“Leaving?” Astal asked. Contrary to the northmen who dressed as they pleased, he wore the same silken set of butler-esque clothing that he had since Tyr had arrived. Enchanted, Astal said. Capable of self cleaning, and all sorts of things. He claimed that he'd taken it off a powerful republic mage that he'd defeated in a game of orlog, whatever that was.

“Aye.” Tyr replied, donning his old armor and cloak, wearing his sword upon his back in a more comfortable position so as not to be jostled by the crowds. It was odd to see a man with apparent arms in this city, but Tyr refused to be without it. Even sleeping with it. Not because he cared for the sword so much or feared it might be stolen, but for other reasons. “I think it's best that we gather our academy supplies before the rush of the new term.”

“Smart lad.” His uncle chuckled, a glazed look in the eye. “Just like your mother, you know. When we were kids, she'd always be...”

The prince stopped listening. Once his uncle started a story, there was no telling exactly how long it would last. Hours, even, but today wasn't the day and he was already annoyed after having dealt with Alex's incessant whining that he hurry himself. Despite it only taking roughly four to five minutes to prepare, compared to her two hours, he was at fault.

“Can we take Sam?” Astrid beamed up at the big man who returned her greeting with a gentle smile. Stepping out from an alcove and standing at attention. Samson was always quiet, but sometimes he'd stand there like a statue for hours even when he hadn't been asked to. He said he 'liked the quiet', which might be true – but it was still an odd 'hobby'. Standing there, silent and menacing, seven feet tall.

“Sam.” Tyr bowed sarcastically to his personal knight, or whatever he was at this point. It was unclear, though he considered the man invaluable regardless. If only as a symbol for whoever thought to not to say or do the wrong thing. The giant man's presence made his life incalculably less difficult.

Sometimes he was all business and decorum, but not always. Whatever struck his mood.

“Would you do me the honor of--”

“Speak as you should, not as you'd like. Or I'll fix your mouth for you.” Samson smiled down at him, still gentle around the mouth but hard around the eyes.

That was part of their oath, or something like that. Regardless...

“Please do not.”

In the end, Mikhail, Samson, and eight northmen would accompany them through the city. This early, the foot traffic along the streets wasn't so bad. It gave them time to wander, explore, and experience as they'd like. Alex was not so surprised as the others, but even she cracked a smile or two during their jaunt through the city. Usually at the oddest things, breaking out a clipboard and parchment to copy runes and 'marvel at the ingenuity'.

Self cleaning streets, a state of the art enchanted sewer system, everything was magic. Stopping a random mage on the street to ask them a question about the city, and you were half likely to receive a thirty minute lecture on this or that topic. A mecca of academics is what it was. Eccentrics and profligates of all kind, too. Wild and dangerous with just a touch of scroll induced insanity. Tyr had never trusted overly learned men, and now he knew why. They were quick to harass him at even the slightest indication that he shared their passion for the water enchantments that ensured all waste in the city was carried away into a complex chain of purification systems powered by darkness magic. Broken down into fuel that could be used for other things.

He'd been in wonder at first, but now it made him nervous. There was a thing about it. Why did this place remain singularly possessive of all these wonders? Haran was, in comparison, a spartan society, so it was no surprise to hear that elsewhere there may be greater convenience – but Varia? The Republic? As far as he was aware, no such advancements existed there. Well, not like this. Not so universally.

Perhaps a question for another time. Perhaps Tyr was just stupid and sheltered.

“What do we need again?”

“We all need different things depending on our introductory specializations, but you'll want to buy the most basic stuff early. Everything else can be found after enrolling for classes in the academy.”

“The academy isn't here? In the city?”

“Not quite, it's on the eastern side of the crater. There's more than one, actually. I'm not really sure why, but I've heard after repeated failed experiments leveled entire villas, they expanded beyond the crater. A few centuries ago, something like that.” Tyr thought that might be the first time Alex had ever spoken to him without some disgust plastered on her face. If only for the superiority granted to her by her apparent knowledge, it was still a step.

“Mmm...” Tyr replied, lost in his thoughts. There was a single street in the city that was entirely geared toward the provision of goods for scholars and academics. Mostly students. A 'tourist trap', if he'd ever seen one, thanking Alex inwardly for being so wise to it. Of course he'd never say so out loud.

