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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
Arbiters Apostate
- Thread starter Velenne
- Start date
Velenne
Explorer
Sir Poxos flew far enough ahead of them that mental communication was impossible. The Arbiters flight, while admirably agile, was wanting in pure speed. So it was that the six of them were left to their own discourses for the duration of the journey.
Should ve make a plan? Puma inquired.
Mirage was a step ahead, I already have one. You just stay close to me.
Hours later, Brycyn the Verdant lowered his large head and began to descend from above the clouds. Some of the Arbiters with keener eyesight managed to pick out the gaping cave mouth of what could have passed for the opening to Terraj’s* gullet. As they neared, they noticed a tiny trail that wound its way up to that which they assumed was their destination.
Touching down on the rocky slope, all eyes were around them in expectation of treachery. The towers of stone silently waited. Blight, Penumbra, and Wrath remained airborne while Mourn, Mirage, and Puma followed the dragon and its rider all the way down.
The gullet was wide enough to swallow them all- dragon, man, and Arbiters alike- in a single gulp and still have room for seconds. Perhaps six Wraths standing on one-another’s shoulders could have reached its upper lip.
Poxos removed his helm, glanced at the three still airborne, and back to the approaching Mirage, “Beyond is the labyrinth. We will need to stay together.”
Puma’s eyes widened as a figure emerged from the darkness. It stood three times as tall as him and Puma was easily the largest of the Arbiters. “Ehh…vat is dat?”
Poxos turned and regarded the figure, then quickly back to the three of them, “That is the Fatespinner, Ducere**.”
The Fatespinner, all eighteen feet of him, had managed to find a drab, green, hooded robe large enough to fit his frame. His hands disappeared into the cuffs of the opposite arm and his head was just far enough forward in the hood to be distinguishable. Lantern jaw, thick brow, proud nose and greenish-tinted skin made his slight smile all the more unsettling.
“It is a fine afternoon for an apocalypse,“ he said in a voice deep enough to be felt in one’s chest, “wouldn’t you say?”
What do you want with us? Mourn asked, cutting to the chase. He used his invasive telepathy to speak into the giant’s mind. If Ducere was disturbed by this, he did not let on.
“Only to give you this,” he said. Unclasping his hands from beneath the folds of his sleeves, he lowered them to his sides. A seam in the part of the robe covering the center of his barrel chest parted and a third arm emerged, fist clenched. This elicited various reactions from those present, curiosity more common than fear. The fist then pronated, fingers open, to reveal a thick silver coin in his palm. He slipped it onto his thumb and launched it into the air.
Puma’s enraptured stare followed as the coin tumbled end-over-end, bounced several times on the rocks, and finally came to rest a few feet from them. Mourn never took his eyes from the Fatespinner. (He still wanted to know the significance of that title, if any.) Mirage alternated between the giant, the dragon, and the cave entrance. The stupid parlor trick would not distract her from deciphering what was really going on.
Ducere leaned forward from his towering height, noted the disposition of the coin, and proceeded to make his way down the path. Puma’s curiosity got the better of him and he went over to have a look. The face of the coin caught the sunlight and reflected it back up into red eyes. He eagerly stooped over and snatched it up. It disappeared.
The Felin started and frowned, “Vat is zhe meaning of zis? You bring us here for a silly trick!”
“You are running,” was Ducere’s shouted reply as his long strides took him away quickly, “but how long can you run? How far are you willing to go to be truly free? I will find you soon. Go with Poxos, he is a good man.”
Blight was having none of that. If this man had answers, the dwarf wanted them. He broke the threesome’s formation above and followed after the giant. It would only take a few seconds to overtake the striding figure. The path wound around the mountain and down a gentle slope, presumably so carts and carriages and the like could be drawn up it without too much fuss. But as Blight followed the predictable curve, he swooped over a stony outcropping and lost his quarry. A quick search revealed the giant to be gone, right into thin air.
Bloody bastard!
