Rinsing his hands, Uundah checked his nails for blood. All four of his hands had to be carefully checked before he moved on to help the next client. He had been spending a lot of time recently in a fuzzy goblin form. The key differences between him and the hyperactive servants running around Son-Gonkiruun, were his orbish purple eyes, and the black and grey fur covering his body. The four arms the form had to offer was a great help to his work, and the fur made it more apparent to clients that he wasn't in fact a gonban. He still had to stand on a stool though, since he was only four feet tall.
A rugged man dropped into the seat in front of him, and peeled away a bloodied bandage from his arm. He had a wide smile on his face, and was clearly missing several teeth. Beneath the bandage was a fresh wound, open wide enough to see the muscles inside.
"Alright there, Uundah," he said, dropping two gold slabs into a cup on the table.
"How'd you go today, Kalra?" Uundah asked, preparing a needle.
"Nearly had this one. I got him into the corner of the ring, and his sword hand wasn't gripping like he'd have liked, let me tell you," Kalra laughed. "Then, out of nowhere, this beauty in the front row shows me her lovelies. I was struck still I was, never happened to me before. When I was standing there stuck like any self respecting man would be, the sneaky bastard struck me in the arm. I won't lie to you, I cried a little. But it was a good fight before that. I had to throw it in, I can't have my good arm getting too banged up."
Uundah had already begun stitching him while he talked. The man never flinched, so tied up in his own story he didn't even notice the O'jin had begun.
Kalra had been fighting in Tane-Kontelsta, the grand tournament held in Son-Gonkiruun once every eight hundred years. The event lasted one hundred years, kicking off seven hundred years from when it ended. Uundah wondered why they didn't just say it was every seven hundred years, but he knew he wasn't going to change tradition. Tane-Kontelsta coincided with every second Reldan-Eskey, the red sky that marked a new Demai year.
Kalra was one of thousands of fighters that flocked to the tournament early, hoping to grasp some glory before the real Kontelsta began.
"Sounds like you're nearly due that win," Uundah recited. He'd seen so many of the same type of man sit in his chair that he was nearly scripted in his responses.
"Aye, I hope so. If I don't, I'll have to start betting against myself just to pay for the trip home," The big fighter laughed. "I got another fight at the end of the week. It's looking good for me this time. He's a young mage, fights with books and the like. Fancy that, bringing a book to a sword fight."
While Kalra continued to rant, Uundah took the opportunity to use his secret trick. To keep the customers lining up for his chair in particular, he used a small amount of the healing aspect to mend their wounds. The place he worked from was busy. Only hosting four medics from the small room it existed in. They worked for two gold a patient, a steep price in most places, but a standard for Son-Gonkiruun. The door would charge a single gold for entry, netting them a healthy daily profit after rent. The nature of the set up made for a competitive environment, but he'd been leaving his peers with shallow cups thanks to his trick. If people found out what he was doing, the attention could be problematic, so he kept it a close secret.
He finished up before Kalra had finished his story, and sent the man off with an unwanted promise of catching up later on. Kalra insisted the O'jin would want to hear the rest of his story, and Uundah was too polite to turn the invitation down. He got to cleaning his hands for the next client. He heard someone sit in the chair, but never heard the sound of gold clinking in his cup. He turned to see a familiar set of emerald green eyes staring at him curiously.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the college?" He asked with a sigh.
"Not today apparently," Murphy responded with a smile. "We've been summoned by a mystery guest."
That caught Uundah’s attention, but he had too busy a day to worry about whatever it was. "I can't," he said with a dismissive gesture. "I'm here for another three hours, then I want to track down a book on Ulrock biology. The grey men pay twice as much as most, since nobody knows how to patch them up."
Murphy fixed him with a curious look. "You do know we don't need the money, right."
They were pretty well off thanks to Murphy’s ledger box and the potions they made in the tower.
"There are some things in this world that money can't buy. What it can buy can be traded up, and we don't have quite enough for that," Uundah lectured.
