Disceroa, 28th of Rainwane, year year 179 BN

Richard clicked his tongue in frustration, perched in the driver's seat of the carriage. The villages they had visited on their way to Disceroa offered little hope for trade. His goods, though intriguing to the villagers, found no buyers. The detours to those two villages had proven fruitless, a disappointing realization as they neared their destination.

As Disceroa's gates came into view, Richard was struck by the imposing sight. The city was encircled by a formidable black stone wall, its dark hue absorbing the light, creating an almost eerie contrast against the sky. It stood as tall as the walls of Evergreen, yet it bore a more foreboding presence.

But what truly captured his attention was the line of people at the gates – a sight never witnessed in Evergreen. He estimated about twenty to thirty individuals, all queued in a disciplined single file. Their voices rose in excitement and impatience, their words still indistinct from his distance.

Carl, ambling alongside Dave, let out a low whistle and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Never seen a crowd like this before," he remarked, his eyes scanning the bustling throng. "Almost like a whole new world."

"You can say that again," Richard murmured in agreement with Carl, his gaze lingering on the bustling activity at the city gates.

The contrast between Evergreen and Disceroa was as clear as day. Richard pondered what lay beyond these imposing walls. He curbed his expectations, though, knowing all too well that anticipation often led to disappointment. One thing he couldn't help but notice was the apparent scarcity of wood in the area – a detail that sparked a flicker of hope in him. Perhaps the modest supply of timber he brought could fetch a decent price here.

Richard contemplated an alternative approach. He could leverage the speed of his delivery and propose a competitive price, an attractive proposition for any buyer. But he questioned the sustainability of such a strategy. It was a short-term solution, and he needed something more substantial.

His thoughts turned to the specialty of Evergreen – the Delhar fruit. Unique to the town, these fruits were delicious, but their appeal was limited. In Evergreen, Delhar was affordable, as were most food items. The real expense lay in other commodities. To capitalize on Delhar, he had to target the rich. Those who sought luxury rather than necessity, as one tended to do when they had more wealth than they knew what to do with.

The common folk outside Evergreen were unlikely to splurge on such a fruit. He needed to reach those with disposable income, who valued exclusivity and were willing to pay for it.

Earl, peering intently towards the front of the line, shielded his eyes with a hand. "What's important here is figuring out what's causing this delay," he observed. He could see a commotion at the gates – a cluster of people engaged in what looked like a heated argument, their shouts just starting to become discernible.

The rest of the crowd, clearly agitated, were venting their frustration loudly. Richard caught snippets of their conversation – a mix of curses and complaints about the long wait. They directed a barrage of insults towards the group at the gate, blaming them for the hold-up.

Carl, with a mix of curiosity and impatience, approached a weary-looking man at the end of the line. The man's graying hair and tattered clothing marked him as a commoner. He carried a basket of vegetables on his back and seemed taken aback by Carl's sudden attention.

The man's eyes darted over Carl’s group, taking in their array of weapons and Richard in his unfamiliar seat. His gaze widened in alarm at the sight of Dave, the verlpax. "Is that... a verlpax?" he stammered, pointing at the creature.

Carl, eager to get to the heart of the matter, clicked his fingers to recapture the man's attention. "Yes, it's a verlpax, but that's not why I'm here. Tell me, what's happening up there?" His voice was firm, edged with a hint of irritation, reflecting his desire for straightforward answers.

The old man, regaining his composure, looked back towards the front of the line, his expression one of resignation. "It's about the tariffs – they've been raised to twenty bronze per head. There's a merchant up there who's refusing to pay, and it's got everyone up in arms."

"Twenty bronze? What's the lord thinking? Is he even thinking?" Carl muttered, half to himself and half in disbelief.

The old man, sensing the growing interest from eavesdropping bystanders, shot a cautious glance over his shoulder. Their eyes lingered not just on the conversation, but also on Richard's verlpax, an oddity in these parts.

"Best keep those thoughts quiet," the old man advised in a low tone. "Walls have ears, especially when it comes to words against Lord Luke."

