The City of Velmusia

As he left the dungeon entrance, the vast cave area was occupied by torches, with a suspended rope that acted as a guide. He followed the dark-brown rope, climbing a steep hill of gravel within the enclosed space. It was a hike in its own as he found a tiny hole in one of the walls, crawling into it as he shimmied through the narrow space, finding his way through.

Eventually, after over an hour of traversing the rocky cave, he found his way into a room filled with other people–it was bustling; all of them were geared in their own right, sporting equipment that ranged from simple pieces of leather to sublime, golden armor.

“Hey, Bastian! On your way back down?”

He turned around as he heard his name called, being met with a youthful man of a similar age to him with fiery, red hair and a yellow bandana around his forehead. The red-headed man held a silver-tipped spear in his left hand, dressed in light, leather armor that seemed easy to move in, holding his other hand up as if waiting for a high-five.

Bastian slapped his hand against the other person’s own with a smile and a nod, “Yup. Just got a pretty nice haul, I’d say. What about you, Gaston? Heading up?”

The spear-wielding man let out a sigh as he ruffled his own, unkempt hair, “Well, I was. Get this: my group leader canceled because his equipment got robbed in the middle of the night! I mean, the guy is a bonafide silver-ranked adventurer, how’s he going to get plucked clean like that?”

“Sounds rough,” Bastian said, looking around as the adventurers that came and went from the area, venturing into different avenues of the vast cavern.

“Anyways, how about we get a bite to eat? You’re paying though, seeing as only one of us had a good haul today,” Gaston extended his offer, though it sounded more like a request.

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have to pay every time if you learned to roll solo,” Bastian said, walking towards the exit to the gravelly lobby.

Gaston followed beside him with a forced exhale, “Not everybody is as crazy as you are. You know some people started calling you “Dungeon Maniac”, right? Heard some people saying you actually live in one of these dungeons.”

“If you hear anybody saying that, please hit them for me,” Bastian said quietly as he sighed.

“Anyway, about that, we should take on a dungeon together sometime! How about it? Been awhile since we have,” Gaston offered, holding his spear up as he pointed it towards the ceiling.

“I’ll think about it,” Bastian said, though not planning on giving it any consideration.

There were tables and entire camps set up, not just for adventurers, but persistent merchants that displayed their wares for those preparing to explore the dangerous environment.

“Get yer potions here! When yer bleedin’ and cornered by kobolds, you’ll be thankful ya had Granbald’s Rejuvenation!” A tubby merchant proclaimed, holding multiple vials of vibrant, pink liquid and waving them around in front of the passing adventurers.

“If you’re going to slay monsters, you better make damn sure you have the proper steel to do it!” Another merchant, dressed in chainmail, called out.

It was the same everyday for Bastian, who recognized each and every merchant as he passed by, entering a spiraling stairwell alongside his friend. The steps of smooth, snow-white stone were occupied by others who ascended and descended, leading to a cramped, but fast-moving environment.

“Hey, did you hear?” Gaston asked.

“Hear what?” Bastian responded, brushing against a leather-armored adventurer who was going up, though didn’t bat an eye at it.

Gaston laughed, “Man, you really do spend all your time in dungeons, don’t you? Anyway, three top guilds are coming together for a huge expedition–I mean, huge! Sapphire, Dracon Alliance, and the Argonauts are going to set out for the twenty-ninth floor’s guardian!”

“Sapphire, huh?” Bastian repeated.

“Yeah, the top guild–isn’t it exciting? I mean, with those three working together, they might just do it! It’s been a year since the twenty-ninth floor was reached, so I say it’s about time to kick the doors down for the next one,” Gaston excitedly went on, “The rankings will change for sure after a big expedition like that! I predict Beowulf will take the number one spot!”

“Guess so,” Bastian replied without any of the same enthusiasm as his friend.

Gaston almost seemed offended by the lack of excitement, gasping, “Man–uegh, whatever. I just wish I could be on the frontlines, too. Slowly, but surely, yeah? I mean, I was still stuck on the first floor a year ago, now look at me!”

“On the second floor?” Bastian asked sarcastically.

“...Progress, man. Don’t knock it,” Gaston looked away, scratching his head, “You’ve been up pretty high once, right? It was, uh…”

“The eighteenth floor,” Bastian answered for him.

“And here you are on the second floor, in the land of the “normal” like me. It’s for the best, though. From what I’ve heard, everything past the tenth floor is just on another level–I mean, way beyond our paygrade. You have to be blessed by the gods to even dream of surviving up there,” Gaston remarked with a sigh before glancing at the darkly-dressed man beside him, “Well, I guess you did survive, didn’t you? How’d you do that?”

