Marcus sat down on the nearest bed. Around the room a handful of others were laid out just like it. The wood was rough, clearly simply cut to shape and left with 'splinters to be' intact. The mattress was no better, to call it lumpy would be generous. It was little more than a long fabric cotton sack with lots of straw thrown in haphazardly and as he thought about it, 'It likely hasn't been changed recently. There's a pleasant thought for you.' His fine armor and equipment drew ample attention from the more crudely armed and armored adventurers.
The orc among them shrugged it off, took an instrument from off his back, leaned himself against the wall, and started to play a lively drinking song Marcus recognized from home.
The attention that Marcus was getting from the other four in the room seemed decidedly 'irked' even hostile, but when the music began, Marcus ignored them, lay back on his bed, and sang to it.
"I bang'on the door but you won't let me in, cause you're sick and tired of me reek'in of gin… locked all the doors from the front to the back, and left me a note tell'in me I should pack. So I head'on out to the tavern right near, an order my buddies they buy me some whiskey and beer! You nag me all day bout writ'in this poem, but when you kick me out, my tavern's my home!"
He kept the song lively and crossed one leg over his knee and bobbed a booted foot to the music. Against their evident wish to dislike him, he felt the shift in attitude toward him as they began to sing along. 'Can't be mad over a drinking song, it's against life's rules!' He snickered as he remembered what his father said to him, and the mood turned all the way into the ending of the song.
When the last note echoed, Marcus waved at them, "Name's Marcus." He said politely as he took a closer look at them. A dark elf woman, wood elf woman, a human male, and the male orc who played music waved back to him from where they remained at ease on their own bunks.
"You're new." The dark elf said from where she sat, and taking out her knife and a whetstone, she began to sharpen it idly.
"Well yes, that's kind of what it means to have just gotten here idn'it?" Marcus smiled mockingly and turned it into a bit of a smirk while still bouncing one foot up and down as if the music were still going.
They did double takes, and stared blankly at the gray flush on the dark elf woman's face. "Funny! Very funny." She replied sarcastically. "You're a lively rich brat aint'cha?" she asked him rhetorically.
"Well I'm not undead. If that's what you mean." He turned to her and pointed to his eyes. "See."
"Yeah… those are some… interesting eyes." She said as she felt a chill of absolute terror run through her body, briefly killing her amicable spirit before he went back to looking up at the ceiling.
"What brings you to the colonies?" The orc at the bed asked as he started to work on his instrument. "Stayin here means you're a copper plate, maybe iron plate at best. But that's some fancy equipment you've got for that."
"Yeah, I'm a rich kid, far eastern part of the Empire, this is as far west as I could go, so here I am. Not like I'm running from my family or anything… it's just… I want to see who I can be on my own. My father got everything basically handed to him, my mother… kind of mostly like that too. But I grew up hearing stories about the first great ones of the family legacy. How they came up from almost nothing. I don't want to just be handed things I don't deserve."
"Except for the equipment, obviously." The human chuckled a little sarcastically and reached out to take his bow in hand and began to oil it. His bow was clearly of simple but reasonable quality make.
Marcus shrugged, "That was more or less insisted on. I mean if the only head start I have is good gear, it's still 'me' who has to do the work, you know?"
"How about years of training?" The wood elf woman uttered, and Marcus sheepishly stroked the horn at the side of his head.
"OK, yes, you're right I've been taught to fight for my whole life. But I can't 'forget' that and all, you know. And again, I've still got to be the one to do the work. OK it's an advantage, but what can I say? I still want to earn things, something wrong with that?" Marcus frowned without looking over at them.
"No, guess not…" The dark elf woman said and tapped the leather that made up her armor and didn't look at him when she spoke. "So what's your class?"
'Shit!' Marcus swore, 'I've… damnit I'm horrible at this… what did I say my class was?! I'm a Black Paladin… ah, no, no I had to change that story. Oh, Right!' He almost thrust his hand up from the bed in triumph as he remembered his lie. "I'm a knight class, fairly basic, nothing really special. I'm good with a sword and decent with a bow. But where I really shine is this." He held up a fist. "I tried all the other stuff, but there's something just so damned 'honest' about a good meaty fist to the face. Should have gone for brawling but…" He shrugged. "Family legacy is swords and bows."
"So… you were taught in the temple's hybrid style of combat?" The orc asked from the corner bed while he reached into a pack at the side of his bed and took out a piece of dried meat to snack on.
'Shit, shit, should I have revealed that?! No, it's fine. Lots of people learn that way, he wasn't suspicious.' Marcus reassured himself and nodded. "Yes, good instructors too. I'm pretty good, if you're wondering. I'm guessing you're a bard?"
