Archibald walked through Brakiat, only whimpering occasionally when a very rude citizen would shove him aside when he veered even a hair’s breadth into their path. It was hard not to in the thick foot traffic of the city. The only pro to the thick crowd, in Archibald’s opinion, was that it offered a surprising amount of warmth. Brakiat’s cold climate was far worse than the Sanctuary’s, and Archibald theorized it to be because the Sanctuary was on top of a major pocket of magma, only kept from erupting by the powerful magic of the Ancestor.
After another traumatizing half-hour of jostling through the streets, Archibald made it to the SMAC. He wandered inside, the traffic instantly gone, and travelled over to the counter, where a clerk was sitting, reading a book. Archibald walked up, clearing his throat. The clerk ignored him, keeping on reading with a lost expression.
Archibald was getting frustrated, but he didn’t want to say anything for fear of starting a fight. So he waited. And waited. He waited until another of the few mercs in Brakiat came in, stomping over to the desk and getting behind Archibald. The merc looked quizically between Archibald and the clerk, waiting only for about thirty seconds before he stepped over to the counter and gave it a smack so hard it shook the floor. The clerk seemed to have been shot from a cannon the way he hopped out of his chair, nearly coming to attention the way soldiers do before glaring at the merc. The merc just smirked, stepping behind Archibald and giving him a slap on the shoulder, “Must be new ‘ere. This lazy bag o’ bones still ‘as a job for reasons beyond me. Ya’ve gotta give him a right startle to get him doing anything.”
Archibald just nodded thankfully to the man, turning back to the clerk, who glared angrily at the merc. Archibald nearly spoke when the clerk scathingly pointed a finger at the merc, “I swear to all the gods, you muscle-head, pink-eyed, lard-brain of a man, if you do that again, I’ll see your license revoked!”
The merc grinned, “Sure ya will. Now get on with it.” Archibald sighed, just wanting to move on to the next town.
“Can I please sign up?” He asked the clerk, his voice barely heard by the furious man. Still fuming, the clerk grabbed a ledger, crystal, pen and a badge blank.
“Name, age, race, gender, origin state, facets, and intended scope of work. Fill it all out then put your hand on the crystal and infuse as much brilliance into it as you can. After that, I’ll give you a badge.”
Archibald nodded and nearly began to fill it out there until he heard the big merc clear his throat. Archibald looked at him to see the behemoth pointing at a small row of desks to the side. Laughing nervously, Archibald grabbed the stuff and moved over to the desks. When he was done filling it out, it looked pretty honest… for the most part.
Archibald sighed, not liking the fact he was being dishonest. He actually did have a family name, Chrissex, but he thought it best to hide it. Also, in spite of him looking like a studkin, that isn’t quite what he was. And his origin state wasn’t too far off from what he put.
He went back to the counter, the big merc long since gone, to find the clerk back at his book. Archibald, annoyed, dropped the book onto the counter. The heavy ledger made a loud and shaky thud, thankfully catching the clerk’s attention. He opened it to the page he’d filled out, nodded while closing it and looked to the crystal ball, “You need to fill that.”
Archibald nodded, “I know, I just wanted to do it in front of you. In case something goes wrong.”
The clerk whiffled, “I’ve done this a thousand times and nothing has ever gone wrong. Just infuse the crystal.”
Archibald nodded, setting his hands on the crystal and infusing it with brilliance. The crystal seemed to have every color to ever exist swirl into it, staying separated in a thousand little strands of colors. Two stood out though: a rich red pulsing hue, along with a teal strand. They dominated the spectrum of colors, but still only took up about ten percent of the space.
When he was done, the clerk grabbed the ledger, ball and badge blank, bringing them over to a big, brick column with a hole on one side of it. He set it all inside and it disappeared in a flash. A minute or so later, another flash, and the badge and ledger had returned, along with an empty crystal ball. “Here you go. You're a merc now. Oh, wait, no. You’re actually a healer merc? That’s rare. Well, either way you are now entitled to the use of SMACs in all regions of the globe. Within these compounds there are places to sleep, food and powdered sapphire, as well as specialty shops that sell specialty gear or information tailored to that region.”
Archibald was surprised, “Wait, that’s it? No approval process or test?”
The guy waved his hand dismissively, “Please. Mercs have a way of either growing into the work or getting the hell out. Whether alive or dead. That isn’t really our problem. Everyone’s responsible for their own survival.”
Archibald just shook his head and turned to a set of stairs with a sign next to them saying “Sleeping Quarters.” He hustled up and found the nearest room. It was, being generous, tiny. The bed was barely large enough for a person and the space on the floor was just enough for longer weapons, a pack, and a small spot for standing. Archibald had grown used to these places. Quickly he offloaded his stuff into a spot on the floor and crashed into his bed, drifting off to sleep in preparation for the long trek ahead of him.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
…
Enoch had said he wasn’t nervous, but that turned out to be a lie. To be fair, he had also thought that, but still. The mayor had apparently requested to have the talk with Enoch alone, Ripley set aside.
Enoch wasn’t stupid and he’d noticed that Ripley was a somewhat idolized figure. The reason for that was still unknown, but the fact that he was basically fawned over wherever he went meant he was a person who made it difficult to deny his request, even if Ripley didn’t mean to be that way. If he had to guess at the reason for why the mayor wanted to talk alone it was because he wanted to make a good decision rather than one simply made to please Ripley. Enoch respected the man for it, and Ripley too for not making a fuss.