I'm supposed to be different. Better. I'll...

“Thank you Alex, this was a great ide--”

“Shut up, freak.”

“There it is.”

Again, Alex was confused by his complete lack of response. After their morning 'quarrel' where he had simply nodded to her every insult – it began to claw at her. At this point, it felt like she was kicking at a lying dog. It wasn't fun. Not how they normally were. Something was very wrong with him, but she didn't know how to ask.

“What's this?”

“An alembic.”

“Do I need it?”

“No.”

“This? Do I need this?”

“A... Wand...? Nobody uses wands anymore. Are you for real?”

“What about this?”

“A dimensional focus. You don't need it. How about you just follow me and I'll pick out everything for you all nice and neat. Okay?”

Tyr chuckled. He'd been pestering Tythas nonstop so as to avoid the women who remained in their little bubble and he seemed to be getting under the man's skin. He had no idea what any of this stuff was, except for the alembic. The prince might be relatively uneducated, but he wasn't an idiot. Well... He didn't think he was. He hoped he wasn't.

“Am I... An idiot?”

“Yes.” Three out of the four in his general vicinity answered the question. Only Astrid remained silent, smiling absentmindedly, looking through the large stack of textbooks mounted on one side of the shelf they were browsing.

He nodded appreciatively. Couching his chin in his hand, again concerning the three women. Rather than protest or insult them back, it seemed like he had taken their words to heart in a more constructive manner. Still... They weren't exactly lying. Tyr was bizarrely ignorant of so many things considering his upbringing. To not know what a wand was? These items were common in the daily life of even the magic averse northmen. Normal people used focus' in all manner of ways for all manner of things...

For year one students in advanced education, everything was provided at a standardized cost. Every merchant was required by law to sell the most basic goods at the same rate, so it made shopping easy. Most everything had been gathered before they'd finished combing between two shops, no shopping spree or long trip at all.

“How much?” Tyr asked the bespectacled merchant behind the counter, noting the heavy thud the stack of books he carried made on its hardwood surface. He didn't even know what race the... Man? Belonged to. His skin was a speckled blue and he wore a cylindrical garter around his neck full of bubbling liquid. No nose, no hair present on his head at all. No ears either, just holes at the sides of his head.

“That'll be...” The merchant performed some quick calculations. Amiable and kind, he'd helped the group shop for all their needs with the vibe of an uncle who'd known them all their lives. Bit of a silver tongue though, definitely practiced in the art of fleecing the ignorant of their hard earned coin. Too bad he couldn't, except on the few peripherals they'd chosen to buy. “In Harani coin... Four hundred and ten gold sovereigns. Let's say four hundred even because I like your hair, I'll give you a discount.”

“For this?” Tyr asked, aghast. One hundred gold sovereigns would build a man a manor and buy the attendant land it rested on, an economic rule of sorts. Two hundred could buy a small estate or villa. Not the furniture or amenities, but the structure itself. With four hundred? One could live the rest of their lives in relative luxury... The annuity a count might earn in a year of service, and that was no small position – to be a count of Haran. That was anywhere from 500-1000 sovereigns, before tax of course.

As for Tyr, the coinpurse provided by his father contained fifty five sovereigns and a handful of silvers. Not nearly enough, and still it had been more than the prince had ever carried on his person all at once. Not a lot, but what with his basic needs provided for, it should've been enough.

“I'm sorry, I can't afford that. Do you think the academy would allow us to share books?”

His voice was downcast, sliding the goods across the counter toward the merchant.

“No, that's just for your supplies. As for the others, they carry a similar cost. No worries, I can place it all on hold until you've contacted your lord father.” The merchant didn't know who the boy was, but based on his retinue he was someone of importance. This cost was nothing to a noble, confusing the shop-keep quite a bit though he didn't let it show. The markdown over margin enforced by the council was highway robbery.

