C.P.D. Harris's Blog, page 19

Rotblossom Rose (1.24R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

Rose can clearly remember the names and faces of everyone who was with her on her first delve into The Depths. She can even remember the faces of the Liftwardens if she jogs her memory with a swallow of The Blue.

The lifts, most of them at least, are built into rails that descend along the side of The Wound and its innumerable tributary crevasses. Once they started descending the need for the rails became obvious: it prevented the lift from swinging about in the wind. Enormous wheels slowly lowered the lift platform on lengths of chain. It took quite some time to reach their destination and Rose had ample opportunity to examine her new team-mates. There were ten of them, a medium-sized crew as far as most Scabbers are concerned.

Geb was the Captain. He had more hair then. Tall and broad-shouldered, with keen eyes and an expressive face, Rose felt an immediate, visceral attraction to the man. Perhaps it was because he smelled like sweat, leather, steel, and smoke; just like her Morn. Geb carried a huge metal-faced shield among his gear.

Scarab was Geb’s second. He was average height, but thickly built, and his dark eyes were constantly moving. Scarab was foul-mouthed and mean, even with Geb, but the others treated him with deference and so did Rose. He spent much of his time on the way down checking equipment.

Jack Rumbarrel was even bigger than Geb, almost Gengan in size. He was bald, but sported an enormous red mustache. He carried an axe and a spear that was as long as he was tall that had a sturdy crosspiece and strange slits like the gills on a fish. She later learned that those held poison. Jack went over strategy with Geb as they descended.

Miriam Sprout, ‘Tracker’ to most, was the oldest among them; she looked like someone’s gran with her white hair and wrinkled skin. She was good with her blades and the best Rose ever worked with at navigating in The Depths. She came by her knowledge as a student and a teacher, but found more money in delving. Miriam scrawled in a notebook on the way down.

Ferret was tall and lean with wisps of blond hair. There was something furtive about him. He moved quietly and could squeeze through tights spaces and had a laugh like a donkey braying. He carried a small crossbow, and a hacksword. Ferret lounged.

Darling was a woman, the same size as Rose, though heavier. She smiled a lot and bantered with those around her with genuine affection. Darling was a skilled mender, both with green wraithstone, bandages, and needle. She carried a hacksword.

The others, Harmony, Jimn Lowrock, and Undothu of Skarm, were all torchbearers responsible for keeping the lights going and helping the others. They were all hale and strong, and tended to separate into their own group and talk amongst themselves.

<>

Some time later the lift ground to a halt. They were in shadow now, and far enough down the side of the crevasse that Rose could not see much of the city above, just some of the bigger buildings, the Silverthread span, and the other lifts crawling up and down the rock face.

The Liftwardens raised their weapons and shone bright lights into the dark while Roses’s team got ready. Once they were satisfied that there would be no attack, they opened the gate to the lift and allowed Geb’s crew to depart.

“Right everyone,” said Geb. “We have a long trek ahead of us. Miriam has it all mapped out. Stay alert and keep quiet.”

And with that, he turned and walked into the tunnel. Rose, not quite knowing what to expect, hurried after.

<>

 

Rotblossom Rose (1.23R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

“If you can get me close to Lawch, Spider, I can do the rest,” says Rose, pulling her eyes from the metal strings he constantly weaves with his fingers. She knows that he does it to distract her; perhaps he realizes how odious people find his presence.

“Lawch has survived a dozen assassination attempts, from myself and others,” said the Spider irritably. “Thinking you will succeed because you are emotionally invested in the idea of revenge is foolish, Rose. We will only get one shot, and I do not want a failure that leads Lawch and his pet Bleedweaver back to me.”

That was the rub. As certain as Rose was that she could kill Lawch, the Bleedweaver was a dangerous complication. Rose could still picture the woman standing by Lawch’s side as he presided over the carnage, like she was the aide to the Lord-Mayor and not a partner in torture, rape, and murder.

“What do we know about the Bleedweaver?” asks Rose. “She has been with him for a long time.”

“I think it is safe to assume that they are lovers, or have some similar bond,” says The Spider. “I have tried hiring her away from him for a sum that he could never match, both as myself and through intermediaries and the answer has always been no.”

