The streets of Valarys buzzed with the usual morning bustle, but today, Ubuntu felt a bit lighter. He had taken down some Guild thugs, scored a new pair of sabres, and now had a lead on the kind of information that might get him home. All things considered, it was a good day to be him.
He moved with purpose through the marketplace, ducking through alleyways and sidestepping carts loaded with goods. Amara had summoned him and hinted at something big—something involving the Sovereign's movements. That meant it was time to get serious again, but for now, he was content to enjoy the brief moments of peace Valarys offered between its inevitable chaos.
"Ubuntu!"
The voice startled him out of his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting a familiar face weaving through the crowd—Jon, the farmer's son whom Ubuntu had saved during his run-in with the Guild. Only now, Jon wasn't the sickly, desperate boy he had been when Ubuntu last saw him. He was healed, looking healthier, standing tall and running toward him with an almost comical determination.
"Here we go..." Ubuntu muttered to himself as Jon finally caught up, panting slightly, his face beaming with gratitude.
"Ubuntu!" Jon exclaimed breathlessly, grinning like a fool. "I've been looking all over for you! I never got to thank you properly for what you did—for saving my father and I. My little sister's all better now, too, and—"
"Yeah, yeah, we're even," Ubuntu interrupted, not one for long-winded gratitude. "So what's up? You're not here just to say thanks, are you?"
Jon shook his head, still catching his breath. "Well, no. I wanted to help you! You saved us, so now I'm here to return the favor. Whatever you need—I'm your guy."
Ubuntu raised an eyebrow. "Help me? Look, kid, no offense, but what exactly are you bringing to the table here? I've got the whole 'smashing bad guys' thing pretty much covered."
Jon puffed out his chest, trying to look as capable as possible. "I'm loyal. I can fight, sorta. And I know the city—its people, its secrets. Plus, I've always been good with... people."
That last part made Ubuntu pause. There was something in Jon's overly enthusiastic tone that made him think this kid might be trouble. The way his eyes darted after every woman that passed by didn't help either. This guy was giving off serious coureur de jupon energy.
"You're 'good with people,' huh?" Ubuntu asked, amusement dancing behind his eyes. "And by 'people,' I'm guessing you mean women?"
Jon blinked, clearly not expecting to get called out so directly. "Well... uh, yeah! I mean, women are people too, right? I just happen to be really good at talking to them."
Ubuntu chuckled, shaking his head. "Great, I've got a skirt-chaser tagging along now."
"Hey, I'm more than just that!" Jon said defensively, though the smug grin on his face suggested otherwise. "I can help in other ways. I swear!"
Jon's enthusiasm was endearing in a puppy-with-too-much-energy kind of way, and for a brief moment, Ubuntu considered sending him packing. But something about the kid's loyalty—the fact that he was willing to throw himself into the fray just to pay Ubuntu back—made him pause.
"Alright, alright," Ubuntu said with a sigh. "You wanna help me out, fine. But I'm not running a charity here. You pull your weight, or you're out."
"Deal!" Jon said eagerly, practically bouncing with excitement.
They walked side by side through the crowded streets, Ubuntu watching Jon out of the corner of his eye. The kid was a little too excitable, a little too... reckless. But there was something else about him, something awkward that kept bubbling to the surface.
As they passed a pair of orcs—massive, green-skinned warriors dressed in simple armor—Jon stumbled slightly, giving them a wide berth as they passed. His face twitched, as if he were trying to smile at them, but it came off more like a grimace.
Ubuntu noticed and couldn't resist poking fun. "What's the matter? You got a problem with orcs or something?"
Jon quickly shook his head, his expression stiff. "What? No! Of course not. I've got... I've got orc friends."
Ubuntu stopped walking, giving Jon a look that could only be described as Are you serious? "Uh-huh. So, you've got 'orc friends,' huh?"
Jon nodded, looking proud of himself. "Yep. And ogres too. I've met some ogres. They're good people!"
Ubuntu stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Let me get this straight—you're not racist because you've got 'orc friends'? That's your argument?"
Jon blinked, looking confused. "Uh... yeah? Why, is that bad?"
Ubuntu rubbed his temples, letting out a long sigh. "Kid, if that's your best defense, we're gonna need to have a talk. Come on."
They continued walking, with Jon occasionally glancing nervously at any non-human they passed. It wasn't long before they arrived in a quieter part of the city, where the bustling crowd thinned and the streets were lined with tall, old buildings. The people here moved more carefully, their eyes casting glances from the shadows, the atmosphere thick with intrigue.
