The next morning, Lucius was launched from his bed by the cacophony of PEW that erupted not just from the jungle, but from the gardens, the streets, the rooftops, everywhere in Aliston with enough water to call a puddle. That noise, of course, brought on the rumbling chorus of trilling that seemed to make everything in the room vibrate, his skull most of all.

The serving staff all had a good laugh as he came bursting out in small clothes and bare steel to see what was the matter. It’s customary to not tell new arrivals of the frogs that live in the Misty Isles. Watching the inevitable panic is some of the best entertainment available on the island, and in time Lucius understood why. He even perpetuated the abuse on his own guests, but that first morning he was the fool screaming about an enemy raid only to then learn the little devils responsible for the noise could fit in his hand.(1)

Eventually, Lucius returned to his room a bit red in the face and cleaned himself off with a basin of water. He looked respectable when he walked out and met with his guard from the previous day. The man just chuckled and asked, “So, now do you see why we are all early risers?”

“I do, and I’m quite heartened by it,” Lucius said, provoking the guard to arch an eyebrow. I should note at this time that the man’s name is thought to have been Clyde, but the record keeping at the Misty Isles was muddled, and I’m not entirely certain that this was the same man who was later certainly Clyde. Lamdo’s persistent issues with losing people to the islands made researching this period of Lucius’ life quite difficult. Regardless, the point Lucius was making was thus, “It means the people here can be whipped into productivity, with the right kind of encouragement.”

“If you say so, my lord. Yesterday, you said you wanted to see the men of the isle. They’re waiting in your study,” Clyde said.

“Go on then. Not like I know where my own study is yet. Tell me it is at least dry.”

“If it wasn’t, it would have rotted by now, my lord.”

The people waiting for him in the study– a somewhat shabby thing of moldy books and a persistent odor of spilled alcohol mixed with tobacco smoke– did not fit Lucius’s imagination. One seemed to, a burly Vassish man with a poorly cut beard who introduced himself as Adam No-last-name but as it turned out, his size was from years in the slave mines. He had bought himself extra food from the guards by virtue of his stigmata, [Deafen], which could render those near him unable to hear. While there was some advantage in a fight for this, the true value was relieving men of means from being woken by the pew frogs. Eventually he had bought his freedom.

The next in line was more valuable, but was so old he needed a cane to stand. Knobbly kneed and gray in the beard, he introduced himself as Isalin. Lucius wasn’t familiar with the local tongue, or he would have realized that was just the word for Translator, but that didn’t matter. The man was a polyglot thanks to his stigmata [Tongues]. Also no good in a fight.

That left his hopes upon a pair of twins, brother and sister, with skin as smooth as a baby’s and the color of cocoa. The problem was their youth, younger even than Lucius. While Axel and Lexa had the spirit of warriors, they didn’t have the years of training.

“So you four are what? The volunteers I have to work with?” Lucius asked.

Adam laughed and nodded. “The kids there are volunteers. Me and Isalin are just reliable and don’t complain much.”

He turned to the youths. “And why are you two volunteers? You’re locals, right?”

Axel and Lexa were doing their best to stand at attention, but perhaps a bit too stiff and arch backed. “Call it religious differences.”

That piqued my pupil’s interest. “Is there something about the local faith I should know?”

“It kills people,” Lexa answered. “Killed our parents. Killed our village. The god is a demon.(2)”

Lucius wetted his lips and paced the room. The windows were poorly made, of warped glass that distorted the light and the view of the city. Half of them were stuck in the frame and the other half stayed shut lest the flies get in. “I am under orders by King Arandall to restore the exports of gold, and to do so safely. The sea lanes must be charted, and any footholds of pirates or otherwise have to be eradicated. If my steward hasn’t failed me already, I’ve sent word for a new priest to process the ore. We have some time while that works to sort out the other problems. It seems to me like I have quite a bit of work ahead of me.”

“A lot of rot to cut out,” Axel said, sneering out the window.

Lucius shook his head. “Cutting out rot takes a good sword. I’ll have to see to that first. I’ll make that my agenda for today. Until then…” he turned back to the four, and put his gaze on Adam. “Can I assume you know etiquette?”

“I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

“How about sums and arithmetic?”

“Wouldn’t have bought my freedom if I couldn’t handle coins.”

“Then I’ll come to you when I need an extra hand dealing with merchants and supplies. Savvy?”

“Savvy, my lord.”

Lucius’ gaze moved to Isalin. “Isalin, I’ll have to make journeys to the islands, but not today. For now, please send word to Lamdo that I need everything he has pertaining to mapping the region, and if you can, get me a local priest. If no person wants to show up and explain their faith, get me one of their texts.”

The old man shrugged. “Certainly sounds like work fit for an old man.”

“And you two, take me to the guard barracks. I need to see what kind of garrison I’m working with.”

Axel and Lexa grinned. When they delivered him to the barracks, he was not grinning. The field before the tents was flat and devoid of foliage, good for training but that was only by virtue of some wild goats. The troops left much to be desired. Scrawny or fat, but never fit, most of them were playing cards and arguing about who had what patrol to trudge through for the day. They didn’t even get up when Lucius arrived.

He stood there with crossed arms, listening to them talk about knocking the teeth from a man high on Kuku plant until Axel and Lexa started to nervously shift on their feet. Rather than reprimand them, he simply ordered, “Gather their weapons. You two are in charge of anything pointy from now on. They can have spears while on the town, but not while they’re here.”

