Kristoffer Pauly
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Oil Tongue - Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-06-06 21:23:20 +0000 UTCThis is a new Isekai story I've been working on for a few weeks. I don't have any plans to launch it until at least February of next year, but I wanted to show y'all the current draft of the story's intro.
It's meant to be Grimbright, i.e. a dark world with hope in it. It also involves a slightly unusual system, as well as a world based around Roles, similar in a way to F-Tier Assassin. My plan is to keep working on this between other stories when I have time, and have the entire book 1 finished before I release it anywhere, since that's not really something I've done before and it has kind of screwed me over since I haven't had a solid backlog and ended up stressed as a result.
Anyway, I hope you will let me know what you think.
Opened this up to free members.
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Chapter 1
Jack could not move. He could not scream. He could not defend himself from every kick to his stomach and head that rocked his world. His blood drippled eagerly from the many stab wounds in his body. Every beat of silence between the impacts threatened to pull him down into a yawning abyss, only for him to get yanked back to reality by every new sharp explosion of pain.
Shouting came from down the street, but it was like bubbles in water and incomprehensible to his mangled ears. A dull tinnitus whine accompanied the throbbing migraine pressing his brain against his skull, and he knew his life was numbered in seconds.
Jack could not remember why he had come here. The purpose had already slipped from his mind. But he knew that today was not meant to go this way. It had just been another Tuesday.
His three attackers vanished and he started drifting off.
But then a man’s voice pulled him back from the devouring abyss, though his words were just bubbles in water.
It’s too late, Jack thought.
The world skipped and he suddenly saw boots all around him through his right eye. His left was shut and would not open. Something flashed nearby, a strobing blue light. Hands grabbed him and his world quaked as they moved him onto his back.
He wanted to cough, but he was unable. The world through his right eye was blurry, every figure a smudge of movement and every light a long stain.
Jack’s world skipped again and he suddenly had a ceiling above his head. He felt small impacts up through his back, each tiny shock flaring up the pain.
Nearby, something beeped loudly and two voices preceded the arrival of hands grasping him. The beeping started to fade into blissful silence and he could no longer feel the pain in his body.
Finally.
***
Jack shot upright with a gasp. For a split-second he thought he had been dreaming, but then he looked around. The ground was hard and slippery like glass, and in front of him stood a radiant figure, staring down at where he sat.
It was clearly inhuman. Its head was encased in a helmet of yellow bone with a seam running down the middle. Two large horns sprouted from the sides of the helmet and up into the air. Its neck was long and thin, running down to equally-thin shoulders, and its exposed skin was dark-grey and dotted with eyes that had black sclera and golden pupils. The rest of its torso and down to the inverted knees of its tall body were obscured by two large wings, but he got the sense that it was insectoid in appearance. Its arms were skeletally thin with sharp elbow joints and long claw-like fingers. The wings were like those belonging to a moth, and their golden scales glittered like treasure. From the back of the otherworldly creature sprouted four more, splayed out like the fingers of a Godly hand.
Around them were a dark haze like chemical smog, and it was only when Jack tried to stand that it hit him just how freakishly tall the entity was. Then he saw what they were standing on. It was like the entire observable cosmos was trapped below the glass floor. The sight gave him an overwhelming sense of vertigo, as though the yawning cosmic abyss would drag him down. One wrong move and he was certain he would break through and fall into the void of outer space. He suddenly realised that his fate was entirely in the hands of the radiant being standing before him.
Jack had never been religious, a trait inherited from his father no doubt, but he was certain this was the arbiter of his afterlife. All that was missing was a scale upon which to weigh his heart against a feather. He bore no illusions about the odds being in his favour if he was to be judged on the merits of his character.
For some reason, he felt an overwhelming sense of clarity and could now recall the events of his death in detail. It really had just been another Tuesday. He had scheduled a meeting with one of the debtors who owed his boss money. Jack had not brought any weapons with him, which had turned out to be foolish since the guy had brought his friends as backup. Normally he would consider his odds in a three-on-one quite good, even without his trusty baseball bat, but it had been game over once he was stabbed in the abdomen.
It was just part of the risk of what Jack did for a living, and there was certainly a long list of people who had wanted him dead. That it had been some loser with a gambling addiction and bad luck was a cruel irony, but such was the way of karma.
