“Fresh apples! Fresh apples!” Cried asoftmasculine voice. “Juicy, soft but not rotten, no sir! Only one iron coin!” The voice once again cried out. This time with a salivated lace of boasting.


    The owner of the voice waited a couple breaths, his tonguewiggledexcitedlyin his mouth, hidden from sight. His rump sat upon the cold bare ground, studying the common folk that marchedbackwards and forwardsin front of him. His youthful eyes danced with the gusto of a ravenous fox.


    “You their sir!” The man yelled at a fellow walking in front of him,enunciating his words with the thrust of hislong-callused index finger. “You look like the kind of man who knows a good apple...”He paused, allowing his prey a moment to soak up the small compliment. “Look at my wares good sir! You won’t find finer apples in all of Connacht –youwon’t.” A smooth flourish and the man’s handswere now gesturing invitingly with open fingersto the bushel of apples beside him.


    “Not interested.” Repliedtheflattongueof a weathered bloke, hispace forward neverbothered to slow for a second for his reply.


    “Hold on now dear sir,”the grocer pleaded.“Please show mercy on this humble grocer and inspect mine fruits, before you make your verdict.”


    “Well,I guess I can perchance spare but a moment of my time – I can.” The promising customer replied, making his way of several paces to the grocer. He squatted low, and began to make his appraisal.


    The customergrabbed an apple harshly in his weathered left hand,tracinghis cracked fingers across the delicate green skin, taking in both its weight,shine,and robustness.


    He hummed tohimselfin thoughtwhilst throwing the fleshy emerald towards the heavens ever so softly. “Lil’ on the small size. Not a huge fan of the green ones either, I’m not.I’ll give you four woods for five.”


    So,the game began.


    “Four for five!” The grocer yipped with mock exaggeration. “Why good sir, these are not just any common apples, why no sir. These are the exotic apples from the forest ofTifindallaroon.” The grocer explained, quickly creating the existence of a magical forest. His mind’s eye saw the rapid growth of lush gold trees, dense bracken,the smell ofrichoak and ivy,soundsofbirds and a mysterious buzzingalways in the near distance. A basic construct that hinted at the subtle Soothsayer’s breed of magic. “Why just one single mouth-watering bite will cure you of all common ailments – it will. It will also make you grow taller, stronger, and should you have any trouble ‘performing’, it will make even the most withered member grow as strong and large as the mighty as the tree it sprung from! An apple this special is worth its weight in gold, but for you my good sir, just a single measly iron coin is all I ask for one of these scrumptious apples.”


    The man stared hard with tired eyes at the seated grocer. Their eyes not quite meeting due the shadows the grocer’s oversized cloth cap casted upon his face. “Does thy grocer take me for a fool? A buffoon? Purchase even the behind ofaslab of fresh mutton? You expect me to believe that you, a shady lout of poor attire, with not even a bucket to hold your wares, to possess enchanted products of your description?”


    The grocer examined his customer. Now really taking in this man’s appearance. He was about half way through his life, typical peasants'' garb, but made with a slight finer quality and skill. A large muscular back andchestnutcrushing hands.“A farm hands? No. A farm owner.”He confirmed with his hubris.“Not a poor farm, no, but neither one that thrives beyond his cultivated brambles,yet a proud man nonetheless. He also slurs less than the common lout and most certainly possesses more words on his tongue that can be scrawled onto a single messenger pigeon.”He then appraised the man’s broomstick posture and hard face, also taking a second gander at girth.“Best not lie too much with this one.”


    “Oh, but sir I do not take you for anything but what I see: A strong, proud man of awesome presence. I make no lies, no sir. Yousee, I am a hunter and I came across these apples on one of my trips, yes sir. It is as you say, sir, that my enterprise is lacking, but that does not mean my product is too. I hand-picked these gems myself and am not a lying man; honest word.” The grocer fibbed - except for the hand-picking part, that he actually diddo.Although, he was also most certainly a poor man, there was no hiding that.


    “Oh yeah,andwhere is thisTifidi-whatever forest?” The farmer inquired.


    The myth came quick to his lips: “Why, east good sir, east. Past the city ofGallemdale. West ofArbarkk. Right around the corner of the Vermillion Swamp. Can’t miss it –youcan’t.”


