Adventure

Gears ground against each other in mechanised harmony, and the periodic thunk of a rod settling into place was just another noise in the cacophony of Nagovia’s buildings. What should’ve been a peaceful morning was drowned out by the raucous of everyday life. Marcurio lay in his bed, an arm covering his eyes to try and keep out the bright lights streaming in through the slatted windows.  

There was something about living in Nagovia that made his skin crawl. It could’ve been the noises loud enough to drown out his own thoughts, or the blinding lights at every hour of the day. It could’ve been the aches and bruises he got from working with the machinery, or the burns across his skin from hot steam spurting from broken pipes. It could’ve been the fact that the already busy city was just getting more and more crowded.  

He’d had enough. It wasn’t smart to just up and leave, but anything was better than this. Marcurio would take sleeping in a cave full of spiders or bears than having to spend another day in Nagovia. He peeled himself out of bed, leaving the warmth of his bed behind. Leaving Nagovia was something he’d had planned for a while. For so long in fact that he already had a backpack ready for when the weather outside wasn’t going to lead to his untimely demise. It wasn’t rain he was worried about, or even the cold winds. No, it was the torrential blizzard that lashed against the mountain sides, only avoiding Nagovia due to the heat radiating from the metal buildings it housed. If there was one thing good about Nagovia, it was the heat. But Marcurio could deal with being cold if it meant he didn’t have to put up with everything else that came with living in Nagovia.  

Marcurio got dressed in record time, making sure to grab an extra jacket just in case. It wasn’t supposed to be that cold, it was summer after all. The bag he’d packed for this exact occasion was slumped against his cracked wooden dresser. Inside, he’d made sure to pack a spare set of clothes, whatever food wouldn’t rot immediately, a canteen for water (or mead if things got that bad), some flint for a quick fire starter, some coins (though did other towns even use those?) and some extra bolts for his crossbow. Was it a quiet weapon? Not in the slightest. But that didn’t matter, it was the only weapon Marcurio could actually use.  

He grabbed the weapon in question from the rack on the wall, its bronze body scuffed and scratched from constant use. He’d had it serviced just last week, so it should’ve been okay. All he needed to do was get to the next town, then he could have it serviced again. He slung the strap of the crossbow over his shoulder,  followed by his backpack. He tied his jacket around his waist and tucked a small hunting knife into the sheath on his belt. The dull blade could barely cut butter, but it had to still be useful for something.  

Marcurio took one last look around his room. It was small, cramped, falling apart, and he could hear the rats in the walls. He was surprised that he hadn’t gotten ill and died from whatever diseases festered within the building, let alone his room. The person who sold it to him should’ve been a dead give away at just how shit the room would be. Shady was an understatement. But, Marcurio didn’t have another choice considering the state of Nagovia in general. It was either an infested room like this, or one so close to the gears and pipes that you may as well be sleeping inside them. He’d take rats over the possibility of being ground up and minced any day.  

Every part of him hoped that the other towns on Aedria would be better than this. At least he knew that nowhere else was run on mechanisms Marcurio didn’t even know what they did. It was the one thing that kept people in Nagovia in the first place. It was so bizarre that people just couldn’t help but stay. Not Marcurio though, the wonders of the bronze city had worn off after he’d been scorched by steam for the third time. That had been seven years ago, and Marcurio didn’t feel any better about it now. If he could go back in time and tell his eighteen-year-old self to move to literally anywhere but Nagovia he would.  

He’d take Ickmere over this. It didn’t matter that it had a tendency to flood. Or that everyone who lived there was old enough to remember at least five wars. Or that half the buildings were ruins. Or that it constantly had an air of death around it. Okay, maybe Ickmere wasn’t a good choice. But there were other places. Like Boneford. Yeah it was cold and the people there were even more so, but it was a good little trading hub.  

Then there was  Clewre-Wharf with its lovely beaches and breath-taking views of the sea. And the small, little flying rat problem. It wasn’t any sort of nickname for a strange bird, no Marcurio could probably live with that. These were literal flying rats. Like, rats with wings. Big rats. That would bite. Marcurio didn’t even know how that was possible, but apparently it was.  