His father had always said, “Tragedy is the flavour of life and joy is a rare spice.”
That phrase pretty much summed up Jack’s lousy experience, but then his father had always been wise beyond his years. Not that it did him much good in the prison he was locked up in last Jack had seen him.
“If you’re going to judge my soul, would you mind just getting it over with?” Jack asked the tall winged creature.
If not because he had just recently experienced death, he might have felt some trepidation about facing down the thing in front of him. But dying had a way of making a man fearless, though it was unlikely to benefit him in the afterlife.
“Jack Woods,” spoke the entity, clearly enunciating his full name. It surprised him that the voice was feminine and honey sweet. He realised then he was looking at a Goddess of some kind. “Thou are a murderer, a sinner, a liar, and a misfortune upon those closest to thee. Thy soul would belong to the Void if not for the kindness thou showed towards children and animals. As thine adjudicator, I have a fitting punishment for thee.”
“I knew it, I’m going to Hell, aren’t I?” Jack replied. He had heard it said enough times to know it was probably true.
“The Hell that thou believe in does not exist. Souls traverse the coil until the Void takes them. Thou will also traverse the coil once more, born anew. The life I have chosen for thee is one of hardship and strife. At its end we will meet again and I shall once more render thy judgement.”
Jack barely had enough time to try and comprehend the meaning of the words before the glassy floor broke into glittering dust. He fell into the universe below his feet, unravelling as he plummeted and shedding his mortal body.
Then darkness ruled.
***
Before he knew it, Jack found himself in the body of a three year old. It was his body, sure enough, though he had no memory of the years that had come before. However, there was some hazy concept of his new world instilled into him through those experience he could not recall. His former self still swam about within his head, and it seemed a cruel trick of the Goddess to allow him to remember his past life.
Almost as soon as he had gained full self-awareness, he realised his situation was rather bleak. He was but one amongst dozens of orphans in an old rundown orphanage overseen by a strict but caring woman named Lisbeth. Other women often aided this headmistress with cooking, cleaning, and breastfeeding the youngest.
Jack was shown little kindness by anyone, apparently owing to his pale skin, black eyes, and black hair. As the Goddess had promised, he was dealt a pretty bad hand. After all, it seemed his unique appearance was a grim omen, though he had no idea why. Traditions being what they were, he was treated as though the merest touch of his skin could impart a lethal toxin, though Lisbeth still showed him a motherly kindness when no one else was looking.
He tried several times to communicate to the adults that he was in fact a thirty-six year old man named Jack Woods, but his pleas for attention were treated as nothing but a toddler’s nonsensical babblings. It was quite a challenge to be taken seriously when he still required a diaper and needed help getting up onto chairs and through doors.
Besides, they all insisted his name was “Vagan”. It seemed a sinister name, and they said it like it was the invocation of some blasphemous curse.
It did not take Jack long to realise that his new home was an unkind place. From what he overheard and saw within the orphanage and outside in its garden, it was clear this world was in a medieval era of some kind. Many of the children around him succumbed to simple diseases every month, but Jack was somehow always spared when it came to illnesses. Even a simple flue was a harrowing affliction that the orphanage’s women treated as a sign of impending death.
When they thought no one was listening, some of the adults spoke of magic, although their tones were wary and frightful. It was clear that the society of his new world was not one of progress and technology, but rather superstition and rigid dogmatic adherence to some form of tradition that shunned anything deemed to not fit in, of which “Vagan” was included.
***
As he grew older, he was allowed more freedom and, aside for curfew and chores, not confined to the orphanage. This meant that he could explore his new world, though it was limited to the town of Sirk within which the orphanage lay. Its sand-coloured stone walls were like an impossible barrier for him to overcome, and his attempts to sneak outside the town were foiled time and again by adults with supernatural senses. They somehow always managed to spot him, no matter how well he blended in with the stream of people coming and going through the large town gate. Even sneaking onto a farmer’s wagon made no difference.
After proving he was up to no good by being escorted back to the orphanage several times in the same week by a town guard, he befriended an older boy from the orphanage called Benja. He was like the brother Jack had never had in his previous life, and the two of them soon became infamous in Sirk for their antics. They stole from the market stalls, pranked the young women preparing their finest clothes for their sixteenth birthday, and drove the guards mad with their daily attempts to escape the town.
