James recalled the few times he had seen Faust’ former self. Most of those times, he had only seen the Centurion’s dead self. Mangled armor, bloody clothes, and pale face. Now, however, Faust was completely different. The armor he wore glinted with steel instead of bronze, its shine making it seem like new. His face was full of color and life, his stubble gone and his messy hair now cut short. His eyes had regained their glint of life, making it look as if Faust Desimir was alive once again. Yet James could still feel a sense of wrongness with the image of Faust, as if the man was out of place.
“You’re not really here, are you?” James pointed out as he stood back up.
Faust raised his hand, frowning as he moved it around. “It’s strange. Like a dream,” he muttered. The Centurion’s fingers met with James’ torso, where it passed through like nothing.
“I see. You’re just an apparition.” James confirmed.
“I’m not that good of a Wizard.” Nathan commented from outside the magic dome. James could see Seamus and Archibald stare at the apparition of Faust, their expressions as if they had seen a ghost. Which was partially true.
“What did you do?” James asked, more confused than angry.
“I revealed the spirit inside you in the form of a projection caused by the Runic Circle.” Nathan gestured to the ground below James and Faust. “What you’re seeing is the spirit’s interpretation of themselves.” He added. James stared at Faust, more than a bit confused on why the Centurion looked so different from the mindscape.
“He looks… different. He looks much more different from in the mindscape.”
“Mindscape?” Nathan questioned. “You tapped into that place already?” The Wizard examined James much more closely, his fingers rubbing at his stubble. “You just keep getting interesting, don’t you?”
“Why the hell are you so interested in this, anyway?” James turned to Nathan, who was already getting on his nerves.
“Honest truth? I am simply a curious man,” Nathan revealed with a shrug. “I’ve been to many places in my travels, learned many things, but this is something beyond my understanding.” He grinned. “It is fascinating.” The Wizard leaned closer to the dome, his eyes focused on Faust. “The only question I have is how? How did you summon a Centurion out of all the spirits in Hel? Not only that, but a champion of a god, nonetheless.”
Nathan gestured towards Faust’s attire, the edges of the armor engraved with small, almost unnoticeable runes. James blinked, recognizing them as the same runes Faust had during his duel with Kord. As expected, the runes weren’t glowing, meaning that the engravings were dead.
“You recognize these glyphs?” James asked.
“Of course! Runes in this style are reminiscent of the armor gods used to give to their champions,” Nathan explained. “Judging from the lettering, I’d say this spirit was a champion of the God of Order, Caelus!”
Faust blinked, turning to Nathan. “You can read the language of the gods?” he asked, almost amazed.
“Well, not really.” Nathan chuckled nervously. “I can only read a little bit. Most other Wizards can do much better.”
“Other Wizards have this ability?!” Faust looked in awe at Nathan, as if he was looking at a deity.
“Of course other spellcasters can read godspeak.” The Wizard raised an eyebrow, before realization hit him. “Ah… I forget. You’re older than I thought, eh? Judging from the armor and clothes, I’d say you’re from the era of Cyrus’ Legion? What year was it when you… uh…” Nathan drew a line at his neck.
“Died?” Faust asked.
“Yes, that. Sorry, I wanted to make sure if you were still sensitive about that subject,” the Wizard explained nervously.
“One hundred and eighty years after the first wish.” Faust muttered. “That’s the calendar you all use, right?”
“Age one-eighty?” Nathan blinked. “Wait, what was your name again?”
“Faust. Faust Desimir of Cyrus’ Legion. Champion of Caelus and Slayer of Leonard Kord,” Faust boasted with a grin.
The Wizard stared at the Centurion for a solid couple of seconds, his eyes squinting. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.” He snapped his fingers. “I could’ve sworn that year meant something. Although your name does sound familiar.”
Faust stared at Nathan, his grin faltering as his eye twitched. James could feel the spirit’s metaphorical heart break.
