Useless.
The word filled Morgand. Having to break down a door just to speak to the hag was bad enough, but to find she had nothing for him, after all he had done to reach that point, it was disheartening.
It felt like everything in his life was slowing to stagnation; He was, she was, the whole world was. He could see that indebting mages to himself wasn't worth what it used to be, all of it was becoming less of a pleasure and more of a chore, worthless trouble on his part.
It was all because paranoia had spread so widely over the remaining free mages, that involving themselves with anyone, including Morgand, was considered a risk. It had caused him no end of grief, the few special favours he could earn from a desperate witch were worth nought when she wasn't willing to practice her magic within city limits.
The only thing he could think and feel was that if all of the remaining mages in Reajh were like this, they could all eat dirt, taste ash, and drink piss for what he cared, all the mages in Connlaoth, the Continent!
"Useless!" He barked into his shoulder this time, face turned down and away from the other people on the street. It was about midday, so many people were making their way about their business, the lifeblood of Reajh in all it's shapes and sizes... but this street was less full than it could have been, painfully obvious to Morgand.
It was a street where many of the houses were empty, now belonging to no one. Seized by the state when the occupants were invariably taken away by the Mordecai. Morgand had lost a lot of mage contacts that way, some of them useful, some of them he had known well and couldn't help having some sense of guilt over.
But that was all in the past now, He was losing income fast that's what mattered. Supporting his family's lifestyle hadn't become any easier over the years, things having taken a downwards turn now that they were spending as much as he was earning as fast as he was earning it. It was a combination of expenses paid for the essentials but also luxuries, things he couldn't bring himself to deprive them. But no matter what he wanted, and try as he might, no alternative method of income presented itself... He would have to visit the Gravekeeper's Hovel soon, and get his cut from the girl, that was for certain.
But for now he kept an eye out, for a thief, or a rowdy youth, anyone he could growl at to ease his stress.
He didn't have to look hard for someone to grab his attention. He stopped where he was walking, and put his feet apart trying to steadily stand. He watched from across the other side of the street as neither a criminal nor a drunkard marched and mumbled across the way, a striking character.
His head glinted in the sunlight. Morgand thought it was a helm at first, to go along with the armour, but it was really silver hair shining brighter than the metal itself, the colour implying a venerable man.
The figure strode along the street, people stepping aside out of the way, as his mouth worked open and closed from what he could see, the only sound being the clank of his armour on the cobblestone.
The sight of the man, alone and in a place like this, meant Morgand's frustration was replaced with confusion, and despite himself an odd concern for who this man was.
He must be a nobleman, a Duke's uncle maybe...No, an old knight for sure. Either way he must be important. He stipulated, as he decided this would be his chance to do something worthwhile today.
He chose to draw nearer the man and as he did he saw that the soldier, despite the wear of his armour and his hair-colour, could have been near his age if not younger.
It was then that Morgand tried to remember in that moment, about a Major in the army (or perhaps a general) who had hair that was said to sheen like platinum... And her company, the army beneath her...
The difficulty in remembering such important details made Morgand curse having not paid more attention to the war effort beyond how it affected him. Now that knowledge may make or break his fortune, being sure he knew the man somehow, must have known the man, a few rumours...
The only way to be sure was to try, and so Morgand cleared his throat and spat on the stones to the side, before rolling his shoulders and standing straight, beginning to stride over to the man, hand out in calling to him;
"You, over there, soldier-Sir Knight! Sir! Can I help you?" he said, as he walked after the man, trying to match his frantic pace.