Xangô POV: Day 45

Current Wealth: 8 silver 28 copper

Wolney wasn’t ever really a dot on our horizon, mainly because we couldn’t see the horizon behind the big curtain of snow blocking it off. By the time it was within sight, we’d already come to within maybe half a mile from it. The city was small by modern standards, as I might’ve expected, but not nearly as much of a dwarf as was standard to mediaeval construction.

Jhigral had rarely contained buildings over three stories, while Wolney held multiple that towered as high as ten or more. It was surrounded by a big wall that looked easily thirty feet from bottom to top, and built to resist cannons rather than trebuchets. The closest thing to a vulnerability I could see was a portcullis that looked thick and heavy enough to decapitate an elephant.

Fortunately for us, it was raised and kept up as our carriage rattled on past. A pair of lazy guards watched us enter the city, apparently not caring enough to even record our names. We moved through the streets, seeing what we could glean from our perch on the cart. We’d not have it for more than a few minutes longer, so there was hardly a better time than now.

Wolney’s roads were cobbled, not dirt, but still clearly ill-maintained and dirty. The buildings we passed were mostly no bigger than in Jhigral, but far more numerous. Impressive in numbers, but not in nature, despite the handful of giants peeking into the sky. That was mediaeval wealth inequality for you. The people were just as numerous, seeming to crowd every stretch of city we laid our eyes on, all dirty and bedraggled the way it appeared everyone in this world was.

Solitaire muttered something, and I turned to see his eyes had grown dark as he looked at it all.

“Feudalism.” He spat. “It’s like if Capitalism said the quiet parts outloud.”

There weren’t many times that his social theories were anything but grating to hear, but it was hard not to find myself agreeing with him, looking at the display around us. The withered, tiny bodies of the locals hit something primal inside me. Urging me to help…And to tear down whatever was responsible.

But there’d be none of that for us. Not for a while, at least. First we’d have to figure out how to keep ourselves alive.

Still, the thought of actually changing this world for the better stuck with me. I’d not considered it yet, but now that it’d occurred to me, it seemed obvious. We were modern humans, with modern knowledge and a levelling rate that most of this place’s inhabitants could only dream of. Maybe we could help people.

Perhaps we’d even been sent here to make the world better.

I was interrupted in my considerations as a lurch struck the carriage, and I turned my gaze back outward to see we were rolling into a new part of town. This one far better maintained. Its streets were paved, rather than cobbled, and cleaner by far. Filled with ten times less people, all of whom were dressed noticeably better.

Dressed better, and taller. It didn’t take a genius to work out we’d come to a richer area, the wrong looks we got was enough to give it away. The carriage started to slow, pulling in to stop at one side of the road as the driver turned back to us.

“There you are.” He grunted. “Journey’s done.”

We nodded and gave our thanks, stepping down onto the road, feeling our legs quiver weakly beneath us from the long hours of disuse. The air didn’t reek in this part of the city, that was something.

“Where to first?” Solitaire asked. I eyed him, then eyed the street. We still couldn’t read, so all of the signs were indecipherable to us. That was annoying. I swore.

“Let’s ask around, see if we can find a mercenary pub, or at least one big enough to recruit from.”

Well, we gave it our best go. Turns out people in the continent of Vorhazh, let alone the Eregar Kingdom, were rather unwilling to help kindly strangers with information. Most of them told us to fuck off, some threatened to call the guards, and none gave us so much as the time of day.

Solitaire alone seemed unsurprised.

“They’re rich.” He shrugged. “And our clothes don’t look expensive. Probably they’ve decided we’re vagrants.”

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It needled me, sent bubbles of anger running through my veins, but I just grit my teeth and bit the rage back. Beam was speaking next.

“We could try the lower class areas.” He suggested. I nodded. Had to try them, more like, because we’d just run out of more affluent options.

There was less open hostility there, at least, and we didn’t take too long to have a suitable dwelling described to us. ‘The Fucked Pig’. A charming name, that. We hurried our way to it, eager for whatever help we could get.

It was about as nice a place as the title would suggest. Dark wood, weathered. Glassless windows, reinforced. Lengths of what looked like iron running through the walls and a warmth emanating from it that would’ve been pleasant, were it not tainted by the scent of cheap booze. We stepped inside hesitantly, and froze as we beheld the several dozen men and women drinking and chatting within.

