Bitterness Overcome: (Now A Completed Story!)

[Nonlethal Force]

Chapter Five: A LITTLE REVENGE

Three relatively calm months had passed since the party found themselves facing off against the small reptilian opponents who had been summoned by the calling of the dragon. Grixanthrosilithiss had not ventured over the mountains into Tongra in an attempt to exact personal revenge upon his runaway Provenience. In spite of the lack of revenge from the red wyrm, even once they had returned the whole way to Rhema’s father’s home they refused to let their guard down for several weeks. Rhema’s father lived in the sleepy hamlet of Huetown under Lord Ironblood’s domain, but the relative isolation brought them little comfort. During each night Semeion, Rhema, Ischarus, or Charis would inevitably find themselves keeping watch over the family estate from the ground floor of Rhema’s father’s two story stone villa. Many nights Charis found herself dodging shadows that seemed to her to be in the shape of Druff. The first few weeks passed by slowly as they all awaited retribution.

Rhema was the first to begin to let her guard return to normal. Of course, normal meant the typical state of heightened awareness that comes from knowingly operating a farm villa using rescued persons from Quehalost as workers. The majority of the workers were not permanent residents at the villa. Instead they would stay until such a time as they had grown accustomed to life in Tongra that they could make it on their own. There was a constant threat that someone from Quehalost, whom the party confronted earlier, could pass through the northern region of Tongra following the trail of the freedom fighters.

Of course, the trail would lead them directly to the northern edge of Tongra where the would-be pursuers would inevitably become attracted by the capitol of Lord Ironblood’s land, Fingerdale. Lord Ironblood was a ruthless manager of all the resources within and he knew precisely how to tax his residents so that they would be able to survive with only a small margin of profit to show. Lord Ironblood seemed capable of knowing just how far his serfs could be pushed before they would revolt. Fortunately for him, Lord Ironblood had never crossed that line. Of course, Lord Ironblood also kept his people safe with a highly trained and well paid army. Lord Ironblood’s serfs knew their life was difficult financially, but they were also a safe people. Most of Lord Ironblood’s serfs resented the taxes of the land but were loyal to the life they had grown accustomed to.

It was this very security that lead Rhema’s father to the land many years ago. It was this security that kept Rhema’s father precisely in Lord Ironblood’s land in spite of the taxes. The lord and many of his officers knew full well of the operations that ran out of Rhema’s father’s villa. Rhema’s father paid a hefty tribute to keep the lips of those officers closed. Yet everyone at the villa knew that secrets would inevitably leek out if the right person paid enough for the information. This was the danger of living in a land where money dominated personal relationships. So long as the rescue operations brought enough wealth back to keep the nobles and Lord Ironblood happy there would be no trouble. If Rhema and her associates ever worked against a force in Quehalost that had considerable resources there was the risk of trouble.

There was no doubt that Grixanthrosilithiss had such wealth, but being a red dragon it was rather unlikely that he would part with wealth to merely regain a Provenience. There were other methods that would be much more satisfying to his loyal underlings. It was precisely that thought that kept Charis awake at night and precisely that thought that she had to overcome in order to regain living a normal life.

Fortunately for Charis, she had two things working in her favor as she strove toward overcoming her fear of retribution from the red wyrm. First, her new associates had managed to meet up with six of her kin who were also fleeing from Quehalost. Once her kin recognized Charis they readily followed Ischarus, Rhema, and Semeion into the land of Tongra and eventually to Huetown and the family villa. The fact that there were then seven who were going through the retraining process made it easier.

Furthermore, the family villa knew that often the first step in retraining was ensuring that those being retrained spoke the proper language of the land. Semeion took a keen interest in teaching the language to the refugees; and Rhema’s father was more than ready to hand that task over to Semeion. With Semeion as the teacher, Rhema demonstrated a quick knack at learning the common tongue of the civilized lands. By the end of the first two weeks, every refugee had a working vocabulary of useful terms for life on the villa and they were able to construct simple sentences. By the end of the full three months, each of the refugees had proven relative command over the spoken language – although none of them had progressed at all in their ability to read. This meant little, however, because the average person in Tongra could do little reading and the refugees were not even able to read in their native draconic tongue!

Once the refugees had a working mastery of the civilized tongue, they were allowed to come and go at their leisure. Of course, this was assuming that their responsibilities at the villa had been attended and completed. Part of the retraining program was to teach the refugees that money was necessary for life as well as the fact that the only honest way to make money in the civilized lands was to learn how to balance work with leisure. In the beginning, the more timid refugees stayed on the villa and worked hard – often stockpiling their wages. However, eventually even the most timid of the refugees learned that their minor accumulation of wealth drew them out into the small town of Huetown. Here they began to learn how the civilized world traded, bartered, and bought what they needed.

Huetown was a small town, roughly existing on a working population of 900 residents during most of the year. This population size was ideal for allowing the refugees to learn about wealth and commerce. The whole town was accustomed to the occasional wave of refugees from Rhema’s father’s villa and by now had begun to assume responsibility for training these refugees in the ways of Tongra commerce. Of course, nobody in the town truly understood where the refugees can from and most knew enough not to ask. The shopkeepers knew to be patient, which was usually relatively easy in such a small town. The innkeeper and tavern owner knew to keep watch over the refugees until they learned the environment of inn and tavern life. Through it all, it wasn’t too long before each of the refugees had begun to show independence and the ability to function on their own in the civilized realm.

The final step in retraining a refugee was introduction to the life in Fingerdale. Fingerdale was certainly not the largest of cities in Tongra; but it did have a respectable working population of around 10,000 people. This central city of Lord Ironblood’s land became the place where the refugees learned about discerning which shops to choose, how to recognize safe areas of cities, and even how to get along with the local city guard. Of course, street merchants, thieves, wandering minstrels, and the like roamed the streets of Fingerdale looking for any way – legitimate or illegal – to separate a coin from its owner. This was perhaps the biggest test of the whole retraining routine. Life in Fingerdale was appealing to the uninitiated; but life in Fingerdale was certainly not easy.

[Sblock=Color Free Speech Section]Chapter Five: A LITTLE REVENGE

Three relatively calm months had passed since the party found themselves facing off against the small reptilian opponents who had been summoned by the calling of the dragon. Grixanthrosilithiss had not ventured over the mountains into Tongra in an attempt to exact personal revenge upon his runaway Provenience. In spite of the lack of revenge from the red wyrm, even once they had returned the whole way to Rhema’s father’s home they refused to let their guard down for several weeks. Rhema’s father lived in the sleepy hamlet of Huetown under Lord Ironblood’s domain, but the relative isolation brought them little comfort. During each night Semeion, Rhema, Ischarus, or Charis would inevitably find themselves keeping watch over the family estate from the ground floor of Rhema’s father’s two story stone villa. Many nights Charis found herself dodging shadows that seemed to her to be in the shape of Druff. The first few weeks passed by slowly as they all awaited retribution.

Rhema was the first to begin to let her guard return to normal. Of course, normal meant the typical state of heightened awareness that comes from knowingly operating a farm villa using rescued persons from Quehalost as workers. The majority of the workers were not permanent residents at the villa. Instead they would stay until such a time as they had grown accustomed to life in Tongra that they could make it on their own. There was a constant threat that someone from Quehalost, whom the party confronted earlier, could pass through the northern region of Tongra following the trail of the freedom fighters.

Of course, the trail would lead them directly to the northern edge of Tongra where the would-be pursuers would inevitably become attracted by the capitol of Lord Ironblood’s land, Fingerdale. Lord Ironblood was a ruthless manager of all the resources within and he knew precisely how to tax his residents so that they would be able to survive with only a small margin of profit to show. Lord Ironblood seemed capable of knowing just how far his serfs could be pushed before they would revolt. Fortunately for him, Lord Ironblood had never crossed that line. Of course, Lord Ironblood also kept his people safe with a highly trained and well paid army. Lord Ironblood’s serfs knew their life was difficult financially, but they were also a safe people. Most of Lord Ironblood’s serfs resented the taxes of the land but were loyal to the life they had grown accustomed to.

It was this very security that lead Rhema’s father to the land many years ago. It was this security that kept Rhema’s father precisely in Lord Ironblood’s land in spite of the taxes. The lord and many of his officers knew full well of the operations that ran out of Rhema’s father’s villa. Rhema’s father paid a hefty tribute to keep the lips of those officers closed. Yet everyone at the villa knew that secrets would inevitably leek out if the right person paid enough for the information. This was the danger of living in a land where money dominated personal relationships. So long as the rescue operations brought enough wealth back to keep the nobles and Lord Ironblood happy there would be no trouble. If Rhema and her associates ever worked against a force in Quehalost that had considerable resources there was the risk of trouble.

There was no doubt that Grixanthrosilithiss had such wealth, but being a red dragon it was rather unlikely that he would part with wealth to merely regain a Provenience. There were other methods that would be much more satisfying to his loyal underlings. It was precisely that thought that kept Charis awake at night and precisely that thought that she had to overcome in order to regain living a normal life.

Fortunately for Charis, she had two things working in her favor as she strove toward overcoming her fear of retribution from the red wyrm. First, her new associates had managed to meet up with six of her kin who were also fleeing from Quehalost. Once her kin recognized Charis they readily followed Ischarus, Rhema, and Semeion into the land of Tongra and eventually to Huetown and the family villa. The fact that there were then seven who were going through the retraining process made it easier.

Furthermore, the family villa knew that often the first step in retraining was ensuring that those being retrained spoke the proper language of the land. Semeion took a keen interest in teaching the language to the refugees; and Rhema’s father was more than ready to hand that task over to Semeion. With Semeion as the teacher, Rhema demonstrated a quick knack at learning the common tongue of the civilized lands. By the end of the first two weeks, every refugee had a working vocabulary of useful terms for life on the villa and they were able to construct simple sentences. By the end of the full three months, each of the refugees had proven relative command over the spoken language – although none of them had progressed at all in their ability to read. This meant little, however, because the average person in Tongra could do little reading and the refugees were not even able to read in their native draconic tongue!

Once the refugees had a working mastery of the civilized tongue, they were allowed to come and go at their leisure. Of course, this was assuming that their responsibilities at the villa had been attended and completed. Part of the retraining program was to teach the refugees that money was necessary for life as well as the fact that the only honest way to make money in the civilized lands was to learn how to balance work with leisure. In the beginning, the more timid refugees stayed on the villa and worked hard – often stockpiling their wages. However, eventually even the most timid of the refugees learned that their minor accumulation of wealth drew them out into the small town of Huetown. Here they began to learn how the civilized world traded, bartered, and bought what they needed.

Huetown was a small town, roughly existing on a working population of 900 residents during most of the year. This population size was ideal for allowing the refugees to learn about wealth and commerce. The whole town was accustomed to the occasional wave of refugees from Rhema’s father’s villa and by now had begun to assume responsibility for training these refugees in the ways of Tongra commerce. Of course, nobody in the town truly understood where the refugees can from and most knew enough not to ask. The shopkeepers knew to be patient, which was usually relatively easy in such a small town. The innkeeper and tavern owner knew to keep watch over the refugees until they learned the environment of inn and tavern life. Through it all, it wasn’t too long before each of the refugees had begun to show independence and the ability to function on their own in the civilized realm.

The final step in retraining a refugee was introduction to the life in Fingerdale. Fingerdale was certainly not the largest of cities in Tongra; but it did have a respectable working population of around 10,000 people. This central city of Lord Ironblood’s land became the place where the refugees learned about discerning which shops to choose, how to recognize safe areas of cities, and even how to get along with the local city guard. Of course, street merchants, thieves, wandering minstrels, and the like roamed the streets of Fingerdale looking for any way – legitimate or illegal – to separate a coin from its owner. This was perhaps the biggest test of the whole retraining routine. Life in Fingerdale was appealing to the uninitiated; but life in Fingerdale was certainly not easy.[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

It was precisely this first trip to Fingerdale that Charis learned part of her nature as Drakontos. Of course, Semeion had become her guide in intellectual development, but it was Ischarus who had much to teach her about the various types of Drakontos throughout the world. As Rhema, Ischarus, and Semeion led Charis into Fingerdale, Rhema decided that she would try to prepare Charis for the great variety of stores, experiences, and even people that she might encounter. “Basically, Charis, there are nearly every kind of surface dwelling people within the city of Fingerdale. You’ll find Dwarves, Gnomes, Elves, and all kinds of Humans like myself. You’ve no doubt noticed the differences in skin color, height, and even eye shape and size.”

Rhema wrinkled her eyes as she thought about the variety of people she had encountered since leaving her village in Quehalost. “Is the entire world this unique? I am accustomed to everyone being a Drakontos. How do you ever learn to tell the difference?”

Knowing Ischarus and his pride of heritage, Rhema began to chuckle. “Yes, Charis, the world is quite a large place filled with all varieties of people. The Drakontai that you know are born from beings coming from when a dragon has mated with a human being. A few generations after that particular mating and you end up with Drakontai. Humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes, and other races do not have a noticeable amount of dragon blood in them, although none of us really truly know of what exactly we are made up. We have our tendencies that give us clues, but we truly do not know exactly what we are completely. Take the elves for example. Anyone with sharply defined features and thin ears may well have Elf blood in them. But as to whether that blood is pure Elf or perhaps containing a bit of Human or even Drakontai blood nobody can be sure.”

Charis looked to Rhema as though she understood the words that Charis spoke but not the meaning behind them. “You mean to tell me that you do not have a father dragon?”

Rhema laughed once more before replying, and this time her laughter was joined by Ischarus. “Much to Ischarus’ dismay, no. I do not have a father dragon. I am like Semeion. Our races – and most races – do not have draconic heritage. We are our own people guided by our own ways. That is not to say that somewhere along the way I don’t have a free Drakontos ancestor. But that is not a noticeable part of who I am.”

Rhema looked with a shocked expression toward Semeion. “You do not have a dragon father either?”

Semeion smiled, although a bit concerned that this revelation might come at expense to their growing care for each other. “No, Charis. I am Human. Humans do not get their lineage from the heavens or the pits of despair or from dragons. We are simply our own race. Did you never notice that Rhema and I do not speak of our dragon fathers like Ischarus?”

Rhema took Semeion’s words a bit harshly and cast her eyes first to the ground and then to the image of Fingerdale as they approached the outer walls on foot. “I merely assumed that you were not proud of your heritage or that your dragon father led you in evil much like my dragon father led me. It never occurred to me that people could exist without dragon fathers from whom they come.”

Semeion read her body language and apologized. His hand reached around her shoulders and he drew Charis into his chest for a quick hug as they walked. “It’s alright, Charis. This is part of the training. There are many assumptions to life that you will make because all you knew was the reality your dragon father taught you. That is our job with you now. It is our job with you and with the rest of the refugees from your village. And when you have learned, it will be your job to help the next round of refugees. You’ll probably have an advantage over the rest of us because you know what the retraining process is like and we do not.”

Charis received Semeion’s hug well and welcomed the embrace. The contact was enough to shake away any of the embarrassment that she had felt. “So the rest of the races you have told me about. The Dwarves, the Elves, the Gnomes, the Orcs, and even the Goblins do not have dragon fathers?”

