Pul

The disguised changeling lays on his bed in the workhouse. On the outside, he’s enjoying a day off. On the inside… ok, he’s also enjoying the day off, but he’s also thinking about a lot of things. He’s not only getting a break from hauling as the miners and masons meet with Coda and Rezlar to ensure everything is as they need it, but he’s also enjoying a bit of a break from delving and from what Teemo likes to call his night classes.

He’s only gone to a couple so far, but he’s already appreciating the days he gets to properly sleep. He can already see the potential in what they’re teaching him, though. He had been distracted for most of the first class, even after accepting what the knowledge could be used for. He didn’t want to just become a blade in the dark.

But then Poppy started demonstrating the less lethal options of pressure points. He’ll need life affinity to do them properly, it seems, but after feeling his arm go numb from just a poke from the living vine, he’s looking forward to learning. It also helped put into a different light a lot of the anatomical stuff, both what he’s been learning, and what he innately understands thanks to being a changeling.

And on the last several delves, Onyx or Rocky, or sometimes both, would come along to teach him the new unarmed style that Thedeim wants to pass on to him. He’s still a long way from a proper punch, but the art combined with the new knowledge and way of thinking… he’s been looking at the fights in a new way. He can guess what a denizen’s next move will be from how they’re positioned, which lets him get into position to handle them. It’s still not perfect, not by a long shot, but he’s finally starting to feel like he can pull his weight on delves.

He idly hums as he goes over a few encounters, mentally noting what worked, what didn't, and what he can improve. He needs to pay more attention to the denizen anatomy lessons, definitely. He understands people a bit more than denizens, but he doesn’t want to fight people.

The door slamming open to reveal a livid Bernuth stomping into the workhouse reminds him that what he wants and what will happen are two different things. The elf has always been surly, but that kind of raw, naked anger can only mean one thing: he just got fired.

Still, he has to play his part.

He sits up, watching the thief rage across the large room. “What happened?”

“They fired me! Me!”

Pul shrugs. “You haven’t been a very good team leader. Our group has pretty consistently been among the worst haulers.”

“We’re not haulers!” he hisses, stalking up to Pul with a scowl on his face.

Pul doesn’t look impressed. “We are,” he reminds him, letting his genuine dislike leak through for once. “Only haulers, miners, and masons are allowed inside. Oh, unless you’re a soldier and didn’t tell anyone?”

A few of the others snicker at Bernuth being put in his place, though they act like they didn’t notice as he glares around the room, before turning his attention on Pul. “You know exactly what we are,” he growls, only to earn another shrug from Pul.

“I know saying we’re anything but haulers around here would be a bad idea.”

“Who cares?! The plan’s ruined without me anyway!”

“You’re not the only team leader, Bernuth. Someone’ll be promoted and they’ll take over all your duties,” Pul points out, deliberately acting like the elf doesn’t matter. It’s a lot easier to do when it’s the truth.

Bernuth scowls and steps closer to Pul, who stands from his bed. “Oh? Like who? You?” he challenges. “Who’d listen to someone like you?”

“Anyone who doesn’t want to cause a scene, unlike you.”

Bernuth snorts at that, smirking. “What, you’ll keep anyone here from causing a ruckus? You’re weak and a coward,” he starts, only for Pul to cut him off.

“I’ve been delving, Bernuth, or have you not been paying attention to the reports I’ve been giving?”

“Pft. And you think that gives you any leverage in a real fight?”

“Do I need to prove it?” Pul counters, eyeing up the elf and finding himself surprised at how… lacking the thief is. He’s a thug, through and through: muscle that’s not smart enough to actually make decisions. Pul used to find him intimidating, but now… he’s almost pitiable.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Bernuth frowns when Pul doesn’t back down, before grinning wide. “Looks to me like someone’s about to have a work accident!”

Pul doesn’t even need to look away from Bernuth’s eyes to see the backhand coming from a mile away. He leans back, letting the open hand miss his face by several inches, before he leans forward and delivers a short punch to Bernuth’s gut. The confident smirk vanishes in a rush of air, and Pul steps to the side to let the belligerent elf try to process what happened.

He’s not the only one who looks shocked. Every other eye in the workhouse, every other thief

is staring at quiet little Pul standing tall while Bernuth gasps for air. Pul gives him space, knowing this isn’t going to be it. He’s watched the pecking order be established enough times to know this is only going to be the beginning.

Murmurs pass around the workhouse before Bernuth finally stands, absolutely furious. “You’re not gonna have an accident, you’re gonna disappear!" he shouts as he pulls a dagger. The murmurs and concerned looks are exchanged among the watchers. A couple bruises are easy to explain away, but dagger wounds are going to give the whole scheme away. But none of them are ready to stand up to Bernuth, and none of them have the connection with Pul to take a risk.

