Chapter 3: The Thlot Pickens! (probably needs more water)
The sun beats down oppressively on the heads of the townsfolk as they go about their daily lives in the crowded streets of Darumont. Complete strangers exchange withering glances at one another before going their separate ways, while cutpurses and ruffians keep a sharp eye out for an easy mark, like lions picking the elderly and sick gazelles out of a herd.
Totally oblivious to it all, Damek the Elf wanders aimlessly through town seeking distraction. His thin frame effortlessly parts the sea of people, all of whom seem to be walking in the opposite direction as the tall Elf. Casting his gaze about at random, Damek’s eyes fall on the Seven Stars Tavern… and he is immediately smitten by its rustic old world charm. Or so he tells himself as he enters, his eyes never once leaving the red haired half-Elven beauty sitting near one of the front windows. Her red hair cascades down to her shoulders; coy strands occasionally falling in front of her face to her obvious irritation. At her side is an unstrung bow and an oversized sword, as much a testament to her profession as the well developed muscles in her arms and the shapely contour of her legs. Her green eyes flash as she meets his gaze… with a bemused expression on her face, she turns to speak softly to her companions. Damek grins as her companions glance at him curiously. No doubt she is flattered by his attention. If only he could hear what she was saying…
“Why in the Father’s name is there a frickin’ pasty Elf staring at me from across the damn bar?” mutters Saryna. Meri and Lucien turn slowly and look at the newcomer, eager for a distraction from Kerim’s constant pratter. Kerim, on the other hand, contentedly blathers on about his cousins while he juggles three salt-cellars, pausing only occasionally to throw a pinch of spilled salt over his left shoulder to ward off bad luck. There is already quite a pile on the floor behind him.
Lucien’s eyes narrow as he examines Damek, noting the scroll case, book satchel, several small pouches, flowing robes and small dagger that mark the Elf as a magic user. Merileene, on the other hand, sees little more than his smooth, ageless features. Never having before seen an Elf, Meri is somewhat disconcerted by the intelligence that sparkles in his gray eyes, unaware that Damek is most likely over three times her age.
Damek, in the meantime, begins walking slowly towards the table, eager to acquaint himself with the flame-tressed warrior who is so pointedly… ignoring him? Damek’s steady pace falters a bit as he realizes that he may have misjudged the situation. Before he arrives at the table, the robed human stands up and blocks his path.
The sounds that emit from Lucien’s mouth are eerily disturbing… at once reminiscent of the language of magic and the hissing of snakes. “That’s far enough. We’ve already been here long enough to become wary of strangers… what business do you have this far west? Elves are rarely seen around these parts, mages even less so.”
Damek, naturally, understands Lucien perfectly. He answers in the same language, albeit with an Elven accent. “I left the Elves because they feared my power… I came west because I had never been here before. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce myself to the ladies.”
Lucien sighs, obviously unimpressed, and steps aside. “Knock yourself out,” he says, switching back to common. “I’ll be upstairs studying. Try not to let your power hit you in the butt on the way out.”
At this point, Kerim makes his excuses and goes upstairs to nap, his three breakfasts having finally caught up with him. Damek takes the ‘no other men in the vicinity’ opportunity to approach the table and introduce himself to the women who have caught his eye.
Ironically, Merileene is the first to speak, blushing prettily as she does so. “Hello. I am Merileene, this is Saryna… pleased to meet you.” Damek bows low and kisses her hand gallantly.
“The pleasure is mine, m’lady. My name is Damek… finest wizard in these parts.” At this, Saryna snorts and barks a coarse laugh, causing more cracks to form in Damek’s pre-conceived notion of her.
“No traces of humility in you, are there Damek?” Saryna asks sardonically. Damek, for his part, smiles charmingly.
“None that I am aware of.”
“Well,” Saryna continues, “you’ll need to use some with Merileene there… she’s the traveling morals of the party if you take my meaning. A cleric of some such.”
Meri looks at Saryna sharply. “The Father of Man… and you should be more respectful.” Looking back and forth between the two women, Damek laughs lightly.
“Well, I shall try not to disrespect either of you, m’lady Saryna. In fact, I’ll wager that I can eventually bring you around to the side of the angels … maybe smooth some of your rough edges and soften that chip on your shoulder.” Merileene, nodding in agreement with Damek’s intuitive second impression of Saryna, cuts in.
“Saryna isn’t really as bad as she likes to come off… there is good in her, I’m sure of it.”
Damek smiles at Merileene. “Yes… with a careful search, I’m sure we’ll be able to find it!” Merileene blushes prettily.
Saryna, in the meantime, sits forward in her chair, furious about being talked about as if she weren’t there. Under the table, her hand clutches convulsively on a knife hilt, and her eyes flash dangerously in the late morning light. As she speaks, it is obvious that her restraint is slowly leaking out of the cracks in her composure.
