Down and Dirty in Utopia's Wasteland (Imp Wasteland X Hamano)

[ImpWasteland]

The planet Aleria floated in the void, a blue pearl with sweeping wisps of milky clouds against the blackness of space—a nearly perfect gem if not for the sickly purple fogs that ebbed and flowed throughout the continents. Once luscious and full of life, it is now left festering as a gaseous plum of wild magic covering large swaths of the land.

When magic turned to madness, civilizations fell and chaos reigned. Only when a rare show of unity occurred did the leaders of the surviving nations organize into dozens of grand fortress bastions against the Hell Fog. As these so-called Utopias rose, the Hell Fog washed the majority of habitable lands with its sinister energies, creating monstrosities from regular flora and fauna.

Most creatures exposed to the mutagenic energies of the Hell Fog grew in size and were driven mad, while plants developed their thirst for blood and flesh. Vast, silent forests arose, creating paradises for vegetation for trees, grasses, and vines after consuming all non-plant denizens within. In other areas, bears, mountain lions, and wolves grew monstrously large as they stalked their territories. Many rodents and insects became all-consuming swarms like a rabid plague, needing to continuously pillage the lands lest they begin to starve and become cannibals. People were no less affected by the Hell Fog. Humans, Elves, Orcs, Goblins, Felinids, and the many other races fell to the violet fogs that flowed through cities, towns, and villages. Upon exposure, many died while many more rose from their resting places as Husks, the undead that rose as gross mockeries of life. In the shadowed corners of taverns, there are whispers that not all these Husks lost themselves entirely.

Other rumors suggested that the day magic went haywire was when the gods went missing. Believers had felt their ever-watchful presence vanish, while those with the most devoted hearts who had been able to channel aspects of the divinity found their gods could no longer hear their prayers. When the Hell Fog began surging over the lands, pushing the remaining populations to the edges of hospitable lands, all hope seemed lost. During these darkest hours, pockets of power capable of pushing back against the Hell Fog appeared. It was at these locations that the Utopias arose. As mysteriously as the fog appeared, so too were these protected areas. Many still argue that the divine had returned and used their holy powers to hold back the apocalyptic fog.

While many Utopias held steadfast over the centuries after the day global ambient magic fractured, some still fell. Swarming beasts, ravenous plant monsters, and civil unrest all contributed, in one way or another, to the death of far more than one Utopia. Each fallen bastion was another ringing of Death's bell.

Eventually, the world came to reach a balance. The stronger of the Utopias remained while the weak had been ground to dust under fate's boot. The Hell Fog gradually ebbed backwards, leaving vast swaths of land no longer blanketed and uninhabitable. Still, the monsters and mutations remained, making establishing new towns and villages a perilous endeavor. Soon enough, the influential leaders of most Utopias began banning the construction of new towns. Leaders would say that it was a necessary cost to keep the people safe, while dissenters claimed that the decision was a power play to keep those seen as lesser under their thumbs. In truth, both opinions could be seen as correct. The powerful would always seek more power, while the weakest would always seek to escape from those in control.

As a compromise, the practice of Spirit-Bonding, or just 'Bonding,' became more widespread. At first, seen as a necessary means to combat monsters capable of killing dozens in seconds, a ritual that would permanently bind a mortal's soul with that of an extra-planar spirit had been developed. These 'Chosen' were granted powers to manifest abilities and strength beyond comprehension, but not without a cost. In the early stages during the worst of the Hell Fog's deathly embrace, Chosen had drastically shortened lifespans and physically changed while taking a risk, as a powerful spirit could overwhelm the Chosen's will and steal their bodies. These uninhibited spirits would rampage on the battlefield or during the ritual, becoming enraged, suicidal berserkers.

Time and refinement inevitably led to a much less risky and vastly more intimate bonding process. A few hundred years ago, becoming a Chosen was seen as a death sentence saved for criminals and the poor. To become one was either a punishment or a last resort. Always seeking power, once the bonding ritual had been nearly perfected, it became a rite of passage for those high-born bloodlines and those with the potential to do so. A new social hierarchy had been born in the upper echelons of citizens, as not all spirit-bonds were the same.

