Tales of Mulhus: Blood & Sulfur

In the bleak, sandy desert of Kameera, where the dry, burning winds blow across the ever-shifting dunes. Dotting across the vast and bare landscape, the sandstone rock pillars stand tall and firm, defying the wind’s mighty blows. The boiling sun burns all those who traverse the lands; only a few dark places are spared from its burn. Precious water is far and few between. Very few lives are lived in these harsh, unforgiving lands. But many of them, either succeeding or suffering, call Kameera home. One of these homes is the infamous mining town of Solf.

Many people around the desert heard about the town of Solf. A fortress town, with massive sulfur mining pits surrounding it like moats surrounding a castle. Many of Solf’s residents live in cramped and dirty sandstone complexes within the tall, sandstone walls of the fortress. From the early dawn to when the sun sets, many are forced into the harsh and thankless job of sulfur mining. Many ache in pain as they swing their pickaxes and carry out countless sulfur chunks for hours straight with little to no breaks at all. The ruthless overseers whip the weaker miners to shreds to “encourage” others to keep working and even work harder.

Outside of the perilous pits, daily town life is not much better. Many families are cramped into small units, becoming a suffocating matter for the people in these decaying complexes. Many people throughout town struggle to subsist on their daily rations of meager flat bread and water, which all taste of sand and sulfur. The worst thing of all is the smell, the smell of what incoming merchants call “rotten eggs” in the air. This foul stench has lingered around the entire fortress since the first sulfur pits were dug out. Many of the inhabitants, though, have grown accustomed to it.

In the middle of Solf, a pristine palace sits there, surrounded by another wall, but decorated with such glamorous patterns. Inside, the palace is full of such luxury. Gilded gas lamps, wooden furniture made form the finest wood that Mulhus can offer, fine woven carpets and rugs, and the center piece of the palace, a simple, but elegant, golden throne. A balding man, in fine, yellow silk garments, sits on the throne. The name of this man is Lord Earlan Kar Sulfon, the man behind the exploitation of Solf. He sits there daily, with a smirk on his face as his servants care to keep the palace up to his standards at all times.

While Lord Earlan enjoys his evening dinner, feasting on rich meats and drinking wine, a young sulfur miner, wearing yellow-stained rags, just emerges from the mines as the day’s shift has been concluded early, which was a rare blessing. The poor sap’s name is Garit Solfmen. Carrying around his wrecked linen sack and rusty pickaxe, he heads towards the market to hopefully grab the last remaining essentials for the day. He holds his khips in his hand and slowly counts them with his finger touching them, hoping that he has enough, but it was never enough.

In the rustle and bustle of Solf’s only open market square, Garit traverses through the crowds, trying to find what he needs for the day. Crowds of people at stalls and carts, arguing over prices and pushing each other off for an item of remote value. Garit keeps to himself and holds on to his khips, knowing how things go around here. He soon approaches the Market Square Well, the only working well in the entire town. Unfortunately, a small, decrepit man stands by it. His crooked smile and beady eyes disturb Garit, but he needs water for his family, so he goes towards him anyway.

“Hey there, you want some of this water?” The Water Merchant said with his creepy grin.

“Well, yes, I need some for my family; we’re running low,” Garit answered.

“Hmm… That will be 9 khips per jar.” A chuckle could be heard from him.

This price made Garit red in the face. He curled his fist into a ball, angered by this man’s greed. With all of his building anger, he yelled out,

“What a rip-off, you little greedy rat!”

Garit soon punched the Water Merchant, and he dropped onto the dusty ground.

Thud.

The Market Square went dead silent. Only the sounds of items being dropped pierced the otherwise dead air. Some nearby witnesses silently gasp in shock and horror. Some quietly flee from the area, knowing what’s to come. Garit soon realized what he had done, and his eyes darted around. He soon noticed a man in armor slowly approaching the area as bystanders moved out of the way for them. Garit realized that he screw up big time.

