Arcanis: Gonnes, Sons, and Treasure Runs (COMPLETED)

Madness in Freeport - Part 1c: The Sea Lord’s Palace

"Shall I have the honor of dancing this set with you?"

Ilmarė smiled back at a tall man with short, blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore green pants, a white shirt, and a green jacket.

“Marcus Roberts, Captain of the Black Dragon,” he said with a booming voice that reminded her of Quintus. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”

Ilmarė blinked. “I…” Marcus took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor before she could protest. “I’m Ilmarė Galen,” she said.

The music began and the captain whirled her around in the first part of a fast waltz.

“You must be on the Captain’s Council.”

“Of course,” said Marcus.

“Since you’re a Councilor, I’m sure you have an opinion about Drac’s lighthouse,” she said with lowered lashes.

Marcus needed little encouragement. “That lighthouse is draining valuable resources away from the city. You see that fellow hovering near Drac?” He spun her about so that she could look at Drac’s companion. “That’s Melkior Maeorgan.”

Melkior was a large, muscular man in black pants and shirt, covered with a gleaming breastplate. He had jet-black hair to match. A curved dagger in a jeweled scabbard hung from his belt.

“He looks friendly,” said Ilmarė.

Marcus laughed out loud. “He’s Drac’s crony. Drac recently sent Melkior to the mainland and came back with something strange.”

“What kind of strange?”

“Candles made of yellow wax and engraved with magical symbols.”

“Summoning candles,” said Ilmarė. She squinted over at Drac, who was in deep conversation with Melkior.

“That’s what I fear,” said Marcus. His frown shifted to a broad smile. “I used to support the Sea Lord, but these past few years, he’s really turned out to be quite the snake.”

“You have no idea,” said Ilmarė.

Madness in Freeport - Part 1d: The Sea Lord’s Palace

Vlad caught sight of Thuron and Captain Baldric chatting together at a table. With a nod, he advanced towards them.

“Nay dancin’ me boy?” asked Baldric with a crooked grin. “Thar’s plenty o' pretty lasses, ye ought be ou' on th' floor!”

Vlad shook his head. “I prefer a battlefield to a dance floor any time.” He took a seat next to them.

Thuron smiled, but it was a strained smile. “Youth is truly wasted on the young.”

“Ye got that right!” hooted Baldric. He elbowed the ssanu-in-disguise in the ribs. Thuron didn’t look too pleased.

Vlad looked over at the Council seats arrayed in the center of the room. “Which seat is yours?”

Baldric hushed him. “About that. Listen, lad. I may be havin' overstated me candidacy fer th' Captain’s Council. I thought I had a lock on 't, but now thar’s an e'en greater chance that I might get th' position.”

Vlad took a sip of a wine glass that a servant placed in front of him. “How?”

“Ye know,” Baldric whispered, “now that one o’ them be gone.” He raised his voice when Thuron looked over. “Nay t' speak ill o' th' dead, praise be Yarris!”

Vlad shook his head. “Politics.”

“It is said that in politics,” said Thuron, “your enemies can’t hurt you, but your friends can kill you.”

Baldric laughed nervously and changed the subject. “This party’s very important fer me, lad. If I’m seen wi' th' right swabbies, 't could help me get th' position. So don’t…ah, me good matey Hector! Come sit wi' us!”

A swarthy fellow with a curly, black beard and hair in a red frock coat sat down with them. He had a gold earring in his right ear as well as on each of his fingers.

“Baldric me old friend!” He plunked himself down and ordered a drink.

“This here be Captain Hector Torian,” said Baldric. “He’s th' captain o' th' Silver Ghost.”

“And what do you think of Drac’s lighthouse?” asked Vlad with frank curiosity.

Hector took a swig of a mug. “I owe me seat on th' Captain’s Council t' Drac.” He slammed the mug down on the table. “He helped me get th' position twelve voyages ago when he be a nobody. But eyeball th' lad now!” He took in the room’s festivities with the sloshing mug.

“You don’t think it’s draining too much money from the government’s coffers?”

“Ever' investment requires some cash up front.” Hector slurped again from his mug. “Wi' th' trade th' lighthouse ought t’ generate, we’ll make 't back in nay time!”

Thuron crossed his arms. “The blood of the innocent does not wash easily from coins, no matter how many times they change hands.”

Baldric shoved a mug in front of Thuron’s face. “This one’s on me,” he said in grim tones. “Yarris knows we both need it.”

Madness in Freeport: Part 1e: The Sea Lord’s Palace

Kham zeroed in on a pretty blonde in a midnight blue gown. A single gold ring adorned her right hand.

“That’s a beautiful stone,” he said, sidling up to her.

