image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/227d5278-b4a4-4746-bf9f-0acf342af6dc/0_1.png]
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New Reality: 2 May 2025, the Balkans
When they returned to the village, both men were wobbling on their feet. Ardent because the Elven wine has been good and plenty, Salvatore's intoxication owing to the elves' tobacco.
"There are more reasons than one they're called… Hic!… high elves…" the latter mumbled.
"Want some water?" Ardent gestured toward a well. Or two, because he was seeing double.
"I'll be… Hic!... good. As soon these tiny fairies go away from my face," Salvatore waved his hand in front of his eyes.
"Come here, you dumb fuck."
Pulling Salvatore by the arm, the condottiere pulled a bucket of water and let the man drink.
"Ah… Refleshing…" Salvatore sighed with satisfaction, the bucket slipping between his fingers and wetting his pants before slamming on the ground. "Hlaf the fayries are gon'. Thanks. We'll keep in… hic… touch."
"Wait! Don't you forget something?"
"Like what?"
"Who the hell are the Dark Draconics?" Ardent furrowed his brow. He was feeling dizzy, blaming it not on the wine but his runny nose. And that, he faulted the elves for. They must've had some weird shit polen in that forest, the bastards. He blew his nose between his fingers, over the grass.
"Oh… they're bad news…," the man from the future grimaced, still wobbling, albeit not so much as before.
"C'mon… We're in this together, right, pal? Right?" Ardent threw an arm around his companion's shoulder, smacking a kiss on Salvatore's forehead.
"True," Salvatore shrugged. Extracting himself from the hug, he rested his back on the fountain's mechanism, trying his best not to fall into the well. "A loooong time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… sorry, I meant in the quadrant next to us, a tylannical Shitstem was sending giant spaceshuips here and there and taking over planets, making the population fight in all sorts of sick games. It attacked one of our planets, in the border regions, and our Central Slystem sent a team of Heroes to help our fleedom fighters resistance."
"And they failed?"
"Can I finish?" Salvatore snorted. "No, they won. But that planet had a dormant source of dark magic, one the Elves had sealed long ago, and those Heroes tapped into it unwittingly. It corrupted them to become the Dark Draconics. They did not only chase that tyrannical System away, they killed it," he finished the phrase triumphantly, mimicking a boxing jab.
"You can kill a System?" Ardent gasped.
"Yep. If it has a head, you can cut it, if it has a code, you can break it. So, our former Heroes, now evil dark magicians, are hell-bent on expanding more and more. We're on the quadrant's borders, and a new reality is a juicy target."
"I see," Ardent nodded. "There's a lesson to be learned there."
"What lesson?"
"I have no idea, but there must be one," the young man said with confidence. "I'll think of something in the morning. Are they powerful?"
Salvatore stayed silent for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. "Yes… Think vampires, only with dark magic instead of blood."
"Really?" the younger man exclaimed. "You know there are old people here who knew Dracula? The real one."
"They enthrall their victims, who in turn, can corrupt other people," Salvatore continued. "Rising armies in no time. They hate Elves with a passion, and the long ears are returning the favor. It's a battle we'd better stay away from… if we have a choice."
"OK, thanks," Ardent said. "I'm still half-drunk, but I think I got the basics."
Nodding a short salute, Salvatore took a few shaky steps and disappeared after calling one of his shiny rune circles.
It was very early in the morning, and the sun had not yet caressed the horizon. There were two possibilities: that Myrtle was asleep, in which case he didn't want to wake her up, or that she was… entertaining her best friend and neighbor, the farmer's daughter. Ardent had told his wife he'd be out all night. So, there was only one place he could go without disturbing anyone: the pub.
Depending on one's opinion, it was either too early or too late. The tavern was empty, safe for a drunkard sleeping on the floor, and two revellers, Martin Martin and Rengi. Surprisingly, his father-in-law wasn't looking too intoxicated.
"Hi, son," Martin beckoned, pouring a glass of wine for the newcomer. "Have a sit and a drink with us."
"Where's the waitress?" Ardent asked, looking around.
"Went home, but left us the keys to the cellar," Martin said, raising a keyring in the air.
"We were comparing our training methods," Rengi said. "I was just saying it took me years to learn my trade."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Martin slammed his hand on the table. "Nonsense. Listen to this, and learn true wisdom. I was made a priest by the best teacher. He was called the walking seminary, had been schooled in Byzance… or somewhere else… I forgot. Anyway… He came to our village and chose me at first sight. 'A priest has to be strong,' he said.
"He spent a whole week training me… imagine that. I couldn't read, back then, but he taught me the three important prayers and the mass… Was it three? I remember the main one. Anyway… At the end of the week, we came here and he told me the secret of priesthood.
"'Son,' he said. 'The secret is in knowing what you're talking about. So try to familiarize yourself with cursing, whoring, and drinking, and just tell your flock: Don't do what I do, do what I say."
"That's deep," Rengi nodded.
"It is, isn't it?" Martin bit his lower lip, self-awed by the philosophy he had learned long ago. "Anyway… A great man," he raised a pint of beer in the air, downing it on his throat in one go.
"Have to give it to you, pops, you're smart," Ardent said, drinking his wine, which cheered the atmosphere. They smiled and nodded at each other like three toys with moving heads. "Oh… this is important… I bring bad and good news," he shook his head to try to bring some clarity to his thoughts.
"The Turks are coming earlier?" Martin asked.
"The Turks are the least of our problems… they're a known… fucktor? Forgot the word… stuff… There are plenty of assholes who came into our Realm. I met some elves and beat their champion. A wanker."
