"Why does it always have to be sewers?" Darrow asked as he skipped over the disgusting green puddle, only to land in another. He cursed.
"Let's just do it and get it done." Damian answered as he moved around the puddle entirely.
"But Why do we have to do it? I'm sure the goblins can send someone to pick it up." Darrow whinned sure the goblins were not elcome on the surface but he was sure they could avoid the eyes of the watch some how like they always did.
"We are carriers today, Darrow. It's our job." He skipped over puddles that looked like mud, but he was sure it was worse than that, thanks to the greenish tinge.
"I'm just saying, she could have at least spared us the sewer job."
Damian just rolled his eyes. His hand went to his sword, but it, unfortunately, was just a rat. he sighed.
The two brothers, Damian and Darrow, came to a stop at an intersection in the tunnels under the city.
They looked up, then around, and Damian looked at the map.
Damian was the oldest. That's why he had the map—or maybe it was because he was the more responsible one.
Darrow didn't care either way. After all, they were twins, and he believed that anything his brother could do, he could do as well. Besides, he was only five seconds younger.
"Which way?" he asked.
Damian looked back at the map, then up at the opening maw of the sewer tunnel. He looked right, then left, and turned the map in his hands.
Darrow rolled his eyes this time.
He lifted his finger and listened for the wind then as if that wasn't enough he narrowed his eyes, looking down, then pointed to the opposite tunnel.
"It's this way," he said.
Damian turned and looked at the wide tunnel, then at his map.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, I am sure. I am a rogue. I have [altered awareness]."
Damian looked up, then back down. He put the map away, and they continued through the sewers of the Eternal City of Calvessan.
Now, it had to be said that the Eternal City—or the City of Cities—was large. It was a continent-sized magical metropolis. You could ride the Spirit Enchanted Rail for five days, and you would never leave the city limits.
And for Damian and Darrow, it was all they knew. It was a place where they would probably die.
But even then, they had never gone beyond Ashlock Bridge, the most central subdistrict in Principal City.
Damian sneezed and shivered. He looked at Darrow, but his brother was just nuzzled under his cloak.
"I told you. You should get a cloak."
"Cloaks are for rogues."
"Hey, I'm offended." He touched his chest.
Damian just rolled his eyes.
"Just hear me out. Even warriors wear cloaks. Cloaks are cool!" he said, resting his arm on Damian's shoulder and transferring a little warmth.
"Why is it so cold anyway?" Damian asked.
"There's a waterfall drainage up a the head."
"How do you know?" he asked.
Darrow just tapped his nose, and for all the banter, Damian just shook his head.
"Dragon's Shield, I think I'm going to be sick," he said and shivered again.
It often took him longer to complain, unlike Darrow, who spoke whatever came to his mind. But he was having a hard time keeping it together in the sewers.
"You think she's testing us?"
"She's always testing us," Darrow said, sneezing into his leather jacket. "Look. Look at this." He pushed his hand forward.
"Awh. Come on." Damian pushed him away.
They passed by small glowing insects and fungi, and soon the noise of the waterfall drainage kept growing louder.
"I think we are headed the right way."
"Why do you think that?"
"Look, runes," Darrow pointed.
There—on one of the tunnel wall's entries—there were all sorts of runes. The sort you only found around secret hideouts. And in this case, it was probably a goblin hideout.
The two looked at each other, and around the next corner, they saw small arcane lanterns glowing in the distance.
They approached cautiously, and Darrow looked at him. He didn't miss it.
That was a sort of sign, and Damian pulled out his map and looked at him, nodding.
The outpost was partially submerged in the greenish murky water, and there was a wooden walkway that led inside.
At the entrance, there were two goblins dressed as guards. They wore boots that looked too large and small shirts under their chest plates and chain mail. They also had spears in their arms.
One of the goblin sentries nudged his fellow, and the other goblin snorted himself awake.
"What? What is it?" The goblin hissed and pointed his spear up.
The goblin's spear pointed at Darrow, causing him to freeze. If he stepped any closer, the short goblin's spear would have got him in the eye.
"Hey, be careful with that." Darrow pushed the spear to the side.
"Hey, what is this?" The goblin said, looking between Damian and Darrow.
"Yeah, stop casting illusions. You won't trick us," the other goblin said, moving to poke Damian with the blunt end of his spear.
