Cilla turned out to be a talking and likeable companion as the time whiled away. The two continued to chat as those around them cast them odd glances and continued to stand at attention as much as possible.

"So, I thought this was called Northgate street," Tyron asked, "but you called it Victory road?"

She smiled, her dark brown eyes twinkling in amusement.

"That's something I got from the Slayers. That's what they call it, not sure exactly why. Apparently just about every keep has a 'victory road', a glorified name for a street that takes them straight to hell. Morbid fuckers."

Tyron glanced up and down the rather plain cobbled road and solid, but ordinary looking gate at the end of it.

"Little ordinary looking for a gate to hell, don't you think?"

She looked at him sideways.

"You've never been out there, right?"

He had to shake his head.

"No, I've never set foot in the broken lands."

He'd heard about it his whole life though, from two who knew it better than most.

"It's hell out there," she told him emphatically. "Let me tell you, most of these pricks haven't gone out yet and a good chunk of those who manage to come back won't ever go twice."

Surprised, Tyron's brows rose and he contemplated the people around them.

"Truly? They quit after their first run?"

An unladylike snort erupted from Cilla.

"Abso-fucking-lutely they do. Those that make it back anyway. Around half don't come back at all."

She turned and leered at him.

"It's a graveyard out there, Lukas. Make sure you don't piss your pants."

He rolled his eyes.

"My pants are perfectly dry," he said, "but I am surprised to learn that so many don't come back."

"Weak," the young man rumbled from beside them. "Too weak for the job. Fatass farm boys who should have stayed home milking cows."

He leaned over the road and spit.

"Lukas, this is Rell," Cilla introduced him with a hand on his back. "He's been around for a few months and gone out three times already. Too stuck up to sit with us riff raff though."

Rell frowned.

"You never know when the Slayers might be watching, they could have people scouting the road right now."

"I highly doubt it," she replied, "they give roughly zero shits about us at the best of times and I'm rounding up."

Although he didn't say anything, Tyron nodded, since that lined up with what he knew. Slayer rats, or just rats, hirelings that proper Slayers took out into the rifts with them were there to do the dirty work that they couldn't be bothered or didn't want to do themselves.

"Whatever. You do things your way and I'll stick to mine. How many times have you been out anyway?"

"Uppity cunt. You know I've only been out once."

"You're still here at least."

"Damn right I am."

"You've been out there?" Tyron asked, failing to mask the surprise in his voice.

Cilla flicked him an angry glance.

"Yes. Why? You didn't think I was good enough?!"

He raised his hands quickly in defence.

"No, no! I just figured most of the people here hadn't so the odds were against you. I can't say if you're good enough or not, I know nothing about you!"

His explanation seemed to mollify the fiery girl and she sat back to make herself more comfortable with a huff. Not bothering to hide it, Rell gave her the finger before he straightened his posture once more. Tyron realised then that the two didn't advertise themselves in the same way that others did. They didn't have any crudely drawn signs, boards or bits of paper with their status and skills scrawled on to show their qualities like so many who lined the road did. Curious, he remarked on it to Cilla and she barked out a harsh laugh.

"Like whores on night street. I swear to the four, it's demeaning. If we have to be here hanging on the goodwill of the Slayers then we might as well have a little dignity about it."

"Dignity? That's a little rich coming from you," Rell sniped.

"Shove it, Rell," she replied easily, "shove it in deep until you start to like it. To answer your question, no, Lukas, I don't bother with that garbage and neither does Rell because we have something that the others lack."

"Which is?" he prompted her when she didn't continue.

She grinned at him.

"A team that is willing to hire us again. I did well enough my first time out that they said they'd take me out again. It's not a guarantee, since our employers are flakier than a bakery, but it's better than waving a sign around and slapping my ass while the teams walk past."

Tyron whistled in appreciation.

"I can see how that makes a difference. If that's the case though, why are you here at all? Won't they contact you directly?"

Rell snorted, but refused to elaborate.

The girl beside him reached out a hand to plant it on his shoulder as she gave him a pitying look.