"Good guess." The orc answered, "I'm also in charge, I keep us strong, our enemies weaker, and I can also fight pretty well up close with a dagger or a short sword, but if I have to… it means they," he waved his hand to the others, "screwed up."
The other three blushed a bit, 'I guess they've screwed up before.' Marcus thought to himself.
"So that would make you…" He gestured to the leather clad dark elf woman, "the ranger," he gestured to the wood elf woman in similar clothing but who had a tool kit sitting on her bed, "the thief, and I guess you," he gestured to the lone human with the iron armor, "the fighter?"
Grunts confirmed it.
"You got names or am I just going to call you by your job classes?" Marcus asked rhetorically.
That earned him some scowls. "What? Did I say something wrong?" Marcus looked at them intently. His eyes ripped into their souls and threatened to consume them.
It was their shudders that told him he was staring. He looked away.
The dark elf woman spoke for them, and looked to his face as she did so, though he could see that she was having to force herself to do so. "We're from the orphanage system in the Empire's oldest provinces. We grew up together in Re-Estize, when we took the adventurer education path, we took new names, our classes 'are' our names now. Fighter. Thief. Bard. Ranger."
"Oh… See now I feel like an ass. I didn't know, I'm sorry. But, don't most teams have some magic support?" Marcus asked rhetorically, knowing full well they did.
"We 'had' magic support." Bard replied caustically. "Mage died two months ago." Their eyes went down to the floor.
"Oh! I'm sorry! Really, I-I didn't know." Marcus mumbled and reached into a pouch to withdraw a few silvers. "I'm… I'm not one of those asshole nobles who thinks money fixes everything. But, look, let me at least make sure you can drink in her honor. It's the least I can do to apologize for my stupid and unthinking comment." He took two silvers out of his pocket and standing up, he approached Thief and held out the coins to her.
She looked up, Marcus towered over her, she could feel the raw strength coming off of his hybrid body, the faint purple skin of his fingers did nothing to hide the calluses on his thick, meaty hands. She didn't meet his eyes, but stopped her face at his chest, and took the money as it was laid with care into her hand.
"It's OK, you didn't know… Mage died protecting us when the merchant wagon we were escorting was ambushed. They were too many, our merchant survived, so it was a success by his thinking, but Mage didn't make it, the bandits overwhelmed us. She stayed behind and held them off to buy us time to escape."
"Again… I'm really sorry." Marcus said, and reached out to touch her shoulder, "It's a dangerous world, I know that. I should have thought better than to say something so stupid…" He removed his hand a moment later and returned to the empty bed he'd claimed as his own.
"You didn't mean any harm." Bard replied glumly.
Marcus sighed as he sat back down and shook his head. "No, but that doesn't make it better. Listen, this may come out of nowhere, but it looks to me like you're a little light on the heavy support. Why don't you let me join you for the next job, eh? I won't ask for more of the reward than the rest of you, and if nothing else, you've got a good extra meat shield."
The four traded looks, "We were actually hoping for a magic caster…" Ranger replied, but was interrupted in mid-sentence.
"But we probably won't find one anytime soon and we can't just sit around until we do." Fighter said bluntly. "Fine, besides, it'll make it easier for us to get a decent job if we show off his equipment." Fighter gestured to Marcus's obviously expensive gear.
Marcus scratched the left horn. "Well, it's not exactly valuing 'me' but hey, it's a start. You don't have to stick with me, or the other way around, for more than a job."
"Fine by me." Bard replied with a shrug, "As long as you don't expect special treatment as a rich brat, you do the same thing we do. Eat what we eat, work how we work, don't skip or laze about. Lord of the manor is the game you can play that way." He jerked his thumb east, "Not here. Got me?"
"Yes, of course." Marcus answered without hesitation and a sharp, eager nod. 'Ah ha! A team! It's a start!" He crowed to himself. 'I didn't even need to use my name to get people to work with me!'
"Alright… welcome to 'The Adventurers'." Bard replied again with a bit of a smirk, "And yes, we keep things simple. Fancy names are for fancy people, we're not that."
"Fair enough, all that really matters is that you win, fancy names aren't much good when you've got a sword in your guts." Marcus responded with a dismissive shrug. "So I guess today… what, nothing?"
"Right, nothing. Yesterday was rough, we're taking it easy today, normally we'd go help with the temple or something but… frankly we need some rest." Fighter answered and lay back down from his seated position.
"Great. Then if that's the case, I'm going to get some rest." Marcus responded and closed his eyes, drifting off into a quiet nap. Eventually he let out a light and slow snore.
The rest of the team glanced at one another.
"Those are the scariest eyes I've ever seen." Fighter said with a shudder.
"He's got the innocence of a dumb puppy… but the eyes of a monster." Thief added with a glance at the sleeping half human figure.
