A young Flint Steelheart’s [Regeneration] struggled with the malicious energies, leaving him bleeding on the cavern’s stone floor. [Wither] shriveled his leg muscles as he dragged himself forwards, as [Open] spilled his blood on the floor through tiny portals cut into his flesh. [Whispers] intrusive thoughts scraped through his skull like knives told him he was a failure,a scrapshit hunter, a boy with no path forward, all while Jimmothy talked calmly to the three-person forbidden coven who’d afflicted him. Their conversation was a mumble in the distance, undecipherable through the words in his head and blood clogging his ears.
The three, a necromancer, unbound, and mindeflayer gave the garbage man a handshake before departing through the exit of the minor instance. Jimmothy was more than just a garbage man, but preferred to answer to that or eraser, his first two professions. At four evolutions, he was now The King’s Solution, but hated that profession’s label.
“Why?” Flint choked out as his teacher stood over him.
“I told you to find out what they knew, and you attacked them without warning. Of course, they’re going to defend themselves. We’re hunting a Despot who has stirred up rebellion. Not every bug in the refuse needs to be squished. Often, they’ll lead you back to where the real problems are if you watch, listen, or ask. If this coven becomes a problem, I’ll take care of them later, and less directly. They told me the man we seek is two towns east. Now pull yourself back together we’ve got a long walk.”
Through gritted teeth, [Push Through] had Flint up on his withered legs, stumbling after the man who’d saved him from the horrors the vagabond had left when he passed through Foundry Town. [Regeneration] would kick in enough to conquer his afflictions eventually. How could he let those with forbidden powers live when he knows the damage they can do? That was one question he struggled with more than the pain, but the knife-like voices almost begged to answer it for him, “Weak.”