Being an obnoxious ass is some of the best fun I have ever had. - Varya’Qa

Hank struggled. The thoughts of the deaths he caused plagued him during the nights. Being honest with himself, it was the reason he let Jamie kill the bandits in the barracks. He didn’t want any more blood on his hands.

Part of him knew it was just a game, but those thoughts led to grim places. If he treated life as cheap in the game, would that affect his personality and carry over into “real” life? Hank wasn't sure he wanted to answer that question. Still, the dreams and thoughts persisted as the days passed while he traveled north with Jamie. Other thoughts gradually became more pressing. It was a relief.

Further interrogation of Francine had yielded the time and place of the next slave auction. According to Jamie, if they traveled quickly they would arrive in time. Not something easily done by 150 people dragging all their worldly goods with them.

So, after the trial it had been decided that Hank and Jamie would ride ahead of the wagon train. Klontarif had a reputation for being more than a little rough, something expected of frontier towns. There wasn’t anywhere more frontier than Klontarif, the most northerly town this side of the spine.

On the bright side, it gave Hank an excuse for not visiting his Dad. He resolved to ask Jamie to deliver a letter at some stage but there were enough painful thoughts in his life without reminders of his first few months in the game. Hank had treated his fictional dad as dirt and had assumed he was better than everyone else. He hadn’t lied to Elise and her father but it wasn’t the entire story. No, he needed to make something positive of his life before he could face the gentle farmer, saving slaves was a suitable place to start.

After lots of discussion Hank and Jamie broke saving Azar down into a few steps. The biggest challenge being getting close enough to her to do anything at all. Neither had sufficient skills to effect a night raid so they resolved on posing as slavers as soon as they reached Klontarif. Jamie suggested that they arrive about three hours before the sale started.

Which would be perfect, just enough time to obtain lodgings and ensure they generated the correct impression, without being long enough for people to see through the ploy. Proving to all and sundry they were representatives of the duke of Sarness seemed too risky. They needed a better alternative.

“Any further idea’s on getting past the gatekeepers, whoever they are?”

“You mean apart from the initial plan. Lie, bluff, deceive and generally bank on one of us being able to talk and or buy our way into the sale.” Jamie thought for a second. “I think that we should put all our eggs in the Hank basket.”

“Rarely ends up being a winning move.” Hank was sceptical. “Besides you’re better at schmoozing idiots.”

“No,” Jamie paused thoughtfully. “I think if we loaded you up with the money and me with the chattels. If you were faintly obnoxious at the inn. Treated me like dirt. Before flaunting your vagabond reputation at bit, you would be exactly what those sorts of people expect.”

“And how does that help?” Hank asked.

“Well then you tell them the truth.” Jamie said

“What truth?” Hank asked.

“Well some of it. You need a new bond servant the current is getting the wrong idea. Blah, blah blah. Met Tom when you left Perison, Yada Yada, found out that labour would be available if you got to the Cockerel and so on.” Jamie grinned.

“And when they ask why an “Identify” cast doesn’t return the same name as I give?” Hank asked.

“That. Easy. Change your name?” Jamie didn’t see the problem.

“Don’t you have to do that in the presence of a Justice? They charge Suiden for that. I don’t have spare Suiden.” Hank pointed out.

Jamie snorted. “Hello, I’m a Wanderer. We are the messengers and judges of kings and queens. We decide if justices are worthy of their calling. Something so simple, is breathing for my people. Better still it’s not a ‘disguise’ but your actual legal name. No lie detection skill can pick it out as a falsehood.”

“That’s some power.” Hank paused. “You could do a lot of damage with those sorts of skills.”

“You can’t imagine. It’s why we have such stringent internal culture. The abuse of our skills would make us some of the most hated people. It’s also why you are foolish to make enemies of the wanderers.” Jamie replied.

“Ok so we can sort out the name. We can’t give me a title, so what do we do, just play rich? We don’t have enough money.” Hank asked

“Well I could give you a title. Not one valid in Miylan though so I agree that is out. So bluff. Better yet, talk about those cheques that we can’t cash.” Jamie smirked.

“Oh goody.” Hank couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I got nice high skills in sweet talking too.” He continued under his breath. “This is going to go fantastically well.”

“You’ll be fine. Though you’d better wear something smarter if we are going to make a suitable impression. I only need to cower a bit more and hunch a bit.” Jamie was almost speaking to himself as he rummaged through his bags. He pulled out a very smart set of black trousers with gold trimming. He followed that with a white silk shirt, black doublet with gold trim and piccadills and a black cloak lined with gold silk. “Your boots will have to do though. We can put a bit of shine in them before we arrive.”

“You expect me to wear all that?” Hank asked in outrage.

“No, I expect you to BE all that. You need to be a baron of high self-importance, poor reputation, but sufficient means.” He was positively bubbling. “This is going to be so fun.”