Meanwhile, Poxos was addressing the two Felin, “He’s just like that. No one could figure him. Always saying these things that could be profound or gibberish, however you wanted to interpret them. But his help was invaluable and so we let him stay here.”
Mirage was busy relaying the conversation to the non-present Arbiters, so Mourn continued his role as the party’s spokesman/negotiator, And what is ‘here’, exactly?
The Knight flinched at the projection. Mourn had a way of shouting into the mind of the one he was communicating with, and his telepathic voice had an insidious, baleful rasp to it. “It does not have a name, nor do we as a group. Both are too easy to spread. Once they have been spread, others can track them to their source. This place, “ he said, lofting his arm toward the mountain, “is home to noble and wretch alike. Freedom fighters, vagabonds, miscreants, and paladins. Everyone here is either running from mages, fighting them, or both. In our own way, we are a sort of motley resistance.”
He lowered his arm and continued, “I would not tell you this if Ducere had not told us Dragonriders to bring you here. We are putting a lot of faith in his words, and a lot of trust in you. If you really will help us, a lot of people could be spared a lot of misery.”
Instincts railed against the Arbiters’s conciousnesses. Protect all Mages. Preserve society at all costs. Kill only when necessary. They all felt it, and they all knew it.
In another time, we would be killing these people right now, Penumbra said over the Bond.
I’m up for some of that, Blight said.
That would serve no purpose, Mirage said, Like he said, they have trusted us and we have trusted them. Let us see how far they are willing to take that trust.
Blight could think of a great purpose- it’d be fun. But he had yet to break his instinct to trust the mage, so the thought remained in his own mind.
Let’s go, Penumbra said, voicing the same conclusion as Mirage, I’m eager to see this place.
She and Wrath descended while Blight finished making his way back around the mountain. Brycyn took to the air after a glance from Poxos and the group proceeded into the shadows of the cave.
* - Terraj is the deity of Earth. All Elemental deities are True Neutral and their names are the same in every pantheon.
** - Pronounced "doos-AIR-ay", to the eternal consternation of my players. If you think that name's bad, wait until next update.
Should ve make a plan? Puma inquired.
Mirage was a step ahead, I already have one. You just stay close to me.
Hours later, Brycyn the Verdant lowered his large head and began to descend from above the clouds. Some of the Arbiters with keener eyesight managed to pick out the gaping cave mouth of what could have passed for the opening to Terraj’s* gullet. As they neared, they noticed a tiny trail that wound its way up to that which they assumed was their destination.
Touching down on the rocky slope, all eyes were around them in expectation of treachery. The towers of stone silently waited. Blight, Penumbra, and Wrath remained airborne while Mourn, Mirage, and Puma followed the dragon and its rider all the way down.
The gullet was wide enough to swallow them all- dragon, man, and Arbiters alike- in a single gulp and still have room for seconds. Perhaps six Wraths standing on one-another’s shoulders could have reached its upper lip.
Poxos removed his helm, glanced at the three still airborne, and back to the approaching Mirage, “Beyond is the labyrinth. We will need to stay together.”
Puma’s eyes widened as a figure emerged from the darkness. It stood three times as tall as him and Puma was easily the largest of the Arbiters. “Ehh…vat is dat?”
Poxos turned and regarded the figure, then quickly back to the three of them, “That is the Fatespinner, Ducere**.”
The Fatespinner, all eighteen feet of him, had managed to find a drab, green, hooded robe large enough to fit his frame. His hands disappeared into the cuffs of the opposite arm and his head was just far enough forward in the hood to be distinguishable. Lantern jaw, thick brow, proud nose and greenish-tinted skin made his slight smile all the more unsettling.
“It is a fine afternoon for an apocalypse,“ he said in a voice deep enough to be felt in one’s chest, “wouldn’t you say?”
What do you want with us? Mourn asked, cutting to the chase. He used his invasive telepathy to speak into the giant’s mind. If Ducere was disturbed by this, he did not let on.