It was strange returning to childhood, Jack often thought. The world was so much bigger, the colours so much brighter, and every day with Benja was full of the kind of exhilarating fun that his past childhood had sorely lacked. Jack’s father had been a violent but fair man, but his mother had been a menace. Even though his father was the strongest person Jack knew, even he had been cowed by the woman’s near-daily outbursts. She had been controlling and manipulative, and as a result young Jack had struggled to find friends, since he was rarely allowed to decide who to play with or who could come visit.
When he had gotten old enough to move out, Jack had gone as far away from his home as he could afford. His mother had tried to stop him of course, but at that point she no longer scared him, and his father was locked up for six more years so he could do nothing to stop Jack either.
But even away from his abusive mother, Jack had struggled to find his purpose and keep a steady job. He had been fired and evicted in the same week, ending up homeless for a while and being forced to resort to crime to get by. Eventually he had caught the eye of a local gang, ending up first as their drug courier and later as a dealer. When its leaders were taken down by the police, he narrowly escaped arrest and found a different group to attach himself to, becoming the hired muscle of a loan shark. He had not been a musclebound freak like so many of those around him, but everyone said he scared the shit out of them because his eyes were not quite right.
Then he had been stabbed to death one Tuesday and that was that.
It had not been a life worth living.
But this new life was different. Even though the people of Sirk hated him for how he looked, none of them could hold a candle to Jack’s mother. He honestly felt blessed to be allowed to experience the youthful mischief he had only ever seen in movies. And though petty crime was a fun thing for a young boy to do, he hoped to make something out of himself when he got older, just like his father had always wanted.
And unlike what his old man had often said, joy was no rare spice in Jack’s new life.
One rainy day, when neither Benja nor Vagan had felt much inclined to roam, they sat under the simple awning in the orphanage’s garden. Fat wet droplets spilled down through the gaps in the rotten planks overhead and struck the dirt with loud thuds.
The older boy asked, “Say Vagan, when you’re sixteen, what do you reckon you’ll be? My bet’s on Thief.”
“Me? I’m already a thief, aren’t I? Same as you,” he replied.
“That’s not what I mean,” Benja explained. “The Role Assignment, we’ve all gotta do it. Even us who nobody wanted.”
Vagan knew nothing about that, but he did not want to be teased for his ignorance, so he simply shrugged.
“Me, I think I’ll be a Warrior,” Benja went on.
For the older boy, sixteen was not so far away. Only two more years for him, but Vagan was still only eleven.
“Will you leave the orphanage?” Vagan asked.
“Don’t think Lisbeth will want me to stay,” he replied.
Vagan frowned. Benja was his only friend. All the other children feared him because of his appearance, after all. With him gone, his life would become dreary and bleak.
“Don’t look so sad, you fool,” Benja told him. “Not like I’ll leave Sirk.”
“Don’t warriors go to war?” Vagan replied knowingly.
“Then I’ll become a Guard!” he said. “I’m not leaving you alone in this mudhole.”
Vagan laughed and hopped off the stone steps they’d been sitting on, running out into the rain.
Benja yelled that Lisbeth would be upset if they came back all soaked again, but he still ran after him.
Unsurprisingly, when they made it back home they both got a proper scolding for their foolish antics, as well as cleaning chores to last them the week.
***
When Vagan was thirteen, he finally got to see what a Role Assignment looked like. All the children from the orphanage that were ten years of age or older were allowed to accompany Benja and Lisbeth for the very important day.
Vagan had gathered bits and pieces throughout the years about why everyone’s sixteenth birthday was special, and he had heard the use of strange terms that he felt sure were connected. Still he had no idea what to truly expect. This was all so foreign to his past life. But what he had managed to gather was that the Role Assignment was the great decider of people’s fates in this new world.
In Sirk, this special ceremony was held on every Friday, or Freya’s Day as they called it here. Vagan had never been able to observe a Role Assignment before, since it always took place within the town’s old chapel. He had tried to sneak in once, but for some reason they had guards stationed around the entrance. Lisbeth’s punishment when he had been caught was the most severe he had ever received from the strict woman. The punishment told him that this was quite the sacred ceremony and interrupting it was one of the greatest crimes imaginable.
