The Old City

0.2: Returned from the Dead

"Come now!" Marcus exclaimed. "We've been talkin' all this time and you didn't even recognize me. I'm hurt."

"Don't wear a damn mask if you want people to recognize you after ten years."

"I'm not used to this salty air. I needed a filter."

"That's not something a Soranian would ever say."

"Two ales please!" Marcus requested of Grandma Anya, tossing her a bronze Kait before turning back to Seneca. "I spent three years in some landlocked country in the east. That's enough time to ruin anyone's sea legs."

"And now you're back?"

"And now I'm back."

"I thought you were dead."

"I feared as much. Everyone must think the same. The war was not kind to us, was it? I'm sure all my things are gone now. Someone else must live in my flat. I may truly be dead to the world."

"How did you survive though? I heard your entire fleet went down off the coast of Windkeel. No survivors."

"We met the Magnarian fleet in the south, yes, but we didn't lose in battle. No Soranian vessel ever lost a contest of speed or power or maneuverability to any ship from any other land. No, a storm came upon us and our mages were powerless against it. It was something terrible, like I never saw before or since. It came fast, hit hard, and when I came to, there was nothing but driftwood and frozen sailors. All our ships and all the Magnarian ships had been eaten by the storm.

"I treaded water for days until some survivors found a large enough piece of debris to float on and rescued me. It didn't matter which side we were on at that point. We were just desperate to survive. A ship found us several days after that, after we'd lost half the survivors and the last of our food."

"But where did you go?"

Marcus leaned in and lowered his voice. "It was a Magnarian ship that saved us."

Seneca put his ale down slowly and looked his old friend deep in the eyes. A Magnarian ship only meant one of two things: Marcus has been a prisoner of war for the better part of the last decade, or his allegiance no longer sat with Soran.

"Where did you say you'd been?"

"East."

"How far east?"

"Further than you've ever been, I bet. They took me in and didn't question me much. They found some poor Soranian bastards and executed them though, but I spoke good Windkeelan so passed as a vassal. We stayed at sea for three months before landfall and then I had to join their caravan to Auleonis."

Seneca bit his tongue and realized he had talked more in the last twenty minutes than the last month. There must be no one better than an old friend to bring you out of your shell, you fool.

"We should talk about something else. There will surely be another time to discuss the war."

"What would you talk about?"

"Why have you come back now?"

"After I escaped that Hellhole I journeyed back through the desert and across the countryside, lookin' for a port. Any ship that might bring me home. It took almost a year, and then another three months to find that vessel that brought me here. I've been thinkin' about what I'll do when I get back. I want to enjoy myself to be certain, I have been a soldier, a prisoner, and a desperate traveler for the better part of a decade. It's time to relax.

"More importantly I realized the world is ripe with opportunity, and it's my obligation to seize it. There are worlds out there who make our struggle in the First Ring seem like nothing. Pigs in Magnar make our Second Ring's gluttony seem like frugality.

"It's time to stop feelin' sorry for ourselves and fight back. We can take some of that wealth if we band together. We can actually make the First Ring a decent place for us all to live in."

"You leave a reluctant soldier and come back the passionate revolutionary."

"And I want you to be my lieutenant."

Seneca laughed and took another drink. "I hate to let you of all people down, but I'm far from fit as a fighter and don't have the faintest clue how I would help you in this grand plan."

"Grand? I don't even have a plan. I just know that things need to change and I know that if I can show these people what's wrong here, they will come together and fight. But I have been away for a long time. I don't know this Soran like you do. I need your help."

Seneca thought back to his apartment, that dingy, smelly, decrepit place that he called home. He wanted to go back there, crawl into bed, and not wake up until he was late for tomorrow's shift. He wanted to hide in its crumbling shadows. He wanted to get away from this man who had once been his friend.

But when he looked at Marcus, Seneca was overwhelmed by the man's light. It seemed as though years of war and hiding himself had not blunted his irrational passion.

"I'm not who I used to be. I just want to go back home. The world can sort itself out."

"It can't. It never will, not unless we give it a nudge. Come on, Seneca. We can make a difference here. Give me your hand and I will help you through whatever demons you fight. We will make it through this, I swear. Let me help you and then let's save the rest of this godsforesaken city."