The Unexpected Traitor

That was a pretty good question. He did wonder what he meant with that. The most powerful magic types were the most rare ones. The Dragon forms, which he was certain Borus didn’t have, the Rare forms, the Gem forms. He knew a lot of DracoMancers who had all the normal types of Magic, but somehow he got the feeling the NightElf wasn’t one of them. ‘Like a rare magic, like we learned in school…’ he paused. ‘Or I did at least. Did you guys learn about the different types? Color, elemental, gem, etc?’

He leaned against the wall, and looked over the edge. ‘I have only Ice Magic,’ he confessed, allowing his cold touch to create frost on the stones. He liked the cold, but he didn’t dislike the warmth. His affiliation with the Lycans went beyond his race, he too enjoyed the north and the weather there more than he enjoyed living around the Masadur. ‘But every Magic can be powerful, I guess.’

“Yes we did, but-” Borus paused trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say “Learning is different when you are the only example. I mean don’t get me wrong Chaos Magic is not as rare as you think. But it was still bitch to learn pretty much on my own.”  He shook his head fingers playing with the small stones scattered amongst the rough slabs of the wall. 

Sortos liked this man for company, it was much better than sitting around the barracks trying to avoid Torque and Lehain, and maybe having a decent conversation with Gearrett, was he back yet? No, here on the wall, the Lycan felt for a bit… comfortable. Which was a feeling of which he had a great lack. ‘Denian and Markus right?’ Sortos asked. He knew the two, they were just a bit older than him, but other soldiers considered them powerful. The Lycans knew them well, even admired them.

He nodded strongly. ‘But then you’re really powerful, right? In your Magic. I heard Dark Souls are often the strongest Magicians… you must have a rare Magic,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. He didn’t know about surprising, he thought everything was rather fixed, people were who they were. A real surprise would be if Torque would suddenly be nice to him.

“Those are the two” Borus replied with a swift nod. Those were definitely the two. Shaking his head however Borus pushed the thoughts of his group out of his mind. This was his free time after all, and he didn’t want to be worrying about those two knuckleheads anymore than he already was. 

Sortos was mostly surprised by what Milian said. Was your heart really in that? Probably not, more like his bulky form. He was pushed away, and jumped back to his feet like a rolling dog. He raised an eyebrow, and watched as the Troll’s face turned a shade of green. Then he made it for the door, looking rather normal. But the clear sound of hurried steps told the whole story: the chicken leg was too much for him. 

‘Oh shit,’ the Lycan said, he got back to the table and looked at the three female Lycans for advice. They were all laughing and shouting ‘TROLL DOWN!’ while each taking shot after shot. They weren’t going to be of much help. To be honest, without Milian there, Sortos didn’t really care about the drinking game. He already felt a bit fuzzy, even if he hadn’t had that much at all. He put the chair back, and gestured to the three that he was done. 

‘Ah, come on, Sortos! It was just beginning to get funny. Your Troll friend will surely come back! He’s not a quitter!’ Notu called. 

The boy shook his head, more or less surprised that Borus thought he might want to kill him. Ream had told him last that he wasn’t a Dark Soul, and somehow - despite knowing deep down that he probably couldn’t have been because he had been accepted as a Knight - it had been disappointing. ‘Just curiosity. Because Ream told me some people who are with the Mancers are not Dark Souls, and those are mostly people who are… you know, Lycans, Vampires, NightElves, Demons, peoples who are with the Cold North.’

“Well he’s a hard pill to swallow for some so its understandable” Borus retorted with a small chuckle. He hadn’t interacted all that much with the other mancer but from what he could surmise they were cut from a lot of the same cloth, harsh, sarcastic and closed off, all traits that a sensitive soul like Sortos probably wouldn’t understand very well. Though he seemed to be doing alright with the boy at this moment, so who knows maybe there was something else that came between the two.  

He thanked whatever goddess sent her his way. His stomach didn’t like the idea of anything else being in there but hey, if he got drunk enough it was all gonna come back up anyway.

He took a sip only to spit it back out in a snort of amusement. “You alright?” Milian instinctively offered him a hand. “You can’t let a table take you out of the game.”

