Brewer King 33 (Patreon)

“I am Histoa! Explosive Mage of White Tower and the Barony of Sol Suvanis!” the Mage declared at the guards manning the entrance into White Tower.

The thick gates had been closed by the time they reached the city, and a dozen guards had set up a small camp outside of the walls. They all looked tired and worn, their armor dirty and their demeanor sliding toward sour.

San watched as they rolled their eyes and glanced at one another.

“You don’t look like a Mage,” one of the men said. “You some kind of hedge mage? A witch mage? Like those tree fuckers?” The gathered soldiers chuckled.

“Who is your commanding officer?” the Mage demanded. “I do not recognize you nor your insignia.”

“Look, kid. You don’t look like any kind of Mage I’ve seen. You look like something a woolly shit out after being dead for a week,” the leader of the men said. “Just set up camp down the way, two hundred paces from the wall, and come sunup you and your band of dirty fucks can come in.”

“I am Elgava Sonnis, of Ilagio’s 3rd Militia out of South Blackrock.”

“Ilagio Fomar? He’s put word out that one of his soldiers deserted in a fight not long ago,” another soldier said. “These Landed Komai cunts can’t keep their men from running at the first sight of danger.” The other soldiers laughed. “You, girl, don’t look like a solider. From where I’m standing you’d look better on your knees.”

“That’s enough,” San said, stepping forward.

“Oh, what’s this? Some big fucker with stolen armor?” the leader of the soldiers said. He looked San up and down. “Where the fuck are you coming from, foreigner?”

”Your mother’s bedroom, asshole,” San said.

There was a hiss of steel at those words. The soldier’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull as his face turned a fuming red in the torchlight.

“You’re gonna die for that, foreigner.”

“I’ve seen horror and death aplenty,” San said. He stepped back, Elgava, Bostarion, and the Mage moving along with him. “You are being rude and antagonistic for no reason. These are my companions and I will not stand for them to be mocked, not after what we’ve done for the Barony.”

“I don’t give two shits,” the soldier said. “I’m gonna carve you up slow, fucker.”

“Halt!” a voice boomed from the walls. All eyes turned upward to see a face silhouetted by torchlight. It was a familiar face. Havatair.

“Oh, fuck,” one of the soldiers muttered.

The thick gates creaked as they began to open. San kept his hand on his sword and Bostarion lowered his crossbow. They all waited as the dozen soldiers glared at them, but didn’t move.

Havatair strode through the gates, followed by half a dozen armed and armored soldiers. San had forgotten how big the man was, even without his armor he was still massive. His wide face split into a grin when he saw the Mage.

“Histoa!” he cried, opening his arms. “Senta watches over you. Ilagio claimed you were dead, along with your companions.”

The big man pulled the thin Mage into a bear hug. The Mage struggled, but could not pull himself from his grip.

“Hetvana’s cunt, son, you’re thinner than a rail and reek like these fucking mercenaries assholes.” The big man gave a look of disgust to the men standing by the gates.

“Mercenaries?” the Mage asked.

“Aye, the Young Baron returned with more men than he took. The message of the battos arrived and he made the decision to bring a large force upon it. We are still gathering and preparing to burn that fucking queen out.”

“There is no need,” the Mage said. “We have destroyed the queen and the nest.”

Havatair’s eyebrows rose high and he let out a bark of laughter. The Mage frowned at the laugh as Havatair looked at each of them, seeing if they were joking.

“Truly?” the man asked.

“Yes,” the Mage responded. ‘The Birthing Mother is dead. Along with some evil white furred monsters that were infesting an Old Kingdom fortress.”

Havatair laughed again, but not one of mocking or disbelief. This one was from his gut and it was one of excitement and joy. “The Young Baron will want to see you. Come.”

“These men were rude to me and my companions,” the Mage stated, tilting his head toward the mercenaries. “They threatened to carve up my friend, San the Foreigner.”

Havatair’s expression moved from joy to stony silence as he took in the mercenaries. “This is a Mage of Sol Suvanis,” he barked. “All respect and honor is to be given to him. Understood!”

The mercenaries wilted under the man’s gaze.

“Yes, sir,” they murmured.

“What?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Pardon me, sir,” San said. “I wish to know where to find Pavano and the Exonaris family.”

“Who?”

“Old guy who won’t shut up and a woman and some kids,” Bostarion clarified.

“Ah, them,” the big man shrugged. “Who knows. They came with us from their wrecked komai and I haven’t seen nor cared to find out what happened to them.”

San shared a look with Bostarion and the old man nodded.

