Morne returned to consciousness to the sound of the barmaid's pretty voice berating him for his ignoring her.
He blearily raised his head from the wooden table, wincing at the pounding headache plaguing his mind.
The patrons of the tavern were still in raucous song, thumping and jumping to the tune of the bard, and the poor sap that had tripped before the time stopped was now flat on his face and the subject of laughs from the drunkards around him.
More importantly, Morne's tankard was once again full of frothing beer.
"-One simple question, you little – !" spat the barmaid. The words died in her throat as she realized what had happened.
"Whe – when did you go to sleep?" she asked. "Your head was raised just a second ago, and I never took my eyes off you."
"Did I fall asleep?" Morne asked, rubbing his eyes. With a shrug, he snatched his mug off the table and downed its contents in three large gulps. "Thanks for the refill, the beer was great," he said, dropping a small silver on the table and heading to the door.
The barmaid stuttered briefly as her mind worked to make sense of what she had just seen.
A shake of her head admitted defeat as she pocketed the coin Morne had left and went about her business, muttering under her breath about "rude customers."
Morne shouldered open the door to the tavern and squinted under the light of the rising sun.
Straightening his tunic, a brown thing not uncommon in middle-class citizens that his master had bestowed upon him for "presentability," he turned left and started walking.
On his way, he passed a street performer waggling his fingers in front of a small crowd. Small balls of water danced between his digits to the oohs and ahhs of the onlookers.
Morne passed by without a second thought, turning a corner and heading to Cetregor's north-western gate with purposeful steps.
Before his father died, the older man had always said there were two kinds of respect in this world: intrinsic and personal.
The first was respect due to others just for their humanity. All were to give to other sapient beings this respect, lest they forfeit their own rights to it.
The second was earned, and changed as another's view of you did. Your beliefs, eye color, smell, build, actions, all of these things and more could influence what one felt about you.
"Expect the first, strive for the second," Morne's father used to say.
But the world took the first from Morne eight years ago, the day his village was butchered and his freedom was robbed from him.
Now he planned to take his payment in blood.
He wouldn't rest until those murderers were put down, along with everyone they cared about and each and every one of their relatives. They'd receive the same treatment they gave him, their bloodlines purged and their spouses and children put to the sword.
They gave the women and children of his village no quarter, so why should he care for theirs?
Then, after he learned how to use this Necromancy talent he now possessed, he'd do the same to Ilnchan's heartless followers.
As for the second type of respect…
No one ever said personal respect could only be earned through virtuous deeds. The Dark Gods themselves were proof of this.
They were hated and feared by many, but this was exactly what Morne meant. Fear and respect were two products cut from the same cloth.
By tearing fear from the hearts of others, the Dark Gods demanded respect, the same respect prey affords a predator.
When he was done, when he became the apex predator in the world of Mages, he'd be eager to see who would dare to speak ill of him to his face.
After all, what mouse would disrespect a lion?
.......
Brej-N'Ha-Frikt, unseen by those in the tavern, watched the mortal go in silence.
Minutes after the young Anointed left, four beefy men barged their way into the bar, shouldering the singing patrons aside as they cast about for something.
The song died in the singers' throats, a wave of silence sweeping through the building as everyone lowered their heads, not daring to meet the eyes of these newcomers.
The four men, whom Brej-N'Ha-Frikt could smell Ilnchan's stench on, questioned the barkeep with harsh words before leaving furiously, turning left once they left the building.
Brej-N'Ha-Frikt nodded in satisfaction. Those lumbering brutes thought themselves infallible, even after their failure several hours ago. They wouldn't hurry after Morne, as in their eyes, an ex-slave would have no coin to use.
To them, Morne was a rat in the maze of Cetregor, trapped in the city's walls with no hope of escaping. They'd find him eventually.
The Coltha stood apathetically. Stalling those fools wasn't an accomplishment or even an inconvenience. But now, the scales were balanced.
Brej-N'Ha-Frikt was many things, including a swindler, but a thief was not one of them. He left that to his lord's followers.
With this, no one could say that the Coltha had stolen from young Morne. Cheated, perhaps, but not stolen from.
The demon vanished from the tavern with a wide, ghastly grin on his face, eager to consolidate his Towers' new Heights.
.......
Unaware of the help he had just been given, Morne picked his way through street after street, careful not to attract the attention of others.
Anyone that remembered his face was a trail the cultists could use to track him down.
After buying some food for the road, he passed under Cetregor's gate and past the long line of people unimpeded, the two bored-looking guards stationed there only responsible for who goes in, not out.
Morne followed the dirt road the Coltha had left in Morne's memories, through some magic he was too inexperienced to recognize, for a few miles.
Cresting a small hill, he saw what he was looking for in the distance: several wagons surrounded by people and with horses strapped to them.
Most of these people were in civilian clothes, but there were two dozen in dark red leather armor, with swords strapped to their belts.
These men and women in armor were part of the Crimson Gradle Company, a mercenary group. They often took jobs escorting caravans to other towns, and that was what they were preparing to do now.
The wilderness of the Opyek Empire was dangerous, especially so for Infutim, so this practice was welcomed by all. This included the empire, which couldn't be bothered to pay for such services itself.
They stood around alertly, gazes checking the plains around them for danger. This vigilance was how they spotted Morne, and a member of the Crimson Gradle broke off to intercept this newcomer.