‘Oh, Sortos, this friend of yours is amazing!’ Notu shouted after Milian’s comment about the table. ‘You have to invite him more often, you hear!’ The other two female Lycans shouted in agreement. 

Sortos had been placed under the care of these Lycans some months ago, but it had taken a little while for him to grow on them. Lycans loved strength, they supported those who were witty, quick, and admirable. Milian sure had them hooked. And the former Knight in turn felt a bit left out. 

He tried not to sigh really loudly when the wrestling card came up. fuck. ‘Oh, you watch out with that one, dear. He might look like a new born babe, but we Lycans are strong,’ Brass bawled. 

‘Oh, the bar does,’ Notu said, leaning closer to Milian. ‘But the bartender sure hates us. Can’t see why. We’re very respectable and we drink a lot.’ She laughed and started to fill the glasses again before a card was drawn that involved her. 

Sortos just sat back and watched, pretty much how he usually played this game, only now he was supposed to engage at some point. He leaned over to look at the card Milian had drawn. ‘If only,’ he said without any sign of jest. ‘That’s the raw meat card. You have to eat it without puking.’ He looked up at Notu, who opened a bag that had been standing below the table for the duration of the game and handed Milian a raw chicken leg. Lycans were used to eating raw meat, he was pretty sure the DracoMancer wasn’t. He felt pretty bad for him. 

‘Bon appetite,’ Notu said, laughing. 

The part of him that enjoyed drinking was thrilled about this card. Toss the chicken over his shoulder and he was one more shot closer to a great night. However that part (and many other sides of him for that matter) were miniscule in comparison to the side of him that hated backing down. Loathed giving up. He didn’t need to win but damn if he’d go down without a fight.

“Please, boy, tell me you won’t…that chicken…” Milian looked over at his shoulder at the woman that spoke to him. She seemed to have nothing to do with the table, just wandered by at the right (or wrong) time. She glanced at the chicken leg, then at Milian, then to Sortos, then back again.

“Hey hey. I can do this. I’ve bitten off someone’s ear, I can eat a raw chicken.” He did his best to make sure that his words sounded more confident than he felt. “It probably tastes better than anything I’ve ever cooked.”

The new woman didn’t looked moved by his words. “Okay, just…watch.” Milian pinched his nose shut and took a very generous bite.

Once Milian had bit all of it down, Notu, Brass and Leavan clapped enthusiastically, congratulating the Troll on his victory over the chicken leg of doom. ‘Better than biting someone’s ear of, isn’t it?’ Notu laughed. Sortos bit back a laugh, and secretly hoped that a good amount of booze would make his fellow DracoMancer forget about being force fed raw meat, couldn’t be good for him if this Lycan game got him known around the barracks as someone who made other sick. Though, maybe Milian was the kind of person who didn’t speak on such things again. 

‘Sortos, quit with those puppy eyes, your turn!’ Brass shouted, already snatching her card and turning it over. 

The Lycan, his brain too full with worries about having his reputation blow - a reputation mind you, that he didn’t have to begin with -, stood up and clumsily jumped on the table, balancing on the back of his feet before dropping off and landing with a loud tudd on the floor. The breath was knocked straight out of him. He came up gasping. 

‘Oh, the bar does,’ Notu said, leaning closer to Milian. ‘But the bartender sure hates us. Can’t see why. We’re very respectable and we drink a lot.’ She laughed and started to fill the glasses again before a card was drawn that involved her. 

Sortos just sat back and watched, pretty much how he usually played this game, only now he was supposed to engage at some point. He leaned over to look at the card Milian had drawn. ‘If only,’ he said without any sign of jest. ‘That’s the raw meat card. You have to eat it without puking.’ He looked up at Notu, who opened a bag that had been standing below the table for the duration of the game and handed Milian a raw chicken leg. Lycans were used to eating raw meat, he was pretty sure the DracoMancer wasn’t. He felt pretty bad for him. 

‘Bon appetite,’ Notu said, laughing. 