She met him with a ready smile. “You’re too kind. I’m Petra Fricke.”

“Kham val’Abebi,” said Kham, kissing her hand in greeting. "Shall I have the pleasure?"

“I’d be delighted,” she said with the same sparkling smile.

They made their way to the dance floor as the next song commenced. It was a slow waltz.

“It’s funny you should mention stones,” said Petra. “Are you a craftsman?”

“I know many trades,” Kham turned her slowly about. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m the leader of the Craftsmen Guild in Freeport,” she said.

Kham held up one of Petra’s manicured hands as she waltzed around him. “You don’t have the hands of a craftsman.”

Petra giggled. “Alas, we have not received much work in the past three years.”

“Don’t tell me.” Kham caught her by the waist and resumed the waltz. “This has to do with the lighthouse.”

“It does indeed,” said Petra with a coy smile. “The craftsmen are being left out some lucrative work. Instead, Drac brings in orcs from outside of Freeport.”

The music slowly faded to a stop. Kham bowed before Petra. “Thank you very much for the dance.”

Petra put one hand to her mouth and tittered. “I think we shall meet again, Kham val’Abebi.”

He led her off the dance floor. “I certainly hope so,” said Kham with a wink. Seconds later, Kham walked straight towards a green-haired beauty at the other side of the room.

Madness in Freeport - Part 1f: The Sea Lord’s Palace

Another dance was announced. Ilmarė didn’t have to wait long.

An elorii wearing dark-green breeches with a black, tight-fitting shirt approached her. His shoulder-length, blonde hair was held away from his angular face by a slim, golden circlet. He cut a dashing figure, complete with a rapier at his side.

"Will you honor me with your hand for a quadrille?" he asked.

“You’re Berokene.” Ilmarė identified the elorii’s lineage with a hint of approval. “Yes, I think I will.”

He led her to two other men and a lady on the dance floor.

When the music commenced, he bowed. Ilmarė responded with a courtesy and the dance began.

“My name is Arias,” he said. “Arias Soderheim.”

Arias moved toward Ilmarė and, in passing her, presented his right hand. Ilmarė did the same.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Ilmarė with the hint of a smile. “I’m—“

“Oh I know who you are,” said Arias. “How could I not? You’re the most beautiful lady in all of Freeport.”

They changed places. “You’re too kind.” Ilmarė would have rolled her eyes, but Arias mustered the compliment with deadly sincerity.

After giving Ilmarė his right hand, Arias left her to turn behind her, and gave his left hand to that of Ilmarė, who took the place of the other lady.

“And what is it you do, Arias?”

“I’m on the Captain’s Council.” He flashed a smile. “I represent the Entaran naval fleet in negotiations. Milton’s a much better choice than the previous Sea Lord, don’t you think?”

Their conversation was interrupted as they switched places in the quadrille. Ilmarė had to wait until she was facing Arias again.

“You mean Anton?” Ilmarė turned caught Arias’ hand again. He was an excellent dancer. “Wasn’t he assassinated?”

“Yes,” said Arias with a frown. “Milton’s much more interested in a neutral Freeport, and that’s turned out to be a rather lucrative arrangement for our people.”

“Lucrative how?”

“We have exclusive rights to all shipping for material to build that lighthouse of his,” said Arias.

“Whatever would the Sea Lord want with a lighthouse?” asked Ilmarė, feigning ignorance.

Arias laughed. Ilmarė hated the sound. “I have no idea, but it doesn’t really matter. As you well know, m’lady, long life has its advantages. We’ll enjoy the Sea Lord’s money long after he’s dead!” He laughed again, as if the jest wasn’t in appalling taste.

“Charming,” said Ilmarė.

The music ended. Arias thanked Ilmarė for the pleasure of her company and walked her to her seat.

“Are you interested in music? I’m quiet the talent you know.”

Ilmarė decided she was tiring of Arias. “I am trained in the bardic arts,” she said.

Arias’ eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s fantastic! You must sing for us!”

Ilmarė blanched. “Oh, no, I don’t really think…”

Arias shouted to the musicians. “Do you know the Song of the Five Princes?” The musicians smoothly switched from a structured dance set to something much more melancholy. “I’ll sing the basso.”

“I…” she struggled to remember the words. Ilmarė did remember the song; it was so long ago. But when she sang, the words came to her as if it were only yesterday.

Madness in Freeport - Part 1g: The Sea Lord’s Palace

The entire ballroom stopped to listen to Ilmarė and Arias’ duet.

“A leben caun thar Ennui Aeair!” sang Ilmarė. She sang of the Five Princes beyond the western seas.

