On the opposite side of the Inn from Lien and Hon, two men were sitting across from each other well over into their fifth round of drinks, and they were the only two that were so deeply engrossed in their conversation that they did not notice any of what was going on at Lien’s table. One of them was a fat man with clothes that reeked of sweat, partially damp because of the weather outside. And the other was a man of average build, better clothing and much cleaner. The fat man had short hair and a beard born of uncare, his name was Orlog. The other man had his beard carefully trimmed into a goatee and longer hair, a lot of care seemed to go into his appearance, his name was Damis.

Orlog had been the one speaking most of the time, his voice rough and coarse, while Damis mostly interjected to ask questions about the story he was being told, his voice controlled and clean.

— So when someone gives you their credentials, the first thought that comes to your mind is why the fuck you should care about it, right? — Orlog made large gestures to accompany his tale.

— Right. — Damis mostly nodded in response.

— Well in order to be parta the guard they need credentials, ya’re not some White Knight or some but they still matter, and the kinda credentials this guy claimed to have were… uncommon, so to speak.

— What kind of credentials do they need?

— Well uh, just the basics really: Fighting prowess, are ya a upstanding citizen? Do ya help yer elders get their buckets off the well? That kinda stuff. Uncommon for a guard but the Halton guys like to think themselves noble and all that so they want their boys to look good.

— Right, right.

— So yeah, credentials. Someone tells ya some shit and you usually wonder why it matters. Well, with what this guy was claiming that thought didn’t last longer than a couple heartbeats, ya know. Guy was the kinda guy you’d compare other upstanding guys to so you could tell whether they were upstanding or not. And ya pull up the people and ask them whether it was true and the answer was a.. a uh.. a resending yes.

— Resounding.

— Yeah, a resounding yes. Guy he had done everyone some kinda good and wanted to join the guard to do more good, needless to say they let him in. And not only did they let the guy in, they made him the personal fucking guard’a the princess, he was basically responsible for her entire security. Just like that.

Damis scoffed. — That’s a bit weird.

— It gets bettah. Everything they said about the guy was true, he could fend off two to three armed men on his own and would still bring medicine to the local cripple in between blows, fucko spent half his fucking wage on the homeless an' he was the only guard to not ever set foot on the whorehouse. A proverbial saint, Lallya forgive me.

— So what happened?

— So that's where it gets weird. So uh, the princess was murdered, right?

— How?

— Well ain't that the fucking question. It was our guy that found the body, she was in her room in a horrible state, just mauled or some like by an animal, I don't know. So he finds the body, and cries like a fucking baby, right?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

— Right…

— And then the fucker confesses to the fucking murder.

— What?!

— Exactly. It makes no fucking sense, even the king doesn't fucking believe it. Then for some fucking reason the templars get involved on the murder investigation.

— The templars? Why?

— Who the fuck knows. Well what matters is that when it comes to that kinda shit they got tools we don't got, plain and simple, and they got involved. So they end up, and I quote: "ascertaining that the most likely culprit is Captain Forleone of Halton, for he had information only the killer could have had." Some bull like that.

— Who’s that?

— The fucking guy I’m telling you about.

— Right. — Damis finished his beer and ordered a sixth round for both of them. - Didn’t you say he was a guard?

— Yeah, he got promoted so he could be assigned to the princess, didn’t I just fucking say that?

— Missed the promotion part.

— Right. Well so King Falter does the unthinkable and challenges what the templars said about the murder and murderer, he was fucking pissed his daughter died and he wasn’t about to blame the only person he trusted in that whole fucking castle.

— How did they know it was him anyway?

— My uncle said they use some sort of incantation they call a hearing spell or something. Supposed to show them the stuff that happened and it's apparently really fucking dangerous.

— Why is it dangerous?

— Ask a fucking templar, not me.

— Right, but if they used this spell then they knew for a fact who the murderer is, right?

— Apparently there are limitations, which is why the king challenged their word. They said that the guy knew too much but never that they knew for sure it was the guy.

— Right. And it wasn't enough for King Falter I take it.

— Not at all. But the king also knew Forleone was hiding something, so he threw the boy into the dungeon for good measure.

— Ouch, the Alaster dungeons?

— No, no. Gods forbid. Twas' the castle dungeon, nona' that chaining stuff. — Orlog used the side of his finger to touch his forehead twice and then kissed it, a half hearted praise to Lallya.

— Go on. Then what?

— It gets crazier, and remember you didn't hear this from me, but.. — Orlog adjusted himself in his chair, then leaned further into the table, his weight offsetting the table his way. — The king challenged the verdict of the templars, right?

Damis nodded. — Yeah.

— The king almost lost his throne, some political whatever, templar stuff. But another templar order came in, Golden Crest or some, and started calling the shots.

— Good for King Falter, gods bless the man.

— Not really. So, it was just this one bald fella', he was big tough shit, head all disfigured, you could hear the templars in the other order shiver under their armor - hell, they wet their fuckin trousers - when he came into the room. Slow steps, careful, commanding, rooms went dead silent when he walked in, had a templar investigator fired without saying a single word, just looking the fella's direction. He was a bad mutha and bad fucking news.

— Why was he there?

— According to himself he was "in the neighborhood" to attend to summat else.

— Right.

— He.. uh.. he metisculy went through—

— Meticulously. — Damis corrected.

— Right, that. He just went through all the investigation top to bottom, and he reached a verdict completely different from both the King and the other templars.

— What was it.

Orlog stopped talking for a bit, looked both ways, then approached Damis a bit more. — King Falter colluded with dark gods. The killing was the product of summoning.

Damis' eyes went wide, he leaned into the table as well. — What?!

Orlog nodded. — He wasn't wrong either. Forleone was innocent but was also the vessel, so the boy needed to go.

Damis shook his head in disbelief. — But.. what god?

— Fuck if I know. But it gets bettah. You see, the boy had to go, right?

— Right.

— Except that when mister big fucking dick went to put the kid out if his misery, he wasn't in the dungeon.

— He escaped?!

— Yeah, and not a soul saw a gods damned thing. It was as if he was never there. The big shot guy muttered something about shadows and left without another word.

Damis leaned back into his chair and exhaled in disbelief. He shook his head for a second trying to situate himself, then leaned on the table again. — What then?

— The other templars took the king in, town is fucked now. Meanwhile mister big balls just walked into the fucking sunset or some.

Damis shook his head in disbelief again. — And how long ago was this?!

Orlog shrugged. — Something like, I don't know, a week?