❖ THE TEST ❖ (D/Job)

"These settlements have been unregulated for as long as I can remember. No one will establish order, so it's up to us, you see . . ." one burly man explained with a thin, scratchy beard covering half of his face and three other similar-looking men crowding next to him. They wore a tunic that, supposedly, served as armor, and sheathes that held their longsword. They looked straight out of an archaic medieval period, if anything.

"Is that so? Now that you mention it, I do suppose there isn't a single figure of authority here!"

Across from him, Fane echoed them. Together, the five men huddled around a table inside of a quaint tavern where nothing really ever happened, the thick-bearded owner of the building polishing his drinking glasses with an impassioned complexion.

The stubby-browed, short-haired blonde began to grin kindly. "I'm just a traveler, you see. . . passing through, collecting wares, selling them and what have you. T'is all none of my concern but if you could be so generous, what might you call your order?" Fane queried shyly, rubbing the back of his scalp with feigned sheepishness.

The burly soldier grinned and pointed a self-satisfied thumb at himself, his fellow soldiers nodding with approval. "The New Law. And we'll establish just that."

Fane suddenly perked up, clapping his hands together. "I see! How just of you men, truly!"

It might have been difficult to believe, but perhaps being an informant was far simpler than the "Errings Rising" fellows let it on to be. Asking questions? Getting basic information? Either these "New Law" folks were rather open about their antics or Fane was an extraordinary informant.

"Right then," Fane continued his hands clasped together after the single clap, "while I may be just passing through, nothing's to say I won't pass through yet again. You fine fellows wouldn't happen to know of anything that. . . per se, might impose on my dealings here as a businessman, would you? Oh! But if you do not, do not fret! Word tends to get around quicker than a plague, my friends. . ."

The burly soldier's smile suddenly faded into a more solemn one, satisfaction settling into his features. "Field General Erikson intends to levy taxes on this place. The economy's been so unsupervised. . . I don't know if it would affect your business with this place or not."

Fane paused and said nothing for a moment. Then, he nodded. "I see, I see. What must be done must be done, or however it goes." he paused again before abruptly springing up from his seat, dusting his hands off from one another. "Well that is awfully swell to know, gentlemen, but I fear I must be off now. These mountains certainly fail to kid when it comes to their storms, and I feel it—no—I know it deep within my own gullet that a storm is brewing!"

With that, he and the soldiers, guardsmen, whatever they were exchanged their gestures of farewell, and bid just that. Fane wasn't interested enough to continue and would have to be satisfied with the information he got.