“We shall be on our way, then,” San said. “We hope to find our friends safe.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the big man said. “I said the Young Baron will want to see you. Until the Young Baron relinquishes you, then you shall come.”

“I-“

“San,” the Mage said. “Please.”

San looked at the Mage, at Elgava, and then at Bostarion. There was resignation in their eyes. This was something they would not fight.

“Okay,” San said.

“Look at you two,” the big man grinned. “Fast friends and companions now aren’t you?” he laughed and began walking into the city, they followed, and the half dozen Guards trailed them.

It was San’s first time in a medieval city. He was expecting foul smells and ill maintained streets, but was surprised to find men and women moving along the streets, sweeping the cobblestones and removing refuse. They worked by dim paper lantern, the light barely enough for them to see by.

“The Filth,” Havatair said, noticing San’s gaze.

“The Filth?”

“Those that Senta has deemed worthless. Their are tainted and will not be blessed with knowing Senta’s true light.”

“What does that even mean?” San asked.

“They live in the sewers and clean the place. It’s the punishment for their sins,” Elgava clarified.

“What sins?”

“Of being born Filth,” she said.

One of the figures turned their heads to follow the group. San saw the twisted visage in the dim light. A face that was pocked, lumpy, and with a singular dark eye peering out from the mass of flesh. He saw the twisted arm that held a broom and the hunched back that caused the person to move in slow hobbled movements.

“They’re deformed,” San said.

“They are Filth. Senta and Koza cursed them to live in suffering,” Bostarion said.

San stopped and watched as the figure returned to the work they were doing. Cleaning up after the ‘normal’ people. He felt a flash of rage at that. What kind of reasoning was that? Filth?

“This is wrong,” San said. “They are people, just like you and I.”

“Woolly shit,” Havatair said, his expression souring. “They’re Filth and they’ll live and die as such. Senta has cursed them, Hetvana has disowned them, and Kazo has forged them in this way to punish them for the sins of their past lives.”

“It was not long ago that commoners were considered no higher than Filth,” a voice said. A woman wearing a long yellow and white robe appeared from a side street. A tall thin man with half of his face scarred stood by her, carrying a lantern.

“Madam Densa,” Havatair said, nodding his head to the woman. “I did not see you there.”

“Would you have softened your words if you had?” the woman asked. She held her head high, staring down the big man. “Softening words of hate would not sway my own thoughts on you, Havatair. You have already shown me who you are and what you believe. Do not demean yourself by pretending that I cannot see the truth written in your soul.”

The big man didn’t say anything, instead he just glared at the woman.

“You keep fine company, Havatair,” the woman said, turning to San and the group. “It is good to see you, Mage Histoa. I heard you were dead. I prayed to Senta that Landed Fomar was mistaken. I am glad you have returned to us.” She looked him up and down and smiled. “You have also grown stronger in your journey, that is wonderful news. The world grows dark and the Barony needs all of its Mages.”

“My lady,” the Mage said, bowing slightly. “I humbles me that you know who I am.”

“Ah, it seems you were not the only one to grow stronger,” the woman smiled at Elgava. The soldier blushed as the woman looked her up and down. “Levels, the journey you were on must have been a dangerous one indeed. The Cults are always looking for strong warriors to defend the faith against monsters.”

“Densa,” Bostarion said, nodding at her. The woman’s smile faltered just a little bit.

“Bostarion, you still live. A shame,” she said. Havatair let out a bark of laughter.

“The gods haven’t decided when I’m gonna die yet,” the ranger said. “Maybe I’ll outlive even them.”

“Blasphemy,” the woman chided, but there was no heat in her voice. “You will die like all men.”

“Drunk and atop a woman?” Bostarion asked.

“You tread dangerously, old man,” Havatair said.

“Always headed to a fight, no matter how much you complain,” the woman said, clasping Bostarion’s calloused hands. “Senta sees your deeds, old friend. She will welcome you when your work is done.”

Bostarion jerked away and said nothing, but San saw something in his eyes, like fear or worry.

“And finally you,” Densa stepped before San. “A foreigner who sees the humanity behind the horror.” She stepped into his personal space and peered into his eyes. “When you see one thing everyday all your life, you begin to believe that is how it should be. What say you, foreigner?”

“It’s a matter of perspective. People aren’t inherently evil or cursed. There is no original sin. People are people and they should be judged on what they do, not how they came into this world.”

