Hungry Necromancer - Chapter 96

I sat comfortably with the drunks; the heated tables were an ingenious product of capitalism. Within a small tavern like this there still manages to be stratified classes.

The drunks are eager to hear my tale. I’m not sure what they’re expecting but, it surely couldn’t be anything close to the actual thing.

Gulping down a jar of rum and slamming it on the table, copying their actions more than actually being satisfied with the bitter taste of the liquid. I offer a grin and start.

“I’m a traveller…from another land. One day, I suddenly woke up here, but I was within a cave. Within this cave, were the very fiends who injured my body and come to toss me in the cave!”

I’m not making much sense, nor am I telling the story right, but I doubt any of that matters to brains drowned in rum.

“After battling a bear, eating rats and killing goblins! I came upon an exit.”

There’s a gasp and a cheer, it seems I’ve drawn a crowd, now people gathered around not only for the heat but for the butchered story of my adventures here.

“Obviously, I was tired of eating rats and far thirstier than I’d like. With my ghostly companion by my side, I chased the waters in search of civilization. What I came across after a time of traveling was not civilization…it was a beast, a demon, a cult!”

“The Cult of Phien!” one of the drunken patrons manages to put together. As soon as he does the others begin to mutter and mumble, groaning and lamenting the Cult’s existence.

“The very cult!” I yell, then in a low voice, I whisper, “But remember, I knew nothing of this world, I knew not the Cult.”

Another round of gasps.

“I approached the village…Arak village, like any other village. I was relieved to finally see other humans, humans who could help me, who could treat me right.”

It’s written on their faces, they know what’s coming, the Cult and their methods are simply that infamous.

“I waved hello to the group of people that surrounded this strange pole…a totem I believe, and suddenly they fell silent and turned in unison, all together, mirroring their movements and then they smiled at me and asked…”

“Whom do you worship!”

“Aaah!!!!” Is the manly screams of the patrons, there’s a chorus of hearty laughter at the poor men.

“It was only by a stroke of luck that I managed to escape the Cult, the Following swooped in and saved me, although, that part was observed by my friend, I was knocked straight unconscious, hahah!”

The drunken patrons join me for another round of laughter at my expense before I get to my fabricated point, “I’m here, in the cold, for the Cult. I hear Frozia if plagued by them…what are they actually doing?”

The mood turns grim at this question, everyone’s lips sealed by fear or ignorance.

“No one is quite certain.” It’s the bartender who speaks, “But there have been kidnappings, vanishings near Frozia. And the Mayor is useless to fight against any of it.”

“Spol will be next too, if Frozia falls.” The Drunk who invited me drones.

“IF? You mean, when don’t you? The Following has abandoned the House Carbina, and all the regions they control!”

“Carbina?” I question. The man who speaks now is seated at an entirely different heated table.

“Yes, don’t you know? Carbina is the House the Mayor comes from, and we’re just so unfortunate that he’s the Mayor of Spol too.”

There are murmurs of agreement. All lamenting how the House Carbina has been forsaken by the Synagogue.

“That doesn’t mean you guys have to go down with the Mayor!” I yell. “You can leave, you have to leave. Carbina village has already been destroyed and the Cult resides there permanently now!”

There’s a scoff from the bartender, “You really must be a traveller from another world. Of course, we’ll leave! A lot of us are already in the process.”

“Then? Why so blue?” I chuckle, I thought for a second these guys were like those in Carbina…loyal.

“It’s still our home.” It’s my drunk that speaks this time, I should get his name, for someone that came up looking like trouble he seems rather relatable. “A lot of us what to spend as much time as we can here…before we become refugees to another city.”

The tavern seems to collectively shake its head.

“Ah! This Kingdom is going to shit! Everything is falling apart. But as long as the King is safe…none of it matters.”

So this world too suffers from terrible leadership. It’s not just the elves suffering under this Kings regime, but his own citizens.

