Moving Up in the World

A dark wooden wagon came into view, pulled by a pair of horses. Two men in leather armour escorted it, one on each side.

Sat on the front, a driver was manipulating the reins with seeming ease for the turn, dressed neatly in simple black tunic and pants.

Next to him sat a gentleman with a straight back and a good spattering of grey in his hair. He was adorned in deep red pigmented garments, long sleeves trimmed excessively in gold.

Still sitting, Oliver stuffed his empty chip bag in his backpack. He went to stand up, and as he did so, the well-to-do man called for his wagon to stop.

“Quite an interesting fellow you are, sitting out here of all places.” The sumptuous golden-red individual shifted his position to look at Oliver curiously. Oliver went with simplicity.

“... Hello, mind if I catch a ride?”

“What interesting clothes… Though they are certainly not in the most pristine condition… Say, are you highborn?”

Oliver wasn’t sure what to say. He could tell the exact truth, but from the reactions of those crazy forest people, who didn’t know what a planet was, he assumed his situation wasn’t exactly common.

He decided to avoid the question, if only to smooth over the interaction. There was also the fact he didn’t like being ignored. “If I was, would you give me a ride?”

The old man gave Oliver a strange look before chuckling good naturedly. “Good of you to stay cautious, but I don’t aim to seek your ransom… So be it then, we are heading to the Willow’s city project. Excellent business or so my associates say, I imagine they were exaggerating.”

Oliver scratched his head, lost. “Sorry, a city project?”

Surprise overtook amusement, "Oh, to not know of….” He looked Oliver up and down, noting his injuries. Gravitas entered the merchant’s tone, "You poor man, I’ll get you to town. How much do you remember?”

Oh, this is convenient “... Nothing before waking up.” Oliver hoped that fit with the merchant’s assumptions.

Suspicions confirmed, the merchant nodded solemnly. “Unfortunate, so very unfortunate. Very well, I will give you some information and help you to the city, free of charge. You are likely from this city, seeing as we are so close, so I imagine your family will find you when we are there.”

Oliver nodded along, “Does this sort of thing happen much?”

“Oh yes, people often lose their memories after some kind of mana accident. Whether it be in a fight with a monster, a mistake in an experiment, or due to some natural phenomena,” It was common enough that the merchant simply assumed it to be the case for Oliver. Oliver definitely looked like he’d been the recipient of some kind of event.

“I recall one story I heard, an adventurer of sorts– he saw fit to challenge a stray gryphon, minding its own business in the wild. Not even a violent one. In any case, he replenished his mana a few too many times and came out of it a less audacious man, to say the least!“ Olaric chuckled deeply.

Man, this guy talks too much. Oliver raised an eyebrow, “Do people usually go and do experiments out here? Picked up anyone else before?”

The merchant hmmed, “Not this forest, there’s not really much reason for people to be out here. It is quite uniquely unresourceful as forests go, to the extent it’s notable.”

Olaric stroked his chin, “I suppose an introduction is in order,” rising to stand on the wagon, the merchant raised his arms, heralding the horizon, "This is Astruvel, Empire of Merit! Land of opportunity!”

He turned back to Oliver with a smile. “Olaric Ravenscott is the name, you?”

Oliver smiled back, disingenuously. “My name is Oliver. Oliver Crest”

And so the game began.

—

Over the sounds of clanking metals, glasses, and ceramics, Oliver and Olaric conversed as they made way toward a city called Willowhaven. Supposedly, a middle-ranked settlement of the Empire, the enterprise of House Willowen.

“So… the rank of nobility is based around the prosperity of a settlement?”

Oliver was chewing some dry travel rations with effort, sitting across from Olaric in the clattering wagon next to crates of various goods.

Looking concerned at the ‘memory loss’, Olaric responded. “That’s precisely right. They get together at the end of every year and reevaluate the rankings in the capital. The magical capacity of a city also plays a substantial part.”

Oliver sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, “That is pretty meritocratic.”

Olaric glanced at Oliver’s clothes, "You know, I do sell tunics and the like…”

Oliver was reminded of his dishevelled state and looked down at himself. “I don’t really have money.”

“You seem to have a few interesting items. That.. shiny pillow surely is worth an amount.” The old-timer looked innocently at Oliver’s bag as he probed the subject he was clearly waiting to get to.

The remaining bag of chips was showing through the backpack’s knife wound. “Oh, this is, uh-” flavoured potato chips. He didn’t say that, he was supposed to not know anything.

Olaric sighed, a bit vexed at Oliver’s inability to answer, “I suppose you wouldn’t know, can I have a look at it?”

Oliver hesitated, he assumed there was nothing like it in this world, considering he was in a wooden wagon. To be fair, it’s a fancy wooden wagon. I would have thought it would be a less smooth ride than it is.

Anyway, holding back the bag of chips would have raised more questions, so he handed it over.

The merchant turned it over, analysing every inch - as he was shaking it next to his ear, he noticed Oliver’s stare, “Ahem, well, simply put, I have never seen anything of the like in all my years. It looks like steel, but it bends and crumples like paper? Airtight too, I would assume there is food inside, seeing as there are various ingredients listed on it.”

Oliver was falling asleep. Olaric looked at him. Oliver jumped, "Oh, that’s interesting?”

Another sigh, "Do you mind if I test for magic? I assume it was used in its making, I could potentially get it analysed at the local Scholarium, replicate the technique.”

Oliver, despite his traumatic magic experience, perked up at the mention of magic. “Oh, for sure go ahead.”

The merchant grumbled something about Oliver being more excited about ‘damn magic’ than the ‘potentially revolutionary packaging’ while searching around for a measurement tool.