"We are twins," he said, deflecting the poking spear.
The goblins looked at each other, and for the longest time since they had been stationed here, they were confused.
Another fact about the twins was that they were identical. Sure, Cass could tell them apart, but that was only because she was their aunt and because she had raised them.
They left the two goblin guards scratching their heads and walked into the outpost.
The place was, to put it politely, shady. Most of the people walking around were goblins, and those who were covered up were definitely not goblins.
The stalls were made of metallic contraptions that could be easily folded up for a quick escape in case the city guard ever found this place.
The goblins sold cursed objects—from the type you put under someone's bed to give them a rush all week, to deadly poison that needed a sufficiently high-levelled alchemist for a cure.
There were small fires in warming stoves that kept the air dry, and even more goblins cooked strange stews.
"I'm hungry," Darrow said, feeling his stomach and looking at the skewered meat a goblin in the chef's hut was tending.
Another group of goblins and cloaked figures was arguing over dice and exchanging bronze coins.
Darrow peeped through one of the smaller houses and saw an elder goblin—probably a [witch]—stirring a glowing potion in a cauldron.
One of the goblins was leaning against the wall in a fairly clean coat, vest, and pants, with literal steel-toed boots.
The small figure stepped in the way. He looked the twins up and down, then huffed.
"Are you two the carriers?" the goblin in working-class clothing said.
"Yes," Damian said and hoped Darrow wouldn't do anything stupid.
They let a younger, fitter goblin run past carrying a bucket of water, and Darrow saw the goblin running into the house—the house with the cauldron.
"You can stop with the illusion," the goblin said.
"Hey, my brother is not an illusion, and besides, he doesn't even like cloaks," Darrow said.
The goblins paused and looked up at both of them.
He moved to poke both of them, and the goblin's hand was swatted away by both of them.
They approached a structure made of tent cloth and thin metal that looked fragile but was probably laced with all sorts of enchantments or wards.
Two massive and heavily armoured hobgoblin guards stood at the front, and their eyes narrowed at the sight of the two humans.
Hobgoblins were as large as any man and just as capable—even worse, these two looked like they had just advanced to this stage. The truly older ones were much, much deadlier.
They grunted something in goblin tongue to the smaller goblin, and he responded. They stepped to the side and let the two humans pass.
When they entered the small building, they found the interior much quieter, if not ominous, thanks to the green lanterns.
There was a long wooden table in the centre of the room, and it was filled with all sorts of things. There was a skull, some coins, maps, and even lazily arranged parchment.
"Hey boss Grimjaw, I brought the carriers you told me to look out for," the small working-class goblin said, fiddling with his suit vest.
There was a grunt, and had Darrow not been wary, he would have said something about the snoring that suddenly stopped.
They couldn't see the Goblin [Capo] whose chair faced away from them, but they exchanged a look that said they had both noticed the figure had been dozing off.
Boots scraped against the stone as the figure shifted in his chair. Then he turned to face them.
The hobgoblin rose—and rose—and had he been a man, he would have been in his forties. Except the hobgoblin had green skin, black eyes, and red irises.
He had multiple small scars running across his face, was broad, and made the two twins want to step back.
They didn't, however, even when the hobgoblin just stared at them. Not when they stood together. Not when they both had that class. Damian and Darrow both felt the room grow silent and a cold run through their bones.
Damian stepped forward and reached into his jacket. He presented the sealed letter to the figure. He watched as the hobgoblin looked at the letter, then at the two of them. He took the letter.
The hobgoblin, Grimjaw, studied the letter. They watched him, but nothing happened after that. Darrow thought the goblin was waiting for [danger sense] to trigger.
The other small goblin, Cleansoks, stood in the back of the room, and Damian could swear he heard the creature snickering in the background.
When the skill didn't trigger, the figure just shrugged and sat back. After all, it wasn't that uncommon to see letters sent to targets, and once they read the contents written down, they would be hexed.
They watched him break the seal with a clawed thumb. Then he carefully unfolded the letter, slowly and deliberately, before he read it.
Damian and Darrow looked anxious. They still didn't know what was going on. For all they knew, the letter had their next instructions.
And… they also needed a signature or some sort of proof that the job had been done.
Damian and Darrow watched and waited as the large goblin scanned the letter silently, his expression unreadable.
