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Penitent Book 3 Ch 2: Marcus's Baggage
🕑 Added 2025-09-23 12:00:13 +0000 UTCFeeling refreshed after a night with a bed to sleep in and a warm meal, Ollie and Michael got back on the road south. They didn’t see the mercs they’d encountered the previous night again, which was good. Michael preferred not to have to waste any time fighting them. Unlike the previous day, the sky was clear and blue, but thanks to the weather of the previous few days they still had to deal with wet and occasionally muddy roads. After a few more days they made it back to Southwind.
The town had changed since they’d last been there. All of the buildings on the outer perimeter had barriers erected between them to create a makeshift wall and there was a much larger presence of guards along with several groups of Swandians with fresh spears wearing orange clothes wrapped around their arms. Most Swandian soldiers had moved North, so it was possible that the soldiers they were seeing were some kind of militia.
Michael recognized more than one face from the outlying villages now walking through the streets, and at least one warehouse for goods seemed to have been converted to house them. So far everything was in the early stages, but Michael could see that in spite of it’s divided attention Swandia was doing all it could to mitigate the damage that the increased rift presence would do to the southern part of their country.
“I’m going to take these sketches of Davi’s down to the Rose Petal,” said Ollie, patting his pack.
“You’re sure you don’t want to have your equipment looked at? Gurndan is a great blacksmith.”
“Lemme check,” Ollie dramatically began tapping on each piece of his gear. His thick leather helmet, his titled beast coat, and his boiled leather chestplate. “Nope, none of it’s metal. I don’t think he’d be much help.”
“Well, when you’re done at the Rose could you at least visit the market for some supplies?”
“Absolutely…I may be an hour or two though.”
“Are Australian hours American minutes?”
“No, they just seem upside down to you.”
Michael shook his head. “I’ll meet you at the Human Stable.”
Ollie shook his head. “Hate that name.”
Michael shrugged. “Aelves have an odd sense of humor. Besides, it's the best inn for the price in town.”
“Alright, meet you there.”
Michael nodded and began walking down the street toward Gurndan’s smithy. He got a number of waves and smiles as he walked and was stopped several times for quick conversations with people who he’d healed or who he’d helped before Gemini had headed north. After taking a short trip across town to help Dolores’s son with his cold, which proved that he could now heal illness as well as poison, he managed to make it inside the smithy.
Gurndan was hunched over his forge examining a piece of steaming metal before he turned around and looked at Michael. He placed down what he was working on and blinked a bit, rubbing the soot from his eyes.
“You a ghost?”
“No, just pale as one.”
“Great. Means you’ll have a pile of shit for me to patch.”
“I know, nothing’s worse than having to do your job for money at the place of business in which you do your job.”
Gurndan snorted. “Alright, bring it all over here.”
Michael nodded and placed his armor piece one at a time in front of the frowning dwarf.
“Gods below, did you fight the damned army yourself? It looks like it’s been through a wyrm’s mouth and out the other end that also has teeth for some reason.”
Michael shrugged. “War’s not easy on armor.”
Gurndan looked at what was in front of him and then at Michael. “Tell me you didn’t lose your mace!?” he exclaimed, his voice suddenly full of concern.”
Michael pulled the sword from his waist and willed it to shift back into a mace.
Gurndan frowned at it. “That’s horseshit.”
Michael laughed and placed it on the counter between them.
Gurndan picked it up and began to examine it closely. He eventually held it and squinted for a moment making it shift into a sword which he also spent some time examining before shifting it back into a mace.
“How in the hell is it lighter as a sword? None of the metal is gone. The weight is the same as it was before I shifted it into the sword. That doesn’t make any sense. The steel of the sword is also a slightly different makeup of the steel of the mace, though that’s mostly the same at least.” He shook his head. “This divine of yours has no respect for the way things ought to be,” he placed the mace back in front of Michael. “At least it doesn’t need any repairs. Now that it’s titled the mace’s flanges should stay largely intact and the sword's blade shouldn’t even need more than the occasional sharpening.”