    The customer went silent and looked idly at the apple that was still in his grasp.“I’ll give you two irons for five.”


    “Five irons.” The grocer retorted.


    “Three.”


    “Four and five woods.”


    “Three and six.”


    “Four and two.”


    “Three and eight.”


    “Four. Final offer.”


    “Deal!”


    And with the debate over, the two began their exchange.One ofmoney, the other of dubiousnutrition. Justas their transaction was coming to an end. The sun made an unexpected appearance, materialisingfrom behind the monochrome canvas above them.


    “Oh,what a beautiful light.” The customer beamed, now starting deeply at the morning sun.


    “Oh,why It is, good sir. Aren’t we truly blessed to be under her warm bosom.” The grocer concurred with his patriate. He too was always humbled by the presence of the celestial amber.


    “Yes indeed. Oh, bless us great Circle. The one that was, is, and shall always be – the true one, complete. Bless us as we bask in your forever giving, warm creation.” The customer said ever so sombrely. Gone now was his hard stare; replaced now with the eyes of a sheltered child. One of whom only knew of war and battlesin patriotic fiction.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    “Yes, um bless...The Circle...” The grocer replied in a barely masked uncomfortable tone.


    The customer suddenly cranked his neck and bore into the grocer’s face. The movement looked painfulwith its jarring snap.The man’s hard face returned quicker than it left and with even greater magnitude.


    “You do not refer to the Lord of singular spiral with the use of his title...” He breathed. “Nay! You speak as if he was an equal. I also detect no awe, wonder or love inthou’svoice...” His stone eyes grew smaller,yet noweaker. The skin slits that now engulfed almost allof hispupils,magnifyingthe intensity of what was still seen.


    A lumpbegan to form in his throat,“athousand apologies good sir. I am tired and misspoke. I feel truly horrid to refer to great and omniscient Circle in such a blasphemous manner.” The grocer pleaded. He arose fromwhere he sat, making greateffortto be look as harmless as possiblewhile he did so,his back hunchedslightly soevenhis height would not be a factor.


    “Blasphemous...” The customermimicked, tasting the wordin itsentirety doingso.“Aye. Most blasphemous indeed.”


    The grocer new instantly he had made a fatal error. By calling his own action blasphemous, he had admitted to what he said to being a crime of faith;amost heinous crime indeed.


    “Worry not grocer, I believe that you did not mean to commit a most despicable crime, so your life shall be spared.”The manassured with the nod of his head. “But a crime you committed nonetheless! I say eighty lashes and some hot coals on the tongue will suffice.” He statedin a gentle tone, as ifhetrulybelievedhis verdictwasanincredibly generousone.


    Thehairson the grocer’s limbssharpenedinretaliation. Salty liquid dribbled down his crown,nestlings themselves in his thick brows. “Please good sir,I beg of thee to forget this one misdemeanour. Allow me to find sanctuary in your good heart. Mercy, sir. Mercy.” He pleaded with hands entwined in each other, hisframe bowedforwardin submission.


    The former customer stared blanklyat himfor several seconds, as if he was unable to comprehend whathadjustbeenasked of him. Then, a spark of vulgar epiphany ignited inthe man’smind;he began to shake. His bodyspasmedwith an unconcealed rage. Pellets of spit sprang from his slacked jaw in quick succession. Knuckles turned whiterandwhiterwith self-inflicted pressure. “Y-you dare,”he stuttered “You swine! You dare ask for more goodwill after I have offered you plenty! You who insults the great Lord Circle with such a casual tongue! You demon! You heathen!You fuckin’ piece of unholyfilth” He screeched, losing all sense of decorum with his final insult.


    The spit he fired had now swirled and warmed with a passionate blaze.Itbegan tofoam,masking the red of the man’s lips,tiny whitebubblesspreadthemselves across his face like boils.


    He took hold of the grocer with his strong leathery hands. The grocer began to retreat, but alashewas fixed in place. He noticed a crowd had now formedaround them both. All withcracked eyes and snarls that mirrored hisformercustomer.Itappearedthat they had overheard the conversation and found themselves on the side of theweatheredholy man.“Typical,”The grocer thought.


