Bitterness Overcome: (Now A Completed Story!)

[Nonlethal Force]

Chapter Six: HERITAGE REINCARNATED

Ischarus couldn’t help but smile at Semeion’s assertion. “Yes, I lost my sword. I know – number one rule of being a well prepared fighter is to always remembering to have your weapon handy. But it was either hand my sword over to the guard or else go into custody. Apparently the city guard doesn’t look too highly upon armed conflicts inside their walls. They refused to give me back my sword until I was proven innocent in my actions because they were either self-defense or an attempt to protect the innocent.”

Semeion nodded. His experience under Master Sathwright had taught him much about the use of magic and force in the civilized areas. “The city guard typically doesn’t approve of any kind of violence – and at best we’d all be considered vigilantes – even if we were working on the side of righteousness. Vigilantism is frowned upon by organized control groups like the city guard. In many cases the difference between a vigilante and a criminal is truly a fine line. Many of today’s decent vigilantes have a good chance of being tomorrow’s criminals because they take it too far.”

Ischarus frowned slightly as he surveyed the people walking past the temple. “I know that in my mind, Semeion, but in my heart I also know my motivations. I know that what we do in Quehalost isnecessary.”

Rhema saw Ischarus’ frustration and cut him of before he could say any more. Her hand slipped inside his left elbow and she stood beside him looking out into the crowd. “You know your motivations. They don’t. That’s what makes vigilantism such a dangerous bedfellow for the city guard. Vigilantes cannot be trusted fully because they do not submit to the rigorous structure of the law. A vigilante doesn’t work within the system – at least no system that I am aware of. I’m not saying it is bad to be a vigilante, but from the perspective of the law and the city guard what we did today was dangerous in their eyes. Any time people talk justice into their own hands – even for reasons of good like we had – it is dangerous for the people that protect this city.”

Ischarus glanced at Rhema out of the corner of his eye and said, “And that is precisely why I love going into Quehalost. When we are there, there is no confusion as to who the bringers of light and justice are. We are the ones bringing the light of goodness to an evil controlled realm. Our struggle in Quehalost is noble here.”

Charis took the opportunity to speak next. She was smiling at the fact that her language ability was getting good enough to follow this relatively deep conversation. “Yet when the struggle that began in Quehalost is brought to the civilized lands of Tongra the principles of that same quest are questioned. Had we fought Grick on the other side of the mountains, the city guard would no doubt praise our efforts. Here, they question our motivations. Is it because the dangerous is brought so close to them or because their lack of effort in matters that far away threatens their definition of how good their sense of justice truly is?”

Rhema also smiled, realizing that now they were talking about her expertise of people and what drives them. “Motivation is everything. The difference between good and evil is often fine. That is one of the reasons we never kill, Charis. If we take life, we may be open forever to the accusation of killing for the wrong reason. That is an accusation that we simply cannot afford to bring upon us if we desire to effectively reform those that we free. If we kill, then the enemy has a right to at least bring our character into question. Once our character is even remotely breeched – even if our killing would be justified – the enemy has the proper nook to place the smallest seed of doubt. That is a seed that can grow under the right influences. It is that fine line between criminal action and vigilantism that makes it such a dangerous tool to employ.”

Ischarus turned his expressionless face toward the people on the street and focused on a particularly plain looking man as he walked past the temple. “Yes,” he asserted in agreement, knowing that Rhema’s excursion was designed to cool his thoughts a bit. “and speaking of seeds of doubt that can be grown under the right amount of influence we should head to the jail to clear my name, get my sword back, and find out exactly what lies Grick has been spreading regarding the reasons for which he has come here.”

Once Ischarus had brought them out of the philosophical and back into reality Semeion gestured to Ischarus to lead the way to the prison. Rhema offered up a word of explanation as they walked. “My father pays a significant price to allow the reforming work of his villa to continue in peace. My father also pays a significant price to guarantee that Lord Ironblood ensures that his soldiers keep to themselves when incidents occur with rogue denizens of Quehalost. It is pretty typical for the enemies that we make in Quehalost to want to exact revenge upon us and take back those to whom we gave wings of freedom. My father prefers that we deal with the matters privately rather than involving the lord’s regular men. To be honest, my father is wise and does not openly trust many of the lord’s men. Like Lord Ironblood himself, many of his men can be bought with the right price. If his men were made deeply aware of our movements in and out of Quehalost there would be many who would be willing to sell such information to the wrong people. Thus, my father pays off Lord Ironblood to keep his tongue quiet. So long as my father pays more to keep the lord’s mouth quiet than others pay to open it we are safely under the lord’s protection.”

Semeion shook his head as they approached the jail. “That sounds to me like a rather precarious arrangement, personally. I’ve no doubt that sooner or later there will be an enemy in Quehalost that can twist the lord’s arm another way.”

Ischarus added, “So long as we are careful, that time will not come. The severity of our actions will largely determine the desire of the rulers of Quehalost to expend their resources to exact revenge.”

Once they had arrived at the jail, Rhema opened the door for Ischarus so that he could walk through first. Charis followed him into the building. Her interest and curiosity had been aroused at the possibility of seeing the inside of a prison. Rhema held the door for Semeion and then followed the rest in.

Once inside the stone building, the coolness of the air was striking. Much of the jail had been magically excavated by the same wizards long ago who had constructed the walls and gated entrances of the city. The prison cells had been created to be completely underground. This created subtle air currents that carried the cool air throughout the whole building. Many of these currents arrived by shaft that were far too small for a person to fit through. The fact that the walls were made of thick stone helped the building retain its coolness even in the heat of the day.

On the inside, the party found themselves in a long and narrow entrance room. Immediately along the wall opposite from the door they had entered was another single door and a barred window beside it to the right. The window itself was tall and very narrow. It was too thin for a normal sized person to fit their shoulders through, although it might have been possible for a member of a smaller race to squeeze through should they be on their side and find a way to remove the bars.

A woman sat on the opposite side of the window. “Can I help you folks today? Just so you know, Visitations are not allowed on a walk-in basis. They must be arranged ahead of time with the warden.”

Ischarus approached the window with confidence and smiled pleasantly at the woman. “Could you please tell Captain Jacobseille that the young man whose sword was taken by the city guard earlier in the day has come to clear his name and claim the sword back?”

The woman leaned forward in her chair so as to draw herself closer to the window. From her seat behind the bars she looked at Ischarus from head to toe and said, “Yes, I do believe that the captain has been expecting you. Can you wait for a moment while I go inform the captain that the one they have been waiting for has arrived?”

Ischarus nodded in the affirmative without saying a word. The woman slid off her chair and quickly walked away from the window and out of sight. The party could hear a door open and then slam freely behind her as she left her office area.

Everyone but Charis exchanged looks of anticipation. Rather than anticipating the next step in clearing Ischarus’ name, Charis was intrigued by the procedures and even the construction of the building so that safety was ensured. “Is this typical behavior, Semeion?” Charis asked out of her curiosity.

Semeion wrinkled his eyebrows in thought. “Not to my knowledge. I mean, it is pretty typical for the captains of the guard and the warden to have to be raised by other personnel, but I don’t like the way she phrased her words. They’ve been waiting for you, Ischarus.”

Ischarus could feel his palms began to sweat. The conversation they had earlier about vigilantism was not helping his thoughts at the moment. For that matter, neither was Semeion. “I noticed that too, Semeion. It didn’t sound right the way she said it. They’ve been waiting for me. I don’t like how she said more than the captain has been waiting.”

As he stood in the long and narrow entrance room, Ischarus felt a power growing in his chest. Actually, Ischarus felt as though he were beginning the initial stages of a heart attack. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his heart began to beat heavily. The more he thought about the woman’s speech the more his heart pounded in his chest. A feeling of warmth shot through his left arm and rested just below his wrists. He opened and closed his left hand several times to try and shake the feeling, but it was no use. The feeling was there to stay. His heart beat even harder.

Rhema noticed Ischarus’ sudden fidget with his hand. She slipped her own hand into the hand the hand that Ischarus was nervously fidgeting with and spoke with confidence. “Either way, Ischarus, we’re staying put. If they’ve been waiting for you then walking away does nothing. If you walk away now you appear to be guilty of something that you are not. If you and Semeion are simply having a problem with an overactive imagination then there is nothing to worry about.”

The door beside the window crashed open and five armed city guards poured out. They were armed and ready for a fight. Out of instinct Charis backed up and turned to the door leading to the outside. As she turned for the door, it also burst open and ten more guards poured in from the outside of the building. A man dressed in well kept leather armor and carrying a drawn falchion followed these ten guards in from the outside. The dress of the man told the party that this was the warden of the jail. The fact that the rest of the guards initially looked to him for a signal also demonstrated that he was in charge in this place.

By means of the inside door, two more men entered who were armed and armored better than the regular city guard. Ischarus and Rhema immediately recognized one of them as the guard chief they had met on the street earlier. The other one approached Ischarus. His own falchion was already drawn and leveled in the direction of Ischarus’ heart.

The man spoke as he approached Ischarus. “I understand from my chief that you are the owner of the sword he brought forth from an armed conflict earlier today. I am Captain Jacobseille and the man over there is Warden Farette. We are requesting that your friends leave your side and you come peacefully into the jail so we may discuss the events from earlier in the day.”

Semeion growled soft enough for Ischarus, Rhema, and Charis to hear, “I told you I didn’t like what the woman said.”

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]Chapter Six: HERITAGE REINCARNATED

Ischarus couldn’t help but smile at Semeion’s assertion. “Yes, I lost my sword. I know – number one rule of being a well prepared fighter is to always remembering to have your weapon handy. But it was either hand my sword over to the guard or else go into custody. Apparently the city guard doesn’t look too highly upon armed conflicts inside their walls. They refused to give me back my sword until I was proven innocent in my actions because they were either self-defense or an attempt to protect the innocent.”

Semeion nodded. His experience under Master Sathwright had taught him much about the use of magic and force in the civilized areas. “The city guard typically doesn’t approve of any kind of violence – and at best we’d all be considered vigilantes – even if we were working on the side of righteousness. Vigilantism is frowned upon by organized control groups like the city guard. In many cases the difference between a vigilante and a criminal is truly a fine line. Many of today’s decent vigilantes have a good chance of being tomorrow’s criminals because they take it too far.”

Ischarus frowned slightly as he surveyed the people walking past the temple. “I know that in my mind, Semeion, but in my heart I also know my motivations. I know that what we do in Quehalost isnecessary.”

Rhema saw Ischarus’ frustration and cut him of before he could say any more. Her hand slipped inside his left elbow and she stood beside him looking out into the crowd. “You know your motivations. They don’t. That’s what makes vigilantism such a dangerous bedfellow for the city guard. Vigilantes cannot be trusted fully because they do not submit to the rigorous structure of the law. A vigilante doesn’t work within the system – at least no system that I am aware of. I’m not saying it is bad to be a vigilante, but from the perspective of the law and the city guard what we did today was dangerous in their eyes. Any time people talk justice into their own hands – even for reasons of good like we had – it is dangerous for the people that protect this city.”

Ischarus glanced at Rhema out of the corner of his eye and said, “And that is precisely why I love going into Quehalost. When we are there, there is no confusion as to who the bringers of light and justice are. We are the ones bringing the light of goodness to an evil controlled realm. Our struggle in Quehalost is noble here.”

Charis took the opportunity to speak next. She was smiling at the fact that her language ability was getting good enough to follow this relatively deep conversation. “Yet when the struggle that began in Quehalost is brought to the civilized lands of Tongra the principles of that same quest are questioned. Had we fought Grick on the other side of the mountains, the city guard would no doubt praise our efforts. Here, they question our motivations. Is it because the dangerous is brought so close to them or because their lack of effort in matters that far away threatens their definition of how good their sense of justice truly is?”

Rhema also smiled, realizing that now they were talking about her expertise of people and what drives them. “Motivation is everything. The difference between good and evil is often fine. That is one of the reasons we never kill, Charis. If we take life, we may be open forever to the accusation of killing for the wrong reason. That is an accusation that we simply cannot afford to bring upon us if we desire to effectively reform those that we free. If we kill, then the enemy has a right to at least bring our character into question. Once our character is even remotely breeched – even if our killing would be justified – the enemy has the proper nook to place the smallest seed of doubt. That is a seed that can grow under the right influences. It is that fine line between criminal action and vigilantism that makes it such a dangerous tool to employ.”

Ischarus turned his expressionless face toward the people on the street and focused on a particularly plain looking man as he walked past the temple. “Yes,” he asserted in agreement, knowing that Rhema’s excursion was designed to cool his thoughts a bit. “and speaking of seeds of doubt that can be grown under the right amount of influence we should head to the jail to clear my name, get my sword back, and find out exactly what lies Grick has been spreading regarding the reasons for which he has come here.”

Once Ischarus had brought them out of the philosophical and back into reality Semeion gestured to Ischarus to lead the way to the prison. Rhema offered up a word of explanation as they walked. “My father pays a significant price to allow the reforming work of his villa to continue in peace. My father also pays a significant price to guarantee that Lord Ironblood ensures that his soldiers keep to themselves when incidents occur with rogue denizens of Quehalost. It is pretty typical for the enemies that we make in Quehalost to want to exact revenge upon us and take back those to whom we gave wings of freedom. My father prefers that we deal with the matters privately rather than involving the lord’s regular men. To be honest, my father is wise and does not openly trust many of the lord’s men. Like Lord Ironblood himself, many of his men can be bought with the right price. If his men were made deeply aware of our movements in and out of Quehalost there would be many who would be willing to sell such information to the wrong people. Thus, my father pays off Lord Ironblood to keep his tongue quiet. So long as my father pays more to keep the lord’s mouth quiet than others pay to open it we are safely under the lord’s protection.”

Semeion shook his head as they approached the jail. “That sounds to me like a rather precarious arrangement, personally. I’ve no doubt that sooner or later there will be an enemy in Quehalost that can twist the lord’s arm another way.”

Ischarus added, “So long as we are careful, that time will not come. The severity of our actions will largely determine the desire of the rulers of Quehalost to expend their resources to exact revenge.”

Once they had arrived at the jail, Rhema opened the door for Ischarus so that he could walk through first. Charis followed him into the building. Her interest and curiosity had been aroused at the possibility of seeing the inside of a prison. Rhema held the door for Semeion and then followed the rest in.