Bleedweavers use the energy contained in energized Wraithstone to invoke magical effects. Unlike other uses of Wraithstone, Bleedweavers are not reproducible. No one knows how they interact with the weave, and no two are exactly alike in what they can do. The only thing they have on common is power.

Rose hates Bleedweavers; it is very hard to plan against capabilities that you cannot measure or otherwise account for.

“Why didn’t you hire Bleedweavers of your own?” asked Rose.

“I gave up after the first two,” said The Spider with a sneer. “Neyrika killed them both… what?”

“I did not know her name until now,” said Rose. “She was there, but none of the others spoke to her.”

“She’s probably not right in the head,” said The Spider.

“That doesn’t stop you from flapping your gums,” joked Rose.

The Spider turned red, and trembled with anger. For a moment Rose wondered if she’d gone too far, then he seemed to get a hold of himself.

“We need to find a way to  kill her,” said The Spider. “I have a few ideas of my own, but first we will need to get you into The Bedrock Wards. I have a list of the things we will need to make you acceptable to the elite of High Society in The Scab.”

<>

To cleanse herself of the bilious aftertaste that seems to come with spending time with her boss, Rose waits until dark and then creeps out of a well-hidden window. Dressed in her black leathers, bearing both the skull mask and her coilsword, she drops to the street below, her feet barely making a sound as they strike pavement. From there she moves erratically through Meryn’s Tangle, avoiding people, making certain that no one can follow her. Then she heads west, climbing the wall of The Hive and skirting The Syndicate Fief. Despite the distance she can still taste the alchemy in the air. Still, even the best lit streets were empty here at night; there were rumours that The Syndicate abducted the unfortunate for experiments. Likely just wild theories… likely.

After that she climbed up an old tower that used to be part of a city wall in ages past, and pulled out a small spyglass.

As always at this time of week, her brother Edward is sitting down with is family for an evening meal. It comforts Rose to watch him. She fantasizes about one day revealing herself to him. Edward had been working to mend the relationship between Rose and her father after she married Morn and moved to the little house on on the road to Avalain. Edward was a good brother.

They are eating mutton pie, and since little Stethrey does not have school the next day he is allowed to stay up late and eat a late repast with his parents. As Rose watches, Edward says something to Stethrey, who replies with an earnest expression, at length, which in turn causes Edward and his wife, Jillia, to burst out laughing. Rose smiles. She will have to content herself knowing they are happy and safe. She does not want to reveal herself to Edward, not while Lawch and his Bleedweaver still draw breath.

After she leaves, Rose spends all night awake, wondering what serious little Stethrey said to make his parents laugh.

At least she doesn’t dream.

<>

Rotblossom Rose (1.22R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

“What the fuck is a Bleever?” asked Rose. At the time she knew so little about the profession that would consume the following years.

“A bleed diver,” said Geb. “That is what they call those of us who plumb the depths below The Scab for fame and fortune.” [Note: I kind of wonder if Scabber works better than Bleever… thoughts?]

Rose rolled her eyes. In truth she was feeling nervous. She needed this job. When she first set out on the path of revenge, she had dreamt of killing Lawch and his band in a night, perhaps over the course of a few months, but as of yet she had only crossed a handful of names off her list in almost a year. Lawch remained out of her reach, and she only knew the location of one other name so far.

“What’s the difference between a Sniffer and Bleever then?”

“A Sniffer is a type of Bleever,” said Geb. “Some people seem to have an innate connection to Wraithstone. The Spider says that you have that connection, and my crew needs a Sniffer.”

“What happened to your last Sniffer?”

“Same thing that happens to most Bleevers; he got dead,” said Geb. “We’re here.”

Having grown up in the Scab, Rose was familiar with the massive lifts that crawled up and down the edges of The Wound. The Depths underneath the city were an endless maze of ruins, caves, and the lairs of terrible Bleedwarpt things and the lifts carried those foolish or brave enough to seek their fortunes down the the known entrances.