Ischarus, in the lead and looking forward to arriving in Fingerdale, replied to the honest question. “That is correct. Actually, it is only the Drakontos who can claim a draconic heritage. Sure, it is true that the Aasimar can claim some form of heritage from the great heavens and the Tiefling can claim some sort of parentage from the pits of despair. But the rest of the races on this land can claim parentage to some natural life here independent of dragons, beings from the heavens, or beings from despair.”

The party traveled in relative silence for the next minute or so while Charis pondered the new information. They quickly approached the outer gate of the city of Fingerdale. The walls were imposing to anyone approaching on foot to say the least. Their stone structure had been built to withstand two immediate threats. In desperate times long past, great sailing ships of large beings were known to raid towns and villages along the edges of the continent of Enigmatica. There were those in the land who still claimed to remember and they merely referred to these large people as giants. The walls of Fingerdale were constructed so as to be too tall for even these giant men to scale over without the use of ladders.

The second threat to the city was much more real. The river Sesquanitoos passed by the edge of the city before flowing into the great ocean not far away to the north. These tall stone walls had been magically sealed by the local wizards and their apprentices so as to keep the water from swelling into the city should the river surge over its banks. The walls enabled the city to become a dry haven in the case of a swelling of the river.

As Charis looked at the imposing walls and remembered the lesson that Semeion had taught her about the reason for their height, she noticed a strange rune in one of the massive stones. When she drew closer to the rune she recognized that it was not a single rune but a series of tightly inscribed runes wrapping around each other. This new discover caused her to study the wall further and she noticed that each and every one of the stones used in the wall that had a diameter of more than a foot had the same set of runes etched within the rock face. Charis looked intrigued at the wall; and none of her companions desired to interrupt her curiosity. After all, it was for Charis’ sake that they had come to Fingerdale.

Charis stretch out her hand and traced the runes. As she did, her companions drew nearer to her in support of her action. When they drew closer to the wall they saw that it was the runes that had captivated Charis’ attention. They found within themselves a new sense of appreciation for the etchings that they had taken for granted so many times. As Charis traced the runes with her finger, her mind began to spin as though being overcome with a slight dizziness. Her eyes blurred for a single moment and as her fingers finished tracing the rune she came out of the dizziness spell. Rhema took note that Charis’ eyes glowed with a faint blue aura for just a second.

Charis spoke confidently; she was quite proud of her newest discovery. “The runes say something that is loosely translated as ‘May the element of fire shield these walls from the destructive surges of water.’ But I don’t know how I know that.” Although she was a bit confused at exactly how she could read the magical runes she was incredibly proud that she had made this discovery without the help of the others.

Ischarus and Rhema looked to Semeion for confirmation. Semeion paused for a moment and spoke softly. “Thizzle-sooth” Like Charis, Semeion’s eyes began to glow with a similar faint blue magical aura. Once his eyes had finished scanning the runes a smile passed across his face. “She is correct. The runes call upon the power of the element of fire to strengthen these walls in the event of a flood of the river Sesquanitoos.”

His eyes returned to a normal coloration as he spoke to his friends. “But, the language is magical in nature. It is not draconic and it is certainly not the common tongue. Charis, have you always been able to read magical writings?”

As the eyes of her companions turned to her, Charis suddenly felt as though a weight struck her from behind. She fell forward into the wall and immediately doubled over as if to vomit. She collapsed to rest her knees upon the ground. Her left elbow shot out to keep her forehead from smashing into the solid earth below. Her right arm had been tucked up into her abdomen as her body began to offer up violent dry heaves. Several times she tried to call upon her healing powers, but the sickness had overcome her with too much force. The words would not come.

Semeion and Ischarus immediately turned around to try and locate what had caused her to collapse into the wall. Although there was no lack of people headed into and out of the gates of Fingerdale, none of them looked with any interest onto the happenings of Charis. Rhema knelt beside Charis and tried to console her.

After a few moments of feeling the desire to vomit upon the ground but being unable to bring anything up, Charis began to calm down with Rhema’s help. As she calmed down, Charis spoke with a tone of frustration, “I don’t know what overcame me. One minute I was reading the magical runes like I had never done before and the next minute I had lost my balance and became sick to my stomach.”

Semeion and Ischarus continued to look for interested parties, but they could find none. If the source of the sickness was external, that very source evaded them. If the sickness was internal, there had been no indication that she was growing ill.

[Sblock=Color Free Speech Section]
It was precisely this first trip to Fingerdale that Charis learned part of her nature as Drakontos. Of course, Semeion had become her guide in intellectual development, but it was Ischarus who had much to teach her about the various types of Drakontos throughout the world. As Rhema, Ischarus, and Semeion led Charis into Fingerdale, Rhema decided that she would try to prepare Charis for the great variety of stores, experiences, and even people that she might encounter. “Basically, Charis, there are nearly every kind of surface dwelling people within the city of Fingerdale. You’ll find Dwarves, Gnomes, Elves, and all kinds of Humans like myself. You’ve no doubt noticed the differences in skin color, height, and even eye shape and size.”

Rhema wrinkled her eyes as she thought about the variety of people she had encountered since leaving her village in Quehalost. “Is the entire world this unique? I am accustomed to everyone being a Drakontos. How do you ever learn to tell the difference?”

Knowing Ischarus and his pride of heritage, Rhema began to chuckle. “Yes, Charis, the world is quite a large place filled with all varieties of people. The Drakontai that you know are born from beings coming from when a dragon has mated with a human being. A few generations after that particular mating and you end up with Drakontai. Humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes, and other races do not have a noticeable amount of dragon blood in them, although none of us really truly know of what exactly we are made up. We have our tendencies that give us clues, but we truly do not know exactly what we are completely. Take the elves for example. Anyone with sharply defined features and thin ears may well have Elf blood in them. But as to whether that blood is pure Elf or perhaps containing a bit of Human or even Drakontai blood nobody can be sure.”

Charis looked to Rhema as though she understood the words that Charis spoke but not the meaning behind them. “You mean to tell me that you do not have a father dragon?”

Rhema laughed once more before replying, and this time her laughter was joined by Ischarus. “Much to Ischarus’ dismay, no. I do not have a father dragon. I am like Semeion. Our races – and most races – do not have draconic heritage. We are our own people guided by our own ways. That is not to say that somewhere along the way I don’t have a free Drakontos ancestor. But that is not a noticeable part of who I am.”

Rhema looked with a shocked expression toward Semeion. “You do not have a dragon father either?”

Semeion smiled, although a bit concerned that this revelation might come at expense to their growing care for each other. “No, Charis. I am Human. Humans do not get their lineage from the heavens or the pits of despair or from dragons. We are simply our own race. Did you never notice that Rhema and I do not speak of our dragon fathers like Ischarus?”

Rhema took Semeion’s words a bit harshly and cast her eyes first to the ground and then to the image of Fingerdale as they approached the outer walls on foot. “I merely assumed that you were not proud of your heritage or that your dragon father led you in evil much like my dragon father led me. It never occurred to me that people could exist without dragon fathers from whom they come.”

Semeion read her body language and apologized. His hand reached around her shoulders and he drew Charis into his chest for a quick hug as they walked. “It’s alright, Charis. This is part of the training. There are many assumptions to life that you will make because all you knew was the reality your dragon father taught you. That is our job with you now. It is our job with you and with the rest of the refugees from your village. And when you have learned, it will be your job to help the next round of refugees. You’ll probably have an advantage over the rest of us because you know what the retraining process is like and we do not.”

Charis received Semeion’s hug well and welcomed the embrace. The contact was enough to shake away any of the embarrassment that she had felt. “So the rest of the races you have told me about. The Dwarves, the Elves, the Gnomes, the Orcs, and even the Goblins do not have dragon fathers?”

Ischarus, in the lead and looking forward to arriving in Fingerdale, replied to the honest question. “That is correct. Actually, it is only the Drakontos who can claim a draconic heritage. Sure, it is true that the Aasimar can claim some form of heritage from the great heavens and the Tiefling can claim some sort of parentage from the pits of despair. But the rest of the races on this land can claim parentage to some natural life here independent of dragons, beings from the heavens, or beings from despair.”

The party traveled in relative silence for the next minute or so while Charis pondered the new information. They quickly approached the outer gate of the city of Fingerdale. The walls were imposing to anyone approaching on foot to say the least. Their stone structure had been built to withstand two immediate threats. In desperate times long past, great sailing ships of large beings were known to raid towns and villages along the edges of the continent of Enigmatica. There were those in the land who still claimed to remember and they merely referred to these large people as giants. The walls of Fingerdale were constructed so as to be too tall for even these giant men to scale over without the use of ladders.

The second threat to the city was much more real. The river Sesquanitoos passed by the edge of the city before flowing into the great ocean not far away to the north. These tall stone walls had been magically sealed by the local wizards and their apprentices so as to keep the water from swelling into the city should the river surge over its banks. The walls enabled the city to become a dry haven in the case of a swelling of the river.

As Charis looked at the imposing walls and remembered the lesson that Semeion had taught her about the reason for their height, she noticed a strange rune in one of the massive stones. When she drew closer to the rune she recognized that it was not a single rune but a series of tightly inscribed runes wrapping around each other. This new discover caused her to study the wall further and she noticed that each and every one of the stones used in the wall that had a diameter of more than a foot had the same set of runes etched within the rock face. Charis looked intrigued at the wall; and none of her companions desired to interrupt her curiosity. After all, it was for Charis’ sake that they had come to Fingerdale.

Charis stretch out her hand and traced the runes. As she did, her companions drew nearer to her in support of her action. When they drew closer to the wall they saw that it was the runes that had captivated Charis’ attention. They found within themselves a new sense of appreciation for the etchings that they had taken for granted so many times. As Charis traced the runes with her finger, her mind began to spin as though being overcome with a slight dizziness. Her eyes blurred for a single moment and as her fingers finished tracing the rune she came out of the dizziness spell. Rhema took note that Charis’ eyes glowed with a faint blue aura for just a second.

Charis spoke confidently; she was quite proud of her newest discovery. “The runes say something that is loosely translated as ‘May the element of fire shield these walls from the destructive surges of water.’ But I don’t know how I know that.” Although she was a bit confused at exactly how she could read the magical runes she was incredibly proud that she had made this discovery without the help of the others.

Ischarus and Rhema looked to Semeion for confirmation. Semeion paused for a moment and spoke softly. “Thizzle-sooth” Like Charis, Semeion’s eyes began to glow with a similar faint blue magical aura. Once his eyes had finished scanning the runes a smile passed across his face. “She is correct. The runes call upon the power of the element of fire to strengthen these walls in the event of a flood of the river Sesquanitoos.”

His eyes returned to a normal coloration as he spoke to his friends. “But, the language is magical in nature. It is not draconic and it is certainly not the common tongue. Charis, have you always been able to read magical writings?”

As the eyes of her companions turned to her, Charis suddenly felt as though a weight struck her from behind. She fell forward into the wall and immediately doubled over as if to vomit. She collapsed to rest her knees upon the ground. Her left elbow shot out to keep her forehead from smashing into the solid earth below. Her right arm had been tucked up into her abdomen as her body began to offer up violent dry heaves. Several times she tried to call upon her healing powers, but the sickness had overcome her with too much force. The words would not come.

Semeion and Ischarus immediately turned around to try and locate what had caused her to collapse into the wall. Although there was no lack of people headed into and out of the gates of Fingerdale, none of them looked with any interest onto the happenings of Charis. Rhema knelt beside Charis and tried to console her.

After a few moments of feeling the desire to vomit upon the ground but being unable to bring anything up, Charis began to calm down with Rhema’s help. As she calmed down, Charis spoke with a tone of frustration, “I don’t know what overcame me. One minute I was reading the magical runes like I had never done before and the next minute I had lost my balance and became sick to my stomach.”

Semeion and Ischarus continued to look for interested parties, but they could find none. If the source of the sickness was external, that very source evaded them. If the sickness was internal, there had been no indication that she was growing ill.
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Charis slowly raised herself up from being doubled over in sickness. “Maybe I just need to find something to eat. I don’t know why, but I have this sudden urge for peanuts and milk.”

Semeion and Ischarus looked to each other with a disapproving look upon their faces. Semeion mouthed the words “Peanuts and Milk?” to Ischarus without offering any sound. Still, they could find nobody who seemed to be interested in their situation. There was nobody that seemed desiring to take advantage of Charis’ sudden ill feeling.

Ischarus looked to Semeion, yet spoke to Charis. “Perhaps the problem isn’t external, Charis. Nobody seems interested in what is happening here.”

Rhema looked at Charis with a bit of concern when she started to ask for a strange combination of food. Her thoughts had already been interrupted by Ischarus and now they were interrupted by Semeion. “I’ve never heard of reading magic making one sick, although I’ve not known one like yourself who gets their magical power from a draconic or even heavenly source as part of their lineage. All of my understanding of magic and arcane writing comes from associations with intense study.”

Charis looked up at Semeion, not appreciative of his matter-of fact analysis of their current situation. “I doubt that my powers are at fault here, Semeion. I’ve never been sick through using them before.

Rhema slightly smiled at Charis and tried to ease her pain. “Is there any possibility that before we met you …”

Rhema’s voice trailed off into nothingness. The thought was too much to even say. If she was right, she was certainly not prepared for the consequences. She wasn’t sure that Ischarus – and especially Semeion – would be prepared for the consequences as well. The fact that her sickness appeared while reading a magic rune led her thoughts in a disturbing way.

Charis turned her head to Rhema as she still knelt on all fours upon the ground. “Before we met what, Rhema?”

Rhema shook her head slowly from side to side. She could tell from the way Charis turned her head slowly and spoke softly that she was still physically in distress. Her guess was that Charis’ head was still swimming. “Do you think that you are able to stand, Charis? I know that this is an odd situation and took you by surprise, but if we can get you back onto your feet and walking about perhaps your head might clear and your powers of healing might return to you. If your powers of healing return, I’m sure you could resolve whatever is wrong within you peaceably for your sake.”

Rhema had chosen her words wisely. She still debated internally as to the source of Charis’ distress, but she did not want to overtly explain her thoughts. She had never been around a natural healer such as Charis, but she assumed that whatever was wrong with her could not be caused by a natural healer using her own powers on herself.

Charis removed her hand and arm from around her waist and held it out so as to grip Rhema’s palm. Charis gripped Rhema’s hand and Rhema stiffened her arm so as to help Charis off of the ground. Rhema knew she was the weaker of the women, but she was unprepared for Charis’ firm grip. Her face winced in pain as Charis gripped too tightly. Although now in shared pain, the two women rose to their feet slowly. Rhema helped Charis take a few steps; and Charis’ head began to clear as Rhema had earlier predicted. The cobwebs of sickness that had been slowing down her mind began to vanish as her blood flow returned to normal with the exercise.

After a few steps Charis stopped moving and flexed her fingers several times. A slight smile came across her face as she could feel a renewed energy welling up inside of her. Her head turned a quarter turn to the left in the direction of Rhema. “I think I am ready to try and heal myself now.”