Once inside the stone building, the coolness of the air was striking. Much of the jail had been magically excavated by the same wizards long ago who had constructed the walls and gated entrances of the city. The prison cells had been created to be completely underground. This created subtle air currents that carried the cool air throughout the whole building. Many of these currents arrived by shaft that were far too small for a person to fit through. The fact that the walls were made of thick stone helped the building retain its coolness even in the heat of the day.

On the inside, the party found themselves in a long and narrow entrance room. Immediately along the wall opposite from the door they had entered was another single door and a barred window beside it to the right. The window itself was tall and very narrow. It was too thin for a normal sized person to fit their shoulders through, although it might have been possible for a member of a smaller race to squeeze through should they be on their side and find a way to remove the bars.

A woman sat on the opposite side of the window. “Can I help you folks today? Just so you know, Visitations are not allowed on a walk-in basis. They must be arranged ahead of time with the warden.”

Ischarus approached the window with confidence and smiled pleasantly at the woman. “Could you please tell Captain Jacobseille that the young man whose sword was taken by the city guard earlier in the day has come to clear his name and claim the sword back?”

The woman leaned forward in her chair so as to draw herself closer to the window. From her seat behind the bars she looked at Ischarus from head to toe and said, “Yes, I do believe that the captain has been expecting you. Can you wait for a moment while I go inform the captain that the one they have been waiting for has arrived?”

Ischarus nodded in the affirmative without saying a word. The woman slid off her chair and quickly walked away from the window and out of sight. The party could hear a door open and then slam freely behind her as she left her office area.

Everyone but Charis exchanged looks of anticipation. Rather than anticipating the next step in clearing Ischarus’ name, Charis was intrigued by the procedures and even the construction of the building so that safety was ensured. “Is this typical behavior, Semeion?” Charis asked out of her curiosity.

Semeion wrinkled his eyebrows in thought. “Not to my knowledge. I mean, it is pretty typical for the captains of the guard and the warden to have to be raised by other personnel, but I don’t like the way she phrased her words. They’ve been waiting for you, Ischarus.”

Ischarus could feel his palms began to sweat. The conversation they had earlier about vigilantism was not helping his thoughts at the moment. For that matter, neither was Semeion. “I noticed that too, Semeion. It didn’t sound right the way she said it. They’ve been waiting for me. I don’t like how she said more than the captain has been waiting.”

As he stood in the long and narrow entrance room, Ischarus felt a power growing in his chest. Actually, Ischarus felt as though he were beginning the initial stages of a heart attack. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his heart began to beat heavily. The more he thought about the woman’s speech the more his heart pounded in his chest. A feeling of warmth shot through his left arm and rested just below his wrists. He opened and closed his left hand several times to try and shake the feeling, but it was no use. The feeling was there to stay. His heart beat even harder.

Rhema noticed Ischarus’ sudden fidget with his hand. She slipped her own hand into the hand the hand that Ischarus was nervously fidgeting with and spoke with confidence. “Either way, Ischarus, we’re staying put. If they’ve been waiting for you then walking away does nothing. If you walk away now you appear to be guilty of something that you are not. If you and Semeion are simply having a problem with an overactive imagination then there is nothing to worry about.”

The door beside the window crashed open and five armed city guards poured out. They were armed and ready for a fight. Out of instinct Charis backed up and turned to the door leading to the outside. As she turned for the door, it also burst open and ten more guards poured in from the outside of the building. A man dressed in well kept leather armor and carrying a drawn falchion followed these ten guards in from the outside. The dress of the man told the party that this was the warden of the jail. The fact that the rest of the guards initially looked to him for a signal also demonstrated that he was in charge in this place.

By means of the inside door, two more men entered who were armed and armored better than the regular city guard. Ischarus and Rhema immediately recognized one of them as the guard chief they had met on the street earlier. The other one approached Ischarus. His own falchion was already drawn and leveled in the direction of Ischarus’ heart.

The man spoke as he approached Ischarus. “I understand from my chief that you are the owner of the sword he brought forth from an armed conflict earlier today. I am Captain Jacobseille and the man over there is Warden Farette. We are requesting that your friends leave your side and you come peacefully into the jail so we may discuss the events from earlier in the day.”

Semeion growled soft enough for Ischarus, Rhema, and Charis to hear, “I told you I didn’t like what the woman said.”
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Ischarus reached for the hilt of his sword out of instinct whenever he was cornered. His mind flashed between defending his honor with his sword or subjugating himself to the schemes of this jail captain and his warden. As his fingers sought to stiffen his grip around the hilt of his sword, he remembered that his blade was not by his side.

Rhema took note of Ischarus’ uneasiness. In spite of Ischarus’ concern she knew that she couldn’t possibly influence all the guards present with her powers of telepathy. Instead, perhaps a bit of persuasion might be in order. “Listen, Captain Jacobseille. I don’t know what you have heard about my friend and quite frankly so long as you find him innocent of all charges I don’t particularly care. But Ischarus did nothing outside of helping your guard apprehend the criminal against all of Tongra known as Grick.”

Captain Jacobseille and Warden Farette exchanged smiles. Captain Jacobseille replied with encouragement from his warden in the form of a nod. “What we have heard, milady, is that your friend drew a weapon and ran through the streets chasing after the one you call Grick. That alone proves that your friend’s actions were not in self defense but rather in aggression. You did not have to chase the one that you call Grick through the streets, causing a mild panic as you went along. You easily could have alerted the town guard to chase him down properly. We are within our rights to question Ischarus against his actions. We cannot support vigilante tactics and honestly keep order among our streets.”

Rhema breathed out heavily and sighed as Charis spoke. “But they were defending me! The one that is in your custody had attacked me twice in two different locations!”

The captain smiled again, listening to this new voice. “Grick’s own testimony does not support your conclusions. Grick claims himself innocent against your charges and maintains that he was fleeing from your ruthless assault upon him.”

Charis nearly yelled in response to the attempt to set Grick’s testimony to the level of Ischarus’ testimony. “That is a lie! You would believe the words of a liar than my own words? I was not at the fight and thus am innocent of your investigation, but I know I was sick! In your eyes I have done nothing wrong, but you would believe the words of one who acted out intending harm upon innocent citizens?”

Captain Jacobseille smiled politely, knowing the Charis’ point was valid. But he also knew that his own point was quite rational. “Milady, it is not so simple as weighing the testimony of innocent above the guilty. Our laws are not so easily circumvented. All must be given their right to defend themselves in testimony before the investigation. Once there has been an official inquiry sanctioned by my authority the punishments or releases will be declared. It is the only fair way.”

Ischarus knew that the situation was pointless. Without a blade, there was simply no chance of fighting their way out. Even if they did try and fight it would only scar their reputation in the town and potentially risk forcing Rhema’s father to have to pay more toward maintaining a low profile. It was as if they had spoken of vigilantism in preparation for this moment. He was not on the payroll for the town guards. Yet he was also no common criminal. He should have nothing to fear.

Ischarus held out his empty palms in a sign to his friends that he desired to talk. It was only his outstretched hand that kept Rhema quiet as he spoke. “I submit to your investigation, Captain. My honor will prove itself and I will once more feel the grip of my honorable steel at my side and in my fingers. My friends have done nothing. I submit fairly and without effort so that you will not involve them as well.”

The warden smiled and took over the proceedings. “We are an honorable guard, Ischarus. Our original deal was that if you came peacefully your friends would feel no resistance in leaving. That option is still available so long as they submit to your decision to turn yourself in to our investigation.”

Ischarus still held out a hand to silence Rhema. “Will you grant me a farewell gesture with my friends? I promise that no foolishness will come of the gesture and they will leave one by one as I am done. Then you can take me into the depths of your prison as you desire.”

The warden looked at Ischarus long and hard before eventually nodding in the affirmative. “Very well, Ischarus. You may greet your friends with a goodbye gesture on your honor. If there is any foolishness, you will be hunted down like the criminal such an act would make you.”

At the warden’s words a few of the guards surrounding the adventurers smiled as if they enjoyed the thought of the physical hunt and conflict. Ischarus saw the smiles and was glad he didn’t have a weapon. Some of these guards looked as though they would relish any excuse to run him through.

Ischarus turned to Charis first. As he hugged her goodbye, he whispered into her ear in the draconic language they shared. “Return to the temple and find the priest who healed you. His testimony might be useful in proving that you were attacked magically.” Ischarus could feel her head nod as they finished their embrace. He waited until Charis was allowed to leave the building before embracing Semeion.

Leaning into a hug with Semeion, he added in the draconic language they too shared, “It is important to protect Charis now. The red wyrm has brought forth at least one minion to bring her down. There is no telling how many he has sent and to what extent they are willing to go in order to take her from us. Keep her alive until I am freed and we can return to the safety of the villa.” Semeion also nodded as they released each other.

Once Semeion was safely outside, Ischarus turned to Rhema. They embraced in a long hug and as they separated, Ischarus leaned forward and gave her a kiss upon her lips. Rhema was caught completely off guard with this gesture but did not resist in the least. As their lips parted, Ischarus could see in her face that she was stunned. “We have flirted for years, Rhema. Fear of losing any shared love has kept us from expressing our desires to one another. Semeion and Rhema have taught me that fear is foolish in the presence of love. I must confess that I have loved you for some time, Rhema. Now go and find a man named Brandt. You will find him frequenting the temple sometime this day. Ask the priests there to identify him to you and tell him a Drakontos needs his expertise.”

Rhema didn’t understand the message. Given the emotional shock that Ischarus had laid upon her regarding his feelings, Rhema was lucky to have even heard his request amidst the rush of emotion that had risen up within her. It was a simple and unexpected expression of love.

Since she looked too stunned to speak, Ischarus gave her one last piece of information. “Go alone. Leave Charis to her quest and Semeion to protect her. You must go alone to find him. Do you understand?”

Charis nodded slowly, still lost in the emotion that poured through her soul. Ischarus reached out and embraced her lightly above her hips and smiled as he brought her back to reality by turning her away from him and toward the door. Once she was turned, he gave her a loving push. She turned once more to look at Ischarus as she left. He smiled like she had never seen him smile before. She had always suspected, but now he looked free from the burden he carried with him for some time. She too was free. With this final recognition Rhema turned and exited the building.

Ischarus held up his hands so the guards would have no excuse to challenge him. He smiled at the captain and turned to the warden. “Warden Farette, I have done nothing but honor my word in your presence. Perhaps I may make a single request? I would ask that if it is possible that you would place me in a cell opposite the one we call Grick. And I would ask that you remain out of sight in the cell block for a few minutes after I am locked up. I believe if you are willing to greet my request with the same honor that I have just shown you that this matter will become as clear in your eyes as it is in mine.”

The captain turned to the warden with a look of confusion. The warden smiled slightly and replied. “I can arrange that since you have made my life easy today. I will do this under two conditions of my own. You will allow yourself to be interrogated once you have been given time in your cell and that you promise me that you have no magical trick planned.”

Ischarus smiled, feeling that there might be hope after all. “Sir, if I ever hope to see the light of day once those bars are sealed behind me, I know not to assault another prisoner. Besides, magic is not within my grasp. I admit to using my sword and not any arcane or divine arts.”

The warden nodded to the captain and Captain Jacobseille turned on his heels and left the room. Once he had cleared the room the warden commanded his troops, “Take the prisoner to the cell across from the one apprehended this afternoon. And you are under strict orders to let him walk freely so long as he offers no resistance.”

A few of the guards sneered in disappointment, but orders were orders. Ischarus voluntarily allowed himself to be handcuffed. He followed an escort of considerable size. One third of the guards who were in the room walked ahead of Ischarus into the prison. The remaining two thirds of the guards followed him into the back room of the prison and presumably into the bowels of the underground cells.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Ischarus reached for the hilt of his sword out of instinct whenever he was cornered. His mind flashed between defending his honor with his sword or subjugating himself to the schemes of this jail captain and his warden. As his fingers sought to stiffen his grip around the hilt of his sword, he remembered that his blade was not by his side.

Rhema took note of Ischarus’ uneasiness. In spite of Ischarus’ concern she knew that she couldn’t possibly influence all the guards present with her powers of telepathy. Instead, perhaps a bit of persuasion might be in order. “Listen, Captain Jacobseille. I don’t know what you have heard about my friend and quite frankly so long as you find him innocent of all charges I don’t particularly care. But Ischarus did nothing outside of helping your guard apprehend the criminal against all of Tongra known as Grick.”

Captain Jacobseille and Warden Farette exchanged smiles. Captain Jacobseille replied with encouragement from his warden in the form of a nod. “What we have heard, milady, is that your friend drew a weapon and ran through the streets chasing after the one you call Grick. That alone proves that your friend’s actions were not in self defense but rather in aggression. You did not have to chase the one that you call Grick through the streets, causing a mild panic as you went along. You easily could have alerted the town guard to chase him down properly. We are within our rights to question Ischarus against his actions. We cannot support vigilante tactics and honestly keep order among our streets.”

Rhema breathed out heavily and sighed as Charis spoke. “But they were defending me! The one that is in your custody had attacked me twice in two different locations!”

The captain smiled again, listening to this new voice. “Grick’s own testimony does not support your conclusions. Grick claims himself innocent against your charges and maintains that he was fleeing from your ruthless assault upon him.”

Charis nearly yelled in response to the attempt to set Grick’s testimony to the level of Ischarus’ testimony. “That is a lie! You would believe the words of a liar than my own words? I was not at the fight and thus am innocent of your investigation, but I know I was sick! In your eyes I have done nothing wrong, but you would believe the words of one who acted out intending harm upon innocent citizens?”

Captain Jacobseille smiled politely, knowing the Charis’ point was valid. But he also knew that his own point was quite rational. “Milady, it is not so simple as weighing the testimony of innocent above the guilty. Our laws are not so easily circumvented. All must be given their right to defend themselves in testimony before the investigation. Once there has been an official inquiry sanctioned by my authority the punishments or releases will be declared. It is the only fair way.”

Ischarus knew that the situation was pointless. Without a blade, there was simply no chance of fighting their way out. Even if they did try and fight it would only scar their reputation in the town and potentially risk forcing Rhema’s father to have to pay more toward maintaining a low profile. It was as if they had spoken of vigilantism in preparation for this moment. He was not on the payroll for the town guards. Yet he was also no common criminal. He should have nothing to fear.

