Chapter LXXV – Let your troubles shine before men. (Patreon)

(CHAPTER HEADER HERE)

54th of Summer, 5859
Adventurer’s Guild building of Azdavay, Azdavay

A cramped room, a floor dirtied with unspeakable substances, and a mass of unwashed, rowdy folk. Those would be the words that’d describe the adventurers of Azdavay, and the situation inside the guild had only gotten only worse with the influx of newcomers. Those without the means had made their way into the temple, while those who could afford it had lodged themselves into the guild. Not that there were many lodgings left to go around – some were paying money for the right to sleep on the tables (thankfully there were enough tablecloths to not start a backache pandemic in Azdavay).

Shakira, former adventuring companion of Shinasi and veteran of the failed attack on the copper mine, was still staying in Azdavay. Going out the city for a quest was impossible, not with all the patrols on the walls, and she was surviving on her ever-dwindling pay she had received for her service. Her simple lodgings on the upper floor had been downgraded to a third-class table spot, and her booze was getting more and more watered down. With the way things were going, she’d have to reserve herself a spot on the floor of the temple for sleeping. No quests meant to money for Shakira to escape from this situation. Nothing to do, in a state of certain doom...

Growl...

…and she was very hungry. Ordering food here was impossible with all the people around, not to mention the expense. She’d have to head out in search for some, though heading out proved to be a challenge by in itself. Shakira jumped on the table, carefully maneuvered around a sleeping man and his extended family who had lodged themselves on the table, and then she squeezed through the crowd to make it to fresh air outside. From there it was a short walk to the temple, where there would usually be a soup kitchen open. Shakira saw the usual set up in front of the temple: a giant metal pot, inscribed with blessings from various priests over centuries, heated over an open fire to make some variety of gruel. “Nourish thine fellow believer” and all that as commanded by the Divine, a command oft ignored by anyone other than a handful of welldoers.

There was one oddity about the soup kitchen today, though it wasn’t odd enough to stop Shakira from getting her own fill and sitting on the street along with the other poor folk. “Why are there darkskins working here?” asked a stranger who had chanced next to Shakira. “Does the temple of this town employ slaves?”

The stranger was just asking a rhetorical question, not one that she expected to get an answer to, but Shakira had the answer. “The temple didn’t have slaves, and they’d all be dead now if they had it. Are you from around here?”

“No, we just arrived from Casamonu. I’m Azra, by the way. You are?”

“Shakira of Yellowclover, I’ve been to Casamonu a few times. How’s it going there?” Small chat was the way forward in Gemeinplatz, as there was a lack of newspapers or other means to gather information about distant lands. Hence any travelers would be bombarded with questions by any curious folk like Shakira.

“It’s terrible, I tell you.” Azra took a sip from her bowl of gruel as if she was sipping tea. The gruel wasn’t too far off from what she had been eating on the road for a few days, and she had gotten used to its taste. “There was a siege, you probably heard of that through the grapevine, but then the new count apparently completely disappeared. All the noblemen he left behind began fighting with each other for the county. The city was in anarchy by the time I managed to gather enough odds and ends to wing it out the city.”

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Shakira. Everything seemed to be falling apart recently.

“So, what’s with the darkskins?” asked Azra once more. She was eyeing them nervously. “They separated the slaveowners in our caravan once we entered. Something about registering the slaves.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to be seeing those poor slaveowners ever again.” replied Shakira. Azra looked shocked as she expected, but she didn’t look horrified at the prospect. She was more in disbelief rather than anything. “I was as surprised as you are. A bunch of fugitives entered the town and deposed the mayor, and then they hanged everyone who owned slaves.”

Azra looked around her, examining the town once more. She slowly took a sip filled with disbelief. “Just the slaveowners?” It was as if the existence of the town was surprising to her.

