‘Ah………so it ends…..’

My vision faded as I slowly submerged into the dark murky waters, leaving faint red trails of blood as i sank deeper and deeper. A rather curious fish swam up to my face, disturbing the sanguine water as it passed by.

‘A peasant….to a king…..and my ending…..befits my beginnings….’

I closed my waterlogged eyes, listening to the thumping of my heart as it gradually slowed.

‘How did this all start? Ah…yes….it began that day….how could I forget that day…..’

——————————————

*Creeeeeaak

“For fucks sake, thats a lot of dust.” A young man with slowly crept into the dark attic with a lantern in hand. He sneezed as dust swam up his nostrils due to the sudden gust of wind disturbing the ancient room.

“I just hope some of this stuff can be sold off…” he mumbled as he slowly rummaged through the massive pile of antique garbage.

“Oi! You find anything good up there?” a voice shouted from beneath the young man.

“Not yet, but I’m gonna keep looking. You try the cellar!” the young man bellowed. They were on a tight schedule, the tax collector was going to come in a week’s time, and they barely had any money ready.

“Holler if you find anything Reynald!”

“Shut up and get going, Fizz!”

Reynald searched through the attic, desperate to find anything worth gold, as he continuously sneezed and swore as piles of old, dusty wooden frames and half decayed planks fell on him. The old estate he and his companion Fizz lived in had an abundance of historically valuable relics, yet what he needed was gold, and a lot of it as well.

Reynald had moved into the old estate a couple years ago, the fields flourishing with ripe fruits and crops a testament to his heritage as a peasant farmer. He and his childhood buddy, Fizz had cashed in and ambitiously bought this house as well as its surrounding property in a village far from his hometown. So far in fact, that his hometown was in a different country, though they spoke the same language.

Fizz had been ecstatic when they first arrived, ignorant to the future that they were in currently. The seller of the estate, a government official, graciously sold the house and its fields at the price of all the money they had to spare.

But much to their dismay, the result was that they were to have a much higher tax rate than that of people around them. They were horrified, as they struggled to sell back the estate and buy a cheaper field, yet the official denied it, and demanded that they pay or meet the consequences.

The official, by the way, was the Baron of the region, Lord of Deephorn, a noble well known for cruel antics and perversion.

Reynald cursed as another splinter found its way into the depths of his under nail.

‘Fucking pig with his fucking taxes,’ he cursed as he scraped the ground with his dust caked nails, attempting to pick up some rusty copper coins.

He payed no attention to the loud rumble outside, as a horse galloped through their well kept fields.

“REYNALD!! FIZZ!!! HURRY UP!!! THEY SAY THE TAX COLLECTOR WAS SPOTTED OUTSIDE OF MULBERRY YESTERDAY!!!”

A strong deep voice bellowed as it approached the dusty old house. Reynald smashed his head into a splintering old wooden beam as he stood abruptly.

“FUCK!” he shouted in pain. Not only that, the tax collector was in Mulberry, only a couple clicks northeast from where they were. That meant that they would reach their house in only a days time.

“REYNALD! HURRY THE FUCK UP!! YOU HEARD HAROLD!!” screamed Fizz. Reynaldo cursed bitterly as more splinters accumulated in his palms and finger.

“Tch, motherfucker!” Reynaldo swore as another wooden crate fell on his bad leg. He had a twisted, warped leg, a result from a bear attack when he was young. He had been lucky that it had stopped at that.

Letting out a endless torrent of swearwords and curses, Reynald began digging through the crate that had fallen on him.

“An old rag, a disintegrating book, a….pleasure tool…who the fuck even makes these? A rubbish copper ring…probably worth 15 copper coins…oh! a necklace….bah, its rubbish.” Reynald chucked away trash into the ever growing pile on the other side of the attic.

“Hmm? What’s this?” Reynald paused momentarily, scratching his head as he picked up a strange object.

“Reynald, find anything?” asked Fizz, as he slowly came up the ladder leading into the dusty room.

“Yeah, it’s a old splint of some kind….Looks like it’s made out of some old kind of metal…I think we can’t sell it for shit but maybe I can use it ya know? Make my life easier.”

“If you don’t find anything worth selling, we won’t have a life to enjoy. Get moving!”

“Fucks sake, you sound like old Barbara from back home.”

Fizz scrunched his face and spoke in a annoying accent, “Young man you mind your manners or the Lords of Heaven will punish you!!” The two of them laughed, Fizz slowly sinking down the ladder as he searched for more things to sell.

“Man, I still can’t believe she believes that bullshit.” Reynald shook his head as he examined the strange splint, sitting down whilst letting out a sigh.

The splint was comprised of a series of metallic braces, linked by metal rods. The metal itself was odd, dull and brittle, as well as feeling like wooden bark. Yet it was metal for sure, when Reynald banged it on the floor, it made a clanging noise only metal would make.

Reynald slowly squeezed his leg in, adjusting the braces as he did so. He sighed, marvelling at how easier it was to stand. It really was a lucky find for him, the splints sold by blacksmiths needed to be custom made, and cost fortunes.

“Damn leg,” he muttered as he slowly descended down the old ladder. He picked up a stag antler comb and attempted to organise his messy hair as he slowly sauntered down the rickety old house, limping as he favoured his lame leg. Fizz came up from the cellar, holding a crate filled with miscellaneous items that would most likely be only worth a couple copper coins a piece.

“Find anything worth up there?”, Fizz grunted as the crate thumped down on the ground.

“Not much. A couple extra coins, rings and necklaces. Oh, and I found this portrait that might cost a couple silvers if we’re lucky.”

“Damn. I think we only just have enough to pay the tax. This is bad, specially with the winter season coming soon. If we’re unlucky we might have to sell a some of the seeds we stocked up.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“But at least we won’t have collars round our necks. Better a free slave than a collared one.”

