RFC-Miniarc-An Average Day (Nomad)-3

Nomad woke as his room began to darken with the fading light of sunset. As always, he didn’t rise immediately. His dreams, dizzying marathons of distorted images and garbled sounds, left him unsettled and often confused. It took several minutes of quiet contemplation to remember where, and sometimes even who, he was.

He was no longer a bandit stalking the King’s Road alongside the kingdom’s undesirables. He was Nomad, servant of Lourianne Tome. She had spirited him and three others to the Grand Hall and put them to work in a modest home, at least for someone of her stature. His duty was to care for the house, guard the premises, and any other chores handed to him. He worked throughout the night, as he wasn’t bothered by the late hours, unlike the others. He preferred the solitude.

Having grounded himself, Nomad rose from his bed and began to prepare for work. He thought it was a nice bed, soft and firm enough to support his tall frame, but he couldn’t say if it was better than average as it was the only bed he’d ever slept on. The bandits couldn’t afford such luxuries. His previous master used to have many beds but Nomad was never allowed to lie on one.

His sleeping arrangement wasn’t the only thing to improve under the employ of Lou. He had been given his own room, one meant solely for him as opposed to being thrown wherever it was convenient. It was rather bare, but he had been given leave to decorate it however he wished using his salary. A whole gold crown a month. That was the kind of money seen by experienced crafters, specialized soldiers, or important scribes. Not simple servants. It was amazing enough to be paid for his work beyond food and housing.

He feared that the mistresses, Lou and her wife, were a little too kind. If it was known that they simply gave away money, someone would try to take advantage of them, but it wasn’t the place of someone like him to comment.

Lou was fairly lax when it came to their duties as long as the house looked good and she wasn’t bothered, but there was one thing she was critical about: their uniforms. She expected them to wear them and wear them properly. Especially the dark purple jackets. He had once heard her say something of them paying respects to her father. He figured she must respect him quite a lot, as she smiled faintly whenever she spotted him or the others walking by with their jackets buttoned and smoothed of any wrinkles.

Nomad didn’t mind. The uniform was far better than the rags his previous master gave him. Those itched terribly and always managed to rub the most uncomfortable places. The gear given to him during his time as a bandit was a bit better. The clothes didn’t irritate him as badly but they were rough and too thin to last long. It was why Earl was so popular. Without him, half the men would have worn shirts that exposed more than they covered.

Dressed, he stepped in front of the full-length mirror next to his dresser, the only item he’d bought with his generous pay. He had gotten used to seeing his appearance, a tall, thin man with pale skin and dark eyes shadowed by chronic exhaustion, but it still didn’t feel right. He could only stand to see his reflection for a few seconds before he turned away with a shudder.

His grumbling stomach led him to the kitchen, the domain of the thrall. It was where she spent her time when not accompanying Lou, as the fastest way to obtain their mistress’ favor was through her stomach. For the creature. The fastest way was actually through sex but Lou was understandably wary of consorting with the thrall too often. She also had her wife, who was never reluctant to satisfy her carnal desires.

As expected, Geneva stood at a counter, humming to herself as she kneaded dough. “Evening, Nomad~” she greeted without turning. Her tail straightened and pointed beside her, where a plate of rolls, jerky, and fruit waited. “I’ve already prepared your plate.”

“Your consideration is too good for the likes of me,” he said, slinking past her to grab the food.

“Yes, it is, but Lou likes her servants healthy. I expect you to eat everything.”

He nodded. It had taken a few weeks for him to break his habit of eating just enough to keep him going and storing the rest. He’d never had access to a steady supply of food. Lou had questioned him when she heard his stomach grumbling multiple days in a row and demanded he eat more. The thrall would see her orders done, even if it meant shoving the food down his throat. He knew because she’d done just that for the first three days. It was an uncomfortable experience.

After his meal, it was time to begin his duties. The day started with a patrol of the estate. Gajin was good about keeping people out of the gardens but his diligence didn’t extend beyond his plants. He also took naps in the evening, to prepare for his nightly duties. Nomad filled the gap in his vigilance.

Steps silent, Nomad roamed the garden, making a small circuit of the front before walking down the road. He had only been doing so for a few minutes before he heard footsteps coming up behind him. A hand grasped his shoulder and he stopped, turning to the side.

A man dressed in the simple attire of a peasant smiled at him. He had an unremarkable face but Nomad thought all faces were unremarkable. He had trouble telling people apart through sight alone. It was incredibly difficult to distinguish between individuals using a few angles on a tiny portion of their body.

“Hello, there. Didn’t mean to startle you.” The man, or at least Nomad assumed it was a man from the timbre of his voice, removed his hand and took a step back. “Name’s Crest. I work for Instructor Rothman. We’re your neighbors.”