“It’s the year the Legion had lost,” Archibald commented. “I remember the stories, how Cyrus’ Champion fell to Eobard Kord. After that, the Lumen Kingdom continued to push until the Legion was no more.” The elf furrowed his brow. “They never mentioned the champion’s name.”
“That’s bullshit.” Faust growled. “That asshole Gryff said he heard of me! That Lumen Knight knew of my past and my name!”
“Gryff? Lumen Knight?” Nathan questioned with a raised eyebrow. Both James and Faust cringed at the realization.
“Long story,” James muttered nervously.
“What in the hell have you two been through?” The Wizard raised an eyebrow.
James couldn’t help but let out a sigh of frustration. “Do you really want to know?” He asked.
The Wizard opened his mouth to answer with an obvious ‘yes’ but paused a second before. He looked conflicted, almost as if he was contemplating whether he should know this information. Finally, he sighed.
“No. I don’t want to know. At least not now,” Nathan admitted. “Secrets are secrets for a reason, and I don’t need to know every single one. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about your friend here.” Nathan turned to Faust. “Your connection to the mortal plane is impressively strong. Judging from the strength of your ley lines, you almost have all of your memories back.” Nathan furrowed his brow.
“Yet despite this strong connection with James, the bond flickers,” the Wizard muttered to himself, his fingers forming a couple of runes. In a moment, the Wizard’s eyes glowed a light gold, his gaze turning to focus on James.
Just as he did so, Nathan’s eyes widened with surprise. “Your ley lines. They’re dying.” He turned to Faust, mouth agape, as he put two and two together. “The initial wound, Faust healed. It’s still there, barely holding on. The bond you two have is flickering and…” Nathan trailed off, his arms lowering. “You’re dying.”
“I know.” James confirmed bitterly. “Do you have any more observations?” he asked a second after, not wanting to stay in this dead silence.
“No. I’m sorry.” The Wizard frowned.
The clan leader sighed. “It’s fine. Let’s just not delve into pity. I came here for a reason and I intend to get it done soon.” James turned to the Wizard. “Will you help me with that?”
The Wizard looked at Faust and James, his still-magical eyes examining them both. Finally, he closed his eyelids, the light within them dying. When he opened them, he gave the clan leader a nod, his fingers forming a rune.
“I’ll help. Dispel Rune Circle.”
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Harald looked down at his mug of tea, his focus on the leftover leaf that floated placidly in the steaming liquid. He went to pick it out, all the while ignoring the commotion that clattered around him. He would not focus on that. Harald had warned Bjorn, and the dwarf had decided not to heed it. That was his problem. The veteran brought the tea to his lips, just as some poor sod slid across the bar in front of him, wiping out whatever drinks were on it. The thrown man fell to the floor on the other side of the bar, clearly knocked out. Harald turned his focus back to his tea, tasting the subtle herb and honey that made it up. He sighed in satisfaction.
“Behind you!”
Dimitri’s voice called out. Harald had already ducked, avoiding the swing of the broken table leg. He had already sensed it coming thanks to his alert skill. Harald didn’t need to turn to see that Bjorn had already taken out that drunk asshole. He instead drank his tea, feeling its warmth reach his stomach.
“Needs some more honey,” Harald muttered. He reached into his satchel, digging past the copper vials of potions. He pulled out a smaller steel vial, his thumb popping open the cork. Harald tilted the vial towards his mug, watching as golden honey slowly poured out. Once he was satisfied with how much he put in, he capped the vial and placed it back in his satchel.
“Are they done yet?!” a man shouted from behind the bar. Harald looked at the brawl behind him, which had started thanks to Bjorn.
“Doesn’t seem like it. Looks like more people stepped in,” Harald sighed. “I think it’s best if you get out of here. Avoid getting hurt.”
The man across the bar raised his head slightly. “I would love to, but…” He frowned. “My father owns this tavern. If he finds out I left this place during a bar fight…” The young man shuddered.