"Lukas, you need to remember what you are to them: a rat. You're not quite the shit on the bottom of their boot, oh no, you're the garbage monkey that they pay to lick it off. Contact us directly? We're lucky if they even tell us what day they're going to head out."

"So if you aren't here when they leave…"

"They just take someone else."

"That's…"

"Shitty?"

"I was going to say poor form, but yeah. Shitty."

"That's just the thing, Lukas. It isn't. That's how you treat rats and a rat is what you are now. Your life is as cheap as bread and you are one of the most replaceable chumps in the entire province. How many fresh faces do you think we get every week here, Rell?"

"Can't you leave me out of it?" the young man complained.

"You've been here longer so you have a better idea than me. Just spit it out."

"I'm going to line up further down next time, I swear it. Look, the awakening happened recently so there's at least a dozen new faces every day. They'll probably keep trickling in for months as kids decide to throw down their tools and run away from their apprenticeships to try and make a new life killing rift-kin. When I got here it wasn't nearly as busy as it is now."

"It doesn't look too crowded," Tyron said as he peered up and down the line.

"Hah! Half of us aren't even here yet," Cilla grinned. "Give it a little time."

So saying, she laid back, her head resting on her pack as she prepared to while away the time and Tyron had little choice but to wait.

And wait.

As the hours ticked past and the sun rose higher overhead, her prediction proved more than correct. A steady flow of young faces, some more weathered than others, made their way to the side of the road until it became quite crowded on both sides. The air of desperation and hunger in the air was palpable as the rats jostled for position and snapped at each other over the slightest thing. By the time the sun reached its zenith, Tyron was hot, bored and three fights had broken out.

Two teams had returned in that time, the only events that broke up the monotony. A shout from the guards above the gate was the first hint something was happening, followed by the gate creeping open just wide enough to allow the bedraggled and weary Slayers inside, whereupon the heavy wood beams slammed shut behind them. In these moments, Tyron found that the gathered rats became still and respectful, not wanting to make a bad impression to a potential future employer.

From his observation, he didn't think it mattered much. The Slayers looked tired, injured and in no mood to deal with the horde of wannabe killers who lined the street. He wagered that anyone who actually attempted to bother them as they made their way back to the keep or to a healer was likely to get a leg lopped off for their trouble.

Two hours after lunch and now he wasn't just hot and irritated, he was hungry as well. He even thought of taking out some of his rations but decided against it. If he didn't end up getting hired today, a prospect that appeared increasingly likely, then he could fill up when he got back to the inn.

"Are there usually so few teams leaving?" he finally asked his two companions, exasperated. "We haven't seen a single group leave in the last four hours!"

"It's a bit unusual," Rell admitted, still standing next to where Tyron sat. "But not super uncommon. Sometimes you might go a whole day or two with nobody heading out only to have half the keep run out the gate the next morning."

"And we wait here the whole time?"

"We do if we want to get hired."

Tyron sighed.

As it turned out, there was a team that left later that day. A hushed whisper of excitement rippled down the line of waiting hopefuls from those closest to the keep and Tyron looked up to see the others straightening themselves and putting their best foot forward. Before he realised it, Cilla had leapt to her feet and assumed a more disciplined posture, no sign of her earlier lounging to be seen. She looked down at him and winked.

"Show time, Lukas! Up you get."

He blinked a few times before it clicked and then he scrambled to his feet. He wasn't sure how to hold himself so he ended up folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to look as if he might actually know what he was doing. A few minutes later the Slayers themselves walked past, a group of five bedecked in armour, packs on their shoulders and weapons polished to gleaming. They glanced here and there at the gathered crowd, but didn't bother speaking to anyone and soon the gate slammed shut behind them.

Cilla sighed and slumped back down to her seated position.

"They didn't even take anyone? Rude."

"Probably on a longer trip so they picked up a loose Slayer to fill out the team," Rell observed.

"How could you tell?"

