A few seconds later Damon heard footsteps and had to fight the urge to look. Just like with the police. The best plan was to seem completely oblivious to their presence, even if you’re a saint who just saved a child from the jaws of death.
Anyhow, this person had to be a dark mage. But since at the fifth level you gained a spell which made footsteps inaudible, she probably wasn’t the biggest threat. However, her metal plated armour didn’t make a noise, indicating it had a high-level enchantment.
#
Damon, now an old and decrepit man, found a bar and asked for some ale. The bar tender, in a dark brown tunic, brought him a mug and Damon traded a silver coin for some bronze coins. He’d only learned of these coins in his recent travels to the dukedom. The boy, with whom he travelled once pulled out a cloth pouch filled with little bronze coins to buy some bread from a travelling peddler.
In short, Damon had been profiteered from on his earlier travels. Apparently, bronze coins were made for the lower class and could only be used to buy cheap ale, hard bread, and worn-out clothes. The coins were largely made by and for each individual city and her surrounding villages. As such the lack of standardization caused massive problems when people travelled.
If Damon wished to become a great king, this would be the first thing he’d change. However, that wasn’t his problem. And in all honesty, if the people remained poor, the education remained low, and the crime rates remained high. It would only help his endeavours.
The bartender handed Damon eight bronze coins, “I haven’t seen you around here,” he said.
“No…” Damon acted like a drunk, “I, I … something not so good happened so I’m wandering a bit.”
The bartender nodded in understanding, “Well shit happens, as long as ya live it’s all good.” While the bartender spoke, he continued to look to the door for new customers.
“Fuck no!” Damon slammed his mug on the table and acted the part, “It ain’t dandy, and it ain’t going to go away.”
The man broke eye contact with the door behind Damon and asked, “What is it then?” he started to pour beer into a mug. No doubt someone had entered the bar.
“People screw me over and abuse me because of, well look at me.” Damon ruffled his thinning hair and drew attention to the folds on his skin. “They screw me over, and I don’t have the strength to do jack shit.” Damon took a swig of his beer. It wasn’t bitter at all, it tasted like water. “I’m a weak piece of shit, who doesn’t get what he deserves, and I keep getting beat down by the bigger fish. I can’t do jack shit other than wait till they turn around to stab’em in the neck. However, that doesn’t remove the pain in my leg, or teeth.” Damon finished his beer. The bar tender took it and filled it up again.
“Well, like you said, that ain’t dandy, and it ain’t going to go away unless you pull out the teeth. All you can do in life is to fill it with people who aren’t assholes. But looking at you that’s going to be tough, eh?” The bartender laughed and walked away to serve another customer.
Seems like bartenders are assholes in this world too. Well, this motherfucker isn’t getting any tips.
When Damon finished his drink, the bartender filled it up again. “Thanks, fucker,” said Damon. For some reason Damon finished the other beers just as fast. Well, this glorified water wouldn’t get him drunk.
“Hey, pass me more,” yelled Damon getting into character.
The bartender looked over, “You ain’t got no coins left.”
Damon looked down. The bartender had placed the copper coins next to him; however, it seemed that he also took them as he drank. This guy was no joke. He’d forgotten that in this world the old were the most powerful. Damon, impressed, but also somewhat jealous scowled and left. He had a hunch that the man was a dark magic user and although he might not be related to the woman that tried to get him earlier, he didn’t want to take any risks. Especially with alcohol in his blood.
Damon decided to do as he said earlier and started barhopping. This led him to think about the days he spent in the duke’s estate and eventually about what he said to try to convince Fergulio to practise black magic. The special word here being tried too. He realized that what he said couldn’t even convince an idiot, he’d have to rely on more practical arguments. Grand principles and morals only worked to reinforce and justify what people wanted, not to give them a want. Morals and ideologies were the justification, not the means, nor the why’s. And right now, Fergulio didn’t want, nor need black magic other than to please his father.
Damon had no clue what the kid wanted, dreamed about, or wished for. That’s when it came to him. The curses and dark spirits he had access to. There was one to influence the dreams of others. And although one curse or dark spirit wouldn’t convince the kid of anything. Curses and dark spirits were more powerful when accumulated so high they overwhelmed an individual.