Carl nodded subtly, taking the warning seriously. He knew all too well the dangers of speaking ill of those in power. The lower ranks had learned to vent their frustrations in the safety of their homes, far from the watchful eyes and ears of authority.

"Why the tariffs, though? I thought Disceroa was open to all," Earl chimed in, his voice laced with curiosity.

The old man, pointing at the verlpax, replied, "You lot clearly aren't locals. But haven't you heard about the war?"

"War?" Carl's interest was piqued.

"Yes, the war. Vale and Suncrest have been raiding our lands, stealing livestock, and even abducting women. Those barbarians blindsided us. Lord Luke's had no choice but to raise an army to fend them off," the man explained his tone a mix of fear and frustration.

Richard absorbed this new information, his gaze drifting over the crowd. "That explains the influx of people. They're likely seeking refuge within the city walls for protection," he surmised. The villages they had passed were simple, with mere wooden palisades for defense and no guards in sight. In the face of such a threat, these walls offered little protection.

The old man nodded in agreement with Richard's insight. "Just here to sell these and buy a weapon. Got a daughter back home, and it's up to me to protect her," he said, his voice carrying a weight of responsibility.

Benjamin, overhearing the conversation, chimed in with his bluntness. "A weapon? With your frail frame? That's hardly going to help you. Better to take your daughter and seek refuge in the city. Leave the fighting to those who can actually handle it." His tone was cold, unconcerned with cushioning the harsh truth.

The old man winced at Benjamin's words, the reality hitting him like a harsh winter wind.

Earl, sensing the need to intervene with a bit of tact, added, "What Benjamin is trying to say is, the city might be a safer option for you and your daughter, rather than risking it out here."

The old man shifted his gaze from the unyielding face of Benjamin to Earl. "You think I haven’t thought of that?" he retorted, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Disceroa's packed to the brim right now. Good luck finding a spot in an inn, let alone affording it. It's not like I'm swimming in tales to throw around."

Carl's chuckle momentarily cut through the tension, a sound born from shared understanding rather than mockery.

As the old man looked at him askance, Carl quickly raised his hands in clarification. "Hey, I wasn't laughing at you. Just relating to the struggle, you know?"

The old man, eyebrows raised, scrutinized Carl. "Relating? You're guards for that merchant there, aren't you? Your pay surely surpasses anything I could dream of. And as for accommodations, I’ve seen merchants and their entourage find ways into most places."

Lying in the back of the carriage, Big Oar had been dozing but was roused by the commotion. Peering out, he noticed the stalled line. "What's the hold-up?" His voice boomed, drawing attention.

Earl briefly explained the tariff dispute at the gate.

Without a moment's hesitation, Big Oar unfolded himself from the carriage, his towering stature dwarfing the old man. "I've got tales to spare. I'm not waiting out here over some tariff squabble," he declared, stepping forward decisively.

Carl, with a knowing smile, asked, "What’s your plan, Big Oar?"

Big Oar gave Carl a flat look. "Are you joining or not?" Without waiting for a reply, he strode towards the front, Carl and Earl quickly falling in step beside him.

The old man watched them cut through the line, their progress marked by the protests of those they passed. Turning to Richard, he expressed his concern, "Aren’t you going to stop them? They're heading straight into trouble."

Richard, stroking his chin thoughtfully, watched the scene unfold. Part of him wanted to intervene, yet another part was curious to see how things would play out. Big Oar's approach might be crude, but it was direct, and if successful, it would save them valuable time. If things went south, Richard could always distance himself from their actions.

"I'm curious too," he responded to the old man, his eyes fixed on his companions' advancing figures. "Let's see what they can do. It's about time they showed their worth."

...

He had traversed through Disceroa over twenty times, yet never had he been subjected to a fee. The very notion was preposterous. He was no ordinary merchant, his contributions to the city were unparalleled, and his reputation was known far and wide. Choosing Disceroa over Espheo or Serthroian should have been appreciated, not penalized.