“Aptly put, foreigner,” the woman said. She bowed before him. “I am Densa, High Healer of Senta and the Barony of Sol Suvanis. I am also the caretaker of these that the people of White Tower call Filth.” She twisted her mouth at the words, seemingly finding them distasteful. “So many see the maladies of bad birth, sickness, and injury to mean that Senta and Koza look upon them unfavorably. Anything that is ‘strange’ or ‘unnatural’ is deemed ungodly and punishment for crimes that no one knows of.”

“This nonsense,” Havatair muttered. “Foolish woman, they’re cursed.”

“It is easy for those that are big, strong, and with levels to say that,” Densa said. “Those that have been graced with a life that has not seen their limbs shattered and cannot obtain gems to heal themselves of mortal wounds, they are the first to cry out how those below them should only work harder and be better. That their suffering is the gods’ will.”

“We are off to see the Young Baron,” Havatair said. “We do not have the time to talk about this nonsense.”

“Then I shall travel with you. For the Young Baron is one who does not see these people as true people. A part of his upbringing that I had hoped to help sway. For these people are his people as any craftsman or solider who lives in this city.”

Havatair let out an annoyed groan.

“You help them?” San asked.

“They help themselves. I only offer them what little I can do. I heal their wounds, I try to reset old broken bones, fix the wounds that were badly healed.”

“We have real people that need that kind of healing,” Havatair snapped.

“All souls were forged by Kazo and blessed by Senta,” Densa said. “Until the day they come to us and tell us that these poor people are cursed, then I shall treat them as ‘real’ people too, Havatair.”

“How many are there?” San asked.

“Hundreds. The Baron refuses to allow them on the streets in the day. He demands they clean the streets and do the work no ‘real’ person wants to do. Removing shit and cleaning piss, being abused by the public, being raped and killed without consequences.”

“Sweet Senta,” Havatair muttered. “Will you shut up?”

“Havatair and the other Leveled all want to see the world as this great struggle against the darkness, but they refuse to see that same darkness in the very place they call home. It is the plight of man that we call one thing evil and yet call another the will of the gods. All should be judged on the merit of what it is and how it effects the living.”

“I agree,” San said. Havatair muttered something, it was joined by Elgava and Bostarion.

“There are, sadly, few who agree with that sentiment. The gods are the gods and by applying the belief that only bad things happen to bad people, distorts their teachings. We know injustices fill the world, we know that the ‘bad’ people still gain wealth and power. The Last Emperor’s son is one such figure. For all the death and destruction he has caused, no god has struck him down, no ill will has befallen him.”

“He lost the Red Gates battle last year,” Havatair said.

“People such as Havatair see that as the gods’ will too. Not tactics or planning or generalship, but the gods granting favors in wars and battles.”

“What do you know of war, woman?” Havatair hissed.

“I have seen more battles, been in more wars, and seen the price paid by those who were not born into wealth and lucky enough to gain levels,” Densa said. The chill of her words ran down San’s spine. They all stopped talking, instead walking down stone corridors and passing Guards patrolling the grounds.

San realized they had left the dark streets and now were walking among thicker and stouter stone buildings. The light of the dark streets had brightening and tall lamps glowed. He could see light spilling out of small windows, with actual glass. The sounds of people laughing, cheering, and talking wafted out of the open doors of what looked to be alehouse and restaurants.

“Sweet Senta, I’m hungry,” Elgava muttered. “I’d give anything for a barrel of wine and a pot of pickled tarrowfin.”

“What’s tarrowfin?” San asked.

“A fish, a local delicacy,” Densa replied. “It is pickled and added to the fermented dish, sovassa.” It took San a moment to figure out the sovassa was the kimchi they made. He had never actually heard its name before.

“It’s heavenly,” Elgava said.

“I like the kimchi… uh.. sovassa,” San said. “There was a dish similar in my homeland.”

“I am glad that Sol Suvanis can offer some familiarity to a traveller like you,” Densa said.

San took in the sights of what he suspected was the upper class part of the city. The streets were well cobblestoned, clean, and well lit. The alehouses and restaurants weren’t packed, but light spilled out of them and so did music. San nearly stopped at the sound. It had been weeks since he had heard live music.

“It’d take me a month’s pay just to buy a drink there,” Elgava said.

“Like they’d let your low born ass in there in the first place,” Bostarion said.

“Sars are sars and my family are Landed,” Elgava replied.

“And the stench of low Landed komai reeks fouler than woolly shit,” the ranger said. “Best not wallow in that hell, lass. The rich are far crueler and vicious than the battos we fought.”

“What do you think, foreigner?” the woman asked San.