“The Synagogue…they’re something else too.” I mutter, “Why not just remove the Mayor from his seat? Why sacrifice the city too? This doesn’t make any sense.”

It really doesn’t. The Following can’t let Frozia be taken over, can they? Frozia is a hub, an economic hub. What exactly is going through the minds of those in charge?

Looking around the tavern I bet the thought that their leaders are insane has crossed their minds several times over, but what can they do about it? They aren’t versed in magic, they aren’t rich, they aren’t strong.

They are all forced to look out for themselves. None of them can actually afford to see the bigger picture and put a stop to all the nonsensical things going on.

But I can.

“I’ll kill the Cultists!”

“…”

“…”

“Huh?”

Slamming my fist on the table I get on with the explanation, “Isn’t it insane that your lives have to be uprooted because some Mayor got on the bad side of the Synagogue? What’s your business with that? The Following should be sent here to clear out the Cultists and you shouldn’t have to leave your homes!”

Again, the Bartender scoffs, “That won’t happen.”

“Why?” I challenge, I want to know why. It didn’t happen in Carbina, now it won’t happen here either?

“Because the Synagogue has full monopoly on the Following. They have all the experience, it’s an operation not even the King is privy to. If the Synagogue excommunicates you and you have Cultists knocking on your land then you’re finished!”

“What about the Marquess? She should remove the mayor from his seat then, all it takes is one man!”

“That won’t happen either. Why? Because the Synagogue is more powerful than the Kingdom itself!”

There. Someone’s said it out loud at last.

The tender shakes his head, defeated, I suppose this is something I can’t understand.

“If he gets removed without the approval of the Synagogue, the Marquess will be the next person on the chopping block, everyone is just out for themselves in this Kingdom. Diviners, Priests and Bishops, they’re the most powerful individuals in this godforsaken place.”

“Then why doesn’t he just leave? Why? Why is he putting you all in danger?”

“Because he too wants to live.”

“I guess that brings me back to my initial point then, I’ll fight the Cult, I’ll beat the ones gathered in Frozia and eventually, I’ll face the Synagogue.”

There’s a dead silence over the tavern. So quiet if I listened closely, I bet I could hear the scuttering of the rats that infest the place.

“That’s a bad idea.” My drunk says, “You’re brave…or just stupid and even more ignorant than you let on, but even stupidity can’t stand up to the might of the Synagogue, Ire isn’t the only Kingdom they have their claws in.”

Shaking his head, he drearily says, “Who would have thought worshiping the Goddess of Life would mean being subject to such nonsense.”

Another depth of dead silence falls over the tavern. Then the Bartender comes up to me, his palm set on my shoulder.

“I think enough has been said for today, a lot that could count as heresy to the Synagogue and Anera herself. We’ll forget much of what has been spoken with a few rounds but…”

I can read the awkward look on his face clearly, “Right, it’s best I’d leave. Do you know any good inns?”

“There’s one down the street, can’t miss it if the lights are still up.”

Right. Dropping a few bronze coins on the table I set to leave.

“Hold up!” I hear my drunk call out. “Your money is no good here, not at my table. And especially not if you’re remotely serious about taking on the Cultists.” He stuffs the coins back into my hand and wraps my fingers closed around it.

“What’s your name?”

He chuckles, “Call me Ferio, all my good friends do. Thinking we’ll meet again?”

“If I make it back alive that is.”

“Hahahaah! This guy. I work down at the smithy, my company is one of the few that supply the March with cold steel, but it seems we’ll be going at of business what with Frozia set to burn.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He scoffs, “Well, if you can, come look for me, I’ll owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that, I hope you do too.”

“Hahahahah! I know how to hold my liqueur!”

“I can’t say I regret meeting you, Mister Ferio.”

He grabs my hand again and pulls me into a firm handshake, “I can’t say you didn’t live up to your word, you are an interesting man. Goodluck, Mister Ash.”

Where I’m headed, I won’t need much of luck.