“Why don’t we use one of the better Lifts?” she asked Geb, eyeing the dozen Bleevers that awaited them and the plate-armoured Steamlancers that were guarding the lift itself. Geb’s crew was a motley assortment, mostly men, and all armed as if they were going on campaign in some mad war. They reminded her of Lawch’s band, which sent a spike of fear through her.

Geb did not seem to notice. “The Spider is cheap. He would rather we take an extra day, and hike across the Depths to get to a better location.”

“Oh?” said Rose, noncommittally. Her mind was on the upcoming social interaction. The Bleevers had noticed her. They were staring. She must look odd even to them; cloaked and scrawny with a mechanical limb and a face half-hidden by a mask.

“Yeah. He is a bastard like that, but his information is reliable and he never screws us over on our cut. Hello everyone, this is Rose, our new Sniffer.”

“Bloody fucking hell, Geb, she looks worse than the last one,” complained a weathered Bleever, looking at Rose like the folk of the Bedrock Wards would look at a beggar from The Hive.

“… Shut it, Scarab–” began Geb.

“Bugger yourself with a Coilsword, friend,” said Rose, anger boiling over.

“I’d rather do that than explore the rot between your legs, deary,” said Scarab, grinning.

“The only thing that your tiny prick has explored is your mother’s arse, my lad,” retorted Rose.

“I like her,” said Scarab. “She’ll be more entertaining that the last few, at least until she warps.”

Tension eased, Rose took her place among the Bleevers, ready to ride the lift into the Depths underneath the city called The Scab.

<>

Rotblossom Rose (1.21R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

Knives and bloody spikes. Morn’s voice, full of pain and despair. A dark pit. Gared screaming “mamamam”. The leering grins of the men who rape. Janiye’s lifeless body.

Rose wakes, gasping for breath. Her head is swimming. Her body feels wrong, like it is not hers, somehow. Her wild thoughts collide and memory threatens to drag her down to a place that she knows she will never come back from. She fights it, reaching out for a little vial full of electric blue liquid that she keeps beside the bed.

The Blue hits her like a wall of calm. Her thoughts organize. Memory subsides. She gets control of her breathing. The headache remains. She is in one of her rooms, the one that others know about. The last thing that she remembers is meeting the Spider.

“I’m quite surprised that you have not warped yet, Rose,” says a familiar voice, the Spider, his overly precise diction only adding to the violation of his presence. “This is what, the fifth time?”

“Fuck off, I’ve lasted longer than any sniffer you’ve ever had,” says Rose.

“Which is one of the reasons that I treasure you, my dear,” says The Spider.

Rose wonders why she had so much trouble focusing on The Spider. She laughs a little when she realizes that she should take it as a blessing, since she cannot abide the glassy, alien stare of his or his habit of endlessly weaving the metal strings he carries. The laughter causes her head to spin.

“The Depths can take me once I’ve done Lawch. Are you going to help with that, boss?”

“I am,” says The Spider. “I have enjoyed plotting his demise. He will rue the day that he betrayed me.”

“Rue the day?” for some reason Rose found that turn of phrase amusing, she laughed again, at least until a spike of head pain sobered her once more.

“Yes. Rue. The. Day. Lawch has kept me from my rightful place among the lords of this damned city for decades. I will see him dead. The irony of him being killed by one of his victims is delicious.”

Rose knows very well that no one in the Bedrock Wards would ever accept The Spider among them. There has always been something just… wrong… about the man. Even Rose hates just being around him, even though he treated her fairly despite her diseased and mangled exterior; at times she finds it hard to see him as human and easier to think of him as the arachnid he takes his moniker from.  He can not see it though, despite the brilliance that has led him to power in The Scab, The Spider is blind to the fact that most of his fellow men will never want him among them.

He sees what he wants to see.

But, the truth is that Rose will ally herself with anyone to get to Lawch. Cackles is dead and she has… two… more names to cross off her list.

“So, what’s the plan, boss?”