"So, Jon," Ubuntu began, "since you're apparently the resident expert on other races, mind telling me how things work around here? What's the deal with orcs, ogres, and all these other people I keep running into?"
Jon brightened up, eager to show off some of his knowledge. "Oh, sure! It's actually kind of complicated. See, Valarys is home to all sorts of races—humans, orcs, ogres, goblins, elves, dwarves—you name it, we've got it. But the way they're treated? Well... let's just say it's not exactly equal."
"Shocking," Ubuntu muttered dryly.
Jon continued, oblivious to the sarcasm. "Humans run most of the political and economic systems. The Merchant's Guild? Mostly human. The noble families? All human. The Academy? Again, mostly human. But orcs and ogres? They're often used as laborers or soldiers. The wealthy love to employ them as personal guards, or ship them off to work the mines. They're big and strong, so people think that's all they're good for."
"And the orcs are just okay with that?" Ubuntu asked, raising an eyebrow.
Jon hesitated. "Not... exactly. The orcs and ogres have their own societies, out in the wildlands, but a lot of them come to Valarys for work, thinking they'll find better opportunities. What they find instead is a system designed to keep them in place. The Guild has its hands in everything, so even if you want to make something of yourself, you've got to go through them."
"Ah, capitalism at its finest," Ubuntu muttered. "And what about the other races? Dwarves, elves?"
"Dwarves handle the forges and trade," Jon explained. "They're more respected, especially in Valarys because of their craftsmanship. Elves, though... well, they don't really trust humans. They mostly keep to their own kingdoms in the forests, and when they do come to Valarys, they're treated like exotic pets or commodities—especially by the nobles."
Ubuntu grimaced. "Great. So we've got a social hierarchy based on race and economics. Classic."
"Exactly," Jon said, nodding eagerly, clearly proud of himself for being useful. "The Guild and the nobility keep the system in place, but every now and then, you get someone who tries to shake things up. Like you!"
Ubuntu chuckled. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly here to start a revolution."
As they turned another corner, they found themselves in front of the large, ornately decorated gates of an estate. Amara was waiting for them just inside, her arms crossed and her face serious.
"There you are," she said, her tone businesslike. "I've been looking into the Guild's recent activities, and it's worse than we thought. The Sovereign has been using them to funnel resources—gold, magic, weapons—straight to his armies. It's not just about economic control anymore; he's gearing up for something big."
"Of course he is," Ubuntu said with a sigh. "Why can't these guys ever just stick to the regular evil stuff? You know, money, power, the usual?"
Amara ignored his sarcasm, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I need you two to go into the city and gather more information. There are whispers of a new Guild meeting happening soon—one where they plan to discuss their next moves. We need to know what they're planning and where the Sovereign fits into it."
Before Ubuntu could respond, Jon piped up, sounding far too eager. "So, what's the plan?"
"Plan?" Ubuntu repeated, raising an eyebrow at Jon. "A plan? Ah, that's funny. Me, I was just thinking we'd crash the party, maybe punch a few people, and see what happens. But sure, let's hear your boring strategy first."
Jon blinked, looking slightly confused. "Uh... right. Well, I was thinking maybe we could, you know, gather intel from the locals first, maybe bribe someone for information—"
"Too slow," Ubuntu interrupted with a grin. "We walk in, we make a mess, and we get out before anyone knows what hit them. It's called 'improvisation.' You should try it sometime."
Amara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just... try not to start a war in the middle of the city, alright? We need discretion."
"Discretion," Ubuntu repeated, nodding seriously. "Got it. No promises."
Amara gave him a long, exasperated look before finally waving them off. "Fine. Just get it done."
As they made their way toward the district where the Guild was rumored to be holding its next meeting, Ubuntu noticed that Jon had gone unusually quiet. The kid was usually full of energy, but now he seemed thoughtful, his expression uncharacteristically serious.
"You good, Jon?" Ubuntu asked, glancing at him.
Jon nodded slowly. "Yeah, I'm good. It's just... you know, this Guild stuff. They're the ones who put my family through hell. I can't stand the thought of them getting away with it."
Ubuntu's smirk softened slightly. For all of Jon's goofy charm and skirt-chasing tendencies, the kid had a real fire in him. He wasn't just tagging along for the ride—he had something to prove.
"Don't worry," Ubuntu said, clapping Jon on the shoulder. "We're gonna take 'em down. And it's gonna be fun."