“Sir?” Axel managed to turn the acknowledgement into a question.

“And get me the lady knight. I think she’d be perfect for whipping these louts into fighting shape… I just don’t want them having anything sharp handy while a woman from the north is bending them over, savvy?”

Lexa smiled. “Savvy,” she said, and started yelling at the troops in the local tongue. They scrambled up and ran about, hiding cards or putting away their drugs. Whatever she said, one by one, they realized just who the young, pale skinned blonde before them was. Some refused to care. Others were smarter: they were afraid of what he would do.

“Go on then, get her,” Lucius ordered, and Axel ran for the manor. That left Lucius alone before an increasingly large number of confused soldiers he allegedly commanded. “Show of hands,” he barked out. “Who understands Vassish? Because I sure don’t speak the local tongue yet. Only just got here yesterday and they don’t offer lessons on it where I come from.”

The few dozen men on hand began to shuffle into a semi–circle around him. About two thirds raised their hands.

“Right, about what I expected. We’re going to have to meet each other halfway. I’m happy to learn the basic commands in your tongue, but Aliston is a Vassish city. That’s why you’re here, because we brought the ships. The ships have the goods. These islands are an inconsequential speck on the map as far as merchants are concerned. The only thing that’s valuable is the gold and the tobacco. They’re not going to learn your language, so if you want to deal with them, to spend your pay well, you have to learn Vassish… that’s my goal here, to turn this place into the envy of the empire.”

It sounded good, but he knew damn well he was trying to get out of that land in just a few months, well after he could be dragged into the central kingdom’s war, but early enough that wen the next trouble began to brew he would be able to capitalize. If he made the port turn a profit however, he could hand it over to someone reasonably competent and more interested in a comfortable life than rising the ranks. Someone who would be loyal to him later on. The Misty Isles were quite tempting in that way. Warm climate, soon to be in the heart of the empire, cheap food and liquor and women. What more could be desired? Aside from the mist of course.

One of the guards mumbled the other problem that plagued the land so far south. “I think the lord could use some of the kuku bud…” Lucius could have almost ignored that, but certainly not the half-stifled laughter.

“You there,” he said, singling the man out. “Tell me, what is kuku bud?”

The man both blanched and blushed. The two expressions made a turmoil of discomfort in his face as his comrades abandoned him. “It’s the good bud.” He began to fidget as Lucius stared back at him, letting silence demand the man speak more. “The locals grow it. Smoke it. Better than tobacco. Smoke some and you see the gods, but, ah… smoke too much and you go to meet them.”

“I’m in no rush to meet the gods. I’ll keep my wits about me. Do any of you smoke this Kuku bud.”

The men shook their heads. Lexa came marching over with an armful of spears like she had come back with firewood. Lucius suspected that in their hands, the spears were about as good as firewood. “None that are still here. If they do start smoking it, they don’t come back from the pipe den.”

“Right,” Lucius said, crossing his arms. “Well, at least that’s one problem I won’t have to face. That just leaves me with the problem that you lot are as intimidating as a bunch of knitting grandmothers.”

His tone got the attention of even the locals who couldn’t speak Vassish. For a time, he let them discuss amongst each other what he had implied, and then one took the provocation. It was a local that didn’t seem to speak a word of Vassish, or anything for that matter. The ground shook beneath his enormous feet, for he was nearly eight feet tall and nearly as wide. The man had the size to indicate he had been blessed with some variety of the [Giganto] stigmata, but when he took off his shirt there was no sigil upon his breast.

Which meant he was trollkin, all the way on the wrong side of the world.

Lucius smiled. “Well, this will be simple.” Off came his shirt as well, leaving him only in trousers and sandals. The little play was familiar to the guards, but from their slack posture it was evident they were waiting for the trollkin to put Lucius in his place.

As previously noted, this was not the first time Lucius had met a trollkin. They have great size and strength, and they only take days to heal from injuries, but they are slow and dull witted. Lucius waved him over. The trollkin took a swing. Then, there was a tangle of bodies. Tanned and untanned flesh weaved around one another like snakes. They saw Lucius’ hair swing up to the sky like the sun. He was on the guard’s arm, and then he was in the ground.

Everyone groaned from the wet thump of flesh to dirt.

Then the trollkin lifted his arm again and Lucius was still there. He hadn’t even shouted in pain. Before anyone else could even understand, there was a crack as loud as any pew frog and the trollkin’s arm flopped backwards.

The giant of a man shuddered, pain making him gasp and whimper as he fell to one knee. Sweat beaded up on his forearm as Lucius slipped free and dusted himself off. He clutched his backwards joint and screamed as he twisted it back straight, but he didn’t stand up again.

“Decent fight. You’re very strong. What’s your name?”

“Polunu,” the trollkin said.

“Heal up, Polunu. Now, the rest of you, have I proven my point?” he asked, and got a round of sheepish nods. Then he heard the rustle of mail behind him. “Ah, here comes your instructor,” Lucius said, without turning his back to the men, lest they see how bloody he was from the fight. They weren’t looking at him regardless. The knight marching across the weedy field demanded their attention.

Incidentally, the pew frogs are edible. Unlike their jungle cousins, they contain no poison and quite a bit of meat. Foreigners often take the chance to have a stew of them to get some sort of revenge on the devils worse than a crowing rooster. The locals don’t explain the primary diet of a pew frog are the insects that dine on feces. If only they knew the difference.