The two of them chuckled at Reynalds remark. After living here for 2 years they now knew that the baron thought of his peasants as nothing but collarless slaves.

“So, wanna go get a drink at the inn after all this?” Fizz asked whilst grinning.

Reynard grinned back, as both had a lust for beer which recalled the dwarves. In fact, one time they challenged a dwarf to a drinking contest, and barely came out on top, victorious, yet with a massive hangover the day after.

Sadly, the didn’t have the money to create their own beer, otherwise the both of them would always be drunk.

“Well I’ll be back in a hour so you clean up the rest of this mess for me will ya? I’ll buy some pheasants for both of us, and maybe a skin of wine with it.”

“Don’t waste too much money, or we’ll have to scrounge for shit again Fizz.” Reynard grunted. He loved Fizz’s cooking, especially the marinated pheasant that he was about to prepare today.

“Eh, stop being such a old hag”, smirked Fizz.

———————————————————

“Ough……Damn……..fucking….hangover…..” I groaned as I slowly clawed onto my feet. Fizz had pulled it off again, selling the bag of shite items at a high price, thanks to a bit of bargaining coupled with a bit of blackmailing. He had came back with the promised pheasants and wine skin, as well as a small barrel of well fermented honey mead, courtesy of the beekeeper, Raiden.

We celebrated hard last night, as we had managed to fill our quota of tax money. I stumbled on to my feet slowly as I heard the rattle of horse hoofs on cobble.

“Fizz, get your ass up. The tax collector is here”, I groaned. I cursed as my hand encountered a stray fly, scaring it off with a loud buzz.

“Fizz, get the fuck up before I kick your ass.”

My old buddy moaned as he crawled out beneath the stool we used. He stumbled, retching and spitting as he gripped his aching head.

“Wha..wha’s happening?” he stuttered as he tilted back and forth.

“Get the money.”

“Wha?”

“I said get the money, the tax collector is here.”

“Oh…alright…”

We both stumbled out the front door, the floorboards of our porch moaning in distress as we put our weight on them.

The tax collector was waiting for us, silent and grim as he sat on top of his brown horse. He had a pencil this moustache, a high nose as well as thin lips that were nigh invisible on his pale, bone white skin. He was covered in a heavy duty leather cloak, fitted with the insignia of the baron.

“Mr. Fizz and Mr. Reynald I presume? It has come to the time to pay your due to the barony”, the tax collector spoke in a low, grinding voice.

“Wait a minute, who the bloody hell are you?”, growled Fizz, “Where’s the other tax collector? The one who normally comes here?”

“People have been going missing recently, specially us government types. The baron doesn’t want any more of his men to go off dying on him, so he hired me to collect your taxes for him.”

“How can we trust you?”, I said suspiciously. Something wasn’t right. The baron always sent Goldfinger, he never trusted anyone else with anything. This ‘tax collector’ also spoke with a high-lander accent, rolling his r’s and sneering his s’s.

“The attacks suggest a nearby critter infestation, probably some refuse from one of the mage turrets nearby polluted a nest of rats. All we could find was a nibbled hand from a peasant about 5 clicks from this town.” The high-lander replied. Now that I think about it, he’s probably from the high-lander mercenary group, ‘Brothers in Arms’, a rather low rank, but well spread mercenary company here in western Sonder.

“Heh, is that so? We’re not gonna be so unlucky that they’ll attack us, right Reynald?”, Fizz laughed nervously as he nudged me.

“Eh, maybe”, I muttered. Polluted critters were always dangerous. Rabid, ferocious, even intelligent at times, they are a plague upon mankind. Whenever a nest of them appeared it wouldn't take long before a village would be burnt to the ground as a result from ‘extermination’.

“Ah, speaking of that matter”, the mercenary purred, “I, and my company, will be needing a guide in this land, and my dear employer the baron suggested I take one of you fellows. He talked specifically about you two, and how you need to ‘pay the fee’.”

Fizz’z face grew grim as he heard those words. We both knew what the baron meant by that. Paying the price for living here as well as the price of buying this house at a cheap price.

Now, being a guide doesn’t necessarily mean a horrid death, yet it was still quite dangerous, as several mercenary companies loved to play ‘the baiting game’ with their guides.

“I’ll go”, I replied grimly. Fizz attempted to speak, but I cut him off quickly. He deserved better than any of this, as he had been the one to always look after me.

“Fizz, it’s not like I’m gonna die when I’m with these guys, right?” I quickly glanced at the mercenary who bobbed his head in confirmation. Naturally, the Brothers in Arms were a famous company, a dead peasant would be bad on their reputation, especially when the said peasant was a recommended one from their employer.

Fizz still tried to open his mouth, but I stomped on his foot. He hopped around, swearing as he screamed,

“What’s gone into ya all of a sudden? Are you out of your bloody fucking mind? Your leg is still fucked up and you want to go into a nest of polluted bloody rats? Do you have a bloody death wish?”

“Fizz”, I muttered, “It’s precisely because I have this bloody twisted leg I’m going. I can’t live alone without your help, and I know that your bloody gonna go instead of me. I owe too much, and I bloody can’t stand staying at home anymore. Besides, its not like I’m gonna be gone for years you know?”

“Ahem, if you two are finished with your drama, I’ll be taking my leave. The guide should come tomorrow, we’ll be waiting at the inn. Oh, and before I forget, give me the tax money will ya? It’ll be bad on my records if I forget.”

As Fizz handed the mercenary the bag of money, he muttered darkly, cursing as he nursed his still sore foot. I turned my back on him, he was too kind, whilst I’m not.

We spent the rest of the day in silence, eating what was left of our slowly depleting stores of food.