image [https://i.imgur.com/GIuQaTL.jpeg]
“Glad to see you too, Barco,” said Dolor as he stepped onto the creaky wooden floorboards of the establishment.
“Boss, will not be thrilled to see you Dolor, you better be here to pay off your tab. Did you come to pay off the tab, Dolor? Please tell me you came to pay off your tab,” the orc seemed nervous as he knew what answer he was about to receive.
“No, Barco, I did not come to pay off my tab,” responded Dolor
“Yeah, I fucking thought so. In that case, get your dusty ass out of here before he catches you and starts shaking you down,” stated Barco.
“Hold on, Barco, I need to see him, please!” Dolor pleaded desperately
“Not looking like this, you won’t. Look at the absolute state of you, all dirty and tattered up, and…wait is that…is that fucking blood, Dolor?! You have five seconds to tell me it’s your blood before I call the garbagemen!” The “garbagemen” was the colloquial reference to the militiamen, given to them by the common folk. This reflected not only that most people saw the militiamen as garbage but also that they realized their own place in the Republic, namely that of garbage, which militiamen and the SSB dispose of as they see fit. The orc was now visibly shaking with anxiety at the prospect that Dolor might have just shown up at his workplace covered in blood on the Anniversary Day.
“It is mine…at least some of it,” said Dolor with the demeanor of a child who was just caught eating desserts before lunch.
“You stupid son of a bitch. What do you think you are doing? Are you trying to get us all killed?!” the orc loudly whispered in Dolor’s ear as he grabbed his arm and forced him up the wooden staircase leading to the second floor of the speakeasy.
“It’s all good Barco. Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I just need to talk to Petros about something. I will be out of your hair before you know it,” said Dolor, unsuccessfully feigning carefreeness.
“It doesn’t look or sound ‘all good’ to me, pal. You show up here on the busiest day of the year, when streets are crawling with garbos, and you are covered in blood. Do you think that maybe my reaction is justified?” asked Barco.
“OK, look, I will grant you I am not at my most presentable right now, but I just had a bit of a crazy fucking day, and I have no other place to turn to, please, I need to speak with Petros, he is the only one who can help me with this. You don’t have to worry about yourself. I will tell him I broke in and attacked you to get to him,” proposed Dolor.
“Man, shut the hell up. All that war-related shell shock seems to have affected your brain! Do you think Petros is going to buy that a manaless human physically overpowered me and get in?”
“Trust me, that question will not arise after he hears what I have to say,” said Dolor
“What the hell do you mean, Patiens? What are you trying to pull here?” the orc began looking Dolor up and down as if trying to understand what was going on.
“If you are that interested, how about you accompany me into his office? We’ll pretend as if you detained me for my unpaid debt and brought me to him. I will then say that I am here to discuss something else and not pay my debt. That way, you will just be another victim of my cunning duplicity and thus be spared your manager’s fury,” said Dolor, clearly very pleased with his devilish plan.
“Damn it, Dolor,” the orc exhaled heavily as if resigned to his fate, “you will get yourself killed one day, I swear,” the orc got behind Dolor and they both began walking toward the heavy oak door at the end of the hallway.
“I know, that’s why I am here,” said Dolor
They approached the heavy oak door; Dolor could see ornamental patterns carved into its frame and the door itself. The doorknob was made of polished bronze and shone under the dull chemical hallway lights. Barco was about to reach to knock on the door before Dolor stopped him.
“What now?” asked Barco.
“Before we go in, I wanted to ask you something,” said Dolor.
“What?”
“Did you change the type of business you do since I was last here? Is this no longer a bar?” asked Dolor curiously.
“What are you talking about Dolor, it’s obviously still a bar, as you saw from people drinking and dancing on the first floor,” said Barco
“The sign outside says ‘The Blower of Dicks’, though. Is that a side job you picked up? I don’t blame you. In this economy, one must abandon his pride and do what’s necessary to support himself and to continue the Revolutionary Struggle of the Conclave.” Dolor was barely keeping a straight face as he delivered the line.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
He felt a sharp stab of pain in his face as Barco delivered a perfect side hook, knocking Dolor to the floor. “No, we are still called ‘The Lower Deck’, the premier entertainment establishment in the Capital City. Don’t you ever forget that,” Barco helped Dolor off the floor.
“Duly…noted, sir,” said Dolor as he was trying to refocus his vision, blurred by the orc ex-pit fighter’s powerful strike. “If we are going to fool your boss, we better make it believable that there was a struggle between us and you caught me.”
“It is believable, human. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking you let me win. If I wanted to hurt you or catch you, I would, and you wouldn’t be able to stop me,” said Barco as he knocked on the heavy wooden door with his giant fist.
“It’s me, boss, got something for you here,” said the orc loudly.
“Do come in, Barco, my good man!” a cheery, enthusiastic voice responded from the room.