The other planar entities that willingly, like humanity, were not born equal. These spirits took as many forms as stars in the endless sky. Each spirit had the chance to be capable of great destruction, while others were capable of only minuscule endeavors. As such, not all Chosen are sent into the wilderness to protect from the creatures that go bump in the night. More than half of all Chosen, rich or poor, end up with gentle or weak spirits capable of enhancing menial tasks.

While the Utopia, Golden Harvest, whose top trade is agricultural, prizes those Chosen who can harness the earth or care for plants. The Utopia, Menhit, treats the Chosen capable of only contributing to the infrastructure as little more than indentured servants while showing those few capable of combating their enemies as demigods. The scholarly Utopia of Candle Keep proposes that all Chosen are to be respected, but no higher than the average citizen. It is this reason that Candle Keeps hosts a training academy for the young elite and commoners with great potential.

Over the last hundred years, Candle Keep has reliably trained the future generations of Chosen into the heroes that push back at the world that would crush the remaining races in their strongholds. If properly nourished at the right ages, these future heroes could develop the power to change the world. Whether the change is for better or for worse

Those who wished to test their chances could do so as early as their 18th birthday. Only by taking chances can these young people propel themselves to the future they wish to clutch in their palms and hold tight to their hearts. Many carry the weight of duty and desire adventure, while others seek the power to crush weaklings. Ultimately, whatever spirit answers the ritual's call, the Chosen's fate is sealed, whether they get wishes are granted or not.

 

[Hamano]

The new day dawned to bird song and the deeply blue sky that could only be had after a good, hard rain. The Wick and Flame Inn, always busy this time of year with hopeful Chosen, was already bustling. Humans, elves, goblins and other ilk all milled about in a long line that led to the front double doors of the Inn. There a burly guard half orc stood implacable, arms folded over his impressively muscled chest, eyes on the horizon.

"Oh come on," said a young, dark skinned human woman at the front of the line. She thrust her hand in front of his face, holding her official papers with the blue crest of the Candle Keep Scholars on it. "It's dawn you fucker. Open up, can't you hear the damn birds?"

It took a long moment for his large head to turn down so he could meet her gaze - the sound of his teeth grinding was audible, and she backed off under his withering look. He huffed, rearranged his fists under his armpits, and continued to wait. "You know the rules. Noble blood has first dibs."

As if on cue, a carriage drawn by no less than six white horses in full parade regalia crested the rise and slowly trotted to a halt in front of the inn. The carriage rocked on its gilded wheels for a moment, the bustling of a large amount of people inside obvious through the windows, even shaded as they were.

The doors suddenly burst open, spilling out a gaggle felinids, all dressed in the season's latest finery. "We're here we're here! Serena's big day!" yelled the youngest who hit the ground running, tail flashing out behind her as she started to circle the carriage at a dead sprint.

Last came the runt of the littler, followed by her portly father. She was small, but only compared to her willowy sisters, around 5'7. Brown hair. Large green eyes. Cat ears. Pale skin. Cute and, well, a good word would be 'sturdy.' She looked much stronger than her sisters, and her white, ruffled blouse hinted at ample breasts, if you could find them under all that extra material.

Other carriages could be seen coming up the rise - belonging to other noble families, no doubt.

"Oh princess," the man said, fawning over her, petting her ears back and smoothing her shoulder length hair. "I wish we had more time. We'll all be watching at the ritual grounds tomorrow! I promise! You'll get an amazing bond and do us proud. I put in a good word, you'll see!"

Serena smiled up at him, putting on a brave face even as tears threatened to fall from her luminous, sea green eyes. "It'll be okay, father," she said, nuzzling into his hand, her voice ending in a rasping purr of affection as the coachman placed her trunk on the ground before her. Her official Scholar's Summoning papers were on top.

She bent, her tail making a strained S shape behind her as she lifted the trunk, turned in place, and walked to the Bouncer. He could barely see the top of her ears over the trunk, but he knew very well who it was. "Serena Pawlimore of Seafarer's Rest, sir! Checking in!" He nodded gruffly, then stood by and opened the door for her. She proceeded inside, and he closed it again behind her.