That still left a lot of places. Like Valenveil. A lovely woodland city built into the trees with dazzling architecture and carefully carved decorative pillars. It was on the South-West peninsula, far away from everywhere else. The people who lived there were charming, friendly and sometimes cannibalistic. Maybe it wasn’t the best situation, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. He could deal with the fact that the people of Valenveil were partial to a bit of human flesh if it meant he could sleep peacefully. He’d just have to watch his step to make sure he wasn’t turned into human soup. 

But there was still Fairhollow. Wait. No there wasn’t. It got overrun by vampires. Or was it vampire bats? Either way, Marcurio didn’t exactly fancy being a refreshing drink for either bats or vampires. 

Emberhelm was another choice. Not that Marcurio really wanted to live there. He wasn’t made for mining or hauling ores from one building to the next. He didn’t want to be working on trying to fix transport rails between the towns. He’d already dealt with one mechanised town; there was no chance he was going to live in another one. 

Which meant there were two main towns left and more than a dozen villages. The villages wouldn’t give him a life worth living. Tilling fields or looking after livestock wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the rest of his days. Sure some of them could provide a bit of comfort for a day or two. A couple drinks at the local inn to tide him over until he feels like travelling again. Maybe some of them would be kind enough to let him do some odd jobs until he could buy a horse. That certainly wasn’t going to happen overnight. But it would make travelling less tedious.  The two towns left were Boneford and Ashenport. In order to get to Ashenport he’d have to go through Boneford anyway.  

Boneford was always a half-way town. It was never truly settled, just a collection of houses used to house all the travellers passing through on their way to other towns. The only people who actually lived there would work at the Inn or in the various storehouses to supply travellers with the things they need. It was a town built on ruins. Large stone structures that had been there for years, centuries even. Rumours of hidden treasures had circulated over the decades. All centred around whatever was buried beneath the ruins. But no one had ever found them. Maybe it was just another made-up story to bring more people to Boneford. Maybe it was a true tale about a dead king. There was only one way to find out, but Marcurio didn’t fancy going on his own. He’d need to prepare first. A new weapon, some armour, a decent backpack to carry all the loot. Maybe a bodyguard too, that would be useful. Marcurio could hold himself against rats or spiders. But he didn’t know what would be in a sealed crypt. Long forgotten beasts? Ghouls? Even bigger rats or spiders? The possibilities were endless. 

That left Ashenport, a town whose name became nothing but ironic. Originally called Ashenport for its ash forest and port that was the only connection to the mainland that was on Aedria. But if what Marcurio had heard was true then Ashenport was now partially ash. Something to do with a fire that tore through part of the town. It was a cruel joke. But the irony was too funny to ignore. Not that Marcurio wanted to laugh at the misfortune of one of the few towns left that were actually liveable, but he couldn’t help himself. Especially when Ashenport was the only town actually worthwhile moving to in his eyes.  

After debating with himself about where he was actually going, Marcurio left his room for the last time. Or at least until he would eventually realise that he hated everywhere else on Aedria and crawled all the way back to Nagovia. But that would take him at least a few months to realise, right?  

Marcurio took the stairs down to the main street, skipping the broken slabs and stairs inundated with stuff. He pushed the bronze door open, the bottom of it scraping against the stone floor. The squealing hinges begged for oil, but Marcurio didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem anymore. Maybe someone else would finally do something about fixing the building. Someone other than him.  

The sunlight beat down onto the smooth stone streets. People flooded from their houses, flitting in and out of the various workhouses down the street. Several were already clambering up the pipes to turn the valves and fix the pressure. Others were removing debris from cogs: some scrap material, dead rats, the odd bone or two. It was surprising just how much stuff you could find if you scavenged the cogs. Of course it was dangerous. One measly rat could bring the whole thing to a stand-still. You remove them, then the whole thing starts up again. If you aren’t quick enough, you become the blockage. Fun, and definitely not paid well enough. No one in this town was. The pay was better than other towns, but that didn’t take into consideration the price of food. Nagovia was good for mechanisation. People could make metal structures that would swamp other towns. Large bronze guards guarded the gates. Bronze weaponry was easy to get a hold of. But food… food was rare.  