Alex looked at him, confused. “I have enough money for us all, and the princesses more besides. I told you I'd--”

“No thanks.” Tyr said, turning to leave. “I'll be back for it.” He promised the merchant, making his way to the door with the others staring at him in shock and confusion. Tyr had been born in the lap of privilege, but his pride was such that he'd refuse a hand out. Accepting her money was tantamount to accepting defeat and humbling himself before whatever lesson his father intended him to learn. He wouldn't let the bastard win. Never. He'd earn his own way, or skip town and avoid being indebted to anyone.

Haran was a wealthy kingdom, there was no excuse to embarrass him like this – it wasn't as if House Faeron couldn't foot ten thousand sovereigns at a whim let alone four hundred. There had to be a game here, a game that Tyr was not willing to play. He was different now, changed, but humbling himself before the others could only go so far.

“Tyr...?” Astrid was confused. Jartor had given each and every one of them well over five thousand sovereigns in bank notes, more than enough to purchase their school supplies and all the years preceding. And those were just personal funds, they had access to the vault as well, within reason. All they had to do was ask. And her father had given them twice as much. Why was he saying that he hadn't the sum necessary? She didn't understand...

Before he could finish raising his hand toward the princess, one of the various youths within the establishment turned to cast a look of disgust at him. Waiting in line as he was, he was clearly displeased at being delayed.

“Some gall to come here unprepared. Northern savage. Didn't your father ever teach you--”

It wasn't Tyr, he simply shrugged and continued walking. Making an ass of himself by attacking a foreign noble was definitely what they expected. It wouldn't surprise him if that flat faced clam of a man was a plant. He wasn't an idiot, Tyr was very smart, he knew better than to play by their rules. Instead, it was the group of northmen with their curled lips and hands on their axes that warned the boy off his thought to continue speaking. Mage or not, he was sure that he'd not last overlong if push came to shove – silencing himself immediately under their vigilant gaze.

The boy gulped, lowering his eyes apologetically. Who is that...?

He'd remain wondering while the barbarians stalked their way from the interior of the shop, never letting their eyes leave that chubby son of a Varian viscount.

--

“Where did he go...?” Astrid was concerned, Sigi was nonchalant, and Alex was... Angry? In any case, she was incredibly fucking confused why he'd made such a show of things.

“No clue.” Tythas sighed, dragging at his face with his hands. Daydreams or perhaps day nightmares of vengeance from the primus of Haran ran through his mind. Tyr had disappeared, skillfully ditching his bodyguard and hadn't been seen for three days. They had a few months before the beginning of the schoolyear, but still... “Why aren't you looking for him?”

“Relax.” Astal, the princes uncle, seemed unperturbed – tearing a chunk of brown bread free from the loaf and dipping it in his soup. “He's Ebonfist. Half though he may be, still ten times the man you southerners are. I mean no offense, we're just built differently. He'll be just fine, an Ebonfist never fails. At anything, and we never have.”

“It's a bit rude to simply disappear without a word.” Alex protested. “We deserve an explanation, he's always been like this.”

“You deserve?” Astal froze in his supping, turning toward the girl with a glare. 'Deserve' was a word for weak men or otherwise. Men deserved nothing but the steel and salt and gold they earned with their own hands. To deserve was to be entitled, and no man – no matter how important – deserved anything more than the strength of limb the gods blessed them with. To an Oresundian, to insist otherwise was tantamount to sacrilege. “You deserve nothing. He is your husband, you are equals and I have seen no giving of anything that might earn that level of faith.”

Alex rose to the bait. “We're his wives. Surely you'd never leave home without telling your wife where you were headed?” She insisted that she didn't care, and yet her 'charge' – the man she'd promised her father in law, the primus himself, she'd look after had... Disappeared. Nobody could find him, not even the city officials who had been alerted to a missing prince and primus. It had caused a panic in the bureaucracy fearing reprisal from the father. If something wasn't done soon, they might very well mobilize what military they had to hunt him down. It was, as it stood, an international incident waiting to happen. Tyr was poison, the rust on everything Alex cared about, and she hated it.

“Don't tell her that.” One of the men who sat at the feast table joked. Despite being a commoner by official standards, he didn't care. Alex didn't know his name, and didn't want to. A commoner was just a commoner, and these northerners were far too lax with their lessers.