Today was different, because now he was allowed to accompany Benja and Lisbeth inside. The last child from the orphanage to undergo the ceremony had been before Vagan was ten years old, but Benja had been old enough at the time to see it, which was no doubt why he started talking so much about it afterwards.
From the outside, the chapel’s sand-coloured façade and square belltower were not so exciting, but the interior was quite ominous and filled Vagan with a God-fearing thrill. Braziers ran down the length of a path covered in beach sand which led from the door to an altar at the far end. The smoke from the braziers twirled up into the air and hung about below the ceiling like dark clouds, and the burning scent of the fragrant Spicewood was like a heady incense that made it hard for Vagan’s thoughts to wander.
Lisbeth led Benja by the hand to the start of the sandy path. The young teen, now an adult, was made to walk down to its end, each footfall leaving a trail behind. Meanwhile they all walked down the left side and a priest followed on the right.
Benja reached the altar at the end of the path and knelt in the sand before it. Lisbeth, Vagan, and the three other kids from the orphanage all knelt on old pillows a few metres away. The priest walked up to Benja and said some words that were impossible to hear from where Vagan sat.
The priest stepped back and pulled a black silken cloth away from the altar, revealing something atop it.
It immediately started to move.
Vagan let out a gasp, as did the other kids, when they realised there had been a statue kneeling on the square block of the altar this whole time. Because of the dim light and flickering flames, they had not noticed the black silk covering it.
But it was not any ordinary statue, for it was evidently alive.
Its shape was like that of a naked girl sculpted from granite with veins of gold interspersed throughout. Six feathery wings sprouted from her back, the feathers themselves looking very life-like and dusted with gold. Her face was encased in a golden helmet that sprouted two large horns from the sides.
The sight gave Vagan flashbacks of the Goddess who had sent him here. He knew it was meant to depict her, but the wings were wrong and her figure had not been so pure and beautiful. Still, his feelings about her were ones that were mostly positive.
The Goddess statue reached down to touch Benja’s bowed head where he knelt before her. Vagan saw as his friend became entirely rigid and his eyes glowed with some golden inner light.
A pulse shot outward from the altar, pushing the accumulated smoke away from the ceiling towards the entrance and ruffling Vagan’s hair and clothes.
Lisbeth started quietly praying below her breath.
The statue retracted its arm and straightened its posture, turning its head slightly towards where they were kneeling off to its side.
Vagan froze, feeling as though it was staring right at him and judging all the mischief he had been up to since coming to this world.
Then the priest returned with the obscuring veil and bade Benja arise.
His friend had a strange indecipherable expression on his face and Vagan could not tell if it boded well or not.
The chapel’s belltower sang out across Sirk and the priest had Benja step off the path to his side. It seemed symbolic of how the youth had become an adult. Walking on opposite sides of the path, they all returned to the entrance and exited out the same doors they had entered through, though the priest stayed behind.
Outside waited six other youths and their families.
No sooner had Lisbeth taken Benja off to the side of the chapel’s steps than the next person in line went through the doors.
“What Role did you receive?” she asked him.
Benja blinked as though awaking from a dream and adopted his usual grin. “It gave me Guard, headmistress.”
“Fortuitous,” she commented.
“What do I do now?” Benja asked.
“I will speak with the Guard Captain,” Lisbeth told him. “He will no doubt want to get you started on your training soon. Guards are not so abundant that he can ignore a promising youth such as you. Though he will have to whip that mischievousness out of you, so you had best prepare yourself.”
“Yes, headmistress.”
Vagan wanted to approach and say something. He wanted to congratulate his friend and ask what he had seen when his eyes became golden. But he was unable to move. Even if Benja was staying in Sirk, he was no longer going to be there for Vagan every day. The central figure in his life, who he had looked up to and whose presence made every day fun, even when they did simple chores at the orphanage, he would be gone from this day forward.
He realised he was crying when Benja turned to him.
The older boy put his hand on Vagan’s head and said, “You don’t have to be so sad, Vagan. Mayhaps the Captain will let you train with me.”
“It would do you some good,” Lisbeth remarked. “Goddess knows I have tried, but to tame a wild spirit like yours requires a firmer hand.”
Vagan shuddered at the prospect, but wiped the tears from his face and said, “If I train with you, will I become a Guard too?”