All were grimey, toughened and hard-faced. They were armed, of course, and most sat in groups. I Appraised them quickly, tightening my eyes almost without thought.

Level 8, Level 3, Level 19, Level 10, Level 5, Level 6…

There was a lot of variation, I saw, but none were as high as level 20. And all were above 1. Apparently this was a place for people with a fair amount of experience under their belts. Well that suited us just fine, we’d done three trolls and easily a score of people ourselves. We weren’t green by any measure.

Still, we froze. Several of the people were staring at us, and all were still terrifying enough despite our trial by fire in this world. Part of me was certain they’d come flying at us with weapons drawn, and another feared that moving forward would just make a fool of our group, and ruin any chances we had of actually recruiting.

Beam saved us. He took one step forwards, casual as if he were strolling down a beach, and broke Solitaire and I out of our stupor. We followed him eagerly, making our way to the bar. After that, with a man in front who needed negotiating with, all my old instincts took over and I leaned in to speak.

“Afternoon.” I greeted him, forcing a smile that presented confidence I wasn’t feeling. “I understand this is a mercenary spot, are you the one who hands out contracts?”

Our time spent questioning the citizens of Wolney had confirmed this as the system at play. Contracts were put out, and picked up for copying by individuals specialised in such things. They’d find their way to bars like this, where the owners would take a small commission to hand them out to the overwhelmingly illiterate crowds that usually handled such things.

“I am.” The man grunted, confirming his place in the hierarchy. That was relieving at least. I’d been half afraid he’d laugh at some misunderstanding the people outside had imparted on us.

“Excellent.” I pressed. “Well, my-” I hesitated, thought, then continued “-my brothers and myself are looking for work. Can you point us to some? We’re skilled enough fighters, though not excellently equipped. We’ve managed to take down trolls before, and can easily bring down a group of five men by ourselves.”

Being honest, I’d been hoping to see some surprised respect flit across the bartender’s face at that. All I got, though, was acknowledgement. I suppose it made sense. Trolls were big and horrible, but humans could kill animals just as strong as them even back in our world. The mild superhumans of Redacle? I wasn’t surprised to see that it wasn’t as big of a deal as I’d hoped.

“We have undead to deal with.” The barkeep suggested. “Always a problem around Wolney. Rotters and such, you’ll get yourself five copper for every rotter head you can bring back that belongs to them. Standing orders from the Governor.”

I hesitated, glancing at Solitaire and Beam. Well, only Solitaire really. Beam was as unfazed at the thought of fighting undead as he was at everything else.

“Anything more…Immediately paying we can try?” I wasn't sure how common undead might be at all, in the forests. Maybe we’d be swimming in them- which brought its own set of problems to bear- but maybe we’d waste most of our time just looking for the things. I didn’t want to spend longer out in the snow than was necessary.

The barkeep shrugged.

“Nothing I can hand to a group as untested as yours.”

My jaw tightened, but I nodded.

“Alright then, thanks.” I replied, through gritted teeth. We were all heading back for the exit a few moments later, discussing the matter once we were outside.

“We’re doing it then?” Solitaire asked. I hesitated. We needed the money, and this was just about the perfect sort of job for us. Consistent, simple, relatively low on risk. At worst we’d just received news that we could feed ourselves by venturing out into the local forests.

“We’re doing it.” I sighed, still far from happy. “But not tonight, I feel…What’s the carriage equivalent of jet lag? Carriage lag?”

“Being a pussy.” Solitaire suggested. We moved through the city, searching for a suitable tavern. None of us wanted one of the wafer-thin sort we’d last slept in, that’d leave us shivering in a huddle at one wall. A warmer place would cost extra, but in light of our good news I figured we could afford to spend the excess a bit.

Still, we weren’t exactly looking for a palace, and it didn’t take us long to find a suitable place. Small, compact, but warm-looking enough and almost entirely cockroach free. We set up in the common room, intending to spend a peaceful evening basking in the atmosphere and unwinding with a hot meal.

We’d not been there for more than ten minutes when the red-headed giant stormed over to our table.