“I thought we agreed you couldn’t do titles?” Hank was much less enthusiastic. “And what will you be doing?”

“The hard work. You know. Pretending to be nothing but dirt. Carrying your stuff and making sure our valuables end up in the bank before any drama with slavers unfolds. Bribing guards, doormen and generally making you look like an overindulgent moron with delusions of station.” Jamie pause with a faintly dreamy look on his face. “So fun. I haven’t impersonated anyone in so long it’s going to be so good to get away from the drudgery of normal business.” He breathed for a moment. “But you’re right, no direct titles so we’ll make you the son of a legitimate baron.”

“Aren’t you trying to rescue a daughter or something.” Hank grumbled. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, more concerned about that, rather than overjoyed at my future acting efforts.”

“About Azar? Of course I am, but we’re about to rescue her and you have to enjoy your work. This is going to be so fun.” Jamie was almost giggling the anticipation was so overwhelming. A sentiment Hank just didn’t share.

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After a clothing change and a few more hours of riding, they entered Klontarif. To say that it was a one-horse town was probably a little unfair but there were only twenty odd buildings and the Golden Cockerel stood out. It was big, bold, bright and right in the centre of the town. It stood out like an oasis in a desert. On second thoughts more like a prostitute at a bar-mitzvah, obvious and completely inappropriate. Normally Hank would have avoided the place, it was just… wrong. But in his new persona as ‘the only son of the baron of Bluehaven’, he had to stay at the best hotel in town and he couldn’t just rent a modest room, he needed the best suite. Time to put on his game face.

Hank jumped off his horse and swaggered into the inn. “You, help my man with the baggage. Don’t crumple my shirts.” He pointed at a random person in the foyer. Actually, he hoped that he had pointed at someone who didn’t work at the Golden Cockerel. He was going for arrogant. “Which is the best suite in this flea heap?”

“That will be the Golden Suite, but…” Some poor clerk behind the counter tried to stammer out an excuse.

Hank wasn’t waiting. “Fine,” turning back to the random person he had just spoken to. “Take my things up to the suite he mentioned.”

“But sir….” The clerk resumed his protests. Hank wasn’t waiting.

Hank completely ignored him. “Oh, find my man at the All Duchies Bank, have him pay the room and board. Now where is this suite. I need a bath. The roads around here are atrocious. The dirt is positively embedded in the pores of my poor hands.” He started up the stairs. The clerk scampering after him voicing protestations to the belligerent Hank’s back.

Hank reached the fourth and top floor. Across the small landing, a monstrous man stood between him and the only door. The guard looked like he could snap Hank in half if he thought about it, but Hank and Jamie had planned for precisely this situation.

“Good man. Here hold these.” Hank pulled off his cloak, gloves and hat and handed them all to the bewildered guard. “My man will tip you when he arrives. Now just move a step to the left.” Hank used his riding crop to press the guard to the side and out of the way of the door. “I’m just dying for a bath, so when you've hung this lot get downstairs and arrange for boiling water.” Without waiting for an answer, Hank just breezed into the suite.

The room was sizeable, set out with lounges, low tables, fresh flowers, gilded mouldings on the ceilings and skirting boards, finished with opulent carpets and curtains. The salubrious room would not be out of place as a Perisonian summer mansion’s welcoming room. Hank treated it as if it was nothing. The sound of Hank’s entry caused two rough-looking men to leap from their seats behind a table strategically located slightly off room centre.

“Oh wonderful, the room comes with man servants. I thought the poor butler would be left to do everything. Now you…” Hank indicated the first man. “… just move over so that I can sit whilst you take my boots off. I tell you the roads around here are awful.” The man stared at Hank in a complete state of bewilderment.

Hank glanced around the room. There was a small platform in front of enormous bay windows towards the far end of the room. On the right-hand side of the room, two doors lead to what Hank assumed were very large bedrooms. In the first, through the half-open doorway, Hank could see a number of women stripped down to their underthings, cowering in the corner. On the left there were four doors obviously leading to smaller rooms.

Hank couldn’t allow the slavers to adjust to his presence so without waiting he turfed the man in question out of the seat. Pulled the chair back slightly so he could sit on it and plonked his boots onto the table. Without waiting for the first man to react, he gestured at the second. “And you, get into the main bedroom, turn my bed down. Then open those lovely windows for some fresh air. There is a nasty funk permeating this place. I hope it hasn’t seeped into the furniture. Hasn’t the owner of this establishment been making you wash. I swear I could smell you from the stairwell.” The man in question flushed a bit.

But Hank continued seemingly unaware. “That butler wasn’t any better either. I swear these quaint little outposts can’t stick to proper standards of cleanliness. It’s the kings fault of course. Never takes a hand to these trumped up minor nobles. Sarness better get up here after he takes over the kingdom. Perhaps he can sort the mess out.”