Her right hand glowed with a slight yellowish glow and Charis placed her palm upon her abdomen. A smile broke across her face as her pain subsided. In a matter of seconds she had completely recovered from the pain as if she had never felt it. She continued to speak once she had given her powers a moment to work. “Well, then. I suppose there is a benefit to being a natural healer. I never need feel the effects of an illness besides the initial cramping and discomfort!”

Semeion was pleased to see the smile return to Charis’ beautifully shaped face. He couldn’t help but smile in return, although his voice spoke with a cautious hesitation. “So, do you still feel like having peanuts and milk?”

Charis looked back to Semeion and replied, “Of course. Peanuts and milk both sound good. But I’m not sure that I’d like them together. Milk will settle my stomach if there is indeed something wrong; and the salt of the peanut sounds good after our morning walk from Huetown.”

Semeion turned toward Ischarus and gestured in relief. Ischarus added to the conversation, “I suppose I could go for some market peanuts, especially if they have been slow roasted over an open fire for a few hours.”

The party headed along the wall back toward the main road leading into Lord Ironblood’s primary city of Fingerdale. There were a number of people headed into the city; in fact there were many more headed in that coming out. This was not odd or unusual for the morning hour of the day. Even with their journey from Fingerdale the morning was only now coming to an end and the merchants would still have a significant amount of selling to accomplish.

As they approached the front gate, Charis saw the massive wooden gates for the first time. The gates opened inward and were reinforced by heavy metal bands along the vertical and horizontal. Each beam within each gate began and ended in a metal cap. Huge metal chains hung from the inside corners; apparently these were the chains that provided the necessary force to open the massive doors. Above the top of the gateway was a single tower. Scrawled across the face of tower was a long word written in the same magical language as the words written upon the stones of the wall.

Semeion looked up and began to speak. “The word means …”

Charis interrupted him before he could give away any of the magical secrets. “Hush! My newfound ability to read this language should still be accessible.” She looked up and began to focus upon the word. Suddenly she lurched one step forward and collapsed flat onto the ground. This time she had passed out completely, although she seemed to be in no immediate danger.

Semeion and Ischarus immediately took up defensive positions. Rhema crouched down once more, only to discover that Charis was unable to respond. In a stroke of what seemed like brilliance, Ischarus began to yell. The three companions had found themselves in the midst of a significant flow of travelers. Fortunately, although they were surrounded neither Ischarus nor Semeion felt the need to draw weapons once Ischarus began to yell. “Unclean! Plague! Be warned and stay back!”

[Sblock=Color Free Speech Section]
Charis slowly raised herself up from being doubled over in sickness. “Maybe I just need to find something to eat. I don’t know why, but I have this sudden urge for peanuts and milk.”

Semeion and Ischarus looked to each other with a disapproving look upon their faces. Semeion mouthed the words “Peanuts and Milk?” to Ischarus without offering any sound. Still, they could find nobody who seemed to be interested in their situation. There was nobody that seemed desiring to take advantage of Charis’ sudden ill feeling.

Ischarus looked to Semeion, yet spoke to Charis. “Perhaps the problem isn’t external, Charis. Nobody seems interested in what is happening here.”

Rhema looked at Charis with a bit of concern when she started to ask for a strange combination of food. Her thoughts had already been interrupted by Ischarus and now they were interrupted by Semeion. “I’ve never heard of reading magic making one sick, although I’ve not known one like yourself who gets their magical power from a draconic or even heavenly source as part of their lineage. All of my understanding of magic and arcane writing comes from associations with intense study.”

Charis looked up at Semeion, not appreciative of his matter-of fact analysis of their current situation. “I doubt that my powers are at fault here, Semeion. I’ve never been sick through using them before.

Rhema slightly smiled at Charis and tried to ease her pain. “Is there any possibility that before we met you …”

Rhema’s voice trailed off into nothingness. The thought was too much to even say. If she was right, she was certainly not prepared for the consequences. She wasn’t sure that Ischarus – and especially Semeion – would be prepared for the consequences as well. The fact that her sickness appeared while reading a magic rune led her thoughts in a disturbing way.

Charis turned her head to Rhema as she still knelt on all fours upon the ground. “Before we met what, Rhema?”

Rhema shook her head slowly from side to side. She could tell from the way Charis turned her head slowly and spoke softly that she was still physically in distress. Her guess was that Charis’ head was still swimming. “Do you think that you are able to stand, Charis? I know that this is an odd situation and took you by surprise, but if we can get you back onto your feet and walking about perhaps your head might clear and your powers of healing might return to you. If your powers of healing return, I’m sure you could resolve whatever is wrong within you peaceably for your sake.”

Rhema had chosen her words wisely. She still debated internally as to the source of Charis’ distress, but she did not want to overtly explain her thoughts. She had never been around a natural healer such as Charis, but she assumed that whatever was wrong with her could not be caused by a natural healer using her own powers on herself.

Charis removed her hand and arm from around her waist and held it out so as to grip Rhema’s palm. Charis gripped Rhema’s hand and Rhema stiffened her arm so as to help Charis off of the ground. Rhema knew she was the weaker of the women, but she was unprepared for Charis’ firm grip. Her face winced in pain as Charis gripped too tightly. Although now in shared pain, the two women rose to their feet slowly. Rhema helped Charis take a few steps; and Charis’ head began to clear as Rhema had earlier predicted. The cobwebs of sickness that had been slowing down her mind began to vanish as her blood flow returned to normal with the exercise.

After a few steps Charis stopped moving and flexed her fingers several times. A slight smile came across her face as she could feel a renewed energy welling up inside of her. Her head turned a quarter turn to the left in the direction of Rhema. “I think I am ready to try and heal myself now.”

Her right hand glowed with a slight yellowish glow and Charis placed her palm upon her abdomen. A smile broke across her face as her pain subsided. In a matter of seconds she had completely recovered from the pain as if she had never felt it. She continued to speak once she had given her powers a moment to work. “Well, then. I suppose there is a benefit to being a natural healer. I never need feel the effects of an illness besides the initial cramping and discomfort!”

Semeion was pleased to see the smile return to Charis’ beautifully shaped face. He couldn’t help but smile in return, although his voice spoke with a cautious hesitation. “So, do you still feel like having peanuts and milk?”

Charis looked back to Semeion and replied, “Of course. Peanuts and milk both sound good. But I’m not sure that I’d like them together. Milk will settle my stomach if there is indeed something wrong; and the salt of the peanut sounds good after our morning walk from Huetown.”

Semeion turned toward Ischarus and gestured in relief. Ischarus added to the conversation, “I suppose I could go for some market peanuts, especially if they have been slow roasted over an open fire for a few hours.”

The party headed along the wall back toward the main road leading into Lord Ironblood’s primary city of Fingerdale. There were a number of people headed into the city; in fact there were many more headed in that coming out. This was not odd or unusual for the morning hour of the day. Even with their journey from Fingerdale the morning was only now coming to an end and the merchants would still have a significant amount of selling to accomplish.

As they approached the front gate, Charis saw the massive wooden gates for the first time. The gates opened inward and were reinforced by heavy metal bands along the vertical and horizontal. Each beam within each gate began and ended in a metal cap. Huge metal chains hung from the inside corners; apparently these were the chains that provided the necessary force to open the massive doors. Above the top of the gateway was a single tower. Scrawled across the face of tower was a long word written in the same magical language as the words written upon the stones of the wall.

Semeion looked up and began to speak. “The word means …”

Charis interrupted him before he could give away any of the magical secrets. “Hush! My newfound ability to read this language should still be accessible.” She looked up and began to focus upon the word. Suddenly she lurched one step forward and collapsed flat onto the ground. This time she had passed out completely, although she seemed to be in no immediate danger.

Semeion and Ischarus immediately took up defensive positions. Rhema crouched down once more, only to discover that Charis was unable to respond. In a stroke of what seemed like brilliance, Ischarus began to yell. The three companions had found themselves in the midst of a significant flow of travelers. Fortunately, although they were surrounded neither Ischarus nor Semeion felt the need to draw weapons once Ischarus began to yell. “Unclean! Plague! Be warned and stay back!”
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

As the ring of unclean and plague rang out across the gated entrance to the city of Fingerdale, even the two tower guards that had started down the stairs upon seeing Charis fall to the ground had stopped and reeled back. There was simply no messing with anyone that had a plague. Sure, they probably had come to the town to find healing from one of the temple priests or priestesses. But there was no need to involve a non-priestly healthy body with a plagued victim until they had been cleansed by the proper healing power. To make matters worse, most of the people who were watching Charis were at least vaguely aware that this was now the second time that she had collapsed in a matter of minutes. It would seem that her condition was grave.

This didn’t particularly stop people from entering or exiting Fingerdale, however. Instead, it was as if a magical traffic circle had been formed in the center of the gate directly under the tower. People entering the town veered to their right and crowded together so as to give the fallen woman as wide of a berth as possible. People exiting also veered to their right as they passed under the gateway. Neither Ischarus nor Semeion felt in any particular danger once the crowd had been made aware that messing with them would not be very wise. Of course, the people had no way of knowing that the cry from Ischarus had simply been an improvisation. The crowd didn’t need to know that little bit of information, after all.

Rhema looked up from Charis and said quietly, “She’s not moving. She doesn’t seem to be in any particular danger because she is still breathing and all. But she is completely unconscious and just laying upon the ground.”

Ischarus looked to Semeion and said, “I’ll carry her to the nearest temple where they will at least be able to revive her. I don’t know if a simple healing can cure her of whatever is wrong. If she did heal herself and still fell victim to the sickness again so quickly, perhaps healing magic is not the answer.”

Semeion smiled grimly as Ischarus spoke of carrying her to the temple. “Well, whether or not she can be cured, I think it is possible to make your trip a bit more convincing.

Rhema noticed his smile and smiled back. “Semeion, I don’t know what exactly you are thinking, but that smile at least makes me want to find out. Are you thinking of adding onto the belief that Charis is a victim of some kind of plague?”

Semeion nodded and replied, “Precisely. That is exactly what I had in mind.” He lifted his hand up from the ground as he crouched nearby her body and slowly extended it toward Charis. “Par Ah-sahn.”

As his magically charged finger touched her skin, the slight blue aura discharged across her body. It was visible to anyone that had been paying close attention but among the chaos and fear of the plague it was unlikely that anyone really saw what Semeion had done. However, immediately Charis’ skin broke out into small boils about the size of small chicken pox scars. Ischarus and Rhema also pulled back away from Charis out of instinct.

As he pulled back, Ischarus proclaimed his displeasure. “Ugh! Did you do the smell, too?”

Semeion only responded with a near diabolical smile. The smell reminded Ischarus of rotting flesh mixed with stale blood. Of course, Ischarus knew that the smell was perfect for a leper or a plague victim. In spite of this knowledge his face did not seem highly interested in having to carry that smell halfway across town to the temple. Given his familiarity with Fingerdale and the religious nature of the common person anyway, Ischarus knew that the temples would be located near the center of town in the places of honor and in the locations for the greatest protection should invading armies ever come against the city.

Rhema also commented on the effects of the spell as she pulled back. “Did you seriously have to make it quite so pungent, Semeion?”

Semeion replied. “If you are going to make an illusion that is designed to fool the people you’d best make it believable by all. Master Sathwright taught me that as one of my first arcane lessons.”

Ischarus rolled Charis’ body over so that she was lying on her back and scooped her up in both arms. “If your master could see you now, he’d be proud of this one.”

Semeion’s smile vanished into sorrow. “If…” His voice trailed into nothingness as his mind raced back to the encounter with the green dragon in which his clumsiness had gotten his master killed.

Rhema noticed Semeion’s sudden sadness. As Ischarus rose to his feet with Charis she looked to Semeion and directed his action. “Now stay in the back and make sure that we are not followed. We’ve no idea what is causing this effect in Charis and the last thing we need is a tail. I’ll go to the front and make sure Ischarus has a clear path to the temple.”

Semeion nodded. His mind was still miles away from this city. He had mentally retreated back to the hilltop above the forest. He had not been there for months, and it had been a while since he had even given it a passing thought.

Rhema charged ahead of Ischarus and yelled to the crowd. “We’re carrying a plague victim, people! Move it or plan on visiting a priest. It’s a simple choice!” It was really much more than was necessary to get people to get out of the way, but it effectively moved the people more quickly. Even a few of the cart and carriage drivers worked hard to jerk their horses away from Ischarus’ path as their horses trotted down the central street into the temple district.

Soon Rhema found the temple she was looking for. It was also the temple that Ischarus had first introduced her to. The edifice was huge and completely made of marble on the outside. The entire temple was over one hundred feet wide and well over two hundred and fifty feet long. Columns ran the entire front of the building, each column over five feet in diameter. There were two varieties of columns. The far right and far left columns as well as the central column were carved in order to depict the same figure. The columns were in the shape of a man in full armor holding a long lance and a shield that rose from the ground to his chin. The shield was a perfect rectangle, although it had obviously been rounded to fit the curvature of the column. This image was not engraved into the column; the column had been sculpted to so that the entire column was the image of the warrior. The remaining columns along the front were tributes to what had to be the most powerful creature native to Enigmatica: the dragon. As Ischarus viewed the temple, he noted that each of the dragons he revered for their purity of heart and benevolence were all represented in the columns.

Above the columns, the temple roof rose on a relatively flat pitch. Just below the crest of the roof was a simple seal. The seal depicted the sun watching over all the actions of all the figures represented among the columns. Of course, the sun also watched over all who approached the temple by ascending either of the two central staircases. Each staircase ran between the central column of the man and the column of the dragon immediately beside it.

Rhema charged for the temple, screaming louder as she approached. One woman was exiting the temple as she heard Rhema’s cries. Not wanting to immediately soil her purity having just come from the temple herself, the woman hurriedly descended the stairs – leaping over the last five marble steps to ensure she would be well clear before Rhema got to the steps. Rhema charged up the steps and approached the central door. Once she had reached the door she paused and waited for Ischarus and Semeion. She had enjoyed the rouse of getting people to move out of the way; but she knew that there was no great need to alarm the temple staff themselves. Charis’ apparent condition was simply a rouse. The real cause of her illness was not the plague. It was more likely something much more difficult to diagnose.

Ischarus climbed the steps one at a time. He made it appear as though he was being delicate on the steps in order to avoid tripping. He was unable to see each step do to Charis lying in his arms before him. However, in reality his eyes focused on the dragon column to the left of the central stone column shaped as the warrior. Although the column was to the left to someone viewing the series of columns, it was in truth to the right hand side of the figure depicted in the central column. Ischarus paused as he approached the columns and the top of the steps. He thought about setting Charis down on the steps, but considering that the people on the street thought that she had the plague he quickly considered this a poor idea. Instead he merely bowed slightly to the central human column and bowed a little more deeply to the dragon column that had caught his attention. It certainly was not a direct image of his father dragon, but it clearly was the right type of dragon. The central neck frill and regal stance told Ischarus that it was the same type of beautiful dragon being depicted. Once he had bowed to the columns Ischarus finished ascending the stairs to meet up with Rhema.

