Chapter One
Homecoming
Talistra Mona ran through the storm drain sewers of Ptolus. The druid turned as she ran and dared to look into the faces of her hairy pursuers. A small pack of Ratmen chased feverishly after her. They called out in their high pitched squealing tongue and launched javelins at her. The water was up to her knees from the afternoon’s rain and she was having trouble getting away. They were gaining on her.
“Dane!” She screamed, calling out for her companion.
“What is it Druid?” A dire wolf suddenly bound beside her, bounding through the water. Dane had thick grey fur and wore a amulet of intellect he had received from his former druidic companion.
“We need to get out of here.” A javelin skittered across the stone walls; she grabbed the crude weapon in case she needed to make a stand.
“There is a sewer cover up ahead. Wait listen!” a voice began chanting, his voice echoing off the walls of the sewer. “Watchful Gods get down!” Dane pounced on top of Talistra, throwing her down in the water. A lightning bolt launched and screamed through the space they had been in. Dane rose slowly and turned to face their pursuers. A brown Ratman collided into the large wolf. It’s dagger stabbing him between the ribs. Dane let loose a feral growl as his teeth closed down on the beast’s throat. He shook his massive head side to side throwing the creature around like a rag doll.
“Get out of here! You’re almost to the exit!” Two of the Ratmen launched crossbow bolts into the air. One bounced harmlessly off of Dane’s tough hide, the other embedded itself deeply into Talistra’s calf. “Talistra! Go!” Dane shouted as he pounced on the creatures, holding their faces down in the water until they stopped squirming. Dane’s sensitive hearing could pick up the splashes of more Ratmen coming.
Talistra got up and put her weight onto her good foot. She saw the ladder leading up to the street like a shining beacon out of Hell. She climbed as high as she could and lifted the cover. It was heavy, requiring all of her strength, as soon as it was lifted however her heart sank to her feet.
The exit had prison bars welded over it to keep the Ratmen from escaping the sewer. She reached her hand out into the street and started screaming and begging for help. Dane howled in pain and anguish as more jagged swords plunged into him.
xXx
Boet stared blankly at his empty tankard. His midnight blue cloak flapped about him as the door to the Ghostly Minstrel tavern opened and slammed shut. His eyes snapped to the new comer, but he was ultimately disappointed. Turning back to his dinner with a sigh he picked at the chunks of beef floating in his stew. He removed his new pocket watch from the insides of his cloak and checked the time. Today was his last day working for the City Watch. The timepiece had been a retirement present from the men. Boet had enjoyed the work, as a master of the arcane arts he was a rank higher than the standard guardian of the law. As a gnome however, he felt looked down upon.
Boet finished his meal and checked his watch again. The day was right, the place was right, but they were late. Boet frowned and placed a handful of copper coins on the table. Crestfallen, he hopped down from the barstool.
“Where you waiting for someone hun?” the barmaid asked.
“Nah, they probably forgot about me anyway.” He tightened his grip on his cloak as he stepped out into the cool spring night. The cobblestones were still slick with the afternoon rain; the city was uiet as everyone slept. The cold metal barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of Boet’s head sending the hair along his body to stand up on end.
“Give me that gold watch in your pocket or I’ll put a hole in your head.” The assailant pulled back the hammer to accent his point.
“Yea! Your pretty watch!” a deep grumbling voice echoed the first. Boet stopped reaching for his timepiece and turned to face the brigands. Two dark bearded dwarves stood in the shadows before him. The one with the gun had a long, braided salt and pepper beard, his thick gut was covered with pouches and pockets. A dark green travel worn cloak hid a quiver filled with magical wands.
The other dwarf, the youngest of the two, wore random plates of armor across his chest, his long blade was sheathed across his back but his thing vicious knife was still drawn.
“Bradagor and Iddagor Facebreaker.” Boet sneered.
“Aye, we know you too ex-watchman Boet.”
“I only ask that you shoot me in the heart so that it will touch the cobblestones of the city I love.”
“Shoot him in the face.” Iddagor said with a dark grin. Bradagor pressed the gun into Boet’s forehead.
“Do it you pussy.” Boet stared death in the face. The dwarf pulled the trigger.
Click.
“You’ve gotten soft after four years gnome!” Bradagor wrapped his thick arms around his old friend and embraced him. Iddagor patted them both friendly on the back.
“You’ve gotten crazier and fatter you bearded jerk! Do you have a permit for that gun?”
“Of course! I got one for each!” The dwarf brothers were leading their old friend back into the bar when they spotted a paladin praying to his sword. “Blimey, look who it is. Let’s go have a chat with him.”
xXx
Falcron stood across the street from the Ghostly Minstrel. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose, drinking in all the smells of the city. Ptolus, city by the spire, is a harsh and cruel mistress. It was built at the base of a giant stone needle called the Spire. The oasis of civilization was little more than a guilded trinket; beneath a thin layer of gold it was rough, deformed, and impure. It was why the Paladin had left in the first place. Still, one could not escape the beauty and the power the city held.
For four years he wandered aimlessly looking for himself. Instead he found Lothian’s goals, the god’s screenplay in which all mortals are his actors. Falcron unsheathed his sword in a measured and fluid movement.