“You’re good to go, Mr. Aadland. The mayor will see you now.” the receptionist said. Enoch nodded to the man and walked through the door opened for him by the receptionist. His first impression of the mayor was that he was something of a snazzy dresser. The man was dressed in dull gold, cream, orange, black and white. His clothes were a jumble, but they were intentionally that way. Enoch was able to loosely place the outfit as something he’d seen at Vitro’s tailory. It was somewhere between a suit and a robe. The most standout feature on him was the large statuette hanging from a red chain around his neck. It depicted a cheetah, and was surprisingly something Enoch knew about. There were only ten of them in existence, and each one was not only powerful, but also extremely historical. Wearing one meant you were the chief of an Animus Clan.
Funny enough, the man was a human. Somewhere back in history, the animus houses had to set aside their racial purity and welcome other races into the house, making it a rather rare thing to see an actual member of an Animus house.
The mayor stood up, reaching out a hand, “Greetings, Mr. Aadland. I’ve been told much about you.”
Enoch took his hand firmly, “And you want to know if it is true.”
The mayor grinned, “How blunt.”
Enoch sighed, “I hope you’ll forgive any rudeness on my part. My etiquette wasn’t really a priority in the crash course to Praeda I got.”
The mayor gestured to a seat next to Enoch while taking his own. Enoch sat while the mayor started talking, “Don’t worry, I am aware of your circumstances. It is probably one of the very few areas in which I know more than your friend Ripley.”
Enoch perked up, “You’ve seen my situation before? Do you know how I can get home?”
“No, but I have seen your ilk make lives for themselves. Now, Ripley wanted me to get you started on a career path that would both keep you out of danger yet also show you how great it is to be a merc: I am not doing that. Well, unless you want to. Truthfully, he didn’t even want me to tell you that, but I see you as a man, not a child. Young as you might be, agency is important and Ripley can forget that what’s best for someone logically might not be best for them emotionally or realistically.”
Enoch frowned, “Before we go any further, I want to know what extent you are willing to help me, as well as what you expect in return.”
The mayor burst out laughing, “Do you truly come from a place with no magic? You must.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Everything,” The mayor said with a smile, “I’m Ruby-rank, son, and there isn’t much that I can’t do, societally speaking. I’m what one might call a bigshot. My only motivation for helping you is to, one, be a good person, and two, to have the House owe me one. But I don’t want to just drop you into some position that you don’t want. I don’t expect anything from you unless you one day reach Diamond. Though I doubt you will.”
Enoch squinted, “Humor me. If I reach Diamond, what do you want?”
The mayor grinned, “I like your gumption. But Diamond rank isn’t something one can reach with some time and effort. It requires something outside mortal comprehension. Very few have reached it.”
Enoch sighed, “Fine. What do you think is best for me, though? I have no experience in any magical field and even technical fields.”
The mayor leaned back, “What interests you?”
“Nearly everything I’ve seen since coming to Praeda. Facets, sky islands, magic, aspects, different races, new animals, new cultures and new food. To be honest, travelling has always been a dream of mine, too. Probably doesn’t narrow it down, does it?”
The mayor shook his head, “It actually does. As I’m sure Ripley has told you, being a state mercenary would get you all that, more, and boatloads of wealth should you play your cards right. But you aren’t a man of violence, I hear. Or a man of danger. I feel inclined to let you know that danger is tied to all of the things you claim to like.”
Enoch sunk further into his chair, “I’m no coward, mind you. If danger isn’t something I can avoid feasibly, then I can do it. I’d just rather not make violence my life. Does that make sense?”
The mayor frowned, “Mercs aren’t all about violence, though. Most of them would argue that the job is more about protecting people and order.”
“Still. If that end comes about through violence then I’m good. I’ve been a fighter before, and it made me feel hollow even though it was for a good cause. I felt like a sin-eater, doing evil so others would not have to. I just don’t want that feeling again.”
The mayor looked thoughtful, “Well, I can respect an experienced opinion… I still think you’re missing out, but I’ll leave it there. Your other options are becoming a scout or team manager. Both of those jobs are dangerous in their own ways, but neither involves fighting.”
Enoch shrugged, “I’ve heard a lot about scout-work. What does it entail?”
“It’s pretty simple, really. Local government hears about some strange phenomena, dispatch a scout to investigate, and, well, you investigate. If you want to become a scout though, you have to pass rigorous training and screening.”
“What about team manager?”
The mayor laughed, “It’s nearly a joke of a position, I think. Basically, you would take on the role of managing a mercenary band when not on contract. Problem is, mercenaries aren’t exactly an easily wrangled bunch. Not all of them are difficult to contain, but most just want to have fun when off work. You’d have to be a hard son of a gun to make them listen to you.”
Enoch sat in silence for a moment. “Let’s talk about me as a scout.”
…
Iridianna held the tears in her eyes, not letting them fall. She knew that if she turned back she wouldn’t leave. So she kept on walking, bag on her back, staff in left hand, and her dad’s final gift in her right hand. She walked across the barren dust that made up the edge of the holy highlands.
After what felt like years of walking, she came to the side of the road and sat on a large rock, still holding down her tears. She opened her still-clenched hand, gazing dazedly at the gift her father had given her: a paint facet. They were rare, sought-after, and ludicrously expensive. Iridianna knew the moment she’d seen it that it wasn’t something her father had procured within the short notice of her announcing her departure. No, this was something he had probably saved money for through most of Iridianna’s life to get for her.
The thoughtfulness of the gift was what made her truly hate the fact that she was leaving the poor man alone. But it would be equally terrible should her father never see her achieve independence and find a sense of self. That’s why she still held down the tears.
Iridianna grit her teeth and shoved the facet in her rucksack, where it was concealed. She got up and set back down the path again, headed south for Aordia.