“It’s not like you’re doing him a favor by hiding there,” Harald commented.
“Well, what the hel am I supposed to do? Ask them politely to stop fighting?” The bartender refuted.
“I can probably take care of them,” Harald muttered.
“You would?” The young man perked up at that.
“No promises,” Harald admitted. “Stopping a fight isn’t easy or safe.”
“I’ll pay you if you get them to stop!” The bartender pleaded. “I have some silver stashed here somewhere. I’ll give you a proper payment if you take care of it!”
Harald raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure! If this keeps going any longer, the damage costs alone will clean out our coffers,” the bartender admitted. Harald pondered the young man’s words, his mind going to his group’s financial troubles. He gave in, sighing as he looked at the young man.
“Deal. Let me just finish—”
Suddenly, a drunk hit the bar, this one nearly hitting Harald.
“Ugh,” the stranger groaned as he rubbed at his head. Once the man opened his eyes, his expression turned from annoyance to anger. “You!” he growled, his wobbly feet slowly standing up. The veteran sighed, his gaze turning to the drunkard.
“Back away. Now,” Harald warned. The drunk didn’t stop to listen, as his fist was already airborne. Harald quickly dodged the attack, his free hand grabbing the stranger’s head. The veteran smashed the drunk’s face against the bar, the man’s teeth audibly clacking on the wooden edge.
“Hey!”
“Bastard!”
Two voices sounded out from behind Harald. The veteran couldn’t help but let out a breath of frustration. He turned to the brawl that was happening behind him. Two men with red welts and bruises were approaching Harald. The veteran narrowed his eyes as he set his tea aside.
“I’ll give you both the courtesy of a warning. Back off, before you end up like your friend here.” He gestured to the drunk from before, who was busy writhing in his own blood and teeth.
As expected, the two men did not listen. They rushed Harald, one of them even brandishing a broken chair leg. Harald sidestepped the one with a weapon, quickly disarming him. In only a second, the veteran had already broken the bastard’s arm and taken his weapon.
The disarmed man fell to the ground yelling in pain, the display making his friend falter. Harald looked at the other drunk, using his left hand to beckon the stranger. The other man gritted his teeth, his anger clear in his eyes. He swung at Harald wildly, only to get a chair leg slammed against his temple, knocking him unconscious.
The drunk had fallen like a bag of bricks, his body slumping against a nearby table. Harald tossed the chair leg aside, his focus turning to the bar. His mug was still there, undisturbed. The veteran made his way to his unfinished drink, hoping to actually finish it before it got cold. As he reached the bar, a hand grabbed at Harald’s cloak.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
The veteran took a deep breath, his jaw moving as he grind his teeth. Harald was done with warnings. He thrust back his elbow, slamming it into the man behind him and knocking his air out. Harald turned back to the man he had hurt, watching as the stranger doubled over in pain. He could barely speak as he was trying to regain the air he had lost. Harald could only watch in pity before he knocked him down with a backhand.
“Hey! That dwarf’s friend just took out Emil! Get him!” a drunk voice shouted. The brawl in front of Harald then shifted attention, everyone staring at the veteran. Even Bjorn and Dimitri stopped what they were doing, their faces full of surprise. Harald rubbed at his temple in annoyance, clearly irritated. He let out a breath, his hand moving to beckon the brawlers.
“Fine. Let’s get it over with. My drink is going to get cold soon.”
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James looked up to the sky above, which had turned into a darkening orange. The day was ending soon. He frowned, recalling his last experience in the dark streets of Vindis. He had nearly died in a fight, saving the shipmaster from a group of thugs. James remembered that small moment of near death when that hooded man nearly stabbed his throat. It wasn’t his first brush with death, nor was it his last. Yet something about that experience shook James. Was it the suddenness of it all? The random rogue wave that saved him from death? The blond man pushed those thoughts back. It wouldn’t help to think about it.