“Only to give you this,” he said. Unclasping his hands from beneath the folds of his sleeves, he lowered them to his sides. A seam in the part of the robe covering the center of his barrel chest parted and a third arm emerged, fist clenched. This elicited various reactions from those present, curiosity more common than fear. The fist then pronated, fingers open, to reveal a thick silver coin in his palm. He slipped it onto his thumb and launched it into the air.
Puma’s enraptured stare followed as the coin tumbled end-over-end, bounced several times on the rocks, and finally came to rest a few feet from them. Mourn never took his eyes from the Fatespinner. (He still wanted to know the significance of that title, if any.) Mirage alternated between the giant, the dragon, and the cave entrance. The stupid parlor trick would not distract her from deciphering what was really going on.
Ducere leaned forward from his towering height, noted the disposition of the coin, and proceeded to make his way down the path. Puma’s curiosity got the better of him and he went over to have a look. The face of the coin caught the sunlight and reflected it back up into red eyes. He eagerly stooped over and snatched it up. It disappeared.
The Felin started and frowned, “Vat is zhe meaning of zis? You bring us here for a silly trick!”
“You are running,” was Ducere’s shouted reply as his long strides took him away quickly, “but how long can you run? How far are you willing to go to be truly free? I will find you soon. Go with Poxos, he is a good man.”
Blight was having none of that. If this man had answers, the dwarf wanted them. He broke the threesome’s formation above and followed after the giant. It would only take a few seconds to overtake the striding figure. The path wound around the mountain and down a gentle slope, presumably so carts and carriages and the like could be drawn up it without too much fuss. But as Blight followed the predictable curve, he swooped over a stony outcropping and lost his quarry. A quick search revealed the giant to be gone, right into thin air.
Bloody bastard!
Meanwhile, Poxos was addressing the two Felin, “He’s just like that. No one could figure him. Always saying these things that could be profound or gibberish, however you wanted to interpret them. But his help was invaluable and so we let him stay here.”
Mirage was busy relaying the conversation to the non-present Arbiters, so Mourn continued his role as the party’s spokesman/negotiator, And what is ‘here’, exactly?
The Knight flinched at the projection. Mourn had a way of shouting into the mind of the one he was communicating with, and his telepathic voice had an insidious, baleful rasp to it. “It does not have a name, nor do we as a group. Both are too easy to spread. Once they have been spread, others can track them to their source. This place, “ he said, lofting his arm toward the mountain, “is home to noble and wretch alike. Freedom fighters, vagabonds, miscreants, and paladins. Everyone here is either running from mages, fighting them, or both. In our own way, we are a sort of motley resistance.”
He lowered his arm and continued, “I would not tell you this if Ducere had not told us Dragonriders to bring you here. We are putting a lot of faith in his words, and a lot of trust in you. If you really will help us, a lot of people could be spared a lot of misery.”
Instincts railed against the Arbiters’s conciousnesses. Protect all Mages. Preserve society at all costs. Kill only when necessary. They all felt it, and they all knew it.
In another time, we would be killing these people right now, Penumbra said over the Bond.
I’m up for some of that, Blight said.
That would serve no purpose, Mirage said, Like he said, they have trusted us and we have trusted them. Let us see how far they are willing to take that trust.
Blight could think of a great purpose- it’d be fun. But he had yet to break his instinct to trust the mage, so the thought remained in his own mind.
Let’s go, Penumbra said, voicing the same conclusion as Mirage, I’m eager to see this place.
She and Wrath descended while Blight finished making his way back around the mountain. Brycyn took to the air after a glance from Poxos and the group proceeded into the shadows of the cave.
* - Terraj is the deity of Earth. All Elemental deities are True Neutral and their names are the same in every pantheon.
** - Pronounced "doos-AIR-ay", to the eternal consternation of my players. If you think that name's bad, wait until next update.