"Emblem on the sleeve. Not all teams have one but they did. The guy at the back didn't have one so I think they might have roped him in to help with the dirty work."

"Sucks for us," Cilla sighed.

That was the only team to leave that day and as dusk fell Tyron bid farewell to his two new acquaintances and made his way back to the inn where he gladly filled his stomach and exchanged gossip with the staff before heading to his room to practice mana bolt until he cast Sleep on himself and passed out.

Undaunted, he awoke the next day and checked his status, pleased to see he'd managed to raise the spell to level three, not bad for a non-class skill with only a few nights practice. His speed was improving along with his efficiency. How well would he do with a moving target? Hard to say, but at least the magick felt more comfortable than before. With a little luck, it might even be usable in a fight.

Although he didn't rush over like he had the previous morning, he was still there before the bulk of the crowd, which meant he was able to secure a similar location to the day before and soon enough he welcomed both Rell and Cilla back with a smile and a wave.

"Nice hat," Rell observed.

"I think I got burned yesterday," Tyron admitted sheepishly.

"You are unusually pale for a rat," Cilla poked at his arm. "You allergic to the sun or something?"

"Just spent a lot of time indoors. I'm a bit of a night owl as well."

The three chatted on and off as there continued to be little action throughout the morning as the crowds continued to build. Just before lunch something finally happened when a team made their way out of the keep. As before, Tyron stood and tried to appear capable as all around the rats did the same. When the Slayers came into sight he could feel a rush of excitement from his right as Cilla seemed to swell up on the spot, a grin plastered on her face despite her efforts to hide it.

Tyron was confused, but his questions were soon answered as the woman who led the team wandered a little closer when she spotted the girl waiting.

"Cilla you useless lump," the slayer shook her head. "Ready to go kill some rift-kin?"

"Hells yes!" she cheered. "I'll even help carry your shit, that's how gracious I am."

"Damn right you will," the woman replied, a hint of laughter in her eye. "Come on then, let's get to it."

Filled with energy, Cilla grabbed her pack and practically leapt out onto the road to join the group. Tyron didn't have a chance to wish her good luck before she ran off down the road and through the gate, on her way to the broken lands. When the gate rattled shut behind them, he settled back down with a sigh.

"That's Marion's team," Rell told him, "same group she went out with the first time. Good group, good rep. Hopefully she'll be fine."

"I never asked what level she was," Tyron realised. "Is she really strong enough to fight against the monsters?"

Rell grimaced.

"Look, it's kind of rude to ask people what level they are, and if you ask the people around here, they're going to lie to you nine times out of ten, there's just no need to inform your competition. As to fighting the rift-kin, hell no, we aren't really expected to fight them. Offer support, chip in if there's an emergency, sure, but not go toe to toe. Usually the Slayers will let the rat fight a couple of weaker creatures as part of the payment, helps them get some experience, develop their skills and gain levels, which makes them more useful rats."

"Usually?"

"Well, you can negotiate your price, a little, with the teams. The more cash you want, the less they'll feel inclined to help you fight. You need to make a call as to whether you want money, or to help develop your status."

"Doesn't that just mean you have to go without pay if you want to become a Slayer?"

"Pretty much."

Ouch.

"The more I learn about it, the more I think this system sucks," he observed.

The other man rolled his shoulders and sighed.

"There isn't a single person here who isn't desperate, Lukas. If you can't hack it, then you're better off somewhere else."

Tyron just shrugged.

"I think I fit right in, Rell. I've got nowhere else to go."

The two didn't say anything else for a long time, instead they settled in to wait.

The rest of the day passed in much the same way, as did the next. Tyron struggled with the wasted time, a sense of urgency growing inside him with each passing moment. He had to get out there, he had to improve. More than once he considered just slipping outside of the city and rushing into the broken lands by himself, but he knew deep down he would more than likely die if he were to try. He was far too weak to chance it, the monsters of the rifts would tear him apart. He didn't even have minions to fight on his behalf, without them he was worse than useless. No. He had to wait.

Thankfully, the fourth day proved more promising than those that had gone before.