Slowly, a faint cross-hatching of light introduced itself to his vision, along with a familiar ringing in his ears. What wasn't quite as familiar to him, was the sensation of the coarse rope binding his wrists behind his back, and the strange smell that threatened to choke him. Murphy was all too aware of what kind of situation he'd found himself in. Somebody was pissed off, and he was the instigator. The air smelled strongly of rotten egg, but had a hint of something pungent he didn't recognise. If how it made his gut feel and his head spin was anything to go by, he wasn't sure he wanted to ever recognise it. A pulse of pain throbbed in his nose, reminding him that he may in fact be dizzy for a number of reasons.
He could hear the gentle rush of wind, along with the creaking of planks. After a few moments of silent waiting, he also heard the clapping of rope, and the winds strain on a sail. He was on a boat, that much he was sure of, but his head was covered, and he couldn't see beyond the pocks of light that filtered through his hood. He needed a plan, but he felt too weak to think straight. There was something else to his imprisonment, since he struggled to summon his own power into his hands.
"You’re awake," a husky and feminine voice spoke, cutting him off from his thoughts. "About time. With your reputation, I thought this would be a little more difficult."
He lifted his head in the direction the voice was coming from, trying his best to speak directly to his warden. "You'll have to forgive me. I didn't wear my fighting socks today."
"I did hear that you think you're funny," she sighed. "So maybe some parts are true."
He needed to keep whoever she was distracted while he got his hands free. He'll show her how he earned his reputation after that, he thought. "So what is this then?" He asked casually. "If you're a fan, you'll have to tell me what for. I don't sign autographs for just anyone."
"You don't sign autographs."
He could practically hear her eyes rolling. "Nobody knows who you are, you're not important. They only know Eseyfirr."
He chuckled. "You'll be mighty disappointed when you find out who Eseyfirr is in that case."
"See, I thought that maybe you were just a little unassuming, but the more you speak, the more certain I am that somebody got something wrong."
"That's a bit harsh," he said, mocking the insult. "And I've been nothing but nice to you."
"Oh please," she scoffed. "You’re just as arrogant as any other Tavern rat. You go around with all of this confidence, and none of the experience. You'll be another dead medallion in the Dragon-Harts drawer before the tournament is even over. How anyone thinks you're the man that slayed a dragon is a matter of mystery."
He paused, nearly losing focus from his attempted escape. The way she spoke down to him felt familiar. Most people reserved their vitriol until they'd spent some time with him. He tilted his head in an obvious expression of curiosity. "Have we met before?"
"Briefly…" she sighed with a hint of defeat. He felt her hand grasp his hood, and in the next moment he was blinded by the light.
When his vision came into focus, he felt himself go from curious, to out right nervous. Standing with her arms folded, and an incredulous scowl, was the blonde beauty he'd met earlier that day. Her orange eyes pierced through him, making him feel smaller than ever before.
"It's you…" he said softly, then he smiled up at her. "It's a pleasure to see you again. I'd offer to kiss your hand, but I'm a little tied up right now."
He wiggled his hands behind his back to emphasise his position.
He heard a sniff from behind him, and turned to see a scruffy looking man controlling the small vessel by a rutter. The man looked caught out when he realised he'd made the noise, and hung his head to avoid her crushing gaze.
"Well I've never had a third, but I'm open to trying new things," Murphy said with a devilish smirk.
His comment was met by a firm slap, causing his neck to jerk painfully sideways. She was a lot stronger than she looked. "There's nicer ways to turn a man down, you know," he complained.
"I'll keep that in mind, if I ever meet a real man," she replied casually.
"I suppose I asked for that," he chuckled. "So if it's not my good looks and winning charm, what brings us together this fine evening?" he joked, still trying to be charming.
She smiled. It was a nice smile, but not a happy one. She sat down on the bench across from him with a deliberate slowness, as if to say she was in no hurry to talk to him. Again, she fixed her eyes on his. He was stuck in those eyes. He'd seen all manner of people and creatures over the years, especially since spending so much time in Son-Gonkiruun, but he'd never seen orange eyes. Her stare made him shrink, but he couldn't look away. He was captured by her beauty as much as her rope, and he wasn't sure if he minded or not.
"You know," she said calmly, averting her gaze towards the single flapping sail. "I've met a thousand of you. Little boys pretending to be more than they are. Sure, you might be able to swing a sword, or cast a spell, but that doesn't make you any stronger than all the other little boys pretending the same thing. You wander about the world, thinking yourself important because a few people know your name, but once the game is over, you fade away just as fast as the rest of them. All you bring to the world is more of the same, without ever making an impact, a real change."