"Sexy though." Ranger added her thoughts with a brief lick of her lips.
Bard shrugged, "Slut it up later if you want to, I don't care, but we'd better put him to the test before we take him out into the field. He moves like a warrior, but I'd rather see it before I believe it."
Ranger pouted. "Hey, a girl's gotta get her fun when she can. And that's not only a lot of fun, but it's free!"
"So you're a cheap slut?" Thief laughed and winked at her dark elf teammate, who rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.
"Prudes. How you all became prudes growing up in the same environment I did, I will never know." Ranger chuckled good naturedly, "I'm going to have a beer downstairs and check in at the desk, I'll let Gran down there know we've added him to our roster while I'm at it."
Mumbled acknowledgement followed her out, as she left her team alone for the present.
xxxxxxx
Moaleh stood in front of the governor again. "Sir, I have this for you to sign." She placed the document on Mu'Crasi's desk, and he took it up to read.
A moment later, he sat it down. "He hasn't even been tried, and you want to sentence him to death?" The minotaur governor could't frown, but he huffed as his race did, and the way he sat the document down was ungentle at best.
Moaleh gave a sharp nod and leaned forward, placing her dark purple hands on the desk, spoke with seething urgency, her red eyes aglow with concern as she looked at her governor's deep brown eyes. "Sir, I do. He killed one of our people, first he was just a brawler, but now he's escalated to murder. This has to be handled firmly. We can sentence him to death, put his skeleton in clothing of his people, and let them see what happens to them if they violate our laws."
Mu'Crasi shook his ample head, "He hasn't even been tried, let alone convicted. We can't sentence him before the case even begins!"
"I'll have the trial held today! He'll be guilty by sunset, hanged by sundown, and his skeleton working on the project where he became a killer, by morning." Moaleh replied rapidly, "Sir, there are a 'lot' of Ongeku laborers, the olives can't think that they'll get away with killing us."
"We also can't have them thinking that they won't be treated fairly." Mu'Crasi replied sharply. "If we rush this it will look like we just wanted to hang one of them. Tensions are already running hot enough as it is. I won't fan the flames of it! We've got to calm things down, not make them worse, this will make it worse."
Moaleh took long, deep breaths. "Governor… this was 'murder'. There were dozens of witnesses, and even the dwarf Kenmet killed, managed to shout before his death that Kenmet was trying to kill him. There's absolutely no question that he's guilty, there is no reason to put things off."
Mu'Crasi huffed and scratched under his jaw, "Look, I'll sign the sentence of death. But… you hold onto that, and let the trial go forward as it normally does. No special push, no special measures. We'll put some extra guards in the streets, and take those other, what did you call them? 'Olives', yes, take those off their punishment detail as a gesture of good will."
Moaleh let her head hang in silence, "Sir, as you say, Governor."
She waited until he signed the death sentence and folded it up, and waited while it received his official seal, when he'd blown away the fragments of dried wax and she took it up again, she looked at him. "Sir, you know I think the world of you… I wouldn't have remained at your side as your secretary for the last five years if I didn't. But I truly believe you're being too gentle. The olives are aggressive people, give them an inch, they'll take everything, and the elven tribes that share the Ongeku name, those are no better. We either take a hard line, or they'll overrun it."
Mu'Crasi folded his hands together on the desk and answered sincerely, "Thank you, Moaleh. I wouldn't have kept you with me if I didn't value your counsel as much as I do. But for a demon-elf, you're a bit of a hot headed one, impatient, eager. It made you the perfect complement to me when I was a merchant. But we're not trying to turn a profit in coin now. We're trying to win the peace, that is our profit, the peace that will bring prosperity. A calmer head, a more gentle hand, that is what we need here. If we treat the Ongeku lords with respect, and their people fairly, we can keep the peace indefinitely. Please, at least try to see them differently. For my sake, if not for theirs."
"Sir… for you, I'll… I will try." Moaleh replied, and bowing once after she straightened up, she turned and left his office. 'I hope it doesn't rain today. That won't help my mood, not in the least.' She thought as she went down the stairs of the administrative building, her hand lightly tracing over the smooth wooden rail that exemplified the care and craftsmanship of the empire she took such pride in. The light colored wood matched the steps and wall, and the wooden floor was polished to the point where it shone, the windows outside would normally let light come through and made the floor almost like a light of its own.
But not this time. She glanced out the windows, and saw only gray through which a few stray beams of light pierced to reflect off the floor. She heard the rumbling outside just as she was reaching the door, and her long demon-elf ears twitched when she heard the first sounds of rain.
'Great. What else can go right?' She wondered as she opened the door, and stepped outside, tucking the sentence into her pocket and closing it up just before the first droplets hit the ground in front of her.