Chapter 4
Most money is handled digitally through a chip embedded in the left forearm linked directly to bank accounts. Physical money, or Deckra, is a coin-based system. Each nation stamps its deckra in a unique pattern. The value of any one coin is worth ten of the coin valued directly under it: 1 Silver = 10 Copper, 1 Gold = 100 Copper. Beyond Gold is a Lens (a green crystal coin) or Platinum = 1000 Copper, Mythril = 10,000 Copper, and lastly, the Thud, a large adamantine coin with a gem forged into the center, each worth 100 more Mythril than the last (pink sapphire, blue sapphire, ruby, emerald, diamond).
15th, Loyassion, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
It’s been two days since my father died. So here I am, living in the woods just beyond the fence, writing in his journal and trying very, VERY hard not to think about how hungry I am or how much I want to kill that man. It’s not working out as well as planned.
My father once told me that when you start a journal, you’re supposed to give it a name. So far, our options are either ‘A Life of Pain, Loss, Sadness, Alienation, and Abuse’ or I could name you Mark. Seeing as the first name is a bit long-winded and makes me want to cry, I will happily settle for Mark.
Well, Mark, as I’m sure you know, you were my father’s before you were mine. He just had random notes and sayings scribbled throughout the entire first half of you. Not that any of those scribbles can help me undo burning down the house. I can’t believe how stupid I was. Why didn’t I drag him out and build a pyre or bury him? I could have used the stocked pantry, the bed, and the fireplace. Well, I can’t spend all day writing. I need food. I’ll talk to you again after a few days of hunting.
20th, Loyassion, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
Sorry, Mark, but I’m still no good at hunting. Five days later, I had four different animals in my bow sights. I’ve caught six rabbits in traps, and I let them all go. Damn it! I’ve had nothing but berries, bark, roots, and mushrooms for days. But as badly as I want to cook some meat, I keep finding the desire not to hurt them even stronger. But I’m not at the point of eating bugs yet. I’ve just got to keep trying.
10th, Hemotiove, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
I still haven’t managed to put down anything. But last night, I caught my first hint of danger. A wolf pack came within earshot of where I was sleeping. I was near the fence, so I managed to get behind the gate before anything came skulking around, but it was a near thing. I have pretty good night sight, so I saw the shape of a large canine sniffing around. I’ve never seen a wolf in person, but it seemed too big, maybe nine feet long and as high as a horse. Was it a warg or a dire wolf? I don’t know the difference.
13th, Liovid, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
Still no luck with hunting, but the leaves are starting to turn, and with that close call with the big-ass wolves, I came into town. Right now, I’m living out of the shed behind Mr. Faillis’s house. The High Elf prick was always waving his pedigree around. I’d love to see the look on his face if he knew he had a Darkling orphan living in his shed. It has some power outlets, and I managed to repair an old space heater. I’ve still got my favorite blanket, Sasha.
She was my very first memory. For years, I carried her around until Father made me leave her in bed. But here I am, homeless, almost alone, but not quite, not with Sasha and Mark. Well, guys, the cold is setting in. I need to work on stealing food from the local shops and markets. I hope the merchants are in a good mood today.
18th, Liovid, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
So it’s almost my birthday. Father said I was born on the night of the Howlane festival, when the worlds between the living and the dead are thinnest. Maybe this year I could see Father. Thinking about it, I’m not sure that would be such a good idea. He might get upset at my lack of hunting skills, and he may actually murder me if he learned what I did to the cabin.
Ha! Wouldn’t that be ironic? A ghost father killing his own living son… Wait… I think that happened in an old play by that famous playwright, Macbeth. Or did Beowulf write it? Damn it, I am no good with this refined culture stuff.
Anyway, I’ve gotten better at snatching. Today, I managed to snatch a whole loaf of bread. This loaf should last me for a while if I don’t mind it going stale.
24th, Liovid, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
Happy birthday to me! Today I am officially fifteen. I also got out of the supermarket with a box of crackers, a wedge of cheese, and a handful of raw shrimp. It must be some kind of birthday miracle. Tomorrow, I’m going to start pick-pocketing, and once I have enough, I’m going to buy my first beer. But today is the first day of the Howlane fest, so spirits are high, spooks abound, and pockets jingle with coin. Maybe I’ll aim for a scotch if I can save up enough. Gods, at times like this, I wish Father would have let me have a therra-node. I’ve seen all those shows where some super-smart hacker plugs his therra-node into a network and ends up with a mountain of deckra. Just like Father to make sure my life was harder than it needed to be.
15th, Deassen, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
It’s been almost a month, Mark. The festival was rife with pockets to pick, but I didn’t have the nimble fingers to walk away with more than a few coppers. It would have been enough for a beer, but I thought better of it and bought bulk discount instant noodles. I spent the rest on parts to get an old coffee maker working that I found in the trash. I just brew my noodles in the coffee pot. I still don’t have any silverware, so I wound up drinking from the pot and biting off the noodles. Mug of noodles, anyone? Bad joke, sorry, Mark.
I’ve been spending my free time finding broken tech in the trash. Even after I fixed the coffee maker, it still has erratic temperatures. I’ll just have to keep my eyes open for a replacement heating element.
8th, Sorittal, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
Sorry I’ve been neglecting you, Mark. I’ve been caught up trying to get food, coin, or parts. I managed to jerry-rig a heating element for the coffeemaker for my noodles out of narrow copper piping wound into a tight coil. I had to work in two Lightning Myst crystals to get the whole thing working in the end. I’m quite proud of my handiwork.
