Magic Murder Cube Marine

“I can't believe you defeated a Titan and came back with chocolate!” Willow wrapped her arms around Francis and gave him a hug. “Believe me, I'll give you a hero’s welcome later. Once we're alone.” She whispered in his ear.

“Hot damn!” Francis grinned.

Lord Kelvin looked up from his half devoured double deluxe assortment of chocolates. “You may be of some limited use.” He admitted.

“Glad to hear you've come around.” The Marine laughed. Down in the city below people were celebrating. But not everyone was happy.

Sir Auldric had returned with a somber expression. “Several farms in the Titan’s path were destroyed. With winter coming they won't be able to pay their fall tithes or complete their harvests.”

“Lord Kelvin, are you going to step up and do the right thing?” Francis asked, making clear that the only acceptable answer was yes.

“Oh whatever. Exempt them from the fall tithes.” He waved dismissively. “Winter too. But come spring I expect a return on my investment.”

“Well done.” Francis said, giving the lord a nod of approval. “Auldric, get with Willow and figure out the best way to help out. Come to me with a budget. When a twister touches down, it isn't the farmer’s fault.”

“Well, Francis.” Chuck clopped his hoof in the cobblestones. “As your treasurer I suggest a percentage of all future bounties and windfalls be set aside as a disaster relief fund. Twenty percent, at least.” The Magical Charger: Fast Money (15) said. Taking all the XP from the defeated Titan had been very good for Chuck.

He tossed his magnificent rainbow mane back and forth. “I would also suggest offering to purchase some of the stricken farms. The current occupants might wish to move on, after what happened.”

“Good thinking!” Francis loved being surrounded by competent people. There was just one thing that needed taking care of. “Lord Kelvin, I would like to inform you that Chuck S. Horse is a citizen of Brexis. He is considered a person and enjoys all rights. Is that cool with you, or are we going to fight about it?”

“Look, Francis.” Lord Kelvin raised his hands. “I don't give a shit who is considered a person, as long as they follow the law and pay their taxes.”

Chuck and Francis shared a look. That was a very interesting piece of information. “Chuck, are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Oh, Francis. I believe I am.” The horse nodded enthusiastically.

***

After paying off Chuck and making sure the stallion had proof, Francis slipped away to grab a beer. He needed a moment alone to collect his thoughts or at least blow off steam. Going from a grunt to a god in less than seventy-two hours was giving him emotional whiplash.

He walked through the city until he found the local equivalent of a dive bar. He waded through the smoke and ordered a beer.

No less than ten seconds later, a sword for hire came over and tried to shake him down. “I could use a drink, fancy lad.”

Francis examined the dirty sellsword. “Do you have a bounty on your head?” He asked.

“Maybe. Who wants to know?” The filthy man looked around for signs of an ambush.

“My name is Francis.” He tapped Relativity on the hard packed dirt floor before turning to face the bartender. “Do you mind if I slap this asshole around? Or do they frown on that kind of thing here?”

The old grizzled bartender shrugged. “We charge a silver for body removal if they're still breathing, five if they aren't.”

“Fair enough.” Francis turned back to the sellsword. He had a few questions. “So, explain something to me. I'm two heads taller than you and I've got a nasty piece of wood in my hands. What made you think it was a good idea to try and shake me down?”

“Well, wizards can't fight in close quarters. Show ‘em cold steel and they run away.” The sellsword frowned as reality set in. Francis was awfully broad across the shoulders for a mage. “Oh, shit.”

“Thank you for answering my question.” Francis backhanded the sellsword into unconsciousness and flipped the bartender a gold. “Open a tab for me, will ya?”

“Sure, why not?” The bartender tucked the gold away for safekeeping and made a gesture to the orkish bouncer. A minute later the sellsword was gone, probably tossed in a back alley somewhere.

Francis took a sip from his wooden tankard of beer. “This is a pretty good fucking brew.”

The bartender waved at the rack full of wooden barrels. “Say what you will about Grumble, at least they make good beer here.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do.” Francis looked around the rundown pub. The building and roof seemed sturdy. But the chairs and tables had been mended with whatever wood was cheap. The bar itself was made of thick planks and could serve as a barricade in a pinch.

He spotted a familiar graybeard drowning his sorrows in the back corner. “Bring Miller another of whatever he's drinking, on me.”

“Sure.” The bartender pulled a half liter of dark beer and set it down next to the old veteran. Francis raised his mug in salute to show he was the one responsible. He didn't know how good Miller's eyes were and the wizard outfit made Francis hard to recognize. But he figured the graybeard would come see who was buying the drinks.

Miller walked over and sat down next to Francis at the bar. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't sober either. “Oh, you're back.” He said in Grunt.

“Yeah. They cut you loose when I disappeared?” Francis asked.

“Yep.” Miller took a sip from his tankard. “I'm heading to the capital to look for work tomorrow.”

“Shame.” Francis waited until the bartender was out of earshot. “What were they paying you?”

“About a gold a month. Enough for a beer or two, but not much else.”

Francis did some math, which he hated. A gold per month was enough for three meals per day and four beers. Subsistence wages if they paid for housing too. “You got a bank account?”

“Yeah. I ain't letting those youngins in the barracks steal my shit.” Miller winced and rubbed his ribs. “One of them gave me a kick goodbye.”

That sounded about right. “He got a name?”

Miller shook his head. “Not anymore. That's why I'm heading out soon.”

“Fair enough.” Francis considered his options. He liked Miller and graybeards were always good to keep on the payroll. “You ever consider going into business for yourself?”

“Once or twice.” Miller narrowed his gray eyes at Francis. “What are you thinking?”

“Maybe, with the right backing, you could start your own security company. Recruit and train up some young pipe hitters that aren't too rotten yet. Pay them well, do low and medium risk work, keep your honor clean. You think you could manage that?”

It was a risk. Miller might take the seed money and run. But Francis could use a friend in the capital, and people working private security heard all kinds of interesting things.

“Could do. Take a bit o’ coin to get up and running.” Miller mulled it over in his head. “What you want out of this?”

“Information, whatever is worth hearing.”

“Smart man.” Miller finished his beer and stood up. His slight drunken wobble had completely vanished. “Take a walk with me.”