The Water Merchant soon got up, and when the guard slowly arrived at the scene, his eyes gleamed. His face showed a sinister smile. He then looked at the mortified Garit and pointed his rough finger at his face.

“O’ Guard, this brutish thief wanted my water without paying my fair price, so he assaulted me for it.”

Garit did not know what to do. He then stuttered out some words in hope of being spared.

“Guard, this greedy rat extorted me for water, which he knows I need for my family.”

As Garit speaks his defense for his actions. The Guard stands there, not moving an inch. Even though his face is covered by the helmet’s visor, it shows judgment. Meanwhile, his sword shines in the sun, making it unmistakable that someone will face it soon, but which of them will see the blade is the question that both have in mind.

With such boldness and vengeance in his shriveled-up heart, the Water Merchant cries out loud,

“O’ Guard, please punish this thief immediately! Chop his filthy hands off, so he can be deprived of work!”

Garit’s heart pounds faster in his chest as the Water Merchant continues to nag the Guard. The surrounding crowd continues to stand in total silence. Garit expects the Guard to support the Merchant’s pleas by cutting his hand off. But the Guard continues to stand there, wielding his blade at the two.

The Water Merchant soon becomes more angry as the Guard continues to show inaction.

“O’ you foolish guard, why have you not dispensed justice yet? Do you not support the honest seller over the cruel thief?”

He then starts to jump around, yelling and screaming at the Guard. But soon, he would do something that no one would even dare to do in a million years. He lands a single, but weak, punch at the Guard’s breastplate, which bears the Sulfon’s Crest. Garit and the surrounding crowd gasp all at once.

Swoosh.

Crimson flies from the Merchant and lands on the ground. A thud could be heard as the Merchant falls to the ground. His right hand, completely sliced off. The exposed wound gushes out blood, forming a darkish pool as it mixes with the sandy dust. The Merchant’s face becomes deathly pale as he realizes his mistake way too late.

The Guard then gets closer to the Water Merchant’s body. From him, the Guard grabbed the brown sack, full of khips. The Guard bounces it in his palm and soon hangs it on his belt. The Guard then grabs the Merchant’s severed hand and holds it into the air; some blood drips from it.

“Listen here, you lowlifes, this well only belongs to the Sulfons, and no lowly scum shall profit from the Sulfons. Take this as your first and only warning.”

The Guard soon walked away, and Garit grabbed a jug of water from the well. After doing so, he ran off in the direction of his family’s unit as fast as possible. He desperately tried to pass through the now horrified crowd. He sweated so much from this entire encounter, hoping to never experience such terror again. He now truly knows to never mess with the Guards of Solf.

Rushing back, Garit overheard the sounds of whispers and gossip about the recent events in the Market Square. Garit tried to hide his face with the jug, in shame of his actions. He feels the guilt of getting a man killed, even if he was an ass. He soon made it home to the unit. Sitting at the crude, wooden table, his father was eating flatbread. He looked so sick, which was all because of his non-stop work at the mines for over two and a half decades. Garit’s uncle was also eating; he was the first to notice Garit’s arrival. He showed a cheeky grin at him.

Walking in from the storage room, Garit’s mother soon noticed Garit as he placed down the jug on the table. She goes in for the hug, holding him tightly. Garit smiles warmly, knowing that this was the only security he has in this otherwise insecure world.

“How was your day?” She asked.

Garit brought up the painstaking labor in the mines and then hesitantly brought up the incident at the Market Square. She gasped when Garit mentioned the Water Merchant’s action against the Guard.

“Garit, you should know better than to get yourself in such a reckless situation. We need you more than ever here. You can’t afford to go to jail or be dead.”

Garit’s Uncle hears this, and he jokes,

“Wow, last time I interacted with the Guards, I only received a fine punch to the jaw, he-he.”

Garit’s Mother shoots a cross look at him.

“Shut it!” She growled.