<>

 

Rotblossom Rose (1.20R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

The sound of grunts and the thud of fists pounding into flesh filled the King’s End pub called Rippershead. As always, Rose watched the fighters intently. She had watched the biggest of the two countless times already and could almost read his next move by watching his footwork, eyes, and the movements of his hands. Thus it came as no surprise to her as his feet shuffled a certain way and he feinted left then hit his opponent with a devastating off-hand cross, sending blood and teeth spraying out across the raised fighting platform. The patrons of the Rippershead roared their approval as the massive fighter drove a knee into the gut and groin of his stunned opponent. As the other man bent double from the force of the blow, the big man grabbed him and with a bellow, heaved him above his head and held him there while the people shouted.

“FUCKING KILL THE FUCKER!” shouted a drunken merchant, surging to his feet from his table, a little too close to Rose for her own comfort. She was wearing her half-mask, and most people left her alone for fear of what might be beneath that cold half-face, but you could never tell with drunks.

The drunk was not the only one demanding his dose of brutality, and after a moment of holding his victim in the air, muscles bulging from the effort, the massive fighter slammed him into the platform with crushing force. As the watching patrons cheered and jeered, Rose shook her head. Only a fool would step onto the fighting platform with this beast unprepared.

“Poor fool will be lucky if is able to count to ten after this,” the man who addressed Rose was tall and broad shouldered, with keen eyes and dark salt and pepper hair. He had a weathered look about him, and moved with uncommon grace. He fit the description that the Spider had given her,

“You Geb?” asked Rose.

“I am,” said the man. “You must be Rose. Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest,” said Rose.

A new set of fighters climbed up onto the bloodstained platform, but Geb kept his eyes on Rose. She could tell that he was trying to make sense of her, the mask, what he could and could not see. At least he wasn’t trying to size her up for a fuck, like most men.

“So your to be our new sniffer?” he asked.

“That’s what the Spider told me.”

“You ever been down into the depths?” asked Geb.

“I learned to find Wraithstone in the Kisavi slave mines,” said Rose. “If we failed to find enough enough of it during the day we went without food. My handler liked to beat us until we coughed blood to make sure we understood. I can find the Wraithstone.”

Geb nodded. “That’s good. Big blooms aren’t as common in The Depths but what we do find is a lot purer and a lot stronger.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

Geb nodded again. “The depths have things that the mines do not.”

“The Warpt?” scoffed Rose. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

“The poor sods you see rotting in the gutter are only a small part of what bleed warp can do to a man,” said Geb, settling back. “The tales you’ve heard about beasts that will rip a man in half, or beings that can kill with a glare down there are true. Their more dangerous to us than the big abominations that sometimes crawl out of The Gash, but they are also the best source of active Wraithstone in all of The Scab. Part of your job is going to be tracking these things. They are dangerous Rose, and I will be counting on you to not only track them, but to think clearly when we encounter them, and not get in our way when we take them down. I know you’ve seen shit, I can grok that, but you have not seen shit like this. Got it?”

Rose nodded. “Only one way to find out, in the end, isn’t there?”

Geb smiled, and nodded back.

<>

 

Rotblossom Rose (1.19R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

Rose’s satchel is heavy with banker’s notes and long-form receipts from the Alchemist’s Syndicate as she makes her way through the maze of alleys, called Meryn’s Tangle, looking for the signs of her destination, the entrance to The Spider’s lair.

She walks alone, still bruised and cut from her battle with Cackles, but she has no fear here. Even if someone knew that she carried the notes and a handful of the choicest energized Wraithstone as well, only a fool would attack her now. The Spider is feared, even beyond the Hive, and for good reason. Entire gangs have disappeared in minutes in his territory, never to be seen again.

Meryn’s Tangle is alive with people. Even the most remote of its nonsensical alleys will have people in it. The tenements and shacks are as overcrowded as any in the hive, and many of those who live here are the agents of The Spider. Some of the people in the alleys recognize Rose, and give greeting, a hello or a nod, and today she gives them as much a of a smile as the good half of her face can manage. It is a good day: after all, Cackles is dead.

The Tangle is much older than The Spider, so old that many of its secrets have been forgotten in other power centers in the city.

Rose passes a sleeping beggar with a monstrously swollen arm, one of the Halfwarpt that call the Tangle home. Halfwarpt are feared, for obvious reasons, but The Spider lets them sleep in The Tangle, and protects them. He also makes use of any talents they might gain from the Bleed Warp.