Benja looked thoughtful for a moment. “With your energy, Scout or Messenger is more likely.”
“Anything but Thief and I will be pleased,” Lisbeth muttered, shaking her head. She looked across her flock of children before saying to Benja, “You should return to the orphanage and pack your things. You had better help him, Vagan. Make sure his room is clean before I return.”
“Yes, headmistress,” they both replied.
They returned with the other orphans before going to Benja’s room and preparing for his departure. As Vagan cleaned and Benja packed his few belongings, they talked about what he had seen when the statue touched his head.
Sam, Guard Captain of the Sirk garrison, was a kind man so long as his orders were obeyed to the letter and never questioned. He had allowed Vagan to join in on Benja’s training in the hopes that it would produce another young Guard a few years down the line.
However, his good nature was quickly tested by the pair, since they were as reactive as oil and fire, always getting themselves into trouble and playing pranks on the older Guards.
Vagan was dismayed to see just how quickly Benja outpaced him in every new training session, his supernatural growth spurred on by the Role Assignment. Though he was still the fastest of the two of them, for now anyway.
From how Benja had described it, the ceremony with the statue was like a key to open a door hidden inside everyone’s soul. And once this door was opened, one’s true purpose was laid bare. Every personal skill and attribute was given a starting value, and all of these values could be raised through diligent training involving the specific skill or attribute. Most skills relied on the attributes for power, meaning it was no use training the skills by themselves if the attribute remained low. As an example of this, one of the Guard’s special skills was something called ‘Armoured Endurance’ and it relied on both strength and vitality, the latter of which Benja was struggling to train effectively.
Sam told them that it was normal for people to have an easier time with some training and progression over others, and he warned that, depending on the Role assigned, attributes would reach a point where any further growth became exponentially more difficult to attain.
To Vagan it all sounded quite a lot to keep track of, but apparently the Goddess’ benevolence allowed every person with a Role to track their growth. He recognised this in the way that Benja’s eyes would turn golden and glaze over.
It’s almost like he’s watching a screen, his old self would think.
When he asked his friend to explain what he was seeing, he described it as a golden parchment with black text that unfurled in front of his eyes alone.
Sam warned not to obsess over his growth too much, lest he lose focus and become demoralised when it would eventually stagnate. Even before the point where growth would slow down significantly, it would be a process of diminishing returns, with quick gains early on, followed by further progression requiring more specific training or hand’s on experience.
The times when Benja sparred with the Captain, who seemed to have a surprising amount of time to spare on the pair, the Benja reported that his progress was much faster than before. And this was despite the fact that he never landed a hit on the Captain and always took quite a beating.
This, Sam explained, was because the Goddess recognised that moments of strife, struggle, and life-or-death situations were to be rewarded more than simple training. As a result, the Guards of Sirk often saw the most personal progress when they were called upon to defend the town, though this was an infrequent thing and usually only limited to stray creatures emerging from the Bluewood Wilds. Vagan had never seen the infamous forest, but Sirk was nestled up against it and this reportedly made traversing the road north to the bigger cities a complicated and dangerous affair.
Sam went on to compare the Guards of Sirk to the ones of Laverna, the capital far to the north, saying that because the city was much bigger and often dealt with trouble within its walls, as well as beyond, its defenders were of a much higher calibre and strength.
Benja reiterated that he was fine staying in Sirk, though Sam seemed to think that experiencing different environments was important for the young boy’s growth and told him that eventually he would ask his friend in a neighbouring town to take him under his wing.
Vagan feared when such a time would come, since he would not be allowed to leave Sirk alongside his friend. Still, he was content in the moment, because they were able to continue spending time together, even though Benja no longer lived in the orphanage.
***
After half a year of training alongside Benja, Vagan felt he had become quite strong himself, but his friend was now completely out of his league. He was able to outrun Vagan, his sword swings against the target dummies hit twice as hard, and his endurance allowed him to keep going long after Vagan was completely exhausted.
Sam, perhaps fearing that Vagan would give up his training out of frustration, assigned the boy special tasks around Sirk whenever Benja went on excursions beyond the walls with the older Guards.