“Luck,” Bastian responded, “I’m never going back up there anyway, so it doesn’t matter. It’s not like us without Blessings can even be ranked, so what good does showing off even do?”

“Guess so,” Gaston shrugged before placing his hands behind his head casually.

It wasn’t a topic that he particularly seemed interested in discussing as he peered out of the window carved out of the colossal staircase, seeing the thriving city that laid beyond it: a bustling landscape full of remarkable architecture, with buildings made of brick and stone, and even further back, lavish homes of quartz.

A remarkable amount of steps later, the two reached the bottom of the tower of steps, finally stepping out into the bright sunlight that beamed down.

“Ah, fresh air once more!” Gaston stretched his arms out, welcoming the sunlight.

A pathway of pristine, tan bricks laid beyond the entrance, neighbored by pools of crystal clear water, supplied by fountains shaped as warriors of differing races–humans, sharp-eared elves, and even stout dwarves.

It took a bit of adjusting from the hood-wearing man as he pulled it down, looking up at the boundless, azure sky that seemed to stretch on forever, accompanied by a sea of fluffy clouds.

He glanced back, looking at where he had walked out from: a tower of bleached stone, as white as winter snow. It reached upward past the clouds, having no visible end to its height.

As far stretching in width as a town itself, it was an intimidating, but awe-inspiring sight; a structure that surpassed the limitations of human ingenuity.

[“It goes by many names–the “Prison of Monsters”, “The Infinite Reach”, “The Graveyard of Men”--but, it’s officially called the “Tower of Yggdrasil”: a structure of many mysteries, said to be placed in this city by the gods as a trial for mortals. It’s been here for centuries now, but we’ve only just scratched the surface of it, even with adventurers from every corner of the world coming for it. Some are drawn by glory and honor, seeking to surmount its challenges. Some are drawn in by its many treasures, even with the risks of monsters of every kind, of unimaginable power. I guess I’m the same. But, some are allured by the mystery of it, wanting to find out why it’s truly here, how it came to be…what lies at the end. I used to be the same way.”]

There were dozens of adventurers that loitered around, planning for their own expeditions into the tower, or arguing of who would get what share of their spoils; a common problem.

“Velmusia is as beautiful as always, isn’t it? I swear, this city looks like heaven after being stuck in that tower all day,” Gaston said, walking along the pathway as the fountains of heroes supplied the neighboring pools.

“Again, you didn’t actually do anything today,” Bastian mumbled, leading the way as a carriage was pulled past him by dutiful horses.

Though what the fiery-haired adventurer said wasn’t wrong; Bastian felt the same way–the freshness of the outside air, the bright sky, a city full of talking, moving people, and most importantly, a lack of hostile monsters.

Guards dressed in snow-white, sublime armor stood like statues around the perimeter of the tower, lining the bridge ahead as well.

‘Only certified adventurers are allowed to so much as touch the tower. It’s for the best though,’ Bastian thought.

Looking at the bustling cityscape before him as he stepped onto the bridge that led to the illustrious tower, something else was on his mind. A dazzling river ran smoothly beneath the arching bridge of rich stone, separating the city itself from the tower.

“Let’s meet up later, actually,” Bastian suddenly said.

Gaston turned to look at his friend, “Yeah? Sure thing. The usual place, okay?”

“Gotcha,” Bastian accepted with a small nod.

Heading into the depths of the thriving city alone after Gaston ran off, saying he had some errands to take care of anyway, the adolescent adventurer found himself cutting through an alleyway. There was a swarm of carriages at that time of day, ruling the streets, with some led by dutiful horses, some by wingless dragons, and even some by fur-clad felines of colossal status.

In the shady alleyways, conspicuous individuals loitered–some were beggars, some thugs, up to no good. The ground was littered in garbage, with tattered blankets in which those without homes of their own slept on. It reeked of old booze and unwashed odor, though to him, such smells were fragrant in comparison to the dank depths of dungeons he was used to exploring.

Though he received sharp looks from the misfortuned, he wasn’t fearful of being attacked; he had made himself known in the dark corners of the bright city.

“Bastian, boy.”

Calling the young man’s name with a hoarse voice was a withered, elderly man that sat in the alleyway, perched on a dirty rug with a barrel next to himself. The wizened person wore rags that looked a decade unwashed, with skin not far from it, layered in dirt, with a smile of most teeth missing, but a smile nonetheless.

“Manu,” Bastian responded, walking over as he knelt in front of the seated man.