Murmurs broke out in the long line of people who had been waiting with their papers. Some appreciative. Some jealous. Words like 'Merchant's Guild' and 'rich bastards' and 'daddy's girl' floated by on the breeze.

As one, the Pawlimore family all crammed back into the over full carriage and made way for the other noble families to make their appearances.

 

[ImpWasteland]

Eyes as bright as the morning's blue sky flashed with excitement as Renart couldn't have been happier to get away from political intrigue and stifling traditions. Shoulder-length, jet-black hair danced wildly in the rushing wind as his grey horse sensed Renart's energy and started to push forward to ride side by side with the leading escort. Despite having ridden for days on end, the ache in his legs, hips, and back slowly evaporated the closer they came to this year's pre-ritual gathering point.

A fit, muscular body, well-honed from years of martial training, was hidden beneath his matching black trousers and knee-high riding boots while he wore a loose-fitting, brown wool tunic. Flapping behind him, a deep forest green cloak clung to his shoulders as the lower portion danced in the breeze. Having given up on keeping the hood up, Renart let his cloak's hood fall back, revealing a strong, square jawline and handsome facial features. His normally clean-shaven face had become neglected as his time traveling had prevented him from properly shaving. Stubble created the precursor to a beard, making him look more rough and ready to rumble than he was. Standing at 6'2", he was considered of average height for the men of his family but was a few inches taller than most.

The rest of the riders wore clothing of a very similar style to Renart's—a long-distance riding outfit of black bottoms, brown top, and green cloak. For the entire ride, their fineries had been stored away for the day of the Bonding Ceremony. The only thing that stood out was that only Renart's cloak didn't contain the crest of their family's lineage.

Turning his gaze upon those traveling with him, Renart couldn't suppress his smile at seeing his stone-faced father Richard, his wise but empathetic mother Katherine, and beautiful but equally sharp-tongued eldest sister Rosline. Smiling brightly, he was genuinely happy that they had decided to attend his ceremony. As for his eldest brother, Reginald, Renart couldn't have cared less whether he had come or not. Renart had hoped he wouldn't have to deal with the ambitious and lecherous family heir, but his good luck could only go so far. The two had never been close before, and after Renart was discovered to be capable of hosting a spirit, they grew further apart. Their escorts were a pair of knights serving alongside Richard. Sam and Monica were husband and wife, but also comrades-at-arms and long-time friends of Renart's family. The pair was more than happy to be extra protection as they passed close by the Forsaken Lands.

After the early morning shifted to mid-morning, Renart and his family, the Knights of House Stone Blood, and their escorts approached the outskirts of Candle Keep. Tall, pale walls rose defiantly into the sky as if daring anyone or anything to challenge the scholarly Utopia's right to exist. Contrasting the pale walls, dark brass and copper piping ran along the upper rim of the exterior wall. Acting as distance markers on the pipelines, the contained gemstones refracted light spectra, leaving first-time visitors dazzled by the rainbow of colors glowing in the sunlight. The eye-catching distance markers gave hints at the opulence to come. Unknown to the ordinary person was the true nature of what hid within these ancient gems.

The town of Willow Falls' main artery, which led travelers to the center of Candle Keep, also cut through the middle of the town. Jutting off the main path, small veins spread out from the main artery, leading to areas less likely to attract money from travelers. Workshops, schools, and housing for locals comprised the majority of the blocky buildings. Administration buildings, businesses, inns, and taverns flanked the main road. Generally used to catering to common folk most of the year, all the buildings along the main strip had put on their finest polish as nobility and commoners alike made their pilgrimage to the unlikely town. With the influx of the rich and people in general, the local leaders hoped to earn a bit of extra coin for hosting the gathering of the Chosen.

Renart watched from a distance as a family of Felinids at the front of the line disembarked in front of The Wick and Flame Inn. Their words were lost in the ambient noise of the town filled with people talking, carts and carriages rolling, and hooves clattering on cobblestone streets, before returning to their carriage and departing towards the center of Candle Keep. Wow... That girl is really cute..." Renart thought as he caught a brief glimpse of her face before she disappeared behind closed doors with her trunk.

