Damacon sat and waited all morning– hoping for the storm that was Shakti to come back. The trog sat uncomfortably in the wagon thinking of and revising different ways it could convince Shakti that Tiber was the mastermind behind the whole ordeal last night. Get the mayor killed for his treason. It was the only way Damacon could imagine itself salvaging the failure of not procuring anything of value in Shakti's cave.
It scratched at the wooden floor with one slender digit at a time with its left claw. The other claw held its staff over its shoulder, rubbing the shaft as if pacifying a child. The trog took comfort simply knowing that staff was theirs. It had taken the staff from a merchant whose price tag it would never forget– it was the most expensive thing it ever laid its claws on. Damacon didn't know what the staff did– only that it was valuable and as long as it was in its possession, the trog was also valuable.
It was a promise of fortunes to come.
A reminder of the gutters it crawled out of.
'Never again'
Hours passed by while Damacon's demeanor became more nervous– more impatient under the scorching midday sun. Counting gold it didn't have. Cursing Tiber Aurex for taking what Damacon considered rightfully theirs.
Its hoarded gold was meant to purchase a ship in Kiel. It was a steal for only one thousand gold coins. Since literally paying for its life, Damacon found itself stuck with no future prospects or direction.
'I'll never leave this wretched land.'
The marsh buzzed with life as the horses ate the long grass scattered around the water's edge. Sparrows circled overhead, catching bugs on the wing. Troglings swam haphazardly through the water as they looked for their next victims. Too small to be a threat to anything bigger than insects or critters who wandered too close to the shallow waters.
Damacon could still remember its time in the sewers of its hometown. Surviving off rats and scraps that fell into the underwater channels. It ate its fair share of its siblings as well before finding itself snatched by its first and last owner– Master Harwell.
A slaver of creatures of all varieties. Creatures you couldn't find in any legal avenues. Although Damacon never understood the man's business, it did learn the one and only truth that it followed to this day.
Money was the only true power in this world.
Day in and out the trog watched as gold traded hands from behind the bars of its cage. Creatures that Damacon never imagined existed came and went in the dark cellar that held the catalog of monsters the slaver kept in inventory.
The crack of Master Harwell's whip against the back of broken spirits still haunted Damacon whenever it drifted to sleep– the lashes on its back another reminder that those nightmares were real.
A few birds landed in the still water and tossed water over their backs. Droplets rolled off their feathers as they dipped more of their body into the water.
Damacon noticed a few heat signatures of horse riders galloping down towards town. A clear indicator of who the victors were last night.
'It seems you weren't as strong as you thought, Shakti.' Although Damacon expected the battle to end in Shakti's defeat, it couldn't help but feel a glimmer of disappointment at the thought.
The bathing birds began to chirp erratically as a few took to the sky. One stayed splashing hopelessly as a pod of troglings pulled it under. Feathers half dipped in water and blood hovered over the chaos before lazily falling over the water.
The bird nowhere in sight.
'Maybe convincing these humans of Tiber's traitorous ways might be easier than that fool Shakti.' A few ideas swirled in its mind, all ending with one unpleasant trip back to town.
The trog had hoped to avoid Seratul altogether but it couldn't see any other way to overcome this devastating setback.
"Fortune favors the brave, as they say" Damacon sneered. "And nothing's braver than a cornered rat." At the moment the oily beast couldn't think of anything braver at the moment than heading back to the town it was exiled from just the night before– to face its captors all over again.
Damacon set the staff down, gathered the reins, and cracked the leather straps over the horses' backs.
'Yes I think this might be the opportunity I've been waiting for.'
The wagon creaked and moaned as the horses tugged the trog slowly towards town, leaving the future warlords of the land swimming under the all-seeing light of the sun.