One of these tasks was working as a runner delivering messages to the men stationed at various points around the town’s walls, as well as handling mail delivery for the residents, since there were no Messengers within Sirk. Another was gathering information about the road to Sirk from the infrequent visitors to their town, such as the Merchants and occasional Adventurers. And lastly, he was to provide assistance to anyone in town who needed it, usually manifesting into doing small errands, like locating lost possessions, cleaning, and aiding the elderly with chores like cooking.
To Vagan, it was an excellent way to burn off the boundless energy afforded to him by puberty, and to his old self it was a way to finally feel like he belonged somewhere. It was something he had never truly accomplished in his past life, and he was sure his actions back then had only brought ruin to the lives of the people in his community.
One positive side-effect, which may have been the Guard Captain’s true motive, was that the people of Sirk started to appreciate Vagan and treat him like their friend, despite the fact that his appearance was at first startling and ominous to them. Many of the people that he and Benja had terrorised years prior with their antics were now laughing about what mischievous children they had been, while lauding the youths for what upstanding people they had become.
Even the strict headmistress Lisbeth could be heard singing his praises in the orphanage whenever she was trying to get unruly children to behave, saying things like, “You could all do to learn from Vagan’s example.”
Although the Goddess had promised him hardship and strife, she had given him a life truly worth living for and Vagan was nothing but grateful.
***
Two years passed in the blink of an eye, and Vagan eagerly awaited his Role Assignment that coming Harvest, hoping against hope that he would receive a Role that would keep him around Sam and Benja. Although, having spoken to many Adventurers, part of him was excited by the possibility that he might become like them. The stories of their travels filled him with a desire to roam the world, though he felt guilty for dreaming of leaving behind his best friend and his mentor in Sirk.
The Adventurers were a motley group of people, all with different Roles, some even Guards like Benja. They were individuals who had decided to seek fame and glory by travelling the lands and aiding those in need, as well as defeating the dangerous monsters lurking beyond the reaches of civilisation. Despite Vagan often overhearing whispers of magic, none of the Adventurers who visited Sirk ever possessed any such special powers. They were all usually Hunters, Guards, Thieves, Alchemists, and Warriors.
His old self was glad that the Role Assignment did not determine one’s purpose in life, but merely guided it. Some of the Adventurers often talked about the more famous of their unofficial order, with one of the most well-known being a Blacksmith whose clever use of his skills made him quite powerful, especially against armoured monsters that others had trouble defeating.
One of the things he had benefitted most from, thanks to his years spent as an errand boy and messenger in Sirk, was his exposure to the many different Roles the Goddess assigned. Merchant, Seamster, Entertainer, Builder, Official, Tamer, Farmer, Gravetender, and many more Roles were all obtainable, and he was surprised to realise that every person he met seemed to exude a simple confidence in their assigned Role, as though it was purpose-made for them.
Once, he even met a Paladin, who had come all the way to Sirk to meet with the Priest who handled the Role Assignment ceremony. Though they only had a brief interaction, Vagan got the sense that this man possessed a type of magic, though nothing as flashy as what he thought such a power should look like. But he dared not ask anyone about the topic directly, because it was only ever spoken of in hushed tones. He feared his good will with the people of Sirk would tarnish if he sought to pry open this taboo.
One day, when there was less than a week before Benja was scheduled to leave Sirk and travel northwest to the town of Himmelshaft, Vagan was running late to their daily training session because Lisbeth had needed his help with one of the new orphans.
He bounded down the dry dirt streets heading for the garrison in the boots that Sam had gifted him the other day, and greeted those he met along the way. Since he had grown accustomed to helping people, he stopped when he saw a man hunched over something on the street.
“Something wrong?” Vagan asked him.
The man, who was an old Builder, regarded him with a flat-lipped smile. “What do you make of this, boy?”
Vagan looked down at what he indicated, seeing a dead pigeon. The birds were not as abundant in Sirk as they had been in the cities of his past life, but they still showed up often enough. Normally the birds only left the rooftops if they spotted an easy meal, such as spilled grain or discarded bread, since people would catch and eat them if given the opportunity, seeing as meat was not a bountiful resource and their feathers could be sold in the market.
It took him a moment to realise what the old man had meant, because there were some strange growths dotting the areas around the pigeon’s eyes and beak.
“It looks diseased,” he remarked.
The Builder nodded. “It’s the second one I’ve spotted today.”
“I will tell the Guard Captain,” he replied.
The man patted him on the back and off Vagan went to the garrison.