Rose wanders, her eyes open for certain kinds of marks. She sees the first marks at the start of a covered alley where some children are tossing dice for a game of Yactus. The next set of marks appear above a door in a small tavern. She moves through the tavern sees marks on the stairs into the cellar. The bouncer watches her go down, but says nothing. In the cellar Rose spots the familiar trapdoor that will lead her down to the Spider’s lair. She pounds on the door and waits, after a moment it slides open, revealing a set of broad stairs leading down into the earth. Rose descends and trapdoor snaps shut behind her.

<>

The Spider’s underground lair is the most interesting part of Meryn’s tangle. Long before it became a slum, this part of the hive was home to someone who valued their privacy enough to build a spacious underground realm with a hidden doorway that could connect to dozens of places throughout the tangle. It was a marvelous machine, and one that only The Spider truly understood.

He greeted her as she descended into the mail hall. The Spider was alone, As always, Rose felt a shiver of revulsion upon seeing the man. She steeled herself, thinking ‘this man is an ally, trust him’, before meeting his gaze.

“Hello Rose,” said the Spider, weaving his metal strings into strange patterns between his hands, as always. “You’re not hurt too badly, I trust?”

“No,” said Rose.  “Here is the haul.”

She tossed him the satchel. The Spider counted the bank notes and examined the reciepts while she waited. This room was well appointed, with several couches, long tables, and bookcases.

“What of Cackles?”

“Dead. He Warpt on me. I saw some of it and made detailed notes.”

The Spider was fascinated by warping; he always wanted to know everything about the Bleedwarpt that they encountered.

“Fascinating. Did he still recognize you, Rose?”

“I believe so.”

“Oh, I look forward to reading those. Any Wraithstone from him?”

Rose dumped the energized stones out of her small satchel. The Spider bent over to examine them and Rose felt relief that his eyes were not upon her.

“This blue is his?”

“Yes, and the smaller red. The bright green one as well.”

“Of course, of course. How many does that leave on your list.”

“Lawch and his Bleedweaver and… and…”

Rose staggered, looked down and saw the floor rushing up to meet her, and then everything went dark.

<>

 

 

Rotblossom Rose (1.18R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

Rose flexed her metal fingers. She could feel through them, not as well as her real hand, of course, but still… it was a marvel, she decided, a gift to herself for a job well done. Grimes, Blackeyes, and Nave were all crossed off her list now, along with Kragorr and her da. She deserved this, and besides she needed the hand to continue along the path of vengeance that would earn her redemption.

As she contemplated the hand, which was animated by the ‘phantom impression of her lost arm’, at least according the artificer who built it, she listened to the rhythmic thumping of two enormous brutes pounding each other with their fists. Every now and then a collective intake of breath of a cheer from the crowd around the ring drew her attention to the fight but tonight she could not concentrate on the match tonight.

Rose’s purse was almost empty now, all save for a small, dull red stone and the bright green stone that she used to ease her pain and stop the rot from claiming any more of her body. It was worrisome. She needed to find work, but her only real skill was coilsword fencing. Even with the new mask that she wore over the rotten half of her face it would be hard to attract students and too public by far.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?” The speaker’s voice was rough and indefinably odd in Rose’s ears. The man himself was worse; Rose was not in a position to judge people based on their appearance by something about the man’s appearance was alien. He was tall and thin with joints that hinted at wrong angles. His eyes were pale green and his smile was devoid of both charm and warmth.

“I do actually,” said Rose, taking an instant dislike to the man.

“Then I will be brief,” said the man, sitting down. He held a series of metal strings in his hands which he wove with his fingers, creating a cascade of of strange patterns that drew her attention. Rose abruptly notice the two very large men lurking nearby; her visitor kept company with thugs. “People in these parts call me The Spider. I make it my business to understand who is buying and selling Wraithstone in this part of The Hive.”

“Well fuck off then, I am not doing either.” said Rose, her skin crawling just to look at the man. Something about him just repulsed her, and yet she could not come up with any reason why she should react to him that way. Later on she learned that The Spider had that effect on everyone he met.