“Yeah, everyone’s got their gussets in a twist, but nobody else has been harmed.” Saying this out loud, Shakira realized how odd this statement was as well. Azdavay had been in an apocalyptic mood just a few days ago, but now they were doing just fine. “There was this Hero who declared that the Demon King was coming and that he was uniting the land for a final fight or something.” Still, self-declared heroes were about as common as self-declared messiahs, so Shakira wasn’t about to get excited over some otherworlder in fancy armor.

“A Hero?!” Azra almost spilled her bowl of gruel. “Is that true?”

“M-maybe? Possibly?” Shakira shrugged. She didn’t want to shatter the hopes of this young girl. “Go ask the priests, I’m not the authority on this.”

“The rest of my family is still stuck in Casamonu, do you think the Hero could save them?”

“Again, ask the priests for Divine’s sake. Or just ask the Hero directly, I don’t know.” Shakira hadn’t been the most attentive in the temple lectures regarding their messianic hero archetype.

“I will!” Azra gulped down the rest of the gruel, shoving the empty bowl in the hand of some local priest before making her way to… somewhere. Shakira was unsure where she was considering that Azra probably didn’t know where this “Hero” was. She mumbled something about “today’s youth” before proceeding to finish her own bowl.

(INSERT CHAPTER DIVIDER STATING “FALL OF THE SLAVE HAREM” HERE)

54th of Summer, 5859
(Former) Mayor’s Office of Azdavay, Azdavay (Azdavay)

Only a bit of time had passed since Watanabe had closed his eyes. Waking up, he saw Brown and Tubman slouched over a map on the mayor’s grand desk. They were having some sort of discussion that was going way above Watanabe’s head, so he decided to ignore them and relax on the sofa without a care in the world. Due to the nature of rebellion and whatnot they’d surely have something to worry about in the future, so why not relax now when there was no trouble?

Knock, knock!

Whoever had knocked on the door, it was probably something that concerned Brown or Tubman. He got even more comfortable on the sofa, sinking himself in further. Shinasi opened the door, excusing himself in. “There’s some girl asking to meet the Hero. What do I do with her?”

“Me?” Watanabe lazily moved his head to look at Shinasi. “Why would anyone want to meet me?”

“You’re supposed to be our front for convincing the common people of Gemeinplatz, Watanabe. Of course you’ll be seeing them!” replied John Brown. “Young man, get on your costume and go meet her as long as she isn’t, God forbid, some assassin.”

“She’s already on the other side of the door, captain.” Shinasi was pushed aside to make way for Azra. She immediately spotted the otherworlder in the room, who was a man slouched on the couch like an empty sack of potatoes. Watanabe quickly got up and combed his hair with his bare hands to look a modicum of presentable.

“Sir Hero!” She gave the “hero” a military salute. “I have come to petition you and give you a quest!”

“I’m glad to listen to a charming lady like you.” Watanabe debated whether he should kiss her hand or something to complete the hero act, but he shied away. Even shaking hands seemed too intimate an act for a man used to greeting people by bowing. “What malady has befallen you, milady?” Old Brown covered his face in shame upon hearing someone use the word “milady” unironically. That word was, to him, only to be found in Shakespearean place and nothing more, and it seemed a bit “cringe” as one late Jacob would describe it.

“My family is stuck in Casamonu, where anarchy reigns supreme after the count disappeared!” Brown and Tubman suddenly got a whole lot more interested upon hearing of regional instability in their local area. “Please, o’ Hero, lead your armies and save the poor people of my town!”

Watanabe was unsure as to what he wanted to do. They had just taken a town, and he wasn’t sure whether the League of Gileadites was ready to go on the offensive once more. He couldn’t ask it directly due to the girl being right next to him, so he turned his gaze to Brown and Tubman for affirmation. Brown wasn’t giving a thumbs-up, due to the thumbs-up not being popularized until after he had passed away, but he was giving an OK sign which Watanabe understood.

“Don’t worry milady, we’ll be marching our armies to save the people of Casamonu!”