“Wealth and power reveals who you are,” San said. “The things you do with that wealth and power says everything about the kind of person you are.”

“Indeed,” the woman said as Havatair snorted.

They continued onward, the street began to slope slightly upward as they reached a series of high walls manned by more Guards. San looked to see a large red and white banner hanging from the walls. It showed a stylized man on a horse holding a sword aloft. Fire burned in the background and framed the rider.

“The Young Baron awaits,” a man called out. He was tall and thin, wearing a tight red and white robe. He looked at Densa and her tall companion that carried the lantern. “Filth are not to set foot upon holy ground.”

“Am I being turned away?” Densa asked.

“That thing beside you is, my lady.”

“Then I bid you goodnight, new companions. Sanjay, we should talk more,” she said before turning and walking away.

San watched her as she walked along. He had never told her his name. 

*** 

San walked along with his companions within the keep of the Baron. The white tower that gave the city its name was an ancient structure that had been built by the Old Kingdom. One of their great achievements to praise their gods. The Empire had turned it into a sort of lighthouse, a burning light that would burn all night to represent Senta’s light.

With his experiences in the Cursed City and the Old Kingdom fortress, San was expecting grey stone and guttering torches, instead he was surprised by the brightly painted plastered walls. Dark wood inlays and framed paintings decorated the walls and they were lit by oil lamps with mirrored backing and housed in glass lanterns.

The floors were well worn stone, in the less travelled areas they were covered in thick colorful rugs. Havatair led them through a series of corridors and halls, passing by red and white uniformed men and women rushing about to clean, fix, or do the other myriad of chores needed to keep such a place running.

They came to a large pair of doors with a solider standing guard. The man opened the door as they approached and San and the others walked into large dining room. A massive fire was burning in a fireplace on one wall and the wall opposite of it was covered in a wall of glass, overlooking the city of White Tower.

San peered at the glass, wondering how much something like that would cost. It seemed extraordinarily expensive, seeing as he hadn’t seen much glass being used before arriving to White Tower.

“Havatair, Captain of the Guards. Histoa, Explosive Mage of Sol Suvannis,” the man who had led them there announced. “And companions.”

“We bring news of the batto swarm, m’lord!” Havatair announced.

San peered beyond Havatair and saw a large wooden table stacked with food and wine. At the head sat two men and a boy, nearly Azios’ age. The two men were older, white haired, one was overweight while the other was rail thin. They sat at either side of the young boy, who was at the thad of the table.

The Young Baron, San guessed.

The boy waved a hand in annoyance and continued eating.

“The Baron of Sol Suvannis, Vasona Sol Suvannis, will hear your report,” the man announced stepping aside.

“M’lord,” Havatair said, stepping forward. “We bring news of the batto swarm has been defeated. The Birthing Mother has been killed and the nest wastes away.”

The boy looked up from his meal and glanced to the two men at his sides. Aides? Advisors?

“Explain,” the overweight man said. He picked up a goblet and began drinking from it.

The Mage stepped forward and bowed at the gathered men. “M’lord,” the Mage began and told them the tales of their adventures and week spent traveling from the battos caverns and back to White Tower.

San stood there with the others, his travel clothing was meant to keep him warm in the outdoor weather and with the heat of the room he began sweating. The story was dragged out as the overweight man kept interrupting with questions and wanted parts clarified. The Young Baron didn’t seem interested, instead he was stuffing his face and looking bored. The thin man seemed equally disinterested.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” Elgava muttered. Bostarion grunted in response.

“And then we arrived to the mercenaries, m’lord,” the Mage finished.

“Get rid of the mercenaries then,” the Young Baron said. “They’re costing a lot to just drinking, get in fights, and steal from our true citizens.”

“M’lord, we have signed a month long contract with Alvo Din Sovin,” the thin man replied. .

“When we thought that we were fighting battos,” the boy said. “Get rid of them. Only the Suvanna deals with trash like mercenaries. True Barons can always count on their citizens.”

“I assume there were gems taken from the creatures you defeated?” the overweight man asked. The Mage immediately pulled a small bag from his robes and handed them to Havatair. The big man peered into the bag, whistled and handed it off to the overweight man.

“Shall I gain a level?” the boy asked. “Father says that I can gain a level every year.”

“Aye, m’lord,” the overweight man said. “We must hear from your father first.”

The boy grumbled and looked sour as he turned his attention to San and the others. “That woman is leveled, is she one of ours? That other one is a foreigner, what is he doing here?”

“Guess I’m invisible,” Bostarion muttered.

“I am Elgava Sonnis, m’lord, out of South Blackrock,” Elgava gave a bow.