    The grocer watched as the swarm of crazed peasants slowly encircled him. Less than an hour ago he was a predator, feasting upon the small amount ofcoins that jangled in their plebeian pockets. Now he was just another meal for the pack. He cursed his slippery tongue. Negotiations had failed, all that wasleft now was to eitherfight or flee. Fighting was not an option for this empty-handed grocer, fleeing was the only option. However, to do that he would first need to freehimself ofthe sentient vices that that ached his bones whilstthey coiled themselves around him.


    “That’s right! I despise your childish idea of divinity!” He boomedall of a sudden. “A circle? Hah! Your Lord is but a philosophical shape at his finest. Alas for you all, that shape comes in the form ofmeremortal flesh.” An exaggerated smirk grew on his face,“that’s right, your lord is nothing but a man, a man and nothing more.” He roared with a passion that shockedevenhimself. “A man wholieswith common farm animals, so I’ve been told.” The grocer added for final affect.


    Oh, how theyhowled.Theybecame banshees in responseto hisprovocation. Screaming, squawking, flailing their limbsuntil they whistledin an effort to drownouthis words.


    “Y-y-you demon. How it possible for someoneto utter such words?” The farmer hissed,nowsqueezing so hard on the grocer’s arms he could feel the bones beneath creakand grind.


    “I but speak the truth! Your lord is pitiful! Ugly! Weak! Smelly! Vile! Stupid! Foolish! A common lout! Why, I heard he was the result of a one-legged whore and one of those rats that has been trained to crawl through a man’s buttocksforsome kind ofperverse pleasure,you know the ones.” The grocer spat, doing his best to be heard over the chorus of ear-destroying screams.


    His foes started swaying side to side, becoming drunk on his venom. The grocer did notrelent however, for if he was to allow a mere second of silence, so they may compose themselves, it would be his last.Withlittle other choicehe carried on his verbal assault, using ever curse he knew to describe their deity. Most werechildishandothers used incorrectly,they wouldnot evenoffend even the most riled drunkardtypically,yetthese werenotnormal beings he was dealing with. Each word that came out of the grocer’s mouth, no matter how juvenile, was ashard ofcrockedglassin their blissful brains.


    Eventually the grocer got what he desired, the man holdingontohim could no longer withstand hiswickedviper tongue and threwhis palms onto his ears. As soon as the grocer no longer felt the weight upon himself, he turned and ran. His apples long forgotten; never once did he look backfor them.


    He ran and ran and ran some more. Never once trusting it to be safe. He knew from experience that the modern man could be relentless when it came to their dogma.


    Only afterwhenhis body collapsed onto a forest floordidhefinallystop. Hewasnot sure when he ended up in the forest that now surrounded him, for the last several miles had been a wheezing blur. The grocer was confident he was now safe though, normally theywouldeventually stop their pursuit and go back on with their livesas ifnothinghadever happened. The grocer supposed that was so they didnotdestroy themselves in the hunt. Their Lordwasat least merciful enough to not work his cattle to death, over an insult to his pride,“Sometimes,”he thought.


    Hours passed before the grocer regained enough of his strength to stand upright. Once hedid,he immediately dusted of his tattered clothing and collected his thoughts,“only four iron coins for all that effort,” He grumbled to himself, as he twirled the large metal coins in between his fingers. At that thought, he felt a sudden painful rumbling in his stomach. “Damn, I didn’t even have time to retrieve those shitty apples of mine,” Hegrumbled.


    With an aching stomach and even more aching body, the grocer was forced to press on. He did notyetfeel safe from society and was alsoin desperateneedforfood. The man marched on once again, alone.


    It had been nearly sixteen months since everything had changed. Before“he”hadtakenover. In solitude the grocer had trudged on,in a world with not a single friend, comrade, or even acquaintance. A cursed existence surrounded by cursed people. A grocer without groceries;a scholar without books;an alchemist without a laboratory;a magician without a wand.


    “I’m the last sane man in a world of insanity,” he mused.“wonder if that makes me the crazy one?” Heaskedhimself with his hand on his chin,Rubbingthe bristles gently.


    With littleelseto do the grocertook off into the dark forest, in search for something to quell his aching belly