Barco turned the doorknob and opened the door, pushing Dolor in and making him stumble into the center of the study. Dolor saw the familiar big redwood table, which looked like an ancient Elven masterwork, behind which sat a stern-looking middle-aged elf, probably somewhere in his early 100s, who looked at Dolor as if he was an unwelcome distant relative who came unannounced to stay over the weekend.
“Ahhh, if it isn’t my good friend, the Lance Corporal! Welcome once again to The Lower Deck, the premier entertainment establishment in the Capital City!” said Petros. “What brings you here on this glorious day of our Republic’s Anniversary celebrations? Have you, perhaps, come here to give us a holiday present and pay off your longstanding debt obligations of 345 mana tickets, which you owe us for almost two months' worth of daily unpaid drinking? But wait, where are my manners? Before you answer that, please Lance Corporal, take a seat. Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, I would love some tea. Black with 3 sugars, please!” said Dolor as he sat on the chair across from the elf’s work desk.
“Goodness me, three sugars, eh? You certainly like to take advantage of our hospitality. Not that we mind, of course,” said Petros as he began putting dried tea leaves into a pot and pouring water into it to cover the leaves. The elf put his palms on the sides of the pot as if he was trying to warm his hands on a cold day and channeled a spell which caused the water in the pot to boil instantly with steam coming out of the pot’s nozzle with no fire or smoke. The elf took the pot and poured one full cup of tea into which he put three sugar cubes, which he retrieved from a locked iron box. The elf then stirred the sugar in the cup twice and placed the cup on top of a saucer. He elegantly grabbed the saucer and, without causing as much as a ripple on the cup’s surface, began gracefully approaching Dolor. He approached Dolor from behind, like a server at a luxury resort, and as he leaned over his shoulder to place the cup on the table in front of him, Petros suddenly changed the trajectory of the cup and slammed it into Dolor’s confused face. Sharp ceramic shards and the hot boiling tea liquid combined into one long searing pain which caught Dolor by surprise, causing him to fall off his chair and roll on the floor in agony. He felt the elf’s long leather boot deliver a devastating kick to his liver and kidneys. Dolor threw up from the pain and began gasping for air. All Dolor could hear and see was Petros standing over him and murmuring something.
“Where is my money, you fucker? You are not trying to set me up to get out of your debt, are you?” he asked with his face full of contempt.
“No…I swear…I can... use magic now. Look…” Dolor’s vision blurred as he drifted out of consciousness, the last thing he saw was the orange trace of Amber magic as the dagger flew towards the shocked elf’s face. Petros barely managed to tilt his head to one side causing the flying dagger to narrowly miss his face leaving a burning scrape on his left cheek. He was about to cast a purple bolt on Dolor’s head to prevent him from using the magicarm again, but luckily, Dolor passed out on the floor stained with his vomit, causing the dagger to lifelessly fall from the air onto the wooden floor of the study with a loud clang.
Dolor woke up and the first sensation he felt was pain. Different kinds of pain all over his body. All of his muscles ached, his bones felt brittle, and his head was pounding so badly that it took Dolor a minute to refocus his blurry vision. He tried to move his arms and legs to get up but realized that he was restrained. Restraining spell seals floated above his wrists and ankles that were in turn attached via steel braces to a cold aluminum table that Dolor found himself lying on, blinded by a bright light emanating directly above him. Dolor could not hear footsteps or any other sounds that would give away a presence in the room, when Petros suddenly appeared directly above him, startling Dolor.
“Fuck! You scared the hell out of me Petros. And what the fuck is wrong with you? Is this how you greet your guests? By smashing hot tea into their faces and kicking thirty-eight different kinds of shit out of them?” asked Dolor who was now fully conscious. Surprisingly, he realized that he did not feel any pain from burn wounds or from Petros’ kicks to his kidneys and liver.
“Firstly, young Dolor, you needn’t fret, for I, being the paragon of generosity that I am, healed the harm that I *allegedly* had caused you,” stated Petros matter-of-factly. “Secondly, most of my guests do not show up in my office, on the day of the Anniversary when government dogs are out in full force policing every single nook and cranny of the city, wearing blood-stained clothes carrying a first-class specialized magicarm which they proceed to use on me,” Petros now made a full turn around the table and was now standing in front of Dolor’s feet. “And thirdly, if my 'guests' owe me money, in that case, yes, I do indeed greet all such guests by smashing hot tea into their faces, sometimes I just kill them on the spot with a bolt spell, to keep it interesting, so if anything, you got off easy. And what do you do to repay me for my generosity? You spit onto my hospitality by using a god-knows-what kind of magic dagger that flies around and tries to chop people up,” Petros made a half circle around the table and was now standing to the right side of Dolor’s head. “Now tell me, young Dolor, how did you come upon such a rare little trinket? If I like your story, I might just grant you an extension on your tab, and only add a measly twenty-five percent to your interest payments.”