"You’re mad at me because I haven't changed the world?" He asked, not afraid to interrupt her.
She looked back into his eyes. "I'm mad at you for acting like you have. If you have the power to slay a dragon, then you are wasting it. That power could kill a king, it could save the badlands. If all of you little boys got together, you could take down Damnation itself, but no. Each and every one of you are too stuck in your game, measuring dicks against each other to see who's is bigger."
"Sounds like you've got a chip on your shoulder to me," he said, rolling his eyes.
She slapped him again. "It sounds like you're too stuck in your game to listen," she growled.
His attempt to escape was going nowhere. Every ounce of power he put into the rope seemed to fade as fast as he could spend it. With that and the slaps, he was starting to get angry. "So what's this then?" He snapped. "You felt a little left out, and now you want to show me how big your cock is? Don't piss on me and call it rain."
For the briefest of moments, she looked taken back by his comment, but resolve firmed back onto her face before it was obvious. "You couldn't hold a candle to my manhood," she said with a slight smirk. "But no. I don't play your game Murphy. Or is it Muunfir? You go by so many names it's hard to tell."
That gave him pause. He could understand how she might have put his name to the story of Eseyfirr. He was proud out loud about that one himself. The name Muunfir however, was something he'd kept to himself. The only others that knew that name were Uundah and Oats, and he doubted any of them had been spreading stories. Rather than argue, he decided to accept her control, at least until he knew more.
"Alright," he said cautiously. "I'm listening. What game are you playing then?"
She lent in closer. "Information," she whispered. "Have you ever heard the expression 'the pen is mightier than the sword'."
He nodded.
"I'm too busy measuring the length of my ledger to be caught up in your games."
"And your swinging ledger is big enough to change the world?" He asked, playing into her analogy. "Sounds to me like you're playing the same game as the rest of us."
To his surprise, she pouted. A look of frustration and contemplation flushed her features, and then she regained her composure. "I feel like we're getting stuck in a metaphor."
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
"I feel like you avoided my question," he said, raising his eyebrows.
She looked him up and down. "Interesting," she muttered. "If you are Eseyfirr, or Muunfir, you're young and inexperienced. But still, you're brave. Looking at you I feel like you have no reason to be. But in every little story I find, you come out on top."
"I do my best work on top," he joked, cutting her off again. He leant backwards just as she swung her hand to slap him, narrowly avoiding her scorn.
Noticing her shock, he thought he'd try a different method of escape. Before she had a chance to regain her balance, he planted his foot into her shoulder and pushed as hard as he could. She toppled backwards with little grace, and he stood to try and make it to the edge of the boat. They weren't very high up, so he figured he should be able to jump. Before that, he needed his satchel. A quick glance around the craft revealed that it was tucked beneath her seat, so he awkwardly squatted down to try and grab it with his bound hands. That's when he noticed the open bottle beneath his own seat. It was gently spewing out a sickly green smoke that quickly blended with the atmosphere. The smell was atrocious, and he had to fight the urge to gag. His moment of distraction was his mistake. Before he had a chance to stand and run, he felt a kick hit his lower back. He rocked forwards, planting his face into the scruffy man's chest. The driver wasted no time in grabbing him in a tight bear hug, squeezing hard enough to crack the Warlock's joints.
She hadn't even bothered to stand before putting him in his place, and he got the impression her kick was little more than a gentle push on her part, though the ache in his back begged to differ.
"What was your plan there?" She barked in anger. "Did you think you'd overpower both of us with your hands behind your back?"
The coxswain turned him to face her, and she looked furious. He glanced at the edge of the boat again, then back to her. "Really?" She scoffed. "I have half a mind to let you throw yourself over, just so I can watch you plummet."
"It was worth a try, at least," he offered with a shrug. "You were saying?"
She glared at him, then took a deep breath to calm herself. She sat back down, and gestured to her servant to place Murphy back in his original seat.
"This is the time for you to lose, Warlock. It's up to you just how bad though."
"Not to be rude, but I have plans this evening. Is your villain speech going to take much longer?"
She closed her eyes for a moment to snuff her frustration, and then held up a finger. "Option one, is that I sell you to the Serpents Jar, and be done with your nonsense. They tend to pay pretty well after all. The problem with that is, all I get out of the deal is a bit of coin."
"Am I supposed to know who the Serpents Jar is?" He asked casually, interrupting her again.
"One more interruption, and I might just kill you myself," she snapped.