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Velenne
Explorer
As the shadows enveloped them, the group was faced with no less than a dozen ten-foot-square hallways leading into the mountain. Sir Poxos marched directly for one of them and the Arbiters followed. The labyrinth was as mystifying as it was wondrous. By the end of it, they had climbed more stairs, skirted more traps, and gotten lost more times than any would care to admit. (Especially Poxos, who seemed embarrassed that he could be lost after so many forays.)
Along the way, they required the help of the labyrinth’s creator and sole permanent inhabitant, a surly minotaur named Azmodon. The beast had risen from a set of steps disguised by an optical illusion to appear as simply another hallway. He led them passed more switchbacks, hallways, and multiple intersections until at last they arrived at a singular archway blocked by a sphere of stone. Once Azmodon moved it aside, the smells and sounds of life wafted to their senses and he bid them go.
The ensuing underground complex was no less dazzling, if for entirely different reasons. For each of the Arbiters, it was their first real look at civilization, be it ever so humble. The most overpowering scent was wood smoke. Keeping the place alight so far underground required the combined use of magical trinkets and natural fire, mostly the latter. Through the constant haze, they could make out the simple beginnings of a fledgling underground village. Stone, mud, and clay huts filled a single cavern barely large enough to fit them all in. They abutted the walls, the random stalagmites, and each other in a chaotic blend of the inhabitant’s cultures. A smith’s hammer rang out clearly over the din, a moody donkey issued its protests at some unseen handler, and the children laughed. Through it all, the Arbiters remained stoic, garnering many wary glances and hushed conversations.
What a strange place, Penumbra observed, These are surface-dwellers. Humans and elves and caanids with barely any light to see by.
Poxos brought them to a hollowed stalagmite and peered down, then back to them, “This place was once a den for Beholders so it is more up-and-downs than side-to-sides. Cumbersome, but defensible should the need arise. I do not believe it will be any hindrance to you lot,” he looked up at Blight who was flying upside-down above his head, “but you will probably need to slow yourselves down to keep up with me. It is another sort of maze down here so I would caution you not go off on your own.”
True to his word, the next leg of their descent was far more vertically-oriented. The Knight used rungs that had been hammered into the stone to lower himself from one landing to the next. He carried with him a lighted coin, placing it between his teeth during the climbs, as the only light source in the group. Occasionally, one of their Skins would trace itself in lines of bluish light, but that was all. The display went largely unnoticed. The going was slow, but the Arbiters had little sense of time and thus paid little mind to its passing.
At long last, the brightly colored heatless fire of continual flames could be seen reflecting off the damp stone. (“Underground river nearby,” Poxos had said.) They navigated through man-sized mushrooms and luminescent moss until arriving at a simple wooden door.
“This is as far as we go. There is more below us, but I will let Sheeanth explain that to you when she arrives. These are her quarters, but she seldom uses them so feel free to make yourselves…comfortable.” He seemed put off again by their incessant stares, but inwardly grateful they elected not to speak into his mind again.
“Thank you for your guidance,” Wrath said suddenly. He wasn’t really sure exactly why, but seemed like an appropriate thing to do. Poxos only nodded, turned on his heel and continued down the cave.
Puma entered first and took up a position near the door. Mirage sat in a nearby chair. Wrath sat cross-legged in the center of the floor. Penumbra took to the closest shadow. Mourn fiddled with a few links of chain he had picked up in the primary cavern. Blight explored.
The rooms were spartan and damp. It might have smelled wholly unused to worldly-minded folk, but the Arbiters did not connect moldiness with the passage of time. A central living area, a small bedroom to one side, a partitioned kitchen, and a privy made up the entirety of the apartment.
The door opened sometime later without a knock. A giant figure stepped through and squatted down opposite Puma- so tall the ceiling would not accommodate him. His skin was a deep bronze, covering muscle upon muscle so thick it seemed to impede his movement. His eyes held no pupils and his hair was white and flat. His broad face lacked nose and expression.
Definitely not a ‘Sheeanth’, Mirage mused idly.
