Return to Craven Keep

Reinhardt stopped what he was doing and held the discarded armour in both arms.

"This is not what it looks like." He said. "Someone flooded the sewer, and we were forced to put some Rats down. Once everything was closed, Rufus headed off, no doubt to write more awful poetry." He looked away. "There's nothing more overrated than a Beatnik."

Once inside the Keep, Reinhardt dumped the armour and sat at the table, where his meal was waiting.

"Guess it's just me now, until the old Fella returns." He said, stabbing at a cube of meat. "So this is what solitude feels like." Glancing over, he gave the girl a cursory look. "If you are thinking of going on an adventure, you might want to change your gear. The bridges are out, which means taking a detour 'cross the Bowery, otherwise known as 'The Plague Farms'. Yeah, not very subtle, I know." Jane slapped down the giant Rat claw onto the table. The Blacksmith turned it around in his furry hand. "Now this...this I like."

Jane made her way to the beachside cliffs and carefully scooped up a portion of yellow goo. In the armoury, she found a room which housed rare suits. She saw a room catering to 'Plague Doctor’ armour through a roped-off area, with each and every one standing inside a glass cabinet. Deciding on an Eagle-beak mask and a shawl of crow feathers, Jane presented herself at the Forge, where Reinhardt was finishing off his latest piece. Untwisting the vice, he handed over a newly made weapon.

"M'lady."

The girl examined the new claw dagger. Filed to a point, it was capped off with a fine handle wrapped in leather strips.

"I call it: 'Rat-Nail'," Reinhardt said. "This thing will butter anyone's bread, you have my word." Jane fished out Jenny's key. "Well, well. When the cat's away, the Mouse will play. Alright then, let's go if it pleases you." They trudged up a steep grassy slope, where ornate copper doors stood under a stone archway. "One more thing about the Plague Farms. At some point, you might be tempted to fight back. Here's a tip: Do not engage. Sap your strength right out, they will. Defend only, or just run away. Might want to just run." Jane waved in appreciation. "Yeah. Bye." The Blacksmith locked the door behind and returned to the Keep.

The girl ran down to the wrinkled beach, where glistening pools peppered it. For the first time, she felt invigorated with a new sense of purpose. Any trace of fear had been replaced by steely resolve, the determination to return home.

Training had been hell, but it made her feel taller, braver, and ready to face the world. It was like she had an upgrade, and she carried herself with a more confident stride. It also gave her a heightened sense of awareness, and she could not shake the feeling of being watched.

***

In the corner of her vision, blurred figures flitted in and out of view. Jane increased her pace and mounted the steps of the soggy, creaking boardwalk. Halfway to the other side, she stopped dead in her tracks. It was then, something pressed against the rear point of her Javelin. Turning around, she came face-to-face with a person, a thing that looked of the sea.

The creature was dressed like a peasant, but more frog than human. Bulging silvery eyes were set against a slippery, slimy face. The hideous mouth contorted into a misshapen smile, almost like it was wearing skin for the first time. The others soon joined, filling the boardwalk with shiny, damp bodies. The girl turned back just in time to see a jet of caustic black liquid shoot in her direction. Quick to react, Jane lifted her shield and ran the creature through with her Javelin, until its neck sizzled with popping green bubbles.

She was done being afraid.

At once, Jane soon found herself being launched off the boardwalk and onto the beach below. The impact was hard and took most of her wind out. Trying to get up, she felt an impact to the ribs, as the Shore-Folk began to rain blows against her body. Once they got bored of kicking, she was thrown again like a discarded pillow, slamming onto the wet sand.

So strong!

Frustration began to take over. What happened? Did she forget everything? Puffles had talked about muscle memory, how the body learns to use the same technique repeatedly, until instinct becomes automatic. She had completed every test and aced every challenge. Even the Monster King was destroyed, so where was that girl now?

C'mon. She thought woozily. C'mon, you can do this. Get up!

Jane picked herself off the ground and watched the Frog people form up in a semicircle. Blinking, she rolled her shoulders and tidied her posture. With the shield raised, she covered the lower half of her face and kept the Javelin straight above.

"Breathe!" Puffles had said. "Circulate the air in your lungs. Stamina determines how much fight is left. Strength without stamina is worthless."

The crowd were becoming more agitated, but Jane did not care. Impatient, they burst into a sprint and charged as one. She did not move. Even as they took out blades, she kept calm and still. All she could do was wait for them to cross the imaginary line. Everything felt slow, from the beat of her heart to the sound of many running toward her in anger. The Sisters of Sacrifice had taught her to ‘grey out’ the least interesting opponents and focus only on the most significant threats.

Closer. Closer. Closer...

Now the Shore Folk were in range. Focus. Remember the quote above the entrance:

Let your plans be as impenetrable as the cosmos, and when you move--- fall like a thunderbolt.

Jane gripped the Javelin.

Alright.... let's see your ghosts.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Now!

Jane dropped the spear and unsheathed her sword. Jellied limbs were separated, as the blade ate through flesh in demented chops, hacking once and teasing fresh innards into open air; all the while, slick heads were detached with cold efficiency. Snatching up the Javelin, she exploded necks into eruptions of shiny green goo. The girl was in her element; violence unrelenting. Out on the beach, she was free to roll, block, and skewer from ear to eye; splatter brains and scatter remains. It helped that she was shorter than the enemy, allowing her to duck out of any grasp. The Javelin punctured those caught in its flight path and returned with a satisfying snap. No quarter given, no ground lost. It became a slaughter, and brutality reigned supreme.