The grief of losing one’s father, the desire to become rich, the ambition to become king, the regret of one’s wasted childhood, the hate one feels when ignored by everyone, and the jealousy towards those who are said to be inferior to you yet live a happier, richer life. All of this could most definitely push someone to sell their souls.
Anyhow, for now he’d need to get to know his student better before tempting him. But before even that, Damon had more drinking to do. Soon enough he found another tavern in a small wooden shack hidden behind two large medieval apartment buildings.
#
When Damon ordered another beer, an old man approached him. It seemed that there weren’t many of them, but they did tend to stick together and speak without reservation to each other. The life expectancy of the common man shouldn’t be too high. It probably led to some sort of camaraderie between them. Again, this led him to think about his methodology. To convince others it would probably be better to become a part of their group. Although elves had prestige and drew a sense of aw. They weren’t your family, they weren’t your neighbours, nor a fellow servant of thy noble lord. And although this strategy would be hard to pull off on Fergulio since Damon needed to be with him as an elf. It would be a good tool for when Damon started building his religion. And on that subject, perhaps he should start building a sect first. It would make for good practice.
“Did you see the procession of the duke’s daughter?” said the old man, bringing Damon back into the physical plane of existence.
Damon shook his head. “I was too busy.” He remembered what Stolas said about the girl who sided with another sect. She probably came running under their orders. “She finished her training period? How many troops were with her?” asked Damon, intent on sizing up a potential enemy.
“Oh, I’d gander about fifty, but well trained. The lizards were some of the largest I’ve seen too. Brings me back to the days the duke left to subjugate the Girona Hordes.”
Now Damon had never heard of this. “Oh, I heard about that, but back then I worked in a village near the capital. What was it like back then?” Perhaps he was being a bit too cautious when it came to asking questions. After all the guy in front of him wasn’t sober, and the person he was currently playing as would disappear tomorrow. He could change his appearance in all kinds of ways, so he wasn’t limited.
“Near the capital? How did you become a free citizen?” The man took a sip of his ale instead of chugging down a pint. No doubt greatly interested in Damon’s story.
“I’ll tell you after you tell me bout the hordes.”
“Sure, well, it ain’t a pretty story. As you know, we lost the passage to the entrance of the Girona plains. But we aren’t doing worse for wear nowadays. Anyhow, on that day when the duke set out. He had an army of two hundred knights on the finest lizard mounts covered in iron armour, and at least a thousand men-at-arms in the most well-fitted leather. At the time I almost ran over to the duke and begged to join. Did you know…”
The old man continued to go on about his life, but Damon had got the important info. The reason why the duke of Carline wasn’t being fought over was due to that loss to the horde. That can also partially explain why he resorted to black magic of all things.
Well, I’ll have more time to figure things out, for now I gotta ask about Fergulio’s brothers.
“What about her brothers, aren’t they coming anytime soon?” Asked, Damon.
“I don’t know?” answered the old man. “Well, the older kid… I mean heir.” He was probably getting tired. Old age was no joke. “Probably with the King or some. I don’t know, and the second son is also a sucker for him. He follows the heir around like a retainer.”
“Of course, I know that” I said in case some hidden agent began to suspect me of spying. I took another swig of beer. “But, why ain’t the girl,” perhaps I too had drunk too much, these kinds of words could easily get my head chopped off. “Why doesn’t the lady come back with her brothers?”
“Ahh…” the man’s head started to droop. “I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t wait to see the heir’s procession. They’ll probably have a hundred lizards. You know, I always wanted to be part of the military…”
Damon had heard enough of his life. As such, he excused himself, saying he needed to piss and left the tavern. Damon found a small inn, paid a small silver, and went to sleep. That’s when he realized he should have bought some sort of radar to alert him to any intruders; however, he didn’t know if such things existed. Perhaps on the elvish continent. He fell asleep still in the body of an old cripple.
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Good looks like he is wizening up
It's slow, but it's happening.
Again, thnx for reading and commenting on the chapters. It keeps me wanting to write.
@Swartze The novel is good and you respond so we want to comment some authors don't respond so we feel like it's a waste to comment