Astal laughed. “Aye, and what a bunch of wives you are. Ever dutiful. Treating my nephew like dirt on your boot. Now, mind, I don't care a lick for your marital dynamic. A wife is a wife and a husband is a husband, not my business. Treat him how you like, beat him if he speaks wrong. But he owes you nothing but his given oath, and telling you where he's going isn't anything I've ever heard promised under the gods.” He winked mischievously, never letting the iron leave his voice. Although he did add: “No disrespect to you, of course, princess Astrid.”

Astal was a bold man, but he'd never go so far as to insult a daughter of Ragnar. His kind kept to the ways, and they loved their primus more dearly than their own sons.

“And what about you, Samson of Agoron?” Alex accused the massive black skinned man next. Showing a bit more concern for the prince than even her sisters would've expected. “Why aren't you looking for your prince? Isn't that your job?”

Samson didn't eat with them. Opting to take his meals after they were finished as was his way. He stood behind the princesses in quiet as he always did. Laughing for the first time since she'd met him. Not just him, but all of the other ruffians that comprised Tyr's 'honor guard' – if they had even the smallest bit of honor to rub between criminals, rogues, and murderers.

“Ogbunabali sees all, princess.” Samson said, his voice deep and gravely. “Our prince will find his way, alone as he needs to be. I will not hound him, not anymore.”

“Well said, big man.” Astal nodded. “I think...?”

“Ole one-eye'll be just fine.” Mikhail agreed wholeheartedly before the blackguard could say anything to incense the princess further. Alex respected him, perhaps alone among their number, as a constable and proxy subordinate to Gideon Goldmane himself. Frankly – and something he wouldn't say, of late, he'd become terrified of Tyr. Doubting anything in this city could harm him. “Give it a week, seven days and we'll all go out searching for him. He always comes back.”

“...Fine.” That would have to be enough for now.

–

This is shit! Taxation is theft!

Tyr groaned as the lazy eyed attendant stacked a pile of silvers in front of him, only to deduct the total by near half. Wondering why he been offered such a decent sum of coin only to watch it all disappear before his very eyes. There was a service tax, an income tax, labor tax, state pension tax, a foreigner tax, and a nobility tax. A nobility tax! In Haran there was one tax. One! The imperial tax, and it was only twelve percent of all earnings!

“Thanks.” Tyr grumbled, sweeping what was left of the pile into his hands and staring down at an honest days work. In truth, he was just overly entitled. Five silver credits was the equivalent of five silver crowns in Haran. More than most commoners made in a working season let alone a few hours. Not artisans, but normal laborers and farmers. By comparison, he was earning the same amount as a skilled blacksmith might in a village.

Ten hours of work, for this... We live in a society...

Regardless of any of his complaints, the law was the law – and Tyr would respect it. Well... He'd complain, but he'd always pay his taxes as good imperial citizens were expected to do. Even royals. The problem was that at this pace, he'd never make the sum he needed before the school year began. He didn't want to attend the academy, but he didn't want to fail his 'fathers test' – or whatever it was. Completely unaware that Jartor had given all of his money to his wives in the traditional custom of imperial houses. The way it had always been, as men are wont to spend their money in other ways. Jartor had no interest in tempting his uneducated son with the marvels of the city, whatever they may be, and had given the bulk of it to Alex who was far more savvy in the fiscal sense.

In essence, he had invented his own problem by refusing to communicate – the very same thing he often accused his father of doing. Or not doing, as was often the case. Too proud. Too stubborn. Too angry. Even still, he'd put a clamp on his impulsiveness – but not his inner thoughts. It'd take many years of meditation for that, to truly overcome his near total lack of self control.

And so, hours later, he had abandoned all consideration of gainful employment such as it was and gone elsewhere. This city was rich, but most everything was protected by magic he did not understand. Tyr was aware that he'd just gotten lucky, even for that tiny – paltry sum. No stealing. Tyr wasn't a thief but his values were by no means ironbound. If necessary, he'd take from those who didn't need it. To him, this was common sense. Too bad it was impossible. In a world where most wealth was stored in pocket dimensions, that kind of money wasn't just laying around.

Thus, he'd registered immediately with the 'adventurers association'. All nations had them, even Haran. Freebooters and scoundrels that liked to live fast and dangerous. They didn't have a reputation for a long life expectancy, but according to the locals – this was where mages went to earn some 'honest' coin.

