Getting One's Bearings

David strolls confidently through the center of town. Each guard that tries to confront him is thrown to the ground, prostrating before him. Civilians, women and children gasp and run away. He marches right up to the steps of a crude, barbaric looking central hall, lined with wooden spikes.

A wooden gate blocks his path. “Disappear”, he thinks to himself. The door vanishes into a pile of splinters. The gate guards panic and run away, sounding the alarm. He continues his leisurely walk towards the hall.

A cohort of guards comes around the side of the building, in full sprint, swords drawn. One by one, as they approach, their legs snap, sending them hurtling to the ground in agony. The guard commander is the only one left standing, his jaw agape, staring at the crumpled mass of his men in front of him.

“WHO ARE YOU?”, he shouts.

“Quiet.”, David mutters, in a low tone. The guard commander attempts to shout again, but nothing comes out. His voice was stolen from him.

David strolls into this rickety royal hall to find an Orcish king sitting at the throne, a gaggle of knights and Orc women standing around him. The king rises from his throne.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”, he roars.

All of the king’s retinue suddenly float up into the air, into a neat line on both sides of the central approach to the throne, forced into a kneeling position, unable to speak. The king is fuming mad. Apoplectic, even. He draws his axe, which is sat beside his throne, and charges towards David.

He allows the Orcish king to come within striking distance, and thinks “Freeze”.

The king freezes in place. His court is frozen in fear.

“Kneel.”, David announces.

The king politely kneels to the ground, setting down his axe. His face is torn with anger, foaming at the mouth.

“You will explain to me the world as you know it. Then, you will explain your treatment of your citizens, and your concepts of justice and of rule of law. Finally, you will explain to me who runs your country and where they are.”

The king is no longer angry. He’s terrified. A deep, psychological, unending terror, such as when one meets a God in person. He gestures towards one of his bishops. A human, quite intellectual-looking, with little round glasses. The bishop joins the king at his side, and launches into an explanation.

This nation, Arctera, is the birthplace of Orcs, Slimes, Goblins and some tribes of demihumans. The once human-supremacist nation of Lamara, (now Laios), engaged in a series of holy crusades against Arctera, which ended in deadlock. The country has been reduced into a state of destitute, agrarian poverty as a result. The one group to profit from these wars was Slimes; who established their rule in the nation’s capitol, control the supply of finances, and use the Emperor as a puppet. Kings such as this unfortunate Orc are mere figureheads, like barons, responsible for villages and small swaths of land.

Within the capitol lies a “Grand Council of Slimes”. 12 of them, the original usurpers, hundreds of years old, constantly scheme and vie for power while accumulating vast sums of gold. They view greed as a hobby. Where Laios has only a few Slimes, Arctera has elevated them to a class beyond royalty, they are living gods, given vast tracts of golden, manicured palaces, countless slaves, and a system of worship.

David looks down upon the bishop and the king pityingly.

“Would you be happy if the Slimes disappeared?”

The king looks at his bishop, in total confusion.

“Is such a thing possible?”, he croaks.

“Anything is possible.”, David responds, a sly grin on his face.

“YES!”, the king shouts. “Anything! We would do anything to be rid of them. They have robbed us of our country. Even as king I am powerless against them. Please, help us. I will do anything to repay you!”

David sighs. He releases the royal hall from kneeling. They struggle to their feet, dusting off their robes.

A great, country-wide map appears in the air above the king. David points to a spot marking a large, central city.

“Is that the capitol?”

The king shakes his head. It’s the other one. He points at it.

A slightly larger city on the edge of the continent, closer to Laios.

“Very well. My apologies for my initial rudeness. Please stay here and prepare yourselves.”

David turns and strides out of the royal hall, the Orcish king and his retinue left awestruck. The guards whose legs he had broken were instantaneously healed as he stepped out of the door. With a bright, purple flash, David snaps out of view, teleporting to the capitol of Arctera.

Given the exertion it took to enter this little town “the hard way”, he decides to take a stealthier approach. He imagines masking his magic on arrival, appearing in a dense forest in the outlying area beyond the capitol. He silently pops into view, crunching leaves underfoot.

A vast, industrial-looking, smoky, polluted cityscape rises into view through the trees. It looks terrible. Inhuman. A concrete jungle, unwelcoming, with no artistry or humanity within. It’s filthy. A golden, obnoxious light shines from the center of the city, encased in a magical dome. That must be where the Slimes reside.

He decides to do this part on foot. A rustic roadside tavern comes into view, with lots of traders, workers, and adventurers within. It’s positively packed with people, enjoying good drinks and rowdy fun.

David swings open the tavern door. The room partially quiets down, as this rough crowd eyes him up. He approaches the bar.

“Sorry, barkeep, but can you show me a coin of your country’s currency?”, he asks.

The barkeep seems confused, but obliges. A golden coin, with a slime embossed in the center.

Ah, he thinks to himself. Unsurprising.

David grabs a coaster off of the bar top. Looking right at the barkeep, a golden ring of magic appears, enveloping the coaster, transforming it into about ten golden coins, exact, fresh copies.

Everyone who just witnessed this has gone completely silent. A few big guys come up behind David and tap him on the shoulder.

“Hey, what the hell was that? You some kind of wizard or something? You playing a prank on us?”

One particularly nasty looking orc leans in.

“YOU DO THAT FOR US. NOW.”

The Orc digs into his pocket and pulls out a wad of napkins.

“NOW!”, he shouts, impatiently. David sighs.

He grasps the napkin in his hand and transforms it into a pile of 5 gold coins. The Orc and his buddies are shell-shocked. Then, they erupt into cheers. They pick David up by the shoulders, haul him up into the air, and parade him around the bar, cheering “MONEY MAN! MONEY MAN!”. The whole place is laughing.

The next few hours are a blur. David buys everyone a round of drinks, and then another one. The barkeep can’t object to the money, since even after intense scrutiny, it’s identical to the real thing. He assumes David must be playing some kind of teleportation trick, drawing from a real stash of wealth. Any business is good business.

Those big guys who initially confronted him become fast friends, and they offer David a place to stay during the night, within the city. They’re adventurers, who had just come back from a failed mission. Eventually, they all end up stumbling drunkenly down the road, ending up in a run-down district of the city, crashing to sleep in rickety hotel beds.

Morning comes, and David is able to slip away after writing the boys a nice thank-you note and leaving a great, big pile of coins for them, made from the leftover firewood in the room. He continues setting out towards the city center, the sun rising into view.

The sights and sounds are harrowing. Harsh, industrial machinery, poor, destitute townsfolk, covered in dirt and grease. There’s no fruit stands, no small businesses. Everyone is employed in some kind of machinery mill, factory, or mine. Barely any women and children are out and about. David’s clean, fresh, light leather armor stands out like a sore thumb. It catches the attention of some guards.

They approach him, pushing him directly in the chest.

“Who are you and what’s your business here?”, fishing for an answer, threateningly.

“You will forget you have ever seen me”, David says, staring at both of them. He walks off with a start.

The men turn around, but see David walking away from them, his back turned. They sit there, dumbfounded. Why are we looking at him? They turn around again. David’s very existence burns itself from their memories, gone forever. They keep walking on.

The number of civilians begins picking up tremendously. Great, big lines of people, waiting for handouts of food and water. They’re carrying large buckets and great big knapsacks. The atmosphere is oppressive and desperate. Some are forcefully turned away, shouting and screaming, before being set upon by guards and beaten mercilessly.

David grimaces. He can’t do anything that might draw attention to himself. They’ll just have to manage.