Indeed, the figure was followed by slight elven woman with russet-colored hair and a dirty pallor. Belying this, her beauty was breathtaking. Her smile was a tale of warmth and acceptance made all the brighter by years of hardship.
“Hello. I am Sheeanth, and this is my son, Arknuel. Ducere has spoken for you, and his word carries much weight here. Poxos said he has told you who we are, and why we are here. You can expect to always have a place here where you are welcome. You may live here, if you wish, for as long as you wish. But if the confines of the place become too much, I would ask that wherever you go, you forget this place as best you can. For each one you see above, there are two more in the cities beyond who hunt them. Mages. The only thing that keeps them away from our doorstep is the wild magic left behind by the Fiend Wars in this area. Some great war of dragons in the skies above.”
She had taken a seat across from Mirage in the room’s only remaining chair. Wrath already adored her. She looked just like Mother. Only… sad? Tired. Mother had seemed sad too, but more out of longing. He came out of his thoughts; she was speaking again and he didn’t want to miss a word,
“I would be remiss if I did not admit that I am disappointed. The way Ducere spoke, you would be our saviors. A ‘catalyst’, he said, to alight all the seeds we have planted to life. But…you are just as much a mystery to me as he. Who are you, if I may ask?”
The Arbiters glanced at one another, unsure of how to truly answer that question.
“Arbiters,” Blight said gruffly. The answer seemed clear enough to him, but it seemed to just confuse Sheeanth.
“We are created,” Wrath said, “by the Crystal Council to be hunters. But we were set free before we could be completed. They will be wanting us back, I think.”
“I see. And what do you plan to do?”
This was an even tougher question, but Blight still seemed to know the answer first.
“Fight ‘em. It’s what we’re made t’do.”
That seemed to satisfy, and Blight was pleased by his knack for negotiation. Mirage wondered if she’d ever be given the chance to perform her perceived role without one of the others interjecting unwanted.
“Then you want what we want- to be free from them. We can help each other. Our organization is loose, and purposely so, but not without appreciable means with which to aid you. Will you?”
The Arbiters conferred. In the end, what other choice did they have? Pieces were falling together, their path alighting before them. But Mourn couldn’t help but voice the irony of it all,
Work for them? How is that any different than working for mages?
Because zis is a bargain. Ve aid them, zhey aid us, Puma said, Ve cannot ask for much more zen dat.
Fah. The mages gave us life we-
Mother gave us life, Wrath interrupted, The mages gave us existence. What good is existence if you are not free to make your own decisions? That is all these people wish. And there are many more people in Ersadia.
And I could care less about them. How does being someone else’s lapdog keep us alive?
Because for now, it means a shelter and allies. If these people are not worth their demands, we will find better allies, Mirage said, Let us at least hear her out and find out what it is she can give us and what she asks in return.
Even Mourn had to agree with that logic. The six of them looked at Sheeanth expectantly. Only Penumbra was the first to realize that she had not been privy to their conversation. “How can we help you?” she asked.
After a brief pause, the elf collected her thoughts and began, “Several of our operatives have been lost to the south on the Free Island. We are not sure what they had been getting themselves involved with previously, but we believe they may have stepped too far. Regardless, alive or dead, we must know and we must find them if we can. They have knowledge that could damn us all if it gets into the mages’ hands. If you would go there, find them, and report back, it would ease a great many restless nights here.”
“We will require scrolls,” Mirage replied instantly. The spell repertoire she had left their Sanctuary with did not include many utility spells she felt she could not be without. Chiefly Teleportation. Sheeanth seemed startled by the sudden demand. She tried to guess how many scrolls they could procure if needed and it wasn’t many. Of mages they had precious few themselves- defectors who were either too unruly or wanted for some other unseemly crime.
The subsequent negotiation was satisfactory to Mirage, who at last was able to shine in her element. Her way with words paled the elf’s and when it was done, she was guaranteed a fortune’s worth of scrolls to accommodate them.