"It'd be more interesting than listening to you struggle to get to the point," he quipped. "Since we're getting to know each other, maybe you could tell me why you thought for a moment I'd make this easy for you? It tends to rub people the wrong way when you take them captive just to crap on about how much better you are than the rest of us."
"You’re not in a position to be asking me anything," she shouted, standing above him with her arm poised for another slap. Something seemed to make her reconsider the violence. She let out a breath, and shook her head smiling.
"I think I understand now," she said, sitting back down. "I met the man that bought your head. His hatred for you went beyond a few stolen books. You have a talent for getting under someone's skin."
"Thank you for noticing," he said with a dumb smile. He kept his face composed, though inside his mind was racing. She was right of course. He had a way of making people angry. But angry enough to pay to have his life taken?
It had to be from his brief adventures as Muunfir the Mischievous. She mentioned stolen books, so it had to be the cranky old merchant from Lie-Dor. As frustrating as that was, it made sense. Murphy still had little idea what secrets the ledger box he took might hold, but what he had found was evidence enough to suggest its value. The bookseller had asked for his head as a penance for the crime, and surly acquisition of the ledger box was part of that deal. Callus had warned him against making a name for himself, he supposed this kind of thing is what the old man worried about. What he wasn't sure of however, was how this woman came to know about the whole thing, and how she connected his names. With something to go off of, he pressed for more information.
“So that old bastard was serious then?” He asked. “Here I was thinking I got away with it.”
“Deadly serious,” she said with a smirk. “The Serpents Jar pays well too, when someone like me helps them do their work.”
“They can't be very good,” he laughed. “That was a while ago. You'd think he would have gotten to me by now.”
She raised her eyebrows, and seemed to suppress a chuckle. Looking over his shoulder, she addressed her servant.
“Teuun tuunmid,” she said with disbelief. Her servant sniffed, and shook his head.
“I can speak Dolmic, you know,” he replied, deflated. “I might look wiser than my years, but I'm not thirty yet.”
“That's even worse,” she said laughing. “You’re a baby. You wouldn't know what a ‘while ago’ was if you read about it.”
“I know it's been more than a year. If I was that important, I'd expect a little more urgency.”
“The fact that you're tied up in my boat suggests this is pretty urgent for them,” she suggested calmly. “Don't go deluding yourself with your own importance though.”
She pulled the ledger box from his satchel and sat it on her lap. “This is what's important,” she said, tapping her fingers on the lid. “Which brings us to your second option.”
“You want my box?” He asked with a flirty smile, granting him another quick slap.
“I want information,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Whatever you took from that merchant was important enough for him to spend a small fortune on getting it back. Something like that comes with a story. A story like that can raise a lot of questions, and I can sell the answers.”
“Are you a spy then?” He scoffed. “I thought you lot were supposed to be more discreet. I could spot you in a crowd, that's for true.”
“Oh please,” she groaned. “A spy belongs to their king. I belong to no man.”
“How righteous you are,” he said, rolling his eyes back at her.
“I'm really starting to prefer option one,” she complained. “But I'm smarter than that. I was hoping you'd be smarter than that too.”
“I've never been accused of such things before, so why start now?”
“What's in the box, Murphy?” She asked in a stern tone, clearly done with his antics.
“Oh, you know, this and that.” He said with a shrug. His already swollen confidence was starting to grow. While they spoke, he felt a familiar tug on his soul. Uundah was getting closer. On their own, they were vulnerable, but after all they had been through, together they were strong. He'd never actually slain the dragon, that was an aspect of the story that had carried itself away. She didn't need to know that though. Reunited with his familiar, he would be able to display the power shed apparently heard so much about. It might be enough to have her give up, at least he hoped. He got no joy from hurting people, but he was more than capable if necessity dictated it. The whole time they spoke, he left his mind open to Uundah. The O'jin would have all the context he needed, and he felt that in a matter of minutes they would be able to communicate more directly. The more time they spent as one, the less the distance mattered. Callus told him that soon enough, the two of them would be in each other's minds wholly, regardless of the distance.
She sighed, and hung her head. “This shouldn't be so difficult,” she groaned. “Give me something I can work with, or you die. How is this such a hard concept for you?”
“I hardly even know what you want,” he laughed. “As far as spies go, you're a bit of a let down.”
“I want information, you stubborn idiot,” she snapped. “What is in this box that would drive a man to want you to be in his life for a moment longer than you already imposed on him. If you tell me, I can be done with you too. Tell me what you took.”
“That's my box, as far as I care,” he said simply. “I don't want you getting your slappy little hands on anything of mine,” he paused, and fixed her with another smirk. “Well, maybe I can think of one thing I'll let you have.”
