Displaced

Chapter 98

Tehlmar Esmae stepped into the tavern located on the east side of Wroetin and looked for an empty seat. The current inhabitants of this half-filled saloon looked up from their drinks for a moment, their eyes taking in his small, fully-cloaked form, before going back to their own problems. Glancing around, he found a small table off to the side near the right wall, not so close to the center that he'd be surrounded on all sides by xenophobic natives, but not so tucked into a corner that nobody would notice him. Truly, it was the perfect place for the first step of his plan.

Sitting down upon the rough wooden chair with a weary plop and a groan, he leaned back and let his body rest for a moment. The journey from the northwest shore of Otharia to the nation's quaint southeastern capital—'quaint' being perhaps the most charitable word he could use for this podunk town—had taken a lot out of him. It would have been far easier on his tired body if he had given himself more time to rest and not pushed his pace so heavily, but Tehlmar had found the worry in his heart far harder to deal with than the fatigue in his muscles and bones. After so many decades living the hard lives he'd lived, a little tiredness almost felt normal.

A boy, perhaps fourteen, came up to him to take his order. Clearly the proprietor's son pressed into service by his parent, Tehlmar forgave the kid for his sullen expression.

"Are you here for a drink, a meal, or both, miss?" the kid asked.

"Both, and make it your best brew," Tehlmar responded, putting down a golden coin on the table. He'd filled his pockets by pocketing a few coins from those that looked like they could afford the loss as he'd wandered the streets earlier, looking for the best place to start his plan. "I've had what goes for cheap swill around here. Even my standards aren't that low."

The boy looked at him oddly, perhaps because Tehlmar's voice hadn't sounded as he expected, but he took the coin all the same and made his way back towards the bartender to place the order.

Tehlmar completely understood the boy's assumption. His features concealed in a large cloak that he'd swiped on his second morning in Otharia, the boy had little to go on but his height. Still, Tehlmar couldn't help but bristle at it. He hated being shorter than humans. He always got the impression that humans were looking down at him in more ways than just physically. And he wasn't even short for an elf!

It was his many years as Jaquet, he knew, that brought about this feeling. All those years as the tallest, largest man in the room, his voice and laugh booming over the din... he'd hated it at first. He'd wanted to transform into somebody dashing and inspiring, not a large, boorish, ugly, overweight oaf. Yet despite his wishes, that was what he'd been ordered to become.

But he'd come to love it. Jaquet's physical abilities, especially with his powerful Feeling-enhanced strength and speed, made him a juggernaut on the battlefield. What's more, he'd realized over time that being somewhat ugly wasn't always a bad thing. People seemed to treat you differently when you weren't a looker. And the drinking! Oh, could he hold down his drink!

But those times were gone now, and he was back to his life as the much shorter—and dare he say more handsome—Tehlmar. This life where a large mug was enough to make his world start to wobble, where stupid humans assumed he was a petite woman. Well, they wouldn't assume for much longer.

The boy returned several moments later with a flagon of frothing liquid, as well as a small loaf of bread and what appeared to be some sort of pot pie.

"Thanks, kid," Tehlmar said, pulling the hood back to reveal his elven features to the room. Picking up the flagon, he took a large gulp and set it back down on the table with a loud thump. It tasted better than he'd expected from a place like this. "Hmmm! Not bad!"