of fear; he stutters on his words. I look away, tailing Kalé until the crowd suddenly disappears. The man looked surprised to see me and scared at the same time. I can almost tell what he's thinking. Tarnished. Just what type of reputation do people like me have here?
Our party of three is lead into one of the buildings, where the noises of crowds and footsteps get drowned out through the timber walls. We're in what looks like a general goods store, though everything is behind the counter, and it's all in barrels and storage crates. The room for customers is surprisingly small; I'm even more surprised to find that we're the only people in here.
Kalé brushes himself off, Melina lands lightly on my shoulder. I stand awkwardly, picking at dirt that crusted on my sword's pommel. Kalé takes a deep sigh, casting a glance outside through one of the first-floor windows.
"This place never changes."
I start. "You mean it's always this busy?"
Kalé sighs. "Aye, and it gives a widow a blade for the eyes. If there were a day this town ever got a silent change, the Erdtree itself would have died."
Kalé pauses, before casting his head back in toward the empty desk.
"Oi Boc! Show your glittering nose already!"
Silence…
I hear a pair of quickened footsteps, and a voice comes from nowhere.
"Kalé, might that be you?"
Where's that voice coming from? Is that a British accent? It sure sounded like one.
Kalé leans on the desk, before peering over on the other side. His eyes contort into a smile.
"Thought as much. Still tallying Newel's barrels eh?"
Is this Boc a midget? I find myself peering over too…
There's a diseased baboon behind the counter, wearing a bowl hat and a strange set of clothes. It's hunkered over, in a submissive posture that looks like it's messing with something in its hands.
My expression tenses up on reflex, it feels like a thousand spiders are crawling over my skin. Something's wrong.
Something's really wrong here.
The baboon, with a naked head and ratty, hairy arms, stares at Kalé, having a vaguely human emotion on it's face, like it was smiling. It notices my gaze-
I nearly draw my sword.
A Demi-human. What is it doing in a human settlement?
The baboon's… no… the creature's eyes… there's emotion behind them.
His eyes say he's curious and cautious, with an undertone of hope drawing upon carefree.
"Oh!" The creature says, perking up its eyebrows a little. "Hello there."
Abomination.
I don't know when it happens, but I find my sword drawn in my hands.