Renart had been so engrossed in the sights and surroundings that he hadn't heard his mother calling out to him. Only when Rose thumped him on the back of his head with the heel of her palm did Renart come back from his wide-eyed gazing.

"HellooOOoo! Is Ren in there? Mom's talking to you." Said Rosline in a sing-song voice while raising her hand as if she were going to knock on his head like it was a door again.

"Hey! What was that fo-?! Oh." A sharp turn of his head in his sister's direction found his gaze traveling past her to a quirked eyebrow and smirking expression on his mother's face.

"Did you see a cute girl?" She teased while letting out a soft giggle, causing Renart's cheeks to blossom into a deep blush. Katherine smirked knowingly before she changed the subject of the conversation as she began asking him an endless series of questions to ensure he had everything he needed and if there were any last things she could assist him with. His father rolled his eyes as he rode up beside Renart and clapped the young man on the shoulder in silent solidarity. Earlier in the trip, Richard pointed out that she had already asked Renart the same questions before leaving Eryndal. That night, Richard slept outside the tent as well. As strong and as fierce a knight as Richard was, when it came to his wife, he had no chance.

When it was finally Renart's turn, only his mother became tearful at the thought of letting her boy go. His father asked Renart one last time if he would be willing to reconsider becoming a Chosen, but like all the time before, Renart stood by his decision. His older sister hugged him close before stepping away, her eyes brimming as she kept her emotions in check but only barely. Reginald flatly told Renart to not be a fuck up and embarrass the family's name again, which promptly drew their mother's ire. As she swatted her eldest child for ruining the sweet moment,

With their goodbyes said, Renart took a large backpack off the side saddle of his horse and double checked that his few possessions were still in the backpack and travel satchel. Slinging his satchel over one shoulder, while carrying his backpack by the straps, Renart stepped toward the displeased-looking half-orc bouncer. Looking the bouncer in the eyes, Renart said, "Hello, sir, I am Renart Stoneheart of Eryndal."

"Papers." Said the bouncer in an annoyed voice after glancing at Renart up and down, then quirking an eyebrow. The unimpressed appearing half-orc looked already done with the day, and it had only just begun.

"Right!" Eyes widened with realization, Renart spoke quickly before delving into the satchel and producing his letter signed by the scholars of Candle Keep. Fishing out the letter, Renart barely had time to hold them up with one hand by the time the half-orc snatched them away.

"Looks legit enough for me," said the bouncer after a long period of silence. Stepping to the door, opened it before shutting it promptly behind Renart before the young man could even say thanks.

Looking around the interior of The Whick and Flame Inn, Renart was immediately relaxed by the cozy atmosphere of the inn's interior. Large, thick rugs lay over hardwood floors while special cylinders contained precious-looking stones that emitted a soft hum as they buzzed with light. The soft glow of each wall lamp cast a relaxing shade throughout the building. Stretching longer than it was wide, the multi-story inn had multiple fireplaces with seating to gaze upon the flames. Multiple tables capable of seating from two to ten individuals were spread throughout the inn. Every seat was overstuffed, including the sofas and the settees. The majority of the first-floor walls were adorned with paintings of famous heroes and battles or sweeping landscapes. A large set of stairs is in the center of the room, leading towards where all the bedrooms were waiting for the travel-weary Chosen.

Depending on the individual's standards, certain nobility might think they were receiving pauper treatment. In contrast, lowborn commoners would think they were being treated like kings and queens in such a clean and well-maintained inn.

A pair of noblewomen in ornate sylvian dresses were speaking to the clerk working the main desk. Their innately sultry voices hinted at their heritage, while the pointed tips of their ears, poking out from their pale green, long hair, gave away their heritage.

A second man working the front desk stepped from behind a small office room to the side of the entry area. With plain facial features, except for a long mustache and a portly figure, the second man spoke quickly with a nasaly voice with Renart informing him that, "As with all those before you, you are advised to keep your letter on you at all times and that all personal bags and traveling trunks are to be left with the staff to be taken to the appropriate room. Someone will be with you with your key and room number."