“I DON’T need ‘saving’ and I certainly don’t need either of you trying to find some glimmer of faith in me. Neither of you really know anything about me, and I find that arrangement totally acceptable!”
Damek’s gray eyes sparkle with barely-disguised mirth. “I don’t believe that is a wise point of view to take m’lady… if there’s one thing in this world you can count on, it is knowledge. Knowing another’s opinion of you is a form of knowledge, and gives you an advantage over them.”
Smiling politely, Merileene excuses herself to partake of her daily prayers, leaving a suddenly friendless Saryna to deal with the none-to-subtle advances of Damek the Elf.
Changing tactics, Damek begins to question Saryna about something she obviously loves… battle. “So… what brings you to Darumont? You look as though you expect trouble, what with all those weapons scattered around.”
Saryna sighs, humoring his curiosity. “In a manner of speaking. We’re mercenaries for an organization called the Sweeps, located here in town. Two days ago we successfully defended a warehouse from a group of bandits.” Saryna smiles sarcastically. “What about you, O wizard of great power… why are you here? What brought you this far west, and what could possibly be keeping you here?”
Damek’s sardonic smile is a perfect imitation of Saryna’s own. “Why… my thirst for knowledge, of course. You intrigue me. You and your companions, that is. Besides… the most unexpected of places can yield startling amounts of information at times.”
“What knowledge could you possibly hope to gain by coming here? Are you sure you don’t have another motivation? Money, perhaps? Or power? That’s usually the way of it.”
Damek shakes his head defiantly. “It’s not money m’lady… but I would be lying if I told you I completely lacked a desire for power.”
Suddenly, a tall, golden skinned man strides into the tavern, his body moving gracefully beneath a deep red velvet cloak. Saryna can barely make out a black vest underneath… his voice seems to cascade across the tavern like a rolling thunderclap.
“Nobody lacks a desire for power.”
Saryna eyes the new partron warily. “Indeed?”
The man’s eyes narrow slightly at her presumption. “Nobody.”
Saryna gasps as she looks into his piercing green eyes… startled by the golden flecks she sees within.
“We all desire it in one form or another… whatever form that power takes simply defines the ambitions of the individual.” His attention shifts solely to Saryna. “You… you appear to be a warrior. Have you taken a life before?”
Saryna grins like a cat, still wary. “Oh… have I ever.” The man continues.
“Then you know what it is to kill… that is power. If you’ve spared a life you know power as well.”
Intrigued by his speech, Saryna studies him intently. “Perhaps, but I don’t tend to think of ‘power’ while battling for my life. I just do what’s needed at the time.”
“Just so… neither do you think of breathing to stay alive, though that too is a goal of yours no doubt.”
Though the man’s grin chills her blood, Saryna stands and defiantly addresses the newcomer. Damek, in the meantime, sits at the table, immobile… very impressed with how Saryna is handling herself. He can feel power rolling off of the man in waves.
“Who are you and what are you about?”
“My name is Dagron, and I’m here on a business matter. I saw how you and your friends slaughtered those would-be thieves and decided I would introduce myself.”
“You were there? I didn’t see you. Were you in the warehouse? Were those your crates we were protecting?”
Dagron smiles… and the temperature in the air seems to drop. No discernible emotion touches his cold, bespeckled eyes. “You see me only when I choose. If it were otherwise, I would not be a man of business. As for your other question… to me it matters little whom those crates belong to. It is you and your friends that interest me. It has been a long time since I have seen freelancers fight with such tenacity and almost rhythmic, natural fighting styles. Almost every time I see a battle begin, supposed hirelings flee at the first sign of danger… yet you and your companions threw yourselves into a fray where you were outnumbered almost two to one.”
He pauses before continuing, taking in Saryna’s reaction. “Bravery is valuable to me. It can lead to death, but facing death is what forges bravery to begin with. That too is a form of power. So many people walk along in their pathetic lives of drudgery… only a few ever dare to seize power when it is offered. Fewer still are able to control it.”
Saryna shakes her head as though casting off the lull of the man’s powerful voice. “What is it that you’re offering, then?”
Dagron laughs. “Very good! As I said, I am a businessman. I want you to perform a task for me.” He raises his right hand, quickly twisting it in a flowing circle. When it rights itself, a large star ruby sits glowing in the middle of his palm.
“I offer this. I offer power. I offer more than any fool organization in this pathetic community can dare hope to attain.”
Saryna’s eyebrow rises at the sight of the flawless stone. “And the cost of failure?”
Dagron carelessly tosses the ruby to Saryna, who catches it easily. When she opens her hand, she finds a large black spider with a red mark on its back staring at her from several sets of iridescent eyes.
“Failure to me is no different than any of the other dangers you court when you live a life of conflict and battle.”
The spider drops from Saryna’s hand and scurries along the floor towards Dagron.