Sometime later, after training with Benja and Sam, Vagan ran through Sirk to deliver a message to the Priest about a potential outbreak of bird-borne disease impacting the town. He had been surprised to realise that the Guard Captain had already received dozens of reports about dead birds landing within Sirk. It was as though they dropped from the sky after succumbing to their unfamiliar illness.
No sooner had Vagan reached the chapel than he saw the Priest outside, overseeing a small body lifted on a wooden stretcher and covered in a black veil. The back of the chapel had a crematorium and it seemed the men carrying the stretcher were taking the body there.
“Vagan, your timing is fortuitous,” said the Priest upon seeing him. “I need you to deliver a message to the Alchemist about a new illness that is afflicting Severin the Baker and his family.”
There were two Bakers in Sirk, but Severin lived up against the eastern town wall with his wife and three children. Vagan frowned as he realised that the body on the stretcher must belong to one of his kids. While death in childhood was not uncommon in Sirk, the coincidence with the dead birds troubled him.
He also had the foreboding sense that the birds had come from the east, but it was not his place to tell the Priest what to do, so he delivered his message from the Captain and went off to find the Alchemist.
His shop was nestled at the back of the market and lay close to the gate in the northern wall, but before Vagan could make it there, he was stopped in his tracks by the high-pitched scream of a woman. Abandoning his task, he ran to its source and found the Carpenter Helene standing over the body of her husband. He was nearly unrecognisable where he lay, as his stomach had bloated from within and something sprouted through the top of his head, clearly having broken through his cranium with explosive force. Sprouting from him were long tapering fungus that reached up into the air like grasping fingers.
No sooner had Vagan been assaulted by the horrific sight than Helene collapsed to the ground with a spasming seizure. He tried to help, but the moment he touched her she experienced the same fate as her husband.
Vagan stumbled back and violently emptied his stomach from a mix of repulsion and fear.
Then more screams filled the air.
The ground rumbled and a house nearby collapsed in on itself as mould and mushrooms sprouted from its wooden structure. The wood itself turned to mulch and lost all coherence, decaying before his eyes as though he was watching a timelapse.
Vagan spun around, looking for an answer to why this was happening.
That was when he saw Sam come running with several Guards behind him, one of whom was Benja.
“Don’t come closer!” Vagan yelled to them, but it was too late.
He watched as their formation crumbled before him. Their polished iron armour rusted and fell apart, the clothes on their bodies shrivelled and broke, and their flesh darkened and sprouted horrific growths.
Benja stumbled a step and hit the ground with a wet squelch, his body unravelling before Vagan’s eyes.
He cried out and ran to his friend’s side, but Benja was already dead, just like the rest.
Dead within seconds from an unseen plague.
Vagan sobbed and spilled his guts once more, looking around helplessly as the entirety of Sirk crumbled to ruin. The sand-coloured stone walls and houses survived, but all organic material fell to ruin, and every metal brace and rivet turned into fragments and dust.
From where homes had been sprouted increasingly-bigger mushrooms, and a fuzzy carpet of white mould spread across the ground. Insects appeared alongside this fungal invasion and grew to the sizes of animals. A woodlouse the size of a bear skittered across the area that had been a market until a moment before, quickly lapping up the decomposing remains of former residents. Snake-sized worms swam through the mulchy remains of houses, and bird-sized dung flies buzzed through the air overhead. Springtails, slugs, millipedes, and many other detritivore insects were taking over the town and there was nothing that Vagan could do.
He looked down at his own body. His clothes hung in tatters and his new boots had become almost like dust.
And yet somehow he was spared the horrific disease.
He thought this was a sick nightmare, but no matter what he did, he could not wake.
A springtail as big as a rat skittered towards him and the remains of his friend and the other Guards.
“No!” Vagan screamed and got up, kicking the insect with all his might.
But it only made the other creatures take notice.
Suddenly he was forced to fight off swooping dung flies and foul slugs, protecting the remains of Benja and Sam from their greedy mouths.
None of the insects tried to hurt him and he was able to keep them at bay for a couple of minutes.
Then the enormous woodlouse returned, barrelling through him and sucking up the remnants of Sam.
Vagan pleaded and begged, shoving at the armoured insect with all his might, but it did not budge in the slightest.