He reached into one of his pockets, taking out a glistening, silver coin before handing it to the denizen of the cramped alley.

The old man accepted it gratefully, bowing his head, “As generous as always. Now this ancient soul can buy himself a nice, warm cup of mead.”

“You deserve it. Anyway, is Bilo in today?” Bastian asked.

Looking side-to-side as if making sure there were no unwelcome listeners prying into the conversation, the seemingly aloof elder straightened his expression before whispering, “They are. Actually, they said they had something to discuss with you. The usual spot.”

“Gotcha. Thanks,” Bastian nodded before standing up.

It felt like an entirely different world from the thriving, packed streets just a few strides away, though the shadows weren’t anything he minded. He walked past the old beggar, finding a few rats scurrying away from crumbs on the stone pavement.

He ventured to the back of the alley, stopping just before the wall before turning right. It appeared as though it was a dead end, though he knew better, using his hand to brush aside a curtain that veiled a staircase leading down to a door.

As he walked down the short steps, he stopped in front of the inconspicuous door of old wood.

‘Two pounds, two knocks, one more pound,’ he recalled.

The adventurer lifted his fist, loudly smacking his hand against the door twice, then following up with two, subtle knocks then one more, hard slam against the door.

He stood there for a moment as silence followed before suddenly, the sound of locks retreating was muffled from behind the door as it swung open.

“Who is it?!” A perturbed voice boomed, as deep as a chasm.

Standing in the doorway was a mountain of a man, looking down at the visitor to the suspicious residence. The wizened man with a bald head and bushy, white eyebrows had a slight hunch, but that didn’t stop him from towering over the adventurer well over double.

The man, clearly of giant’s blood, relaxed as he smiled with his scarred lips, “Oh, it’s you, lad. Come on in.”

Setting down the man-sized axe that he so easily wielded with one hand, the giant, elderly man stepped away from the door, back into the room behind it.

“Thanks,” Bastian muttered, releasing an exhale.

Even though he knew he wasn’t an unwelcome guest, the adventurer couldn’t help but feel relieved that the towering, club-wielding man recognized him.

The giant man scratched his chin while walking behind the counter of the tucked-away establishment.

“Seeing that yer alive, guessin’ the dungeon Bilo scouted for you is all cleared out?” The towering man asked while grabbing one of the bottles from the highest shelf, along with a pair of glasses.

Though they were normal sized cups, they looked like nothing more than shot glasses in the monstrous, tanned fingers of the giant owner of the establishment.

It was an odd combination of a bar and shop, with blades displayed on the walls and booze on the shelves.

Bastian glanced around at the wares, always finding that there were new items on display each time he visited, “Yeah. I almost got wiped out by some skeletons, but I’m in one piece.”

“Hah! Ya know, back in my day, I wouldn’t even bother using my axe to deal with skeletons in those dungeons. My companions would place bets on how many I could take out with my bare hands,” the old man reminisced, raising and looking at one of his hands, which were large enough to palm a human head easily.

“I bet you could still do some serious damage in the tower, Vol,” Bastian said, leaning on the counter as he watched the towering figure tilt the bottle of amber liquid over the mug.

Vol chuckled with his hoarse throat, “Maybe, but my place is here with the Veil. Besides, don't think my back would agree with me goin’ through cramped dungeons anymore.”

“I can’t disagree with you there. Nobody’s going to want to start trouble here when they see your mean mug,” Bastian lightly joked, accepting the glass of mead poured for him.

“Ya got that right! Reminds me,” Vol said before gulping down an entire mug of the unruly beverage in a single drink, letting out a mighty belch before continuing, “Had some thugs snooping around earlier, actin’ like they wanted to buy somethin’. They had a whole plan sketched out and everythin’: one would talk to me to keep me busy while the other pocketed the gemstones on display.”

“How’d that work out?” Bastian asked, trying to look the other way as the breath of the towering man was anything but pleasant.

“Well, I took it easy on ‘em. Must be my age gettin’ to me,” Vol said, “So, I smashed the hands of the thief and the jaw of the talker. Fair enough punishment, I’d say.”

Bastian let out a wry laugh, knowing it wasn’t an exaggeration from the shopkeeper, “Well, I doubt anyone will be trying that again anytime soon. Word gets around. Speaking of which, I was hoping you’d have a word to say about something I found in that dungeon earlier.”

“Oh, yeah? Lemme see,” Vol set his mug down, planting his hands on the wooden counter.

The adolescent reached into his pocket, retrieving the ruby-implanted ring before placing it on the large hand of the shop owner.