Amidst the turmoil of the ongoing war, his goods were more crucial than ever. The people depended on his supplies, and he was well aware of the leverage this gave him. The thought of the guard's audacity made his blood simmer with indignation. War times were a trader's golden hour – prices soared, and lords were desperate. He wasn't about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

His cargo was invaluable: four wagons of the finest iron weapons from a renowned Valewater smith, top-tier ale, exquisite jewelry, and three wagons of precious Elderwood – a commodity prized in Disceroa for its use in shipbuilding. He regretted not taking the sea route, the guards at the port, including his own nephew, would have waved him through without a fuss.

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The guard repeated his demand in a monotonous drone, a mantra he had been reciting for the past five minutes. "If you're not going to pay the fee, then step aside. You're holding up the line."

"This is daylight robbery!" the merchant exploded, his voice seething with frustration. "Three silver for entry? That's extortion! I won't be part of this scheme." Paying the fee wasn't the issue – he could afford it. But it would gouge his profits, making the venture scarcely worthwhile. He couldn't bear the thought of facing mockery back in Valewater for turning back now.

"I refuse to pay! This city was free to enter just weeks ago, and it should remain so. Lord Luke himself would be appalled at your conduct," he blustered, hoping to intimidate the guard with the lord's name.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the tension from behind. "For fuck's sake, either pay up or step aside! If you're broke, just admit it, but don't hold us all up."

The merchant spun around to face the source of the interruption, craning his neck to look up at an imposing figure. The sun glared behind the man, obscuring his features, but his size was unmistakable.

The very notion of being labeled 'broke' was absurd to the merchant. In his forty-six years, not once had such a word been directed at him. His hands were adorned with golden rings – three on the left, two on the right – and three gold necklaces dangled from his neck, symbols of his wealth. To any discerning eye, he was the epitome of wealth.

In contrast, the giant of a man before him donned what appeared to be a leather vest, stretched taut over his massive frame, paired with well-worn boots. His most valuable possession seemed to be the two-handed axe on his back, a piece that ironically seemed worth more than his entire attire. And yet, it was he who implied the merchant was poor?

"Who do you think you're speaking to?" the merchant retorted, his voice betraying a tremble he hadn't anticipated. He cleared his throat, attempting to mask his unease. Why was he nervous? His six guards were already drawing their weapons, ready to defend him.

The large man, Big Oar, stepped forward nonchalantly and flicked at his ear with his pinky. "Sorry, must've misheard you. Care to repeat that?" he said, bending down slightly, his dirty blonde hair falling in a tangled mess over his brow, his brown eyes intense, and a portion of his ear conspicuously missing.

Beside Big Oar, one of his companions burst into laughter. "Big Oar, I think you heard the man just fine. But who are we dealing with here?"

The other man joined in the mocking. "Yeah, here we were, thinking we were talking to some piss poor trader unable to pay his way. Enlighten us, what are we missing?"

The merchant's face flushed a deep red as the laughter spread, the line behind him joining in with their own jibes and jeers. The ridicule was palpable, piercing through his facade of composure.

The merchant straightened his posture, regaining a semblance of his usual composure. He glanced disdainfully at Big Oar and his companions, his voice laced with a blend of scorn and arrogance.

"Do you know who I am? I am the provider of the finest goods this side has ever seen, a merchant whose name is uttered in the same breath as the elite of Valewater. These rings," he raised his adorned hands, "are not just for decoration, they represent my standing and the wealth I bring to every city I grace with my presence."

He then turned his attention to the crowd, speaking loud enough for all to hear. "I will not be extorted by a ludicrous tariff, nor will I be intimidated by brutes who lack the refinement to understand the intricacies of trade. I have dined with nobles and negotiated with lords. I refuse to be demeaned by this farce!"

This was a lie, but none of them would be smart enough to know otherwise. The only nobles he dined with were those in his family and his late father's associates. He's not once spoken to one of the lords about anything.

The merchant's face, now a mask of controlled fury, turned back to the guard. "I demand to speak with someone in authority!"

Big Oar, unfazed by the merchant's grandiose claims, cracked a wry smile. His eagerness for a skirmish was evident. "Fancy rings and big words don't make a man," he retorted, his voice booming with amusement. "You're blocking the way with your tantrum. Since you're not going to pay, move or I'll make you move." As he said that his eyes were focused on the golden jewelry the merchant was proud of.