Nagovia had spent so long figuring out how to make all these strange mechanical beings that they forgot about one of the key parts of living. Up in the mountains it was hard to grow food. When there was snow on the ground for the vast majority of the year then crops weren’t an option. Livestock would’ve been the only way to combat the lack of tillable soil. But they didn’t care. All those running these operations simply bought food in from elsewhere. They could set the prices of anything they wanted. It was rare for someone to have more than two meals a day, and even then it was usually gruel. Marcurio couldn’t wait to taste real food. In all the travel logs he’d read, they all describe meals of potatoes, swede, apples and meat. At this point he didn’t care what meat he was eating as long as it wasn’t rat.  

Marcurio pushed his way through the crowds of people on the street, keeping hold of his crossbow. He was more worried about it getting damaged than he was about thieves. Pickpockets weren’t an issue in Nagovia. No one had anything worth stealing. Despite the thick grey clouds above and the visible snow on the mountains, the streets were scorching hot. All the steam being spat from the broken pipes fell like acid rain from above. Marcurio pulled his sleeves over his hands and flipped his hood over his shaved head. The last thing he wanted was to be travelling with burn marks splattered across his body.  

He turned right at the end of the street, cutting through a thin alleyway to avoid the stampede of people towards the centre of town. It was a half-moon, that only meant one thing: market day. Today was the only day of the month that allowed people to trade in their spare goods they’d scraped together to trade in the main hub. Sometimes people would come from other towns in order to get cheap materials that workers had scraped from their respective sites. It was the only way people could avoid paying full price. The rich in Nagovia would only get richer by selling their goods at whatever price they wanted, that often meant high enough that no one in Nagovia could actually afford it. But the workers were far more lenient. A hunk of meat big enough to last until the full moon would get someone scraps large enough to make two greatswords, or a heavy shield, or a light shield and a sword, or a scoped crossbow with enough bolts to last the average hunter three moons. A basket of low grade veg and a scrappy deer carcass would get enough scrap metal to need a wheelbarrow to move. It was a good way to make friends too. The more you gave, the more you got, and the more willing people were to get you even more next time. It was possibly the only reason Nagovia hadn’t had an uprising. People were allowed to take any scrap they found. That included in the streets, the mines, any parts of machinery that needed replacing, anything that wasn’t considered perfect. It was an odd rule, and Marcurio had always been surprised at just how well it had worked.  

Some said it harked back to Nagovia’s founder, Lord Haggen, deciding that only the best pieces of metal could be used in his mechanised city. Now, six-hundred years later, it remained in place. Others thought that it was most likely the only way people could stay in charge. If you took the only thing that gave people a way to actually live, they’d very quickly look for ways to create new management. Marcurio had heard rumours of some people trying to hire sorcerers or wizards or warlocks to try and bring life to their mechanic creations. Though magic-men had been long run out of Nagovia, so Marcurio wasn’t exactly sure of how well that plan was going to work.  

The alley brought Marcurio out on a long, straight road that led all the way down to the North gate. It was the path of least resistance. Most people came in from the West, from the mountain path leading from Boneford or from a direct path to Ashenport running straight into the forest. But Marcurio didn’t fancy getting eaten by bears or wolves or whatever else lurked in the trees. The East led straight to Clewre-Wharf, which would’ve been useful if Marcurio wanted to become vampire food. But he didn’t. There wasn’t a South entrance, instead it was the mines. There was a chance that Marcurio could use the mines to escape, there was a shaft that ran straight down towards sea-level. It supposedly came out by an old burial ground. Though, the path had been blocked off after people used it to route some of the ores to other towns, to higher buyers. That left the North gate. It was the least protected way out of Nagovia, partially due to the fact that it led to nowhere in particular and before you could even find a main road you had to walk down over a thousand steps. Not the best way to start a journey, but it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been a sheer drop into a tiny amount of water. That would’ve been bad. Luckily, people carved steps down towards the ground about a hundred years ago. It was a good time to be alive. 

The lack of people on the North Road made the clanking of pistons and screeching gears seem even louder. Marcurio was surprised he was still sane after spending fifteen years here. He was also surprised that he’d never gotten used to it. Despite being ten when his parents decided Nagovia would be a good place to raise a family, Marcurio still hated every creak and crack of the city’s inner-machinations.  