“We’re almost there,” Nathan called back to James and his party, who were following the Wizard through the winding streets of Vindis. Drunks and shady characters peppered the street, most of them minding their own business as they stuck to their side of the wooden platform. James swore he saw a couple of men complete a deal in the shadows, unbeknownst to the guards nearby. The watch didn’t seem much either, as they were dressed in shoddy cyan tabards and wore kettle-like helmets. They mainly complained about the weather and smoked what looked like rolled tobacco. Or at least, this world’s version of tobacco.
James noted how Seamus stuck close to him, his left hand close to his belt and satchel of items. Lilith was nearby, staring at the towering city blocks in wonder as Seamus tugged her hand. Archibald was keeping close as well, a couple of feet away from James as he wore a look of disgust on his face. His expression soon turned to revile and anger as a disgusting liquid splashed nearby on the side of the street, filling the air with the smell of shit. James looked up to the window it came from, his fingers moving to pinch at his nose. He spotted a hand pull away a dirty-looking pot from the sill, out of sight.
“Vile piece of… Ugh!” the elf exclaimed as he stepped away from the stream of foulness. He bumped shoulders with James, who was already stepping away from that side of the street. “Why can’t these people dump their chamber pots into the canals like civilized people?” Archibald commented.
“Ha! You talk as if these folk have the time to go to the canal,” Nathan called back, his hand raising his hat’s brim to get a better look at Archibald. “We are in the Iron District. People here are too poor to afford proper plumbing or are too busy to waste time carrying their pots to the canals.” Nathan gestured to the people still moving around the streets, most of them hurrying to their destinations and ignoring the streams of foul liquid that ran on the platforms.
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“Be lucky we aren’t in the Copper District. That place is something deserving of disgust and reprieve,” the Wizard added as he walked on.
“There are districts?” James asked curiously, ignoring Archibald’s complaints and muttered curses.
“Of course. Every city has districts. At least the big ones,” Nathan answered. “Here in Vindis, districts are sorted by metal grades. Valdora, Gold, Silver, Iron, and Copper.”
“Can you tell me more?” James asked as he sped walked to Nathan’s side.
The Wizard cupped his chin in thought. “Iron and Copper are the poorest districts. Iron, although, is actually productive. This district consists of grunt workers who take jobs as crewmen or basic labor jobs. Copper is at the bottom of the barrel, however. That district of the city is nothing more than slums full of addicts and crazed maniacs,” Nathan explained. “The platforms there are also on the edge of breaking apart and sinking. No one dares go there.
“As for the Silver and Valdora Districts, it’s fairly simple. Silver is where the middle class live. Not poor enough to be scrounging for money but also not rich enough to afford to retire. At best, a citizen in the Silver District can afford a decent hovel and run a fine trade. He’ll live comfortably and frugally for the rest of his years. Perhaps he’ll be able to start a family before he dies. It all depends.” The Wizard shrugged.
“What about the Valdora District?”
“That’s where we’re heading.” Nathan flashed a grin at James. “The trading district of Vindis. The Valdora District is split into four main parts, all of them positioned near the main harbors of the city. This district houses merchants and traders from different lands, all of whom come to this great city to trade and sell.” Nathan raised a half valdora, its blue shine almost glowing in a way. “This is where the real money comes in.”
“I see…” James nodded, a smile growing at the edge of his lips. “What about the Gold District? Should I even ask?” James asked. He could already imagine that part of Vindis being full of pompous, rich assholes.
“Ah, the Gold District, held by the rich merchants and ‘nobles’,” Nathan expressed a certain disdain at the world ‘noble’.
“Nobles? Like royalty?”
“Ha! Royalty,” Nathan chuckled. “No, my friend. The nobles here are glorified peasants, like us. They consist of the wealthy clansmen who ‘own’ this city. Redyr, Olafson, Villtur, Vulpesson, and even Halvorson have stakes in Vindis.”
The mention of Halvorson seemed to have piqued Seamus’ attention.