Semeion ascended the stairs slowly, continually turning to view the crowd that had easily parted for them to pass. He still couldn’t see anyone directly following their trail. As he passed between the columns without giving them a single notice he realized that their trail would not be difficult to follow in the least. Should someone desire to follow them all they need do is let them get out of sight and ask which temple the plague victim entered. It would not be a difficult trail to follow. Even still, he found nobody who demonstrated much less than a passing curiosity or fear of catching the plague.

At the top of the stairs, Rhema looked to Ischarus and Semeion. “We’ve no clue what we are going to ask of the priests, you know.”

Semeion glanced to the doors and began to think out loud. “Well, we could simply ask for healing.”

“We could, but that might be pointless and a waste of time and resources. I say we enter as is and see what they diagnose on their own.”

Semeion nodded in agreement and Rhema opened the large door to let Ischarus pass. They were immediately greeted at the door by an acolyte who timidly kept his distance. “Forgive me, sirs and madam. My actions seem a bit unwelcoming, but I would prefer to…”

Rhema shrugged and interrupted the acolyte. “Yes, yes. You don’t want what she’s got. Very well, then. Tell us where a healing room is and fetch us a fine priest.”

The acolyte pointed down the hallway. “Third door on your right should be open. I’ll send a healing priest right in.”

Inside the room, Rhema fumbled nervously with her thumbs as she waited for the priest. After a few moments Ischarus had enough and grabbed each of her thumbs with his own hands. “Something is on your mind, Rhema. Tell us. Let us all worry together rather than keeping it to yourself.”

Rhema looked to the floor and then spoke. “Well, what if we were too late in rescuing her from her dragon father? What if she isn’t sick, but rather …”

Semeion rose as if to defend Charis’ honor as she lay unconscious across the table in the center of the room. “No!” he screamed at Rhema, clearly indicating that she had not only caught him off guard but that she had touched a nerve. “That is not an option. Not for Charis. She’s been through enough already and has come so far!”

Ischarus placed a hand upon Semeion’s shoulder. Semeion brushed it off violently and quickly out of his internal eruption of outrage. The gesture was nothing personal against Ischarus; it was an act of rebellion against Rhema’s possibility.

Rhema smiled again. “She may not have had a choice. Think about it, Semeion. How could she have just learned a new magic trick? And her sickness every time she tried to use it – it would make sense if her body was gaining new powers because she was…”

Much to Semeion’s relief the door opened and the noise drowned out the final word of Rhema’s thought. Semeion didn’t want to hear it anyway.

The three sat in silence as the priest entered the room and immediately began a silent inspection of the girl on the table before him. After several long silent moments the priest looked up. “Well, one of you can drop the rouse. She’s not the victim of a plague. I can tell you that much.”

Semeion glared at the priest. His internal fire still burned. “No, really.” Semeion said full of sarcastic venom as he mentally dismissed his spell that was governing Charis’ appearance. Charis returned to normal immediately and the smell vanished from the room. Even the smell lingering in Ischarus’ clothing vanished with the dismissal of the spell. As Charis returned to normal, Semeion continued in his own sarcastic tone. “Tell us something we don’t already know.” His voice betrayed that he had been emotionally wounded recently and was torn between anger and personal injury.

[Sblock=Color Free Speech Section]
As the ring of unclean and plague rang out across the gated entrance to the city of Fingerdale, even the two tower guards that had started down the stairs upon seeing Charis fall to the ground had stopped and reeled back. There was simply no messing with anyone that had a plague. Sure, they probably had come to the town to find healing from one of the temple priests or priestesses. But there was no need to involve a non-priestly healthy body with a plagued victim until they had been cleansed by the proper healing power. To make matters worse, most of the people who were watching Charis were at least vaguely aware that this was now the second time that she had collapsed in a matter of minutes. It would seem that her condition was grave.

This didn’t particularly stop people from entering or exiting Fingerdale, however. Instead, it was as if a magical traffic circle had been formed in the center of the gate directly under the tower. People entering the town veered to their right and crowded together so as to give the fallen woman as wide of a berth as possible. People exiting also veered to their right as they passed under the gateway. Neither Ischarus nor Semeion felt in any particular danger once the crowd had been made aware that messing with them would not be very wise. Of course, the people had no way of knowing that the cry from Ischarus had simply been an improvisation. The crowd didn’t need to know that little bit of information, after all.

Rhema looked up from Charis and said quietly, “She’s not moving. She doesn’t seem to be in any particular danger because she is still breathing and all. But she is completely unconscious and just laying upon the ground.”

Ischarus looked to Semeion and said, “I’ll carry her to the nearest temple where they will at least be able to revive her. I don’t know if a simple healing can cure her of whatever is wrong. If she did heal herself and still fell victim to the sickness again so quickly, perhaps healing magic is not the answer.”

Semeion smiled grimly as Ischarus spoke of carrying her to the temple. “Well, whether or not she can be cured, I think it is possible to make your trip a bit more convincing.

Rhema noticed his smile and smiled back. “Semeion, I don’t know what exactly you are thinking, but that smile at least makes me want to find out. Are you thinking of adding onto the belief that Charis is a victim of some kind of plague?”

Semeion nodded and replied, “Precisely. That is exactly what I had in mind.” He lifted his hand up from the ground as he crouched nearby her body and slowly extended it toward Charis. “Par Ah-sahn.”

As his magically charged finger touched her skin, the slight blue aura discharged across her body. It was visible to anyone that had been paying close attention but among the chaos and fear of the plague it was unlikely that anyone really saw what Semeion had done. However, immediately Charis’ skin broke out into small boils about the size of small chicken pox scars. Ischarus and Rhema also pulled back away from Charis out of instinct.

As he pulled back, Ischarus proclaimed his displeasure. “Ugh! Did you do the smell, too?”

Semeion only responded with a near diabolical smile. The smell reminded Ischarus of rotting flesh mixed with stale blood. Of course, Ischarus knew that the smell was perfect for a leper or a plague victim. In spite of this knowledge his face did not seem highly interested in having to carry that smell halfway across town to the temple. Given his familiarity with Fingerdale and the religious nature of the common person anyway, Ischarus knew that the temples would be located near the center of town in the places of honor and in the locations for the greatest protection should invading armies ever come against the city.

Rhema also commented on the effects of the spell as she pulled back. “Did you seriously have to make it quite so pungent, Semeion?”

Semeion replied. “If you are going to make an illusion that is designed to fool the people you’d best make it believable by all. Master Sathwright taught me that as one of my first arcane lessons.”

Ischarus rolled Charis’ body over so that she was lying on her back and scooped her up in both arms. “If your master could see you now, he’d be proud of this one.”

Semeion’s smile vanished into sorrow. “If…” His voice trailed into nothingness as his mind raced back to the encounter with the green dragon in which his clumsiness had gotten his master killed.

Rhema noticed Semeion’s sudden sadness. As Ischarus rose to his feet with Charis she looked to Semeion and directed his action. “Now stay in the back and make sure that we are not followed. We’ve no idea what is causing this effect in Charis and the last thing we need is a tail. I’ll go to the front and make sure Ischarus has a clear path to the temple.”

Semeion nodded. His mind was still miles away from this city. He had mentally retreated back to the hilltop above the forest. He had not been there for months, and it had been a while since he had even given it a passing thought.

Rhema charged ahead of Ischarus and yelled to the crowd. “We’re carrying a plague victim, people! Move it or plan on visiting a priest. It’s a simple choice!” It was really much more than was necessary to get people to get out of the way, but it effectively moved the people more quickly. Even a few of the cart and carriage drivers worked hard to jerk their horses away from Ischarus’ path as their horses trotted down the central street into the temple district.

Soon Rhema found the temple she was looking for. It was also the temple that Ischarus had first introduced her to. The edifice was huge and completely made of marble on the outside. The entire temple was over one hundred feet wide and well over two hundred and fifty feet long. Columns ran the entire front of the building, each column over five feet in diameter. There were two varieties of columns. The far right and far left columns as well as the central column were carved in order to depict the same figure. The columns were in the shape of a man in full armor holding a long lance and a shield that rose from the ground to his chin. The shield was a perfect rectangle, although it had obviously been rounded to fit the curvature of the column. This image was not engraved into the column; the column had been sculpted to so that the entire column was the image of the warrior. The remaining columns along the front were tributes to what had to be the most powerful creature native to Enigmatica: the dragon. As Ischarus viewed the temple, he noted that each of the dragons he revered for their purity of heart and benevolence were all represented in the columns.

Above the columns, the temple roof rose on a relatively flat pitch. Just below the crest of the roof was a simple seal. The seal depicted the sun watching over all the actions of all the figures represented among the columns. Of course, the sun also watched over all who approached the temple by ascending either of the two central staircases. Each staircase ran between the central column of the man and the column of the dragon immediately beside it.

Rhema charged for the temple, screaming louder as she approached. One woman was exiting the temple as she heard Rhema’s cries. Not wanting to immediately soil her purity having just come from the temple herself, the woman hurriedly descended the stairs – leaping over the last five marble steps to ensure she would be well clear before Rhema got to the steps. Rhema charged up the steps and approached the central door. Once she had reached the door she paused and waited for Ischarus and Semeion. She had enjoyed the rouse of getting people to move out of the way; but she knew that there was no great need to alarm the temple staff themselves. Charis’ apparent condition was simply a rouse. The real cause of her illness was not the plague. It was more likely something much more difficult to diagnose.

Ischarus climbed the steps one at a time. He made it appear as though he was being delicate on the steps in order to avoid tripping. He was unable to see each step do to Charis lying in his arms before him. However, in reality his eyes focused on the dragon column to the left of the central stone column shaped as the warrior. Although the column was to the left to someone viewing the series of columns, it was in truth to the right hand side of the figure depicted in the central column. Ischarus paused as he approached the columns and the top of the steps. He thought about setting Charis down on the steps, but considering that the people on the street thought that she had the plague he quickly considered this a poor idea. Instead he merely bowed slightly to the central human column and bowed a little more deeply to the dragon column that had caught his attention. It certainly was not a direct image of his father dragon, but it clearly was the right type of dragon. The central neck frill and regal stance told Ischarus that it was the same type of beautiful dragon being depicted. Once he had bowed to the columns Ischarus finished ascending the stairs to meet up with Rhema.

Semeion ascended the stairs slowly, continually turning to view the crowd that had easily parted for them to pass. He still couldn’t see anyone directly following their trail. As he passed between the columns without giving them a single notice he realized that their trail would not be difficult to follow in the least. Should someone desire to follow them all they need do is let them get out of sight and ask which temple the plague victim entered. It would not be a difficult trail to follow. Even still, he found nobody who demonstrated much less than a passing curiosity or fear of catching the plague.

At the top of the stairs, Rhema looked to Ischarus and Semeion. “We’ve no clue what we are going to ask of the priests, you know.”

Semeion glanced to the doors and began to think out loud. “Well, we could simply ask for healing.”

“We could, but that might be pointless and a waste of time and resources. I say we enter as is and see what they diagnose on their own.”

Semeion nodded in agreement and Rhema opened the large door to let Ischarus pass. They were immediately greeted at the door by an acolyte who timidly kept his distance. “Forgive me, sirs and madam. My actions seem a bit unwelcoming, but I would prefer to…”

Rhema shrugged and interrupted the acolyte. “Yes, yes. You don’t want what she’s got. Very well, then. Tell us where a healing room is and fetch us a fine priest.”

The acolyte pointed down the hallway. “Third door on your right should be open. I’ll send a healing priest right in.”

Inside the room, Rhema fumbled nervously with her thumbs as she waited for the priest. After a few moments Ischarus had enough and grabbed each of her thumbs with his own hands. “Something is on your mind, Rhema. Tell us. Let us all worry together rather than keeping it to yourself.”

Rhema looked to the floor and then spoke. “Well, what if we were too late in rescuing her from her dragon father? What if she isn’t sick, but rather …”

Semeion rose as if to defend Charis’ honor as she lay unconscious across the table in the center of the room. “No!” he screamed at Rhema, clearly indicating that she had not only caught him off guard but that she had touched a nerve. “That is not an option. Not for Charis. She’s been through enough already and has come so far!”

Ischarus placed a hand upon Semeion’s shoulder. Semeion brushed it off violently and quickly out of his internal eruption of outrage. The gesture was nothing personal against Ischarus; it was an act of rebellion against Rhema’s possibility.

Rhema smiled again. “She may not have had a choice. Think about it, Semeion. How could she have just learned a new magic trick? And her sickness every time she tried to use it – it would make sense if her body was gaining new powers because she was…”

Much to Semeion’s relief the door opened and the noise drowned out the final word of Rhema’s thought. Semeion didn’t want to hear it anyway.

The three sat in silence as the priest entered the room and immediately began a silent inspection of the girl on the table before him. After several long silent moments the priest looked up. “Well, one of you can drop the rouse. She’s not the victim of a plague. I can tell you that much.”

Semeion glared at the priest. His internal fire still burned. “No, really.” Semeion said full of sarcastic venom as he mentally dismissed his spell that was governing Charis’ appearance. Charis returned to normal immediately and the smell vanished from the room. Even the smell lingering in Ischarus’ clothing vanished with the dismissal of the spell. As Charis returned to normal, Semeion continued in his own sarcastic tone. “Tell us something we don’t already know.” His voice betrayed that he had been emotionally wounded recently and was torn between anger and personal injury.
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

“Semeion, settle down. This man can help her, whatever is wrong with her. I’m sure that he can find out exactly what the problem is and treat it.”

The healer smiled nervously at having walked into an obviously tense room. “Or bring in someone who can heal it. My powers are not limitless, but I do have superiors with powers that exceed my own.”

Semeion did not reply, but continued wearing an expression of nervousness and anger. His expression wasn’t directed towards anyone in particular. Instead he stared angrily over the healer’s shoulder at the far wall.

Knowing that Charis was not being afflicted by some kind of plague or skin disease, the healer placed his hands upon Charis’ head. Her skin had a clammy feel to it. As his hands moved down her body, he checked for broken bones and places where her internal body temperature might be higher than it should be. As he finished his check of her from head to toe, he shook his head side to side. “I know that this sounds rather odd, but she has no sign of infection or disease at all. I can find nothing wrong with her except to say that she looks as though she either has been beaten lately or she has overexerted herself in work. Has she been working outside much for as long as she’s had these symptoms?”

Semeion’s face fell instantly when the doctor had declared her free from illness. He had been counting on the simple answer to be the right one. The healer’s assertion meant Rhema had a greater chance of being correct.

Ischarus had been standing beside Rhema as the healer performed his diagnosis. Seeing that Semeion wasn’t prepared to answer, he spoke up instead. “Well, we did spend much of the morning walking her to Fingerdale but we walked at a casual pace and enjoyed the day. Beside the walk all that we did was to stop at the wall and admire the magical writing upon the stones. It was as she read the writing that she became ill – twice. Could it be the writing?”

The healer lightly bit his lower lip as he thought about Ischarus’ assertion. He shook his head slowly from side to side as he thought. “No, I just do not see how that makes any sense at all. I have read the magical words inscribed upon our wall many times. Many people every day read those words. And nobody gets overly sick from reading them.”

Rhema caught Semeion’s eyes and held his glance. “Semeion, we need to discuss that possibility. The healer can tell us for sure.”