The North Gate was a monstrous thing. Towering over twenty metres tall, it’s stone wall and bronze gate were a warning to all about the dangers that lay beyond them. Fear was the only reason people stayed in Nagovia anyway. Years of being told that whatever lay beyond the gates would lead to certain death turned people away. Being this high up on the mountains certainly helped that idea. Anyway, why would people want to risk the cold when they could stay in the warmth of a well-guarded city. Marcurio could see the bronze golems up ahead, standing guard on either side of the gate. He could also see all the cogs that would need to be put into motion in order to lift the gate up. It was a good thing that Marcurio wasn’t actually planning on having the gate open for him to leave.  

See, in order to save resources, the gates were made with gaps in. The bars were spaced around a metre apart, that way they could use significantly less bronze on a gate that led to a sheer drop. Once the steps were put in, the gate was never updated. The golems served to scare people away from the gates, and would only become aggressive if someone without permission decided to try and reach the levers or cranks to open the gate. However, that metre gap between the bars was more than enough space for Marcurio to squeeze through, even with his backpack and crossbow. Once he was through, he was safe. Well, safe-ish. As long as no-one decided to turn the oversized crossbows either side of the gate on and explode his body with a bolt the size of his legs. As long as no-one did that then he’d be fine.  

It was why he decided to leave during a half-moon. Everyone was so busy trading, there was no one to alert the golems of his intentions. That’s as far as his planning went. So long as he got past the gate, he could do whatever he wanted. If he died out there then at least he would die free. But he would’ve much preferred to die in an oversized bed with soft sheets a good thirty years from now. Yeah, that was the dream. 

Marcurio stood in the middle of the street, only a few metres from the gates. The golems remained still, as if they were just statues. Marcurio knew better though, he’d seen them use steam to melt a person to a puddle of goo in seconds. Their built in crossbow bolts were more than three times as large as traditional ones, one shot was enough to kill a grown man. There was something about them that left him in awe. The sheer power they’ve been built to hold. Their carefully crafted components that made them machines of death. But he also knew that they meant him no harm. As long as he didn’t go for the lever he was fine. As long as he simply slipped through the bars then nothing would come of it.  

He took a step towards the gate, his heart beating fast in his chest despite the lack of imminent danger. He wasn’t going to die. They weren’t going to kill him. He was safe. The golems continued to stand still, their arms resting at their sides and heads trained to look forwards. 

The cobbled stone street felt as though it was grasping at his feet as he took careful steps forwards. He practically dragged his feet, willing them to move despite his brain’s cry to stop moving. They weren’t going to hurt him. No one was going to stop him. But his legs still felt like stone.  

He couldn’t hear much over the thudding heartbeat in his ears. But he could feel the cold breeze against his face. The chilled wind that was wrapping its way up the mountain. He was close. So, so close.  

‘Hey!’ someone screamed from behind him. 

Marcurio whipped his head around to find the culprit. His breathing was hard and fast, his chest heaving to try and pull the air into his lungs. The empty street made it easy to find the person who yelled. They stood at the end of the alley Marcurio had taken as a shortcut. It was only then that Marcurio had recognised the voice. Their gruffness did little to help with the lack of friendliness their voice held. The burly man had a large bronze hammer slung across his back and a bag in his vice-like grip. Groch was a large man in every sense of the word. He always had been, even as children Groch stood almost half a metre taller than Marcurio. He was strong too, frequently bending some of the machinery parts in order for Marcurio to claim them as ‘scrap’. Marcurio hadn’t told Groch where he was going, but the toothy grin on Groch’s face told Marcurio that he wasn’t doing this alone.  

‘You think you would survive without me?’ Groch said when he was close enough to not have to shout.  

Marcurio shrugged, feeling a little calmer now that someone with much better survival chances had showed up. He’d like to think he would’ve made it to Boneford alive, but a large part of him had doubted such a positive outcome. ‘I’s gonna try.’ 

‘You would have been bear food.’ Groch laughed, clamping a hand to Marcurio’s shoulder. ‘What is the plan then?’ 