"Are you still on about the healing flowers?" Murphy scoffed.
"It's not just flowers, gonban. It's healing anything. The aspect we have is poor and limited. If you could see a better aspect, we could help a lot of people. We wouldn't have to lose anyone."
"The aspect you have, more like it," Murphy complained. "Even if you found something, I can't do anything with it without my power. So you should come with me, and we can see about sorting it out," he insisted.
"You'll get it back, I'm sure of it," Uundah said kindly. "And you're a big boy now. I'm sure you can meet with this mystery guest without me. I'll go next time."
"But I don't want to go without you," the Warlock complained. "People like you, they all get funny with me for some reason."
"It's because you're annoying, we've been over this," Uundah chuckled. "You'll be alright. If something goes wrong, I'll drop what I'm doing and come to you. Where are you going?"
"The Silver Tip," Murphy answered meekly.
Uundah scoffed. "You’re going to a Tavern and you need someone to hold your hand?"
"Don't be like that," Murphy groaned.
"Don't be such a baby. Go and get your free mead and super powers, and stop complaining."
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"Well I doubt the powers will be free,"
Uundah stared at him blankly for a moment. "Get out of my chair," he eventually demanded. "It's for paying customers."
"Alright then," Murphy huffed, standing up. "I suppose I'll let you know how it goes then."
"That's the spirit," Uundah said, smiling. "I'll see you at dinner."
Murphy snorted, then turned and left.
The line of people was trailing out the door, forcing him to squeeze past a bunch of freshly wounded smiling warriors. The clinic was buried in a narrow alleyway, giving home to a pungent aroma. That was something he was happy to leave behind. Stepping into the busy street however, wasn't much of a better option. Immediately he felt the shoving tide of the crowd take him. He pressed towards a lane of people heading uptown, then joined the crawl.
Son-Gonkiruun was a large place. A continent of its own, floating high in the skies of the Hollows. The capital was named from the country, but it didn't span the entire land mass. Five other large cities held significant populations of their own elsewhere on the continent. One of the cities floated on a massive island of its own, chained to the main land mass by colossal melt shackles. Murphy and Uundah had been spending most of their time in the capital. Given the upcoming Kontelsta, the capital was at its busiest. Hundreds of thousands of people crammed into the streets, making the wide walkways feel claustrophobic. Carts were restricted to specific streets, making more room for people to cram onto the paved roads. The crowd would thin out once the real tournament began, since most people would flock to the arenas at the centre of the continent. Most of the current battles were being hosted in sword schools and pubs, but it worked well for the locals.
The Silver Tip was close by, so he peeled away from the crowd after only five minutes of shuffling. The street entrance to the popular Tavern had four doors, making for an easy entrance into the busy establishment.
He stepped inside and took in the open space. Down a few steps, the floor was filled with patrons. They were all busy drinking and talking. There were exchanges of money, and games of Chips. A bard played her harp on the small stage, colourful lights swirling around her and through the room. After checking in, he received pats on the shoulder and shoves in the back from some of the patrons he knew while he made his way to the bar. Molten fixed him with a wide smile, and pulled a bottle out from beneath the counter, placing it ready on the wood by the time the Warlock met the bar.
"They ask you to leave this early?" The big man laughed, already pouring a mug of mead for another patron.
"Not this time," Murphy laughed back. "I think the college is getting more patient, between you and me."
He scooped up the bottle of Sapahn and admired it. "I'm here to meet with someone actually," he said, raising an eyebrow at the innkeeper.
"Don't know anything about that one I'm afraid," Molten responded, expecting the Warlock's paranoia.
Since returning to the tower and Son-Gonkiruun, Murphy had been sure to chastise any relevant party that was involved in keeping his trial a secret. He'd learned that in certain cases, the Tavern would trial a patron that receives a red or higher tiered crystal. The point of the trial was to measure their worth, and decide if they would indeed receive the glory and privilege that came with the rank. Callus had decided that Murphy should remain in the dark about that fact, insisting the trial wouldn't count if the Warlock was trying to pass it. The old Merlin had forced the opinion onto several others in order to keep the young wizard in the dark. Since Molten was the one that gave him his medallion, the big man was a major offender. He'd passed his trial in the end, granting him access to a lot of Tavern privileges he didn't know he had access to.