It was past noon, and Sortos was sitting on the bar of an empty cafe, waiting for people to hang out with. Though he was pretty sure the moment anyone turned up he would be a nervous wreck. But nevertheless, he was not going to let this day pass him by without trying at least to have a conversation with someone. 

He didn’t wait for an answer. He took a few steps back from the table, then returned so he could nudge his chair out of the way. “Now Sortos, if I mess this up and crack my back or something, we have to think up a good lie about how I got it.”

Milian shook out his legs as shots were poured and Sortos got ready to grab his card. He then took a deep breath, squat down, and leapt upwards. It didn’t result in the most graceful of landings; the glasses on the table rattled from the force and something spilled and he thought he heard something crack (probably the table), but he was right side up with his bones still in their proper place.

Sortos quickly acted now he had a card. A 2, how convenient. ‘You can get off that table,’ Brass motioned, looking over Sortos shoulder to see what he had drawn. ‘Oh see, you get an other chance to have yourself a shot.’

‘You’ll need more than just Sortos’ head to help you understand the game,’ Brass said laughingly, nudging the Lycan’s arm. ‘Between you and I, his strategy of just watching to see how it goes, is not the best strategy,’ she said turning to Milian. ‘You have to play along to get a good grip. Sortos, explain him the rules.’ 

Sortos knew the Lycans far too well to know he could talk his way out of that. He took the cards from Notu and placed them on the table. Lycan playing cards had no fancy pictures of kings, queens, and that other guy, just the number 1 to 12 with little pictures of Werewolves on the front. ‘All these cards are placed top down in the middle of the table, and the idea is to take a card just before the player before you has finished their… assignment. If you don’t, you’ll have to take two cards. Each card stands for a different assignment.’

He pointed at the 1. ‘This one is howling, you have to howl for a minute, if you crank up, you have to drink. Two is staring, you have to do a stare competition with the person left of you, the one who looses has to drink.’ He stared at the third card, and looked helplessly at Notu. ‘Scratching? Maybe that’s not such a good idea.’ Notu shook her head, she nodded at Milian, and looked around to see if the bartender wasn’t watching, then scratched the table top with her clawed hand, leaving a very visible mark.

Milian pulled out the seat that he grabbed, sliding down into it so he could listen to Sortos’ explanation of the rules. They seemed straight forward enough, kind of like many of the games he already knew. A card was pulled, some kind of task was assigned, then came the drinking. Milian’s best guess that the confusion came from deciding exactly how to mimic the action on the cards.

He thought to ask if any of the cards had the wolves doing anything on the lewder side of things. Actually voicing the question was stopped by a demonstration of the strength of Notu’s claws. Milian’s forehead wrinkled as one of his brows raised slightly.

“A woman after my heart,” he smirked. “I need to lose more than a few of these before I start letting you tear me up though.” At the insistence of another player Milian reached out and took a card. 7. Milian squint at the card.

‘Oh, I like this new friend of yours, Sortos, he knows what to say,’ Notu joked, engraving her nails into the tabletop to make her claw mark look smoother. they would probably end up paying for the table as well. But by now, they were used to paying for damages. 

‘I get to wait before i take a card,’ he said, then looked at Brass for confirmation. ‘Or I can take it right away, but that wouldn’t make the game as exciting as it should be.’ 

‘Neither does your talking. 7 is jumping,’ Notu said, filling a round of shot glasses. ‘You need to jump on the table without using your hands, if you fail, you drink. The sucker who forgets to lift their shot glass and it gets spilled, drinks as well. Show us what you’ve got!’ she said with a smirk, and lifted her shot glass. 

‘You’ll need more than just Sortos’ head to help you understand the game,’ Brass said laughingly, nudging the Lycan’s arm. ‘Between you and I, his strategy of just watching to see how it goes, is not the best strategy,’ she said turning to Milian. ‘You have to play along to get a good grip. Sortos, explain him the rules.’ 

Sortos knew the Lycans far too well to know he could talk his way out of that. He took the cards from Notu and placed them on the table. Lycan playing cards had no fancy pictures of kings, queens, and that other guy, just the number 1 to 12 with little pictures of Werewolves on the front. ‘All these cards are placed top down in the middle of the table, and the idea is to take a card just before the player before you has finished their... assignment. If you don’t, you’ll have to take two cards. Each card stands for a different assignment.’

