I let my eyes fall over the room. Fricn's office was a complete contrast to the dirty and disheveled tavern below us, the orchestra of drunk men and orders being given, taken, or eaten uncomfortably muted from the room. The room is dimly lit, the main source of light is the hexagonal window behind the desk, moonlight bleeding inside. The lack of light hides how the room is furnished with paintings of unfamiliar origin are hung in an almost haphazardly manner, in a way that I suppose only people with rich taste could appreciate. Besides the paintings and a bookshelf taking over the whole right wall, the office was rather spare. I look to Fricn
"You already know the answer to that Fricn" I reply, a hint of anger in my words. My teenage hormones disapprove of his background check on me. The same irrational anger disappears as fast as it came, after all I mean I would have done the same thing. Fricn undoubtedly notices this and intends to give me a few seconds to calm down, which I promptly ignore by breaking the second long silence.
"I know you're the type of man to do background checks on everyone you employ, and on top of that, I know you have eyes and hear all around these slums" I continue, gesturing to the landscape in front of us. Even though you try your hardest to hide it, I know how much hold you have over slumies, commoners, and nobility alike."You probably even have 'em in the richer parts of town too, which leads me to the million coin question Fricn. Why does a man such as yourself have your eyes on a defect like me?"
Fricn takes a puff from his pipe in response, mulling over how to respond to me, as I straighten my posture, letting myself finally get serious. With his thoughts properly in order, he answers my question. "Because Ceaser, I think you can actually survive the trip to Ancessa, let alone survive Tredor Academy." Anyone noble, or frankly well-off citizen would laugh at Fricn's face right now, thinking it must be a cruel joke. A slum dweller succeeding at Tredor Academy? And a defective one at that? Surely the tobacco must have got to your brain!
All I do is respond mutely to Fricn's declaration. Him knowing about my intentions of joining the expedition could have easily been a lucky guess, but anyone who knows Fricn knows he never relies on luck. If he knew about that, then he surely knows of me spying on noble school lessons, forcing duels against the town's guards until I collapse of exhaustion, hell I bet he knows of the experimental body modifications I did to myself. I do know though, with a level of certainty, that Fricn doesn't know what deity I devoted myself to.
"And why is that?" I implore, already having a guess why but wanting to hear it from his lips nevertheless. "You're a slum dweller with education rivaling nobles, you won in a 1 on 1 duel with the captain of the town's guard, even though your decades his age. You're the only one of us who has an actual fighting chance to not only avenge us but to maybe even change the system." Fricn explains, his words full of determination.
"I'm no hero Fricn. Your probably the only person in this whole town who knows that the best," I acknowledge, his point's making complete sense, but again I'm not a practically good person, to say the least. I'm not going to protect all the commoners, or endanger my life to save them, my own self-interest comes first.
"If I wanted a hero, I would have a hero talking to me right now Ceaser, I want a monster," Fricn responds, taking a sip of horribly diluted wine before continuing. "I want someone who can avenge us, someone who can punish the nobles, the bystanders, the people who hurt us, limit us, and force us to hate each other, I want vengeance for who put us in this dog eat dog world." He explains, "And you fit that bill perfectly." I notice the trembling of his hands, his effort to stop himself from clenching his teeth as he recalls all the misfortune they caused.
"Our interests certainly align, I'll give you that Fricn, but we both know you didn't come up here for you to smoke pipes and whisper sweet treason to one another. What can you do for me? How are you going to support me so I have better chances of actually pulling this off?" I ask, deciding to head to the actual reason behind my summons.
"I couldn't agree more!" He laughs, even though it comes more like a deep gurgle. He rises from his smoking chair, beckoning me to follow. We rise and walk to his desk, with him falling his overweight ass into his chair as I recline into the chair facing him. After some rustling under his desk, Fricn pulls out a pouch of coins and a shortsword encased in a scabbard.
"5 gold and 10 slivers, plus the sword. My private blacksmith whipped it up herself, it's made from a mixture of steel and the blood of roughly 200 slumies and dwellers alike. Don't question how we got the materials for that." A dark chuckle escapes my lips at the remark. "The blade's name is Penance, make those who wronged us, all of us repent and beg for forgiveness as their dying breaths Ceaser." He finishes, a mixture of pure mania and insanity protruding from his gaze. A cocktail of excitement, acknowledgment, and pure ecstasy meets his crazed gaze as I inspect the sword, the dark black-crimson blade reflecting beautifully in the moonlight.
"The catch?" There is always one, he's just not going to hand me money and a high-quality weapon for free.
"I'll become your official sponsor once you reach Ancesea,"
Sponsors. They control the finances(while getting their own cut), book tournaments, and are the ones who really get the fame and glory from whatever their sponsored succeed in. Rarely do sponsors pick up a commoner or slumie, so I didn't even think about having one until now. All in all, it's a good deal, and if we both pull our weight? We'll haul in a good profit.
"Four conditions" is what I reply, Fricn smiles widely at my words.
"Lay it on me kid"
"Firstly, a percentage of both of our profits goes to the slumie, start here in Mirefiled and send em how you see fit. Secondly, I want your blacksmith to forge me some protective mail for under my clothes, I'm not asking for anything fancy, as long as it gets the job done. Thirdly I need some commoner clothes so I don't get kicked out when I'm shopping. Lastly, I want a hand crossbow" I lay my conditions.
Fricn just laughs loudly at what I want, patting his fat belly repeatedly. "I knew you were the right choice kiddo! That can be done easily! We have a deal then?" He reaches his hand out for a handshake, the smirk of a merchant ripping off an oblivious rich woman on his face. I give his hand a strong grip, my words silvery:
"We have a deal, sponsor."