"Elves like the ones with Santa?" Martin frowned.
"Nope, like our yele. I saw a woman, she looked like an inflatable— never mind, you shouldn't know… Anyway, we're supposed to be allies, but I don't trust them. They look like some slow-shitting snobs… But guess what… They told me there are alien vampires around…"
"Umpires?" Rengi frowned, pouring himself some raki.
"Wonderful," Martin rubbed his hands. "Did you meet them?"
"Nope, but they're supposed to be bad."
"No!" Martin gasped. "It can't be! Those elves must have lied to you. Vampires are the good guys!"
"Dracula's like our national hero," Ardent explained to Rengi, who was oblivious to his words, now resting his head over his arm, on the table, and snoring. "Fought the Turks. Pff… I would have thought a Māori could hold his liquor better."
"He's learning," Martin tried to excuse his colleague. "You know the System allows you to lower your Con stat to experience drunkness? Calls it a cultural intoxication."
"So you're a cultural man now… Yeah… I don't trust those elves. The typical assholes who'd fuck their mothers in the sleep stuff… But don't worry!" Ardent raised a finger in the air, pointing it slightly away from Martin, at the second priest he was seeing, and who wasn't the real one. "I scouted all their weaknesses. They're suckers. When they'll try to fuck us—"
"We'll fuck them in the ass while they'll screw their mothers?" Martin asked with a light of hope in his eyes.
"Precisely. We'll train to fight them, I have it all in my head. Listen, dude," Ardent shook Rengi's shoulder. "Hey! I'm not your food," he screamed and snatched his arm away because the Shaman's first instinct was to gnaw at it.
"Sorry…" Rengi apologized, pulling a plate with roasted nuts closer to him.
"No harm done, you didn't break the skin… Anyway… I have an idea… I realized buying skills or shit isn't the best thing to do… Stats bring me the biggest bonuses, then my minions… What if we spread the word among our top-rank people that I'd reward those who give me a Fate Point? Like… I dunno… give them money, or swear to help them for some quest or shit?"
"Already done," Rengi waved his hand.
"Blow my dick, twenty Fate Points?" Ardent recovered some of his sobriety. "How the fuck do you have so many?
"I started a bank, kid," the Shaman winked. "We're buying points from our warriors, paying with long-term bonds. You'll pay me back in due time. One quest per point, plus two more quests per year interests."
Suddenly, Rengi looked much soberer than his table companions. Wondering if he was going into a debt trap, but without much choice, Ardent sighed and accepted the handshake. "Since when are you in banking?"
"A few days ago. My idea. The plan was to start trading posts, but since we're doing so well—"
"The plan?" Martin asked. "Whose plan?"
"Salvatore's plan…" Rengi paused, squeezing his forehead and eyes between his fingers, like chasing away his drunkness. "Look… have you ask yourselves why are we fighting alongside you?"
"Money?" Martin asked.
"Love of adventure?" Ardent added his guess.
The Shaman shook his head. "We owe Salvatore our lives… He came to us sixty years ago... my father was a teenager back then. There were six ships with him, filled with people and equipment. He brought engineers and farmers from India, China, and Korea. And was guarded by Ninjas from Japan.
"The tribe's chief, the rangatira, my grandfather, met him on the beach. And Salvatore told him he's related to us."
"He's not Italian?" Ardent asked.
"He's also part Māori. Recited his genealogy for tens of generations, in our tongue, perfectly. Showed my grandfather proof of magic, images from the future. Told him everything that was to come."
"The colonization?"
"That would have been the last drop in our glass of sorrows, my friend. The sixteenth century is hard everywhere. Climate change. Ressources dwindling. Infighting among our tribes led to massacres, widespread cannibalism, and famines.
"Then he told us his vision. That changing history will still have to happen in Europe, because of the impact, but the aftermath is for everyone to build. He chose my tribe to work with him, but spread crops and knowledge to both islands. Our children didn't die of hunger anymore. My grandfather and father changed our customs into more… rational ones. We learned maths, reading and writing, farming, and crafting, but we are still warriors.
"Salvatore's a… how to say it? A sort of demi-god for the Māori. An Ariki, a noble, a Tohunga Arukewa, a high priest. A prophet. If he'd asked me to jump into fire for him, I'd do it without a blink. And his vision, for us, is to be seafarers and open trade routes, and do for other less fortunate people what he did for us. Teach them the basics, then let them prosper on themselves. Yet… what's the harm in making some profit in the process?" Rengi's sheepish grin widened almost to his ears.
"Wow… there's more to Salvatore than I thought," Ardent said.
"That calls for a drink," Martin poured a drink to everyone. That it mixed with his beer or Rengi's raki, it didn't matter. "And let's toast to our enemies, 'cause I can't wait to meet them in battle." Clearing his deep bass voice, the priest began singing:
"Fuck their mothers in the ass, today and tomooorrow,
Fuck their mothers in the ass, today and tomooorrow."
"Break their bones and make a soup, today and tomooorrow,
Break their bones and make a soup, today and tomooorow," Rengi yelled, taking over the melody.
"Hold my drink so I cut their balls, today and tomooorrow,
Hold my drink so I cut their balls, today and tomooorrow," Ardent shouted, raising his glass in the air.
"I'm trying to sleep, you fucking retards!" the lone drunkard screamed from the floor, trashing around his arms and legs while keeping his eyes shut. "Why don't you blow each other, to keep your mouths from making noise?"
"Gh gh gh," Rengi giggled.
"Hi hi hi," Ardent laughed in silence.
"Pfff…" Martin cackled.
"La la la la la la la, today and tomooorrow," they whispered the chorus.