And when it was done there was nothing left behind. Not even bone.
The other detritivores left to pursue meals elsewhere, and the woodlouse did not even bother looking at him as it turned and skittered away.
Vagan screamed all the foulest curses he knew, yelling at them to come back and kill him too.
But frustratingly, they treated him like he did not exist.
Like he was toxic for them to ingest.
He collapsed to his knees in the soft carpet of fuzzy white mould.
Eventually the insects disappeared completely, leaving him as the sole heritor of a town consumed by fungus.
There was no fight left in him. He had not the means with which to claw back his dignity and defeat the monsters that had devoured his family, his friends, and the only place that had ever felt like home to him in this life and his past one.
Around him swirled colourful rust-orange spores on the wind, but even inhaling them did nothing to harm his body.
Movement broke him from his despair and he saw a figure striding towards him.
He knew it was a hallucination of his traumatised mind and did not move as it approached.
“You’re just like me. A misbegotten child of the Goddess,” said a voice twisted by sickness and malice.
Vagan’s eyes met the gaze of a woman. She had purple skin like that of a corpse and her hair looked like blue flames in the gentle wind. Her irises glowed with the same rust-orange hue as the clouds of spores, and she wore clothes made from mushrooms and mould. Something large and golden was held in her left hand, but he was spellbound by her gaze.
She was the incarnation of the sickness that had brought Sirk to ruin.
The moment he realised this, she reached down and forced his mouth open.
She grabbed his tongue before he could put up a struggle.
“This is the only gift I can give you,” she said.
“The Goddess cursed you just like me.”
“She sought to make you twisted and wrong.”
“She meant for you to become a monster same as me.”
“But I won’t let her have her way.”
“Use my gift to grow strong.”
“And when you’ve become strong enough, find me and put an end to my abominable existence.”
Pain suddenly lanced through Vagan’s body. Fire licked across his skin and needles filled his veins.
The woman released her grip on his tongue and he collapsed in a heap, squirming and writhing as agony consumed him.
His vision faltered and his mind could focus on nothing except the pain.
Eventually, in an effort to save his addled mind, his consciousness was flung out of his body and into a bizarre kaleidoscope of colours and absurd shapes.
He escaped the pain and torment by swimming through this abstract sea, and he might have remained there for days until his consciousness was suddenly reeled back in, returning to his body.
When Vagan returned to consciousness, he found himself in the same place he had left, but his body now lay in a reflective black puddle. It stank like crude oil and its vapour made his head buzz.
He stumbled upright, but immediately went into a coughing fit and vomited. But what came out was black like the puddle. Then his senses returned and he could taste it in his mouth and feel it permeate his body.
The touch of the woman had cursed him, made him full of this foul black liquid.
Vagan vomited again.
His tongue felt weird in his mouth and he looked down into the black puddle beneath him, seeing his own reflection.
It was wrong.
His eyes were like oil slicks, shifting through hues of bright colours with no rhyme or reason. The black hair on his head had an oily sheen to it as well, and everything except his face, hands, and feet was purple, just like the woman he had seen.
But most bizarre of all, his tongue had turned to liquid, becoming black crude oil given shape.
What happened to me?
A tremor moved through him and something strange appeared before his eyes.
It did not match the description that Benja had given him, since it was not golden but black. However, its words were familiar to him.
< < Role Assignment > >
< You have been assigned the Role of Accursed >
-----------------------------
Comments
Kristoffer Pauly
Ah, F-tier Assassin is a different story I wrote a bit but ultimately paused to continue Loopshard since that one was more popular. https://www.patreon.com/posts/110275901 Added a hyperlink for those wanting to know what that story was like.
Archivist0
My google fu skills have failed. F-Tier Assassin? Assuming it is a non-english reference?
Kristoffer Pauly
Quite right
Akkido
Its shape was like that of a naked girl-> woman sculpted from granite with veins of gold interspersed
Throh_goblin Lord
Haven't read the chapter yet but it has a fun name
Gilded Goblin
Okay so that is honestly pretty great. The role system is pretty intriguing, and having the "inciting incident" being his hometown literally time-lapse into a state of magical decay and the presumed BBEG literally *ask* to be killed, all that is really a very compelling opening.
Kristoffer Pauly
... wat
Portalop
She be oiling on my tongue until I Dosei
