The Arena

Reid adjusted the weight of his new cloak as he walked alongside Tarron through the bustling market streets, the late morning sun glinting off brassware and tinted glass. Tarron, already three shops ahead, was in high spirits—bartering for dried fruit, nuts, and a satchel large enough to carry what Reid suspected was everything but the kitchen hearth.

Then it began.

Low whispers. A few glances. A hushed nod in his direction.

Reid slowed slightly, ears straining. The market's murmur twisted with his name with awe and wonder -

"the one from the Crest Office,"

"the Mage,"

"Heard he ripped the post out,"

"they say he snapped it like a twig."

Tarron caught on quick. He came bounding back, holding a thin broadsheet, eyes wide with excitement.

"They've printed your face already!" he exclaimed, smacking the paper against Reid's arm. "Look! Page two. It's not bad either. Got your glare right and everything."

Reid took the sheet, scanning the crude charcoal sketch of himself mid-snarl. There was him and a brief description of his morning debacle.

Wonderful.

As if he was not already feeling very miserable.

Regardless, Tarron jabbered on, barely containing himself.

"This makes it easy, yeah? We won't need to haggle passage. Nobles heading to Thanes or even Dales might be seeking you out already! Just wave at the right one and boom—food, wine, tolls, fees, all paid off. Might even throw in a little bag of coin if you charm 'em."

Reid gave him the look and Tarron caught on quickly.

His smile puttered out like a bad spell—halfway cast, wholly regretted as he looked at Reid's raised brow.

 "Charm Who?" Reid's tone was steel dipped in frost.

"Or, y'know… ask politely?" Tarron offered sheepishly. "I mean, let's forget what I said. We should go check out the Local Recruitment Office. In cities like Aldor, work is not difficult to find."

Reid folded the broadsheet and handed it back to him. 

"What kind of work are you talking about?"

He was still annoyed about the gold he'd wasted buying that ridiculous mage crest. Should've just faked it.

Tarron mulled it over. "There are plenty of options. But I think 'Safety Escort' suits us. Now that you're officially a Mage, we'll fetch good coin. What do you say?"

Reid gave a reluctant nod. He didn't share Tarron's optimism, but there was no harm in looking.

There was no harm in checking out the work before he abandons the idea altogether. Reid was not as hopeful as Tarron about successfully executing a task that involved Noble's safety. Forget the bandits, with their haughty and high handed attitude, Reid would not trust himself of not disposing of one mid-way. Always a good riddance - this lot.

Tarron had been walking ahead of him this whole time, guiding their way to the Local Recruitment Office. For a boy who had stepped outside of Grinholt for the first time, he knew the streets awfully well.

They had hardly walked half a mile when the office came into view. It was a large sprawl, with a small room on one side and the rest was an open sitting area beneath a wooden shed. Some people were standing in front of a display board, others were casually gossiping over strange beverages.

"Is this an official place?" Reid asked, eyeing the bustle with skepticism. It looked more like a tavern courtyard than anything formal.

"Very Much." Tarron said "The officer, though, remains inside that small cabin. Rest of the folk…well they just hang out if they find nothing better to do. It is particularly crowded today though." 

Reid arched a brow. "You've been here before?"

"Huh? No—never. But merchants talk. I've been told what to expect. How to post a Job request, that sort of thing."

Tarron shrugged.

They walked to the display board and started screening the job requests. Or Tarron did at least.

Reid was casually glancing over the board out of sheer curiosity when something caught his eyes.

He pointed, "Isn't this about the same Noble family that hired your father?"

"It seems so." Tarron said, as he leaned closer.

It was a job request to recruit Mages- Marchios and above with affinity to dark magic in order to assist a Vandros Mage who was leading the investigation.

"Didn't Maurice say that they had dropped the case as there was no one left to pursue?"

"He did." Tarron replied, visibly unsettled. "But again the information was provided by a sentry in return for a few coins. If they have involved a Vandros Mage in this matter, such small tickets would never be told about it."

Tarron was a little unnerved by the whole situation. Beads of sweat gathered on Tarron's brow. He kept reading, as though the parchment might confess a deeper truth if stared at long enough.

"Let's get out of here." Reid tugged at Tarron's sleeves. "If they still thought you responsible, they would have come for you by now."

Still, Reid couldn't shake the feeling. The shadow that had followed him from the grave—he was starting to think it was tied to the Noble's massacre. And if so, that Vandros Mage had no idea what was coming for him.

Reid had no noble urge to warn him either. Each man on their own.

"We still have to look for a job that pays our way to Dales." Tarron said, resisting Reid's pull.

"You're really hopeful if you think any Noble will hire us now." Reid paused, eyeing him. "You think word hasn't spread already?"

Deflated, Tarron agreed and together they walked out of the office.