“Nay a dancer, eh?” asked a tall man in red leggings and a black jacket.

“Dwarves don’t dance,” said Beldin with a sniff. “Not these kinds of dances anyway.”

“Calad ammen i reniar,” sang Arias. He sang of a light to wander by.

“I know what ye mean. Th' name’s Xavier Gordon, captain o' th' Bloody Sea.”

Beldin nodded back at him. “Beldin Soulforge. The Bloody Sea, hmm? That’s the name of your ship?” He continued to sip from his mug.

Xavier chuckled. “Aye. Tho I suppose ye wouldn’t know o' such things, bein' a dwarf an' all.”

“Mi 'aladhremmin Onara,” sang Ilmarė. She spoke of wandering amid the tree-woven lands of Onara.

“Don’t be so sure,” said Beldin. He peered into the contents of his mug. “I’ve had my share of sharks. Even eaten sea urchin once.”

Xavier’s dour attitude changed instantly. “So ye BE a man o' th' sea,” he clapped Beldin on the back. “Sailin' th' seas be 'ere a man belongs!”

Arias sang, “a Osalian Gilthoniel.” He spoke of Osalian, the Star-Kindler.

“So you’re a pirate then?” asked Beldin.

Xavier’s expression soured. “I prefer privateer. I’ve got th' interests o' Freeport at heart.”

Beldin took another swig from his mug. “Oh right. Like Captain Baldric.”

“I chin a thûl lín míriel,” sang Ilmarė. She described Osalian’s eyes and breath like shining jewels.

“Let me ask ye something,” said Xavier. “Ye’re a dwarf, ye know about stone works. What do ye think o' this lighthouse Milton be building?”

“I think it takes a dwarf half the time it takes men to build such things,” said Beldin without hesitation. “And it takes men with something to hide four times as long.”

“Et Eärello Onara utúlien,” sang Arias. Out of the Great Sea to Onara came Osalian.

“Aye,” said Xavier. “Somethin' t' hide indeed. Two days ago I saw somethin' e'en stranger.”

“Oh?” asked Beldin.

“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta,” sang Ilmarė. In his new home, Osalian would abide with his heirs, until the end of the world.

“Thar be a mysterious ship that slipped into a secluded area near th' lighthouse in th' dark o' night. 't be offloadin' cargo an' passengers.”

“That is strange,” said Beldin.

Ilmarė curtseyed and Arias bowed. The crowd broke into wild applause. Some people were sniffling back tears. Beldin and Xavier were too preoccupied to notice.

“That’s nay th’ strange part,” said Xavier. “One o’ th’ passengers had a long, reptilian tail.”

Madness in Freeport - Part 1h: The Sea Lord’s Palace

The musicians resumed their set as a throng of admirers crowded Ilmarė and Arias.

“Will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?” asked Kham of the green-haired, green-eyed woman in a tight-fitting aqua-colored gown.

She smiled back at him with no hint of shyness. “Certainly.”

Kham led her onto the dance floor. “I’m Kham val’Abebi.”

“Sister Gwendolyn,” she replied. A jeweled miniature trident hung from a silver necklace.

“A priestess of Yarris?” Kham bowed as the music began. “I am doubly honored!”

“You flatter me.” The priestess curtseyed back. “But enough of niceties, tell me of the heroism that earned you such a prestigious award.”

“A little of this, a little of that.” Kham spun her into another waltz. “As a priestess of Yarris, surely you have an opinion about Drac’s lighthouse.”

“I do indeed,” said Gwendolyn. “I’ve heard many odd things.”

Kham slowly spun her out and then brought her back to him. “Such as?”

“Strange noises and lights from the top of the lighthouse,” she said. “And strange dead things at the bottom.”

“Now that’s interesting. What kind of dead things.”

“Two horrible creatures with the head of an owl and the body of a bear,” she said with the slightest hint of a frown.

Kham couldn’t keep from staring at her hair. It really was a dark shade of green. “Owlbears,” he said matter-of-factly.

“The librarian at the Temple of Althares said he had never seen one before,” Gwendolyn replied. “I suppose it only makes sense that one as well-traveled as you would know of such things. He said they were well-known on the continent.”

“That must be Lucius,” said Kham. He took a deep breath. Gwendolyn had a scent about her that reminded him of the fresh ocean air. It was intoxicating.

“You know Lucius? You do know everybody, Master Kham.”

“Not everybody,” said Kham, “but I’m glad to hear Lucius is staying out of trouble.”

Gwendolyn watched Kham with lidded eyes as they came to the end of the waltz. “I get the impression you know all about trouble.”

Kham led Sister Gwendolyn off the dance floor and over to her seat. “Unfortunately, trouble knows all about me.”