Ischarus held out his empty palms in a sign to his friends that he desired to talk. It was only his outstretched hand that kept Rhema quiet as he spoke. “I submit to your investigation, Captain. My honor will prove itself and I will once more feel the grip of my honorable steel at my side and in my fingers. My friends have done nothing. I submit fairly and without effort so that you will not involve them as well.”

The warden smiled and took over the proceedings. “We are an honorable guard, Ischarus. Our original deal was that if you came peacefully your friends would feel no resistance in leaving. That option is still available so long as they submit to your decision to turn yourself in to our investigation.”

Ischarus still held out a hand to silence Rhema. “Will you grant me a farewell gesture with my friends? I promise that no foolishness will come of the gesture and they will leave one by one as I am done. Then you can take me into the depths of your prison as you desire.”

The warden looked at Ischarus long and hard before eventually nodding in the affirmative. “Very well, Ischarus. You may greet your friends with a goodbye gesture on your honor. If there is any foolishness, you will be hunted down like the criminal such an act would make you.”

At the warden’s words a few of the guards surrounding the adventurers smiled as if they enjoyed the thought of the physical hunt and conflict. Ischarus saw the smiles and was glad he didn’t have a weapon. Some of these guards looked as though they would relish any excuse to run him through.

Ischarus turned to Charis first. As he hugged her goodbye, he whispered into her ear in the draconic language they shared. “Return to the temple and find the priest who healed you. His testimony might be useful in proving that you were attacked magically.” Ischarus could feel her head nod as they finished their embrace. He waited until Charis was allowed to leave the building before embracing Semeion.

Leaning into a hug with Semeion, he added in the draconic language they too shared, “It is important to protect Charis now. The red wyrm has brought forth at least one minion to bring her down. There is no telling how many he has sent and to what extent they are willing to go in order to take her from us. Keep her alive until I am freed and we can return to the safety of the villa.” Semeion also nodded as they released each other.

Once Semeion was safely outside, Ischarus turned to Rhema. They embraced in a long hug and as they separated, Ischarus leaned forward and gave her a kiss upon her lips. Rhema was caught completely off guard with this gesture but did not resist in the least. As their lips parted, Ischarus could see in her face that she was stunned. “We have flirted for years, Rhema. Fear of losing any shared love has kept us from expressing our desires to one another. Semeion and Rhema have taught me that fear is foolish in the presence of love. I must confess that I have loved you for some time, Rhema. Now go and find a man named Brandt. You will find him frequenting the temple sometime this day. Ask the priests there to identify him to you and tell him a Drakontos needs his expertise.”

Rhema didn’t understand the message. Given the emotional shock that Ischarus had laid upon her regarding his feelings, Rhema was lucky to have even heard his request amidst the rush of emotion that had risen up within her. It was a simple and unexpected expression of love.

Since she looked too stunned to speak, Ischarus gave her one last piece of information. “Go alone. Leave Charis to her quest and Semeion to protect her. You must go alone to find him. Do you understand?”

Charis nodded slowly, still lost in the emotion that poured through her soul. Ischarus reached out and embraced her lightly above her hips and smiled as he brought her back to reality by turning her away from him and toward the door. Once she was turned, he gave her a loving push. She turned once more to look at Ischarus as she left. He smiled like she had never seen him smile before. She had always suspected, but now he looked free from the burden he carried with him for some time. She too was free. With this final recognition Rhema turned and exited the building.

Ischarus held up his hands so the guards would have no excuse to challenge him. He smiled at the captain and turned to the warden. “Warden Farette, I have done nothing but honor my word in your presence. Perhaps I may make a single request? I would ask that if it is possible that you would place me in a cell opposite the one we call Grick. And I would ask that you remain out of sight in the cell block for a few minutes after I am locked up. I believe if you are willing to greet my request with the same honor that I have just shown you that this matter will become as clear in your eyes as it is in mine.”

The captain turned to the warden with a look of confusion. The warden smiled slightly and replied. “I can arrange that since you have made my life easy today. I will do this under two conditions of my own. You will allow yourself to be interrogated once you have been given time in your cell and that you promise me that you have no magical trick planned.”

Ischarus smiled, feeling that there might be hope after all. “Sir, if I ever hope to see the light of day once those bars are sealed behind me, I know not to assault another prisoner. Besides, magic is not within my grasp. I admit to using my sword and not any arcane or divine arts.”

The warden nodded to the captain and Captain Jacobseille turned on his heels and left the room. Once he had cleared the room the warden commanded his troops, “Take the prisoner to the cell across from the one apprehended this afternoon. And you are under strict orders to let him walk freely so long as he offers no resistance.”

A few of the guards sneered in disappointment, but orders were orders. Ischarus voluntarily allowed himself to be handcuffed. He followed an escort of considerable size. One third of the guards who were in the room walked ahead of Ischarus into the prison. The remaining two thirds of the guards followed him into the back room of the prison and presumably into the bowels of the underground cells.
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Near the back of the building the guards stopped and began to form another circle. The warden approached Ischarus from behind and offered an explanation. “You’ll want to stand in the middle of the circle, Ischarus. My guards can hold you there by force, of course. But since you have been so compliant up to this point I will offer you the chance to descend into the prison depths of your own accord.”

Ischarus nodded and silently waited in what he thought to be a circle of guards forming around him. None of the guard had drawn their weapons, but they appeared eager to do so. As he looked towards the guards in formation he realized that their eagerness to draw their weapon was more out of training than personal vendetta against him. They were used to handling criminals who did not desire to go willingly into the depths of the prison. They were trained to be aggressive in holding their prisoner in the center of their circle.

The warden stood beside Ischarus and motioned for the captain to join them. Two more guards advanced out of the circle. One of them appeared to be decorated with high honor, and Ischarus assumed he was the personal bodyguard of the warden. The second guard who stepped forward had a large key ring full of keys attached to a metal grommet in his belt. Once the five people were situated in the center of the guards, the guard with the set of keys lifted a single black rod that measured a mere foot long. He touched each of the smaller group within the circle of guards with the rod, saying “Parzuhs Ahn-takrass” as he touched each person including himself. One by one each of the inner group became translucent and appeared as though they were composed of a misty air rather than solid matter.

Seeing the beginning of the jailing take effect, one of the guards in the outside circle lifted up a six inch gray and white rod made of marble. Setting one end of the rod upon the floor and holding the other end in his hand this guard spoke three simple words. “Biturbign con-Fustle.” A small hole opened in the floor immediately below the five whose bodies had been recently transformed into a far less substantial substance. The five in the center hung over the hole and did not immediately fall through the ground.

Once the hole was opened, the guard with the marble rod stood up and lifted a second rod into the air. With a smile toward Ischarus and those around him he gripped the foot-long tapered ivory wand and spoke. “Shoosh dahs-Cricknohn.” A small gust of wind originated above the five and began to blow down through the hole in the floor.

Ischarus immediately felt the uncontrollable movement as the wind blew his insubstantial body into the hole that had opened underneath his feet. His stomach began to turn as he instinctively fought against the movement. There was nothing he could do, however. His insubstantial body of vapor could not resist the gust of air. As his body struggled to understand what was happening around him, he and the others around him descended into the depths below. Ischarus watched the guards around him as he descended and before too long he could only look up at the floor that had now become his ceiling. The hole above him sealed itself as magically as it had appeared and he found himself in darkness.

It was the voice of the warden that Ischarus next heard. Warden Farette’s voice did not sound normal, however. It sounded to Ischarus as if the warden was speaking through water to talk to him. “Ischarus, wish yourself to be solid once more and you will be freed of your condition.”

Regardless of how the warden spoke, Ischarus had gotten the message. He mentally focused on reorganizing himself into a solid body and he could feel himself getting cold. As his body took its original shape he could feel the cool and damp air around him. His body took solid shape and he could see the faint light of the torches hung along the wall of the cellblock. Once he was solid again it took his eyes a minute to adjust to the limited light. Eventually he was able to focus once more. “You do that often?” Ischarus spoke as he tried to swallow the nauseous feeling that was slowly creeping up his throat.

The guard with the rods spoke with humor in his voice. “You get used to the feeling and the movement. If you spend any time in our jail you’ll get used to it, too.”

Ischarus shook his head as the warden stepped down the corridor. “The cell that you have requested is this way, Ischarus. Three floors down.”

Ischarus spoke with hesitation, fearing the answer of his captors. “Am I going to have to do that three more times, then?”

Warden Farette chuckled as he replied. “No, Ischarus. Now that we are below ground we use stairs. The means of transporting you through the magic rods are simply to ensure that if anyone manages to break out of their cell they cannot escape the underground prison. The worst that they can do is to travel the many levels of the cellblock and inflict havoc upon the incarcerated.”

As they walked, Ischarus asked another question. “So, if prisoners are transported that way every time and all it takes is to wish yourself to be solid, what prevents a prisoner from wishing himself solid too early? Wouldn’t he then drop to the ground earlier than the rest and potentially set himself to hurt the guards as they solidify?”

The warden stopped and looked back to Ischarus. “You should remember, Ischarus, that as of this moment you are a prisoner. Asking questions like that will not earn you trust with the guards in this place. You are not here on a tour, and until the captain here deems you worthy of release you should remember your place.”

Captain Jacobseille answered Ischarus’ question. “The solution is rather ingenious, actually. You no doubt noticed that to us the hole appeared to be completely open in the floor. Yet, if you were to ask any of the guards up above they will tell you that the hole was not complete. If anything, the hole was a mere shadow of existence within the floor. Thus, if a prisoner wishes to materialize too early, they could find themselves trying to solidify in the floor. If that were to happen, the magic of the spell is designed to automatically expel them violently to the floor below. They would likely be rendered with a significant injury and left unconscious. If they do manage to wait until they have cleared the hole in the floor, then they would fall as rapidly as would be expected of any solid body materializing several feet above solid ground. They would fall to the ground below and likely be injured. Even still, if they do manage to land on their feet free of injury then our guards can rest easy in the knowledge that as long as they maintain their more spiritual nature they cannot be harmed. They need merely separate and force the prisoner to choose one of them to wait and materialize. Any guard that can get far enough from the prisoner to safely materialize can do so and come to apprehend the freed prisoner. Once the prisoner is apprehended the rest of the guards can solidify in safety. It really is a nearly fool-proof process.”

Ischarus and the guards walked slowly until they came to a flight of stairs. They descended the stairs until the warden indicated that they had gone far enough and opened a door to the proper cellblock. Ischarus walked silently toward his cell, knowing that if his plan had any hope of working he must maintain the image of a caught prisoner.

Ischarus was shown his cell. The guard who had all of the keys opened the door for Ischarus and then secured it behind him. Once the warden was satisfied, Ischarus was left in silence. As Ischarus gripped the cell bars along the hall, he noticed something across the hall. A man rested on his cot directly across from where he gripped the iron bars. Ischarus smiled as he noted that the man had flame red hair. Surely this was Grick, the one that had brought this situation upon him.

Ischarus could feel an anger building inside him. He struggled inside himself to suppress this anger, knowing that composure was the only hope he had of getting out of his current situation without any doubt of his freedom. He looked down at his right hand. It was turning a light blue shade and he could feel an anger burning deep inside of him. The feeling of energy that he had felt only minutes prior when his friends had come with him to enter the prison had returned. He tried to move his fingers but he found that they were stiff and beginning to freeze to the bars of his cell. Panic quickly pushed the anger from his mind and he brought his left hand over to grasp his right hand. He planned to use his body heat to warm up his right hand. As his left hand touched the bar he realized that both the bar and the hand felt cold as if they were frozen. Ischarus paused for a moment and felt the rest of the bars near where he was standing. He discovered that they remained a normal temperature.

Ischarus could hear a chuckle from across the hallway. He responded in a bitter tone. “Did you do this to me, Grick?” His voice raise into a yell as he tried to get his hand free from where it was frozen to the bar.

Grick only laughed and pushed his long red hair out of his eyes. “No, but I wish I had. It gives my heart joy to see you suffer like the Provenience-thieving dog that you are!” Grick sneered and rubbed his fingers together quickly. Soon he had another one of his invisible balls of force and he took aim across the dark hallway. Ischarus saw the attack coming and worked hard to free his hand from the bar. His fingers now stretched free, but his palm was still stuck fast to the steel cell bar.

This time, Grick landed a successful attack. Ischarus was knocked back from the cell door and he could feel the skin on the palm of his right hand tear away. He quickly glanced up to the bar and saw that he had left a significant chunk of his skin stuck to the bar. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his own hand. The nausea from Grick’s attack had begun to take effect much like it had done earlier on Charis and the town guard. He bent over onto his knees and began to dry heave.

Grick could only laugh as he watched Ischarus fall prey to his magical assault. “I’ve got more where that came from you weak human dog. None of you can withstand the greatness of the dragon born. My father dragon will one day amass a new army and take Quehalost by storm. Your intrusion into his plan will only delay the inevitable. It won’t be long before we have slain the Provenience you stole from us and a new one is brought to him. Then you humans will fear my father dragon and his army before him. Quehalost will fall into the control of my dragon father. Then we shall come into Tongra and strike down this place.”

Ischarus’ body passed through one more cycle of dry heaves upon the floor and then he rested his head on the cool stone floor beneath him. Ischarus began to slowly laugh as the magical sickness from Grick’s attack began to wear off. Although he was laughing, he did not have the strength to look towards his opponent.

Grick looked insulted as Ischarus laughed. “What are you laughing at, human dog?

Ischarus slowly stood to his feet. As the magical sickness wore off, the pain from his hand tore through his mind. He struggled to keep from shrieking in pain and showing himself weak. He turned to Grick and approached the cell bars once more. This time he was careful not to touch them out of fear of having a recurrence of the last incident. “I am laughing,” Ischarus commented bravely through the intense pain of his right hand, “Because you think I am human! My silver father dragon would get quite a laugh at your stupidity you son of a greedy red! You cannot beat me from in here. You cannot further your father dragon’s weak cause from behind these bars. You have failed in your quest! That comment even assumes that the pitiful excuse of a task you were on in the first place could even be called a quest!” By the time Ischarus had finished speaking he was yelling. The yelling was not out of anger, but rather an attempt to hide the intense pain from the wound on his hand.