Michael picked it back up and buckled it back onto his waist.
“Also, never change it into a sword in front of me again. The fact that it can go from a mace I forged to some mass produced Stent garbage sword makes me want to bury myself under ten thousand stones.”
“Noted.”
“When will you need all this back?” he asked.
“Tomorrow would be ideal.”
The dwarf frowned and looked at the pile of equipment. “Get out.”
“Gotcha,” Michael stepped out and back onto Southwind’s streets. It was getting to be late afternoon, so he decided to start heading for the inn. He hoped with all the people from the outlying villages passing through town as they evacuated, he would still be able to secure a room. As he walked he realized he was being followed. He wasn’t really in the mood for games of any kind so he simply turned and looked at the five or six shady figures that were trailing behind him. They looked at one another awkwardly for a moment, trying to look inconspicuous.
“Can I help you?” he asked loudly, drawing the attention of a number of pedestrians.
They kept pretending that they weren’t watching him.
He sighed and walked toward a nearby alley. “Guess I’ll just walk into this nearby alley alone and see what happens.” It may have been a little reckless, but a quick divining had told him that none of these men were much of a threat to him and he’d rather get whatever it is they’d wanted over with.
He waited patiently for a few moments before all of the men walked in.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“We’re looking for an associate of yours,” said one of them, drawing back a cloak to reveal small dark eyes too close together and a shaved head. “A man named Marcus.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” said Michael, nodding. If anyone would be the reason for strange men to bother him in southwind, it would be Marcus. “Does he owe you some money?”
“Five gold,” said the man.
“Well, he’s not here. He’s probably dead,” lied Michael.
“In that case it makes sense for his friends to incur the debt.”
“No it doesn’t,” replied Michael simply.
The man put his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “I think it does.”
Michael laughed a bit. “Really?”
The other men stepped closer to him with their best menacing glares, though they didn’t reach for their daggers.
“Come on. We saw you drop off your armor, and even with that weapon at your waist there are six of us.”
Michael smiled. “You know, you don’t have to be this way. You seem like resourceful men. There are better targets for your violence. There’s true evil out in the world right now and you’re all wasting your time attacking me.”
“Just give us the gold,” said the nearest of them, actually drawing his dagger.
Michael shrugged, he’d tried to be reasonable, but there was only so much you could do. He channeled magicka to create a barrier in front of his fists and slammed one of them into the stomach of the man brandishing the dagger causing him to drop it..
The others rushed him, and he ducked under one fist making the man break his knuckles on the wall behind him before he grabbed the man and drove his knee into his gut. After that a man managed to hit him in the side of his face, but scowled and pulled his hand back afterward, in almost as much pain as the man who’d hit the wall. Michael hadn’t put a barrier up, but his durability meant someone without hand protection was bound to hurt themselves.
From there Michael reacted calmly to the men’s wild haymakers and grabs. He dodged a few and sent a few strikes out of his own. He didn’t want to escalate things by drawing his weapons, as most of the thugs had also chosen not to escalate things that far themselves aside from the first one, but he got frustrated when they all started to crowd him at once. He grabbed one of their arms, drew it toward himself, and slammed his elbow down over his shoulder with the man’s arm extended, breaking it. The man screamed and Michael took a moment to sent his pain to another of them causing him to stagger away. He then sent it one by one to the others until he had room then he pushed the man whose arm he’d broken away.
With all of them in pain around him Michael raised a hand to heal them, mending even injuries they’d had before they’d followed him into the alley.
They all looked at one another and then him in confusion.
“Come on, get up. If you want to get money out of me it’s going to take a few more tries than that. While we sort this out I’m happy to tell you about better ways to spend your time.”
Comments
ResidentCyborg
Ahahaha great end to the chapter
AdvocateOfDoors
TFTC!