Meanwhile, the guards, having overheard the merchant’s outburst, rolled their eyes in unison. One of them stepped forward, his expression one of bored resignation. "Lord Luke and the high council are at the frontlines. We're under strict orders to collect tariffs. No exceptions. If you can't pay, step aside. That's the law, no matter who you think you are."

The merchant, faced with Big Oar's imposing figure and the unwavering stance of the guards, felt the cold touch of reality. His pride hurt at the thought of being coerced or humiliated, but the reasonable part of his mind knew that getting into a fight here would do him no good.

He took a moment to assess his options, his gaze shifting from Big Oar's expression to the stoic faces of the guards. "Fine," he said, his voice strained with barely concealed frustration.

With a dramatic sigh, he reached into his purse, extracting the required silver. As he handed it over to the guard, he couldn't resist a parting shot, aimed as much at salvaging his ego as at voicing his displeasure. "Take it, then. Lord Luke will hear of this disregard for merchants such as myself."

After paying, the merchant stepped aside. He cast a disdainful glance at Big Oar and the guards before signaling his own men to proceed.

Big Oar clicked his tongue in mild frustration, eyeing the retreating figure of the merchant. The itch for a confrontation had been building since their journey began, and he had half-hoped this situation would lead to a brawl. Yet the merchant, predictably, had backed down. The missed opportunity to claim some of the merchant's gold nagged at him; he could have easily taken advantage of the situation.

He noticed the merchant’s guards, young and visibly unnerved, probably hired for a fraction of the usual rate. Their reluctance to engage in a fight was evident. Against someone as formidable as Big Oar, they had wisely chosen not to escalate matters. "Smart kids," he thought, "better to avoid a fight they can't win."

Carl's laughter broke his train of thought, and a hearty slap landed on his back. "That was classic, Big Oar! Shame the merchant didn't bite. I was all set for a bit of action."

Earl, joining in the conversation, added with a hint of disappointment, "Yeah, imagine the haul we could’ve had from those guards. That would've been something."

Big Oar grumbled a response, too low for either to catch. He gestured for them to head back to the carriage, his mind already shifting to what lay ahead.

Just then, a voice called out. "Hey, thanks for that! Peter can be a pain. But watch your back; he’s the type to hold a grudge."

Big Oar paused, turning to face the guard. "Then why not just let him through?"

"Orders are orders," the guard shrugged.

With a nod of understanding, Big Oar resumed his walk back to the carriage, his mind processing the guard's warning. He was no stranger to making enemies, but caution never hurt.

...

Carl's laughter echoed through the bustling tavern as he slammed his mug of ale onto the wooden table, splashing a bit of the frothy liquid. "You should have seen his face!" he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I demand to speak with someone in authority!" Earl chimed in, his imitation of the merchant exaggerated and comical.

Their laughter was so boisterous it caused the table to shake, drawing a few glances from nearby patrons.

Richard, who had been listening to the tale for the third time, couldn't help but chuckle. "Sounds like a 'Karen,'" he remarked, remembering a term Anitta had used once – a label for those self-entitled individuals who always thought they were right.

"A Karen?" Earl echoed, puzzled.

Richard waved his hand dismissively, knowing the reference would be lost here. "Never mind. Just an old saying from back home," he explained with a smile.

They were settled in Tom's, a popular tavern in Disceroa. The place was lively, filled with the din of conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. It was a stark contrast to the quieter atmosphere of Roxanne's establishment.

However, the food left much to be desired. Their meal was a bland stew accompanied by stale bread. The carrots in the stew were undercooked, a detail Richard noticed but the others seemed to overlook, perhaps due to the ale that flowed freely and seemed to make everything more palatable.

As they were immersed in their conversation, three women in flowing brown dresses approached, their movements graceful and almost dance-like. They navigated the crowded tavern with ease and settled near the group. One of them, with a playful glint in her eye, perched herself on Big Oar's lap, tracing a slender finger across his rugged face.