Honest, as in truly honest, something Tyr wasn't wholly used to. Honest as in hazard prone. Unofficially, adventurers were the backbone of every nation and that was why they were accepted and allowed all sorts of liberties. Even celebrated. Scoundrels though, of that there was no doubt, and the adventurers associate was as rough around the edges at its patrons. At the end of the day, they were still people willing to kill for money. That's the way it all boiled down, murder for hire was still murder for hire even is those you were murdering were 'monsters'.

A squat bar at the edge of town full of all sorts. Even on the streets outside, Tyr could throw a dozen rocks in the air and hit a dozen races – half of which he'd never seen before such was the diversity in a district neatly hidden away from the rest. He approached the counter, leaning over it and wearing his most charming smile to address the receptionist. Or... Barmaid? It was an odd conglomerate of cafeteria, bar, inn, and place of business that made it hard to draw any clear lines. A stone building with wood paneling for walls and a score of tables occupied by patrons. It was late, the beginning of the night time, but it was packed. Scarred, grim faced men and women, and whatever else.

“I'd love to register for the association.” He postured. Trying to be charming, though it didn't seem to work on the... The barmaid?

I'll call her a receptionist.

“What's your name?” He tried again, no luck, smiling – that is. If he'd had any charms, which he felt like he did based on the behavior of innkeepers back in Haran, she was not the least bit fooled. She was definitely human, but maybe in the wash of so many races she'd lost the taste for her own.

Am I ugly? He hesitated, frowning. She had no wedding band, no markings that would identify her as married but she was treating him... Well, like nothing. Nobody.

“Rose.” She replied dispassionately. “Fill out these forms, and when you're done – follow me into the back and we'll get you assessed. Next!” She waved him away hurriedly, serving two overflowing mugs of ale to the party of dwarves behind him. Tyr had seen dwarves before, at least those were normal. Though he could never understand why they were called 'dwarf' considering the fact that they stood nearly as tall as the average man, and a lot burlier in the limbs. Another mystery of the world.

Tyr groaned at the paperwork he'd been provided with. Three forms, but he'd never been a fan of writing. He glanced around the room to find that all tables were occupied, the residents therein casting him scathing glances. Nobody seemed like a fan, it wasn't just the receptionist. Thus, he made his way to the only empty looking table, occupied by a single man who made no attempt to bar him a seat. Not in the way that one would think at least. The man seated there was a solitary one and Tyr wasn't stupid enough to wonder why. There was only one reason why his corner of the room was so quiet when people were backed so densely at all the other tables. They feared him, for some reason.

Thugs, that's what most of the patrons were. Nothing more, nothing less. Tyr didn't mind it, used to this kind of behavior from his youth, at least they didn't pretend to be nice only to insult him later. They hated him almost instinctively by his dress and fine sword. If he were in their shoes, he'd feel pretty much the same. Tyr was obviously highborn, someone here to make a joke of their chosen profession, that would be how they felt.

Only upon seating himself did he realize how hushed the bar had became. Nearly every patron was staring at him with wide eyes, nervous. Tyr shrugged, ignoring their stares and using the offered quill to begin filling out the form before clearing his throat. He had been rude, seating himself here without asking first.

“Gods, I'm sorry.” He offered his hand to the cloaked man seated across from him. “Tyr. And you are?”

No response. Besides a slow tilting of the head. The man didn't take his hand, his face imperceptible beneath the thick folds of his hood and the bizarre mask he wore. Again, not so strange. Rough types were rough types, there was no holding them accountable for a lack of tact. This was the way in places like this, with Tyr merely shrugging before dropping his hand and returning to his paperwork.

After a while, his brain started to hurt. There were so many questions, and...

“What the hell is a hobgoblin?” Tyr asked to nobody in particular.

“Goblin relative. Long leg. Bigger. Afraid of fire. Two heart, two stomach, both larger than man. Never see?” For the first time, the man spoke, in a deep voice akin to the earth itself rumbling coming from a human throat. Bizarrely baritone, deeper than anything Tyr had heard, though it had a twang to it as foreign accents were wont to have. Even deeper than Samson, and much rougher, a raspy sounding thing.

