Snippet #2652228

It seemed that he was popular today, Antius noted wryly as a bruised and beaten boy was brought into his presence by a man he struggled recognize. The man carrying him was a blacksmith, if he remembered correctly. Casper, he thought his name was. He said nothing as he sat the boy next to him.

"Uh, excuse me, Magus?"

He raised an eyebrow and did a small diagnostic spell on the boy with a tap on his forehead. He sighed, "Ran afoul of the thugs who they call guards nowadays, haven't you? You are fortunate. There are no broken bones. How many fingers am I holding up?"

He wiggled his fingers in front of the boy. He seemed dazed, but attentive enough. Good.

"Three," he whispered. Antius nodded in satisfaction and place a glowing hand on his forehead. With a thrush, a bit of magic went out from him and into the boy, soothing pain, removing bruises, and speeding up the healing process. The boy looked to be close to falling asleep, a normal reaction to his injuries and Antius' magic.

"He will need to rest. Come, my quarter should to be suitable enough and on the way, we can talk about my payment," Antius told him with a slight grin as he stood up, bottle in hand.

"I happen to be in need of a blacksmith's services," he continued as he made his way to his quarters or cell, depending on how you looked at it. When he was sure no one was there to overhear them, his voice dropped to a whisper, "A slave will not last long here, particularly not one as malnourished as this boy of yours. Not unless he escapes. And an escape requires people and people require locks unlocked. Do you understand me?"