Grick raged from his side of the cellblock. “My father dragon’s cause is not weak! Once we have killed the Provenience that you stole from us and retrieved a suitable female to become the new Provenience in her place then you will see. The force of my father dragon will go unquenched! You shall not stop him!”

Ischarus could see Grick rubbing his fingers together again. He would have to work fast before taking another attack. “So that is why you have come you foul-smelling fire-breathing offspring? You have come into this land to kill my friend and to kidnap another?”

Grick howled in rage once more. “I have come to kill the sacrifice that you stole from my father dragon and to bring into effect a new time of dragon fear to this land and to Quehalost! Even if you keep me in prison my friends will succeed!”

Grick launched another one of his attacks and Ischarus welcomed the attack solidly in the chest. Ischarus was knocked back several steps and once more collapsed onto the floor. As he hit the floor, the sound of a breaking bone echoed through the cellblock. Ischarus wasn’t sure whether to cry in pain over his hand, the pain that he felt as his leg snapped when he tried to brace himself for the fall, or whether to throw up once more from the magical sickness.

The warden and his guards moved in on Ischarus and Grick. They raced down the hallway, revealing their hidden presence to Grick. Warden Farette pointed to the guard with the keys and said, “Get that door open and prepare him for transport. He needs medical attention, and I want him interviewed immediately after the healer is summoned.”

The warden spun on his heals and looked at Captain Jacobseille. “Captain, draw your crossbow and aim it at the one called Grick. If he even breathes in a threatening way to the other prisoner or us … shoot him. It can be on my authority and record if you shoot him well enough to kill.”

The warden looked to the other guard who had the black rod. “Go summon more guards. I want this place swarming with guards!” He pointed to Ischarus and said, “I want him brought to the infirmary immediately and the healer summoned. Bring people to help move him.” The warden pointed to Grick. “And I want a large armed party to take that one to an interrogation room. Bind his hands twice so that he cannot use them in his mystical ways. I want him safe for interrogation in fifteen minutes. And prepare the needles in case he won’t talk.”

As Ischarus lay in pain, he turned his head to dry heave. He knew the sickness would pass. The broken leg would heal. All of this was finally worth it. He now knew an important piece of information. Grick was not alone, and the target was Charis. Semeion had to be prepared for this. The father dragon would not be stopped easily.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Near the back of the building the guards stopped and began to form another circle. The warden approached Ischarus from behind and offered an explanation. “You’ll want to stand in the middle of the circle, Ischarus. My guards can hold you there by force, of course. But since you have been so compliant up to this point I will offer you the chance to descend into the prison depths of your own accord.”

Ischarus nodded and silently waited in what he thought to be a circle of guards forming around him. None of the guard had drawn their weapons, but they appeared eager to do so. As he looked towards the guards in formation he realized that their eagerness to draw their weapon was more out of training than personal vendetta against him. They were used to handling criminals who did not desire to go willingly into the depths of the prison. They were trained to be aggressive in holding their prisoner in the center of their circle.

The warden stood beside Ischarus and motioned for the captain to join them. Two more guards advanced out of the circle. One of them appeared to be decorated with high honor, and Ischarus assumed he was the personal bodyguard of the warden. The second guard who stepped forward had a large key ring full of keys attached to a metal grommet in his belt. Once the five people were situated in the center of the guards, the guard with the set of keys lifted a single black rod that measured a mere foot long. He touched each of the smaller group within the circle of guards with the rod, saying “Parzuhs Ahn-takrass” as he touched each person including himself. One by one each of the inner group became translucent and appeared as though they were composed of a misty air rather than solid matter.

Seeing the beginning of the jailing take effect, one of the guards in the outside circle lifted up a six inch gray and white rod made of marble. Setting one end of the rod upon the floor and holding the other end in his hand this guard spoke three simple words. “Biturbign con-Fustle.” A small hole opened in the floor immediately below the five whose bodies had been recently transformed into a far less substantial substance. The five in the center hung over the hole and did not immediately fall through the ground.

Once the hole was opened, the guard with the marble rod stood up and lifted a second rod into the air. With a smile toward Ischarus and those around him he gripped the foot-long tapered ivory wand and spoke. “Shoosh dahs-Cricknohn.” A small gust of wind originated above the five and began to blow down through the hole in the floor.

Ischarus immediately felt the uncontrollable movement as the wind blew his insubstantial body into the hole that had opened underneath his feet. His stomach began to turn as he instinctively fought against the movement. There was nothing he could do, however. His insubstantial body of vapor could not resist the gust of air. As his body struggled to understand what was happening around him, he and the others around him descended into the depths below. Ischarus watched the guards around him as he descended and before too long he could only look up at the floor that had now become his ceiling. The hole above him sealed itself as magically as it had appeared and he found himself in darkness.

It was the voice of the warden that Ischarus next heard. Warden Farette’s voice did not sound normal, however. It sounded to Ischarus as if the warden was speaking through water to talk to him. “Ischarus, wish yourself to be solid once more and you will be freed of your condition.”

Regardless of how the warden spoke, Ischarus had gotten the message. He mentally focused on reorganizing himself into a solid body and he could feel himself getting cold. As his body took its original shape he could feel the cool and damp air around him. His body took solid shape and he could see the faint light of the torches hung along the wall of the cellblock. Once he was solid again it took his eyes a minute to adjust to the limited light. Eventually he was able to focus once more. “You do that often?” Ischarus spoke as he tried to swallow the nauseous feeling that was slowly creeping up his throat.

The guard with the rods spoke with humor in his voice. “You get used to the feeling and the movement. If you spend any time in our jail you’ll get used to it, too.”

Ischarus shook his head as the warden stepped down the corridor. “The cell that you have requested is this way, Ischarus. Three floors down.”

Ischarus spoke with hesitation, fearing the answer of his captors. “Am I going to have to do that three more times, then?”

Warden Farette chuckled as he replied. “No, Ischarus. Now that we are below ground we use stairs. The means of transporting you through the magic rods are simply to ensure that if anyone manages to break out of their cell they cannot escape the underground prison. The worst that they can do is to travel the many levels of the cellblock and inflict havoc upon the incarcerated.”

As they walked, Ischarus asked another question. “So, if prisoners are transported that way every time and all it takes is to wish yourself to be solid, what prevents a prisoner from wishing himself solid too early? Wouldn’t he then drop to the ground earlier than the rest and potentially set himself to hurt the guards as they solidify?”

The warden stopped and looked back to Ischarus. “You should remember, Ischarus, that as of this moment you are a prisoner. Asking questions like that will not earn you trust with the guards in this place. You are not here on a tour, and until the captain here deems you worthy of release you should remember your place.”

Captain Jacobseille answered Ischarus’ question. “The solution is rather ingenious, actually. You no doubt noticed that to us the hole appeared to be completely open in the floor. Yet, if you were to ask any of the guards up above they will tell you that the hole was not complete. If anything, the hole was a mere shadow of existence within the floor. Thus, if a prisoner wishes to materialize too early, they could find themselves trying to solidify in the floor. If that were to happen, the magic of the spell is designed to automatically expel them violently to the floor below. They would likely be rendered with a significant injury and left unconscious. If they do manage to wait until they have cleared the hole in the floor, then they would fall as rapidly as would be expected of any solid body materializing several feet above solid ground. They would fall to the ground below and likely be injured. Even still, if they do manage to land on their feet free of injury then our guards can rest easy in the knowledge that as long as they maintain their more spiritual nature they cannot be harmed. They need merely separate and force the prisoner to choose one of them to wait and materialize. Any guard that can get far enough from the prisoner to safely materialize can do so and come to apprehend the freed prisoner. Once the prisoner is apprehended the rest of the guards can solidify in safety. It really is a nearly fool-proof process.”

Ischarus and the guards walked slowly until they came to a flight of stairs. They descended the stairs until the warden indicated that they had gone far enough and opened a door to the proper cellblock. Ischarus walked silently toward his cell, knowing that if his plan had any hope of working he must maintain the image of a caught prisoner.

Ischarus was shown his cell. The guard who had all of the keys opened the door for Ischarus and then secured it behind him. Once the warden was satisfied, Ischarus was left in silence. As Ischarus gripped the cell bars along the hall, he noticed something across the hall. A man rested on his cot directly across from where he gripped the iron bars. Ischarus smiled as he noted that the man had flame red hair. Surely this was Grick, the one that had brought this situation upon him.

Ischarus could feel an anger building inside him. He struggled inside himself to suppress this anger, knowing that composure was the only hope he had of getting out of his current situation without any doubt of his freedom. He looked down at his right hand. It was turning a light blue shade and he could feel an anger burning deep inside of him. The feeling of energy that he had felt only minutes prior when his friends had come with him to enter the prison had returned. He tried to move his fingers but he found that they were stiff and beginning to freeze to the bars of his cell. Panic quickly pushed the anger from his mind and he brought his left hand over to grasp his right hand. He planned to use his body heat to warm up his right hand. As his left hand touched the bar he realized that both the bar and the hand felt cold as if they were frozen. Ischarus paused for a moment and felt the rest of the bars near where he was standing. He discovered that they remained a normal temperature.

Ischarus could hear a chuckle from across the hallway. He responded in a bitter tone. “Did you do this to me, Grick?” His voice raise into a yell as he tried to get his hand free from where it was frozen to the bar.

Grick only laughed and pushed his long red hair out of his eyes. “No, but I wish I had. It gives my heart joy to see you suffer like the Provenience-thieving dog that you are!” Grick sneered and rubbed his fingers together quickly. Soon he had another one of his invisible balls of force and he took aim across the dark hallway. Ischarus saw the attack coming and worked hard to free his hand from the bar. His fingers now stretched free, but his palm was still stuck fast to the steel cell bar.

This time, Grick landed a successful attack. Ischarus was knocked back from the cell door and he could feel the skin on the palm of his right hand tear away. He quickly glanced up to the bar and saw that he had left a significant chunk of his skin stuck to the bar. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his own hand. The nausea from Grick’s attack had begun to take effect much like it had done earlier on Charis and the town guard. He bent over onto his knees and began to dry heave.

Grick could only laugh as he watched Ischarus fall prey to his magical assault. “I’ve got more where that came from you weak human dog. None of you can withstand the greatness of the dragon born. My father dragon will one day amass a new army and take Quehalost by storm. Your intrusion into his plan will only delay the inevitable. It won’t be long before we have slain the Provenience you stole from us and a new one is brought to him. Then you humans will fear my father dragon and his army before him. Quehalost will fall into the control of my dragon father. Then we shall come into Tongra and strike down this place.”

Ischarus’ body passed through one more cycle of dry heaves upon the floor and then he rested his head on the cool stone floor beneath him. Ischarus began to slowly laugh as the magical sickness from Grick’s attack began to wear off. Although he was laughing, he did not have the strength to look towards his opponent.

Grick looked insulted as Ischarus laughed. “What are you laughing at, human dog?

Ischarus slowly stood to his feet. As the magical sickness wore off, the pain from his hand tore through his mind. He struggled to keep from shrieking in pain and showing himself weak. He turned to Grick and approached the cell bars once more. This time he was careful not to touch them out of fear of having a recurrence of the last incident. “I am laughing,” Ischarus commented bravely through the intense pain of his right hand, “Because you think I am human! My silver father dragon would get quite a laugh at your stupidity you son of a greedy red! You cannot beat me from in here. You cannot further your father dragon’s weak cause from behind these bars. You have failed in your quest! That comment even assumes that the pitiful excuse of a task you were on in the first place could even be called a quest!” By the time Ischarus had finished speaking he was yelling. The yelling was not out of anger, but rather an attempt to hide the intense pain from the wound on his hand.

Grick raged from his side of the cellblock. “My father dragon’s cause is not weak! Once we have killed the Provenience that you stole from us and retrieved a suitable female to become the new Provenience in her place then you will see. The force of my father dragon will go unquenched! You shall not stop him!”

Ischarus could see Grick rubbing his fingers together again. He would have to work fast before taking another attack. “So that is why you have come you foul-smelling fire-breathing offspring? You have come into this land to kill my friend and to kidnap another?”

Grick howled in rage once more. “I have come to kill the sacrifice that you stole from my father dragon and to bring into effect a new time of dragon fear to this land and to Quehalost! Even if you keep me in prison my friends will succeed!”

Grick launched another one of his attacks and Ischarus welcomed the attack solidly in the chest. Ischarus was knocked back several steps and once more collapsed onto the floor. As he hit the floor, the sound of a breaking bone echoed through the cellblock. Ischarus wasn’t sure whether to cry in pain over his hand, the pain that he felt as his leg snapped when he tried to brace himself for the fall, or whether to throw up once more from the magical sickness.

The warden and his guards moved in on Ischarus and Grick. They raced down the hallway, revealing their hidden presence to Grick. Warden Farette pointed to the guard with the keys and said, “Get that door open and prepare him for transport. He needs medical attention, and I want him interviewed immediately after the healer is summoned.”

The warden spun on his heals and looked at Captain Jacobseille. “Captain, draw your crossbow and aim it at the one called Grick. If he even breathes in a threatening way to the other prisoner or us … shoot him. It can be on my authority and record if you shoot him well enough to kill.”

The warden looked to the other guard who had the black rod. “Go summon more guards. I want this place swarming with guards!” He pointed to Ischarus and said, “I want him brought to the infirmary immediately and the healer summoned. Bring people to help move him.” The warden pointed to Grick. “And I want a large armed party to take that one to an interrogation room. Bind his hands twice so that he cannot use them in his mystical ways. I want him safe for interrogation in fifteen minutes. And prepare the needles in case he won’t talk.”

As Ischarus lay in pain, he turned his head to dry heave. He knew the sickness would pass. The broken leg would heal. All of this was finally worth it. He now knew an important piece of information. Grick was not alone, and the target was Charis. Semeion had to be prepared for this. The father dragon would not be stopped easily.
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Rhema stopped short of the temple, causing Semeion and Charis to stop half-way up the steps. Charis saw the motion and turned to question her friend. “Rhema, aren’t you coming?” The tone of her voice betrayed disappointment at the possibility of being separated further.

Semeion turned slightly so that he could see Rhema over Charis. He had stopped a few steps above Charis and as a result his head was slightly above Charis’ head. “Yeah, Rhema. We’re just going to be a minute getting that healer out of the temple. And we could probably use your help in convincing him of the necessity involved.”