Despite Renart's initial concerns, he acquiesced and handed over the backpack and satchel without a fuss. Placing his hand to his chest where his locket lay hidden under his traveling tunic, Renart let out a sigh as the man disappeared into the backroom with his few personal possessions. Quickly, the man returned and said, "Rest assured, all your belongings will be waiting for you in your assigned room. Please be aware that some individuals may need to share rooms if there are only two beds available. We are expecting a larger turnout than last year, and last year we were almost at capacity."

"I'll take what I can get, but the sooner I get to a place to bathe, the better," Renart said as he looked down at his travel-stained and dirtied outfit.

"I'm glad you said something before I did. I'm not sure where you're from, but even in the remote areas of Candle Keep, we have indoor plumbing and hot water on demand. Each bedroom has a bath that you'll want to use. Oh, and try not to sit on anything until after you've changed clothes." Replied the shorter, plain-faced man before leaving. The man's blunt comment caused him to blink several times. Usually quick with a retort, Renart was left speechless for a moment before laughing and walking deeper into the Inn. Glancing around, he wondered if he could find the girl with the tail he had spotted entering earlier.

 

[Hamano]

It wasn't hard to spot Serena. She was sitting on one of the many overstuffed chairs before an unlit fireplace deeper into the bowels of the sprawling inn, bereft of her trunk, her papers gripped in one hand like some kind of life raft. She looked around with big, wide open eyes as if seeing a whole new world...and in a lot of ways, she was.

She'd grown up sheltered, truly treated like a princess in the one castle found in Seafarer's Rest. Her father, the head of the Merchant's Guild, had brought in all the best doctors in the land when it had appeared she just wasn't going to make it as a young kit. With their help, not only did she survive - she thrived. Stronger and healthier than all her sisters in the long run, she was the jewel of Lord Pawlimore's eye, and pampered as such.

Though she was the runt of the litter and sickly at birth, she had been - surprisingly - the only one to show any talent for potential spirit bonding. And so the duty fell to her to uphold the honor and good standing of her Utopia as their token supplicant. That she was a fish out of water was an understatement - that naive gaze wasn't feigned, she truly had no clue what to do in a place like this. She was just staring in rapt fascination at so many new things!

Her maid Estelle, on the other hand, had other inclinations. She was taller than her Lady, but not by much. Human, long black hair done up in two fun buns, one on either side of her head. She wore simple, home spun clothing as befit her station - a green dress and grey smock. Her face was soft, showing her to be not much older than Serena herself - likely as much of a friend as a lady in waiting. Her eyes however were a steely blue, perceptive and suspicious by nature.

As she bustled up she gave Serena a little curtsey, her eyes tracked around the room with obvious distaste. "Did you look before you sat, Ms.?" she asked Serena, to which she received a blinking, questioning look. In explanation, Estelle went on to look around the room at the travel stained occupants who had trickled in. "It might be dirty, m'Lady," she sniffed.

Serena laughed, and it was an easy, musically joyous sound, free of any care or worry. "Don't be silly, 'stell, they're just chairs." Though she did stand, gathering her sea-blue skirts about her, and quickly took a look as she swept her tail to one side. Estelle leaned in to look at the stain free cushion as well before her charge sat herself back down and laughed softly. "See? Nothing to worry about."

The maid sniffed again, but let the matter drop. "I'm afraid I have bad news, m'Lady," she said, her gaze sweeping suspiciously across Renart and the others who had made it this far into the Inn.

Serena's ears swiveled faster than her head as she looked up to hear. "What could possibly be bad? We just got here!" she asked, blinking.

"We've been assigned to a room with a..." Estelle looked around again, leaned in and lowered her voice even as the pitch rose. "With a man of all things! Can you believe it?"

The color drained from Serena's face as the words sank in. "Wait, what? Can they do that?" she asked in a hissed whisper.

Her maid nodded slowly, and whispered back. "A male by the name of Renart, they told me."

The maid straightened, and as one they began to look around the room searchingly, as if they'd be able to spot the offending man on sight.