Chapter 8: the worth of information

The moon shone brightly through the window and illuminated the figure, which was sitting in the armchair in silence, waiting for its companion to finish her actions. “Why does she even unpack in such a situation?” thought Hobbies Kraft. “It’s not like we are going to stay long anyway.” The girl hummed a playful tune, as she finished unpacking the last of her trunks, allowing Hobbies to sigh in relieve. “I hope you don’t expect me to help you pack that up again.” Maria looked at him in surprise, then started to smile. “If you ask me like that, I’ll have to leave it to you.” “Just great,” answered Hobbies, as he noticed Maria heading for the door. “Where are you going?” “There is a bar in the basement, I thought about getting some information.” “You just want to get drunk, you profane nun.” Maria chuckled while opening the door. “Aren’t you coming?”

The bar was a bit shabby, but one could only expect so much from a motel-bar. There were few guests, and all of them were probably travelers, which would make them a possible source of information, alas not one with a standardized quality. Hobbies decided to use the most reliable source of information in this room, which was luckily identical with the most reliable source of alcohol. “Ho there, travelers,” greeted the bartender with an inviting smile, “what can I get you?” “Two glasses of vodka and some info on the road, if you please.” The bartender put two glasses in front of the couple and started to fill them with Maria’s favorite clear liquid. “Very well,” he said. “Where do you want to go?” Contrary to the bartender’s expectations, it was Maria, who gave voice to her thoughts, informing him of her intention to travel north. “The north, eh?” mused the bartender while stroking his beard. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. That damn White Fang bastards are attacking people all along the road to Ruskala.” Hobbies took a sip from his drink, before retorting to the bartender. “We’ll have no problem with simple bandits, I think.” “That’s where the problem lies, buddy,” said the bartender, leaning forward to the couple. “Apparently, their leader is some really dangerous bitch that likes to fight on the front lines.” Hobbies put down his glass and looked at the bearded man in front of him. “You don’t intend to let me have any more information for free, do you?” The bartender gave a short laugh at this accurate observation. “You’re a smart one, lad. Trade needs to flow, you know.” Hobbies Kraft silently pulled out some money and put it on the counter, showing the bartender his interest and will to pay. “Thank you for your business,” laughed the bartender as he put the money in his pockets. “Apparently, the White Fang have their headquarters not too far away from here, and their leader is a crazy bitch that freezes her enemies to death. And the worst of all: no magic shield seems to work.” For the first time this evening, Hobbies made an expression that could not help but betray his interest in the person in question. “A cursed one, eh?” 

The bartender looked at Hobbies Kraft in confusion. “What the hell is a curse?” Hobbies took another sip from his drink. “Although,” he started his explanation. “Although it’s called a curse, it’s actually more like some contract. A contract with some god.” Maria, being a nun made a pained expression. “Although the church does not acknowledge them, there are actually many gods, each with its own specialties and responsibilities. Such contracts allow humans to use the powers of the gods. And each time they use those powers they have to pay a price. Since that price is, in the most cases, outrageously high, it’s called a curse.” Having ended his explanation Hobbies Kraft rose from his barstool and put on his coat. “I’m going out,” said Hobbies Kraft, his voice betraying a hint of bloodlust. “I need some fresh air.”