Runa:Rist

“Today is the day I kill ten rats and become a Ranger!”

The false determination in Ira’s own words isn’t enough to ease her concerns. This is the third time in four months she tries to complete the easiest task in the Ranger’s guild; the one everyone had to go through to become a member.

The first time, she had gone into the sewers with all the confidence of youth. She had killed rats before. All you needed was a heavy stick. Her perceptive elven ears soon picked up the sound of squeaks and led her to a nest swarming with rats. Thinking she could get the quest over with in no time, she stormed in and started battering at the rodents. Each time she swung her club, a rat splattered on the stone floor.

Then the rats started to bite back. She had anticipated that, and while she didn’t own a pair of boots, she had wrapped her lower legs in as many leather scraps as she could find. What she hadn’t anticipated was the living carpet of fur crawling up her legs and onto her body, biting and clawing into every bit of exposed flesh. The smaller ones found their way under her pants and tunic while the larger ones – she didn’t know rats could get so large – clung to her arms and legs, weighing her down. She fled the nest, wildly trying to rip the nasty critters off her body, damaging herself all the more in the process.

When she got out of the sewer, slamming the lid after her and stomping the life out of the single rat that had managed to cling onto her, she was covered in cuts. None of them were deep enough to be dangerous on their own, but the fear of infection had forced her to down the single low-grade healing potion she owned. It wasn’t the expensive, magic sort made in the temples, but the foul-tasting alchemical concoctions that forced her wounds to painfully scab over within minutes at the cost of days of discomfort and horrible scarring; the latter becoming a permanent reminder of her failed first attempt. She had still come down with a number of diseases from the ordeal, and without the care of the Temple of Mercy, she wouldn’t have gotten off with a week of bed rest.

Two months later, she had been differently prepared.Once she was out of the temple, she had worked double shifts: By day, she hauled ore and coal for the ironworks by the East gate and by night, she earned her stay at The Leaking Tankard by cleaning and preparing for the morning rush. At a shade shy of 6 feet, she was taller than any other elf she knew of, and her muscular physique meant that she was probably not pure-blood. At least, that was what most elves assumed, quickly walking past her.

That muscular physique was now covered in the cheapest mismatched armor she could scrape together. A pair of long-shafted boots that almost fit, patched utility overalls, a quilted jacket with more mendings than original material, and heavy smith’s gloves that had been almost worn through on the palm side. The most expensive by far was the sturdy belt pouch with three ceramic bottles: two of the foul lesser healing potions, each about a cup in size, and a pint-sized bottle the old witch Hannah swore would keep the diseases carried by rats from taking hold, if taken hourly. That last bottle was worth much more than the reward for the rat-killing quest, but Ira wasn’t worried. Once she became a Ranger, she could take on more rewarding quests. Who wanted to kill rats for a living? Maybe spellcasters, with their area-of-effect spells…

She had entered the sewer much more carefully this time, trusting the acute hearing and low-light vision of her elven heritage to keep her away from larger groups of rats. Whenever she thought she heard more than one rat, she went down another passage in the mazelike sewers. Her gambeson was soon heavy with sewage, and her leather trousers and boots clung to her skin. Finally, she encountered a single rat. It was as big as a housecat and just as agile, but only until the first club swing hit. After that, it was brutal execution. Ira dumped the bloody corpse in her duffle bag. She only needed the right ear for the quest, but there was no way she was going to let that much meat go to waste.

Slowly, but surely, Ira stalked out and killed seven more single rats. It seemed that only the larger ones wandered alone, and she got bit several times. Not enough to make her use a potion, though. Several times, she came upon a larger group of rats, but as long as she didn’t come too close, they didn’t give chase.

By the time she figured more than half the day had gone, she was facing the largest rat she had ever seen by far. It was big as a dog and fiercely aggressive. It spotted her almost as soon as she it, and charged her with something between a shriek and a roar.

Ira stepped into a defensive stance – or an imitation of one, at least. You can only learn so much by watching the city guards train and try to recreate their movements. That was still more training than the rat had, and she kept it out of reach with her club before her. It pounced several times, but she intercepted most of the attacks, even getting a glancing retaliatiory blow or two in as well. Ira’s club was soon frayed from the rat’s bites, and the weight of her wet, unfamiliar armor slowed her more than she had anticipated.

After some minutes of fighting, where none of the two had managed more than bruise the other, Ira thought she heard squeaks down the tunnel, coming closer. Shit, she thought, I have to end this.

That moment of panic was all the giant rat needed to get through her guard, and she felt the two-inch-long front teeth pierce her right thigh.

She stumbled to keep her balance, and let her blood boil.

Whether it was an inborn trait or a consequence of growing up alone as an orphan street kid, Ira was able to tap into a near supernatural rage. For a short time, she would become stronger, tougher, consumed with a singular purpose: defeat her enemy. She now pointed that murderous intent towards the huge rat slinging onto her leg and swung her club pommel down so hard that the skull caved in.

Three powerful blows later, and the rat’s head was reduced to a red-brown paste with white splinters sticking out, the front of the top jaw still stuck in Ira’s thigh. As she pulled the incisors out, Ira’s own blood started to cool. She looked for the rats she had heard coming, but they were nowhere to be found. Had killing the biggest one caused the others to flee? Relieved, she slumped over in the sewage as her post-rage fatigue left her almost unconscious, only just cognizant enough to quaff a healing potion before more muck seeped into her wound. Then the pain from the crude mending of her flesh hit her, and her vision blackened.

Ira couldn’t tell how long she rested, but as big as the rat was, she was sure the by-the-book receptionist at the Rangers’ guild would still only count it as one. That meant she was still missing one to fulfill her quota. She got up, stuffed the large rat into her duffle bag as well as she could, the hind legs sticking out, and wobbled off, favoring her sore right leg.

Whatever had scared the rats of had been effective. It took Ira upwards of an hour to find another rat. Even the nests were abandoned. This one was only large by usual rat standards, and it posed no problem. Satisfied, Ira left the sewer and entered the Rangers’ guild as the shadows grew long.

That was when she was informed by an apologetic, but firm receptionist that the huge rat she had fought was a dire rat, technically a different species, and as such did not count towards quest completion. She had failed to deliver ten rats by sunset.

She hadn’t even been allowed to retake the quest for a month as punishment for having failed.

Today, however, she will kill ten rats and become a ranger.