The woman on Big Oar's lap leaned in closer, her voice a sultry whisper. "Looking to have some fun, handsome?" Her eyes sparkled with playful intent as she surveyed Big Oar's formidable frame.

Big Oar, never one to shy away from attention, especially of this kind, flashed a roguish grin. "Always," he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying the moment.

The woman's finger traced a path down Big Oar's face, lingering briefly on his rugged leather vest before exploring the contours of his muscular arms. "Never seen someone as large as you," she cooed, her touch daring to venture lower.

Big Oar chuckled heartily, "In more than one place."

Her smile widened at his comment, and without missing a beat, Big Oar boldly placed his hand over her shapely breast. Her companions, meanwhile, had found their own sources of entertainment among the group.

Richard, feeling out of place amidst the escalating flirtations, stretched his arms and feigned a yawn. "I'm stepping out for a moment," he announced, rising to leave the table.

Carl, slightly inebriated and buoyed by the mirthful atmosphere, ribbed Richard playfully. "What's the matter, Richard? Too green for this kind of fun?"

Richard chose not to engage, recognizing Carl's drunken jest. He was more surprised to see one of the women approach Benjamin, who appeared completely indifferent to her advances. Richard couldn't help but wonder how the stoic man would handle the situation, given his usually reserved demeanor.

As Richard navigated through the crowded tavern, he accidentally bumped into a man with tussled blonde hair and an unusual green eye. Richard paused momentarily, scrutinizing the stranger, but then shrugged off the encounter as a trick of the light and continued on his way.

The man Richard had bumped into clicked his tongue in annoyance, shaking his head at the lack of courtesy. His attention, however, was quickly captured by a burst of laughter that sounded strangely familiar. He glanced over and spotted Big Oar, unmistakable with a woman on his lap.

"No shit," he muttered under his breath, a mix of surprise and recognition in his tone. He hadn't expected to find Big Oar and the others here in Disceroa.

The man's face lit up with recognition as he neared the group. "Big Oar! It’s been ages!" he exclaimed, his voice booming with genuine delight.

Big Oar, along with Carl and Earl, turned to face the newcomer. Their initial surprise quickly transformed into astonishment. Earl was the first to leap to his feet, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Ben? No fucking way man! No fucking way!" The shock was evident, they hadn't seen Ben since he left Evergreen five years ago for a job that seemed to have swallowed him whole.

They thought he was dead, but here he was alive and well.

Carl's eyes narrowed inquisitively at Ben's face. "What happened to your eye, Ben?"

Ben let out a hearty laugh, gesturing to the scar that marred his right eye, now stitched shut. "This old thing? Let's just say it's a badge of honor from my travels," he said with a hint of pride. "It's quite the conversation starter... or ender, depending on the situation."

Changing the subject, Ben leaned in with curiosity. "Enough about me, I thought you were trapped in Evergreen? What made you leave? The place finally got so bad you three ran away?"

Big Oar, taking a swig of his ale, replied with his typical straightforwardness. "Run? Me? You should know better, Ben."

Ben nodded at that, Big Oar was never one to run. Even back when they were kids, the big man refused to back down from a fight. He could still remember that time when those kids - he forgot their names now - were beating on him because his dad slept with their mothers. Not like it was his fault their mothers were some whores. Still, it was Big Oar who came to his aide and fought them off, saying how much of a coward they were for ganging up instead of fighting like men.

That was probably his first real interaction with the man, and after that Big Oar beat his ass because his dad also screwed with Big Oar's mom. They had a bit of a laugh about it later on, but man were those sometimes.

"Fair point," Ben conceded, reaching over to pour himself a drink from the large pitcher. The group watched in silence, though Benjamin raised an eyebrow at the casual familiarity.

"So, what's the story?" Ben asked them.

Earl began recounting the story of how Roxanne set them up with Richard as guards on his way to Valewater. Skimming over some details until he got to the part about the merchant outside of Disceroa. At that point he started to exaggerate the tale a bit more, causing Ben and the women to laugh.

During the retelling, Benjamin excused himself from the table with the woman who was interested in him. He wasn't interested in listening to the story one more time.