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“Absolutely not!” Avilaine shouted. A wooden mug clattered from the table as she slammed her hands down. “For god's sake!” She shouted again, kicking the mug.
“Would you rather me not tell you, then? Just have me run off to do my own thing and never speak of it again?!” Roland erupted back at his mother.
“They corrupt every man who joins them, every single one! That division’s entire purpose is to oppress people, and I will not sit idly by and let my son join it!”
“Did you say the same thing to Cliff when he joined the rebels?” Roland shouted.
“Cliff joined the rebels because it was a noble cause!” She walked up to Roland, wagging her finger in his face. Her voice dropped an octave, “Don’t you ever piss on the sacrifice your brother made, he-”
Roland knocked her finger away from him. “He was an arcanist sympathizer! Maybe if he wasn’t so buddy-buddy with the mages, they wouldn’t have burnt the church down!” Roland’s mother scoffed and walked back to the soup she had been slaving over, and he followed close behind her. “There were two pregnant girls in town, you mean to tell me it was a coincidence that one died during her birth, and the other miscarried on the same day?”
“Yes!” She whipped around to Roland, accidentally flicking some hot stew in his face from the wooden spoon she had been wielding. “I’ve met arcanists, Roland, they don’t eat babies! How can you believe that - that utter nonsense?”
“Old Tillus said he saw it happen!”
“Tillus served in the great war, he’s not been of the right since.” She spoke somewhat calmer tone than earlier, but her voice still had a stabbing to it. “Hand me the salt, this is dreadfully dull,”
Roland reached into the spice cupboard and handed her the salt. “They're evil, mom, I don't know why you can't see that.” She stopped stirring the stew for a moment and turned her gaze toward him. The stew bubbled with a couple of audible pops.
“You’ve been hanging out with Kipper.”
“I -”
“I told you to stay away from that man!”
“He’s not as bad as you -”
“He’s a nationalist, Roland!”
“What does that even mean?”
“I’ve told you what it means, you know damn well what it means! If your father could -”
“He’s too busy to care!”
His mother stopped stirring her stew, stared forward, and let out a draw out sigh.
“I’m going out, I’ll see you later,” Roland left with a slam of the door.
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Welle’s inn was crowded that night, the air thick with the scent of tobacco, ale, and sweat. The low hum of conversation was occasionally punctuated by occasional bouts of laughter and clinking tankards.
Some off duty soldiers crowded the corner of the inn flirting with Amelie the tavern woman. Roland’s gaze landed with a group of rowdy men chatting back and forth. One wore an off-white coif and dressed in a stained-to-hell white shirt and a pair of hideous green trousers - Tre. The other two were wearing the checkered red and black Forterrian gambesons - Kip and Phillip. Roland walked through the main section of the bar, past one table of ugly men arm wrestling, and sat down with his buddies.
“Ahah! Rolant-” Kip’s words slurred as he swayed unsteadily on his bench. The breath that came out of him reeked of booze. “Roland, my friend, you look dashing. Have you -Have you ever had-He stopped again and burped into his fist. “Have you ever had Essudari wine?”
“Why, d’you got some?” Roland asked. Kip raised his eyebrows and grabbed a bottle he had sitting at his side.
“It is deductible!” Kip filled his cup and slid it to Roland with a lopsided grin.
“E-elucitable.” Phillip cut in; his words slurred only slightly less than Kip’s.
“What?” Kip asked.
“You said it’s deductible, but it’s…” A hiccup struck Phillip’s sentence. “It’s delectable - you said it wrong!”
“Oh rubbish, it’s deductible, isinit?” He looked at Phillip with bewilderment. Everyone shook their heads. “Huh,”
“You’f forgotten how choo talk, I fink you know you’f had way choo much.” Tre said, hardly making it to the end of the sentence. Roland had a sip of the wine, and it was fantastic. The burn of the alcohol meshed well with its surprisingly sweet taste, something that for Roland’s normal drinking pallet was exceedingly rare.
“It is deductible, Kip! Give me some more, I wanna keep deducing it if you don't mind.” Roland slid the cup toward Kip with a sparkle to his eyes.
“You aren’t half as funny as you are ugly,” Kip said, and laughed at his own joke.
“My looks can only get me so far,” Roland took another sip from the cup. This time he hardly let it settle in his mouth. He wanted to feel the warm embrace. “Where’d you get this, Kipper?” Roland asked.
“Essudari gathered in one of the pubs out by the docks in Adenosse. We raided ‘em and I stole this bottle on the way out the door.” Kip said with a devilish grin. “Good thing we did, too, the desperate bastards are trying to get the mages to help them. Crying about oppression, and whatnot. I don’t think they know what’s good for ‘em, or how good they got it now that we’ve united. It’s been eight years and they’re still crying about it.”
“Eight years isn’t that long. They're bastards, but you can’t blame ‘em. Their wounds are still fresh, we’re gonna have to stomp out some fires for a while. It’s all a part of the unification.” Phillip replied. The tavern’s ambience quieted down a little, as some of the off-duty soldiers left.