He nodded to Molten, and made his way upstairs to the mezzanine. The balcony that looked over the main floor of the Tavern was a privilege reserved for those with red or above crystals, so he made sure to revel in that particular privilege. The climb up the stairs to the much less crowded second floor would always draw a few looks from the patrons below, and he took it in with a smile. The second floor would also give him a good vantage point to look for whoever he was meeting, so he made his way to the railing, and sipped at his bottle of Sapahn.
Twenty minutes passed without anything of significance, other than a few drunk patrons being dragged out. He was considering finding a seat, when a cloaked figure casually joined him against the rail. They were tall, but their other features were completely obscured by the tattered brown cloak they wore. He guessed it was an older man, judging by the weathered and wrinkled hand clasping a mug of ale. The stranger didn't say anything, so Murphy decided to break the silence.
"Is there something I can help you with, sir?" He asked politely.
"Strange to see a young warrior standing up here alone," a voice spoke from the hood, deep and wise.
"Not so strange if I have business here," the Warlock offered carefully.
"And what business might a lonely wizard have that keeps him waiting?" The old man questioned.
"Who says I'm a wizard? And it might be that I'm waiting for someone." Murphy replied.
"You carry a book bag and no blade," the old man said, pointing at Murphy’s satchel. "Perhaps I know the one you wait for," he offered.
Murphy nodded. "I think you might. I think you might even be the one I'm waiting for."
The old man turned to face him, showing a glimpse of his time worn eyes beneath the hood. "And what makes you think that?" He asked through a smirk.
"A mysterious hooded stranger approaches me in a busy Tavern on the same day I'm waiting for just such a stranger to meet me," Murphy said dryly. "I might be pretty, old man, but I've read a book before."
The old man chuckled, and dropped his hood, revealing a gaunt face and wiry grey hair. "Isn't it good we found each other then," he said, reaching out to gently grab the Warlock's hands.
Murphy let him, and looked curiously at the stranger in front of him. "What are you doing?" He asked with a hint of panic.
"I'm seeing where the day takes us," he said with a pleased sigh.
"Excuse me," a gentle feminine voice spoke from next to them.
They turned, still holding hands, and saw Margo standing politely with a stack of papers. "Do you mind if I borrow your suitor?" She asked the old man politely.
"Wait," Murphy interrupted, looking back at the old man. "Who exactly are you?"
"I'm the best you'll ever have," the old man said with a seductive smile.
Murphy pulled his hands free and took a step back. "You’re not who I'm waiting for," he scoffed.
"No, but I'll be waiting for you," the stranger said with a wink.
"Let's get to our business," Murphy said in a hurry, rushing Margo away from the conversation.
"We can stay if you like," she said with a soft smirk, letting the Warlock steer her away.
She took charge of their exit from the awkward conversation, taking him through a door behind the small bar on the second floor. They received a knowing nod from the woman behind the bar, and she locked the door behind them. They walked down a long corridor with doors either side, looking remarkably like one of the passages he used to get from the tower to Son-Gonkiruun. He kept his questions to himself while they walked on the off chance it was the same place. Callus had always been adamant that he remained silent in such corridors, never bothering to tell him why. The curiosity of the question tortured him with every step through the mysterious place, but he wasn’t quite brave enough to test his theories. Margo also never said a word, though it was hard to tell if that was because of the corridor, or because she hardly spoke anyway.
After taking five left turns, she pulled him to a halt in front of a grey door. He noted the numbers and letters on the doors when they first entered the hallway and kept track of the changing values. Even after the fifth turn, they never met the first numbers he saw. This door was labelled '53R-D-1N'. Murphy took a mental note of the label as she opened the door to blackness.