Rhema shook her head slowly. “Not this time, guys. You two head into the temple and do what Ischarus wanted from you. As for me, Ischarus has something different for me to accomplish.”

Charis smiled. “Listen, Rhema. We’ve already seen that the streets aren’t safe today. Why don’t you come in here and we’ll get the temple healer we saw earlier and we’ll be on our way. We’ll come with you to your stop and be back at the prison in no time. Ischarus isn’t in any danger and I doubt that he’s going anywhere. And if we’re together, we can keep each other safe.”

Rhema smiled at Charis’ pleasant suggestion. It had persuasion written all over it, but Rhema wouldn’t violate Ischarus’ orders. Charis could persuade her until the sky turned black and Rhema wouldn’t seek her charge until these two went into the temple. “Ischarus told me I have to go alone, Charis. I know the streets aren’t safe, but in truth they likely aren’t safe for you, Charis. Anyone who is seeking us is seeking you, Charis. I think Semeion and I can pass through the streets fairly securely without being recognized by anyone looking for you. Now this isn’t the place to have any more of this discussion, so you two go inside and I’ll meet you back at the prison.”

Charis descended the steps and embraced Rhema in a brief hug. “You be safe, Rhema. If you notice anything suspicious, get yourself to a guard before a fight begins. We don’t need to have the two of you in a prison before the day is over.”

Rhema returned the hug. “Of course. And you two do the same. Try to avoid fighting. It’d be best if we stay out of trouble until we get Ischarus free. If we get into trouble it’ll likely only cast a bad shadow upon Ischarus’ case.”

The women separated and Charis ascended up the steps to Semeion. The pair turned around and climbed the rest of the way up into the temple. Soon Rhema was left alone in the streets of Fingerdale.

Inside the temple, the acolyte that had greeted them earlier looked startled to see the pair return. “You both have returned so quickly? Is there something wrong with the service that you received?”

Charis smiled politely and looked the acolyte straight into the eye. “No. Actually the service was so ideal that we have further use for him. We would like to see the healer at his earliest convenience.”

The acolyte nodded in understand and added, “Can I at least show you to a room, then?”

Semeion shook his head in the negative. “No. To be honest we are in a bit of a hurry and you could say that this is a matter of the city guard. His presence is needed at the prison. The friend we were in here with earlier is in need of some help that only he can provide. You see, he examined my friend here and his analysis of what he thought was wrong with her is valuable information in a case the prison warden is studying.”

The acolyte snapped to full alertness and gave Semeion his full attention at the mention of the prison and the warden. Although he didn’t quite follow the full request, he knew what to do. “Yes, sir. I will go find the one who was with you a bit ago. Please stay here until my return.”

The acolyte was gone only a few minutes when the sound of bare feet hustling along the ground could be heard coming in their direction. The acolyte turned the nearest corner in the hallway to the right and the healer followed him close behind. Soon they entered the entranceway and the acolyte added, “My apologies, but I could not remember the official reason for his aid, but I did tell him that it was urgent and a matter of the local guard. I assumed that you both would be able to fill him in on the details more appropriately.”

Semeion nodded and Charis dismissed the acolyte. “Certainly, and I am sure that you have other duties to attend to.”

The healer took the hint from Charis and dismissed the acolyte formally. “Our acolytes pride themselves on being able to remain busy at all times as devotion to their god. Besides, we do understand here that not all matters are intended for the ears of everyone.”

The acolyte took the hint and stepped away. As he did, another customer opened the outside door and the acolyte stepped away even further to greet the newest visitor.

The healer spoke softly so as to not be heard by anyone else in the entryway. “So, in what way can I be of service to you and the city guard?”

Semeion smiled, remembering the anger that had flowed through his body earlier when he had first met this healer. “I don’t mean to be rude, but our friend is in trouble. Might we explain on the way to the prison?”

The healer was obviously taken by the request. “You want me to follow you to the prison? Wouldn’t it be a simple enough solution to have a member of the guard come here?

Charis looked the healer directly in the eye and spoke softly with all her charm. “Sir, I understand that your time is valuable. I really do. But the one who caused my injuries was apprehended after we left here and my friend was involved in his arrest. The information that you can give the guard about my wounds is vital to setting my friend free. You would be helping an innocent man. Certainly your superiors understand the importance of such a responsibility?”

The healer looked at Charis for a second, mulling over her speech. “If you can give me a second, I’ll go clear my schedule for the afternoon and alert the acolytes of my departure.”

Semeion smiled at Charis’ charm as she spoke once again. “Certainly, so long as you are willing to help the cause of my friend we will wait for you. Shall we remain here?”

The healer nodded and then turned down the hall in the direction that he came. His bare feet slapped against the cool stone floor as the acolyte followed more slowly, leading the newcomer he had greeted to a healing room of his own.

[Sblock=Speech-Free Color Section]
Rhema stopped short of the temple, causing Semeion and Charis to stop half-way up the steps. Charis saw the motion and turned to question her friend. “Rhema, aren’t you coming?” The tone of her voice betrayed disappointment at the possibility of being separated further.

Semeion turned slightly so that he could see Rhema over Charis. He had stopped a few steps above Charis and as a result his head was slightly above Charis’ head. “Yeah, Rhema. We’re just going to be a minute getting that healer out of the temple. And we could probably use your help in convincing him of the necessity involved.”

Rhema shook her head slowly. “Not this time, guys. You two head into the temple and do what Ischarus wanted from you. As for me, Ischarus has something different for me to accomplish.”

Charis smiled. “Listen, Rhema. We’ve already seen that the streets aren’t safe today. Why don’t you come in here and we’ll get the temple healer we saw earlier and we’ll be on our way. We’ll come with you to your stop and be back at the prison in no time. Ischarus isn’t in any danger and I doubt that he’s going anywhere. And if we’re together, we can keep each other safe.”

Rhema smiled at Charis’ pleasant suggestion. It had persuasion written all over it, but Rhema wouldn’t violate Ischarus’ orders. Charis could persuade her until the sky turned black and Rhema wouldn’t seek her charge until these two went into the temple. “Ischarus told me I have to go alone, Charis. I know the streets aren’t safe, but in truth they likely aren’t safe for you, Charis. Anyone who is seeking us is seeking you, Charis. I think Semeion and I can pass through the streets fairly securely without being recognized by anyone looking for you. Now this isn’t the place to have any more of this discussion, so you two go inside and I’ll meet you back at the prison.”

Charis descended the steps and embraced Rhema in a brief hug. “You be safe, Rhema. If you notice anything suspicious, get yourself to a guard before a fight begins. We don’t need to have the two of you in a prison before the day is over.”

Rhema returned the hug. “Of course. And you two do the same. Try to avoid fighting. It’d be best if we stay out of trouble until we get Ischarus free. If we get into trouble it’ll likely only cast a bad shadow upon Ischarus’ case.”

The women separated and Charis ascended up the steps to Semeion. The pair turned around and climbed the rest of the way up into the temple. Soon Rhema was left alone in the streets of Fingerdale.

Inside the temple, the acolyte that had greeted them earlier looked startled to see the pair return. “You both have returned so quickly? Is there something wrong with the service that you received?”

Charis smiled politely and looked the acolyte straight into the eye. “No. Actually the service was so ideal that we have further use for him. We would like to see the healer at his earliest convenience.”

The acolyte nodded in understand and added, “Can I at least show you to a room, then?”

Semeion shook his head in the negative. “No. To be honest we are in a bit of a hurry and you could say that this is a matter of the city guard. His presence is needed at the prison. The friend we were in here with earlier is in need of some help that only he can provide. You see, he examined my friend here and his analysis of what he thought was wrong with her is valuable information in a case the prison warden is studying.”

The acolyte snapped to full alertness and gave Semeion his full attention at the mention of the prison and the warden. Although he didn’t quite follow the full request, he knew what to do. “Yes, sir. I will go find the one who was with you a bit ago. Please stay here until my return.”

The acolyte was gone only a few minutes when the sound of bare feet hustling along the ground could be heard coming in their direction. The acolyte turned the nearest corner in the hallway to the right and the healer followed him close behind. Soon they entered the entranceway and the acolyte added, “My apologies, but I could not remember the official reason for his aid, but I did tell him that it was urgent and a matter of the local guard. I assumed that you both would be able to fill him in on the details more appropriately.”

Semeion nodded and Charis dismissed the acolyte. “Certainly, and I am sure that you have other duties to attend to.”

The healer took the hint from Charis and dismissed the acolyte formally. “Our acolytes pride themselves on being able to remain busy at all times as devotion to their god. Besides, we do understand here that not all matters are intended for the ears of everyone.”

The acolyte took the hint and stepped away. As he did, another customer opened the outside door and the acolyte stepped away even further to greet the newest visitor.

The healer spoke softly so as to not be heard by anyone else in the entryway. “So, in what way can I be of service to you and the city guard?”

Semeion smiled, remembering the anger that had flowed through his body earlier when he had first met this healer. “I don’t mean to be rude, but our friend is in trouble. Might we explain on the way to the prison?”

The healer was obviously taken by the request. “You want me to follow you to the prison? Wouldn’t it be a simple enough solution to have a member of the guard come here?

Charis looked the healer directly in the eye and spoke softly with all her charm. “Sir, I understand that your time is valuable. I really do. But the one who caused my injuries was apprehended after we left here and my friend was involved in his arrest. The information that you can give the guard about my wounds is vital to setting my friend free. You would be helping an innocent man. Certainly your superiors understand the importance of such a responsibility?”

The healer looked at Charis for a second, mulling over her speech. “If you can give me a second, I’ll go clear my schedule for the afternoon and alert the acolytes of my departure.”

Semeion smiled at Charis’ charm as she spoke once again. “Certainly, so long as you are willing to help the cause of my friend we will wait for you. Shall we remain here?”

The healer nodded and then turned down the hall in the direction that he came. His bare feet slapped against the cool stone floor as the acolyte followed more slowly, leading the newcomer he had greeted to a healing room of his own.
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Rhema mouthed the words that Ischarus had spoken to her earlier. “I have loved you for some time, Rhema…”

Ischarus’ closing words pounded through Rhema’s head as she thought about the trouble Ischarus had gotten himself into during the day. She knew Ischarus was innocent. But, she also knew that the legal system didn’t always get it right. Sure, the majority of cases came to a proper conclusion; but Rhema also knew that with the right kind of bribe Lord Ironblood and his legal system could be bought. She’d rather face terrors in the underground and on the other side of the mountains again than risk Ischarus’ freedom at the hands of a judge.

She mouthed more of Ischarus’ speech. “We have flirted for years, Rhema.”

That much was obviously true. Rhema couldn’t deny how she felt when Ischarus finally was able to put into words what had been happening over the course of the past few years. Each foray into Quehalost had been much more than a simple quest against a ravaging land churning with evil. Each trip was an intertwining of their spirits. When they journeyed they drew closer. Ischarus often exchanged quips with Rhema as they journeyed. With the completion of each quest the exhilaration of bringing the oppressed to freedom had brought them closer. They were on a common path and had similar goals in life. They had the same ambition and saw in each other the ability to overcome their own weaknesses. It was only natural that things should end up this way.

Rhema crouched across the street from the temple watching people come and go. A slight smile crossed her face as she tried to guess how many of the patrons of the temple were true Drakontos living among humans without anyone else’s knowledge. She could never have guessed that Ischarus himself had Draconic heritage without being told. Even after he had told her his secret she found it hard to grasp. It had now been two years and she still found it amazing that people with a tiny amount of dragon blood within them lived indistinguishably among the rest of the regular citizens of the land. Of course, many of them had magical talents and Rhema largely suspected that a majority of Fingerdale’s resident mages were really Drakontos. That was a fact that she couldn’t prove. From what Ischarus said, some of them may not even know that they were Drakontos to begin with.

As the temple doors opened once more, Rhema smiled again as she watched Semeion and Charis heading away from the temple with the healer from earlier in the day. The healer looked as though he had come willingly. The trio talked in a friendly manner as they moved past Rhema’s position on their way to the jailhouse. Although they passed within ten feet of where Rhema crouched, she went undetected.

Again Ischarus’ words penetrated deeply into her thoughts as her lips brought them back to life. “Fear of losing each other on a quest has kept us apart. Semeion and Rhema have taught me that fear is foolish in the presence of love.”

Her mind raced as Semeion and Charis walked past together. The two of them had bonded from the first moment that Semeion had laid eyes upon Charis in Quehalost. Even now their growing love for each other was obvious in the way that they walked beside one another. Semeion walked as if able to protect her while Charis walked as though enjoying a great security.

Rhema stood once the trio were past her position. She stepped slightly into the street and turned to watch them walk away. Her head shook slowly from side to side. “It is highly ironic that Charis may well be the reason that Ischarus is in jail,” she muttered under her breath as the pair turned a corner and disappeared out of view. She continued to speak to herself as she allowed her thoughts to find expression in the real world. “Ischarus is in trouble because he was fighting Charis’ past. Yet without Charis, Ischarus would’ve likely not yet declared his love for me.”

She continued to mutter as she dealt with the feelings inside. It was a horrible irony that left her a touch on the jealous side amidst being thankful. She returned once again to the particular set of words that had sparked her imagination. “I have loved you for some time, Rhema”

Rhema’s mind leapt over the jealousy and back to the thought that had started it all. She turned to the temple and walked up the stairs. The time for dwelling upon her emotions was now past her. Ischarus would be free one way or the other. Hopefully, things would go smoothly and she would quickly find the one that she was looking for. With a little luck, Brandt would be in the temple as she climbed the steps. She rehearsed Ischarus’ instructions once more as she approached the doors. “Now go and find a man named Brandt. You will find him frequenting the temple sometime this day. Ask the priests there to identify him to you and tell him a Drakontos needs his expertise.” Ischarus’ words ran through her mind as the acolyte greeted her once inside the door.

Rhema replied softly to the acolyte as her mind came back to reality. “Yes, I am looking for a man who worships frequently here. His name is Brandt, although I will confess to knowing only his name and not his face. That is why I need your help in finding him.”

The acolyte looked stunned for a moment. The man in front of Rhema said absolutely nothing for several seconds. Rhema couldn’t help but feel odd before replying again. “Have I said something wrong?”

