Lough Freed
I opened my eyes to darkness... darkness? My heart rate increased, my vessels constricted, and my breath became laboured. I looked around, at least what I thought I could look at, which only served to increase my panic as the numbness I felt behind my eyes ran through every nerve in my body as if I had no body... but I had to... unless... I was dead?
Then my eyes snapped open, cold sweat trickling down my forehead. I feverently looked around my cramped room, trying to piece together what was happening. A dream? I thought to myself, how idiotic of me...
I stood up out of my bed, drenched with a damp, cold, and lingering sweat that smelt exactly like I felt... crappy. I stood in front of my mirror and sighed. My jet-black hair had grown to shoulder length in no time and my azure eyes shone like the sea, with a deep-rooted maturity that wasn't usually present for someone of my age at only nineteen, as I made eye contact with myself, and I clicked my tongue. "Don't look impressed with yourself," I said to myself before wiping away my sweat and putting on a loose shirt and some trousers. I looked at myself again, and my mildly muscular build looked frail with a hidden strength beneath the loose shirt. My height of five foot five stood unintimidating to anyone who would bother looking at me. The only sharp feature I had to claim for myself was my jawline, which I was quite pleased with, but that was if I disregarded the rest of my unattractive looks.
As I was leaving, I glanced at a shiny object on my bed. Unwanted and unpleasant memories flooded back to me. War. Death. Allies. Enemies. Blood. So much blood.
I shook my head. I'm done with that life, I thought silently. "But just how long will it be before I'm dragged back..." I muttered absentmindedly as I stepped out the door.
As I stepped out into the street, my nostrils were hit with the smell of cramped areas and smoke and dirty people... that is to say... the smell of poverty.
I sighed for the second time since waking up from that dream as I merged effortlessly with the bustling pathway as I had done many times before and headed to the mines where I was due for work.
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I lumbered to the entrance of the mine after having checked in, a pickaxe in my hand, and a rusty and rather unimpressive dagger on my belt buckle. "Wonder if this ridiculously weak dagger could kill a Hounder" I said to no one in particular but myself as I turned the blade in the palm of my hand and imagined a fight against a Hounder: Wolf-like creatures that lurk in the darkness, with fangs that are as long as my forearm and bodies blacker than the coal I'd been sent to mine, with all kinds of jewels jutting from their fur making it incredibly difficult to actually land an attack on their bodies.
I rolled my eyes as I heard some old men, around their mid thirties, laughing and joking. "How much yer gonna bet he'll get eaten by one of them Hounders today, hmm?" I heard one say, followed by another, "I'd bet today's wage on it. He's got no artefacts after all!". The men all laughed together, and I rounded the corner.
They were right, though. I had no artefacts at all.
Artefacts... Items that were supposedly passed down to humans by the Gods, supposed Gods to me anyway. They were items that granted specific abilities and skills and came in many forms: Weapons, armour and clothing pieces, jewellery, other accessories, and more and were generally found in dungeons, caves, or the likes.
Artefacts were what shaped your future. If you had one, you'd be rich and famous and above all... powerful and strong.
Some Artefacts were stronger than others, although some of the 'weaker' ones are used smartly to overpower the 'stronger' ones. Artefacts were ranked in order from E rank, the weakest, to S rank, the strongest. However, just one E rank artefact could boost your status tenfold.
The entrance to the tunnels that spread below like roots beckoned me, the darkness seemingly licking at my feet trying to drag me in. My face contorted into something akin to disgust before resigning itself to its usual expression: Nothing.
My face muscles relaxed, my expression flattened, as I recalled my training. Then, I stepped into the darkness, which eagerly integrated my form into its own.
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I peered round the corner, my torch in my hand, as I listened intently to the grumbles, growls and scraping of Hounders inside the 3rd floor of the mine I'd been assigned to known as the "Catacombic Layers".
I listened carefully and closed my eyes. One... Two... three, four... that's all huh? I counted and smirked.
"Bring it," I muttered to myself before slinking into the shadows.
Unlike most people who would just kill the beast that stands before them, I'd committed to memory every feature of every beast that has been recorded, making me a veteran. Suppose that's why I was a good soldier. I thought to myself grimly before casting aside my thoughts and focusing on my task.
I slid along the walls, watching and waiting for a precise moment. It was well known to me that a Hounder has excellent hearing and a crazy sixth sense thanks to its crystals embedded in its fur. However, they had terrible sight, having been secluded underground for multiple generations, they'd come to rely on their main senses too much and neglected sight and smell, which, I thought was very ironic since dogs usually have good smell.
Just as a Hounder ploded past me I grinned widely, and in a swift, fluid motion I drew the dagger and planted it through its lower jaw, a largely underrated weak point, and pinned it to its upper jaw through its skull, which muffled its cries as it slumped to the floor silently.
I muttered a prayer that I'd recited thousands of times as I let the wolf-like creature pass on to wherever the dead went to, and flawlessly went on to eliminate the remaining Hounders before muttering the same prayer for them too.
I stood up after taking out the final Hounder and inspected my blade, which was about to snap. This poor display of craftsmanship caused me to curse to myself as I remembered my past again in my battles.
Fighting with expertly made weapons. Blades that could slice steel. Armour that could take on thrown boulders.
I winced as I recalled all these memories of my time in the war and turned to walk away until I felt the ground tremble. "What the-?!" I said firmly through gritted teeth. "This is a floor-based Dungeon... there shouldn't be ANY structure issues," I reminded myself.
Just as I began to run, the ground split and web-like cracks began to sprint faster than I could across the entire cavern floor. I grunted as I ran harder, attempting to get to the edge, and as the ground collapsed beneath me, I leapt for the edge of the floor that was still intact.
My hand connected...
Or so I'd hoped...
My fingers grazed the sharp, stone edge as if I were caressing it which caused my nails to be ripped off, eliciting a sharp and painful cry from my dry throat, as blood splattered across my hands and I slammed into the wall before falling down into the dark abyss below, falling an unknown amount of floors and surely to my death...
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