Garit’s Uncle was taken aback by this and resumed eating his stale flatbread. Garit then sat down at the table and started to eat the same flatbread. He sees his father struggling to eat. He coughs a lot, and he barely moves when he gets back from the mines. He seemed to be drained of all energy. After dinner, he was the first to go to bed for the night, while everyone else continued to talk at the table.

When the sun fully set and the sky showed stars from the little hole in the wall, Garit sat on his small, worn bed mat. He thinks about his life here and why he was forced into this. He looked through the window hole and saw those beaming stars; they shone brightly, and some seemed to jump around. He wondered what more this world had to offer. Would he ever get to see it in his lifetime?

All of these questions made him ever more depressed about his daily predicament. But as he kept thinking more and more, he soon fell under the spell of tiredness. He soon fell asleep as another day of hard labor in the mines awaited him.

In the morning, the horns could be heard from a distance; the mines were opening up for their slaves. Garit wakes up, feeling a strange sense. Something feels off today. But he ignored this feeling, knowing that he was just overthinking about his life and yesterday’s incident. He grabs his same sack and pickaxe, and before heading out, he grabs his rations from his mother, whom sitting at the table. Her eyes shows of solemn as she says goodbye to him for the day.

Out in the narrow streets, Garit takes twists and turns around the numerous streets. But instead of the usual crowds of miners hastily walking towards the main gate for their shifts, barely anyone was around. The few people who were around they huddle up in small clusters, keeping to themselves. Garit overheard one of them as they spoke of strange sightings from last night. It sounded like unproven rumors, but he was curious to know.

He stopped by the random bystanders and asked more about the rumors. They stayed silent, and one of them even shushed Garit. Garit tried to interject again, but again, he was shushed out. So he left them alone, needing to get to the mines on time. But the rumors were elusive in his mind, wondering what could be stirring up the people around here.

Moments go by since that interaction in the street, and now, Garit is swinging his pickaxe into the sulfurous rocks. The stench is burning, but he bears it. He keeps swinging at it over and over, slowly collecting more sulfur. After a bit, he collects the many sulfur pieces and carries them up the layered wooden ramps and scaffolding. It is all backbreaking work.

Sounds of fellow miners screaming in pain and agony could be heard throughout the deep pits. Some, though, only emit a weak ache due to their constant pain and tiredness. The sounds of whip was all not too rare to hear around him. The nearby overseers were yelling out towards the suffering laborers,

“Get back to work, you maggots!”

Crack, crack, crack.

It was non-stop. Garit kept going, knowing that refusal would lead to harsh punishments, or even worse. This is torture, a never-ending torment. His arms and legs burned from the constant movement, his brown eyes watered from the gases emitted from the rocks, and gets more and more covered in yellow sulfur chunks, which some of it causes him to cough like mad.

While Garit kept to himself, a scrawny older man caught his attention.

“Psst, hey!” The older guy quietly whispered.

Garit turned his head towards the guy. He wondered what the older man wanted from him.

“Hey kid, have you heard about the rumors?”

“Uh, what rumors?” Garit responded, hoping that it might give insight into the things he heard in the streets that morning.

“Well, according to some, the guards are talking about a recent sighting of inhuman riders in red circling the desert.” He explained.

He continued to explain, but once in a while, he would suddenly go quiet and look around him, look in every single direction around the entire section of the sulfur pit we’re in. He would then go back to further explain what he knows about the recent rumors.

“I just have a bad feeling about today. I barely saw anyone in the streets, and the Guards have been more on edge as of late.”

Garit questioned the older man further,

“What do you mean about the Guards being more on edge?” Garit asked this, wanting to understand the man’s statement.

“The Guards for the last few weeks have been more willing to attack people. Shit, a few days ago, someone I knew got mugged in the streets by one of the Guards over some “debt” repayments. I think the Guards are planning to flee the city with the stolen money to avoid whatever might be coming in.” The older man explained.

Garit now felt really lucky about yesterday’s incident, but he was not sure if this explanation made sense. But at the end of the day, Solf was in fact a place where suffering thrives. This just sounds like one of those problems that Solf will deal with for the rest of its existence.

