“Lord? I don’t know about that, they give him the title?”
“Title or not, man’s got a castle. That makes him a lord, don’t it?”
“Maybe so. Maybe so…”
A relatively quiet night was passing at the Knotted Pine, one of the finer booze halls in Larragen. It was the holiday season, so most folks in this part of Trovheda were home with their families - or off on grander adventures to celebrate. But not so for Gaslav and Dobro, or at least not this year. Two middle-aged men, Larragen locals alone in life, knocking back pints together on a cold winter’s eve. Looking out for one another.
“You watch him come in the other day, Gaslav?”
“Like a month ago, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, you know, the other day. All days are ‘other’ days. Listen, you ever seen such a pile of junk in your life?”
“I saw him come in, I did.” Gaslav took another swig. “Winding up the mountain roads in that sorry excuse for a coach. Maybe it was nice once, I dunno, couldn’t tell under all his… What? Equipment?”
“Natural philosopher I hear, and you know the type. Needs to take his whole laboratory everywhere he goes.”
“Well if he’s settling into his new home up there, I reckon he’d need it wouldn’t he?”
“Suppose you're right. Castle Larragen with a new owner, can you believe it.” Dobro shook his head. “How long’s it been empty for?”
“Who knows. My grandfather’d probably know, but he’s dead.”
“Oh lay off it Gaslav, it’s not the season to be talking like that.”
“Suit yourself, aren’t you superstitious. He’d have known, though.”
The two men went back to their drinks, hardly their firsts of the night. The proprietor, Nikover, had stepped out the back door to enjoy the crisp night air and a smoke. They’d been left to ponder, as was often the case. Both wanted to know what the newcomer was doing in their little town - or above it, as was the case - but each knew the other had as little clue as he did.
“Hey, what’s his name again? McRayval?”
“Nah, Dobro, it’s Makrival. Mahk-reeval, you know.”
“That’s not Trovhedan.”
“No kidding, had me fooled. You sure you’re not related?”
“Alright, alright Gaslav. You’ve had enough to drink tonight, don’t you think? Time for us to stumble on home.”
“In this weather? I think I’ll just cozy up by the fire with another round, wait it out.”
“It’s not even snowing, it’s crystal clear out there. How long have you even… You know what, suit yourself. I’m headed out.”
Dobro slid his barstool back and rose to leave, setting his now-empty glass down hard for emphasis. He’d had enough for one evening - ale, friends, all of it - and was ready to go. But as he turned, there was a shuffle outside the tavern door, and it suddenly opened to reveal a cloaked stranger. The figure stepped politely through, closing the heavy thing behind him as he did so to keep most of the cold at bay. Neither of the men already present in the establishment recognized him as he paused briefly to appreciate the warmth on his face.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I was out for a walk on this beautiful night, thought I’d drop in for a drink.”
The stranger spoke Trovhedan Ither well enough; textbook, but with an accent that was tough to place. He threw his thick overcoat onto the hooks by the door and took a seat at the bar. Gaslav and Dobro watched him sit, then look around puzzled for the bartender. Dobro took pity on him.
“Hey, Niko! You got a new patron in here, needs one of your fine beverages!”
There was a distant sigh, then a door creaked shut and Nikover appeared behind the bar. His grimace turned to an easy smile when he saw the stranger.
“Welcome, Master Makrival, welcome again. Glad to see you back.. What can I get you? Something warmer, maybe?”
Gaslav shot Dobro a glance, who found himself slowly sitting back down at the bar. They both looked to Nikover, then at the stranger - was this the new owner of Castle Larragen?
“Evening there,” Gaslav started up. “You the new guy up in the castle?”
Dobro rolled his eyes. Subtle. But the newcomer chuckled. He’d clearly become accustomed to this sort of reception recently.
“Yes, that would be me. A dubious honor, but I’m glad for it all the same. Garoto Makrival, pleasure to meet you both.”
“Likewise.” Now it was Dobro’s turn to be curious, though he was gentler about it. “Dubious, how’s that? Castle Larragen’s a fine bastion, maybe a bit of age on her, but no less fine.”
Garoto turned his head as though to speak, just as Nikover brought over a piping hot mug of what smelled like strong cider. He had a habit of knowing what his customers needed, whether or not they agreed, but at this moment the service was welcomed. Garoto inhaled deeply, reaching for the mug but reconsidering for the moment when he felt the heat of it, then turned his attention back to the question at hand.
“Oh, don’t mind my complaints. Larragen is a lovely town, and a beautiful castle. Of course, your government only permits me to ‘own’ it so long as I work to maintain it. If they are happy with the progress, it remains mine. I’m deeply grateful for it, but centuries of disrepair won’t be quick to repair - or cheap. And so, dubious. Mister…?”
“Dobro. And my friend’s Gaslav.” Dobro nodded across the bar to his drinking companion, who had been nodding along with understanding as the mage spoke.
“You won’t be the first they’ve gotten with that racket,” he said. “I’m guessing the craftspeople they promised to support you with haven’t turned up?”
Garoto laughed, bright and cheerful. “Of course not! Wouldn’t that have been something?”
All four shook their heads knowingly, as the mage blew on his cider and took a sip. Trovheda would either own his success through the gift, or bankrupt him and reclaim it with whatever improvements he’d made. The country would test his ambition, but ensure it won either way.
“In all seriousness, I do need to get the place brought up to par, at least the common areas. In the move, it’s been months since I’ve been able to host a good celebration. I do so miss those.”
“You a big partier? Grand galas and all that nobility stuff? Should’ve figured.”
Another Gaslav question. Garoto smirked at his cider before answering. “I wouldn’t say it like that. But even here, far from home, I remain devoted to Vermorian. She demands vivacity, and I am determined to provide. And besides,” he continued with a wink, “it’s a great way to pull in funding from those… nobles.”
Gaslav laughed, clearly enjoying the implication. Dobro, however, wanted to know more.
“So Mister Mc… Mister Makrival? What brings you here, anyway? What sort of project you got going on up in that castle?”
Garoto glanced at Dobro, then somewhat conspiratorially at each of the other men in turn. He shifted in his seat, taking a longer draw on his cooling drink.
“Better I keep that tightly under wraps, you know. My work must remain novel to garner the attention of benefactors. That will go double for your government, given the kind of results I owe them now.”
“Oh, come on then.” Gaslav just wouldn’t quit. “Surely you can tell us something? You’ve come all the way down the hill to drink with us common folk, why not spread a little of that arcane wisdom? Who’re we gonna tell, anyhow.”
This seemed to get the mage’s attention, though briefly. He cupped the cider mug in his hand, rotating it gently on the counter as he thought over his response.
“Gentlemen,” he began. “Have you ever wished you could control the effects of time?”