Hatred

“- and so I began training with a spear, but to be honest I just don’t like it as much as the axe. I quite favor axes,” Vardia droned on and on. “What about you, Sir? What weaponry do you prefer?”

“My fists…” Fulcher muttered. Vardia had promptly ignored Fulcher’s only order, speaking on weaponry and his preferred methods of combat for the entire time the two had explored the town.

“You know, I hear the leader of the Kingsguard uses these special kinds of swords he got in a battle! Something called Cot-awnahs? They only have one sharp side, isn’t that strange?” Vardia babbled.

“Katanas,” Fulcher corrected. His eyes caught something as they wandered through the streets. Peeking out from behind a set of stables, he noticed large dark boxes. As they neared them he realized what they were; pens.

“Katanas! I hear they’re from some continent beyond the Eastlands. You’ve been, Sir?” Vardia asked. Fulcher stopped in place, gently slapping the back of his hand against Vardia’s armored chestplate.

“Hey, what are those?” Fulcher asked. Vardia looked over, the motion causing his visor to clank shut.

“Oh, mose mare ne meast pems Mir,” Vardia mumbled. Fulcher glanced at him with a confused expression as Vardia lifted the visor.

“Sorry. Those are the beast pens. Uh, Sir,” Vardia corrected.

“Beast pens?” Fulcher grinned. He wondered what kind of strange and exotic animals this new world provided. “Let’s go look!”

Fulcher jogged past the stables as Arrow kept pace with a playful bark. Vardia jolted and ran after, slowly pursuing with a clank-clank-clank.

What could they have? Dragons? Imps? Fairies? Wait, fairies would be weird… Maybe some kind of elemental critter? Fulcher’s imagination ran wild.

Unfortunately, his expectations were shattered as the reality of the beast pens came into view. Each black pen of cold iron held not a single magical creature, but instead other humans. Fulcher skidded to a halt in horror as Vardia caught up. He looked around, every single pen filled with a person or group of people. Each with a large price tag, painted on wooden boards.

“What…” he stammered.

“Fulcher!” a voice called. Fulcher could hardly react in time as the fat-bodied Lord Nerrel strolled up, clasping Fulcher around the shoulder. “Boy, what are you doing here? It’s unsightly for the royals to buy their own people, you have men for that!” Fulcher’s lip twitched as Nerrel turned him around and walked him back to the street.

“I was… looking for a horse,” Fulcher whispered the lie out as naturally as he could. The disgust of what he had seen was striking a deep chord in him, but he had to be careful. The Sire was clearly aware of this, which meant that it was legal. He had to step carefully if he wanted to change anything.

“A horse! Well here, the stable! Your Custodi will guide you. I’ve got business back at the pens. And don’t worry, I won’t tell your father you stumbled into it. Just send a missive if you are looking for anything specific. I know my way around the trade,” Nerrel said. He patted Fulcher on the back as he pushed him back towards the direction of the stables, turning and waddling back to the black iron.

What can I do? I can’t wait to change things, people are suffering right now. Fulcher’s mind spun. Unless…

“Vardia!” he finally spoke. The Princeguard turned, his visor clanking shut.

“Mm?” Vardia mumbled.

“Is there some kind of alchemist shop around here?” Fulcher asked.

“Yes, just down this street actually! If you take two turns-” Vardia was cut off as Fulcher shoved his coin purse against his chest.

“Go purchase iron scraps from the smith and some kind of burnable rope. The smaller the scraps the better. Maybe even scraps from a jeweler. Meet me outside the alchemist’s shop,” Fulcher directed. Vardia nodded and set off, clanking deeper into the cluster of buildings.

“Come on Arrow!” Fulcher said, setting off at a jog with Arrow just behind. He scanned the nearby buildings as he followed Vardia’s directions, eventually finding one that appeared to have a bottle on the sign.

Entering the shop he was assaulted for the second time in the same day by a wave of smells and scents. Sulfides and salts, minerals and chemical constituents, the smell of burning candles and incense. A man in a dark and withered cloak turned towards the door, bowing suddenly.

“Prince Fulcher. So rare to see you this deep within the territory of the commonfolk,” The man said.

“I’m looking for some ingredients,” Fulcher said as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark room.

“Of course. Browse to your heart’s content,” the man said, sneaking back behind the counter.

Alright, I need specific things here. If all those survival games are to be believed, it should be sulfur, charcoal and saltpeter, Fulcher thought. He scanned the cabinets, eyeing for jars until he noticed the labels he was looking for. He reached up and pulled the jars down one by one, carrying them to the counter.

“Saltpeter? Charcoal? And sulfur? What kind of potion are you making, My Lord?” the merchant asked, his brow raised.

“Royal secret!” Fulcher declared as he slammed a few gold coins on the counter.