The hobgoblin's eyes shifted up at the brothers, and there was more silence. After a long pause, the hobgoblin chuckled deeply, the sound coming from his throat. He nodded. He folded the letter carefully and put it on his table.
They stiffened, ready for anything. It was always a well-known fact that messengers always died first—but in this case, they shouldn't have been.
The hobgoblin nodded, and they breathed in relief. They didn't know what kind of mission Aunt Cassandra had sent them on, but a job well done meant they would be parted, and she would finally allow 'em to travel all over.
—
They stepped through the shadows, found the ladder, and started climbing up. Technically, Darrow was the one who found the ladder, and he could see in the dark—another part of his skill.
The metal seal creaked open, and the two made their way out.
The setting sun had an orange light glinting through the city, and the stained glass shimmered across the skyline.
Darrow's eyes went wide, then quickly heaved himself out of the way.
A horse spirit carriage barrelled down the lane just in time as he yanked Damian out of the way. They tripped, then fell back on the tiled curb.
The ghostly horse whinnied, and the carriage driver cursed at them, his hand waving about as he made his way down the road.
They laughed nervously at the man, and Damian raised, then lowered his hand to help Darrow up—but he didn't take it, not at first.
"One day they will tell tales about us," Darrow said, taking his arm.
"What sort of story?" Damian asked, patting his clothes off.
"Oh, you know," Darrow put an arm around his shoulder and gestured in front of them, "imagine it: me, the greatest rogue the land has ever seen, and you, the warrior no one is willing to face in a duel."
"Is that all?"
"No, of course—the coin, the artifacts, and the girls," he said dreamily.
"Well, right now we are legends dodging carriages."
Of course, that was quite a lofty goal, and for people like them with two classes, it was even harder.
They walked through the streets and made sure to keep their heads low. After all, they were walking in one of the shadier parts of Principal City.
Damian and Darrow walked past streets bustling with merchants, night hawkers, and spirit-pulled wagons making ready to leave the small market.
Damian's nose twitched at the smell, and Darrow shifted as he walked, and his hand flashed out.
"Here." He lifted a delicate-smelling skewer of roasted meat.
"Did you pay for this?"
"Maybe. Wait, are you not hungry?" He moved to take the kebab away, but Damian grabbed it.
That was the thing about peer pressure—or even worse—it was sibling pressure, especially one who knew when you were in danger, hungry, or even not feeling well.
That's what happened when you shared a legendary class.
Slowly, the small market was disappearing and giving way to the nightlife, letting the [bards], [seductresses], and night [dealers] of all shades emerge.
There was a moving picture in black and white on the newspaper stand showing some of the most powerful men and women and their presumed levels based on the skills they displayed.
They watched a group wearing combat waistcoats fitted with daggers, enchanted rings, and folded sleeves with shoulder pads reinforced with steel.
Darrow and Damian both felt envious as they watched the crowds part for the group of adventurers.
"Someday," Damian said.
"Yah, someday," Darrow said.
"Hey." They turned, and they saw two city [watch guards] talking to the vendor selling the roasted meat. The man pointed at them.
Darrow cursed and threw the skewer to the ground.
"Seems like you weren't so sneaky this time," Damian mocked.
"Hey! Stop right there!"
The two froze, then Darrow pretended to look back as if in confusion, putting on an act of innocence.
Damian, however, just grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. There was no way he was going to talk his way out of this.
"Run, Darrow!" he said as he pulled him back.
They took off down the streets, and the guards took off as well.
The guards knew that this was the hour of trouble and crime, and anyone who was running had to be questioned.
One of the guards used a skill, and they didn't know what happened, but Darrow twisted out of the man's hand and kept on running.
They slid down a sloped street and kept on running, much to the annoyance of the crowd, who jeered and cursed them out. Despite that, there were those who cheered and whistled them on as they ran.
Darrow darted forward and vaulted over the fence that separated the two subdistricts. Damian was barely able to scramble over on account of his not being a [rogue] class of any kind.
They rushed through a particularly eerie alley where the street moved and glowed, and the ink reached out for them. It was probably the work of a [mage].
After a while, when the guards fell behind and didn't follow them, they slowed by the crowd and, for a moment, leaned against the wall.
They both stood there, gasping for air, and moments later, they grinned at each other in relief.
"Still alive, still legends," Darrow wheezed.