Grey skies surrounded Ravens Hill from all sides. The streets of the city were as busy as ever; life moves on, the will of the participants be damned. Victor kept his face down as he walked towards the Summer Gate. Muscling his way through crowds and carts cluttering the cobblestone streets, he arrived there some ten minutes later. He hailed one of the guards, and asked him when the next carriage to Riverside came. “Next morning,” he responded.

“Really?”

The guardman shrugged. “‘s what it is, kid. Riverside’s some hole in the middle of nowhere. I doubt even a quarter of the people in this open sewer of a city even know that it exists. And no, I’m not going to let you walk, even if you’ve got a death wish. You know how bad those foxes on the road are. Move along.”

Victor groaned, and waIked off into the market left of the summer gate. He sunk against the timbers of a building, and rummaged through his backpack. His coin purse was meager;

enough to get back, maybe get something to eat while he’s still here, but nothing else. With a tired sigh, he stuffed the purse back into his bag. Two day ago he received a king’s reception in Autokratorberg, now he’ll be amongst the street scum on the dirty streets, with a fat chance it will be a notorious Ravens Hill cold night.

He rose back to his feet, and slung his bag over his back. Might as well make myself acquainted with that dump now…

* * *

A noxious stench hit Victor square in the nostrils as he approached. Mud, rotten food, body odours, and fetid sewage. This was the Green District, alright. One couldn’t tell they were even in the city were it not for the walls keeping it on the same side as the rest of Ravens Hill. A wide road and a wooden palisade separated the dump in the south east from the rest. The wooden wall was covered from top to bottom in vulgar writings: a warning to all that they had reached the border of civilisation.

Once inside, things deteriorated further. Instead of well constructed timber buildings, worn cloth tents and wooden shanties lined the dirt roads. Everyone stank to high heaven, and hadn’t been groomed in years. Trash lined the streets. But no one appeared unhappy. Quite the opposite, they all laughed and cheered and sang songs of poverty with one another as they drank their homemade brews.

Victor walked around. Is this how far I’ve sunk? This is my sleeping place for the night, good lord... He wanted to find a quiet place somewhere he could rest his head for the night, but as fate would have it, he was to receive quite the opposite.

“‘Oy, kiddo! Cmere!” said a voice belonging to an old man, sitting by a small fire alongside a few of his friends. He had thick grey sideburns and a bald head, and wore a thick green buttoned shirt that was tattered and filthy. What hair he did have was a disgusting clump of oil and grease, as if some sewage monster had taken residence on his head. “Ylook new round here!”

Victor rolled his eyes. “Is this an attempt to steal from me?”

The crowd roared back in laughter. “Steal? Whaddya mean? Got all the booze we need for weeks rightere!” The old man gestured to Victor to come closer with a smile. Some of his teeth had rotten away, leaving gaps in both rows. “Cmere kid! Cant bite, yesee?” he said, then coughed up another hearty laugh.

“Fine.” Victor bit his lip, and lowered himself next to the old man. The group reeked of body odours, more so than even the most exhausted guild members did. He didn’t wince; he was exhausted, and it wasn’t as if he’d find any better company around these parts. One night here, and he’s on his way back home.

“Oy kid, syer name?” the old man said, slurring his words together.

“Victor.” I’ve heard of drunk people, but this is something else. How much has this guy been drinking?

“Victor wha?”

“Miller. Victor Miller. What’s yours?”

The old man fluffed his sideburns. “Name’s Jon. E’eryone here calls me Ol’ Johnny though!”

“Okay then… Johnny. Is there any particular reason why you called me here?”

Ol’ Johnny responded with more laughter. Can this guy even speak without laughing? “Yesee kid, I run things round these parts. Been apart of this necko the woods for forty yearsh! Recognise e’eryone here, yesee. Not you, which means you’re new. Whyd you come here?”

Victor sighed. Out of an impulse, he told his story. “I just lost my job at the Civil Defense, thanks to petty drama started by the idiots at the top. Don’t have any ducats left, other than enough for a carriage ride back home tomorrow. That’s how I ended up here.”

“Heh,” Ol’ Johnny snorted. “No ducats, he saysh. Whas that lil thing dangling round your neck then, kid? Could fetch a pretty penny fer that!”

Victor stared down coldly at the silver amulet dangling around his neck. Son of a… should’ve taken that off, damnit. “That’s the lone thing my father left me. It’s not for sale, and you’ll have to get through me first if you want to steal it,” he said frowning, one hand on his sword’s hilt.

“Whoa, easy there kid!” Ol’ Johnny threw his hands in the air, obviously to make an impression and not out of genuine fear. His friends did the same, punctuated with ‘ooh’ sounds. “Wasn’t plannin’ on stealin’ it, just sayin you could sell it! But ‘ey, family’s important, so I understand ye.”

Victor eased his guard. “There. See ye can trust me?”

“I see it, alright.”

“Good, good...” Ol’ Johnny said. “I wanna know kid, ‘cause ylook like you’ve seen a ghost. Somethin’ wrong?” Victor didn’t understand his question, and asked him to repeat it. “Somethin’ wrong, I said. Ylook like you’ve seen somethin’ big.”

Victor bit his cheeks. All the events over the last few days flashed with blazing speed in his mind: The attack on Riverside, the massacre of the guild at the teeth and claws of a dragon, him being dismissed. “Yes...” Tears streamed down his face, and he let go of his cheeks. “There is something wrong.”

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“You okay kid? What happened?” Two hands tapped his shoulders. One was frail, the other strong and full of life. “What’s the tears for?”