Semeion almost snarled at Rhema as he gave his answer. “Fine. Go ahead say what you are thinking. I don’t like the thought of it, but there is no sense hiding from the truth if you are correct.”

The healer raised an eyebrow as Semeion spoke and turned to Rhema with great curiosity. “What is it that you are not telling me, then? It could be rather important.”

Rhema looked to Semeion once more in deference. “I know what she means to you, Semeion. We both do. Would you like to tell him?”

Semeion shook his head from side to side as his eyes were cast solidly in the direction of the stone floor. “No, Rhema. I cannot bring myself to accept it as a possibility now. I could not bring myself to even utter the words. I appreciate your desire to let me begin the discussion, but I simply cannot.”

Rhema nodded and softly added, “That’s okay, Semeion. I understand what you are dealing with and what she means to you. I can understand your great struggle.”

Rhema turned to Ischarus and nodded in Semeion’s direction as she began to speak to the healer. Ischarus took the hint and left his position by Rhema’s side and walked to a place that put him slightly bahind Semeion. Ischarus removed his leather gauntlet and rested his hand upon Semeion’s shoulder. It was enough to break the tension welling up in Semeion’s body and a single tear began to flow from his left eye and trickled down his nose.

Once Ischarus was in position Rhema began her explanation. “She is Drakontos, healer. She is descended from a red dragon, although her ways are since reformed. There may have been a slight chance that before she could be rescued from her dragon father that she was impregnated by the dragon. We know that she had been chosen to be the dragon’s Provenience and bring in the next generation of Drakontos for the red dragon. Only just recently has she learned how to read words written in a magical language. Before we rescued her she could not even speak in our tongue. Since coming to us, she has not only learned our language but has developed the ability to read magical scripts upon occasion. I had begun to think that if she was pregnant with a clutch of human dragon mixed children that one of them might be magically gifted. Could their magical power be transferred from her children to her while yet unborn?”

The healer’s eyes opened wide at the possibility of such an occurrence. “I’ll be honest with you and tell you that the question is beyond my expertise. However, I can cast a simple spell that will tell me if she is carrying young. If we find out that she is I can get one of my superiors to instruct me further.”

Rhema nodded, and the healer prepared to cast the spell. Semeion’s right hand shot up to Ischarus’ hand as it continued to grip his shoulder for strength. Semeion closed his eyes in fervent prayer. He had been so involved in his magic lately that religion felt strange to him. Ischarus joined him in a prayer, although Ischarus’ prayer came much more easily to him than did Semeion’s.

When the healer was ready he cast the spell. “Hara-Canal-Vass.”

It was a simple incantation, and Charis developed a light blue aura surrounding her entire body. A similar yellow aura wrapped itself around the healer. Although both auras were hardly perceivable once they had developed around each individual, Rhema could have sworn that she saw a faint thread attach itself between the auras almost like an umbilical chord.

The healer smiled as his eyes searched up and down her body. “I have good news, or at least news that I think most people would think is good in this situation. Your friend suffers from no illness. She has no disease. In fact, she has merely been incapacitated by some unseen force. And I sense no other presences within her body. I can most assuredly tell you that she is not pregnant. In fact, I can even tell you that she never has been pregnant in the past. She appears to have been simply knocked unconscious by an outside force. That is quite honestly all that has happened to her.”

Semeion’s eyes flashed open and his body gave an immediate exhalation of thankfulness. He couldn’t contain the excitement as his body purged the fear that had been trapped inside. As his body purged the fear he suddenly became much more able to speak. “And the nausea that she felt earlier before being incapacitated?”

The healer simply replied, “I am detecting a faint magical aura about her, but the magic has clearly already passed from her body.”

The party exchanged confused looks between them. Semeion had cast an earlier spell upon her, but the healer knew of that spell. As far as they could tell there had been no other spell.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
“Semeion, settle down. This man can help her, whatever is wrong with her. I’m sure that he can find out exactly what the problem is and treat it.”

The healer smiled nervously at having walked into an obviously tense room. “Or bring in someone who can heal it. My powers are not limitless, but I do have superiors with powers that exceed my own.”

Semeion did not reply, but continued wearing an expression of nervousness and anger. His expression wasn’t directed towards anyone in particular. Instead he stared angrily over the healer’s shoulder at the far wall.

Knowing that Charis was not being afflicted by some kind of plague or skin disease, the healer placed his hands upon Charis’ head. Her skin had a clammy feel to it. As his hands moved down her body, he checked for broken bones and places where her internal body temperature might be higher than it should be. As he finished his check of her from head to toe, he shook his head side to side. “I know that this sounds rather odd, but she has no sign of infection or disease at all. I can find nothing wrong with her except to say that she looks as though she either has been beaten lately or she has overexerted herself in work. Has she been working outside much for as long as she’s had these symptoms?”

Semeion’s face fell instantly when the doctor had declared her free from illness. He had been counting on the simple answer to be the right one. The healer’s assertion meant Rhema had a greater chance of being correct.

Ischarus had been standing beside Rhema as the healer performed his diagnosis. Seeing that Semeion wasn’t prepared to answer, he spoke up instead. “Well, we did spend much of the morning walking her to Fingerdale but we walked at a casual pace and enjoyed the day. Beside the walk all that we did was to stop at the wall and admire the magical writing upon the stones. It was as she read the writing that she became ill – twice. Could it be the writing?”

The healer lightly bit his lower lip as he thought about Ischarus’ assertion. He shook his head slowly from side to side as he thought. “No, I just do not see how that makes any sense at all. I have read the magical words inscribed upon our wall many times. Many people every day read those words. And nobody gets overly sick from reading them.”

Rhema caught Semeion’s eyes and held his glance. “Semeion, we need to discuss that possibility. The healer can tell us for sure.”

Semeion almost snarled at Rhema as he gave his answer. “Fine. Go ahead say what you are thinking. I don’t like the thought of it, but there is no sense hiding from the truth if you are correct.”

The healer raised an eyebrow as Semeion spoke and turned to Rhema with great curiosity. “What is it that you are not telling me, then? It could be rather important.”

Rhema looked to Semeion once more in deference. “I know what she means to you, Semeion. We both do. Would you like to tell him?”

Semeion shook his head from side to side as his eyes were cast solidly in the direction of the stone floor. “No, Rhema. I cannot bring myself to accept it as a possibility now. I could not bring myself to even utter the words. I appreciate your desire to let me begin the discussion, but I simply cannot.”

Rhema nodded and softly added, “That’s okay, Semeion. I understand what you are dealing with and what she means to you. I can understand your great struggle.”

Rhema turned to Ischarus and nodded in Semeion’s direction as she began to speak to the healer. Ischarus took the hint and left his position by Rhema’s side and walked to a place that put him slightly bahind Semeion. Ischarus removed his leather gauntlet and rested his hand upon Semeion’s shoulder. It was enough to break the tension welling up in Semeion’s body and a single tear began to flow from his left eye and trickled down his nose.

Once Ischarus was in position Rhema began her explanation. “She is Drakontos, healer. She is descended from a red dragon, although her ways are since reformed. There may have been a slight chance that before she could be rescued from her dragon father that she was impregnated by the dragon. We know that she had been chosen to be the dragon’s Provenience and bring in the next generation of Drakontos for the red dragon. Only just recently has she learned how to read words written in a magical language. Before we rescued her she could not even speak in our tongue. Since coming to us, she has not only learned our language but has developed the ability to read magical scripts upon occasion. I had begun to think that if she was pregnant with a clutch of human dragon mixed children that one of them might be magically gifted. Could their magical power be transferred from her children to her while yet unborn?”

The healer’s eyes opened wide at the possibility of such an occurrence. “I’ll be honest with you and tell you that the question is beyond my expertise. However, I can cast a simple spell that will tell me if she is carrying young. If we find out that she is I can get one of my superiors to instruct me further.”

Rhema nodded, and the healer prepared to cast the spell. Semeion’s right hand shot up to Ischarus’ hand as it continued to grip his shoulder for strength. Semeion closed his eyes in fervent prayer. He had been so involved in his magic lately that religion felt strange to him. Ischarus joined him in a prayer, although Ischarus’ prayer came much more easily to him than did Semeion’s.

When the healer was ready he cast the spell. “Hara-Canal-Vass.”

It was a simple incantation, and Charis developed a light blue aura surrounding her entire body. A similar yellow aura wrapped itself around the healer. Although both auras were hardly perceivable once they had developed around each individual, Rhema could have sworn that she saw a faint thread attach itself between the auras almost like an umbilical chord.

The healer smiled as his eyes searched up and down her body. “I have good news, or at least news that I think most people would think is good in this situation. Your friend suffers from no illness. She has no disease. In fact, she has merely been incapacitated by some unseen force. And I sense no other presences within her body. I can most assuredly tell you that she is not pregnant. In fact, I can even tell you that she never has been pregnant in the past. She appears to have been simply knocked unconscious by an outside force. That is quite honestly all that has happened to her.”

Semeion’s eyes flashed open and his body gave an immediate exhalation of thankfulness. He couldn’t contain the excitement as his body purged the fear that had been trapped inside. As his body purged the fear he suddenly became much more able to speak. “And the nausea that she felt earlier before being incapacitated?”

The healer simply replied, “I am detecting a faint magical aura about her, but the magic has clearly already passed from her body.”

The party exchanged confused looks between them. Semeion had cast an earlier spell upon her, but the healer knew of that spell. As far as they could tell there had been no other spell.[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Semeion looked startled. “A faint magical aura? And it is fading?”

The healer looked to Semeion as the spell he used to ascertain Charis’ possibility of conception faded from between him and Charis. “Yes, sir. I saw a faint magical aura and it was nearly gone – barely noticeable.”

Semeion looked even more puzzled as he pondered the healer’s assertion. “Have you any idea if the magic came from a divine source or an arcane source? Because her healing powers come from her worship – much like your own.”

The healer shook his head from side to side in a negative response. “I’ve no way of knowing, sir. The magic was barely noticeable as it was. To think of getting an image of what kind of magic would be nearly impossible.”

Rhema interjected, hoping to break Semeion’s seemingly endless loop of confusion regarding the magical source. “Can you guarantee us that there is nothing wrong with her should she find rest from her attack? There is nothing seriously wrong with her that would cause her condition to diminish?”

The healer nodded towards Rhema. “I can assure you, ma’am. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her. There is no reason that she should be spontaneously wounding herself and passing out. The cause certainly is external because internally she has no sign of infection and her aura is now completely normal with passing of the magical effect.”

Ischarus pulled out a small pouch and flipped a few gold coins onto the table beside Charis’ head. “This temple is dedicated to the god that I worship. I would be remiss in entering here and not leaving a piece of myself behind for the continuation of your influence in Fingerdale and the surrounding regions. Would this donation go far in furthering your cause in exchange for her healing?”

The healer smiled politely and ignored the gold. “Sir, you need not pay for the services. I can heal her and the personal codes of our shared deity mandate that I do so. You may keep your gold. Our goal is not merchandizing our divinely given talents. I cannot buy my gifts from the heavens and I should not be expected to charge you for giving to you what I have freely received from above.”

Ischarus smiled broadly at the healer. “I understand your position. Since you answered sincerely and with virtue, then let me add on to my donation above what would be expected for the service. In this way you will know that I donate not in exchange for your services but rather because we do serve a mighty god who is worthy of bringing influence to the surrounding areas.”

The healer bowed low and added, “Your donation will not be refused, my lord. She will be healed as I speak. Bondras-tol Shintar”

Charis blinked as the light from the room poured into her newly opened eyes. “Wha … Where am I?”

Rhema stood beside her quickly and grabbed her hand. “You fainted when you read the magic, Charis. You are with friends, in a temple. The healer is here with you.”

Charis obviously didn’t remember hitting the ground hard as they entered Fingerdale. “I … fainted?”

Semeion rushed to her other side as she spoke again. He grabbed Charis’ other hand. “Yes, Charis. You fainted right under the gates. Ischarus was thankfully able to convince everyone that you had a horrible plague so that they not only didn’t ask questions but also got out of our way as we rushed you to the temple. They say that you are fine, now. And they say that whatever is affecting you is coming from outside of you.”

The healer interjected before Charis could ask another question. “Charis, my name is Barrachius. I am the healer that has been assigned to you. I understand that you have been struggling with a new ability to read magic? I also understand that it is the times when you read magical writing that bring these spells upon you.”

Charis replied with a great deal of confusion in her voice. It was quite obvious that she had not yet regained her clarity of thought. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. They’d know better than me, I suppose.”

The healer replied, “I’d like to run a simple test on you if you don’t mind.”

Charis smiled. Her hesitation showed through her expression. “Uh, sure, I suppose that would be alright. Do I have to do anything and will it hurt?”

The healer smiled as Charis looked into his eyes and he replied in honesty. “I’ll only ask you to read something. And if I am correct, it shouldn’t hurt at all.”

Charis nodded in agreement. The healer extended his left arm out over Charis so that his long and loose fitting sleeve hung down from his arm and rested across her abdomen. With a mischievous smile upon his face he spoke a few simple arcane words. “Thizzle-pendrath”

The healer’s right index finger began to instantly glow with a lime green light, allowing him to touch his sleeve and leave a magical mark. When he was done, he looked to Charis and continued to speak through his mischievous smile. “Can you read this, Charis?”

Charis shook her head, unable to read the magical writing now inscribed and glowing upon the sleeve. She and everyone else in the room could see plain as day that there was writing upon the sleeve of the healer, but it was impossible to decipher.

The healer continued his experiment by addressing Charis’ abilities. “Now, if you would be so kind as to activate your ability as you did earlier so that you could read the magic words inscribed upon the wall of our fair city.”

Charis paused for a split second and looked to Semeion as if unsure of what to do. Semeion smiled and encouraged her to activate this new ability. Without the fear inside about where this ability was coming from he was much more confident. “Go ahead, Charis. We’ll be right here to support you. If anything happens to you, we have a healer here that will be able to rescue you.”

Semeion squeezed her hand slightly and Charis returned the squeeze with a significantly stronger grip inspired by fear of the unknown. In her mind she recalled the same principles that she had leaned upon when had read the magic wall earlier in the day. Her lips mouthed the same words as she had spoken earlier in the day. “Thizzle-sooth.”

The words could barely be heard above her own breath. Suddenly, Charis saw the lime green writing shift and move so that it made sense to her own eyes. The magical writing shifted so that it matched the language of her people. She read what the message on the healer’s arm said. “Cured!”

It took a moment for it all to sink in. Barracchius smiled and lightly laughed at Charis as she relayed the simple message. “And how do you feel?”

Charis paused for a moment and her eyes darted wildly back and forth as she ran through a quick mental check of how her body felt at this moment. “I feel … normal.”

Barrachius’ face exposed a large grin as the healer looked down upon his patient. “It is as I said earlier, then. It is as I expected. Her illness is not inside; it is coming from somewhere on the outside. Something or someone is affecting her without being noticed. When she is removed from the adverse effect her ability to read the magical writing works perfectly. If this is true then the key to curing this girl is not in finding a cure for the inside but rather finding the source of the conflict outside. Find the conflict, and you’ll know how to cure her.”