“You’re disgusting,” she sneered, turning her lip up.
“You kidnapped me, you stupid cow,” he barked. “There's better ways to get a man's attention.”
“Fine!” She huffed, standing quickly to let the ledger box fall to the deck. “Have it your way. When the snake takes your tiny balls, just remember you had a chance.”
“You've spent a long time talking about my manhood. You can't blame a guy for confusing your motivation.”
This time, she punched him. His vision went blurry again while his nose spat blood. It hurt more than it had any right to, and he thought that his nose was sure to be broken. When she did, he took the opportunity to curl his feet beneath the bench, managing to knock the putrid potion below him over. The boat wasn't sealed for water, so he was confident its contents would seep through the wood to fall to the ground below.
“Is that all you can handle?” He asked through a cough in an attempt to keep her from noticing his sabotage. “I thought we had a good thing going here. You try and sound all scary, and I make my award-winning jokes.”
“You are a joke,” she scoffed. “And I'll laugh when you reach your punchline.”
He snickered. “How long did you spend thinking up that one?”
“Don't piss her off anymore than she already is, you moron,” Uundah’s voice entered his mind. He was close.
For her part, she ignored his jab. She sat with her back to him while she fiddled with his ledger box. He couldn't smell the potion as much anymore, so he tried again to feed his power into the rope. It was working. Slowly but surely, he imbued his own power with the fibres of the rope. He felt his wrists heating as the rope struggled to hold the energy.
“You took your time,” he thought to Uundah. “Any longer, and she might have made me read her manifesto.”
“What did you do this time?” Uundah complained.
“Nothing, truthfully,” he defended. “I was just walking home. You heard what she was saying. It's not my fault this time.”
“It's definitely your fault,” Uundah declared.
“I'd call this one a team effort. You were there too.”
“I told you robbing the bookseller was a bad idea,” the O'jin insisted.
“You said no such thing,” Murphy scoffed in his mind.
The ropes started to loosen as the individual fibres gave way under the Daionic strain.
“We will agree to disagree,” Uundah said, sending an image of his eyes rolling.
“That's an awfully high horse for such a short O'jin,” Murphy quipped. “How far away are you?”
Uundah sent back an image of the small craft above him. With a subtle glance over the edge of the boat, he spotted a grey streak move from cover to cover. The ropes broke free in the same instant, and he had to grab them to keep from making his escape obvious.
“Can you get up here?”
“I can,” Uundah assured him. “I'm not going to like how though.”
Murphy knew what he meant. They hadn't needed a spell for such a situation in quite some time, so they would have to fall back on some old favourites. The O'jin would take flight with the aid of force aspect. The problem with the spell was that there was no way for him to control his ascent. If he aimed right, all would be well. If he got anything wrong however, the result could be disastrous.
“You need to deal with the subhuman. We can take the Demisis together.”
“The who, and the what?” Murphy thought back with desperate confusion.
“You really need to take a class in sociology,” Uundah complained. “Take out the beast man, and I'll help you fight the girl.”
“Well you didn't need to go and make up words for that, did you?”
“I can just go home if you like,” the O'jin offered.
“No need to be so dramatic,” the Warlock complained. “I'll see to it.”
He searched the boat for something to help with their plan, but saw nothing of use in reach. The subhuman sat closely behind him, keeping a close eye on his movements. An idea struck him. It was a gamble, but he thought it was worth a shot.
“Any chance a man could take one last piss before you sell him off?” He requested to anyone that would listen. They both ignored him. “It's happening either way. I could just do it in your boat if you'd prefer.”
She groaned. Without turning around, she waved a hand. “Kack, help it out would you. Try not to drop it.”
“Did you just call me an ‘it’?” Murphy asked, as the man apparently named Kack grabbed him by the shoulders. He stood him up at the edge of the craft, holding him firmly in his hairy hands.
“I appreciate the help, Kack,” he said. “I'm afraid we're going to have to get to know each other a little more personally if this is going to work.”
He made a show of not being able to move his hands. Kack looked desperately at his mistress, only to see her remain unmoved. He looked back at Murphy with a great sadness in his eyes. Murphy gave him a wink, and the man deflated. With hesitation, Kack leant down to free Murphy’s member of its trouser prison. Murphy smiled at him. “It's not personal, just so you know,” he assured the scared and confused looking man with an apologetic smile. For a moment, fear flashed across the man's face. Before he had a chance to react, Murphy grabbed him by the back of the shirt and tossed him overboard.