Cold, wet stone walls of the dungeon were by now far too familiar. Chained into the foul little room, Rivyn felt he had been there an eternity, though he knew it wasn't much more than a week. He'd figured that much out because his captors came once a day beating on him in their demands for information he couldn't-or wouldn't-give them.
All the days merged into one undistinguishable haze; each new day more agonizing than the one before. It wasn't until the third day that they gave him water or any food scraps, only enough to survive. His body was famished, screaming for nourishment. His leg, which had been twisted and broken by his captors on the first day, still pulsed with intolerable pain while his wrists were raw from the iron shackles that had always bitten deep into his skin.
Now, it was the eighth day, and Rivyn's mind was slipping. Rivyn muttered to himself-mostly nonsense-just trying to keep mad thoughts from invading his head. His lips were cracked, his voice hoarse with screaming and pleading with his captors over the last few days. His body hung limp from the chains, little more than capable of sustaining its own weight. His hair hung, dripping with sweat, against his forehead, while his eyes were grown distant and hollow.
The door creaked open, and two masked men entered in, just as they had done for five days running. Behind the mask, their faces were hidden, showing only their cold, emotionless eyes. They said nothing to him as they approached but walked with slow, protracted steps. Rivyn did not even bat an eye at their approach; he knew what was to come.
In silent fury, the first man's fist crashed into Rivyn's ribs; Rivyn coughed, spitting blood to the floor, as pain radiated throughout his chest. The second man bashed Rivyn's gut, Rivyn heaved for air, his body lurching forward as far as the chains would allow.
The blows rained down endlessly-once, twice, cold and insouciant. Rivyn's eyes blurred; his mind shook along the frames of darkness. Rivyn would do it again-so in and of itself, circles upon circles of pain and silence. He didn't know how much longer he could bear it.
This beating didn't stop, or at least felt so. One of them tugged Rivyn's head facing him by the hair. "Tell us what we want to know," the man said, his voice muffled under the mask.
Rivyn coughed weakly, spitting blood to the floor. His vision was blurring and every inch of his body shrieked protest. "I.I told you already," he rasped. "I don't know anything."
Another blow fell across the already bruised face. Blinding pain caused Rivyn's head to snap with the impact. "You think we are stupid?" the second growled. "You think you say nothing and we let you just walk out of here?"
First man reached out and caught Rivyn's face, forcing him to meet his eyes. "You've been making weapons, accessories, potions. You expect us to believe you did all that by studying? That's a load of crap."
Rivyn could only pant, the weight of their words bearing down upon him, the constant beatings, the starvation too much for him. His resolve was breaking.
He couldn't take it any longer.
"Fine! Fine!" Rivyn shrieked in exasperation, his voice hoarse and despairing. "You want the truth? I'll tell you the truth!
The two men stepped back and narrowed their eyes behind their masks.
Rivyn's chest heaved as he gasped hard, trying to struggle through the pain in order to breathe; his head was muddled, but the words flowed out in a rush: "There is. there is a system. It is like magic, yet different. teaches me skills-skills I never had before." His words were frantic and hardly incoherent. "I can forge arms, accessories, potions. because of the system. it teaches me. it. it gives me the power."
The two men stared at him, their glance exchanged. There was no recognition within their eyes, just disgust.
"Hell are you talking about?" he spat, with a voice that practically spilled venom.
Rivyn's body shook with fear and exhaustion, but he kept talking in a panicked rush of words. "The system-it's all real! It shows me how to craft, how to make everything! It gives me all those abilities normal people don't have!"
First man frowned. "You really expect us to believe that trash?
"He's delirious," the second man muttered. "Doesn't know what he's saying."
"Enough!" the first snarled. He clutched Rivyn by his collar and slammed him backward in the direction of the wall. "You think you can mess with us? You think we're stupid?"
The first man slung another and then another, hard and knocking the air from his lungs before Rivyn could utter word one. A surge of pain came, vision fading, room spinning, body going limp and hanging from the chains.
They had beaten him for ages, striking well past when his body seemed to say, 'No more.' Rivyn screamed, though it came out more like a broken whimper; his voice cracked with the strain. Blood drooled from his mouth and he gasped for breath between sobs. His body was a mess of bruises and cuts, his leg twisted grotesquely beneath him.
Still, they did not stop.
Rivyn tried to beg, his voice weak. "Please. stop. please."
His words went into deaf ears as the men kept up the assault with Rivyn, who by now was a little over a broken, bloody heap hanging off the chains. It was then, when he fell unconscious, slipping into merciful unconsciousness, that the men stopped.
It was then, as they turned to leave, that one of them pulled out a small vial of liquid. He uncorked it and poured it over Rivyn's wounds. The potion saturated his skin. It wasn't a healing potion - not entirely. Wouldn't mend his bones nor heal his cuts, but it would keep him alive, just enough to get through the next round of torture.
The two slipped silently out, leaving Rivyn to hang in the dark, his body bruised and beaten.
Toren and his party
The party huddled in the shadows, outside of a dilapidated building in the worst part of Velira. Toren and his party sat in patience as the criminals inside enjoyed their day. The hideout itself was easy enough to find-this group wasn't exactly subtle-but they were dangerous, and Toren knew they linked into something bigger.
Toren said in a quiet tone to the two who were with him, both wearing dark leather armour, armed: "We've been tracking them a couple of weeks now. They raid blacksmith shops and kill craftsmen, but we still do not know why."
"Are we certain they have something to do with the disappearances?" asked one of the party members, wiry woman, sharp-eyed, who adjusted her bow as she spoke, never removing her gaze from the hideout. Toren nodded. "I'm certain. These aren't random attacks. They're targeting specific blacksmiths and craftsmen."
Third in the group, a burly man with a massive sword strapped to his back, grunted. "So, what's the plan, Toren? We going in quiet or loud?"
Toren snarled. "Loud. We want some answers, and they're sure as hell not giving them up easy."
The woman smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Good. I've been itching for some action."
Toren reached into his pouch and pulled out a small, smooth stone. "Prepare thyselves.
The rest dropped into position around the hideout. Toren strode right up to the entrance, his eyes on the building. For a moment he rolled the stone in the palm of his hand before sending it through one of the windows. A moment of silence prevailed before a shrill explosion echoed and the stone exploded like some tiny bomb, hurling chunks of wood and rock into the air.
Screams echoed from inside the building as the explosion rocked it and the criminals inside. Toren and his party didn't tarry. They burst in through the front, guns blazing, and gunned down the criminals trying to escape.
He cut through two of them without giving them even the time to react, and they fell to the ground in a heap while the woman loosed arrows one after another into their mark. The burly man swung his heavy sword with deadly precision, cutting anyone down that dared come close.
The rest now turned tail and attempted to flee, only to find Toren's party's steel waiting for them in the exit. Some fell to their knees, pleading for mercy from others. Toren wiped his blade clean on his cloak and knelt next to one of the few wounded men.
Eyes cold and calculating, he pressed the tip of his sword into the man's throat. "Tell me who's behind this, " he demanded.
The man huffed, his mouth running red with blood. "I. I don't know! Please, I don't know!
Toren's voice was icy. "You're lying."
The man winced, bristling beneath his skin as the blade dug deeper. "Okay! Okay! I heard something. about a blacksmith. He was taken recently. that's all I know, I swear!" Toren's eyes narrowed. "Who took him? And why?
"I don't know! I don't know!" the man cried, tears streaming down his face. "But they said it was. something about competition. I don't know more than that, I swear".