The first man took a step closer, so Hank planted a boot in his chest. “Well get on with it. Once you have the boots off, you can take them down stairs for polishing. I swear, two months trudging through the wilderness because dear father couldn’t get the carriage fixed, murder on the clothes.”

The guard burst into the room, sword drawn but no idea what to do next. Hank figured ‘in for a Do, in for a Tsuki.’ “Back with my water already?” He barely paused. “No, I see not. Hurry up, those girls aren’t doing anything, but there’s a bath in my future and one of them can sponge my back. Now put down that pig sticker away and get on with it. I hope your idiocy has not left my cloak and accoutrements on the floor somewhere. That cloak is made from Fujika silk and is worth more than that idiot slave I bought last year.”

He paused long enough to regard the other man who hadn’t moved either. “Well get on with it, once those windows are open, you can head down and help my man and the idiot in the lobby with my saddle bags.” Surely someone was going to protest. Hank knew he was pushing his luck, perhaps too far. But Jamie hadn’t arrived yet and there was almost certainly another guard or two hiding somewhere in the suite. He couldn’t take three, he needed time. So, bluster and bravado being the best attack, he raised his voice “Move it.”

The door to what Hank assumed was a bathroom opened and a fourth man emerged. He was dressed better than the others. The same outfit but the cut was better, as was the material. Head man Hank thought. Time to switch it up. “Martin I’m guessing. Tom said you had acquired some strumpet from him. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to take one of the other suites. The heir of Bluehaven requires the best and does not share.”

Hank paused for half a second. “Still in your place I would be demanding a refund from this establishment the butler still hasn’t sorted out my bath and this idiot can’t get my boot off.” He pointed at the ruffian holding his foot with a bewildered expression on his face. “That one is still gawping like a fish, father would have him beaten for insolence.” He turned his head, glaring at the one he had commanded to open the window. “When I tell you to do something, you get on and do it.”

Jamie still hadn’t arrived. Hank hoped he arrived soon. He put his weight on the foot being held by one of the men pushing him over and stood up with one foot pinning him to the ground. He looked down, commanding, “get this boot off.” Before prodding the first guard with his riding crop, “bath water. Move it.” Hank promptly sat down again.

Turning to the head man he continued addressing him. “Once the riffraff are doing what they are told and out the way, I understand that you have some slaves to sell. I need a fresh man, the one I have is getting slow. If there are any pretty wenches, I might be persuaded to part with some hard earned for the pick of the bunch.” Hank effected a particularly bad guffaw. “Naturally you understand It’s not my hard earned. The son of the baron of Bluehaven does not soil his hands. But I am sure someone somewhere put in some effort.” Hank’s guffawed again at his own humour.

“Who are you?” The well turned out man finally managed to overcome his shock and squeeze out a sentence.

“Really, I thought you were the man in charge. I always assumed that they hired smart people for your job. But perhaps you weren’t paying attention. Bastion, eldest son of Marrick the baron of Bluehaven. You have heard of me I’m sure.” Hank replied, his voice dripping with self importance.

“Heard of you, No.” Martin replied.

“My father then?” Hank asked in the same tone of voice.

“No.” Martin replied again.

“You haven’t heard of Marrick Fienstar, the black heart of Minster?” Hank smirked. “They really are backward around here.”

“Him I’ve heard of. But not that he was a baron.” Martin was a little confused.

“Yep newish sort of place. On the coast as it happens, not quite due west from here. Decidedly lacking in comforts, which is why I was delighted to travel down to Perison. Unfortunately, the barony also lacks a labour force, which is why pa told me to speak to Sarness. Not that I found the duke. Unfortunate spot of bother with the king I gather.” Hank chattered back.

It is so much easier to convince people of things when they’re based on truth. Marrick was a complete piece of work who hated… well everyone. He had just received a new barony, nobody knew how but suspected bribery, and was genuinely struggling to get labour. Mostly because he tended to beat people when unhappy.

It made it easy to pass of the casual arrogance which Hank exhibiting. He was probably getting a bit carried away. But slavery was an abomination, and it had his blood up. Besides Jamie had been right. It was fun being a complete ass.

The slaver who hadn’t removed Hank’s boot wanted to to object. The furthest he got was, “I am not…”

Hank didn’t even get up this time he just flicked out his riding crop, slapping the man lightly on the cheek, who startled in shock. “I told you to get my boots off. If you don’t get on with it, I will have you beaten until I can see the blood pooling at your feet.”

The man at Hank’s feet started to voice an angry response. But he was interrupted by the leader of the slavers. “It's illegal to buy people in the kingdom. So, we wouldn’t know anyone who participates in such acts. We’re just looking after sons and daughters of some needy friends of ours. As you know it can be expensive feeding as many mouths as we are.”