Guilding the [WASTEREL]

[Hangwind]

Chapter 0

In the Great City of Wedon, a single noble stumbled through the streets. This was a common sight for him as the profligate scion of the Maxia family. As a [WASTREL] being drunk was considered normal, if shameful. This being barely second bell in the morning did take it from embarrassing to extraordinarily contemptible.

He didn't care what anyone thought of him of course. He was Torre Maxia, third son of the Maxia lord, man of fine taste and impeccable lineage! His internal rambling was interrupted by a reedy voice calling from a nearby alley, "Wow, Barlord! Second bell and y' stumbling round here? Late night campaign 'r getting a real early start on the next?"

Torre turned to see..one of the street rats, whatever the name was, grinning at him. Ah, yes, the thing that the rats called him "Barlord". A play on [WARLORD], the class with the most prestige in Wedon for both founding the city in the first place and being a major contributor to it's Pulling himself up with a stifled groan, he pointed one gloved hand at the gutter runner. "It's…'s a good thing…good night..."

"Th' night it be then!" The gutter rat said cheerfully. "But m' lord, got some ill news for yeh. Yeh family is calling fer yeh, and they wat yeh back an' noble clean quickish!"

Torre groaned at the thought of having to see his family at one of their meetings. Ill tempered and pretentious were the nicest words he could call them, it only went downhill from there. He gathered himself through his drunken haze and pulled his gloves all the way up, the better to point at the commoner. "Very well," he said, "Take me to The Merciful Lord's Temple, and be quick about it!"

The street rat chuckled amiably, "Yeh got it Barlord, happy t' be of help." The commoner waved him to follow as he turned around. "Oh, an yeh don't hav'ta worry 'bout yeh horse none. Th' barman at Red's Banner already sent it ove' t' the Pools."

"An insightful commoner," Torre nodded, immediately regretting the rash action, "How rare. Pay my compliments to him the next time you see him." The rat nodded quickly, not letting the noble behind him see how he rolled his eyes. Torre would hardly have cared of course, but it was best to practice good habits when dealing with the nobility. Some of them...

It was a fairly short walk to get to the temple if the commoner had been alone. It took significantly longer for Torre though as even with his impressive experience with drunkenness and the willpower of a Maxia, he still stumbled and took a wrong turn or two. Presently he arrived at the doors of the temple and strode in past the commoners waiting for healing in the foyer with all the authority of his noble rank. And promptly threw up in one of the offering urns, collapsing to his knees as he heaved. The sound of soft footsteps nearby alerted him to the expected company.

"A long night I presume?" High Anchoress Antonetta inquired softly. Torre raised his finger to wag at her before another round of sickness took him, shaking as he poured out the contents of his stomach again. "Let's get you fixed up then. By the mercy of Voaltusri, Angel of the Old City, let this man be cleansed and healed." The prayer shook and boomed oddly even when whispered by the soft voice of the High Anchoress, pulling at the divine mana that suffused the temple to pour its healing power into Torre.

Torre stood and shook his head, trying to dispel the strange feeling of both needing to be sick and yet feeling perfectly healthy at the exact same time. He gathered his hat off the ground and placed it firmly on his head. Always best to speak to the rabble when you looked like a noble after all. "You may go," he said to the street rat that had brought him here, handing him a quick tip of two silver pieces. The boy clutched the silver pieces in a white knuckled grip and bowed in thanks before practically running out the door. Torre scoffed in derision, "Hmph. One should not care so much about paltry things."

Antonetta smiled gently at him, "It is likely more money than he has ever had at one time my lord. A certain amount of excitement is not unfounded."

"How...sad," Torre muttered, disinterested.

The Anchoress gently put her hand on his shoulder, guiding him to walk through the temple. It was a beautiful place, with carved walls and gleaming fixtures of fine bronze. Far better than what would normally be expected in the Old City slums. Torre was the one that actually funded the temple being built, what with his favorite drinking spots being here in the slums. The atmosphere was better here, with no one of similar standing to scoff at him. Plus all the temples in Wedon proper had stopped serving him for some minor offense or another. He finally arrived at the Revered Icon, a statue of Voaltusri looming above an altar of bronze. With flick he tossed a small gold coin onto the altar, bowing in respect to the angel. It was always a bad idea to leave a temple without at least a prayer for the angel involved. They might get pissy about the whole thing.

Anchoress Antonetta bowed significantly longer, obviously praying fully. Torre crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Sure, an Anchoress had to have faith, but did she need to do it on his time? Finally she looked up and gave him a nod. "Finally," Torre groaned, "I'm in a rush here."

"Ah, that's fine. Voaltusri has been properly venerated, you are free to leave without wrath," Antonetta said. She raised an aged eyebrow at him and his condition though, "I do believe that the Pools of Sabra have been alerted to your summons. If you head there now they should have a bath and change of clothes ready for you." Torre nodded and graced her with a smile. She was very good at keeping things organized and keeping the rabble away from him. Open a temple and suddenly the slums thought they could exist near you. He probably should have kept it exclusive for noble use like the temples in the proper city, but it wasn't like he used it all the time.

Oh well, less complaints and whining at the bars in the end.

He left the temple without another word, hurrying down the streets towards the pools of Sabra, smiling as he came close. Another project of his, he had the old bath caves renovated from the ruins they had fallen into. The whole project had almost fallen through considering that the caves were actually occupied by a small group of Jentilli, a small group of giants that came from somewhere foreign, until he had come up with a brilliant solution. They stayed and ran the baths for him and he didn't have them evicted or executed by the city guard.