He pointed at the 1. ‘This one is howling, you have to howl for a minute, if you crank up, you have to drink. Two is staring, you have to do a stare competition with the person left of you, the one who looses has to drink.’ He stared at the third card, and looked helplessly at Notu. ‘Scratching? Maybe that’s not such a good idea.’ Notu shook her head, she nodded at Milian, and looked around to see if the bartender wasn’t watching, then scratched the table top with her clawed hand, leaving a very visible mark.

“I still owe you though, I won’t forget that.” He filed that detail away in the back of his mind in case he wasn’t able to make good on it before that night was over. And he was beginning to think that the chances of that were strong considering what was going on at the bar. “That’s me. It’s good to talk to you.”

He perked up at the mention of a game. Well, it appeared as though he did have some time to kill before the bartender was free, and he knew better than to turn down the possibility of free drinks.

The Lycan nodded. Happy and surprised that Milian was interested in joining in, he gave a look at the table. He knew none of the women would have a problem with an other player, for one, he had certainly showed to be one of the worst companions, promising to join in only when he had come to understand the rules. ‘I wasn’t yet. I’m actually still using your pending strategy on watching and hoping at some point I have any idea what they’re doing.’

‘So far I know what a few of the cards mean, but one of the cards allows them to change the rules, and then suddenly a card means something else. The game is in constant flux. Really, I am hoping you can make sense of it.’ He gestured Milian to follow him to the table. ‘N’aicom,’ he said in the language of the Lycans to the three women. Translated it meant something like: I bring a guest. But sounding way cooler. 

‘This is Milian, a DracoMancer. Milian, these are Leavan, Notu, and Brass, three fine Lycan warriors,’ he introduced the four. They were already pretty close to being drunk out of their minds, which made their gaming skills loud, and confusing. 

He had been alone for a little too long.

Milian needed a break every now and again from the almost constant presence of people around. Sometimes old anxieties nesting in him started to wake up and he had to take a day or two to silence them. So he escaped, feigning a cold or using training as an excuse for his disappearance before he ducked into one of his hiding places to sort himself out.

Too much silence, however, threatened to bring other things to the front of his mind that he had no desire to recall. So after 4 days Milian reemerged, got a good excuse in his head in case anyone got curious and asked, and ventured outside.

Ever since the war, the city of HagaFosiel hosted Demons, NightElves, Vampires, WereWolves, and Lycans; and they were just hanging out. He had a couple of friends among the ranks of the Lycans, but they were an intense bunch, very intense. 

The bar looked a bit like this at the moment Milian entered: four large guys were standing on the bar, demanding that a new case of beer had to be opened up just for the Lycans of the Cold North. Six strong women had started a drinking game that involved a lot of intense staring, taunting, and scary looks. Two others were making Werewolf jokes with a couple of Vampires. 

He hesitated for a moment, wanting to see if the guys were going to get their beer or if he was better off finding a table before getting the bartender’s attention. In that pause Milian noticed someone getting up and heading in his direction. His ever present smile grew a little more in the presence of a familiar face.

“Hey,” Milian greeted brightly after taking a few steps to meet the other DracoMancer. He then bit the inside of his lip. “Now, I owe you a drink if I get this wrong, but I think it’s…”

Milian was excellent when it came to remembering a face. He easily recall people from back in his school days, and ever further than that if he cared to remember that period of time in his life. The price for that skill, however, seemed to be his ability to recollect names. To give himself credit, he was better than he used to be, but he was still more often off than not.

‘Close enough,’ he replied, smiling. ‘Sortos. You’re Milian.’ It wasn’t so difficult to remember the name of the DracoMancer before him, there were only so few of them who were called the in-crowd. Upon joining the DracoMancers some years back, Sortos had been taught the social code. Social code was: respect the social ranks. ‘I can introduce you to the rest, might promise you free drinks too, if you can understand the rules of the game.’ Rules which he could not actually explain.