Semeion and Rhema graciously thanked the healer several times as they readied Charis to leave the temple. She clung to Ischarus the first few steps since Ischarus was by far the strongest member of the adventuring party. However, before she had taken too many steps Charis was walking with confidence. She released Ischarus’ arm as they left the healing room and approached the door to the outside stairway and pillars of the temple.

As the door opened, Charis squinted in the face of the bright light. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the filtered light of the temple, but the full sun caused her to lift up her hand to her eyes and shade them as she squinted. As she found herself slowly getting used to the bright light once more she also found herself staring into the people on the street. This view from the temple’s steps was all new ground since when she had entered this temple she was unconscious. As she scanned the crowd, she stopped suddenly on a face staring back at her from across the street.

Charis muttered quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “I know that face.”

Semeion questioned Charis’ expression since he was unable to hear the mutterings of Charis. “What?”

Charis reasserted her position more firmly. “I know that man.” Charis’ hand raised to point out the face that she had recognized to Semeion and the others. As her hand rose, the man at whom she pointed broke into a run down the street towards the gate where Charis had originally fallen.

Rhema had been following Semeion’s and Charis’ conversation and as she followed Charis’ point out across the street she too saw the man break into a run away from the party. She quickly started into a run and yelled to the others behind her. “Semeion, stay with Charis and protect her! Ischarus, follow me!”

Ischarus had missed the conversation but knew enough to follow Rhema when she beckoned. It wasn’t hard to follow her line of sight to the man fleeing from their direction. Rhema was able to handle herself; but if nothing else Ischarus would enjoy the show. He grinned as he descended the steps in pursuit.

As they descended the steps of the altar and onto the street, Semeion heard Charis utter a single name. “Grick.”

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Semeion looked startled. “A faint magical aura? And it is fading?”

The healer looked to Semeion as the spell he used to ascertain Charis’ possibility of conception faded from between him and Charis. “Yes, sir. I saw a faint magical aura and it was nearly gone – barely noticeable.”

Semeion looked even more puzzled as he pondered the healer’s assertion. “Have you any idea if the magic came from a divine source or an arcane source? Because her healing powers come from her worship – much like your own.”

The healer shook his head from side to side in a negative response. “I’ve no way of knowing, sir. The magic was barely noticeable as it was. To think of getting an image of what kind of magic would be nearly impossible.”

Rhema interjected, hoping to break Semeion’s seemingly endless loop of confusion regarding the magical source. “Can you guarantee us that there is nothing wrong with her should she find rest from her attack? There is nothing seriously wrong with her that would cause her condition to diminish?”

The healer nodded towards Rhema. “I can assure you, ma’am. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her. There is no reason that she should be spontaneously wounding herself and passing out. The cause certainly is external because internally she has no sign of infection and her aura is now completely normal with passing of the magical effect.”

Ischarus pulled out a small pouch and flipped a few gold coins onto the table beside Charis’ head. “This temple is dedicated to the god that I worship. I would be remiss in entering here and not leaving a piece of myself behind for the continuation of your influence in Fingerdale and the surrounding regions. Would this donation go far in furthering your cause in exchange for her healing?”

The healer smiled politely and ignored the gold. “Sir, you need not pay for the services. I can heal her and the personal codes of our shared deity mandate that I do so. You may keep your gold. Our goal is not merchandizing our divinely given talents. I cannot buy my gifts from the heavens and I should not be expected to charge you for giving to you what I have freely received from above.”

Ischarus smiled broadly at the healer. “I understand your position. Since you answered sincerely and with virtue, then let me add on to my donation above what would be expected for the service. In this way you will know that I donate not in exchange for your services but rather because we do serve a mighty god who is worthy of bringing influence to the surrounding areas.”

The healer bowed low and added, “Your donation will not be refused, my lord. She will be healed as I speak. Bondras-tol Shintar”

Charis blinked as the light from the room poured into her newly opened eyes. “Wha … Where am I?”

Rhema stood beside her quickly and grabbed her hand. “You fainted when you read the magic, Charis. You are with friends, in a temple. The healer is here with you.”

Charis obviously didn’t remember hitting the ground hard as they entered Fingerdale. “I … fainted?”

Semeion rushed to her other side as she spoke again. He grabbed Charis’ other hand. “Yes, Charis. You fainted right under the gates. Ischarus was thankfully able to convince everyone that you had a horrible plague so that they not only didn’t ask questions but also got out of our way as we rushed you to the temple. They say that you are fine, now. And they say that whatever is affecting you is coming from outside of you.”

The healer interjected before Charis could ask another question. “Charis, my name is Barrachius. I am the healer that has been assigned to you. I understand that you have been struggling with a new ability to read magic? I also understand that it is the times when you read magical writing that bring these spells upon you.”

Charis replied with a great deal of confusion in her voice. It was quite obvious that she had not yet regained her clarity of thought. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. They’d know better than me, I suppose.”

The healer replied, “I’d like to run a simple test on you if you don’t mind.”

Charis smiled. Her hesitation showed through her expression. “Uh, sure, I suppose that would be alright. Do I have to do anything and will it hurt?”

The healer smiled as Charis looked into his eyes and he replied in honesty. “I’ll only ask you to read something. And if I am correct, it shouldn’t hurt at all.”

Charis nodded in agreement. The healer extended his left arm out over Charis so that his long and loose fitting sleeve hung down from his arm and rested across her abdomen. With a mischievous smile upon his face he spoke a few simple arcane words. “Thizzle-pendrath”

The healer’s right index finger began to instantly glow with a lime green light, allowing him to touch his sleeve and leave a magical mark. When he was done, he looked to Charis and continued to speak through his mischievous smile. “Can you read this, Charis?”

Charis shook her head, unable to read the magical writing now inscribed and glowing upon the sleeve. She and everyone else in the room could see plain as day that there was writing upon the sleeve of the healer, but it was impossible to decipher.

The healer continued his experiment by addressing Charis’ abilities. “Now, if you would be so kind as to activate your ability as you did earlier so that you could read the magic words inscribed upon the wall of our fair city.”

Charis paused for a split second and looked to Semeion as if unsure of what to do. Semeion smiled and encouraged her to activate this new ability. Without the fear inside about where this ability was coming from he was much more confident. “Go ahead, Charis. We’ll be right here to support you. If anything happens to you, we have a healer here that will be able to rescue you.”

Semeion squeezed her hand slightly and Charis returned the squeeze with a significantly stronger grip inspired by fear of the unknown. In her mind she recalled the same principles that she had leaned upon when had read the magic wall earlier in the day. Her lips mouthed the same words as she had spoken earlier in the day. “Thizzle-sooth.”

The words could barely be heard above her own breath. Suddenly, Charis saw the lime green writing shift and move so that it made sense to her own eyes. The magical writing shifted so that it matched the language of her people. She read what the message on the healer’s arm said. “Cured!”

It took a moment for it all to sink in. Barracchius smiled and lightly laughed at Charis as she relayed the simple message. “And how do you feel?”

Charis paused for a moment and her eyes darted wildly back and forth as she ran through a quick mental check of how her body felt at this moment. “I feel … normal.”

Barrachius’ face exposed a large grin as the healer looked down upon his patient. “It is as I said earlier, then. It is as I expected. Her illness is not inside; it is coming from somewhere on the outside. Something or someone is affecting her without being noticed. When she is removed from the adverse effect her ability to read the magical writing works perfectly. If this is true then the key to curing this girl is not in finding a cure for the inside but rather finding the source of the conflict outside. Find the conflict, and you’ll know how to cure her.”

Semeion and Rhema graciously thanked the healer several times as they readied Charis to leave the temple. She clung to Ischarus the first few steps since Ischarus was by far the strongest member of the adventuring party. However, before she had taken too many steps Charis was walking with confidence. She released Ischarus’ arm as they left the healing room and approached the door to the outside stairway and pillars of the temple.

As the door opened, Charis squinted in the face of the bright light. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the filtered light of the temple, but the full sun caused her to lift up her hand to her eyes and shade them as she squinted. As she found herself slowly getting used to the bright light once more she also found herself staring into the people on the street. This view from the temple’s steps was all new ground since when she had entered this temple she was unconscious. As she scanned the crowd, she stopped suddenly on a face staring back at her from across the street.

Charis muttered quietly, more to herself than anyone else. “I know that face.”

Semeion questioned Charis’ expression since he was unable to hear the mutterings of Charis. “What?”

Charis reasserted her position more firmly. “I know that man.” Charis’ hand raised to point out the face that she had recognized to Semeion and the others. As her hand rose, the man at whom she pointed broke into a run down the street towards the gate where Charis had originally fallen.

Rhema had been following Semeion’s and Charis’ conversation and as she followed Charis’ point out across the street she too saw the man break into a run away from the party. She quickly started into a run and yelled to the others behind her. “Semeion, stay with Charis and protect her! Ischarus, follow me!”

Ischarus had missed the conversation but knew enough to follow Rhema when she beckoned. It wasn’t hard to follow her line of sight to the man fleeing from their direction. Rhema was able to handle herself; but if nothing else Ischarus would enjoy the show. He grinned as he descended the steps in pursuit.

As they descended the steps of the altar and onto the street, Semeion heard Charis utter a single name. “Grick.”[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

As Grick turned and ran towards the direction that they had come, his cloak began to flap in the breeze. When Charis spotted him he had the hood of his traveling cloak pulled up so that he could barely see out of it. Yet as he ran away from the party this hood flew backwards in the wind. Grick’s long, flaming red hair fluttered in the wind since it was no longer kept bound by the constraints of the hood.

At the sight of his hair, Ischarus swallowed hard. He had already passed Rhema since descending the stairs but she was not far from behind. As he stared at the flaming red hair he heard Rhema shout. “Look at that hair! It’ll make him easy to follow!”

Ischarus muttered to himself at her comment. His muttering wasn’t enough not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but it focused his mind on the task at hand. “With that hair, I don’t think trailing him back to his home is going to be difficult if it comes to that.”

He looked back over his shoulder ever so slightly to see how far Rhema was behind him. She was only a mutter of a few paces, so he didn’t need to yell terribly loudly. “If my suspicions are correct, Rhema, if we don’t catch him now we’ll be following him back to Quehalost. I think that he’s Drakontos. It’s likely that he’s related to Charis.”

Ischarus’ words took a few seconds to sink in. Their latest trip had been months ago and the recent retraining program had made the details of that trip seemingly fade into the past. As Rhema pondered Ischarus’ words she suddenly realized how it was that Charis could recognize him. “Ischarus, we had best catch him and deal with him. If Charis knew him from sight, it could only mean one thing.”

Ischarus twisted around a pair of women who had unknowingly stepped into his path as he pursued their quarry. The red haired Grick was fairly well balanced on his feet. His dexterity combined with the fact that his hair made him hard to miss made it easy for people to get out of the way of the running man before he could reach them. As they heard Ischarus and Rhema yelling to each other and obviously giving pursuit for the most part the people remained parted to allow them to pass. It was only every once and a while that a person accidentally stepped in front of Rhema or Ischarus as the townsfolk falsely assumed the threat had passed them by.

Ischarus could tell that the chase was leading back upon the exact route that they had taken to come into the town of Fingerdale. The guard tower would likely be up ahead and if they took their job seriously they would try to stop Grick. Ischarus’ face wrinkled in determination to try and not let the guards get in the way. There was no telling how powerful this Grick was and there was no need to allow any unnecessary injury to people just doing their job. Yet as fast as Ischarus and Rhema raced after Grick, their prey kept ahead of them.

Grick lunged around the final corner before the city gate and the tower above. The red haired man charged down the streets, noting that the city guards had already picked him up from atop their tower. There were two guards looking in his direction, and one of the guards pointed and moved for the stairs. Grick smiled an evil smile and slowed down just a touch to take aim. He rubbed his fingers together as if they were twigs that he was trying to kindle a flame upon. Faster and faster he rubbed until he smiled once more and cradled what appeared to be an invisible ball. As he slowed to a jog to take aim, he tossed the invisible ball toward the guard that had started to move for the stairs.

A second later, the guard jerked away from Grick as if he had been hit with a crossbow bolt. As he spun, he fell to his knees and began the process of dry-heaving. Ischarus saw the whole scene from behind and accelerated once more as Grick slowed up.

Rhema saw the motion of the guard and yelled, “He’s the one! He’s the reason Charis was ill!”

Grick had one flaw in his plan. As he slowed down to aim for the guard, he misjudged his speed and the speed of his pursuers. Ischarus drew within five feet of Grick and leapt for his back. The thick bodies collided, but not quite as Ischarus would have hoped. Ischarus’ left shoulder collided just to the right of Grick’s tailbone. Grick was knocked sideways to the left and stumbled to his backside. The red-haired Drakontos easily recovered his feet before a threat was upon him.

As Grick was knocked to the left, Ischarus was pushed slightly to the right. He landed flat on the ground on his stomach; but like Grick he easily managed to scramble to his feet and have his sword out of its scabbard in a flash. He didn’t have his shield with him; but considering Grick could hit with his invisible attack from over 50 yards away Ischarus wasn’t sure the shield would have helped anyway.

As Rhema closed, she saw that Ischarus would be able to make contact and slow Grick down. As she matched the reduced speed of the others and decided to stay back and not engage in the ensuing melee, her right hand found the familiar clasp that snapped the leather strap securely over the handle of her dagger. Without even looking at the dagger her fingers unsnapped the clasp and the dagger was in her hand. She lifted the handle up to her temple and scanned the area for what she was looking for. Suddenly, her lips parted in a grin and she focused her eyes.

Fifteen feet behind Grick an onlooker had a pipe set in his mouth. He wasn’t actively smoking it on account of being distracted by the commotion. Rhema could still tell from the smoke that a small fire burned inside. As she mentally focused on the small flame inside, her eyes darted toward Grick. Several small pieces of burning tobacco leapt out of the man’s pipe. The man was so startled by the odd occurrence that as his lips parted in a gasp the pipe fell from his mouth and clattered to a rest on the street.

However, the tobacco pieces flew just above the heads of the crowd and towards Grick. Only a last minute change of position to counter Ischarus’ approach caused the small figments of fire to miss their intended target. The small pieces of flame went unnoticed by Ischarus, Grick, and all the onlookers except the man from whose pipe the pieces of flame came. Rhema smiled as she noted that her attack had been foiled. She also knew that she still controlled the fire and there would be other chances.

Ischarus gripped the sword tightly and spoke with confidence. “Surrender now, and I’m sure the city guard will treat you with respect.” Ischarus looked deeply into Grick’s eyes with the stern seriousness of a man who wanted revenge for harming Charis. Grick only smiled at the threat but quickly scowled as Ischarus’ sword arced through the air and caught him across the forearm.

Grick returned Ischarus’ attack with a verbal retort. “Your threats are meaningless against me, the one that I serve, and my dragon father.”

Grick’s assertion was all that Ischarus needed to hear. “Your father? You mean the one whose plans we interrupted by taking his bride whom he intended to only use for evil?”

Grick screamed in anger in his draconic tongue. “Die!” As he yelled, he stepped back a single step and began rubbing his fingers vigorously together once more. He quickly cradled another invisible ball and tossed it hard toward the direction of Ischarus.