14th, Hathondar, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
I’m starting to get the hang of this pick-pocketing thing. The trick is to distract the… mark? I’ve found the trick is to distract them, anticipate their movements, and keep a light touch. It took a couple of months and a lot of kicks to the ribs to figure this out. I’ve managed to snag, over the past week, three coppers, two pocket knives, three pens, a couple of packs of gum, two fidget toys, and, best of all, a multi-tool.
3rd, Chandom, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
That multi-tool I got last month has really been a boon. It has screwdriver heads, pliers, wire cutters, a hammerhead, a pry-bar, a ruler, scissors, a bottle opener, a small knife, and best of all, a multi-meter function. With that last feature, I’ve been able to test volts, amps, and resistance on anything I can get my hands on. This nifty gadget has taken my tinkering to the next level.
I found an ancient cell phone in the trash a couple of days ago, and with a new Lightning Myst crystal I stole from the supermarket, I managed to get it functioning. Although it won’t do much good without a service provider. Damn it. I want a therra-node so damned bad.
20th, Feadormor, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
It took me over a quarter of the year, but I finally have enough deckra to buy myself a few beers. To be precise, seven months. Although my shoes are wearing thin. Maybe I should skip the drinks and get some new footwear. Well, tomorrow is the winter solstice. Might as well figure out what’s so great about alcohol when everyone is drinking. Shoes can wait a week or two.
1st, Noctothone, 5646, A.o.t.S.S
Never again. Never, ever, ever again.
Drinking was a terrible idea. I’m technically a year short of the legal drinking age in Ventic, but under all this dirt, I’ve been mistaken for a shrimpy sixteen-year-old. It probably helped that the bartender was a Moon Elf, and Elves are never good at guessing the age of us shorter-lived species. I found out that with three silver in coppers, I could buy an entire bottle of bottom-shelf scotch. I drank to the memory of my father. I hated the taste, but I just blew thirty coppers on the bottle, so I couldn’t let it go to waste. So I took another swig, then another, and another. After a bit, I cared less about the taste and liked the feeling growing in my head. First, I felt warm and cozy. Then I started to feel really good, euphoric. I stopped when the room started to spin. In my infinite drunken wisdom, I tried to strike up a conversation with a clean-cut Human man in a crisp suit. He sneered at me and told me off. I moved on to another Human, a large, hairy man in a black leather jacket. I hadn’t gotten three words out when he backhanded me. I called him out and said some things that if Father had heard me, he would have flogged me. I didn’t realize my mistake until the large man stood. He drove a fist into my gut, picked me up by the neck, and threw me across the room. The entire room laughed as I staggered to my feet, and the brute stormed over, picked me up, and threw me out of the building into a mound of snow.
I staggered back to my shed. I hurled all over the ground right outside my shack. If the drunk bit had been bad, this morning was worse. My head throbs. Noise and light make me cringe. I’m nauseous, but I need to eat because I haven’t had food in days. I guess I’ll just sleep this off.
1st, Skephest, 5647, A.o.t.S.S
I’m so sorry, Mark. I haven’t written in two months. I haven’t seen you since I was sick from drinking. Turns out when I hurled my guts up, I left behind evidence. Mr. Faillis found the mess and found me while I was sleeping. I don’t think I need to tell you how ticked off the stuck-up cut-ear was. He physically threw me from the shed and kicked me until I fled. I came back that night to find a padlock on the door. I’ve been spending every night since trying to pick the lock. But as of right now, on Pasyon 1st at 2:04 AM, I’ve pulled it off. The stupid twit didn’t even throw out my stuff. He just left everything, including Sasha, my tools, my electric heater, and you, Mark, in the shed.
As payback, I took the cut-ear’s biggest travel backpack and collected all my things. I also ruined all of his yard care tools. I gutted his lawnmower and weed wacker, snapped or bent anything I could, and made sure to take a long piss on the floor. But now I need to find a new home.
14th, Malther, 5647, A.o.t.S.S
I think I’ve found a workable home. It’s another shed in some sad-looking Orc guy’s backyard. He has a work truck full of groundskeeping tools. The guy doesn’t use his shed, so I’ve set up camp here. The only thing stored here looks to be old tax documents for his company, Irontusk Grounds Maintenance and Care.
I’ll need to hunt down other possible locations in case he finds me. I’ll also need to prepare what my father called a bug-out bag. After I have prepped, I’ll need to look into finding that murdering scum bag. I’ve spent too long just trying to live. Now I need to work on my father’s final wish.
24th, Pasyon, 5647, A.o.t.S.S
I’m here with you, Mark, at the edge of a cycled year, at three strokes to midnight, the summoning hour.
First stroke, tell my woes: I am Iver Maverick. This year, I have lost my father, failed as a hunter, failed to get revenge, and burned down my home.
Second stroke, confess: I fear I do not have the strength to make it through this world on my own. I am in so much pain that I want little more than ease from this burden. I want to learn what it means to love.
Third stroke, request: I want friends. I want freedom from this pain. I want a home. I want vengeance for my father. I want my life to mean something.
There. I never, ever want to drink again, but I am thankful I was sober enough to make this wish. Cheers, Mark and Sasha. Here’s hoping next year will be easier.