A sapphire blue ankh adorned the hilt and Lothian’s crucified form looked up to him in pain and anguish. It was in those eyes that Falcron’s soul was seen, naked and tested before the god. Falcron placed the flat of the blade against his forehead and whispered a quote from the book.
“It is better to do right and die, then do wrong and prosper.” He whispered.
“Those are good words to live by Sir Falcron.” A voice called out to him from on high. He turned and looked up into the face of a woman he thought he would never see again.
“Well met Kaira Sundance.” Falcron said with a grim smile. Kaira looked as young and beautiful as she did four years ago. Of course, four years is a short time for an Elf. Kaira was not the average elf from the shoals and shores however; Kaira was a Cherubim Elf, a winged beauty from a faraway land. She softly landed beside Falcron and smiled at him with gleaming purple eyes.
“How have you been?” She asked. Falcron had been horrible, he spent four years fighting legions of heathens in the dark corners of the world, fending off undead and demon alike. He had hoped and prayed to Lothian to see her again. Everyday without her had been like torture.
“I’ve been pretty good.”
“Mirresh must smile on you then.” She said with a laugh. Her laugh was contagious, arguably the best trait about a woman who was full of wonderful ones. Falcron allowed himself to smile.
“Priestess, you know that I do not follow the goddess of laughter like you.”
“I know. I just enjoy seeing how far I can go.” She stepped close to him; he could smell the perfume in her hair.
“You can go pretty far.” Falcron swallowed hard.
“Yea?” Kaira spread her silver wings wide and closed them around Falcron.
“HELP! SOMEONE HELP!!! WE’RE TRAPPED!” a shrill voice called out from down the street. Falcron spun on his heel, sword already unsheathed as he saw an arm reaching out of a sewer. Without a word he raced over and dropped his blade with a loud clang beside the caged entrance to the sewer. A young auburn haired woman reached out and took his hand. “Help me please! Dane and I are trapped and Ratmen are coming!”
Falcron calmed Talistra with a nod and started to pull with all his might at the cage. His muscles clenched and his face became beet red, but it did not budge. Kaira fluttered nearby and rest her cool hands on Falcron’s neck.
“Let me help you.” She whispered a prayer for strength from Mirresh and let the energy flow through her into the Paladin. Falcron felt stronger as the divine power burned through him. The metal began to bend and moan as the welding began to break. The grate was torn off in one clean pull. He reached his hand in to help Talista out of the sewer. She was dirty, muddy and bloody. She grabbed Falcron hard and begged him to save Dane.
“I’m coming too Falcron!” a small voice called out as Boet chased after his old friend. Falcron turned to regard the wizard and the two Dwarven brothers. He was pleased to see that they hadn’t forgotten the homecoming. Falcron turned to the Dwarven brothers with a stern face.
“I need you to stay here. If we aren’t out in five minutes,”
“Leave?” Iddagor asked with a glimmer of hope in his voice.
“No, get down there and rescue me.” Falcron snatched up his blade and leapt down into the water. Boet splashed down beside him and pulled out a gem tipped wand. The crystal shined light in the sewers as well as a torch. The rainwater was up to the Gnome’s chest. Three pairs of glowing eyes turned to the surface dwelling intruders and a low hiss escaped one of the Ratmen’s throats. Falcron tightened the grip on his sword and charged forward, in one fell swoop his blade sliced through the mid sections of two rat men. The Paladin had forgotten Kaira’s spell. His gauntleted fist grabbed a hold of one of the ratmen’s snout and with another balled up fist he broke its neck. The rest of the beasts screamed and escaped into the darkness with the soft patter of feet.
“Dane?” Falcron shouted. “My name is Sir Falcron, call out to me.”
Dane’s weak voice whispered “Over here.”
Falcron was taken aback by the talking wolf, and by the dire state of his wounds. The wolf was the size of a small horse, with claws as long as daggers and jagged teeth able to tear meat from a hippo. Falcron sheathed his sword and walked over to the wounded animal. He frowned, the Ratmen had eaten most of the wolf’s leg and several stab wounds peppered his side. He turned gravely to Boet and shook his head.
“His wounds are too large for me to heal with my hands, not to mention it would be impossible to get him up to the street.” Boet grinned mischievously and handed the glowing wand to his friend.
“Let me handle that.” Boet waggled his tiny fingers and began chanting cryptic arcane words. He rested his hands on the giant wolf and then breathed a sigh of relief as his spell took shape. Dane slowly shrunk to the size of a miniature dog. Falcron lifted him up and placed his palm on the dog’s wounds. He closed his eyes and focused on the silver eyes of Lothian. Soft light started to glow from beneath his palm as ribs, muscle and skin stitched itself beneath his fingers.
Boet took the shrunken wolf and petted him softly. “Aww… he’s so cute Falcron! Can we keep him this way?” Dane growled deeply and bared is miniature teeth.
“Only if you want me to chew off your genitals Gnome.”
Boet frowned and handed Dane back to the paladin. “Gods, there’s no pleasing some people.”
xXx