They would spend a week there in the caves while the scrolls were obtained and memorized. Some took to blending into the village above, trying their hand at being another face in the crowd. They failed abysmally. While the races in the village were varied, there was not so much as a single tiefling among them. When Penumbra showed her face, mothers gathered their children near and backed away slowly, begging for mercy. Puma managed to find a cloak and broad-rimmed hat to disguise his features, if not his height.
Of them all, only Blight managed to find at least some success. A carpenter used wood harvested by the dragons to create a variety of tools and weapons. The dwarf managed to convince him to pay a few silver for a week’s labor at chopping the wood into manageable sizes. Yet on his last day, when Mirage would be ready to teleport them to the Free Island, the dwarf stole the man’s finest bow along with a quiver of arrows. It was a lesson the man learned well- Never trust a tiefling*. He had gone out on a limb, and this was his thanks.
They met in Sheeanth’s apartment and were escorted to a room at the outskirts of the complex. Poxos was there to see them off. The room contained only a great black box that looked to be made of obsidian or some ebony stone.
“You will only be able to teleport to and from this room,” Sheeanth said from Arknuel’s shadow, ”The magic is too unpredictable elsewhere and you might find yourselves stuck in the rock or shunted into the Astral. Study it well. When you are inbound, you will appear in the box and contained until your identity is confirmed. Every time. We can take no chances.
If you manage to find one of them, tell them you serve the Triumvirate. They will know what that means.”
Mirage and Wrath nodded, the others simply waited as they had been for days. Mirage noted the minor details of the room, committed them to memory, and grasped the two Arbiters nearest her.
Together, they formed a circle. The cheetah felin spoke a quick word and they were gone.
* - Tiefling is a generic term for the myriad subraces spawned during the Fiend's stay on Ersadia. Tieflings, fiends, half-fiends of this or that type, entirely new races resulting from fiendish unions, are lumped together into one term by the general populace. Imagine the term being used as wontonly as 'witch' in our own past to justify unfortunate circumstances and pass easy judgement on the afflicted. Much of the time, the resentment is justified (as in this case), but not always.
The Tiefling Cullings, a time period which will be expounded upon later, took care of most of this.
Along the way, they required the help of the labyrinth’s creator and sole permanent inhabitant, a surly minotaur named Azmodon. The beast had risen from a set of steps disguised by an optical illusion to appear as simply another hallway. He led them passed more switchbacks, hallways, and multiple intersections until at last they arrived at a singular archway blocked by a sphere of stone. Once Azmodon moved it aside, the smells and sounds of life wafted to their senses and he bid them go.
The ensuing underground complex was no less dazzling, if for entirely different reasons. For each of the Arbiters, it was their first real look at civilization, be it ever so humble. The most overpowering scent was wood smoke. Keeping the place alight so far underground required the combined use of magical trinkets and natural fire, mostly the latter. Through the constant haze, they could make out the simple beginnings of a fledgling underground village. Stone, mud, and clay huts filled a single cavern barely large enough to fit them all in. They abutted the walls, the random stalagmites, and each other in a chaotic blend of the inhabitant’s cultures. A smith’s hammer rang out clearly over the din, a moody donkey issued its protests at some unseen handler, and the children laughed. Through it all, the Arbiters remained stoic, garnering many wary glances and hushed conversations.
What a strange place, Penumbra observed, These are surface-dwellers. Humans and elves and caanids with barely any light to see by.
Poxos brought them to a hollowed stalagmite and peered down, then back to them, “This place was once a den for Beholders so it is more up-and-downs than side-to-sides. Cumbersome, but defensible should the need arise. I do not believe it will be any hindrance to you lot,” he looked up at Blight who was flying upside-down above his head, “but you will probably need to slow yourselves down to keep up with me. It is another sort of maze down here so I would caution you not go off on your own.”