“Ah, but you have been selling,” said The Spider. “And I think you have a good eye for Wraithstone. To cut to the quick, I want to train you as a sniffer, a finder of Wraithstone. Bleed diving is tough work, but it is very profitable if you are careful and smart. Come and visit me by Ten Dragon Fountain if you are interested in a job.”

And with that, he got up and left. It took Rose a few moments to get over The Spider’s strange, aberrant presence and the disgust the felt toward the man. She left hurriedly after that, feeling compromised, but no new dangers awaited her.

In the end, after learning that The Spider was, in truth, a strong presence in the Wraithstone trade, Rose decided to join him.

<>

Rotblossom Rose (1.17R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

The-thing-that-was-Cackles charges headlong at Rose, his tentacle arm snapping like a whip. Though his movements are ungainly he shifts across the chamber with frenetic speed. The demonic grin and malicious chuckling seems to proceed the undulating mass of his warping flesh. Rose is spellbound, watching the warping of her old enemy’s flesh while her instincts scream at her to move.

It is rare to see such warping. Bleedwarping is a constant danger in the depths, but so much, so quickly is the stuff of tall tales told among Bleever’s around the fire. Even one as experienced as Rose has only seen such a thing once or twice, and only then catalyzed by Wraithstone exposure instead of death. She has heard of death bringing on warping, everyone has, and like every good Bleever she knows the theory of it; but to see Wraithstone warping in action, in all its undulating strangeness, mesmerizes her

Cackles form seems to shift and remold itself as he runs at her. That hideous tooth filled grin widens until his jaws could engulf a wine-barrel. His legs flow and change, the joints bending at awkward, yet effective angles. And all the while he cackles.

The thought of that laughter breaks through to Rose. She flexes her metal arm, just so, injecting herself with a dose of the blue, chased by a double dose of the red. Blue calm sharpens her focus, serving her well as The-thing-that-was-Cackles whips his tentacle limb toward her. Rose anticipates the trajectory off that undulating limb and slips to one side. Then the red starts to work, filling her with energy and strength.

The tentacles whips along the ground after her, but Rose runs toward the wall and half jumps, half runs three steps up vertical surface before pushing off, turning in the air, jabbing Cackles with the needle spear. The tip lances into The-thing-that-was Cackles who jerks as the hollow tip sucks blood out of the wound. Rose ducks another crack of the tentacle arm, veers away from the monstrous mouth, and then pulls the spear out of the wound, kicking Cackles in the leg to slow him down before she darts away again.

Cackles laughs his sickening laugh and Rose notices that the flesh of his other arm has grown over the handle of his knife, as if trying to incorporate the weapon into its form.

As she sees this, Rose feels a tug on her leg and then she stumbles as Cackles grabs her foot with his tentacle arm. Rose jabs the tentacle with the spear, but the thick, rubbery mass is hardly damaged. Cackles knife hand stabs at her and that horrible mouth with its yawning, mad smile draws close.

Rose twists out of the way of the knife, feeling chips of stone bounce off her mask as the blade impacts the ground. The mouth looms closer and so she twists and shoves the needle spear into that vast gullet with all of her wraithstone fueled strength, The cackling stops, replaced by a gurgling sound, and Cackles veers back pulling the spear from her grasp.

Rose gets to her feet, scrambles across the rocks and dirt to the nearest weapon that she can see: an old pickaxe. She smiles as she feels the weight and sees that it still has an edge. She feels the tentacle groping around her leg, turns and brings the weapon down. The flat blade of the pickaxe cuts deep into the tentacle arm, taking out a chunk. The knife hand flashed forward and Rose lets go of the axe, dodges back, sidesteps the next attack, and yanks the pickaxe out of the ground. Her momentum carries her behind The-thing-that-was-Cackles and she swings the pickaxe into his misshapen head before he can turn.

The pick penetrates with a satisfying ‘thunk’ through flesh and bone and into brain. Cackles spasms, falls, and begins to flail. The spear remains in his mouth while the pick stays in the back of his skull.

Rose goes back to the supplies. This time her hands fall on a nice hackblade. She turns back to Cackles, still struggling to rise, and smiles.