The acolyte shook his head from side to side and extended his hand as if to invite her to walk down the hallway in the opposite direction that they had gone when they arrived the first time to heal Charis. Once they had cleared the entrance, the acolyte spoke very softly. “The name Brandt is not often spoken here in this temple. In fact, I have only heard that name spoken once. He is not one of the regular healers and only a select few know his name. Most who know his name already know where to find him. But I do know of the one that you seek. Unfortunately, he is in the middle of his typical meditation time at present. If you are willing to wait here in the hallway, shall I come back in an hour or so and lead you to him?”

Rhema looked a bit agitated at the prospect of having to wait so long. She knew that Charis and Semeion had completed their task so easily and yet she would have to wait. If Ischarus needed this Brandt’s help quickly it simply wasn’t about to happen.

Rhema replied quite curtly. She allowed her impatience and agitation to show through only a bit, however. It wasn’t the acolyte’s fault that her timing was less than perfect. “An hour? I have to wait an hour to see this Brandt?”

The acolyte replied in a tone that demonstrated a significant comfort level with informing people that they will have to wait for their meeting. “Ma’am, the master that you seek enjoys five hours of meditation a day. I know waiting an hour can seem like a significant amount of time for you. However, considering that the one you seek has already been in meditation for at least four hours I should think that you would consider yourself lucky to have come when you did and not a few hours earlier in the day. Besides, one does not arouse a master from their meditations without drawing wrath from the superiors of the order. It is part of my training to learn, model, and teach patience.”

Rhema looked at the poor acolyte and had mercy upon him. She even managed to lift the left corner of her mouth up into a smile. “Very well, then. It would seem that my desire for a quick resolution must bow to your lesson in patience. If it is the only way to gain an audience with Brandt, then I shall wait.”

The acolyte smiled and politely bowed while backing away from Rhema. “Very well, ma’am. I shall return in about an hour’s time.”

It was nearly an hour and a half later that the acolyte returned down the hallway to find Rhema. By this time Rhema was actively pacing up and down the hallway. She was attempting to pass the time without being too irritated at fate for slowing down the already slow process of freeing Ischarus from the prison system of Lord Ironblood. As she saw the acolyte she inhaled so as to yell at the acolyte for being late.

Fortunately for the acolyte he was prepared and he beat her to the punch. “The master that you seek has notified me that he is done with his meditations and prepared to see you when you are ready.”

Rhema’s anger began to deflate as she finally seemed to make headway in the quest that Ischarus felt so necessary. The acolyte led her down the hall a few paces and then showed her the door that led to the meditation chambers that Brandt was apparently using. Before leaving the acolyte felt compelled to offer up one more piece of information. “When you are prepared, feel free to open the door. The one that you seek is waiting for you inside.”

The acolyte backed up a few steps while bowing once more to Rhema out of an air of service. Dismissing the acolyte, Rhema turned to the door and placed her hand upon the handle. She jerked her hand back immediately upon feeling the touch of the metal in her hand. The handle was nearly ice cold. Rhema turned to question the acolyte but as she did she discovered that the acolyte had spent little time returning to his post. The acolyte had all but disappeared as the sounds of his quickened footsteps could be heard down the hall.

Rhema sighed heavily as she realized that it seemed like this day was plotting against her. She remembered the urgency in Ischarus’ voice as he told her to find Brandt and she remembered his proclamation of his love for her. Knowing the pain that would follow, she clenched her fingers into a tight fist until she had squeezed so hard that she could no longer feel the tips of her fingers. She quickly released both hands and gripped the frozen door handle. With a sudden thrust of all her might she twisted it. The door popped open just as feeling returned to her hand and the deeply chilling effect took over. Once the feeling began to return to her fingers the pain of the cold door handle quickly followed. Rhema released the door handle and quickly stepped inside before it was able to swing shut on its own once more.

Rhema no sooner jumped into the room when she was greeted by an ominously full and deep voice, “You have been given two chances to leave, non-Drakontos. Now you must face my wrath!”

Rhema immediately recognized the creature that occupied the room. It had the head of a dragon, but was not quite as large. Its body and limbs were far more skinny and flexible that that of a dragon, although the claws and the teeth of the beast still looked plenty capable of ripping through Rhema’s flesh. The white scales of the reptilian beast glistened with an icy blue tint when the light caught the right angle of reflection. These reflective scales glistened along the entire body and limbs of the creature. As Rhema paused to take the creature in, the beast unfurled its leathery white wings.

There was no doubt in Rhema’s mind what the creature was. It was certainly a drake, although she could figure no reason for keeping such a creature within the walls of the temple. Drakes were the smaller cousins of dragons and were less sociable than even dragons. Furthermore, drakes were not known for being overly housebroken. Each of these thoughts leapt through Rhema’s mind as she searched for the strength in her mind to fight if it would come to blows.

The drake roared again and an icy breath passed out from its throat. “Your courage is remarkable, but you are impure and the knowledge of my existence must be purged from your mind by death!”

Suddenly Rhema’s mind leapt forth with a plan. “I come in the name of Ischarus, a Drakontos. Ischarus has sent me to ask for your help.”

The drake reared its snake-like head back and appeared to position itself so that a lunge could be performed at any moment. “What is Ischarus to you? What is Ischarus to me? This Ischarus has sent you to certain death!”

Before she could think about her reply, Rhema yelled toward the drake. “Ischarus has sent me out of his love to such a task. He would not have sent me to his temple if he thought I could not win against you!” Her mind focused and found the power within herself that she sought. She lifted her hand to attempt a strike preemptively when suddenly she saw a man in the far left corner that she had not seen before. He seemed to have somehow magically appeared out of nothingness.

As the man appeared, the drake before her began to waver and in a moment the creature was gone from sight. Rhema stood in awe as she harmlessly released and reabsorbed the energy that her mind had gathered. “But … I don’t understand.”

The man spoke softly as he stopped leaning against the wall and approached Rhema. “Of course you don’t, child! How could you? My presence in this temple is known only to Drakontai. Occasionally evil Drakontai are able to stumble upon my position. This is why the illusion of the drake is necessary. Anyone entering this section of the hallway who cannot be sensed as having pure and good draconic heritage must be tested. There is only one acceptable answer to the challenge that will prevent you from being destroyed in combat with me.”

Rhema’s eyes grew wide as the man spoke. As the man saw Rhema’s reaction he smiled. “The only acceptable answer that allows you to remain alive in the presence of my illusions is the answer of love from a Drakontos. Of course I have no ability to know whether the love is real or simply stated to pass this test. You have given the proper answer and you have withstood the perseverance tests of the wait and the cold door. By the way, I am Brandt. Apparently we need to talk. I assume this much is true since your friend Ischarus must be in trouble to have sent a non-Drakontos to seek me out. Normally, I would have expected him to come himself.”

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Rhema mouthed the words that Ischarus had spoken to her earlier. “I have loved you for some time, Rhema…”

Ischarus’ closing words pounded through Rhema’s head as she thought about the trouble Ischarus had gotten himself into during the day. She knew Ischarus was innocent. But, she also knew that the legal system didn’t always get it right. Sure, the majority of cases came to a proper conclusion; but Rhema also knew that with the right kind of bribe Lord Ironblood and his legal system could be bought. She’d rather face terrors in the underground and on the other side of the mountains again than risk Ischarus’ freedom at the hands of a judge.

She mouthed more of Ischarus’ speech. “We have flirted for years, Rhema.”

That much was obviously true. Rhema couldn’t deny how she felt when Ischarus finally was able to put into words what had been happening over the course of the past few years. Each foray into Quehalost had been much more than a simple quest against a ravaging land churning with evil. Each trip was an intertwining of their spirits. When they journeyed they drew closer. Ischarus often exchanged quips with Rhema as they journeyed. With the completion of each quest the exhilaration of bringing the oppressed to freedom had brought them closer. They were on a common path and had similar goals in life. They had the same ambition and saw in each other the ability to overcome their own weaknesses. It was only natural that things should end up this way.

Rhema crouched across the street from the temple watching people come and go. A slight smile crossed her face as she tried to guess how many of the patrons of the temple were true Drakontos living among humans without anyone else’s knowledge. She could never have guessed that Ischarus himself had Draconic heritage without being told. Even after he had told her his secret she found it hard to grasp. It had now been two years and she still found it amazing that people with a tiny amount of dragon blood within them lived indistinguishably among the rest of the regular citizens of the land. Of course, many of them had magical talents and Rhema largely suspected that a majority of Fingerdale’s resident mages were really Drakontos. That was a fact that she couldn’t prove. From what Ischarus said, some of them may not even know that they were Drakontos to begin with.

As the temple doors opened once more, Rhema smiled again as she watched Semeion and Charis heading away from the temple with the healer from earlier in the day. The healer looked as though he had come willingly. The trio talked in a friendly manner as they moved past Rhema’s position on their way to the jailhouse. Although they passed within ten feet of where Rhema crouched, she went undetected.

Again Ischarus’ words penetrated deeply into her thoughts as her lips brought them back to life. “Fear of losing each other on a quest has kept us apart. Semeion and Rhema have taught me that fear is foolish in the presence of love.”

Her mind raced as Semeion and Charis walked past together. The two of them had bonded from the first moment that Semeion had laid eyes upon Charis in Quehalost. Even now their growing love for each other was obvious in the way that they walked beside one another. Semeion walked as if able to protect her while Charis walked as though enjoying a great security.

Rhema stood once the trio were past her position. She stepped slightly into the street and turned to watch them walk away. Her head shook slowly from side to side. “It is highly ironic that Charis may well be the reason that Ischarus is in jail,” she muttered under her breath as the pair turned a corner and disappeared out of view. She continued to speak to herself as she allowed her thoughts to find expression in the real world. “Ischarus is in trouble because he was fighting Charis’ past. Yet without Charis, Ischarus would’ve likely not yet declared his love for me.”

She continued to mutter as she dealt with the feelings inside. It was a horrible irony that left her a touch on the jealous side amidst being thankful. She returned once again to the particular set of words that had sparked her imagination. “I have loved you for some time, Rhema”

Rhema’s mind leapt over the jealousy and back to the thought that had started it all. She turned to the temple and walked up the stairs. The time for dwelling upon her emotions was now past her. Ischarus would be free one way or the other. Hopefully, things would go smoothly and she would quickly find the one that she was looking for. With a little luck, Brandt would be in the temple as she climbed the steps. She rehearsed Ischarus’ instructions once more as she approached the doors. “Now go and find a man named Brandt. You will find him frequenting the temple sometime this day. Ask the priests there to identify him to you and tell him a Drakontos needs his expertise.” Ischarus’ words ran through her mind as the acolyte greeted her once inside the door.

Rhema replied softly to the acolyte as her mind came back to reality. “Yes, I am looking for a man who worships frequently here. His name is Brandt, although I will confess to knowing only his name and not his face. That is why I need your help in finding him.”

The acolyte looked stunned for a moment. The man in front of Rhema said absolutely nothing for several seconds. Rhema couldn’t help but feel odd before replying again. “Have I said something wrong?”

The acolyte shook his head from side to side and extended his hand as if to invite her to walk down the hallway in the opposite direction that they had gone when they arrived the first time to heal Charis. Once they had cleared the entrance, the acolyte spoke very softly. “The name Brandt is not often spoken here in this temple. In fact, I have only heard that name spoken once. He is not one of the regular healers and only a select few know his name. Most who know his name already know where to find him. But I do know of the one that you seek. Unfortunately, he is in the middle of his typical meditation time at present. If you are willing to wait here in the hallway, shall I come back in an hour or so and lead you to him?”

Rhema looked a bit agitated at the prospect of having to wait so long. She knew that Charis and Semeion had completed their task so easily and yet she would have to wait. If Ischarus needed this Brandt’s help quickly it simply wasn’t about to happen.

Rhema replied quite curtly. She allowed her impatience and agitation to show through only a bit, however. It wasn’t the acolyte’s fault that her timing was less than perfect. “An hour? I have to wait an hour to see this Brandt?”

The acolyte replied in a tone that demonstrated a significant comfort level with informing people that they will have to wait for their meeting. “Ma’am, the master that you seek enjoys five hours of meditation a day. I know waiting an hour can seem like a significant amount of time for you. However, considering that the one you seek has already been in meditation for at least four hours I should think that you would consider yourself lucky to have come when you did and not a few hours earlier in the day. Besides, one does not arouse a master from their meditations without drawing wrath from the superiors of the order. It is part of my training to learn, model, and teach patience.”

Rhema looked at the poor acolyte and had mercy upon him. She even managed to lift the left corner of her mouth up into a smile. “Very well, then. It would seem that my desire for a quick resolution must bow to your lesson in patience. If it is the only way to gain an audience with Brandt, then I shall wait.”

The acolyte smiled and politely bowed while backing away from Rhema. “Very well, ma’am. I shall return in about an hour’s time.”

It was nearly an hour and a half later that the acolyte returned down the hallway to find Rhema. By this time Rhema was actively pacing up and down the hallway. She was attempting to pass the time without being too irritated at fate for slowing down the already slow process of freeing Ischarus from the prison system of Lord Ironblood. As she saw the acolyte she inhaled so as to yell at the acolyte for being late.

Fortunately for the acolyte he was prepared and he beat her to the punch. “The master that you seek has notified me that he is done with his meditations and prepared to see you when you are ready.”

Rhema’s anger began to deflate as she finally seemed to make headway in the quest that Ischarus felt so necessary. The acolyte led her down the hall a few paces and then showed her the door that led to the meditation chambers that Brandt was apparently using. Before leaving the acolyte felt compelled to offer up one more piece of information. “When you are prepared, feel free to open the door. The one that you seek is waiting for you inside.”

The acolyte backed up a few steps while bowing once more to Rhema out of an air of service. Dismissing the acolyte, Rhema turned to the door and placed her hand upon the handle. She jerked her hand back immediately upon feeling the touch of the metal in her hand. The handle was nearly ice cold. Rhema turned to question the acolyte but as she did she discovered that the acolyte had spent little time returning to his post. The acolyte had all but disappeared as the sounds of his quickened footsteps could be heard down the hall.