“Never.” Tyr replied honestly. He'd seen a goblin in the city just days beforehand unloading a merchants cart, but not one of the 'hob' variety. He'd never even heard of them before. “Can you help me with this?” He rose without awaiting a response, taking his place beside the man who was only a few inches shorter than Samson but more compact in build. In summary, he was quite large, and fairly intimidating.

“Mmm...” Whoever he was, he agreed. Guiding Tyr through the process with a calm bearing and ignoring the whispers of the men and women observing them. “Seven. Teen?” He said those words as if they were unfamiliar to his native language, though he obviously understood them – just saying them in a bizarre and disjointed way.

“Yes.” Tyr replied. He'd coerce, cheat, or trick a man, but he usually didn't lie. Not to a man who'd help him with such a troublesome take. There was a unique kind of honor in that. What the blackguard calling a 'good turn'.

“Too young. Go home.”

“I'm almost eighteen. In any case, I am a man.” Tyr shook his head. There was no home for him to go back to. Not yet.

“Not ready.”

Tyr disagreed, though not audibly, only shaking his head. The man shrugged, adjusting the cloak he wore about his shoulders nonchalantly. “Suit self. Your life.”

Together, they worked through the paperwork. It wasn't a long process, but it was tedious. Questions both multiple choice and written as well as the first page which was merely the generic form for any institution. Name, date of birth, place of origin. Stuff like that. Tyr answered them all honestly, though he used the surname of 'Ebonfist' and not 'Faeron'. It seemed pertinent, given the fact that he wanted to avoid unnecessary attention. Being the son of a primus and all, they might not allow him to work there, as the masonry laborers had done. Any kind of potential drama or scandal was at risk of hurting their profits.

It didn't take long to finish. Tyr thanked him and rose from the bench, tossing a gold sovereign the man's way which was promptly refused. The man extended his hand awkwardly toward the prince, palm open. “Your way?”

“My way. If you mean the handshake, it's a greeting...” Tyr replied, astounded at the hand crushing force the man was capable of. Whoever he was, he was strong. “I'm Tyr.” He repeated, pointing at himself with his free hand while attempting to avoid wincing at the abuse of the other.

“Goroshi.” The man spoke, as deep as ever, awkwardly returning the shake before nearly pulverizing the prince's hand. Now, the patrons at the establishment refused to so much as look at him. Whoever was brave enough to speak in equity with the slayer, even receiving a handshake in return? Not someone they wanted to deal with, though Tyr was only left more confused with the change of attitude. “New friend. You and me, ask if need a help.”

“You seem to have quite the reputation here, Goroshi.” Tyr observed, people stared – but when he turned to stare back at them those eyes immediately peeled away. “Why is that?”

Goroshi shrugged lazily. His mask was black with geometric red lines traced through it, probably a magic artifact, but Tyr was no expert. All he knew was that the man wasn't much of a mage considering his weak mana. Beyond that, the stranger was a void. Tyr couldn't feel anything. “People rude to woman. Fix problem.”

That would have to serve as some kind of answer, Tyr supposed.

Rose, the human receptionist, smiled at him for the first time upon his return to her counter. Abruptly changing face for some odd reason, becoming a lot more friendly. “All done?” She had a nice voice, a heart shaped face with soft features. She was attractive, and part of that attraction lay in her authoritative attitude. Tyr highly doubted she was a commoner by birth, wondering how she'd ended up in a place like this. He didn't think to ask, though, he feared her a lot more than Goroshi. Perhaps because of the latter, he couldn't be sure.

“Alright. That'll be twenty silvers for the registration. After that, we'll--”

“Twenty silvers!?” Tyr balked at the sum, before sighing and letting his coinpurse drop on the table, counting out the sum. Everything here was so expensive. Twenty silver credits was one fifth of a gold sovereign, and Tyr still had about 35 of those. So it wasn't technically 'a lot' in context to his budget, but this was his gold now. It had always been so easy to spend what he considered his fathers money, not so much when it was his own. Feeling a bit miserly about everything.

“Well, it's ten, and then another ten. Adventurers tax and all that.” She replied apologetically.

We live in a society...