A bow and a grin later, and Kham disappeared into the crowd.

Terror in Freeport - Part 1i: The Sea Lord’s Palace

Another fellow joined Vlad, Thuron, Baldric, and Hector at the table.

“Be havin’ enough room fer another sea dog?”

Baldric grinned widely. “Of course! We haven’t seen you in awhile, Brock. Have you met our resident hero, Vlad?”

The overweight Brock wore a black tricorn, white hose, and black pants. He flumped into a seat.

“Nay personally,” he said, grabbing another mug. “But I know enough about th' lad t' drink wi' him.”

Vlad smiled uncertainly back at him. He wasn’t accustomed to so much attention.

Brock took a long swig from his drink while Baldric and Hector discussed the legends about the dreaded Cult of Leviathan.

“Speakin' o' cults,” said Brock, “I think I’ve stumbled upon something.”

“Oh?” asked Thuron. Hector looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Can I speak wi' ye, Vlad?” He glanced over his shoulder to see Baldric and Thuron leading forward intently. “Alone?”

Vlad excused himself and left the table with Thuron.

When they were in one of the sitting rooms, Brock took off his hat. “I know ye’ve jus' met me, but I felt ye be me best hope. I think ye understand that…thar’s a situation wi' th' lighthouse. I think ye can appreciate that.”

Vlad nodded. “I sure can.”

“I tell ye, lad, th' lighthouse be a powerful, magical device. I think th' Sea Lord plans t' use 't t' summon an army o' monsters t' attack th' mainland an' brin' glory t' Freeport. But I don’t think he can control 't. I don’t know if he can dictate what comes through th' gate, or e'en control what comes ou' o' it.”

Vlad was taken aback. He suspected something was wrong with the lighthouse, but nothing as drastic as Brock described. “Have you spoken to anyone about this?”

“I tried once,” said Brock. He scratched the top of his bald pate. “Drac threatened t' kill me whole family. `Tis got me up nights, that`s th' truth.”

“What do you plan to do?”

Brock began to pace with his arms behind his back.

“Th' right decision. Sometimes 'tis hard t' figure ou' what that be. Ye understand?”

Vlad nodded.

“I think thar’s only one way. We’re goin' t' be havin' t' kill th' lad. Here. Now.”

Vlad squinted at Brock. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely. I know ye can do 't. I can lure Drac into this room. Ye follow th' lad in, do what ye need t' do, an' then escape ou' one o' th' windows an' climb o'er th' wall. When things calm down, th' truth about Drac be sure t' be revealed. Ye’ll be hailed as heroes fer thwartin' his plan.”

Vlad crossed his arms. “I don’t know about this.”

Brock put one hand on Vlad’s shoulder. “Ye be havin' t' be sure. Think hard, Vlad. If we’re goin' t' move on this, thar canna be th' least wee shred o' doubt. I need t' know if ye be havin' proof that Drac’s behind all this.”

“I do,” said Vlad.

“Would ye be willin' t' swear before a judge an' jury…e'en take an oath before Sarish himself?

“I’ve seen the proof with my own eyes.”

“That's what I thought,” Brock’s lips became a grim line. “Then we have' t' kill him.”

Terror in Freeport - Part 1j: The Sea Lord’s Palace

There was a knock at the door.

Brock drew a knife from his belt and backed up against the wall. He nodded to Vlad.

Vlad opened the door. Standing in the doorway was…

A pimply faced teen. Thuron had his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“Young Master Bedwyr here wanted to meet his hero,” said Thuron, his eyes scanning the room. “I thought you might have time to speak to him.”

“Uh…now’s really not—“

Bedwyr stepped into the room and out of Thuron’s grasp. “Wow are you really Vlad Martell?!”

“Yes,” said Vlad. He looked over at Brock, who stepped out from behind the door.

“I’ll be going,” said Brock. He lowered his voice so only Vlad could hear. “If ye change yer mind, let me know.” Then he ducked out of the room.

“What was that all about?” asked Thuron.

“Nothing,” said Vlad. He smiled down at Bedwyr. “Yes, I’m Vlad.”

“Did you really cut all those peoples’ heads off with one swipe of your sword? I read that in The Shipping News. Is that true?”

“Well, yes, but—“

“I think it’s great!” said Bedwyr. “On behalf of Freeport’s pure of heart, I would like to thank you for saving us from those horrible snake people.”

“I think my reputation for killing people is a little exaggerated.”

“I hope to be a hero myself one day,” said Bedwyr. “Are you looking for a squire?”

Vlad pushed past Thuron and Bedwyr. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a drink.”