Rhema sighed heavily as she realized that it seemed like this day was plotting against her. She remembered the urgency in Ischarus’ voice as he told her to find Brandt and she remembered his proclamation of his love for her. Knowing the pain that would follow, she clenched her fingers into a tight fist until she had squeezed so hard that she could no longer feel the tips of her fingers. She quickly released both hands and gripped the frozen door handle. With a sudden thrust of all her might she twisted it. The door popped open just as feeling returned to her hand and the deeply chilling effect took over. Once the feeling began to return to her fingers the pain of the cold door handle quickly followed. Rhema released the door handle and quickly stepped inside before it was able to swing shut on its own once more.

Rhema no sooner jumped into the room when she was greeted by an ominously full and deep voice, “You have been given two chances to leave, non-Drakontos. Now you must face my wrath!”

Rhema immediately recognized the creature that occupied the room. It had the head of a dragon, but was not quite as large. Its body and limbs were far more skinny and flexible that that of a dragon, although the claws and the teeth of the beast still looked plenty capable of ripping through Rhema’s flesh. The white scales of the reptilian beast glistened with an icy blue tint when the light caught the right angle of reflection. These reflective scales glistened along the entire body and limbs of the creature. As Rhema paused to take the creature in, the beast unfurled its leathery white wings.

There was no doubt in Rhema’s mind what the creature was. It was certainly a drake, although she could figure no reason for keeping such a creature within the walls of the temple. Drakes were the smaller cousins of dragons and were less sociable than even dragons. Furthermore, drakes were not known for being overly housebroken. Each of these thoughts leapt through Rhema’s mind as she searched for the strength in her mind to fight if it would come to blows.

The drake roared again and an icy breath passed out from its throat. “Your courage is remarkable, but you are impure and the knowledge of my existence must be purged from your mind by death!”

Suddenly Rhema’s mind leapt forth with a plan. “I come in the name of Ischarus, a Drakontos. Ischarus has sent me to ask for your help.”

The drake reared its snake-like head back and appeared to position itself so that a lunge could be performed at any moment. “What is Ischarus to you? What is Ischarus to me? This Ischarus has sent you to certain death!”

Before she could think about her reply, Rhema yelled toward the drake. “Ischarus has sent me out of his love to such a task. He would not have sent me to his temple if he thought I could not win against you!” Her mind focused and found the power within herself that she sought. She lifted her hand to attempt a strike preemptively when suddenly she saw a man in the far left corner that she had not seen before. He seemed to have somehow magically appeared out of nothingness.

As the man appeared, the drake before her began to waver and in a moment the creature was gone from sight. Rhema stood in awe as she harmlessly released and reabsorbed the energy that her mind had gathered. “But … I don’t understand.”

The man spoke softly as he stopped leaning against the wall and approached Rhema. “Of course you don’t, child! How could you? My presence in this temple is known only to Drakontai. Occasionally evil Drakontai are able to stumble upon my position. This is why the illusion of the drake is necessary. Anyone entering this section of the hallway who cannot be sensed as having pure and good draconic heritage must be tested. There is only one acceptable answer to the challenge that will prevent you from being destroyed in combat with me.”

Rhema’s eyes grew wide as the man spoke. As the man saw Rhema’s reaction he smiled. “The only acceptable answer that allows you to remain alive in the presence of my illusions is the answer of love from a Drakontos. Of course I have no ability to know whether the love is real or simply stated to pass this test. You have given the proper answer and you have withstood the perseverance tests of the wait and the cold door. By the way, I am Brandt. Apparently we need to talk. I assume this much is true since your friend Ischarus must be in trouble to have sent a non-Drakontos to seek me out. Normally, I would have expected him to come himself.”
[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Rhema couldn’t help but to stare at Brandt as he spoke. Her mind raced with the possibilities. She knew that Ischarus had come from a different background and that his Drakontos heritage meant that she did not share in the typical upbringing that he had as a Drakontos. But she had always considered herself to be close enough to Ischarus to be able to read his body language and tone well enough to interpret his meaning correctly. However, as Brandt spoke she began to doubt her original instincts. Had Ischarus really chosen the peculiar moment of his arrest to express a true love for her? Or was Rhema merely fed the proper answer that she wanted to believe because it was the only way that would allow her to survive the encounter with Brandt? Never before had she been so confused about the motivations of other people.

Rhema slurred under her breath just loud enough for Brandt to hear. “Curse Ischarus!”

Brandt cocked his head slightly to the right and wrinkled his thick eyebrows. “I’m sorry? Did you just curse the one who sent you here to find me? I’m sorry, but I don’t think I understand.”

Rhema snapped back to reality, pushing her emotions to the back of her mind. “Well, that’s no surprise. I’m afraid that I don’t really understand anymore either. But apparently that is part of the plan. It’s part of Ischarus’ plan at least. I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore.”

Brandt blink at the odd logic expressed and looked around the room. He gestured with his right hand to a pair of padded chairs in the corner of the room. The plush red velvet called out to Rhema as Brandt motioned toward them and she eagerly accepted his invitation. As she sat, she found herself feeling as though the large oak frame and the plush velvet padding were going to swallow her completely. When she looked over to Brandt it seemed as though the chair was just as large on him. Either way, the chair was certainly comfortable if not large.

When Rhema looked as though she was comfortably seated, Brandt addressed her and invited her to continue to bring her thoughts to her lips. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning, then? You can start by telling me the story that leads up to why this Ischarus has sent you to find me. Perhaps along the way we’ll discover what I can do for him? And perhaps along I might discover what exactly I can do for you?”

Rhema paused and thought about where to begin. Figuring that he need not know about the details that didn’t relate specifically to Ischarus, Rhema began to tell the tale from when the party had exited the temple for the first time earlier today and had chased Grick. She had not told more than two sentences to Brandt before he lifted up a hand and motioned for her to stop.

Brandt loudly sucked in a large breath in through his nose and then exhaled just as loudly through his nose. More softly he breathed in once more and spoke, “I think you have misinterpreted my request, madam. The events that you describe happened today, correct?”

Rhema looked toward Brandt and replied with a confused tone. “Well, yes. You wanted me to …”

Brandt interrupted Rhema’s sentence, knowing that she was merely trying to make sense of her confusion. Brandt knew the reason for the confusion and needed no justification. “I wanted you to explain your relationship to Ischarus, not necessarily the events that led him into the immediate circumstances surrounding Ischarus.”

Rhema looked even more confused. “But, I’m not sure that we have the time for that tale.”

Brandt chuckled softly in a manner that informed Rhema that she had amused him – even if unintentionally. “Madam, what is the name that Ischarus calls you so that I may speak informally with you?”

Rhema answered easily. “Ischarus calls me Rhema. All my friends call me Rhema.”

Brandt lifted his elbows so that they rested upon the immense arms of the chair and brought his hands together. He aligned his fingertips and flexed his fingers against one another until his fingers were perpendicular to his hands. He brought the paired index fingers directly in front of his mouth and spoke. “Rhema, where is Ischarus that he is unable to seek me directly?”

Rhema paused as she thought hard about the question. Brandt didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, and he didn’t even really seem interested in Ischarus. Rather, Brandt seemed more interested in her. Collecting her thoughts, she replied, “He is an innocent man being held in the prison by Warden Farette. Ischarus believes that you can help to get him free.”

Brandt pursed his lips together in thought before replying calmly. “Did he say as much to you?”

Rhema replied quickly before thinking. “Yes, he sent me to you directly!”

Brandt lowered his head to look directly into Rhema’s eyes. “He said that I could free him from prison having never met him?”

Rhema stopped and thought, knowing that she had just spoken rashly. “No. Actually I believe that he told me to tell you that a Drakontos needs your expertise.”

Brandt smiled and broke his stare, satisfied by Rhema’s answer. “I assure you, Rhema. I cannot help his predicament in jail. But I may be able to use my expertise and discover what he really needs my help in. Besides, I suppose that if he is truly in jail than there is really no reason that you shouldn’t take your time and tell me the whole story. I believe if he is truly in need of my help that the jail may well be the best place for him.”

As Brandt finished speaking his tone and facial expressions gave Rhema an eerie feeling that she no longer understood what use Brandt would be to Ischarus. She suddenly felt mentally blind and unable to see where this conversation would lead them. “Yes,” Rhema began cautiously, “I can see your point. If you cannot help to free Ischarus, then there is little reason to hurry the story to the immediate details. But before I begin, can you explain to me what help you think Ischarus may need from you?”

Brandt leaned forward in his chair and spoke rather softly. “I am a deeply religious man, and I would assume you would know that given my current place of … employment. Yet I am also a dabbler in the magic arts.” A very sincere smile crossed Brandt’s face as he spoke. “I would assume that your Ischarus has sought me out for either a religious or a magical reason. He needs something from me, and I am the one appointed by many of the good dragon fathers to help young Drakontos with what they need.”

Rhema only found more questions in Brandt’s answers. She thought she had an understanding on the differences between herself and a Drakontos; but the more Brandt spoke the more confused she became. “What does Ischarus need from you? He is a swordsman by trade and a good one at that. He is deeply rooted in your faith, but by no means does he possess powers over magic or powers granted by the divine.” Rhema paused, her own thoughts leaping farther and farther ahead of what her mouth could express.

Brandt saw her expression and reached out his right hand in a motion to catch her attention and caused her to stop thinking so fervently. “My guess is that just when you think you have Ischarus figured out you discover that there is more to his world than you could realize. If that is correct, then it is imperative for my own understanding that you begin with the beginning when you met him and tell me what you remember about your activities with Ischarus. Tell me about his passions, his irritations, his loves, his activities, and his friendships. There is no detail that is too small or insignificant. If Ischarus sent you here to me, then he was confident that I could find my answers in you.”

Rhema looked to Brandt and the man seemed to almost be radiating a calm confidence. Rhema began to tell her story, much like she had begun to explain to Semeion on the day that they first met in the Cachinnating Roadhouse. She told of how the two had met, adventured together, met Semeion and then met Charis, and finally how they had been followed by the servants of the red wyrm. As Rhema concluded her story, Brandt raised himself from his chair and extended a hand to Rhema.

“My dear Rhema, the two of you have indeed led a beautiful life together. But I do think the time has come for me to meet this Ischarus of whom you speak so fondly. I can tell that you have a great love for him, and I believe I can indeed help him.” Brandt smiled confidently.

Rhema accepted the hand and rose up to Brandt’s side. As Brandt grabbed the heavy traveling cloak that helped disguise his identity on the streets, Rhema inquired of him one more time. “What, may I ask, can you help Ischarus with?”

Brandt turned and smiled, opening the door for Rhema to exit first. “Rhema, that is something that I will leave to Ischarus to tell you. He must discover it himself. Once he does, he will readily tell you.” He brought a finger up to his lips and spoke once more. “Now that we are out of my office I must ask you to refrain from speaking on this matter further.”

Rhema looked once more to Brandt and shook her head slightly from side to side. This was one more thing that she would have to wait before understanding. She smiled as she mused that Ischarus had better make this worth her trouble.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Rhema couldn’t help but to stare at Brandt as he spoke. Her mind raced with the possibilities. She knew that Ischarus had come from a different background and that his Drakontos heritage meant that she did not share in the typical upbringing that he had as a Drakontos. But she had always considered herself to be close enough to Ischarus to be able to read his body language and tone well enough to interpret his meaning correctly. However, as Brandt spoke she began to doubt her original instincts. Had Ischarus really chosen the peculiar moment of his arrest to express a true love for her? Or was Rhema merely fed the proper answer that she wanted to believe because it was the only way that would allow her to survive the encounter with Brandt? Never before had she been so confused about the motivations of other people.

Rhema slurred under her breath just loud enough for Brandt to hear. “Curse Ischarus!”

Brandt cocked his head slightly to the right and wrinkled his thick eyebrows. “I’m sorry? Did you just curse the one who sent you here to find me? I’m sorry, but I don’t think I understand.”

Rhema snapped back to reality, pushing her emotions to the back of her mind. “Well, that’s no surprise. I’m afraid that I don’t really understand anymore either. But apparently that is part of the plan. It’s part of Ischarus’ plan at least. I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore.”

Brandt blink at the odd logic expressed and looked around the room. He gestured with his right hand to a pair of padded chairs in the corner of the room. The plush red velvet called out to Rhema as Brandt motioned toward them and she eagerly accepted his invitation. As she sat, she found herself feeling as though the large oak frame and the plush velvet padding were going to swallow her completely. When she looked over to Brandt it seemed as though the chair was just as large on him. Either way, the chair was certainly comfortable if not large.

When Rhema looked as though she was comfortably seated, Brandt addressed her and invited her to continue to bring her thoughts to her lips. “Why don’t you begin at the beginning, then? You can start by telling me the story that leads up to why this Ischarus has sent you to find me. Perhaps along the way we’ll discover what I can do for him? And perhaps along I might discover what exactly I can do for you?”

Rhema paused and thought about where to begin. Figuring that he need not know about the details that didn’t relate specifically to Ischarus, Rhema began to tell the tale from when the party had exited the temple for the first time earlier today and had chased Grick. She had not told more than two sentences to Brandt before he lifted up a hand and motioned for her to stop.

Brandt loudly sucked in a large breath in through his nose and then exhaled just as loudly through his nose. More softly he breathed in once more and spoke, “I think you have misinterpreted my request, madam. The events that you describe happened today, correct?”

Rhema looked toward Brandt and replied with a confused tone. “Well, yes. You wanted me to …”

Brandt interrupted Rhema’s sentence, knowing that she was merely trying to make sense of her confusion. Brandt knew the reason for the confusion and needed no justification. “I wanted you to explain your relationship to Ischarus, not necessarily the events that led him into the immediate circumstances surrounding Ischarus.”

Rhema looked even more confused. “But, I’m not sure that we have the time for that tale.”

Brandt chuckled softly in a manner that informed Rhema that she had amused him – even if unintentionally. “Madam, what is the name that Ischarus calls you so that I may speak informally with you?”

Rhema answered easily. “Ischarus calls me Rhema. All my friends call me Rhema.”

Brandt lifted his elbows so that they rested upon the immense arms of the chair and brought his hands together. He aligned his fingertips and flexed his fingers against one another until his fingers were perpendicular to his hands. He brought the paired index fingers directly in front of his mouth and spoke. “Rhema, where is Ischarus that he is unable to seek me directly?”