<>

After she hacks Cackles to chunks, Rose checks the remains for Wraithstone. She finds a Red crystal the size of a thimble and a much smaller back stone; not bad for a Bleedwarpt that had not fully matured. Then she throws the remains into the cesspit, where Cackles belongs, After that, Rose waits for the lift.

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Rotblossom Rose (1.16R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

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For a week after killing Grime Downbridge, Rose felt good. In fact she felt better than she had almost any time since before, save the day that she had slit Kragorr throat and escape the slave mines.

Kragorr was a more formidable foe, but with Grime she had been able to savour the look on his face as she stuck him in the groin and slit him open. Even thinking of it brought a smile to her face, at least the parts that could still move.

Smiling, however, reminded her of a different predicament. A woman with a face half-eaten by the Rot was quite distinctive, even in a part of The Scab where people were frequently afflicted with diseases and various type of Bleedwarp. A hood was a fine way to hide it most of the time, but she needed something else for occasions when she had to show her face.

A mask?

Yes.

<>

Ten days after she killed Downbridge, Rose was sketching masks, while sipping tea in her hideout. She found it hard to grip the paper with the iron hook or pick that she wore on the stump of her arm, but she was acclimatizing.

She was considering the idea of a new hand, one made of metal and powered by wraithstone, when a sound outside her door caused her to take pause. No one came to this tiny room in a forgotten corner of a run-down inn; even the owner of the building had been given strict instructions to leave her alone.

This is what I get for paying in advance… Rose thought as she stared at the door latch, turning ever so slowly. Was it locked? The latch stopped, jiggled, and stopped again, then silence.

Rose unsheathed her knife and slid to the wall beside the door as quietly as she could, readying herself to strike anyone who came through. There was no sound. But she also did not hear any bootfalls that would indicate whoever it was had left.

She was just beginning to wonder, when she heard a scuffle and then something hit the door, tearing it off it’s hinges. A big man walked into the room, a vicious looking hackblade in his hand. He cast about, looking for his prey.

The big man never saw Rose coming. She sprang into motion, driving her own blade into his kidney from behind. The man buckled, falling to the ground. He tried to struggled and Rose saw his face clearly. Their eyes met. What was he doing here?

The man was Nave Au’Sixthstreet, one of Lawch’s boys.

Rose was staring at the dying man’s face, dumfounded, when his partner slammed into her, bearing her to the ground.

“Sodding cunt, I’ll gut ya,” screamed a smaller man with weird irises, like looking at a starlight sky. She recognized this one too, called Blackeyes; another of Lawch’s mongrels.

Blackeyes slammed her head into the ground. Rose’s vision blurred and she felt the strength flow from her. Blackeyes raised his knife and brought it down. The pain of the blade puncturing her shoulder woke Rose from her torpor. She screamed and started to thrash.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” snarled Blackeyes, raising his blade again. Before he could bring it down this time, Rose swung her hook-hand, snagging the knee that was crushing her chest, dragging the sharp point in and under the cap.

Blackeyes wailed, trying to pull away. That only cause him more pain. He then remembered that he had a knife and tried to stab her frothing, screaming. He was bigger and stronger, but Rose kept knocking his blade off course. She yanked hard on the knee and the hook came free. Blackeyes fell back from her and Rose was free. She was on her feet and had Nave Au’Sixthstreet’s hackblade in her hand before Blackeyes began to move. By then, it was too late for him. He was bigger and stronger, but she was standing.

“You bitch, your going to– AARGH!”

Rose swung the Hackblade down, half severing Blackeyes hand at the wrist. He dropped his knife. Rose kicked him in the mouth with her big black boots, sending him sprawling.

“Look at me, Blackeyes,” said Rose. “Do you remember me?”

She waited for a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

“You’re… you’re…”

The hackblade rose and fell, cleaving into Blackeye’s skull, neck, and shoulder. It was a messy weapon, but effective. When she was done, she turned to Nave.

He was breathing, but appeared to be paralyzed. His eyes rolled wildly and his mouth twitched as she approached. Like Grime, Nave and Blackeyes were the least of Lawch’s band, but Rose still hated them to the depths of her soul.

She sat on Nave’s back and whispered in his ear “Do you remember when you had me like this? What you did to me? Die.”