Once the chaos had ended and the last of the fiends had dropped, she sank to one knee, waiting for the next wave. None remained. The scores of bloated, bubbling bodies littered the beach, a sign – if one was needed - that she was not to be trifled with.

I won? She thought, still buzzing and disoriented. She sank to her knees and lay on the sand. I won.

***

After recovering, Jane got up and glanced at the map. She noticed a glowing blue dot pulse near a broken tower. The tower itself had been destroyed, with the word ‘Badb’ stencilled in huge white lettering at the bottom.

That's it!

The flood had done its worst. Almost a third of the tower remained, and the rest had been flung across the beach. The remaining stairs only went to the second landing, such was the devastation. Looking around for anything useful, she spied something between the wall and the steps. It appeared to be a blue crystal ball no bigger than her hand. Shrugging, she placed the ball into her knapsack and scoped out the surrounding area.

To her left, the stone bridge stood broken in three places. No, going that way. To the right, she spotted a line of galleon ships, smashed together and spanning the width of the river. It wasn't a bridge in the traditional sense, but it was close enough.

Great.

While stretching, Jane realised she was feeling light on her shoulders. Something was missing. The shield! She looked around and spotted it, tucked away under the supports of an old pier. With a heavy sigh, she traipsed down the stairs, passed into the darkness of the dock and caught a whiff of burnt toast.

All of a sudden, she was grabbed around the neck by a muscular arm. Jane tried to punch it with both hands, but the creature was too strong. She could feel herself being dragged back into the shadows. Out of desperation, she held onto a thick length of rope hanging off one of the supports. The strain of keeping outside the shadows was weakening as she wrapped another hand around the rope. Unfortunately, the leather gloves had limited grip, causing her to slip backwards into the dark. Risking it all, she released one hand and let the Javelin jump into her palm. She gripped tightly and stabbed toward the rear until the spear was buried deep. It worked. The Headless-Nameless retreated into the shadows, allowing Jane to crawl toward daylight.

Once clear, she got to her feet and raced away to a nearby rock pool. Kneeling down, she frantically washed dry vines off her armour and pulled off the gloves. All she could do was wait for the trembling to stop.

So close. So close.

Jane removed her helmet and looked up at the sky. She thought she was ready, but it was too quick. How do you defeat something that is both nowhere and everywhere? Even the shadows were against her.

Thirteen, not a Tank

Questions began to scratch within the swirling mist of her being. Why didn't it chase after her? Come to think of it, why did it stop? She was free for the taking. Was there something about this place the creature didn't like? The sand? The sunlight? What? If Jane knew, she would have built a house on the spot. Jane glanced into the pools, but nothing had changed. She was still bandaged with two amber sparks for eyes, staring out of the deep, dark of unknowable magic. Not wanting to hang around, she got ready to leave.

The girl stretched out her hand and waited for Chain-Maker to fly back. Nothing happened. She tried again with a bit more effort, but no joy. It was gone, lost within the creature's lair. Frustrated, she pushed on her helmet and headed toward the docks.

***

Taking the narrow stairs to the Dismal Wharf, she could see why it was so named. Even the air had a weight to it. The girl came across a riverbed with sucking mud that made walking awkward and slow. Unbeknownst to her, the rhythmic clanging of armour alerted another band of Shore-Folk, who were praying under a giant, rusted clam. Before she knew it, a battalion of fish people blocked her path in a semicircle. None of them moved but stood with spears poised at the ready.

Jane noticed how these creatures were more disciplined than the previous batch. They had obviously heard about the first group and were determined not to rush into another slaughter. And so it became a stand-off. Standing firm, she remembered what Puffles had said:

"Never be the first to make a move. Charging an enemy will allow them to plan a course of action. However, they can't calculate your weakness if they can't see where you are coming from. Be patient. A travelling snake cannot see the Eagle, only its shadow."

The taunting began soon after. Sword on shield, they made a noise like an old machine starting up. Jane looked around, heart pounding, feeling disorientated. The Shore-Folk began to advance, slowly and in lock-step, tightening the semi-circle all around. Tearing off the helmet, she got a better look. Shadows began to appear behind her; a sneak attack, probably from the water itself. Remaining still, the girl kept a hand over her sword.

We doing this? She could smell the salty slime baked into their skin. They were at spear distance, now. Target marked. It was all or nothing. Got you.

Jane drew her sword, spun around and sliced through necks like butter. Shiny, emerald goo was coughed out of stumps, sending foes flopping onto the mud. The rest did not hesitate and charged at once.

Outnumbered, the girl took glancing blows on the shield and resorted to quick rolls to keep herself alert. Even though the odds were against her, she made up for it by being fluid in her movements. She was determined to keep the blade wet and unpacked steaming guts onto the sand. If that weren't enough, some of the ranged enemies were firing blow-darts, and as Isaac had stated, the poison would not kill her, but it would burn the whole time.

Backing off and surrounded, Jane slammed the shield edge into one of the creature's throats and buried the 'Rat-Nail' into its torso. The dagger proved to be even more formidable than she could have imagined. It penetrated armour with relative ease and glided through flesh unhindered. All the while, she could feel the darts 'ping off her armour.

This lasted for twenty minutes, until a quarter of the enemies were littered across the beach. Sensing defeat, the High Priest blew into a large coral horn, causing the Shore-Folk to scatter in all directions. Jane looked around confused. As much as she wanted to revel in the moment, the triumph felt like a ball of ice in the pit of her stomach. It reminded her of Video games, on how a boss enemy would step in after a specific time. She smiled at the absurdity of it all. Nothing could be that predictable.

Her humour was short-lived, however, when she looked up and saw a Chimaera swooping down toward her.

Seriously?