“A soldier, then,” the boy said. He peered at her. “You gained a level in this fight against the battos, yes? You shall be moved to the Guards then. The Barony welcomes another soldier to their ranks.”

“M’lord,” the Mage stepped up. “Sonnis did not gain her level through Death Leveling, m’lord. She was given gems by her companion, San the Foreigner.”

“Given?” the overweight man asked. He finally looked at San and frowned. “Where did you get the gems for leveling, foreigner?”

“I came from the Forest Tribes’ lands,” San said. “I fought Rippers there and kept enough gems to provide me with a level in case I was ever injured.”

“Level healing?” the boy snorted.

“You gave this girl your gems?” the overweight man snorted also. “Are you a fool?”

“She was dying. I had the gems,” San replied.

“She is still apart of the Suvanis levy,” the boy said. “She will be turned over to the Guards.”

“Pardon, m’lord,” the Mage said. “By the laws set down by your father, those that Level without taking from the Barony are to be allowed to leave the service of the Barony and sign up as an Adventurer.”

“She wishes to be an Adventurer and not serve the Barony? We are at war, man,” the overweight man said.

“It is the law, m’lord,” the Mage said.

“Girl. Do you wish to sign up with the Corvanus Cult and become an Adventurer?” the thin man asked.

Elgava hesitated for a moment. “Yes, m’lord,” she finally said.

“So be it,” the thin man said.

The overweight man rolled his eyes while the boy frowned. “She is our citizen. Why does she wish to forego the honor of serving in the Guards and protecting the Barony?”

“The Barony needs Adventurers just as it needs Guards, m’lord,” Havatair said. “There are few that willingly go out into the world to fight the void horrors.”

The boy gave a dismissive look at the words. “We could send the army and destroy all the creatures that plague the North, along with the tree fuckers.”

“One war at a time, m’lord,” the thin man replied.

“Begone,” the Young Baron snapped. “I wish to dine in peace and without the stench of these people.”

Havatair bowed to the Young Baron and jerked his head at San and the others for them to leave. They exited the dining hall and Havatair grinned at them.

“That went well,” he said. “Off with you, then.”

“San and I were told we would be paid for our service,” Bostarion said. “There is also the bounty for killing the queen, bringing back her gems, and destroying the batto swarm. Along with that fucker Ilagio blowing the cave while we were in it and then saying we died.”

“Yes, we need to kill Ilagio,” Elgava said.

“Easy, there.” Havatair gestured them to follow him. They entered another large room, this one lit by dim lanterns and chilly without a fire.

“You will all be paid the reward for killing the batto Birthing Mother,” Havatair said, sitting on the edge of a table. “The foreigner and ranger will be paid for their services as auxiliaries. Girl, I will have your papers of release from the levy, you shall have to sign up with the Corvanus Cult on Midwinter’s Reprieve. The representatives of the Cults will be here soon and it will be a good move to have the Corvanus Cult induct more members.

“I will deal with Ilagio Fomar.” Havatair crossed his massive arms, stretching the fabric of his robes. “That skinny fucker has lied to me for the last fucking time.”

Bostarion and Elgava grumbled but nodded. “So be it,” the ranger said. “We shall await news of his skinning and hanging.”

Havatair laughed. “Landed get it easy, Bostarion.”

“Aye.”

“Off with you all then. My dinner was interrupted by your arrival and I’ve just been given a headache to deal with. We had been planning to move our army out to the batto swarm to destroy it, now we must call it off and that’s going to take a lot of sars and harsh words.” The big man sighed. “At least Histoa is back and can handle most of that.”

The Mage nodded. “I shall have to rest and eat, first,” he said. “Then I shall do my duty.”

“That’s a good man,” Havatair slapped him on the shoulder,

“We need to find our companions,” San said. “Pavano and the Exonaris family.”

Havatair shrugged. “Ask around at the inns and whatnot. They arrived, they were given coin, and then we sent them off.”

San glanced at the ranger. “Know where Pavano would be?”

“If he’s got sars, alehouses or whorehouses,” he said.

“I suppose you’ll need armed company,” Elgava grinned.

“Thank you, Histoa,” San said, shaking the Mage’s hand. The man looked surprised at the gesture. “You’ve been a fine companion and I’m glad you were there to have my back.”

“Aye, lad,” Bostarion said. “Good to have a Mage on our side.”

“What they said,” Elgava grinned at the Mage. “You move around too much when you sleep, though.”

San and the others laughed as they left the room and went to seek their friends.