As soon as the conversation died down, an ominous, blood-screeching horn shouted out across the pits. Garit knew immediately that it was not the typical end-of-day horn, but something… dreadful. Both miners looked at each other, knowing what this could mean.

Soon, bloody screams could be heard everywhere. People were yelling out about strange men in red attacking their fellow peers. Garit and the older man dropped their stuff and ran, Garit only bringing his pickaxe to bash whoever was attacking the place. The wooden scaffolding starts to stress out from the constant influx of desperate, panicking miners trying to escape.

His heart pounds harder; sweat drips from his forehead. Everything is collapsing around him as he starts to see dead bodies. But these dead bodies were just normal victims of bandits or raiders. Countless bodies were missing limbs; some of them did not even have heads. Even worse, some seemed to be sucked up or missing large patches of skin and flesh. With all these bodies, the smell of sulfur soon became the smell of iron. It was nauseating.

The older man was panicking so much that he soon tripped on a rusty nail sticking out of the wooden ramp, and fell down before Garit could even reach out. The man fell a few stories down into the pit. The last thing Garit saw was the man’s eyes; he was in true fear.

Splat.

His body became a brutal, messy sludge pile. His blood sprayed on everything nearby. Some exposed bone could be seen sticking out from the “corpse”. His eyeballs came out of his head. Some unfortunate soul saw this and screamed so loud that it rang across the pit. Garit’s eyes bolted at this horrifying sight, and he soon turned his eyes away from such a horrid sight and continued to run up the wooden ramps, now all alone and in fear of this terrifying predicament.

“This was all a nightmare,” he muttered to himself.

Garit soon reached the top of the pit to see an even worse scene than what he saw down in the pit. Terror-stricken miners and guards were fighting and struggling against something awful. Those “men” in red. They donned crimson armor, mostly decked in scale-like, fleshy plating. Their beast-like helmets blocked any view of their faces. Many of them wielded strange, pulsing weapons that seemed to be alive in some twisted way.

Nevertheless, they were massacring everyone in sight. Guts and blood flew everywhere as those red monsters sliced and diced a bunch of people into gushy pieces. Garit quickly hid behind crates of sulfur rocks. He slowly peeked out from the crates to see where those monsters were. One of those red monsters opened its helmet visor, revealing grotesque tentacles from it. Those red, slimy tentacles grabbed an unfortunate miner by the arm. Very soon, the red monster raised a mace, covered in jagged, bone-like spikes. Garit soon sprinted out from the crates, ready to fight the monster.

With the pickaxe, he raised it high, and then the pick hit the bloody red horse, disrupting the monster’s kill. The stuck pickaxe caused the red rider to be momentarily distracted. The miner grabbed a rock and threw it at the monster itself, causing it to fall off as the horse went into a demonic frenzy. The fleeing horse soon collided with one of the Solf Guards, who was trying to grab a bag from a miner’s corpse. Causing a bloody knockout.

“Thank you, man. I can’t believe this would happen. Not in my many years of life would I experience such depravity and cruelty.” Said the terrified miner.

“Here, take some of this I looted from a guard. You need it more than me.”

The terrified miner handed a well-crafted bag, full of things inside, to Garit. Garit reluctantly took it, not knowing if he would live long enough to use it. But regardless, it is better to have something than nothing. So the miner soon ran off, and Garit was alone again in this bloody carnage. Garit now tried to think of an escape plan, but then he realized that his family was still in Solf, possibly in distress and needing him now.

He wondered if he needed to go back in to save them, but this could result in death. But at the same time, he did not want to be like his older siblings, whom he had not seen since he was twelve. The choice is crushing. He tries to hastily rush towards the gate as he tries to make his choice. But he had no time to ponder further. So he turned around and ran. He ran as far from the fortress and pits as possible, trying to dodge the bloody raider or even the Solf Guards. Soon, he made it so far that he was all alone in the vast, hot desert. The only things he had were his rags and that gift from the stranger.