“They should be grateful; we’ve given more than their fair share of pity.” Roland slammed his fist on the table, its reverberation echoing throughout the bar. A burp escaped him as the wine hit his empty stomach.
A wave of warm breath crawled down the back of Roland's neck, but despite the clear sign of danger, he was already speaking again. “When those damn fairies came floating down The River Grand in those sloops they sealed their fates as cowards -”
“Roland,” Kip said, his face suddenly contorted.
The thought crossed Roland's mind at some point to stop speaking, but it was far too late, it seemed the words were already coming out of his mouth. “They killed half the army, it’s the only reason the war lasted so damn long!"
“You think we need to be grateful?” Roland turned around. The hulking man did not break his gaze, he didn’t even blink. “Why’s that?” He asked. His voice was raspy, like he’d just smoked. The man smelt of blood and had scars all over his hands and donned a gray apron. He must’ve been a butcher, but Roland had never seen him before.
“Well…” Roland started. His gut sank in anticipation, as he knew what was likely going to happen next, but he couldn't stop himself. He fixed his gaze to his cup of wine and with a smile grabbed it and downed the wine in one gulp. He turned his full attention to the grizzly man behind him. “We united the island continent, something every king has wanted to do for as long as it has existed. We’re bringing prosperity.” His words came out with a slight slur to them, he’d never been one to hold his alcohol well, especially on an empty stomach.
“My grandfather and uncle were from Coulver before they were killed, and my mother was captured and assaulted. What kind of prosperity is that?” He stared into Roland’s eyes. Roland knew of Coulver, it was where his own mother was from. “So tell me, why the fuck should we be grateful for what Oueterre has done?” The man seemed to grow a few inches taller as he loomed over Roland.
“It's a necessary evil, wartime is hard, and it brings out the worst in men, don’t you think that -” As the words rolled out of Roland’s drunken mouth the large man’s fist flashed across his nose.
"The only necessary evil I give a damn about is you getting your ass whooped!" Suddenly Roalnd’s ears were ringing, and his head fell flat to the table, his nose pouring blood as his limp body tried to brace for what may be next.
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With a black eye, Kip peered over Roland, the dark bruise contrasting with his pale skin. He grinned exposing a hole where his left canine tooth used to sit. The full moon hung high in the sky casting a ghastly bright light that pierced through Roland’s vision.
As Roland rolled to his left side a nauseating pain surged through his gut. His stomach churned with vengeance as a purple-yellowish mix of vomit launched out of his mouth. Kip smiled and offered Roland a sip from his canteen.
“That bastard sent you down in one hit, pal, maybe you’re still too young to be out drinking with us.” Kip chuckled. “Or maybe you’re too green. You ought to go in on your ideas about the archies. You’d make a damn good one, you know. You got that Oueterrian spirit!”
Roland mustered the strength to sit up and saw Phillip and Tre sitting next to him. His head whirled as the hit from his nose ached. He noticed Tre had glass in his face, and Phillip looked surprisingly unharmed.
“Dih w’ win?” As Roland spoke a surge of pain rushed through his mouth. “Aaah fuuuhch I bii my tunk when I goh hih” He leaned over and spat thick goopy blood onto the ground.
“It was a hell of a fight,” Kip said, and patted him on the back. “He nearly killed Tre, got me good in the eye too, but I clocked him in the jaw. Turns out the fella was born with some kind of birth defect, and it fucked him up good, I guess that’s what he gets for bein’ half Essudari!”
“Bloody hell you fellas know how to clear a tavern though, everyone's gone.” Phillip said, staring at the inn as they sat atop Pillisk Hill. The inn sat with its lights off, and it appeared not a soul was stirring around it.
“Shiih I dihinh have amy dimmer, mom’sh ghonna ‘ill mhe.” Roland tried to stand up but he needed a second to get his bearings still.
“Alright, well let’s get you home, or she’ll kill all of us. That woman is unhinged.” Kip said, his face contorted as he helped Roland up.
Roland’s door squeaked open, while the wooden floor didn’t do him any favors as it creaked below his footsteps. “Fuh,” He tried to say.
His mother came out of her room, and stared at the two. “What the hell happened, Kipper?” She asked Kip.
“Some big mean bastard jumped Roland and we brought hell down on him.” Kip lied in an ill-fated attempt to keep Roland from his mother’s wrath.
“Uh huh,” She nodded pedantically. “More like he was running his mouth,” She sighed.
“I bih mih tunh.” Roland could barely speak. As a metallic taste flooded his mouth. A blob of blood and spit flew from his mouth and onto the floor to his left.
“Roland! On the floor? Really?”
“Horry,”
“Just get him into his bed, Kip,” She rubbed the bridge to her nose and shook her head.
“Yes ma’am,” He maneuvered Roland into his bed and laid him down, the comfortable sheets of his loving bed engulfed him as he closed his eyes.
“Fanks, Kiph,” Roland muttered as he drifted to sleep.
The last thing he heard was his mom’s voice; “What am I going to do with you?”
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