December 3rd, Year 948

  Brown Barrel Inn - North Viemen

  Julius fashioned the last buckle on his belt and gave it a tug for good measure. He had received word yesterday that Mayor Rothwell desired to meet with him in person to discuss matters of great importance, and so he had risen earlier than usual in preparation. There was no obvious need to don his leather armor and chain shirt, nor was there any obvious need to carry his assortment of weapons on his person; but that fact alone would not stop him. It was second nature to Julius. Violence was in his blood, war his language, and the battlefield his own backyard. Julius often marveled at the simplicity of the Omnirian people: their complacency and their weakness. Were it not for Sir Perry and his guild — and more specifically, Telhari— Julius figured that by this time he could have already conquered Viemen and marched the heads of the Marquess and Mayor Rothwell out on pikes for all to see. But perhaps that was not the way things were done in the east.

  Julius had been searching for something ever since he had left the great sovereign kingdoms of the western continent. Something that he had failed to find beneath the crimson banners of his former King, even before his death at the hand of Viemen’s own friendly neighborhood Elfkin. More so than by deliberate thought, Julius operated on instinct. Julian Rothwell was the type of man Julius liked the least. And on more than one occasion he had thought to simply strangle Rothwell with one hand; though he had ultimately decided against it.

  Julius’ instincts told him that he would find his answers in Omnirius, if only he could manage to be patient. Patience may not have been his strong suit, but he was trying to learn. For now, he would play the role desired of him. He would do as was asked and he would come when called. And so he silently left his room and descended the steps to the main floor.

  Rothwell had been paying the inn keep for the lodging of the Iron Titans since they had first become acquainted as business partners. It was certainly a change of pace from their usual traveling conditions, and it was especially welcome amid the onset of winter. This was yet another reason Julius stayed his hand when he would have liked nothing more than to gore his way through any obstacle. Violent and disagreeable though he was, he had a soft spot for his companions. His Iron Titans. They would follow him to hell and back, and he was grateful for that loyalty. The least he could do in return was to allow a pompous burgher to make petty demands of him.

  For now, at least.

  As Julius stepped out into the main road he was struck by the morning sun which shone directly into his eyes. He squinted and tucked his head as he waded into the passing crowd. The air was crisp and the sky was blue; minimal clouds hung above, yet the sunlight did little to warm him. Were it not for the busy street goers and many carts which rolled along, the frost might still have been visible on the ground. And as Julius continued on his way toward Rothwell’s estate, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the cities of the west. Little by little, over the weeks that followed the dragon attack, an influx of travelers had come from beyond Omnirian borders. Most were from neighboring kingdoms, but even now Julius could see those of a different ilk settling in among the natives. Men and women with different attire and cultural garb that he recognized from his travels abroad; and even some that were completely novel to him. They were the minority still, but as he caught glimpses of different faces and complexions, and heard different tongues, he knew that change had come.

  In less than an hour, his long strides had taken him to the gates which marked the border of Rothwell’s estate. There was a large queue of persons standing before the guard, each frantically rushing for their turn to speak with the official. By now, the guardsman recognized him well, and with a nod of his head Julius was sent over the threshold and up toward the manor.

  Rothwell’s estate was partially his personal residence and partially his place of business. Likewise, there were many officials who worked under him that lived on the grounds as well. Rothwell handled many administrative duties and oversaw much of what happened with regards to Viemen’s economy and infrastructure. Recently, however, Rothwell had assumed duty over managing the influx of tourists and travelers who had come, in so uncertain terms, to petition for entry into Perry’s Starspawn guild. Those who had not arrived with that express purpose in mind had come otherwise to see what manner of nation had produced such a phenomenon. There were many from afar who had never before heard of Omnirius. Merchants who had come to see what unique wares could be offered in this arid mountain kingdom. And others still of less savory persuasions, all looking for a new opportunity to conduct their crooked manner of business.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Julius did not wait for the manor servants to accompany him inside; he pushed open the door with one hand and immediately made for the staircase to Rothwell’s personal office.

  “Master Julius!” one of the man-servants called out as he spotted him. “Mayor Rothwell is exp—”

  “I know.”

  Julius sidestepped the man and took the stairs two at a time. He did not rush, but rather his stride was so long that to take the steps one at a time would be more irksome than to proceed as he did. He appeared at the landing on the second floor and made his way to Rothwell’s door. Julius balled up his massive fist and knocked several times on the door.

  “Open up,” Julius called inside.

  There were few if any in Rothwell’s company who had such a baritone voice, and fewer still who would refer to him with such informality. And so Mayor Rothwell knew exactly who it was that stood beyond his study door.

  The lock clicked and Rothwell appeared in the doorway with a sour expression.

  “You may enter, Julius.”

  Without further acknowledgment, Julius opened the door wider to allow himself through and stepped into the office.

  Rothwell clicked his tongue at Julius’ dirt covered boots, which tracked mud all over his carpet. He closed the door behind him with a bit of force and locked it.

  “Is it so difficult to show some decorum?”

  “My apologies, Lord Mayor.”

  “Yes, well, needless to say I have already grown accustomed to your lack of charm.” Rothwell crossed the room and returned to his desk chair. As he sat down, he gestured to Julius.

  “Have a seat, if you wish.”

  Julius looked around him at the study. It was filled with more papers than Julius could count, and not for lack of trying. Rothwell was evidently quite busy and had been cooped up in this room for many hours. As a result, the air was stale and it begged for release.

  “Will this be long?”

  “That depends partially on you,” Rothwell said as he folded his arms.

  Julius sighed and lowered himself into an armchair which groaned under his weight. He fumbled awkwardly in the chair, fighting to adjust himself as the weapons on his belt caught the upholstery.

  “Why do you insist on taking those everywhere you go?” Rothwell chided.

  “You never know when you need to gut someone.”

  Julius’ deadpan delivery was something Rothwell had grown used to, and so he gave it no mind.

  “How is the investigation coming along?” Rothwell asked, changing the subject.

  “It is as you suggested. It took a bit longer than expected, but one of the Magistrate’s men finally showed up. Near a week ago, an official from Eadenfros was debriefed by the surveyors.”

  “So it is truly Zorren doing, then?” Rothwell sat back in his chair and tapped his finger on the arm rest. “To think he would be so bold…”

  Rothwell stood suddenly and began pacing before the window.

  “I don’t see the issue,” Julius said with a raised brow.

  “Zorren has something more planned, I know it. What could he possibly be thinking? Why have his men surveying the land and the river routes?”

  “Why don’t you just tell the men to leave?”

  Rothwell snorted.

  “The Marquess has more political power than I do. Add to that the sanction of the Omnirian Magistrate, and Zorren’s men become untouchable. There is nothing I can do at this moment.”

  “I hate politics,” Julius muttered with a frown.

  “I did not call you here for politics, Julius. I called you here for action.”

  Julius sat forward as a greedy smile spread across his face.

  “Oh? Shall I kill the surveyors?”

  “What?” Rothwell shook his head. “No. I have something entirely different I need to speak with you about.”

  Julius sat back in the chair, defeated.

  “Why do you play these games?” Julius asked after a long pause. “Why go through all of this rigmarole?”

  Rothwell seemed genuinely intrigued by the question. After thinking a bit, he sat back down in his chair and looked at Julius.

  “I am tired of being beholden to someone else’s whim.”