Vol brought it in front of his gaze, inspecting it, “...Hmm…”

When it came to getting his findings from the dungeons appraised, there was nobody else he could trust more than Vol. Of course, being the owner of a shop that buys and sells just about anything brought back from the tower makes one’s eye for value true, though that’s not the main reason why Vol is the go-to: unlike the greedy peddlers that run the market, he knew Vol was a genuine appraiser, who wasn’t a fan of underhanded tactics.

“So?” Bastian asked.

Vol set the ring back down on the counter, “Could get four gold pieces for it, I’d say. Ya found this one in the dungeon?”

“Yeah, it was in one of the orc’s pockets. Snagged it off of him,” Bastian responded.

“This didn’t come from the dungeon,” Vol stated.

“What? I picked it up from–” Bastian began to retort, repeating what he already had said.

The giant shopkeeper clarified, “What I mean to say is that ya may have found it in that dungeon, but it came from outside of it. Specifically, this belongs to Franz Audrigal. Big name.”

“Franz Audrigal? Sounds familiar,” Bastian replied, picking up the ruby-implanted ring as he inspected it for himself.

“He’s a nobleman with a lot of power in this region. Even has a seat on the High Table. Get what I’m saying here? Caught with this, and they’ll get the wrong idea,” Vol warned, tapping his large index finger against the table.

“Gotcha. So, interested in buying it?’ Bastian asked, placing the item back down.

Vol laughed, “‘Course I am. Offer is two gold pieces and one silver.”

“That’s way less–”

“I’m including the fee of getting this hot piece off yer hands, mind ya. Try selling this anywhere else and yer risking yer own head. I’m giving ya a good price, all things considered,” Vol explained to him, shrugging his burly shoulders.

After a bit of consideration, the lowered price was swallowed as he knew the value involved with selling an item mistaken as stolen goods.

“Alright,” he accepted.

Vol laughed heartily as he placed down the payment as the coins bounced against the smooth, wooden counter, “Nice doin’ business with ya’!”

“Yeah, yeah…Anyway, I need to head down, actually. I almost forgot, but I did come here to talk to Bilo,” Bastian said, taking the payment as he stuffed the coins into his pocket.

“Sure thing. Let me get the door for ya,” Vol said.

Though the half-giant passed right by the wooden door, he instead moved over to the arrangement of shelves in the left wing of the shop, passing by the assortment of potions as he stopped in front of the dusty rack of weapons.

Bastian stood and watched as Vol stretched his tan, scarred hand out, grabbing the handle of the greatsword displayed high on the wall, a place only the shopkeeper could naturally reach as it was lightly tugged–click.

The stone bricks began to rumble before a doorway revealed itself as a false wall retreated downward, pulling away as a secretive passageway was presented.

“There ya go,” Vol said as he stepped aside.

Bastian walked to the unveiled passage with a nod, looking up at the wizened shopkeeper, “Thanks. Actually–I’ll leave my findings from today with you. Just give me the payment later.”

The adventurer took the blueish pouch off of his belt before opening it up as it expanded to its much larger size, waving it around and allowing its contents to spill onto the floor of the shop. An assortment of jewelry rained down, piling up as the half-giant looked as though he was seeing pure gold.

“A-ha! Now that’s a real haul!” Vol reacted.

“Can I leave it to you? I take it you’re fine with buying it all,” Bastian asked.

The shopkeeper nodded, “Oh, of course! Keep it comin’!”

Leaving that to the old half-giant, Bastian entered the hidden passageway as the entrance closed itself behind him, leaving no trace of a door to begin with. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to him, though the abundance of cobwebs was something he would live without.

There was a tunnel leading downward, supplemented with wooden steps embedded into the carved out stone.

It was quite a lot of steps, dozens, hundreds; perhaps not a considerable amount normally, he did find himself somewhat worn by the long day he had, especially with a warm meal on the horizon. After descending the secretive tunnel, the sound of endless chattering filled his ears with a refreshing ambience, mixed with the echoes of countless fast-paced steps.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, a vast scenery stretched out before him: an underground city of its own, with hundreds, if not thousands, of people occupying the society beneath the city. There were buildings of their own, made of unkempt stone and shoddy wood; not remarkable architecture, seeming as if a single strong gust might knock the structures over, but outstanding for its location.

Amidst the uneven, gravelly ground were makeshift streets, finding themselves occupied by people hauling in large crates, looking to be lifted from merchant carriages, not coming from any proper means, most likely.

‘The Veil: if you need something illegal, this is the place to go,’ he thought.