Nomad stared at him, waiting for a demand to be made. No one talked to him without needing something. He didn’t blame them. He had little else to offer besides labor.

The man scratched his neck. “Well, you see, the instructor wants to invite your mistress to his home. I heard she’s an elf?” He chuckled nervously when Nomad retained his silence. “Yeah, uh. Thing is, I’ve delivered a few invitations to the gardener but we haven’t gotten a reply. He’s a bit…well, I’m worried he hasn’t been delivering them. I know you usually take a walk about this time so I thought I’d ask you. Do you know anything about it?”

“I have heard nothing about invitations,” Nomad replied nonchalantly. It wasn’t his place to inquire into the business of the mistresses.

“Ah, I knew it. Here.” Crest reached into his cloak and pulled out a small envelope. Nomad took the extended invitation woodenly. “Could you make sure your mistress sees this? My master has been getting really upset. It’s one thing to refuse but he’s taking their silence as a personal insult. Nobles, am I right?”

Nomad nodded. He had no clue what the man meant but he found nodding periodically hastened a conversation.

“Thanks. I owe you one.” Crest clapped him on the shoulder and turned away, waving a hand in goodbye. Nomad watched for several moments to be sure that he had departed before continuing his walk, his head on a swivel as he searched for anything out of place. He walked for half an hour before returning to the estate and continuing in the opposite direction.

By the time he finished his patrol, night had fallen and the moon was making steady progress across the sky. On his way back to the house, he spotted Gajin dancing energetically in front of flowers that seemed to wave and bend to mimic him. The man certainly had the most demanding job amongst the servants. It was enough that Nomad would think his mistresses cruel if the man did not enjoy the work so much. He strongly felt that if Lou hired another to ease his burden, they would find their way into a compost bin before long.

He found his mistresses in the dining room. They had already finished their meal and were focused on each other. Tonight, Kierra seemed to be taking the lead, as Lou was seated in her lap, trapped between the elf and the table. A position she seemed more than happy to be in, given the sounds she was making.

Nomad had learned to recognize them as signs of pleasure though he could never imagine enjoying such an act. It was bad enough dealing with his own constraining sack of meat. Having another rubbing against him or, worse, merging with them? His stomach roiled from the pure disgust such a thought birthed.

Nomad walked up to the chair but the two took no notice. He knew better than to interrupt. He lurked beside them, still as a statue, until Kierra pulled away from their kiss, holding Lou by the chin as she turned to him. “Yes?”

He ignored Lou’s exclamation of “Saints, when did he get there?” to hand her the envelope. “Someone who called himself Crest delivered it to me. He says it is an invitation to visit the home of an Instructor Rothman.”

“Rothman?” Lou asked.

“Mm.” The elf released her, opening the envelope with a nail and pulling out the small card inside. “Teacher who specializes in poisons and the use of them in fighting monsters, along with a fair bit of dabbling in potions. We’ve had a few interesting conversations.”

“Not interesting enough for you to want to meet with him.”

“I maintain a garden as a hobby. Plants are useful and my gift makes me quite adept with them, but I prefer to focus my talents on the body. If I wanted to fiddle in medicines and strange concoctions, I would have gone to the Twilight Province.”

“You heard her. This is garbage.” Lou plucked the invitation and envelope from the elf’s hand and tossed them to Nomad. “Burn it or something.”

“Crest suggested that the lack of response had offended his master.”

“Hah? I’m offended he thinks we should give a damn. I swear, people are so sensitive. I was ignored and belittled for majority of my life and do you see me throwing tantrums?” She huffed but her frown was quickly turned around with a kiss.

“Surely you cannot expect many to measure up to you?” the elf purred. “Leave him to his night of frustration. We have much more fun things to do than entertain petty men, hm?”

The young noble squealed as she was picked up, her legs going around the elf’s waist as they moved toward the stairs. “Haha, don’t forget it’s my turn tonight!”

Nomad watched them leave with a blank gaze. He wondered if Lou knew what was happening to her. How the thrall and the elf were slowly corrupting her views, instilling in her a sense of superiority and alienation to her fellow humans. His mistress was not a kind person but they were subtly stomping out any instinctive empathy or connection she might feel for her fellows.

He doubted they could do away with it entirely, as Lou wasn’t entirely heartless, unlike his previous master, but the effect was clear. When he’d first met her, she would have at least considered attending. He was their neighbor, it would only take a few minutes and a minimal amount of effort. She wouldn’t have gone but she would have considered it, and this Rothman.

Now, she couldn’t be bothered to have her servants write a reply rejecting him. He supposed it wouldn’t be long before she could look into the eyes of a king and utterly disregard him as well. And when she no longer saw intrinsic value in humanity, well. He supposed the thrall and the elf would be able to progress their agendas without earning her ire, whatever they were.

But such considerations weren’t his place. As a servant, he merely burned the letter and continued his duties.