Pul doesn’t say anything, and instead takes his stance. It’s so very different from Rocky’s, the boxer seeming to embody both a mountain and the breeze at the same time. His feels a lot more like a dagger stance, but he doesn’t have any weapons, besides the ones he was born with. He keeps his hands loose, ready to clench or grab as he needs, and he stares at Bernuth, cautious, but fearless.

Bernuth snarls and darts forward slashing with his dagger, his rage guiding him. Pul watches him, taking a step back to get the distance just right. One tip from Rocky that Onyx translated said that stepping back from an attack isn’t the only way to avoid it. The danger is at the end of the arm, not the middle.

Bernuth’s eyes widen when Pul steps inside his next slash, his arm following the elf’s. A foe who knows how to swing with force is a foe that puts their body behind it. It’s a lot more damage when it hits, but it also puts them off balance. Grab the wrist, shoulder into the armpit, lift with your legs and pull!

Bernuth shouts as the world spins around him, transitioning from surprise to pain before he hits the floor. He’d shout from the impact, too, but the air is once again knocked out of him. Pul waits for his eyes to regain focus, one hand holding his wrist in a lock while the other holds Bernuth’s dagger.

It doesn’t take too long for him to regain his senses, and his bravado dies as he sees the point of his own weapon held over his eyes. Pul nods as he raises it up, before letting it fall, tip down.

Bernuth flinches and closes his eyes, taking a moment to register the thunk as it digs into the floorboards beside his head. “Do you want to try again? Do you think I got lucky? Or do you want to tell me where to drop off the reports before vanishing back under a rock where you belong?” Pul asks, surprised at how steady his voice is, despite the storm of emotions inside. He watches as Bernuth scrambles away, his boots scraping for purchase and terror plain on his face. He makes for the door, but freezes when Pul speaks up again.

“Hey.” Bernuth slowly turns, and flinches and Pul pulls the dagger out of the floor and holds it out. “Don’t forget your dagger. And the drop location.”

Bernuth slowly takes back his weapon and sheathes it, eyeing the door but not making any moves for it yet. “The rainbarrel outside the Pickled Barnacle,” he whispers, finally having sense toward secrecy. “One of the slats is loose, put the reports in there.”

“Good. Now get out of here. You were fired. It’ll look suspicious if you hang around.”

“Yeah… yeah, alright.” Bernuth swallows heavily before quickly making his exit, letting Pul survey the others. He’s surprised by what he sees. They all look intimidated?

“What’s wrong?”

Several flinch, but a gnome has the courage to speak up. “When did you get so scary, Tupul? You used to always look scared of a fight, but right there… you weren't. You weren’t anything, just blank while you dealt with him.”

Blank? He doesn’t feel blank at all! He even reaches up to make sure he didn’t somehow drop his disguise, but he feels elven features still. His confusion seems to put the others at ease, and the group starts talking among themselves. Apparently his face is working properly now, but that doesn’t stop the others from chatting about the fight they just witnessed, and giving Pul a new nickname.

Blank isn’t one he’d pick for himself, but if it keeps the thieves in line, it’s probably fine, right? It’s difficult to worry too much about them when he’s still trying to put together how he feels after that fight. It’s almost… a letdown. Bernuth isn’t a pushover. In fact, he’s one of the more brutal enforcers, at least at Pul’s tier in the guild.

On the other hand, he’s not exactly highly ranked. Maybe Bernuth really is a nobody, and Pul just never saw it until now. How many times did he imagine beating up someone like Bernuth? Now he’s done it… it doesn’t feel anything like he’d imagined it would. There’s a small sense of relief, in knowing he won’t be a problem anymore. But there’s also confusion at just how simple it was. Was he really intimidated by someone like that?

Are the other thieves really intimidated by someone like him? He sighs and returns to his bed, trying to sort out his feelings. He doesn’t expect he’ll make much progress there, but at least Thedeim’s plan seems to be working. Bernuth might try to cry to someone higher in the guild, but that’d probably make things simpler. He needs to get the attention of the high-ranked thieves so he can tell someone with actual weight about Rezlar. If they’re after his friend like Thedeim thinks… they just might try to use Pul to remove him.

Maybe the Blank nickname will work in his favor. If the guild thinks he’s emotionless in a fight, they’ll probably think he could kill Rezlar. He would never, but they don’t know that. All they’ll know is he’s close to the mayor, and if they want him dead, it might be easiest to use him instead of causing trouble at the hold.

And so he sits on his bed, outwardly looking relaxed once more, even as he’s lost in thought. Meanwhile, all around him, the other thieves give him his space. Who beats up Bernuth then goes right back to relaxing? Someone you shouldn’t mess with, that’s who.