HUNGER

Gods, what a shithole, you think.

It has been less than a day since you've stepped foot in this city, and you've begun to hate it already.

How I miss Morderia, you sigh.

But there's no use reminiscing about the times gone, you know very well. Your past glory won't be back anytime soon, its ruin a product of your very own hands.

"Two buns for 1 peiro, two buns for 1 peiro!" The street vendor yells, his voice hoarse from shouting. He's old, his hair grey, stooping low, one hand supporting his back, the other holding the basket of steamed buns over his head.

Your stomach growls. Its been days since you ate a proper meal, barely scraping by with the little money earned from doing odd jobs. You'd bet your all against Duke Shahreyar's Army, and had lost, a crushing defeat, in all honesty. You'd been rendered a fugitive in all courts of Dezrael, with not a penny to your name, no place to call your home, not a single soul to call your own.

No money to jingle and no whores to mingle, you sneer at your misfortune.

You check your pockets. All you have is two coppers, just enough to get you a room in one of the dirty, rundown inns on the outskirts of Cruxbira, the city you're in.

Your stomach growls again. Against your better judgement, you decide to buy the buns, their aroma enticing your starved self.

Poor little me, you shed a tear, feeling pity for yourself.

"Oy sire, I'll buy four, what'cha say, eh," you bellow, trying to sound like the local populace. In a place like Cruxbira, there's no law or order, which you had to learn the hard way, so you try your very best to act like the locals, to save your ass from gods know who and who.

"Ere, ere, ere you go," the old man's voice quivers, as he offers you his basket," Pick whatever ye fancy, my lad."

You choose the fattest buns you can find.

"Yer money, sire," you hand him a copper.

The old man pockets the money, smiling at you, beaming eye to eye, and hands you the change. You hastily collect the money, lest any pickpockets see and try to jump you.

His pupils change, now resembling a snake.

A decerax in disguise, you realise, a chill running up your spine.

" A beautiful young lady you are, I must admit," he grins, his voice young and robust.

Since he can already see through your disguise, there's no point in running away, you decide.

Deceraxes are residents of hell, so there is no way he'd recognize you. Besides, this one sounded too pleased with himself for having seen through your low mana, crude magic.

He's a decerax fledgling, you snicker.

Heavens haven't abandoned me yet, you revel in your mind, deciding to use him as a stepping stone to your path back to glory.

"How, how did you find out?" You retort coyly, jumping up and down, faking surprise and excitement, pretending to be impressed.

"I know magic, well, that's right. Well, I am an expert in this, to be honest. I'm not praising myself, no, I'm just letting you know, after all, this city is not safe for a beautiful whor-, no, I mean lady, like you," he blushes, his disguise flickering, revealing his true form for just a second, impossible for civilians to notice, but to an experienced mage like you, it's child's play.

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