Luckily for Ischarus, Grick’s aim was off. The invisible ball sailed just over Ischarus’ left shoulder. Of course Ischarus didn’t flinch because there was nothing to see coming at him. A small cloud of dust erupted from the corner of a brick in the outer wall of the building behind him. The invisible attack had narrowly missed hitting him. With the demonstration of the invisible power that could be thrown and the damage the force had when it struck against the house, many of the onlookers decided to take a step back and give the combatants a little more room.

A shout rang out above the crowd from the guard tower. “Halt! You will abandon your conflict in the name of Lord Ironblood!” The guard had been concerned about the presence of a man running toward the gates. With the signs of armed combat there was a greater need for urgency.

Ischarus and Grick both smiled at the announcement. There was little a town guard would do against this conflict in the middle of a crowd of onlookers until reinforcements came. By the time help could arrive this conflict would be decided.

Rhema found an opening in Grick’s defenses as the voice of the guard distracted him. The tobacco coals flew in a high arc into the air and rested deep within the hood of Grick’s cloak. Rhema smiled as her successful attack pleased her. She continued concentrating upon the flames as she muttered to nobody in particular. “It won’t be long now…”

Unexpectedly an overweight woman who likely hadn’t bathed in nearly a month replied to her. “You’re right, missy. Either they’ll finish this up real quick or the city guard will come. Either way, it won’t be long.” Rhema could only grin as the woman misunderstood her comment.

Ischarus stepped forward and slashed out once more with his blade, but Grick had drawn his mace in his off hand and parried the blow with ease. Ischarus’ sword bounced off the unexpected weapon in an odd arc, leaving room for Grick to retaliate. Once again Grick stepped back and the crowd parted to give him room. His fingers rubbed together once more and he had another invisible ball. This time, Ischarus and the crowd behind Ischarus knew what to expect. Grick’s aim would show no improvement, however. The blast struck another wall. The invisible ball of force nearly struck the top of an onlooker’s head.

Rhema could feel the power of the flame welling up inside of her. She knew it was time. Much to the surprise of the entire gathered crowd, the hood of Grick’s cloak smoked for a second and then burst into flame. Grick was caught completely off-guard by this attack and he turned around quickly at the sound of the sudden explosion of flame. As he turned, the motion only caused a rush of oxygen to enter into the hood of his cape and the flames grew in an even greater intensity. Grick screamed as his flaming red hair caught on fire and the smell of melting hair engulfed the crowd.

Knowing that there was now an unknown threat that he was unprepared to face, Grick smartly did the one remaining thing that he could. With his free hand he flung up the hood of his cloak, enduring the intense moment of pain that brought the fire closest to his head. In a second, however, the flames were deprived of the oxygen they needed and were extinguished. He turned his back to Ischarus and prepared to jump into the crowd.

As he spun, he gave Ischarus an interesting target. The fluttering of Grick’s cape made it impossible to target his body. Rather than swing blindly Ischarus re-gripped his sword so that the blade came down from his enclosed fist rather than up from the fist. He raised the sword high into the air and in an instant the sword drove towards the ground. The blade of the sword brought the edge of Grick’s cape to the ground with it. Once the blade struck the cobblestone streets, the blade smoothly found a gap between two stones and tore through the cape. In a single strike Ischarus had secured Grick’s cape to the road.

When Grick tried to leap into the crowd a slight tearing sound ripped through the crowd. The power of his jump was not enough to completely rip his cape. His shoulders reached the end of the cape and his feet launched out before him from the torque introduced by the pinned cape. Grick ended up prone on his back.

Rhema shouted towards Ischarus as she forced her way through the crowd. “Ischarus, no!”

When she arrived she found that Ischarus had left the sword stuck in the ground. Rather than driving another of his weapons into the prone Grick Ischarus had decided to strike his enemy with his leather gauntleted hand. Grick was lying unconscious upon the ground, smoldering smoke still nauseatingly rising from his hair.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
As Grick turned and ran towards the direction that they had come, his cloak began to flap in the breeze. When Charis spotted him he had the hood of his traveling cloak pulled up so that he could barely see out of it. Yet as he ran away from the party this hood flew backwards in the wind. Grick’s long, flaming red hair fluttered in the wind since it was no longer kept bound by the constraints of the hood.

At the sight of his hair, Ischarus swallowed hard. He had already passed Rhema since descending the stairs but she was not far from behind. As he stared at the flaming red hair he heard Rhema shout. “Look at that hair! It’ll make him easy to follow!”

Ischarus muttered to himself at her comment. His muttering wasn’t enough not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but it focused his mind on the task at hand. “With that hair, I don’t think trailing him back to his home is going to be difficult if it comes to that.”

He looked back over his shoulder ever so slightly to see how far Rhema was behind him. She was only a mutter of a few paces, so he didn’t need to yell terribly loudly. “If my suspicions are correct, Rhema, if we don’t catch him now we’ll be following him back to Quehalost. I think that he’s Drakontos. It’s likely that he’s related to Charis.”

Ischarus’ words took a few seconds to sink in. Their latest trip had been months ago and the recent retraining program had made the details of that trip seemingly fade into the past. As Rhema pondered Ischarus’ words she suddenly realized how it was that Charis could recognize him. “Ischarus, we had best catch him and deal with him. If Charis knew him from sight, it could only mean one thing.”

Ischarus twisted around a pair of women who had unknowingly stepped into his path as he pursued their quarry. The red haired Grick was fairly well balanced on his feet. His dexterity combined with the fact that his hair made him hard to miss made it easy for people to get out of the way of the running man before he could reach them. As they heard Ischarus and Rhema yelling to each other and obviously giving pursuit for the most part the people remained parted to allow them to pass. It was only every once and a while that a person accidentally stepped in front of Rhema or Ischarus as the townsfolk falsely assumed the threat had passed them by.

Ischarus could tell that the chase was leading back upon the exact route that they had taken to come into the town of Fingerdale. The guard tower would likely be up ahead and if they took their job seriously they would try to stop Grick. Ischarus’ face wrinkled in determination to try and not let the guards get in the way. There was no telling how powerful this Grick was and there was no need to allow any unnecessary injury to people just doing their job. Yet as fast as Ischarus and Rhema raced after Grick, their prey kept ahead of them.

Grick lunged around the final corner before the city gate and the tower above. The red haired man charged down the streets, noting that the city guards had already picked him up from atop their tower. There were two guards looking in his direction, and one of the guards pointed and moved for the stairs. Grick smiled an evil smile and slowed down just a touch to take aim. He rubbed his fingers together as if they were twigs that he was trying to kindle a flame upon. Faster and faster he rubbed until he smiled once more and cradled what appeared to be an invisible ball. As he slowed to a jog to take aim, he tossed the invisible ball toward the guard that had started to move for the stairs.

A second later, the guard jerked away from Grick as if he had been hit with a crossbow bolt. As he spun, he fell to his knees and began the process of dry-heaving. Ischarus saw the whole scene from behind and accelerated once more as Grick slowed up.

Rhema saw the motion of the guard and yelled, “He’s the one! He’s the reason Charis was ill!”

Grick had one flaw in his plan. As he slowed down to aim for the guard, he misjudged his speed and the speed of his pursuers. Ischarus drew within five feet of Grick and leapt for his back. The thick bodies collided, but not quite as Ischarus would have hoped. Ischarus’ left shoulder collided just to the right of Grick’s tailbone. Grick was knocked sideways to the left and stumbled to his backside. The red-haired Drakontos easily recovered his feet before a threat was upon him.

As Grick was knocked to the left, Ischarus was pushed slightly to the right. He landed flat on the ground on his stomach; but like Grick he easily managed to scramble to his feet and have his sword out of its scabbard in a flash. He didn’t have his shield with him; but considering Grick could hit with his invisible attack from over 50 yards away Ischarus wasn’t sure the shield would have helped anyway.

As Rhema closed, she saw that Ischarus would be able to make contact and slow Grick down. As she matched the reduced speed of the others and decided to stay back and not engage in the ensuing melee, her right hand found the familiar clasp that snapped the leather strap securely over the handle of her dagger. Without even looking at the dagger her fingers unsnapped the clasp and the dagger was in her hand. She lifted the handle up to her temple and scanned the area for what she was looking for. Suddenly, her lips parted in a grin and she focused her eyes.

Fifteen feet behind Grick an onlooker had a pipe set in his mouth. He wasn’t actively smoking it on account of being distracted by the commotion. Rhema could still tell from the smoke that a small fire burned inside. As she mentally focused on the small flame inside, her eyes darted toward Grick. Several small pieces of burning tobacco leapt out of the man’s pipe. The man was so startled by the odd occurrence that as his lips parted in a gasp the pipe fell from his mouth and clattered to a rest on the street.

However, the tobacco pieces flew just above the heads of the crowd and towards Grick. Only a last minute change of position to counter Ischarus’ approach caused the small figments of fire to miss their intended target. The small pieces of flame went unnoticed by Ischarus, Grick, and all the onlookers except the man from whose pipe the pieces of flame came. Rhema smiled as she noted that her attack had been foiled. She also knew that she still controlled the fire and there would be other chances.

Ischarus gripped the sword tightly and spoke with confidence. “Surrender now, and I’m sure the city guard will treat you with respect.” Ischarus looked deeply into Grick’s eyes with the stern seriousness of a man who wanted revenge for harming Charis. Grick only smiled at the threat but quickly scowled as Ischarus’ sword arced through the air and caught him across the forearm.

Grick returned Ischarus’ attack with a verbal retort. “Your threats are meaningless against me, the one that I serve, and my dragon father.”

Grick’s assertion was all that Ischarus needed to hear. “Your father? You mean the one whose plans we interrupted by taking his bride whom he intended to only use for evil?”

Grick screamed in anger in his draconic tongue. “Die!” As he yelled, he stepped back a single step and began rubbing his fingers vigorously together once more. He quickly cradled another invisible ball and tossed it hard toward the direction of Ischarus.

Luckily for Ischarus, Grick’s aim was off. The invisible ball sailed just over Ischarus’ left shoulder. Of course Ischarus didn’t flinch because there was nothing to see coming at him. A small cloud of dust erupted from the corner of a brick in the outer wall of the building behind him. The invisible attack had narrowly missed hitting him. With the demonstration of the invisible power that could be thrown and the damage the force had when it struck against the house, many of the onlookers decided to take a step back and give the combatants a little more room.

A shout rang out above the crowd from the guard tower. “Halt! You will abandon your conflict in the name of Lord Ironblood!” The guard had been concerned about the presence of a man running toward the gates. With the signs of armed combat there was a greater need for urgency.

Ischarus and Grick both smiled at the announcement. There was little a town guard would do against this conflict in the middle of a crowd of onlookers until reinforcements came. By the time help could arrive this conflict would be decided.

Rhema found an opening in Grick’s defenses as the voice of the guard distracted him. The tobacco coals flew in a high arc into the air and rested deep within the hood of Grick’s cloak. Rhema smiled as her successful attack pleased her. She continued concentrating upon the flames as she muttered to nobody in particular. “It won’t be long now…”

Unexpectedly an overweight woman who likely hadn’t bathed in nearly a month replied to her. “You’re right, missy. Either they’ll finish this up real quick or the city guard will come. Either way, it won’t be long.” Rhema could only grin as the woman misunderstood her comment.

Ischarus stepped forward and slashed out once more with his blade, but Grick had drawn his mace in his off hand and parried the blow with ease. Ischarus’ sword bounced off the unexpected weapon in an odd arc, leaving room for Grick to retaliate. Once again Grick stepped back and the crowd parted to give him room. His fingers rubbed together once more and he had another invisible ball. This time, Ischarus and the crowd behind Ischarus knew what to expect. Grick’s aim would show no improvement, however. The blast struck another wall. The invisible ball of force nearly struck the top of an onlooker’s head.

Rhema could feel the power of the flame welling up inside of her. She knew it was time. Much to the surprise of the entire gathered crowd, the hood of Grick’s cloak smoked for a second and then burst into flame. Grick was caught completely off-guard by this attack and he turned around quickly at the sound of the sudden explosion of flame. As he turned, the motion only caused a rush of oxygen to enter into the hood of his cape and the flames grew in an even greater intensity. Grick screamed as his flaming red hair caught on fire and the smell of melting hair engulfed the crowd.

Knowing that there was now an unknown threat that he was unprepared to face, Grick smartly did the one remaining thing that he could. With his free hand he flung up the hood of his cloak, enduring the intense moment of pain that brought the fire closest to his head. In a second, however, the flames were deprived of the oxygen they needed and were extinguished. He turned his back to Ischarus and prepared to jump into the crowd.

As he spun, he gave Ischarus an interesting target. The fluttering of Grick’s cape made it impossible to target his body. Rather than swing blindly Ischarus re-gripped his sword so that the blade came down from his enclosed fist rather than up from the fist. He raised the sword high into the air and in an instant the sword drove towards the ground. The blade of the sword brought the edge of Grick’s cape to the ground with it. Once the blade struck the cobblestone streets, the blade smoothly found a gap between two stones and tore through the cape. In a single strike Ischarus had secured Grick’s cape to the road.

When Grick tried to leap into the crowd a slight tearing sound ripped through the crowd. The power of his jump was not enough to completely rip his cape. His shoulders reached the end of the cape and his feet launched out before him from the torque introduced by the pinned cape. Grick ended up prone on his back.

Rhema shouted towards Ischarus as she forced her way through the crowd. “Ischarus, no!”

When she arrived she found that Ischarus had left the sword stuck in the ground. Rather than driving another of his weapons into the prone Grick Ischarus had decided to strike his enemy with his leather gauntleted hand. Grick was lying unconscious upon the ground, smoldering smoke still nauseatingly rising from his hair.[/Sblock]

 

[sandtiger]

feedback

Hi,

I am enjoying the story. The interaction of the dragonkind versus "humanity" is well described, and has quite a few possibilities.

To answer your questions. (1) Colored or not, I don't really care. I am reading the colored and find it easier to realize which character is talking. Also, I found it cool that Charis' color changed when she was introduced. (2) Rogue's Gallery. I usually am reading the story for the story, not the levels, so it doesn't matter to me.

Just one comment, sometimes I feel like shaking Semeion and saying get a grip. Quit being an emotional basket case. Does the character actually do that in the game? If so, good roleplaying, just maybe not for the other players (if it was me).

Good description on the pipe/fire. I enjoyed the imagery/thought behind it.

Sandtiger

 

[Nonlethal Force]

REPLY to READER, not an update...

First of all, thanks for your reply! I appreciate your comments about the coloration and Rogue's Gallery and the time you took to write them.

As to your thoughts about Semeion, in all but chapter 5 Semeion was largely dealing with the significant loss of his master through what he perceived as his own fault. There is much self-inflicted blame that is weighing heavily upon himself. Thus, the fact that you are saying you wish to shake him and tell him to get a grip means that his inner turmoil of guilt is showing through. Additionally, he found himself on his first mission into a forbidden land and had to deal with the fact that he had rashly chosen to put his lives in the hands of total strangers. Granted, Iscahrus and Rhema are good people and all. But in hindsight it was a decision made because Semeion was used to having a mentor/master and this option merely allowed him to replace that master role with Ischarus/Rhema. As time progressed the weight of that decision tore at Semeion. Ultimately, though, that relationship has not become what Semeion expected. By this point in the story Semeion is now an equal, not a pupil. Finally, as you most likely picked up, Semeion found himself instantly emotionally involved with Charis - consider it part true love and part "White Knight" syndrome. As often happens in real life, an already emotionally fragile character became more involved and is spread even thinner across his life...