‘Well,’ Marcurio said, looking at the gate, ‘plan’s to walk between the bars.’ 

‘How were you going to get over the bottom on your own?’ 

Marcurio hadn’t thought about that. At the bottom of the gate there was a solid two metres of bronze that acted as a border for the gate and a way to keep the bars secure. He’d been so worried about getting past the golems that may as well have been paintings that he’d forgotten about the bottom of the gate. 

‘Climbed?’ he said, unsure of his own answer. 

‘You lie. But it is now fine as I am here to help. I shall lift you, and I will climb.’ Groch pushed Marcurio forwards and strode towards the gate, not even looking at the golems. 

Marcurio took up stride beside him, suddenly getting over all the thoughts he was having about being shot dead or turned to goo. Those last few steps towards the gate were easy. The golems continued to stand there motionless, just waiting for someone to tamper with their machinery. Groch dropped his bag at the foot of the gate, crouching down with his hands in front of him. The bottom of the gate was taller than Marcurio was standing, the smooth surface providing no grip.  

‘Hurry Marcurio, we do not want to waste sunlight,’ Groch growled, his focus being torn between speaking and holding his stance.  

Marcurio stepped onto Groch’s waiting hands. He bounced once, twice, and on the third Groch boosted him upwards. It should’ve been a solid plan, Mercurio could be boosted high enough in order to let Marcurio reach the solid bronze platform of the bottom border. It should’ve been an easy way for Marcurio to get over. He could get up to the platform, take a few seconds to regain his composure, and swing his legs round to drop over to the other side. Then, Groch would jump up himself and drop down next to Marcurio.  

That’s not what happened though.  

Instead, Groch seemed to have forgotten his strength. Seemed to forget that Marcurio didn’t weigh as much as the usual stuff Groch was lifting. Seemed to forget that two metres wasn’t as much as either of them thought.  

Cold wind blasted Marcurio’s face as he sailed through the bars of the gate. He fell to the floor with a resounding ‘thud’. Marcurio groaned as he sat up, rubbing his arm where he landed on it.  

‘Marcurio, are you okay?’ Groch yelled through the gate. 

‘Uh, yeah?’ Marcurio guessed, not entirely sure if that was the truth. He ached, and was almost certain to find multiple bruises whenever he next checked. 

‘I will accept that.’ 

Marcurio moved himself out of the way of the gap he came through, using the rough outer edge of the wall to pull himself up. As he did, there was a loud clang as Groch pulled himself up the gate. Within seconds, he was dropping down next to Marcurio with a crash, his warhammer clanging against the bronze gate. He helped pull Marcurio up with a stern hand. 

‘I am sorry, Marcurio. I forgot how small and puny you were.’ Groch smiled at him, his sharp teeth bared as he did so. 

‘Ah, i’s alright, nothing’s broken at least.’ Marcurio tried his best not to sound in pain but couldn’t hide all the wince when he stood up straight.  

‘I will carry you.’ 

‘No, Groch, I’s fine.’ 

‘I insist.’  

‘Please, not down the steps.’  

‘The steps.’ Groch pondered for a moment, looking out at the vast island beyond Nagovia. ‘I forgot about the steps. But I must make it up to you!’  

‘Maybe when we’s on flat ground.’ Marcurio laughed at Groch’s keenness. He’d always been this way, Marurio had expected no less by now.  

Marcurio took one last look at Nagovia’s bronze gates, bidding a silent farewell to a life he was sure to never miss. The cold was already biting at his skin, his fingertips trembling around his crossbow as he readjusted it at his side. The sooner they got off this mountain the better. He turned to look out at the rest of Aedria.  

From here, he could see the small trails of smoke from the scattered towns and villages. He could see the soft glow of the sun on the snowy mountain peaks opposite. He could see the roads and trails etched into the earth as they wound their way across the land. He could see all the places he could eventually call home.  

Marcurio let a small smile spread across his face and walked towards the edge of the stairs that climbed their way down the edge of the mountain.  

‘Let’s go, I still smell steam and oil,’ he said to Groch. 

With Groch right behind, Marcurio took the first step down.