He produced an engraved box lined in fine fabric, it held a metallic magnifying glass with a thick rim, excessively engraved in the same sort of patterns that were on the shadow master’s staff, although smaller and more compact.

“I paid way too much for this, it takes an excessive amount of mana to use. I don’t see why people still don't use simple magic sensor rods.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Simply because I paid so much for it.” Olaric held the magic sensor glass up to the bag of chips. “Not magical at all? Not even as part of the crafting of such an item? Fascinating.”

Oliver looked interested, so Olaric passed the items over, "Go on then, it’s your item. See how no part of it glows with mana?”

Holding the sensor-glass, Oliver couldn’t really tell the difference between looking through it and looking through normal glass.

“Well? Aren’t you going to imbue it with your mana?”

I have mana?

Olaric slumped, seeing the confusion all over Oliver’s face.

“How is it that you can speak and breathe, but not imbue mana.” Olaric rubbed his forehead, “I did say I would give you some information, so here’s a quick exercise.” He took back his magical tool and set it aside. “Hold out an arm.”

Oliver did as he was told.

Olaric hovered his hand above Oliver’s arm. “I’m going to try to push my mana into your arm like it’s a magical item, it won’t work, but focus on the feeling of it.”

The merchant lowered his palm, and when it came in contact with Oliver’s forearm, it was like he had two senses of touch. Aside from just the skin contact– it felt like carpet rubbing against carpet, it happened in pulses twice a second. Oliver shivered and moved his arm away.

“That should help with the awareness of it at least.” He handed Oliver the tool. Oliver tried to remember the feeling of the carpet, concentrating on it.

Still, nothing happened.

“No matter if it’s too tough at the moment, in any case, would you accept 10 silver pieces for the bag?” Olaric spread his arms while putting his proposal forward, smiling kindly. He was a man of his trade.

The driver, seated on the front of the wagon and methodically attending this task until now, twisted to look at the pair through the viewing slot. “10 silver?” His voice slipped.

Oliver hesitated, “Is that a lot?”

The merchant’s brows furrowed with concern again. “Oh dear, really?... One silver, equivalent to ten copper.”

At Oliver’s blank look, he continued with a cadence of worry, “A common sit-down meal can go for about one to two silver, a night’s stay at a decent place perhaps three silver.

Olaric’s aura was making it easy to trust him at his word, but Oliver turned to the driver, who shrugged before turning back to the road.

“Uh. I s’pose 10 silver will do. I have an opened bag as well…” Oliver pulled it out and displayed its contents, crumbs clinging to the sides.

“Used.. Let’s call it 14 silver for all? I believe that to be more than fair.”

“Sure. Good enough for me.”

As Oliver held onto the two bags, Olaric climbed over to a small chest near the front of the moving wagon. Upon returning to his seat, he handed a small sack of fat unadorned silver coins to Oliver. They were hefty - each roughly circular, about a centimetre thick and five centimetres wide, rounded at the edges.

“There you go, you can keep the pouch.” He patted it in Oliver’s hands.

Something about Olaric’s behaviour and the steep value of Oliver’s chips made it clear that this merchant was consciously trying to make a good impression.

Olaric’s wizened lips parted amusedly, “Now, with newly acquired wealth, perhaps some clothing is in order?”

“Oh, right.”

—

Olaric had pulled out a few different pieces of clothing for Oliver to choose from– those in his price range. If his price comparisons were to be believed, even these were all a bit on the nose.

To be frugal, Oliver picked out a nice lime green linen tunic, in honour of his old shirt. It cost him 3 silver. Like a tunic does, it reached halfway down his thighs, and had strings on the sleeves and neck to adjust.

Oliver chatted with Olaric, and they got to the topic of the Lamenting Woods, apparently named as such because its flora contained very little natural mana.

Olaric recounted, “Some say that because the many pioneers that tried to settle amongst the woods were unsuccessful, that they lament due to not being part of the Empire. Or that they simply caught the tears of those who failed.”

Supposedly the Lamenting Woods encircled the entire mountain range that split the continent, making nearly the entire western border of the Astruvel Empire.

“Why are there roads through it, then.”

“The forest reaches into the Empire in places, it does not simply end in a flat line. We are travelling through such an outreach.”

Eventually, the road opened up into grasslands, spotted with the same trees, but more sporadic, the grass a more vibrant green swirled with light blue, running into the distance.

Plonked far away at the end of the road was a large circular city wall. It probably would have been nicer if they could see it from above, but since the land was flat, it just looked like a big wall.

As they continued approaching, Oliver saw the yellow and blue striped banners hanging intermittently over the sides and on the gate.

Olaric’s wagon and it's escort eventually joined a queue behind some other wagons, guards proceeded to inspect them, then wave them through after some short questioning.

Pulling forward, Olaric was again sitting on the front with the driver, and he seemed annoyed as the guards approached. Man and woman, wearing leather for protection.

“What’s this about, what happened to free commerce?”

The guard adopted a monotonous expression, indicating he’d answered this too many times today, “Sorry sir, but we’re to check for uniquely clothed individuals. Or those who speak in foreign tongues– a recent directive from the capital, wide sweeping.”

“Why would there be any this far inland?”

Oliver stood in the wagon, and placed his hand on the flap, to step out and ask for more information–

“I don’t know sir, it seems to be some kind of advanced teleportation attack.”

The other guard elbowed him.

Oliver paused.

Olaric questioned, “Attack?”

The guardsman looked guilty, “Uh, I shouldn’t say more,” he opened the flap to check the inside of the wagon, finding a wealthy looking red haired young man in a green tunic and cream coloured pants. He had even taken his shoes off to relax.

The guardsman frowned. Some people just had it too good.

The wagon was waved through the gate.

It had been the right decision.