Dealing with all three of those angles has given Semeion a flare for instability. As time progresses, each of those influences will either change or vanish completely and Semeion's character has a great chance of being more stable.

Again, thank you so much for your time and thought in replying.

-NF

[Sblock=Update Schedule]I apologize to my readers about not having an update for some time. In my community, I have been dealing with the loss of a 9 year old. This has had community wide reprocutions and has taken much of my time as a care-giver/counselor. Furthermore, my band is prepping for our first puplic gig and that has meant miles on the car...

With luck, I'll have an update soon, maybe even in a few hours![/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

The guard quickly drew closer to the combat, approached the downed invisible force slinger, and backed Ischarus out of the area. As the guard approached Ischarus he drew his sword out of the ground underneath and sheathed it in his scabbard. “He’s all yours, boys. You can have him. But can I have the name of your captain just in case I want to get some specific information out of him later on?”

Two of the guards stepped forward and grabbed Ischarus by the elbows, much to his dismay and shock. At the sudden arrest Ischarus exclaimed a loud protest. “Wait just a minute, here! I was giving chase to this rascal! He’s the one that fired his force attack at the guard! I was merely keeping people safe!”

The largest of the guards smiled and replied. “Yeah, that’s what they all say when the other one can’t talk.” The guard on Ischarus’ left side bent Ischarus’ left arm behind his back and began to push him forward. The other guard pulled Ischarus’ sword from his scabbard and stowed it safely on his person before directing Ischarus to move.

Rhema stepped forward and tried to innocently defend Ischarus. “Listen, boys. You don’t need to take that man into custody. I saw the whole thing and I can vouch for this man’s innocence in pursuing a criminal. My father has a villa in Huetown, and he is quite the loyal supporter of Lord Ironblood. I don’t imagine you’d want Lord Ironblood to have to inquire directly into this matter, would you?”

Ischarus didn’t need to turn around to know the voice and to hear the power within the voice. Rhema was up to her old tricks. This kind of situation was her forte. It was a deadly game of mind persuasion. Most of the time it worked, but if it didn’t work right here in this situation it could get her landed in jail for interfering with a local investigation of the city guard. It was a bold move, but Ischarus was not at all surprised that Rhema had decided to play the game.

As the guard with Ischarus’ sword turned to face the speaker, he reached out to motion the other guard to turn Ischarus around as well. “You boys take that other one to the jail, we’ll be along shortly.” Refocusing his attention on the speaker he found himself face to face with a woman who was taller and much thinner than he had expected. He looked slightly downward to the 5’8” tall Rhema and her brown eyes that showed through her flowing brown hair. She looked innocent enough to pull off the game.

The guard acting in control of the others continued as he faced Rhema. “Listen, lady, I certainly don’t want Lord Ironblood involved into a simple matter of city security. But you have to understand that there was a fight here and we don’t know who was at fault!”

A voice from behind Rhema spoke out. “It wasn’t that sword wielding one, that’s for sure! I saw the whole thing! I was actually amazed at it all. That sword wielding one had several opportunities to cleave that other mage in two. He was easily the more experienced fighter, but I could tell that there was an intention on this sword wielding one to not want to maim the other guy.”

Rhema turned her head to view the source of the unlikely support. It was the guy whose tobacco she had used to ignite Grick’s cloak on fire. She smiled a bit knowing that drawing the tobacco into the fight had certainly caught this man’s attention. Her actions might have paid off in more ways than she had first imagined.

From behind Ischarus another voice spoke up. “Yeah. That one throwing those invisible balls of force had it in for the city guard. He’s the one that made the guard up there sick. This sword wielder didn’t even strike the other guy until after the city guard was attacked!”

Rhema smiled as a third voice spoke up. She knew that with each voice her position grew stronger. With each word of support her power of suggestion grew. “I was almost hit by one of those invisible balls. It sailed past my head and hit the brick building behind me hard enough to break of some of the brick. You can’t tell me that this sword wielding man was attacking with as much effort as the other guy. The other guy wanted to kill, it looked to me. This guy just wanted to defend himself!”

Rhema jumped into speech before another voice could add to the gaining momentum. “See, good officer? The people here do not lie. They saw what happened. There is no reason to bother an innocent man by showing him the inside of a jail. I promise you that if you release him into my custody that no further harm will come to him or from him.”

A woman who stood to Ischarus’ right piped up, “And don’t forget to tell them the name of your captain so that they can go and find out why that other mean guy was harassing them and the guard!”

Ischarus could only smile. This was too much. Surely even Rhema could not have foreseen the effectiveness that her pleas would have on the crowd. Apparently they had enjoyed the fight, had been scared by the other man, and approved of Ischarus’ bold strike to capture and not injure.

The head guard turned to the other guard and motioned for Ischarus’ release. The gathered crowd began to cheer, although the guard raised a hand to quiet them down. “Some laws can be overlooked without consequence as in taking this man to jail. However, some laws cannot be ignored on account of the future repercussions being too great. I will not take this man into custody on account of all of your testimony. But I cannot hand the weapon used in open conflict in the streets back to a man without the captain’s permission. I will retain your sword, fighter. You can retrieve it later in the day from Captain Jacobseille at the prison where your name will be cleared if he sees fit. I release you in good faith that you will go to the prison and discuss this matter more in depth with him.”

The crowd began to murmur about this being an equitable solution and that Ischarus was innocent and should have no trouble. It seemed as though the captain had his own experience at knowing how to work a crowd.

Ischarus replied to the conclusion reached by guard. “Good sir, I will not only retrieve my sword from your captain, but I will tell him how pleased I was to have been given the pleasure of working with men of excellent ability such as yourself. You are a good judge of character, and your men follow you with honor.”

Ischarus knew that he laid it on intentionally thick, but with a compliment like this the captain would have no option of reconsidering his assertion to free Ischarus. Furthermore, by adding the information about Ischarus praising this guard to his captain Ischarus ensured that the guards would report Ischarus favorably. That would come in handy not only in retrieving a simple sword that he could replace; but it would also help him to convince the captain to let them see the Drakontos he had just fought. At the very least it might allow him to get the information gleaned at the interrogation out of the captain.

The guard smiled and nodded to Ischarus and then turned to the crowd. “Our work here is done, people. Disperse and go about your regular lives, now. The show is over and life can return to its orderly status.”

The crowds began to disperse as Rhema and Ischarus turned together and headed back to the temple district. As they left, Rhema knew she heard the man with the pipe boasting, “… and then my tobacco flew through the air, right up out of my pipe! It was my tobacco that caused the man’s hood to ignite in flames! Honestly, I tell you all. I saw it with my own eyes!” Rhema smiled at the simply unbelievable testimony.

Once they had returned to the temple, they noticed that Semeion and Charis were no longer where they had left them. Ischarus turned a bit to Rhema and asked, “You don’t suppose Grick was a decoy, do you? Could we have fallen into that trap so easily?”

Rhema shook her head. There was no sign of a conflict here and the people mulled around as if nothing happened. “I doubt it. Perhaps they went back inside where the thick stone walls cooled the air.”

A hand thumped hard against Ischarus’ shoulder. The owner of the hand stood directly behind Ischarus and spoke. “We thought the same thing, Ischarus. So we decided to take shelter across the street from the temple and watch for anyone that Charis might know.”

Charis shook her head as Ischarus and Rhema turned to face Semeion and Charis. “We didn’t see anyone, though. When we saw you two coming we thought we might just give you both a moment to realize how much you’d miss us if we were gone.”

Rhema completely turned around and embraced Charis with a big hug. “You need not go to such lengths to know that, Charis!’

Semeion furthered the discussion. “So, what happened to Grick? I notice that you return without your sword.”

Rhema smiled as Semeion took note of the fighter’s loss of a weapon.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
The guard quickly drew closer to the combat, approached the downed invisible force slinger, and backed Ischarus out of the area. As the guard approached Ischarus he drew his sword out of the ground underneath and sheathed it in his scabbard. “He’s all yours, boys. You can have him. But can I have the name of your captain just in case I want to get some specific information out of him later on?”

Two of the guards stepped forward and grabbed Ischarus by the elbows, much to his dismay and shock. At the sudden arrest Ischarus exclaimed a loud protest. “Wait just a minute, here! I was giving chase to this rascal! He’s the one that fired his force attack at the guard! I was merely keeping people safe!”

The largest of the guards smiled and replied. “Yeah, that’s what they all say when the other one can’t talk.” The guard on Ischarus’ left side bent Ischarus’ left arm behind his back and began to push him forward. The other guard pulled Ischarus’ sword from his scabbard and stowed it safely on his person before directing Ischarus to move.

Rhema stepped forward and tried to innocently defend Ischarus. “Listen, boys. You don’t need to take that man into custody. I saw the whole thing and I can vouch for this man’s innocence in pursuing a criminal. My father has a villa in Huetown, and he is quite the loyal supporter of Lord Ironblood. I don’t imagine you’d want Lord Ironblood to have to inquire directly into this matter, would you?”

Ischarus didn’t need to turn around to know the voice and to hear the power within the voice. Rhema was up to her old tricks. This kind of situation was her forte. It was a deadly game of mind persuasion. Most of the time it worked, but if it didn’t work right here in this situation it could get her landed in jail for interfering with a local investigation of the city guard. It was a bold move, but Ischarus was not at all surprised that Rhema had decided to play the game.

As the guard with Ischarus’ sword turned to face the speaker, he reached out to motion the other guard to turn Ischarus around as well. “You boys take that other one to the jail, we’ll be along shortly.” Refocusing his attention on the speaker he found himself face to face with a woman who was taller and much thinner than he had expected. He looked slightly downward to the 5’8” tall Rhema and her brown eyes that showed through her flowing brown hair. She looked innocent enough to pull off the game.

The guard acting in control of the others continued as he faced Rhema. “Listen, lady, I certainly don’t want Lord Ironblood involved into a simple matter of city security. But you have to understand that there was a fight here and we don’t know who was at fault!”

A voice from behind Rhema spoke out. “It wasn’t that sword wielding one, that’s for sure! I saw the whole thing! I was actually amazed at it all. That sword wielding one had several opportunities to cleave that other mage in two. He was easily the more experienced fighter, but I could tell that there was an intention on this sword wielding one to not want to maim the other guy.”

Rhema turned her head to view the source of the unlikely support. It was the guy whose tobacco she had used to ignite Grick’s cloak on fire. She smiled a bit knowing that drawing the tobacco into the fight had certainly caught this man’s attention. Her actions might have paid off in more ways than she had first imagined.

From behind Ischarus another voice spoke up. “Yeah. That one throwing those invisible balls of force had it in for the city guard. He’s the one that made the guard up there sick. This sword wielder didn’t even strike the other guy until after the city guard was attacked!”

Rhema smiled as a third voice spoke up. She knew that with each voice her position grew stronger. With each word of support her power of suggestion grew. “I was almost hit by one of those invisible balls. It sailed past my head and hit the brick building behind me hard enough to break of some of the brick. You can’t tell me that this sword wielding man was attacking with as much effort as the other guy. The other guy wanted to kill, it looked to me. This guy just wanted to defend himself!”

Rhema jumped into speech before another voice could add to the gaining momentum. “See, good officer? The people here do not lie. They saw what happened. There is no reason to bother an innocent man by showing him the inside of a jail. I promise you that if you release him into my custody that no further harm will come to him or from him.”

A woman who stood to Ischarus’ right piped up, “And don’t forget to tell them the name of your captain so that they can go and find out why that other mean guy was harassing them and the guard!”

Ischarus could only smile. This was too much. Surely even Rhema could not have foreseen the effectiveness that her pleas would have on the crowd. Apparently they had enjoyed the fight, had been scared by the other man, and approved of Ischarus’ bold strike to capture and not injure.

The head guard turned to the other guard and motioned for Ischarus’ release. The gathered crowd began to cheer, although the guard raised a hand to quiet them down. “Some laws can be overlooked without consequence as in taking this man to jail. However, some laws cannot be ignored on account of the future repercussions being too great. I will not take this man into custody on account of all of your testimony. But I cannot hand the weapon used in open conflict in the streets back to a man without the captain’s permission. I will retain your sword, fighter. You can retrieve it later in the day from Captain Jacobseille at the prison where your name will be cleared if he sees fit. I release you in good faith that you will go to the prison and discuss this matter more in depth with him.”

The crowd began to murmur about this being an equitable solution and that Ischarus was innocent and should have no trouble. It seemed as though the captain had his own experience at knowing how to work a crowd.

Ischarus replied to the conclusion reached by guard. “Good sir, I will not only retrieve my sword from your captain, but I will tell him how pleased I was to have been given the pleasure of working with men of excellent ability such as yourself. You are a good judge of character, and your men follow you with honor.”

Ischarus knew that he laid it on intentionally thick, but with a compliment like this the captain would have no option of reconsidering his assertion to free Ischarus. Furthermore, by adding the information about Ischarus praising this guard to his captain Ischarus ensured that the guards would report Ischarus favorably. That would come in handy not only in retrieving a simple sword that he could replace; but it would also help him to convince the captain to let them see the Drakontos he had just fought. At the very least it might allow him to get the information gleaned at the interrogation out of the captain.

The guard smiled and nodded to Ischarus and then turned to the crowd. “Our work here is done, people. Disperse and go about your regular lives, now. The show is over and life can return to its orderly status.”

The crowds began to disperse as Rhema and Ischarus turned together and headed back to the temple district. As they left, Rhema knew she heard the man with the pipe boasting, “… and then my tobacco flew through the air, right up out of my pipe! It was my tobacco that caused the man’s hood to ignite in flames! Honestly, I tell you all. I saw it with my own eyes!” Rhema smiled at the simply unbelievable testimony.

Once they had returned to the temple, they noticed that Semeion and Charis were no longer where they had left them. Ischarus turned a bit to Rhema and asked, “You don’t suppose Grick was a decoy, do you? Could we have fallen into that trap so easily?”

Rhema shook her head. There was no sign of a conflict here and the people mulled around as if nothing happened. “I doubt it. Perhaps they went back inside where the thick stone walls cooled the air.”

A hand thumped hard against Ischarus’ shoulder. The owner of the hand stood directly behind Ischarus and spoke. “We thought the same thing, Ischarus. So we decided to take shelter across the street from the temple and watch for anyone that Charis might know.”

Charis shook her head as Ischarus and Rhema turned to face Semeion and Charis. “We didn’t see anyone, though. When we saw you two coming we thought we might just give you both a moment to realize how much you’d miss us if we were gone.”

Rhema completely turned around and embraced Charis with a big hug. “You need not go to such lengths to know that, Charis!’

Semeion furthered the discussion. “So, what happened to Grick? I notice that you return without your sword.”

Rhema smiled as Semeion took note of the fighter’s loss of a weapon.[/Sblock]