True to his word, the next leg of their descent was far more vertically-oriented. The Knight used rungs that had been hammered into the stone to lower himself from one landing to the next. He carried with him a lighted coin, placing it between his teeth during the climbs, as the only light source in the group. Occasionally, one of their Skins would trace itself in lines of bluish light, but that was all. The display went largely unnoticed. The going was slow, but the Arbiters had little sense of time and thus paid little mind to its passing.
At long last, the brightly colored heatless fire of continual flames could be seen reflecting off the damp stone. (“Underground river nearby,” Poxos had said.) They navigated through man-sized mushrooms and luminescent moss until arriving at a simple wooden door.
“This is as far as we go. There is more below us, but I will let Sheeanth explain that to you when she arrives. These are her quarters, but she seldom uses them so feel free to make yourselves…comfortable.” He seemed put off again by their incessant stares, but inwardly grateful they elected not to speak into his mind again.
“Thank you for your guidance,” Wrath said suddenly. He wasn’t really sure exactly why, but seemed like an appropriate thing to do. Poxos only nodded, turned on his heel and continued down the cave.
Puma entered first and took up a position near the door. Mirage sat in a nearby chair. Wrath sat cross-legged in the center of the floor. Penumbra took to the closest shadow. Mourn fiddled with a few links of chain he had picked up in the primary cavern. Blight explored.
The rooms were spartan and damp. It might have smelled wholly unused to worldly-minded folk, but the Arbiters did not connect moldiness with the passage of time. A central living area, a small bedroom to one side, a partitioned kitchen, and a privy made up the entirety of the apartment.
The door opened sometime later without a knock. A giant figure stepped through and squatted down opposite Puma- so tall the ceiling would not accommodate him. His skin was a deep bronze, covering muscle upon muscle so thick it seemed to impede his movement. His eyes held no pupils and his hair was white and flat. His broad face lacked nose and expression.
Definitely not a ‘Sheeanth’, Mirage mused idly.
Indeed, the figure was followed by slight elven woman with russet-colored hair and a dirty pallor. Belying this, her beauty was breathtaking. Her smile was a tale of warmth and acceptance made all the brighter by years of hardship.
“Hello. I am Sheeanth, and this is my son, Arknuel. Ducere has spoken for you, and his word carries much weight here. Poxos said he has told you who we are, and why we are here. You can expect to always have a place here where you are welcome. You may live here, if you wish, for as long as you wish. But if the confines of the place become too much, I would ask that wherever you go, you forget this place as best you can. For each one you see above, there are two more in the cities beyond who hunt them. Mages. The only thing that keeps them away from our doorstep is the wild magic left behind by the Fiend Wars in this area. Some great war of dragons in the skies above.”
She had taken a seat across from Mirage in the room’s only remaining chair. Wrath already adored her. She looked just like Mother. Only… sad? Tired. Mother had seemed sad too, but more out of longing. He came out of his thoughts; she was speaking again and he didn’t want to miss a word,
“I would be remiss if I did not admit that I am disappointed. The way Ducere spoke, you would be our saviors. A ‘catalyst’, he said, to alight all the seeds we have planted to life. But…you are just as much a mystery to me as he. Who are you, if I may ask?”
The Arbiters glanced at one another, unsure of how to truly answer that question.
“Arbiters,” Blight said gruffly. The answer seemed clear enough to him, but it seemed to just confuse Sheeanth.
“We are created,” Wrath said, “by the Crystal Council to be hunters. But we were set free before we could be completed. They will be wanting us back, I think.”
“I see. And what do you plan to do?”
This was an even tougher question, but Blight still seemed to know the answer first.
“Fight ‘em. It’s what we’re made t’do.”
That seemed to satisfy, and Blight was pleased by his knack for negotiation. Mirage wondered if she’d ever be given the chance to perform her perceived role without one of the others interjecting unwanted.
“Then you want what we want- to be free from them. We can help each other. Our organization is loose, and purposely so, but not without appreciable means with which to aid you. Will you?”
The Arbiters conferred. In the end, what other choice did they have? Pieces were falling together, their path alighting before them. But Mourn couldn’t help but voice the irony of it all,
Work for them? How is that any different than working for mages?
