Warhammer Divine Throne

Under a massive bat emblem lies a decaying, shabby tavern adorned with various sinister skull and blood motifs. It seems there aren’t many patrons inside. Laine lets the two Demon Hunters and the Half-Elf stand outside while he and Jerald head into the bar.

”This place always makes me uncomfortable,” Jerald whispers to Laine, the Kingdom Knight’s face is solemn.

”One day, we’ll raze this place to the ground and completely destroy this Cursed City,” Laine says softly. ”But not now. What we need to do now is find a way to thwart the Vampire’s invasion.”

”Yes, someday we’ll come back here and bring destruction to the Undead,” Jerald says, his goatee trembling as if with seething anger. ”But not now.”

Laine nods. Jerald wasn’t originally in his plan, but after discussing the plan with Francois, Jerald had volunteered to join, believing he could contribute.

It’s quite rare; Jerald isn’t an old-fashioned and overly heroic Knight. As Francois’s cousin, he’s quite wise and strategic, adaptable, and of course, his devout faith in the Lake Fairy is an important reason why. Laine now somewhat understands why Mogiana was hostile and extremely wary of Amelia while he was recovering.

The corruption of Chaos is ubiquitous, and only faith and ignorance can resist it. Either ignorance isolates the corruption, or steadfast faith is maintained alongside wisdom and knowledge; otherwise, being corrupted is only a matter of time.

As he enters the bar, the dim lighting, numerous cobwebs inside, and the smell of decaying wood assault Laine’s senses. He frowns, scanning the bar, noticing a bartender in his fifties playing cards at the counter.

”Hello, I’m looking for Old Dike,” Laine says, trying to appear as amiable as possible.

”I am Old Dike, but I never speak to anyone other than patrons,” the bartender says, appearing to be bored as he continues to play cards, engrossed in his solitaire game.

”Alright, two drinks then.” Laine exchanges a glance with Jerald, who holds up two fingers.

”What would you like? Ale Beer? Butter Beer? Brittania Brandy? Imperial Black Beer? Imperial Whiskey? Mead? Or Kislev Vodka?” Old Dais recites the names of the liquors like a treasured list.

”We’d like two glasses of 1467 Boldro Haut-Brion Wine,” Laine says, pulling out a large sum of Gold Coins with an air of arrogance.

Boldro First Growth, Obion Wine, Duke Bodric’s favorite and proud creation.

”Yes, we have that.” Old Dais glances at Laine’s Gold Coins and, confirming they’re genuine Imperial Gold Marks, nods before getting up and signaling Laine and Jerald to sit.

”I think His Excellency Bodric needs to watch over his vineyard more closely,” Jerald jokes with a serious expression toward Laine. ”Perhaps there’s a tunnel leading directly to Bodlukes under here?”

”Or maybe there’s a Vampire among his retainers, or a greedy steward in charge of his wine estate. But that’s not important to us. What’s important is that we acquired Duke Bodric’s cherished Obion Red Wine for just twenty Gold Marks,” Laine says, holding up two fingers, a mysterious and unfathomable smile on the plump merchant’s face.

If it wasn’t genuine, he and Jerald would have a reason to act out.

After a moment, Old Dike serves two glasses of red wine to Laine. The oak cups hold a dark red liquid with a pleasant aroma, smooth as silk upon entering their mouths. As it slides down into their stomachs, Laine and Jerald immediately confirm that this is indeed genuine Obion Red Wine.

”This is complimentary,” Old Dike says, placing a platter of horse meat sausages before retreating behind the counter.

Unlike the wine, the horse meat sausages are nearly inedible, as expected from something given for free.

”...I don’t have what you’re looking for.” Old Dike says suddenly as he washes wooden cups before Laine can speak.

”How do you know what I’m here for?” Laine asks curiously.

”An Imperial Merchant coming to my establishment clearly intends to inquire about goods, but unfortunately, I have no stock recently, none at all,” Old Dike says, shaking his head repeatedly. ”Finish your drink and leave, Imperial Merchant, if you still value your life.”

”Can’t you at least give a hint? Or maybe sell me some wine?” Laine tries again. ”Would you be willing to sell me more Obion Wine?”

”A total of one hundred Gold Crowns… or Gold Marks,” Old Dike says, retrieving two bottles of red wine from under the table. ”Hurry and leave, it’s going to get troublesome soon, and I need to get out too.”

Laine and Jerald leave the bar with the bottles, and Abel whispers, ”Did you find anything?”

”A bit, but not much,” Laine whispers to the group. ”The rest will depend on Estelle and Des. Estelle, Des, listen to me. After a while...”

Laine suddenly stops talking because, just around the street corner, Mathew Bade is approaching, his young Knight’s face filled with arrogance and prejudice as he, alongside a group of Desolate Tomb Guards, surrounds Laine. ”Mr. Gabriel Newell?”