“Halvorson?” Seamus asked. “They had a stake in Vindis?”
“They still do,” Nathan replied. “Well, in a complicated way. After news of Yorn’s death, the Boar and Fox clan started a bloody war over the whole thing. Well, not an actual war. More like a political mess of things. They went at it for a while, coming close to actually fighting over the city. That is, until news that Yorn’s kin survived.”
The Wizard’s words struck James with surprise. He looked at Seamus, whose face went pale.
“When was this?” the young man asked in a breath.
“A couple months back. Know little of the details, but it turns out that Yorn’s son still lives somewhere south of here. Rumors say that he can reclaim his father’s stake at any time, but I’m not sure how true that is. Jarls tend to be territorial.” Nathan shrugged.
Seamus lagged a bit in his step, his feet now shuffling. “What do you think the son should do?” he asked softly, barely audible enough to hear. Still, Nathan seemed to hear the young man, as he glanced at Seamus.
“My opinion? Yorn’s son should stay away from Vindis. Gods know the Jarls will do anything to keep their stake of power.”
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Harald sighed as he sat back in his chair. The tavern was much quieter now, the brawl from before done with. The veteran ran a hand over his bruised face and aching joints. Fighting a stacked battle was going to eventually cost him some pain. He winced as he touched a sensitive welt on his jaw. That was the result of a swung steel mug, the owner of which was currently knocked out behind the bar. Harald turned to the bar, where the bartender was currently hiding behind.
The young man poked his head out, clearly scared shitless. “Father’s going to kill me,” he muttered meekly.
“Not unless he kills these men first,” Harald commented.
The veteran turned to where he had left his drink on the bar. It was unsplit, yet no vapor rose from it. Harald frowned as he grabbed at the mug, bringing its brim to his lips. He instantly spat it out, his anger clear as he slammed the mug back on the bar. The once steaming tea was now cold to the touch, its once welcoming taste now spoiled.
“I shouldn’t have gotten involved,” he muttered to himself, his glance moving to Dimitri and Bjorn, both of whom were at a nearby table, resting from the brawl.
The shipmaster was nursing his hurting head, his gray stubble spotted with blood. Dimitri had held his own during the brawl, avoiding any major hits. Bjorn, on the other hand, was groaning incoherently as he stemmed the bleeding from his head wound. He had cuts and bruises all over, his beard stained with red. From the looks of it, Bjorn had gotten the worst of it.
“Was it worth the four gold?” Harald growled at him. The dwarf coughed, his hand moving to drag his satchel onto the table. He pulled a small golden flask, his fat fingers opening its hatch. Bjorn downed the liquid before slamming it on the table. He opened and closed his jaw, the small cuts and bruises slowly regaining color.
Harald raised an eyebrow at that. “Healing potion. You crazy idiot.” He shook his head.
“What’s the harm, eh?” Bjorn chuckled as he sipped from the flask. “I’m healed, I’m alive, and I’m itching for another round.”
“The harm is, healing potions are ten gold a vial, its effects dampen with every use, and your liver is going to give out if you keep it up,” Harald refuted. “That is, if you don’t get potion sickness first.”
Bjorn frowned at that. “Fuck off,” he muttered.
Harald could only watch as Bjorn drank from his flask. All the while Dimitri rested against his chair. Harald was about to turn back to his drink when his senses suddenly screamed at him, his alert skill causing his hairs to stand on end.
“What a sight,” a voice called out from the tavern’s entrance. The veteran spun around, his gaze focusing on the shady figures that entered the Drunken Draugr. They wore dark capes over their normal clothing, their faces obscured by their hoods. The lead one wore leather armor, his hand brandishing a curved dagger. Harald instinctively moved to his own hidden dagger, but stopped when something cold and sharp pressed against the small of his neck. Harald was still, his blood running like ice water.
‘I didn’t even see him,’ Harald mentally cursed himself.