Saryna, maintaining an incredible air of self-confidence despite a growing lump of fear in her throat, manages to choke out a few more words. “I… I thought as much. I will have to discuss this with my companions, as I can’t speak for them in this matter.”
Dagron nods. “Very well. I will return on the morrow.” As Dagron turns to leave, the black spider finds his foot, crawls up his leg and disappears. The tavern’s door opens of its own volition and Dagron steps into the doorframe… turning around just as Saryna and Damek begin to relax.
“Know that I do not take… rejection… well.” Dagron’s intimidating smile stays with them for several minutes after he is gone.
Several minutes later, Merileene returns from her prayers to find a highly perturbed Saryna and Damek discussing their encounter with the strange man. It takes several minutes of rabid jabbering before Merileene can even begin to piece together what took place. Eventually, they decide to undertake the task, believing the rewards to outweigh the possible consequences of challenging this strangely imposing man. Damek insists on coming along as well, motivated by curiosity as much as by a desire to learn more about Saryna. After checking their supplies and otherwise preparing themselves for their upcoming task, the party retires to a fitful sleep, nervous about their impending meeting.
It is only as Saryna slips into unconsciousness that she realizes they never thought to ask Dagron exactly what their task entails.
The next day’s meeting with Dagron is nearly as unsettling as the first. His voice and demeanor are as unsettling as before, this time punctuated by his veiled threat should they refuse to aid him.
The task itself seems relatively straightforward: several miles to the north is a small settlement underneath which lies an ancient burial crypt. Inside this crypt is rumored to be an ancient tome of immeasurable value… an item that Dagron wishes to acquire in his ‘search for power.’ The party is to find the crypt, retrieve the tome and return with it.
Simple.
It takes nearly an entire day for the party (sans Kerim and Lucien, who have managed to oversleep) to reach the small settlement. On the surface, the small village appears to be a simple, peaceful hamlet overlooking a seemingly endless sea of blue. Soft ocean waves ripple, peacefully breaking against the rocky shores far below… even the harsh keening of the seagulls sounds like a sweet harmony, undulating rhythmically as the happy birds float gently on the warm air currents.
In other words, there is no crypt in sight… neither is there a graveyard, a temple or even a shrine. In fact, the closest thing to a crumbling ruin is an unfinished house being built nearly half a mile away.
Simple.
A bit more investigation yields one small tidbit of information. Apparently when the settlement was first established, all the stone in the area went towards making walls for the houses. Though perhaps some of the stones looked a bit old to the settlers, they paid it no mind. Uprooting the stone turned up no foundations or tunnels of any kind, just more stone. In fact, the only interesting feature in the area seems to be some natural tunnels in the cliff walls, located nearly forty feet down the sheer cliff face.
Faced with little alternative, the party secures a rope and methodically climbs down the cliff towards the cave, reasoning that the tunnel has a better chance of reaching an underground crypt than a shovel.
Within moments, everyone is securely inside the cave. The coolness of the cave belies the temperature outside… water drips from a dozen shimmering stalactites to collect in small rock pools on the cave floor. Noises echo eerily along the cave’s length, returning to the party sounding distorted and frightening.
Lighting a torch, Saryna leads the way into the cave, her Elven sight granting her a greater range of vision than Merileene could hope to accomplish. Damek, despite his superior full Elven sight, stays towards the rear, still shaken from the harrowing climb down to the cave.
(author’s note: harrowing for an Elven mage at least!)
The cave twists and turns chaotically… within minutes the party has lost their bearings as to which direction is north, but that matters little as Saryna leads everyone deeper into the dank cave. Darkness seems to crowd in around the adventurers, the light from the cave entrance having long since vanished. The air has become stale and unmoving, the ground dry. Dangling from the roof of the cave are plant roots, like tentacles, their shadows casting ominous shadows across the walls of the silent cavern.
Ahead of Saryna, the cavern opens into small chamber, from which another cavern branches off to the right. Very little distinguishes this section of the cave from any other, save for the bleached skeleton at the mouth of the other cavern. The party stares blankly at the bones for a few moments, puzzled. Saryna is the first to act.
“Well? Does he have the book?”
Meri and Damek examine the skeleton, finding nothing save that he apparently died of a horrid head wound. He doesn’t have the book. As Meri prays for the man’s soul, Saryna pushes her way past Damek and into the second cavern, eager to find the book and get back out into the open air.
In her rush, she doesn’t even see the blade detach itself from the wall, cutting brutally through hair… and skin… and bone.
As the spray of blood spatters across Damek’s upturned face, he casts his mind back to the previous day, when Saryna’s hair shone brightly against the sun, as though challenging its brilliance.
Now all he sees is the muted reflection of wet blood, reflecting sickly in the light of the fire as the torch falls from Saryna’s nerveless grasp.
To be continued...
Next post... what happened to Saryna? Is she alright? Did Kerim and Lucien ever wake up? and most importantly... DID ANYONE REMEMBER TO BRING A SHOVEL!?!?!
