Book 1: Chapter 34: Exemption.

Book 1: Chapter 34: Exemption.

It was with great reluctance that I approached the gates of Hullbretch once more. Against my better judgment, but under the advice of other people, I was here to swallow some of my pride and make life easier for myself. Myself and the other had debated this topic briefly, and the general consensus had come to a simple fact; Business in this town would be easier than a lengthy journey elsewhere.

Was my pride on this one explicit matter, and my time more valuable than just getting the matter sorted out? None of the other had been able to make a resounding case for that, so here I was. Cart pulled behind me, I approached the wooden gates in a peaceful manner. Or attempted to. Even as I stood before the wooden walls, guardsmen swarmed at the top, clearly panicked.

Bows were levied over the top of the wall in response to my polite waves, and I reconsidered this for a moment.

Whadyya want?! Came the shout off the battlements, a harsh response to my approach.

I come in peace? Was all the reply I had energy for. I think?

Didnt seem that way last time! Another, distinctly nasally voice shouted from off to the side. Yah nearly ran me over!

Somehow, that did little to evoke any sort of pity within myself.

My brother in Aurelan, I shook my head and referenced the deity of wisdom. You chose to stand in the bulls path. Am I meant to ensure that your common sense functions correctly? Im here to pay what I owe, not incur even more damages.

A string of curses was all I received in response, and after a moment a head popped over the wall and glared down at me.

Fine. Came the bark of annoyance. Youre granted entry, provided you actually honor your word.

Have I ever not?

The guard captain snorted and shook his head as the gates began to creep open.

Nice try, but I dont know you, so your words about as useful- he trailed off and cleared his throat. Point is, therell be lawmen following every step you take, bull.The roots of this story extend from novell bìn origin.

If that makes you feel better, then by all means, proceed. i shrugged and hefted my cart once more. Flippant though I was, I was eager to get into the shade of Hullbretch and out of the boiling sunlight. But I fail to see how that will affect anything.

Fully aware that I had just declared his men unable to stop me from doing as I pleased, I strolled beneath the walls of Hullbretch and welcomed myself back into the town. If not I, then who else would welcome me, after all? Certainly not the good citizens or their outstanding guards.

True to the captain's words, a contingent of hard-faced men and women in armor trailed me from a distance, but even with the space between us, I could smell the fear that roiled off their bodies. Others might have considered this a perk, but for me, the fear instilled at the mere sight of my form was an annoyance. I just wanted to be bloody friendly. That was rendered rather difficult when every person that passed within view of me reacted as if my mere presence courted death directly upon them. Preposterous.

I was not that scary.

Was I?

Either way, it made the task of acquiring directions to the towns debtor office rather irritating.

How, even? I asked, mostly out of polite curiosity. It didnt affect me as I was not an adventurer, but it seemed to me that launching new taxes haphazardly was not a sign of the barons good mood. Or it could herald a build-up of coin and armed forces in the near future.

A Taxman approached us on the road, of course. Vultures like those are always lurking about. They have a special skill that informs them of unpaid taxes, you see. So were just minding our own business and trekking for town when this dandied up leech just comes a-zoomin down the road, fresh on the trail and huntin for the scent of unpaid dues. Stops us and informs us that were to pay the adventuring tax either to him right there, or to the office here in Hullbretch. We did nay have the bloody coin, so we had to borrow from the bank and pay it off right now. Only mercy was that we didnt have to actually go into the bloody office and just paid it outside.

Did this taxman perhaps have a description? I asked, curiosity now firmly piqued. Well-dressed, greasy, lacking any semblance of facial hair?

Why indeed! The swashbuckler replied. A splendid description.

Well then, I smiled, my teeth bared. It seems I have urgent business ahead. Some matters that need settling, you understand.

Once I had foisted directions upon the trio, I straightened, parked my empty cart, and strode off. There was unfinished business that I was about to conclude. It had waited long enough and would be delayed no longer.

The office had forgone to bother with receptionist, and so I stooped through the low doorway and knocked upon the first closed door I could find. The human within quickly straightened and tucked away a bottle as I chose not to wait for an answer, then directed me to the office that handled matters of tax with all due haste. More out of fright at my form than eagerness to get back to drinking, I assumed.

The man I found slumped behind a desk within was distinctly not the greaseball I remembered. Instead, this fellow seemed old, paunchy, and positively stretched thin. The same tired look of bureaucratic fatigue I had seen so many times. It was a testament to his inability to summon a singular fuck to give that a full-blooded minotaur stooping into the confines of his office only evoked a single raised eyebrow.

How might I assist you today? Came the dry, dusty voice of a man too tired for any of the worlds bullshit.

I debated between just getting this over with in a semblance of politeness and the utter ruination of his day. In the end, basic decency triumphed and I took the far too small offered seat and extracted my coin-purse.

Here to pay off a fine for damages incurred to the walls and the damages to the wits and emotional sanctity of a guard.

Long and drawn out was the sigh I received in return. With a grunt, the man pulled open a cabinet and began to rifle through them.

Outstanding warrants, delayed fines, unpaid bills. He muttered to himself and sorted through sheaves of paper. Several awkward moments passed before he found a single piece of parchment and held it up to better squint at it.

A mister Garek? He asked, to which I nodded. He read off an amount, to which I counted coins onto the desk. A smaller amount than I had expected. It was finished soon, and the man signed something onto the parchment and filed it away in a separate cabinet.

I believe that is now all, unless you have another matter to discuss?

I did, in fact.

Indeed. I am here to appeal a matter of unpaid debts.

The man blinked and glanced between me and the cabinet. Visible confusion etched itself across his face as I described the situation, the generational debt and my newly acquired Tax Evader status.

Mister Garek. He finally broke in as I civilly attempted to explain how it hurt my business. That is complete and utter hogwash, sir. You do not owe the baron a single copper, and whoever told you otherwise is a charlatan of the basest degree. My lord is too busy with the actual affairs of ruling to care about extorting some poor farmer at the edges of his land, I assure you. If fear you have been taken advantage of, or at least attempted to. Could you perhaps provide a description of this alleged Taxman?

Fate must have had a bloody good laugh right about then, because the door opened behind me and said man walked right in.