“Now now. Let’s not get hasty,” the man at the entrance spoke out once again. Harald could see how the remaining patrons wore terrified expressions. Some of them even slipped away, doing their best not to get noticed by these men.
“What do you want? Money?” the veteran asked.
“Something like that,” the hooded man muttered. Harald looked to Bjorn and Dimitri, who were just now realizing the strange men. Bjorn was confused and visibly on edge. Dimitri looked pale, sweat dotting his forehead as he gripped at his sheathed knife.
The hooded man grinned as he approached, his head turning to the shipmaster and dwarf. “Well now, looks like we finally found you,” he spoke out suddenly, his hand moving to point towards Dimitri.
“Dimitri Palov. Markov has called for you and your friends. Come with us peacefully or face death here and now.”
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Seamus felt it again. The young man turned around, his eyes scanning the many stands and groups of people. Nothing out of the ordinary. Seamus frowned. Despite the many people, none of them seemed suspicious nor with malice intent. At least, not to Seamus and his friends. Currently, his group was in the Valdora District marketplace, where multiple stands and tent shops were set up. Cultures here blended and crashed, with colors and smells seemingly otherworldly. Seamus had never experienced this.
‘Perhaps this is why my senses keep acting up.’
For the last hour, Seamus’ natural alarm had been acting up. He could’ve sworn someone was on his tail, yet every time he had turned, there was nothing.
“Something wrong?” James’ voice called out. Seamus turned to his friend, who was currently waiting for the young man to catch up.
“It’s nothing,” Seamus lied. James raised a brow, but said nothing as he continued his walk with Nathan. Seamus took one more look behind him, focusing on anything that could be considered suspicious. He was about to keep walking when he spotted someone intentionally hiding behind a tent. Right there, behind one of the trading tents, was the shine of black hair and someone’s curious eye. Seamus blinked, and the person was gone. Before he could process it, Lilith tugged at him to keep moving.
“Sorry, something caught my eye,” he muttered as he turned away from the marketplace.
Seamus wasn’t sure how to bring his suspicions up to the others without looking like a paranoid fool. It was hard enough to explain his natural alarm, which was already something that Seamus himself knew little about.
‘It could be my nerves. The last time I was in such a populated area was…’
He shook those thoughts away. Seamus didn’t need anymore reminders of home. He didn’t want to think about it during the day. It was already enough that his night terrors haunted him. No need for him to think about it now.
“Here we are!” Nathan suddenly proclaimed. Seamus focused his attention on the Wizard, who was gesturing at a rather large tent. This one differed from the others nearby. It was made with purple cloth, its edges embroidered with golden thread that drew foreign designs. Gold and bluish trinkets hung from its openings, along with beads that varied in color and size. Once Seamus got close enough, he could smell burning incense from its entrance. It was calming and sweet, its scent nothing like Seamus had smelt before. There didn’t seem to be anyone outside of it, making Seamus lead to the conclusion that its owner was inside the tent.
“Tahir!” Nathan suddenly called out. “Xuan? Anyone in there?” The Wizard pulled at the tent’s entrance, before a deep voice yelled out in another language. Seamus didn’t understand what was said, but the voice sounded more than a little annoyed at Nathan’s nosiness.
“Idiot! I was changing!” The voice called out again, this time in a tongue the young man could understand. The accent was thick, yet familiar to the young Halvorson. He couldn’t quite place where it came from.
“My apologies Tahir! I thought you were meditating, judging from the incense,” Nathan chuckled.
“Why are you here, Wizard? I thought we concluded our business days ago.”
“Yes, well, I’ve come back to let you know that I’ve brought customers!” Nathan explained.
“You did what?” The voice’s tone changed instantly and the next thing Seamus knew, a man bursted from the tent’s folds. The source of the voice was a large man, taller than James even. He was wrapped in white robes and red cloth, his arms and bald head exposed. His skin was like polished ebony, reflecting the nearby lantern light. A curved sword hung at his side, hastily equipped, judging from how the man had to hold it up.
