3rd person POV:
Arriving at the place that sanctioned the passes for entrance into the military encampment—-or that's what the duo—Arthur and Michael—came to call it—was not the hard part.
However, getting inside the establishment with the delusive horns fuelled by the unassuming artefact, acting as a natural denizen of Eden and getting the pass without raising any kind of suspicion was the actual cumbersome task.
With Michael in the lead and Arthur standing right behind him, towards his left, the two looked up at the sign before letting out a synchronised nervous, yet mollifyingly excited breath.
The structure of the establishment, overall, was not exactly huge or imposing. As a matter of fact, it paled in comparison to even the chintziest offices on Earth.
It was a decent-sized, square-shaped shack spanning about 50 metres in width and 50 metres in height. The material used in construction seemed to be wood of different dull colours, worn out due to the harsh weather.
The myriad of colours included light red, green, blue, yellow, black, grey and white. With the whole cube-like shape and blocks of different kinds of materials in different colours, the shack looked more like a ginormous Rubik's cube than a place that held such strong importance.
With another steady, determined breath, the two of them walked in.
The door opened and a heavy breeze blew carrying the musty, nauseating stench of some kind of alcohol mixed in with every other disgusting thing.
Michael breathed out from his nose, a huge frown appearing on his face. While Arthur slipped even further behind him. Acting like his shadow.
The inside of the shack had minimalistic decorations with a few scenic pictures hanging from the walls, some tilted at an unusual angle and some having cracked glass surfaces. On the other side were 3 swords hung from the wall that reminded Arthur of ancient European claymores.
There was no specific seating arrangement.
Round tables lined almost every nook-and-cranny of the establishment and chairs made of the same material, roughly 4 of them, were around every table.
People of different races were sitting on those chairs.
Most of them were Trolls.
With body proportions that consisted more of fat than muscle, each of them was twice as tall as Michael and Arthur.
Arthur's gaze washed over most of them and then landed straight at the one behind the counter. The one emitting the most potent form of Arcanum that spilled outwards and filled the entire place like stagnant water in a pond. The commanding force keeping everything in place.
And it was true as well.
This place is more like a pub than a ticket sanctioning place. He thought. And at the same time this place is way too organised for a place like a pub. Especially when everyone is so hopelessly plastered and hammered.
As he was looking straight at the one beside the counter, the Troll jerked its head back at him.
His body was exorbitantly hulking and imposing—even when surrounded by others of the same species, consisting of a mass of sinewy muscles that bulged beneath the chiton that seemed to be made of the hide of a green coloured monster.
His back was mostly exposed, providing visual on the jagged ridges all along the cream-coloured skin, right over its spine like the miniature peaks of distant mountains.
From beneath his thick brow—that could pass as a small bush—his single, inverted eye narrowed sideways as it peered at Michael.
"He looks like a derpy version of the Hulk." Michael snickered to himself as Arthur struggled to listen to what he was saying.
The other trolls and some other species spared one look at the duo before returning either going back to sleep while losing consciousness or to drinking.
A few murmurs of 'Damned Imperialists' echoed; however, they were drowned out by the clatter of cups falling from the tray of a young woman who didn't have any outlandish features of the other species. Just simple human-like features with black hair and a pair of dull maroon eyes.
Her ears were slightly rounder than a human's and she was a bit on the chubby side.
"And that shawty's a dwarf." Michael commented again.
Although Arthur heard it this time, his inability to keep up with trends or slang words, unlike Astrid, rendered him unable to understand what he said. Shrugging it off as just another thing he couldn't quite grasp, he turned his attention back at the main troll who was still looking at Michael from the corner of his vertically oriented eye.
His broad nose, like the prow of a ship, flared as he breathed, and his thick, meaty lips were drawn back in a perpetual frown.
Tufts of coarse hair sprouted from its oversized ears. From the way they hung down from the side of his head, Arthur wondered if they were even functional.
As the two of them reached the counter, Michael banged both his hands on the table.
The bottles on the table and in the small shelf behind all shivered as he clicked his tongue.
What happened to staying discreet!
As the troll turned around and walked over to the counter, his shadow covered both Arthur and Michael.
Michael's horns were poking into his hood, stretching it upwards.
The troll folded his giant, meaty arms and stared at them with his single eye. The horns had made him uncomfortable, however, he kept his composure.
Meanwhile Arthur and Michael kept silent because they could not signify the language used outside on the board. One wrong move and they both could end up in a tight spot.
Trolls are known for their herculean strength and contend for a spot in the top 5 amongst all species for brute strength.
On top of that, IF a troll was smart enough to make use of a species-specific Arcane Art, they were truly a force to be reckoned with.
That was why even someone as Michael who believed in solving everything via violence and pure strength was being cautious.
After a few seconds of tense stare down between Michael and the troll, Arthur shifted uncomfortably before placing his hand on the counter and then receding it quietly, leaving behind a Glimmerstone.
"Lord Cromwell is not very fond of waiting for long durations. I suggest you give us what we want, unless you want to end up like the others." Arthur whispered, keeping his hood low enough to not give away his features at all.
The translucent and sapphire coin was beautiful and totally stark against the stained surface of the pub counter.
The dusty brown coloured iris inside the troll's vertical eye shifted sideways, taking a quick glance at his surroundings before quickly pulling the coin. Quickly he pushed the coin into his pocket before crouching downwards, and retrieving something from underneath the counter.
After a while of fiddling and throwing things around he took out a silver medallion. It was a sun shaped medallion with even the rays of sun carved out.
The rays look like sperm. It's like a kid drew it. They really don't know what they're doing. Are they quite behind in the astrology field? Arthur mused to himself.
The Troll—Hagrid, if the lady was not lying about his name—casted one sidelong glance at the two boys before parting his lips and speaking for the first time. "The Young Lord… Enter 'The Keep'… Free!" And then he slid the Glimmerstone back towards the boys. "Test…me? Procedure? This… Young Lord… take this back!" He slipped the Glimmerstone back. "Too much."
Arthur shifted his head back towards him.
He couldn't really tell if it was the Troll's normal way to talk or it's just having difficulty talking in the same language as the supposed "Young Lord" of "The Cromwells."
Michael frowned and pushed the coin back.
Hagrid somewhat flinched, and then with a covetous rub of his hands and a savouring pass of his lips, he quickly returned the Glimmerstone to his pocket and bowed subtly. "Long Live… King."