“It’s been too much for me this past week… First my hometown is attacked by insurgents, then my friends are slaughtered like animals by insurgents, now I lose my job and the friends I had left.” He let his head droop to the ground, and wiped his eyes dry.

Ol’ Johnny snorted. “Insurgents, ysay… you mean the ‘Draconist Uprising’, as the kids call it?” Victor nodded slowly. “Ah, yes. Had a few othose run amok in my necko the woods, talkin’ about better futures... heh, interesting meaning of better they have.”

Victor’s head shot up. His eyes were bloodshot. “You know about this?”

Ol’ Johnny grabbed a bottle of liquor from one of his friends, and gulped it down. He passed it back, and calmly put his hands besides his head as he had done earlier. “Just what I heard,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

“Sure thing kid, but first I’d like to ask Bobby to stoke the heat a lil’. ‘s cold round here.” A brutish man sitting opposite of Ol’ Johnny reached for a lump of coal behind him, and tossed it onto the fire. In an instant, the blaze roared with life. “Thanks Bobby.”

“You’re welcome, Johnny.”

“Righty then. These scruffy lookin youngsters run around e’erso often. They talk about this ‘Draconism’ slop like it’s some magical everythin’ solver. You hear ‘em tell stories about things that supposedly happened when this world was still young or somethin’, and ask people if they want to join their little gangs and rob people. All for a better tomorrow, or so they say.”

Victor leaned towards him. “Better tomorrow, yeah right. A tomorrow where people are mauled and burned alive for not bending their necks for monsters.” he said, a lone tear crawling out of his eye.

Ol’ Johnny chuckled. “Oh, so that’s what happened. No wonder you hate ‘em!”

“You act as if it’s no big deal when people are being killed. How have you not heard about this, have you been living under a rock this whole time?” Victor said. Now that I think about it…

“Ha! A rock sounds nice compared to this shithole. Who cares about ‘news’? Ain’t gettin’ me a cosy bed or a roof above my bald head. So no, Don’ know a thing about some war.”

Victor stared into the fire. Its warmth was the lone comfort nearby. Not that it was of much use, but at least it wasn’t nothing. His head ached, and his throat was as dry as a scorching desert. He wanted to ask for something to drink, but the chance these people had anything on offer besides alcohol was slim. He sighed, and continued. “If it ever were to come down to it, what side would you be on?”

Once again, the entire group roared back in laughter. “Get a hold of this kid!”

“What’s so funny?” Victor frowned.

Ol’ Johnny shuffled himself closer to Victor, and rested his arm on both his shoulders. “Lemme tell you somethin’, junior.” He used his free hand to point at his chest. “Been around these parts for forty years. ‘s like thirty years living in the ‘Free Draconist Kingdom’, and ten in the ‘Civilised Justitian Empire’. Lost track of time, but whate’er. Point is, neither cared one bit for people like me. Those dragon people thought themselves ‘superior’ to the common rabble. Notice how all ‘o those dragon rebels are kids like you? That’s cause they didn’t know life back then. Only the upper classes believed that garbage.” He spat out his saliva into the fire, which sizzled in response.

“And what of the Justitians?”

“Heh, guess they’re ‘better’...” Ol’ Johnny made air quotes with his fingers. “They admit there’s problems...HA! ’s where it ends, though. Nothing’s happened since they took over. Doubt it e’er will.” He stared off into the fire, without a care in the world.

Victor’s lips shriveled up. “Are… you planning to do something about it?”

“Haha, no. No… any chance ‘o that happenin’ dwindled away long ago. ‘s life for me now, wouldn’t want it any other way. And you?”

“Well.” Victor’s cheeks reddened. He still had his family and farm back in Riverside to return to. He always took it for granted, learning about Ol’Johnny’s life was a shock. He had nothing more than his clothes and his circle. “I plan on returning home to the farm tomorrow,” he said. He was embarassed beyond belief.

“Kid.” Ol’ Johnny gazed into his eyes, without a trace of drunk lightheartedness. “Cherish that well. You can get outta here still. Unlike me. Unlike us. Do it for us all, you don’ wanna be here. You don’t.” Victor replied with a timid nod.

They talked for a while longer, sharing stories of their lives complete with drunk rants on various things. Life here was simple. and not so bad in all honesty, even if Victor didn’t care for the many attempts at getting him to drink their homemade liquor. Other than that, he helped around the slums for a bit, mostly policing people’s bad behavior. For his work, he was rewarded with a spare tent for the night. It was cold, and the hard ground made sleeping uncomfortable, but it was doable.

* * *

After a meager breakfast the next morning, Victor bid Ol’ Johnny and his crew farewell, and left the slums behind him. The carriage waited for him when he passed through the Summer Gate. After paying the fee, the coachman informed him, that the carriage wouldn’t go all the way to Riverside, instead stopping at the final fork in the road. Victor paid it no heed, and leaned backwards as the wheels rolled forwards.

“Here you go,” said the coachman as they reached the fork. Victor grabbed his bag and disembarked. “Have a good day,” he continued, before instructing his horses to turn back.

“Thanks.”

Victor went on his way down the road to Riverside. He had about half an hour’s walk laid ahead of him, enough time to reflect. What was he going to say to his family? Would he blame someone else for his dismissal? It was a massive overreaction on Lenny’s part after all, to blame him for the casualties. Perhaps he was right, and he did deserve the boot. He wandered onwards, his boots crunching in the dirt, thinking long and hard about his excuse.

But as fate would have it, there was no need. For as Victor approached his hometown, plumes of smoke rose in the distance once again. It was not the watchtower this time.