‘He’s Arenian,’ Seamus finally realized. That explained why his accent was so familiar. The Halvorson fort was home to many merchants, including those from distant lands. That included Azurvalians, Kasani, Dwarves, Halflings, and Arenians. The man’s accent was something Seamus hadn’t heard in a long time, but combined with the dark skin, strange sword, and foreign clothing, his memory finally clicked.
“You brought customers?” The man named Tahir asked, his eyebrow raising at the sight of everyone present.
Before Nathan could respond, Tahir opened his arms wide, his lips forming into a wide grin. “Welcome friends! If you can give me a minute.” He gestured to his tent before entering it. Clattering could be heard inside the tent, followed by hushed curses. James looked at Seamus, a confused look on his face, before he turned to Nathan.
The Wizard sighed. “He likes to be, uh…eccentric.” After some more audible movements and muffled humming, the tent’s flaps opened. They were greeted with a lineup of trinkets, bottles, books, and even some daggers.
Tahir stood behind it all, with his robes now neatly straightened and his sword resting at his side. “Well now! Have a gander! These are all authentic Areno artifacts and keepsakes, almost all of them affordable.”
Seamus looked to James, who stared blankly at the shop before him. “Nathan?” he asked, confused.
“Uh, Tahir, these people are not that kind of customer,” the Wizard nervously chuckled. Tahir blinked, his gaze moving to James and Seamus.
“What do you mean not that kind of customer? My shop is usually what people come to me for. Well, unless you’re here for Xuan,” Tahir muttered that last part with what Seamus could assume was jealousy. “Kasani goods are overrated. I give the best stuff! Authentic pieces, not whatever that ass is selling,” he huffed.
“They’re not looking for those kinds of goods.” Nathan clarified.
“Oh, you mean supplies and rations? Sugar and spices?” Tahir turned to the Wizard with genuine curiosity.
“It’s something like that.” James spoke up finally, the blond man stepping up to the trader before him.
“Well, if you want to buy, I can direct you to a worker of mine by the harbor. He’ll get you what you need,” Tahir explained.
James shook his head. “It’s something else. Something more than that. I’d like to cut you a sort of deal. Something that can benefit us both greatly.” The Arenian stared at James for a few seconds, silent as he seemingly pondered his answer.
“Come into my tent. You and I shall discuss it in private.”
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James looked around the roomy interior of Tahir’s tent, fascinated by its decor. Soft pillows and ornate blankets covered the ground, making it far more comfortable than the hard platform below. There was an incense burner hanging nearby, its scent wafting into James’ nostrils. It smelled of resin and flowers. James noted how much roomier the tent was now that he was inside, its warmth welcoming for the young man.
‘Never seen anything like this,’ Faust muttered.
‘You never encountered a culture like this?’ James asked curiously. Judging from the clothing and decorations, this entire tent reminded the blond man of Arabian culture, with its ornamental decor and colorful look.
‘No. I have heard of Areno in my past life but I have never encountered it.’ The spirit sounded curious, as if he wanted to learn more about Arenian culture.
Before James could converse some more, a voice distracted him. “So, what is it that brings you here?” Tahir asked suddenly. James pulled his attention from the decor and Faust, focusing on Tahir.
“Like I said before. I’m here to cut you a deal.” James shifted on his pillow, moving to grab something from his satchel. Tahir watched curiously, but not without caution. After some sifting through the contents of his bag, James finally found what he was looking for. “There you are,” he muttered. James pulled out a roll of parchment. He unfurled it, showcasing its contents.
The parchment James held displayed the of Valenfrost, its cities and landmarks marked with red. Not only did it showcase the major islands of the nomadic nation, but it also showed the black sea to its eastern side. While Valenfrost’s western side faced Azurvale’s coast, its eastern and southern side faced nothing but ocean. At least for a couple thousand miles. Beyond the ‘Abyssal Sea’ marked east of Valenfrost, were Areno and Kasan, their major ports marked at their coasts. Trade routes were marked and traced, showing that trader ships traveled non stop through the black sea to reach Bernis and Haven’s ports, where most of their business took place.