Bedwyr watched Vlad’s retreating back. “He seems sad.”

“There’s a fine line between a warrior,” Thuron nodded towards Vlad, “and a murderer.” He focused on Brock, who had slunk over to the bar.

“What’s the difference?”

“His surroundings,” said Thuron.

Madness in Freeport - Part 1k: The Sea Lord’s Palace

Kham was on his way to the bar when a raven-haired beauty intercepted him.

“I know you,” said the young woman with a lopsided smile. “You’re Kham, the adventurer!”

“That’s one of my professions,” said Kham, gesturing for two drinks from a nearby servant. “But I don’t have the pleasure of your name…”

A servant handed Kham two goblets

“You can call me Margy,” she chirped. “Margy Roth.”

Kham inclined his head, amused. “Daughter of Torsten Roth, the head of the Merchant’s Guild?”

“The same,” said Margy. Her smile widened into a grin as Kham handed her one of the goblets.

“As a genuine hero of Freeport, you must tell me all about your adventures!” She took a long slurp from the mug. “Surely you must have come across quite a bit of baubles as you loot dragon lairs, steal from titan treasuries, pilfer from kings...”

Kham nearly coughed. He looked around. “Isn’t that your father over there?”

Margy refused to look over her shoulder. “Oh, is he? I didn’t notice.”

Kham smirked. He knew exactly what she was doing. An aristocratic young lady with a man of ill character such as himself would certainly cause a stir, especially with her father.

Kham was only too willing to oblige her. “You’re not even slightly interested in Drac’s lighthouse, are you?”

“That silly old thing?” Margy dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “Goodness, no. I’m much more interested in you.”

Kham put one arm around Margy and wheeled her to one of the private rooms. It just so happened that the path was in front of Torsten. “Then you and I have much to talk about.”

Madness in Freeport - Part 1l: The Sea Lord’s Palace

“Master Soulforge, a moment if you please.”

Beldin whirled around to see an older man with brown hair and eyes in a red robe. He walked with the aid of a gnarled staff. “Yes?”

“I was just talking to my apprentice Glenfield here,” he gestured to a fidgety gnome, who peeked out from behind the wizard’s taller form, “about the quality of summoning stones in a structure and I thought you might know something about it.” The older man smiled. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Tarmon, High Wizard of the Wizard’s Guild.”

Beldin excused himself from his conversation with Xavier. “Nice to meet you Tarmon.”

“Glenfield, get Burkhart, we’re going to be leaving in a few minutes. These late night balls are for the young.”

Glenfield darted over to a small cage in one corner of the room. Beldin watched him open it to retrieve the toad.

“Who’s Burkhart?” asked Beldin.

“Oh, that’s my toad familiar.” Tarmon made a sympathetic noise. “Poor thing hasn’t aged well. He’s just not all there anymore.”

Behind Tarmon, Glenfield looked up with a horrified expression. The toad wasn’t in its cage.

“So as I was saying, I was wondering what a dwarf might think of summoning stones in structures. It’s been quite the topic of debate in wizardly circles.”

Beldin had difficulty focusing on the conversation. “What in particular would you like to know?”

Glenfield made eye contact with Beldin. He put his hands together in the dwarf’s direction, as if in prayer. Then he made a rotating motion with his fingers. He wanted Beldin to keep Tarmon busy while he looked for the toad.

“Well, some of the wizards believe that summoning stones placed in a structure would actually turn the structure itself into a gate of sorts.”

Beldin nodded, answering both Tarmon and Glenfield at the same time.

“I’m of two minds,” said Tarmon. “On the one hand, I think the effect of summoning stones will be diluted by the irregular form of said structure.”

Glenfield started running from table to table, peeking under the tablecloths.

“That’s possible,” said Beldin. “The dwarves of Solanos Mor have long used stones to control gates to realms of darkness.”

Glenfield turned towards Beldin and threw up his hands in frustration. Something gray and wet hopped quickly behind him.

“On the other hand, it’s possible that enough stones will actually enhance the power of the building, by focusing towards a convergent point.”

Beldin tried to indicate the toad’s direction with his chin, but he succeeded in just wiggling his nose.

“Are you all right?” asked Tarmon, concerned. “You seem to have an itch.”

Glenfield understood. He spun around to look.

Beldin covered it with a cough. “Sorry, I’m not accustomed to the Freeport air.”

“It’s the moisture,” Tarmon nodded sympathetically. “I feel it more and more in my bones as I get older.”

Glenfield pointed in the direction of where the toad had hopped, one hand over his mouth.

Burkhart hopped right under the skirts of a throng of young women, huddled deep in conversation about Kham.

Then somebody screamed.