Eden Chapter One

Caliban closes his eyes and breathes in the cool night air, feeling the breeze across the skin of his face, listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees and the creatures on the ground. In this place, there is nothing to challenge him; none of the monsters here are strong enough.
        Opening his eyes, he smells the forest air, tinted with the smoke from the fires in the Fae village not far ahead. He likes the Fae. They're simple creatures with simple needs. God knows he gets along with them better than humans.
        The man himself does not look human. His skin is too pale, his hair platinum, and his eyes too blue. A curved, pointed crucifix mars his face over his left eye, a fitting addition to his name.
        Warrior class, he has a bastard sword sheathed diagonally on his back. He wears a leather vest, a pair of black leather pants and thick-heeled, black boots that go halfway up his calves. A gauntlet at the end of his left hand guards half his arm, ending in a spike under the elbow and cruel-looking, pointed fingers, adding to the illusion of inhumanity.
        As he strolls into town, his glove and sword disappear. This is a "no-battle" zone in theory. However, he had seen his share of brawls within the confines of a town. It was inevitable, as alcohol was the favorite past-time and quite a few people harbored resentment for the AI.
        Elves and humans bustle through the busy streets, some shouting for companions while others sold goods they had won in battle and still others went to the local market to buy goods.
        It had been too long since he had come to this place. To him, this is home. Outside of the everyday hustle and bustle, beneath the complications of everyday life, this was his reality, a reality he had helped build.
        He is here to pick up healing herbs. Being a "lone wolf", he didn't have a healer to drag around and play nursemaid every time he got slightly toasted by an unexpected dragon. That in mind, he heads toward the center of town, where the local market would be.
        The town center is dominated by a small building; an inn for the weary traveler. Spaced around it in a circle are other, smaller establishments; some selling healing goods, some selling exotic pets, some selling weapons and armor, still others selling food.
        He prefers the stalls. They're usually family-run, selling goods grown in the garden; nothing official, but still the freshest goods. It is to one of these that he wanders up.
        "Hello sir, can I help you?" says the woman behind the counter, with enthusiasm.
        To him, it sounds a lot like another phrase for "fresh meat". He smiles back, with much the same kind of enthusiasm.
        "Of course." he replies, his voice dripping with poisoned honey. "Do you have any of these herbs?"
        With that, he hands her a list of items as long as his forearm, all going toward concocting a particularly vile potion that could eat it's way through twenty feet of solid rock. He knows.
          The monsters on the end of the cliff weren't too happy about it, though.
        She looks at the list curiously. It isn't the reaction he expects; he is looking for the frantic look in her eyes, the 'what the hell have I gotten myself into' last-ditch effort to save face. Instead, what he gets is a calm look, a smile, and a "Yes, we have all of these. Will you be paying cash or gold?"
        He looks at her. It's his turn for a frantic look, a "What the Hell", and a "How the HELL do you have all that?”, in part because nowhere on Eden did all those items grow together and in part because he has never seen a large store with all of them, much less a stall.
        "So tell me..." he asks, quirking an eyebrow at her. "How in Eden did you manage to grow Wrath Fruit outside of the northern lava pits?"
        "It's all thanks to this little guy!" she replies, picking up a small, feline-like creature with orange and red quills and hugging it. "Isn't it cute?"
        The creature snorts a ring of smoke that says chapters.
        "Cute..." replies the warrior, scratching a single finger against his temple. "Right...um... what is it?"
        "I'm not sure!" she replies cheerfully.
        "Hoo boy." he thinks to himself, saying aloud, "Fine. You don't know what it is; it cooks, it cleans, here's your money, I'm taking my herbs and leaving."
        "Wait, sir!" she exclaims, rushing up behind him.
        He takes a few deep breathes and looks at her, his face a study in patience.
        "You forgot your change." she explains, handing him a handful of silver coins, the creature tucked under one arm and looking particularly annoyed.
        "You stopped me..." he says slowly. "...to give me my change?"
        "Right!"
        He stops himself before replying. “She is just a girl…” he tells himself, gathering his hands into fists tight enough to break skin.
        In any other circumstance, he would have gone berserk. In any other place, there would have been nothing left alive in a five mile radius. As it is, he just turns around and leaves, rubbing his temples and thinking to himself, "This is going to take more than medicinal herbs to cure."
        Treading his way through the crowd, the sound of boots on pavement and dragon-drawn buggies is only a distraction. NPCs and players alike pass him by, talking to each other. He generally pays as much attention to them as they do to him, but one catches his eye.
A man argues with an NPC about the price of the goods in his store. He looks rich, and a small, 5-pointed star on his left cheek marks him as a moderator. His hand is raised, prepared to hit the Fae.
        It is just this kind of man that got him banned from Eden to begin with. They thought themselves rulers here, gods in their own right; Caliban knew otherwise, an opinion he expresses most eloquently with a dagger to the shoulder.
        The man looks at the dagger, then at the hand that holds it.
        "Next time..." says Caliban, slowly, "it will be more than your hand."
        On that note, he resumes walking, resumes being a shadow in this world, one that so many others ignored. To all others, he was just another face, albeit an unusual face; but to the moderator, he had become opposition; better still, that opposition was special.
        Yes, he would be remembered, the man with the crucifix on his face.
        He smiles, summoning an instant messenger window and sending a mass message to a very select group.
        ”I have a job for you.” he sends, looking in the direction of the stall the warrior had just come from, smiling as he watches the girl play with her pet.