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Tales of the Implock - Chapter 032
🕑 Added 2021-10-31 23:42:50 +0000 UTC∼ A Fleeting Respite ∼
Guard's Crossing was a frequently visited place for many caravans traveling to the great city of Boreas through the Iron Road as it laid right in between. Therefore, the throng of people, stalls, and many tents outside the walls was no oddity. They were mostly just a conglomeration of caravans seeking refuge before taking on the last stretch of the journey as they could no longer rely on the safety that the Iron Road offered.
Amongst the refuge, walked Eric and Aria, a tired demon snoring away on her shoulder. The two youngsters were captivated by the many curious and outright weird sights. For Eric, it was the alien world he had never seen now suddenly laid bare before him. For Aria, it was her bottomless hunger of knowledge, a curiosity so ravenous it drove her onwards in a near-blind naivety.
It even had Eric step in multiple times, making sure some second-rate scammer didn't pull one over on her, which to be honest, baffled Eric that he even needed to as he was very well aware of Aria's intellect and breadth of knowledge. She was just such a strange individual.
But here in Guard's Crossing, there were people and cultures from all over Moravia, some from even the furthest reaches of Argon. It was just as Aria was all-too excitedly showing Eric a bauble of a wooden carving, depicting a strangely-shaped wolf, a voice bellowed from not far away.
"Eric - My lady!" It called but left nothing to wonder who it was.
It was surprisingly hard to locate the bear of man, but when they spotted the large man inside a tent just at their rear, Eric threw a coin to the merchant, paying for Aria's new wolf trinket. Ducking in under the low-hanging flap, they greeted Boram who lay splayed out on a leather cot that strained against his considerable weight.
By his side were one of his trusted aides, Mike.
"How you holding up, old man?" Eric smiled, chuckling as Boram grimaced at the old crone who tightened a freshly-wound bandage around the splint on his leg.
This was a healer's tent. Not a magical one, of course, but one that dappled in the medicinal arts. The owner looked to be the wizened woman that worked on Boram with practiced ease.
He already appeared to be many times better than when they had first arrived just yesterday. It spoke well about the old healer hunched over him, tending to his battered body. Even the budding infection seemed to have been entirely dealt with.
Aria with her keen eyes took note of this, and a glint of respect in her gaze.
"Other than his whining, he'll pull through," Mike grumbled from the side, the older man focusedly carving a figure with a knife.
"Oh - I'll survive another day, alright" Boram grunted. "Who else is supposed to make you all my famous gruel in the eve? Don't say you haven't missed my cooking olden. And you boy, I still need to fatten up them spindly weeds you call muscles."
As big a Boram was, he was probably the only person that could say that to Eric, as fit and muscular as the young lad was.
Eric just shook his head amusedly, taking a seat on a creaky bench by the entrance to which Aria took one beside him, picking up the drowsy Nyx and letting him rest in her lap. Muttering nonsense all the while, but the demon quickly settled in as always.
"I do hope you've enjoyed the respite," Boram noted.
"The wild has it by doing a number on one, especially considering the gravity of our recent troubles." Boram chuckled, though some weariness sept into his words at the end.
Smirking almost guiltily, Eric scratched the back of his head. "We have, but actually... we're here to ask; when will we be departing again?"
Brows raised, he grunted. "Ready to get going so soon? Bwah, I'd hope my good-for-nothing men shared the same drive. " He shook his head. "Anyhow... we'll be starting out early in the morrow."
"Great then-" Suddenly interrupted by a loud commotion, all eyes were directed to just outside the tent.
A tussle of men in bright blues and muddied reds was unfolding right where Aria had been browsing the merchant's stall, the men knocking over trinkets and baubles, causing quite the flare-up by both the affected peddlers and on-watching spectators.
Grumbling, Boram huffed. "Damn mercenaries,"
"They look to have it in for each other," Eric noted, watching the poor display of a street brawl.
"It's the Bloodhounds and the Shields, two bands of mercenaries that spend more time on the accursed rivalry between them than actually doing any commissions," Boram explained dismissively. The large man clearly wasn't fond of them.
"So this is common?" Eric asked curiously.
"For them? Yes, it's been like that for ages. The Bloodhounds are as rough as they come and about as daft. They're just a small mercenary band stationed in the outer reaches of Boreas, so they often come here for commissions. The Shields are actually a much bigger mercenary band that spans the chapters all the way from Mayne to Boreas, but the rivalry is only between a lesser branch of the Shields, headed by Raymond, a pompous prick that plays dirtier than a rat."
Boram cast a sour glance to the fighting men before adding. "I doubt it has any need for saying; but do stay out of their way. Being caught in between the buffoons will not do us any good. They might be second-rate, but a fool's blade still cuts."
Nodding to that, Eric watched the brawl slowly die as a couple of patrolling leather-garmented guards broke up the fight.
As the day drew on, Eric and Aria fell into a pattern of training with Nyx as he received both magic and fighting instructions. Full with energy from a nap well-spent, Nyx gave the training his all. Especially so after seeing how reluctant and displeased Eric was about it. That just about made it all worth it.
To the demon's delight, there was even tangible progress made.
By the day's ebb, with the setting sun casting a soft radiance on the horizon, the bastard brawler and warlock impersonator duo were once again making their way through the stalls and booths of the market fair. Not to shop and peruse the things that were to offer, but to search for one rogue demon.
Nyx had run away... again.
Occasionally, they would catch wind of the chaotic fiend, whenever a poor merchant with yelp in surprise or someone would somehow magically find themselves bereft of their valuables. Whereas Aria was worried, Eric was exhausted by the damn monster. The demon truly was trouble on legs - the only saving grace being that Nyx, for all his reckless behavior, had saved his sorry ass more than once.
A disturbance on the outer edges of the encampment drew their attention, making them divert their search for just a moment. As they drew closer, the picture of what was going on became painted clearer and clearer. In tandem, so did Aria and Eric's worry.
A caravan, larger than Eric had ever seen, flying no emblems or banners, but donning the colors of night, was drawing up to Guard's Crossing. The men, fitted in finely-made black leather and cloth, looked menacing. A parade of threat. They were heavily equipped with all weapons of choice, a testament of both deep pockets and expertise.
No ordinary caravan service could accomplish such a feat.
Eric felt his breath catch in his lungs as he laid eyes on the figures riding front. Atop steeds as black as their cloaks were figures riding bearing a presence so palpable he could hear himself in the back of his mind - telling him to run.
But it wasn't them themselves that had a grasp on his confidence. No.
It was the man practically halfway slouched over his mount, a decoration of angry lines and dried dark black marring his pale but dirty body. Unlike the men of menace, holding themselves with dignity, confidence, and poise, this man hung like a beaten dog.
Silence rang deafeningly loud in Eric's ears.
"Father...?" He muttered a word he had never used for this man in his presence.
Wide-eyed, Aria looked at the stunned Eric. As it sank in what he had just said, she began tugging at the still lad. "Eric, Eric! We need to leave, now!" But he did not budge. Not in the slightest.
