Slayer

Chapter three: The inn

Joak wandered the gaslit streets of Neo-Victoria, his senses alive with wonder. The city teemed with a blend of Victorian elegance and steampunk marvels that stirred his heart with awe and admiration.
Ornate, gear-adorned lampposts bathed the avenues in a warm, inviting glow, casting intricate shadows on the polished streets. The air hummed with the soft purr of steam engines, their mechanical symphony orchestrating the city's pulse.
Joak couldn't help but admire the fine details that adorned the cityscape. Clockwork automatons strolled alongside pedestrians, offering assistance with a polite bow and a click of gears. Airships, held aloft by colossal blimps, drifted gracefully across the sky, their brass-plated hulls gleaming like celestial bodies.
The shop windows, a fascinating assortment of antiques and futuristic marvels, beckoned with displays of advanced weaponry, ornate goggles, and enigmatic contraptions. Neo-Victoria's residents, their attire masterful fusions, added to the city's charm and intrigue.
With a slow shake of his head, Joak couldn't help but wonder at the fascinating city that enveloped him. His sense of awe as his compass, Joak gravitated toward the darker, more mysterious corners of the city, where secrets seemed to linger in the shadows, waiting to be unveiled. The darker residential areas of Neo-Victoria were a stark contrast to the well-lit, bustling streets. Here, shadows clung to the cobblestone alleys, and gas lamps cast their glow in sporadic, eerie patterns. The buildings, aged and weathered, seemed to lean in towards one another, their narrow windows hiding secrets behind heavy curtains.
The sheer magnitude of Neo-Victoria's wonders left Joak overwhelmed. He doubted whether sleep would find him tonight. Out of the corner of his eye, an inn caught his attention, a quiet respite.
Joak slipped inside, and the sight that met his eyes was one of pure chaos. Men were engaged in a heated brawl, their faces contorted with rage, while others jeered and shouted obscenities. In the midst of the tumult, a man brandished a gleaming knife, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light. The atmosphere in the room shifted.
"Whoa there," a voice rang out from the midst of the turmoil, as a figure emerged from the fray.
Joak, intrigued, approached cautiously.
"Easy, friend. What's got you all riled up like this?"
The man with the knife, his eyes wild and filled with anger, hesitated for a moment. "You don't understand, stranger. They're the ones who did this to our city. They've ruined everything!"
Joak raised an eyebrow, "Who are 'they'?"
The man's response was a mix of incoherent accusations, blaming unseen forces for the city's troubles. He was clearly delirious, and Joak sensed that rationalizing with him might prove to be a challenge. The room remained tense, the brawl still simmering, as Joak contemplated his next move.
As the man's delirious rant continued, the tension in the room reached its breaking point. People began to back away from him, creating a small circle of space. However, the man suddenly lunged forward, knife still in hand, his eyes filled with mania.
In the blink of an eye, Joak reacted, drawing his pistol-crossbow and firing a blunt-tipped bolt. The projectile struck the man squarely in the chest, and with a gasp of pain and surprise, he crumpled to the ground. The room fell into a shocked silence.
With the threat subdued, Joak stood there, crossbow in hand, as he assessed the situation. The tense atmosphere was now tinged with a mix of relief and unease.
"Well, that was quite the showstopper, wouldn't you say?" Joak said, breaking the eerie silence. The room's occupants cast curious and cautious glances at Joak, assessing the newcomer with both wariness and intrigue. In the lingering silence, the atmosphere crackled with uncertainty.
As the man lay on the floor, groaning softly, Joak approached him cautiously. "Easy now, friend. We don't need any more trouble here. Just catch your breath." Joak's tone was surprisingly compassionate, considering the circumstances.
As the wounded man dragged himself away, disappearing from view, Joak couldn't help but shake his head in resignation. The adrenaline from the earlier encounter began to ebb, and he was left to confront the reality of his situation – he had no money to secure a place to stay, and the inn was no longer the refuge he had hoped for.
A stranger quietly slipped a folded piece of paper into Joak's hand, his eyes filled with gratitude. "It's not much," he murmured, "but you may have saved my life." With those words, the man walked away, leaving Joak holding the note. Joak's face broke into a warm smile.
Another passerby handed Joak a small vial of sweet-smelling liquid. Joak accepted the mysterious offering with a nod and the inn resumed its usual state of chaos. The room once again reverberated with life, and Joak couldn't help but wonder about the liquid in his hand, its fragrance a tantalizing enigma.
Joak downed his drink with a sense of satisfaction, and turned to the innkeeper with a grin. "Been quite a day. I could use a place to rest my head. How much for a room?"
The innkeeper paused for a moment, then said, "A room will be five silver for the night."
Joak nodded, paid the fee, and expressed his gratitude. He made his way to the room, ready to rest and gather his strength for the challenges that lay ahead in Neo-Victoria.