All of this information, map included, was courtesy of Lowe Arclite, Helen Dunn, and Dahlia Astera. Their combined knowledge of trade routes was put together not long before the Bloom festival. All they had to do after was to get a cartographer to craft it for them. James had to painfully wait for that map to be finished before he went out to act on his plan. He looked to Tahir, who raised an eyebrow at the map.
“Pretty good representation of the trade routes. Missing some parts, but it’s a solid map. Why do you show me this?” Tahir asked.
“Look here,” James pointed to the major trade route from Areno’s major ports. “Most of these routes converge into a long voyage to Bernis, which is three months at sea. Even with magical assistance, the fastest voyage to Bernis is only a little more than a couple of months,” James explained. “That’s because most traders avoid here.” James pointed at Yorktown, which was the most eastern and southern of the islands in Valenfrost. “Yorktown is the closest to the Areno ports. A trip from ‘Dallah’ to here will only take a month without magical assistance!”
James recalled the magical assistance Dahlia had explained to him. From what he remembered, magic was rarely used on ships. The most common types, however, were artificial wind and the use of runic gates, which itself was a rarity and only found on certain ships. Teleportation was also a thing in this world, but it was complicated, rarer than runic gates, could only be used a couple times a day, and it limited transport to a small amount of people and cargo. In short, magic was out of the question for the common trading ship. Because of this, voyage time was important for cargo and traders. Which was why James wanted to act on the opportunity to showcase Yorktown.
“If you consider the time and resources you save, Yorktown is also close to Vindis, which is where most traders stop by after Bernis. Taking that into consideration, Yorktown is an opportunity waiting to happen,” James finished.
Tahir was silent for a moment, as if taking in James’ words. He looked at the map with a focused look, his hand cupped around his chin in thought. He shook his head.
“James, my friend, you are not the only person to suggest this. Yorktown is a good choice. In fact, it used to be a popular destination for traders such as I. However, the Outsider Wars changed all that,” Tahir revealed. “Barbarians raided trader ships that got too close to the south. It cut many ties and isolated Yorktown even more than it already was. Even after the war, raiders and bandits preyed on ships around the southern islands. It has only gotten worse in recent years.” He rubbed at his bald scalp, shaking his head. “I didn’t even know there was a town still there. At least that’s what it seems like. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here vouching for it. That’s where you’re from, right?”
James nodded in confirmation.
“So you are,” Tahir sighed. “Then you should know about the reputation surrounding the southern islands. Marauders, bandits, and even a draugr lurking around there. Bad business, I say, too dangerous for traders such as myself and my company.”
James blinked. “I thought word in the south spread fast? Did you not hear?”
“What? Hear about what?”
The blond man chuckled at Tahir’s confusion. James leaned forward, his hand pulling his cloak aside to show his chest. Painted over his heart was the symbol of a white raven.
“Yorktown isn’t just some dainty little fishing town anymore. It’s more than that,” James started.
Tahir stared at the symbol, his confusion still there. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that there’s a growing clan willing to cut you a deal. No more bandits, long voyages or outrageous taxes. All we ask for in return is for you to send trade ships our way,” James offered.
“No more bandits? Not even marauders or orcs?”
“Not exactly, but we’re thinning out their presence by the day. Soon, it’ll be nothing but raven ships and passing merchants.” James waited for Tahir’s response.
The merchant looked more than cautious about this, yet he smiled. “So you wish to bring it back to its former glory days? To what it used to be before the war?”
“No. I’m planning on making it better than the glory days. Yorktown is going to be the home of something bigger and better.” James extended his bandaged hand to Tahir’s, showcasing the frost magic that formed on its fingertips.
“All I’m asking is for you to be a part of our uprising.”