And she slit his throat.

Then Rose fumbled in her stones, taking the bright green one and touching it to her wounded shoulder. It helped a little.

When she was ready, she gathered her belongings and left the little room and never came back.

<>

She learned later on that Grime, Nave, and Blackeyes all worked together.

After that she was more careful to hide her identity. She bought two masks, one a plain half mask of a lady’s face, the other a full mask in the shape of a skull. She wore the second when hunting.

<>

Nave Au’Sixthstreet

Blackeyes

<>

Rotblossom Rose (1.15R)

Welcome to the space where I experiment, my weekly serial. It is written raw, not edited at all, and mostly unplanned.

The world is partly based on the background of an unpublished Steampunk game that I worked on with a few friends, which has grown in my mind over the last couple of years. The story is a take on those ultra-violent revenge epics of the eighties where a man’s family is abused and killed, but he survives and seeks vengeance. Needless to say it is a grim, bloody tale, that deals with bad people doing bad things, so be warned.

Here is the first post of this series.

Here is last week’s post.

<>

Rose’s metal fingers furrow the rock and dirt as she is dragged, struggling toward the cesspool. Must be a roper, she thinks, as she reaches for her the blade that she has dropped. Just as she is about to be pulled past, she stretches to her limit and the tip of her fingers touch the blade. Then she hears laughter.

This is not the first time that Rose has killed a man only to have him warp back to life, but the sound of Cackles laughter chills her to the bone. The shock unnerves her and she fumbles the blade only to be yanked away before she can grab at it again.

Rose knows that if she is dragged into the pool of shit and refuse by Bleedwarpt Cackles that she will die. The grip of his single tentacle is monstrous strong, She looks around, hoping for something, anything that can use to loosen that hold.

She sees nothing. All of her tools are in the corner of the room, save that one blade which is out of reach; it may as well be in Avalain. She heaves and strains, but her cackling, gibbering assailant pulls her back toward the pit despite her struggles. She dares not look at Bleedwarpt Cackles.

Then her boots are splashing, kicking in the thick muck, Renewed fear surges through her and she pulls, inching out of the offal. But her enemy is not to be denied and it yanks on her. Rose can feel her mechanical arm separating from her shoulder. She does not want to die like this, not yet, not so far from the light.

Light,

The Lantern!

Rose snatches the lantern and rolls over just as the thing-that-was-Cackles yanks her again. This time it drags her halfway into the shit.

“Fucking die, Cackles!” Rose snarls and throws the lantern at his half-seen head. The lantern is a quality item, but Rose throws with desperate strength. She hears the reinforced glass shatter against the Bleedwarpt’s head, and then fire spills all over it, lighting the little room. The cackling stops, replaced by an awful scream, and Rose feels the grip on her ankle slacken, she digs her hand into the rock and heaves herself out of the muck, stumbling, then running into the next room.

The screaming stops and the light in the cesspit alcove disappears.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She realized that she’s left her hear in the room.

Rose runs to the supplies and grabs a needle spear. It is not the deadliest of weapons, but it has the advantage of reach. What she wouldn’t give for her Coilsword right now.

A familiar cackle sounds from the alcove, grating up and down Rose’s spine. She turns and faces that slice of darkness, spear in hand. The cackle sounds again, fuller and more malignant than ever. Something moved in the dark, just beyond her sight. Rose snarled, stilling herself.

The first thing she saw of him was the teeth, wide and flat, drawn up in a hideous smile too big for the doorway. From behind those wide, monstrous teeth came that haunting, horrible cackle. The mouth that emerged from the dark was far too broad for the head that followed, a tapered asymmetrical skull that was shaped as if he was wearing a floppy woolen cap. And above that impossible grin hung two black orbs full of hate.

“Quite an improvement, Cackles,” snarled Rose.

Bleedwarpt cackles was long and lean, with joins that bent in unnatural places. His left arm was a thick tentacle. His other was a human hand, clutching Cackles favourite knife, gleaming hungrily in the light.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither moved. Then Bleedwarpt Cackled began to laugh, a mad sound that clawed at the edges of Rose’s courage, and then he began to run at her.