Because zis is a bargain. Ve aid them, zhey aid us, Puma said, Ve cannot ask for much more zen dat.
Fah. The mages gave us life we-
Mother gave us life, Wrath interrupted, The mages gave us existence. What good is existence if you are not free to make your own decisions? That is all these people wish. And there are many more people in Ersadia.
And I could care less about them. How does being someone else’s lapdog keep us alive?
Because for now, it means a shelter and allies. If these people are not worth their demands, we will find better allies, Mirage said, Let us at least hear her out and find out what it is she can give us and what she asks in return.
Even Mourn had to agree with that logic. The six of them looked at Sheeanth expectantly. Only Penumbra was the first to realize that she had not been privy to their conversation. “How can we help you?” she asked.
After a brief pause, the elf collected her thoughts and began, “Several of our operatives have been lost to the south on the Free Island. We are not sure what they had been getting themselves involved with previously, but we believe they may have stepped too far. Regardless, alive or dead, we must know and we must find them if we can. They have knowledge that could damn us all if it gets into the mages’ hands. If you would go there, find them, and report back, it would ease a great many restless nights here.”
“We will require scrolls,” Mirage replied instantly. The spell repertoire she had left their Sanctuary with did not include many utility spells she felt she could not be without. Chiefly Teleportation. Sheeanth seemed startled by the sudden demand. She tried to guess how many scrolls they could procure if needed and it wasn’t many. Of mages they had precious few themselves- defectors who were either too unruly or wanted for some other unseemly crime.
The subsequent negotiation was satisfactory to Mirage, who at last was able to shine in her element. Her way with words paled the elf’s and when it was done, she was guaranteed a fortune’s worth of scrolls to accommodate them.
They would spend a week there in the caves while the scrolls were obtained and memorized. Some took to blending into the village above, trying their hand at being another face in the crowd. They failed abysmally. While the races in the village were varied, there was not so much as a single tiefling among them. When Penumbra showed her face, mothers gathered their children near and backed away slowly, begging for mercy. Puma managed to find a cloak and broad-rimmed hat to disguise his features, if not his height.
Of them all, only Blight managed to find at least some success. A carpenter used wood harvested by the dragons to create a variety of tools and weapons. The dwarf managed to convince him to pay a few silver for a week’s labor at chopping the wood into manageable sizes. Yet on his last day, when Mirage would be ready to teleport them to the Free Island, the dwarf stole the man’s finest bow along with a quiver of arrows. It was a lesson the man learned well- Never trust a tiefling*. He had gone out on a limb, and this was his thanks.
They met in Sheeanth’s apartment and were escorted to a room at the outskirts of the complex. Poxos was there to see them off. The room contained only a great black box that looked to be made of obsidian or some ebony stone.
“You will only be able to teleport to and from this room,” Sheeanth said from Arknuel’s shadow, ”The magic is too unpredictable elsewhere and you might find yourselves stuck in the rock or shunted into the Astral. Study it well. When you are inbound, you will appear in the box and contained until your identity is confirmed. Every time. We can take no chances.
If you manage to find one of them, tell them you serve the Triumvirate. They will know what that means.”
Mirage and Wrath nodded, the others simply waited as they had been for days. Mirage noted the minor details of the room, committed them to memory, and grasped the two Arbiters nearest her.
Together, they formed a circle. The cheetah felin spoke a quick word and they were gone.
* - Tiefling is a generic term for the myriad subraces spawned during the Fiend's stay on Ersadia. Tieflings, fiends, half-fiends of this or that type, entirely new races resulting from fiendish unions, are lumped together into one term by the general populace. Imagine the term being used as wontonly as 'witch' in our own past to justify unfortunate circumstances and pass easy judgement on the afflicted. Much of the time, the resentment is justified (as in this case), but not always.
The Tiefling Cullings, a time period which will be expounded upon later, took care of most of this.
