Irolt Has a Rough Day

The one thing Irolt disliked doing more than sleeping (because of the associated nightmares) was sitting still. He much preferred to keep his hands busy and his hours productive. It helped keep his mind off his troubles, which he seemed to be acquiring by the minute.

Even his plan for busywork fell through. His intention had been to work on honing his stolen blade, but it didn’t take more than a minute with a whetstone to get it combat ready once more. For all the Parliamentary’s many, many flaws, they could apparently care well enough for their weapons.

I wonder how that guard at the gate is armed, if smithing is illegal here.

It was an interesting train of thought, but a short lived one. Irolt’s focus shifted from it quickly, and he became bitter. His mind wandered, as it often did, to darker places.

How will I tell Zazeezy that I lost the Allia base?

The thought of it made him sick, which in turn made him angry. If they’d sent the supplies sooner, his people would have been better equipped for the fight. If he had been sent with more people, he would have had a better chance at holding a base in the most loyalist town in all of Sanfransan.

But those were just excuses, and he knew it.

I lost another base because I wasn’t good enough to hold my ground.

An all too familiar ache crept into his chest. He began to reflect on his failure, and how it had not been the first time.

I may as well try to get some rest, if I’m going to be thinking about it anyway.

Without a watch set out, or anyone to defend him, Irolt closed his eyes. He was uncertain that he would wake. Strangely, that was almost a comfort.

“Hey.”

“This is a toll road.”

He had tried being a reasonable person. He had tried especially hard with the town, and those two bandits. But he was in no mood, and being reasonable had gotten him nowhere. “Fuck off.”

“Excuse me?” Asked the elf.

“Just get out of here, okay?”

“No,” said the dwarf. She looked offended, like she hadn’t been the one two rob him twice already within the last hour.

“This is how we make our living,” stated her partner.

“Is it?”

He honestly didn’t know what he expected to obtain with a question like that, but had hoped for something. Anything.

Irolt, who lived for his work as much as for his revenge, couldn’t understand scheming or dishonesty as a profession. Just when he thought he was getting somewhere with the line of questioning, the pair looked at each other and answered in unison. “Yes.”

“Is it really?” He pressed. “Scavenging?”

“Yes.”

“By sitting on the road, waiting to harass travelers?”

“Yes.”

This time he lashed out before he even knew he was mad. “Fuck you.”

“Hey!”

“You’re being real mean.”

“And we would appreciate if you would not do that.”

Absurdly, Irolt felt bad. They looked genuinely saddened by his outburst. Then his anger returned, tampered only by his exhaustion.

“Listen, I’ve had a tough time.”

“But that -”

He kept talking right over them this time, finding it was difficult to quit relaying his problems once he had started. “I slept in a cave. I lost my business. My infrastructure is all over the fucking place. I can’t get a new shop and I can’t even network or save or take orders because apparently my trade is illegal here.”

“Are you a blacksmith?”

“Shut up. I have to tell a woman who put her trust in me that I failed. And The Parliamentary will probably always be in power.”

“Are you in the --”

Irolt cut him off again. “It’s been a very bad fucking day and I’d like it very much if you’d just leave me alone. Go down the road and talk to other people, other people who aren’t me.”

“But this is a -” the dwarf started. The elf put a hand on her shoulder.

“The Parliamentary is the worst.”

Don’t I fucking know it.

“I’m sorry for your time, dude,” the dwarf added, and Irolt watched with a small satisfaction as the two walked down the road.

If only all my battles could be won so easily.