They had decided to partake of his gracious offer. His siblings had tried to convince him to drive them out anyway but there were benefits to having them around. First, they were very good with scents, finding ways to make pleasing soaps and exotic perfumes out of the most random ingredients around, a fact that he reveled in as he smelled the delicately scented air that wafted around him as he strode into the cavern. "Attendant!" He called loudly, clapping his hands for the brute to come. He didn't even break stride, heading for his personal pool in a closed off alcove where he could properly relax and get cleaned.

"Young Lord Maxia," The attendant greeted him warmly. "It is good to see you, even briefly as it may be."

Torre looked at the Jentilli next to him. Backi was a middle aged Jentilli, standing nine feet tall and with silver streaking his black hair and brown fur. "Yes, we must be swift. help me undress and send me a fruit bowl." The attendant nodded at his order and began taking various items of clothing as Torre took them off, folding them neatly over one massive arm. As Torre finished he gave another order, "Be sure to set my new outfit out carefully. It must not be wrinkled!"

With that he headed toward the bathing alcove that had his personal pools. The steam from the hot one washed over him, letting him relax as he slipped into the heated water. When he was submersed to his neck, he clapped his hands, letting the attendants know he was ready for them. Which was the second reason he had let the Jentilli stay. They were a cave dwelling species that tended to not enjoy the sun much, emerging mostly at night in their homelands. They also didn't really care much for clothes. Being washed by good looking giant naked women was a special experience, allowing him to fully relax into massages and back scratches and gentle splashes with water. Sure they had a light dusting of fur and faces that were just slightly off human, but the comfort was well worth it. The poor trash out in the public areas of the bath were happy enough to get the dirt off, but Torre was the only one who knew the true experience of the Pools of Sabra.

Finally he sighed and heaved himself up, waving off the giggling Jentilli women. He tromped over to the cold pool, dropping in with clenched teeth as the cool water pulled the heat from his skin. The attendants came over once again, scrubbing the soap residue off him with clean cloth. Torre shivered, reflecting on the fact that this was the less fun part of the pools. Even he couldn't rise to the occasion in these circumstances! When they were done he clambered out of the pool, the high edge giving him trouble like normal before holding his arms out to be dried by the girls. Finally fully clean, he walked over to where Attendant was standing. "Clothe me," he ordered, staring at himself in the mirror. He watched carefully as Attendant slipped on layer after layer, admiring the way his nobility shone through the better dressed he was. "Hmm, I do look good in orange," he mused to himself, tilting his head back and forth, allowing the brim of his hat to bounce and shade his face in various ways.

"Very handsome lord," Attendant told him as he fastened the last of Torre's clothes. Torre would have honestly preferred this part to be done by one of the women as well, but he had to admit that the old Jentilli was the most skilled at getting everything to lay just right on his dashing figure. One would hardly notice his rotound stomach. Or his thin limbs. Not much that could be done for his height, but having one less thing for his siblings to prod him on or his father to disapprove of was good.

Which reminded him of his task. With a heavy sigh he tugged his cape one more time before giving Attendent three small gold for himself and the girls and walked out into the public area of the baths, taking a sharp right to where the stables held his horse. Technically they were for anyone, but there was rarely anyone but him in this part of the city with an animal.

Parasites didn't count and were one of the reasons he stayed far, far away from the public areas of the bath.

Now it was time to go and see what his father wanted. Hopefully it wasn't too onerous.

AN: A new attempt at a story that has been bugging me for a while now. This is listed as the 0th chapter because it's really only meant to introduce you to who Torre Maxia is. Yes, he is meant to be one of the more annoying people around, with a list of faults taller than he is.

 

[Oth]

Surprisingly nice for an out-of-touch aristocrat, Torre is. Some strong hints of empathy and a rather patronising kindness, if accompanied by the expected debauchery and bumbling normal for someone toeing out of his depth in regards to the commoner's world.

Tolerant enough to not mind the Barlord moniker instead of flying into a retributive rage, speaking to the commoners in something approaching politeness disguised as "practice", supposedly being approachable enough to interact with the local denizens of the pubs he frequents, tolerating and even integrating the Jentilli instead of enslaving or annihilating them and staffing the baths with his own servants, and finally opening the baths to the public apparently for free?

The man is a saint by aristocratic standards, or a clumsy drunkard favourite uncle.

 

[Hangwind]

Surprisingly nice for an out-of-touch aristocrat, Torre is. Some strong hints of empathy and a rather patronising kindness, if accompanied by the expected debauchery and bumbling normal for someone toeing out of his depth in regards to the commoner's world.

Tolerant enough to not mind the Barlord moniker instead of flying into a retributive rage, speaking to the commoners in something approaching politeness disguised as "practice", supposedly being approachable enough to interact with the local denizens of the pubs he frequents, tolerating and even integrating the Jentilli instead of enslaving or annihilating them and staffing the baths with his own servants, and finally opening the baths to the public apparently for free?

The man is a saint by aristocratic standards, or a clumsy drunkard favourite uncle.

Click to shrink...

Hey, missed the comment, thanks man.

I will say that you have an excellent view of how he is seen in the slums at this point. There is more to his actions and attitudes than is apparent from this chapter but that will start to come out in the next chapter.