Rhema paused as she thought hard about the question. Brandt didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, and he didn’t even really seem interested in Ischarus. Rather, Brandt seemed more interested in her. Collecting her thoughts, she replied, “He is an innocent man being held in the prison by Warden Farette. Ischarus believes that you can help to get him free.”

Brandt pursed his lips together in thought before replying calmly. “Did he say as much to you?”

Rhema replied quickly before thinking. “Yes, he sent me to you directly!”

Brandt lowered his head to look directly into Rhema’s eyes. “He said that I could free him from prison having never met him?”

Rhema stopped and thought, knowing that she had just spoken rashly. “No. Actually I believe that he told me to tell you that a Drakontos needs your expertise.”

Brandt smiled and broke his stare, satisfied by Rhema’s answer. “I assure you, Rhema. I cannot help his predicament in jail. But I may be able to use my expertise and discover what he really needs my help in. Besides, I suppose that if he is truly in jail than there is really no reason that you shouldn’t take your time and tell me the whole story. I believe if he is truly in need of my help that the jail may well be the best place for him.”

As Brandt finished speaking his tone and facial expressions gave Rhema an eerie feeling that she no longer understood what use Brandt would be to Ischarus. She suddenly felt mentally blind and unable to see where this conversation would lead them. “Yes,” Rhema began cautiously, “I can see your point. If you cannot help to free Ischarus, then there is little reason to hurry the story to the immediate details. But before I begin, can you explain to me what help you think Ischarus may need from you?”

Brandt leaned forward in his chair and spoke rather softly. “I am a deeply religious man, and I would assume you would know that given my current place of … employment. Yet I am also a dabbler in the magic arts.” A very sincere smile crossed Brandt’s face as he spoke. “I would assume that your Ischarus has sought me out for either a religious or a magical reason. He needs something from me, and I am the one appointed by many of the good dragon fathers to help young Drakontos with what they need.”

Rhema only found more questions in Brandt’s answers. She thought she had an understanding on the differences between herself and a Drakontos; but the more Brandt spoke the more confused she became. “What does Ischarus need from you? He is a swordsman by trade and a good one at that. He is deeply rooted in your faith, but by no means does he possess powers over magic or powers granted by the divine.” Rhema paused, her own thoughts leaping farther and farther ahead of what her mouth could express.

Brandt saw her expression and reached out his right hand in a motion to catch her attention and caused her to stop thinking so fervently. “My guess is that just when you think you have Ischarus figured out you discover that there is more to his world than you could realize. If that is correct, then it is imperative for my own understanding that you begin with the beginning when you met him and tell me what you remember about your activities with Ischarus. Tell me about his passions, his irritations, his loves, his activities, and his friendships. There is no detail that is too small or insignificant. If Ischarus sent you here to me, then he was confident that I could find my answers in you.”

Rhema looked to Brandt and the man seemed to almost be radiating a calm confidence. Rhema began to tell her story, much like she had begun to explain to Semeion on the day that they first met in the Cachinnating Roadhouse. She told of how the two had met, adventured together, met Semeion and then met Charis, and finally how they had been followed by the servants of the red wyrm. As Rhema concluded her story, Brandt raised himself from his chair and extended a hand to Rhema.

“My dear Rhema, the two of you have indeed led a beautiful life together. But I do think the time has come for me to meet this Ischarus of whom you speak so fondly. I can tell that you have a great love for him, and I believe I can indeed help him.” Brandt smiled confidently.

Rhema accepted the hand and rose up to Brandt’s side. As Brandt grabbed the heavy traveling cloak that helped disguise his identity on the streets, Rhema inquired of him one more time. “What, may I ask, can you help Ischarus with?”

Brandt turned and smiled, opening the door for Rhema to exit first. “Rhema, that is something that I will leave to Ischarus to tell you. He must discover it himself. Once he does, he will readily tell you.” He brought a finger up to his lips and spoke once more. “Now that we are out of my office I must ask you to refrain from speaking on this matter further.”

Rhema looked once more to Brandt and shook her head slightly from side to side. This was one more thing that she would have to wait before understanding. She smiled as she mused that Ischarus had better make this worth her trouble.[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Back in the prison, Ischarus lay flat on a table in a brightly lit room. There were no windows within the room, but there were more than enough magical lights around the ceiling to light the room brightly. Ischarus squinted as he opened his eyes and saw a fuzzy shadow hovering above him. He spoke softly as he looked into the light. “Am I dead?” Ischarus asked, wondering why his vision was so blurry.

He heard a bit of chuckling from around his head. Two of the laughs he recognized, two of the laughs were foreign. One of the familiar chuckles stopped short and spoke up. “No, Ischarus, you are not dead. But you are better off than you were an hour ago.”

Ischarus smiled at the sound of Semeion’s voice and immediately replied now that he knew there was a friend in the room. “Your weak voice sounds good to my ears. Can I assume that if you are here that I am free?”

Ischarus realized his eyesight was returning to normal as Charis leaned over him and spoke softly. Her face was much more recognizable than Semeion’s fuzzy shadow that had stood over him a few moments ago. Her long hair cast a shadow along Charis’ face, but Ischarus was seeing well enough to recognize her smile. “We were able to bring the healer from the temple here to verify your story. Captain Jacobseille said something about an armed conflict in the bowels of the prison that combined with the testimony of the healer assured him of your freedom?”

An unfamiliar voice to Ischarus spoke. The voice was soft and fragile, and his ears thought they picked up a slight pattern of speech that was also used to speaking in the tongue of the Elves. “The patient was brought to me just before you arrived. Fortunately I was able to relieve him of his consciousness before beginning the magical process of healing his wounds. The sickness vanished on its own in due time. With the greater healing power of Barrachius from the temple, we were able to fix your leg completely. No doubt that there will be stiffness for even a few weeks, but you should be able to walk on it.”

The other unfamiliar voice spoke, although as the man spoke Iscahrus was able to place the voice as belonging to the healer Barrachius from the temple. “It would seem that I have been able to repay you for your generous donation to the cause of our mutual god. I consider it an honor to have been used in that regard. Now, as to your leg, I would recommend staying off of it except light travel for a few days. Where is it that you said you were from?”

Ischarus spoke, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy as the pain from his leg clouded his mind. “Huetown. And we …”

Ischarus’ speech was interrupted by a knock at the door. Without being invited in, the door opened and both Captain Jacobseille and Warden Farette strutted confidently into the room. “Is he healed and awake?” The warden asked flatly without any real care for Ischarus’ condition.

The prison’s healer nodded and replied in her fair voice. “He is healed, awake, and no doubt in considerable pain.”

The warden brushed off the last part of the healer’s sentence and marched to the table over top of Ischarus. “We have good news for you, Ischarus. Thanks to your planned stunt below, we have been able to interrogate the man you call Grick more thoroughly and convincingly. It would seem that he comes from Quehalost. And it would seem that you have spent some time there yourself.” The warden looked up from Ischarus and glanced at Charis and Semeion along the other side of the table where Ischarus lay. “I assume that your work in Quehalost is honorable and it is you honor that has brought Grick’s wrath upon you. I would pray that you have not brought the attention of a red wyrm upon our city for dishonorable means. And I should not need to remind you that vigilantism is not a recommended approach to doing business in Fingerdale as far as Lord Ironblood and the city guard is concerned. You are lucky that Grick is such a considerably dangerous criminal.”

Ischarus, Semeion, and Charis remained quiet. They did not want to say anything that would allow the warden or the captain of the guard to change their decision regarding Ischarus’ freedom. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Captain Jacobseille spoke. “I would imagine the results of our investigation will be fruitful, especially since you did ask to interview him yourself when we are finished. I am sure that he has a good tale still yet to tell. I can tell you that you will not be allowed to interview him on account of the twice violent encounters between the two of you. However, there is one particular fact that I believe you may not know about Grick. His power does not stem from the normal means of magic – either study or natural talent. His magical power comes from a specific line of breeding that is intentionally passed on from one generation to another. No doubt you know that Grick is a Drakontai. I assume that you can come to the proper conclusion that his heritage plays an important role in his magical ability. It is rumored that the evil dragons of Quehalost indeed keep lines of innate magical users within their service who are bred from their own person. I would consider yourself sufficiently warned in the fact that the red wyrm you angered has sent such a special person in his service to handle you. I would also consider yourselves lucky. The innate magic users of dragons are not known to be this ineffective. You survived this time.”

Again Semeion and Charis remained silent. The new information was taking time to sink in. Ischarus was not surprised at all about the information that the captain had given to them. He replied almost immediately to the captain’s assertion. “I thank you for sharing this information with us, Captain. And you have my assurance that so long as we need not protect this town from more minions of the red wyrm that you will likewise neither hear of us again nor trouble your guard with our business.”

The warden smirked, knowing that Ischarus and his friends would likely not get so kind a second chance. Captain Jacobseille distinctly leaned over Ischarus’ face as he lay horizontal on the table and spoke directly to Ischarus. “I would hope that you have the intelligence of alerting my city guard next time you are confronted with minions of the red wyrm.”

Ischarus closed his eyes in understanding and chose not to speak further. He had pressed his luck and was in no position to make demands. From where he lay, the prison cells were easier to reach than the freedom of outside.

After another awkward silence, Warden Farette motioned to Captain Jacobseille and they left the room. The prison healer relaxed upon their exit and gave Semeion a questioned look. Semeion merely shook his head and returned to Barrachius’ earlier question. “We came from Huetown, and we came by foot. It is a few miles back as you no doubt know. Will Ischarus be able to walk it?”

Barrachius looked once more at Ischarus, looked deeply into his eyes, and then motioned for the prison healer to remove the bed sheet covering Ischarus’ wounded leg. The healer and Barrachius each examined the healed leg in silence and then Barrachius gave his diagnosis. “I would advise against it. The leg might well be healed, but the remaining pain from the original wound and the healing may well cause a significant limp. If the limp is pronounced over too much time it could cause more serious muscle damage. I would recommend leaving Ischarus here and returning with a horse. Ischarus should be able to ride a horse so long as the horse is kept from trotting or galloping. Of course, a fast moving horse would require Ischarus to use his leg.”

Ischarus sighed, knowing that by this time in the day there was no way that he would be returning to Huetown this evening. That most likely meant finding an inn and staying in it alone so that the other three could return in the evening and be back by morning with the horses.

The prison healer spoke. There was a tone present which told of a desire to finish up this visit in her smooth voice. “I would concur with Barrachius’ opinion. Stay off the leg except for short moments of walking. Rest it often and refrain from applying ice or heat if possible. Just let it heal and allow the pain and stiffness to leave the leg. If there is nothing else, I believe you are free to go. The guards in the hallway will retrieve your items and show you out.”

Ischarus swallowed hard, wondering how he would feel sitting up for the first time since he had grown sick. He managed to sit up well but winced in pain as he slid to his feet and off the healer’s table. Semeion and Charis each rushed to opposite sides of Ischarus and grabbed an elbow for support. Ischarus’ hands instinctively grabbed onto both Semeion and Charis as they offered support. Slowly he made his way to the door.

Outside the room, the guards had already assembled Ischarus’ equipment – including the sword that had been taken from him earlier by the city guard. They coolly dismissed Ischarus and showed him the door that led back to the narrow lobby. Once the three party members and Barrachius had entered the lobby the heavy metal door slammed loudly behind them. Ischarus took a moment to make sure his sword was properly in its scabbard and they left the prison behind them.

They decided to walk the healer back to the temple in an attempt to find Rhema. Halfway back to the temple, Charis spied Rhema and another man walking in their direction. At about the same time, Rhema saw Charis and Semeion helping Ischarus walk painfully along the street. Rhema sprang forward to greet them all, although her eyes focused especially on Ischarus. Her rush left Brandt several paces behind. Bracchius reached out a hand and stopped Rhema from actually hugging Ischarus. “Ma’am, this man is in significant pain from a leg injury. I’ll ask that you not put undo stress upon his wound.”

Rhema’s smile instantly broke into a look of concern, although Ischarus dismissed her concern quickly. “I’ll be fine, Rhema. Don’t worry. But tell me, were you successful in retrieving the services of Brandt?

Brandt’s voice came from behind Rhema. He was still several paces off. “Indeed she was, sir. I am assuming you are Ischarus and therefore, in one manner of speaking or another, my kin?”

Ischarus stopped and allowed Brandt to approach. “I am the one who sent for you. I have a need to ask you of a favor. And it is a favor that I was told to ask from you specifically.”

Brandt completed his approach and stood a pace from Ischarus and faced him. Ischarus smiled as he noted Brandt’s cloak and the fact that it was about as indistinct as he expected. “I believe that I can help you, then. Rhema was quite informative in telling me of your background. But this is not the time to speak of such things. May I invite you to my office where we can speak much more freely?”

Ischarus winced at the thought of walking further, and Brandt must have seen the pain. He had overheard the healer’s warning of injuring Ischarus and Brandt offered up a quick amendment to the plan. “Perhaps I should be more specific. The invitation would require no more pain on your behalf if you allow me to use a bit of magic.”

Semeion smiled, genuinely intrigued by any display of magic. Charis likewise smiled, although her appreciation came from seeing the instant excitement on Semeion’s face. Rhema and Bracchius looked relieved at the fact that Ischarus could be temporarily relieved of his pain. Ischarus noted the reactions of his companions and nodded in the affirmative to Brandt. “I suppose it would disappoint my companions too much to refuse. Much to Rhema’s relief, Ischarus allowed a good natured smirk to pass over his face as he spoke.

Brandt returned Ischarus’ smirk with a broad grin and extended his hands as he spoke. “We must all be in contact with one another. Bracchius, if you desire you may join us.” Once the party had joined hands Brandt continued to give directions regarding the magic. “As much as I like my secretive lifestyle, I always enjoy performing this spell in the midst of the public. I think it gives them hope in the unimaginable happening. Placilicuhn ul-Tactum.”

The party began to waver as if the ground beneath them was growing insanely hot and the heat was rising among the party. There was no heat, of course, but the magical effect made it appear as though the simple road grew with insane heat. Soon the wavering quickened and in a flash the party had vanished.


[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Back in the prison, Ischarus lay flat on a table in a brightly lit room. There were no windows within the room, but there were more than enough magical lights around the ceiling to light the room brightly. Ischarus squinted as he opened his eyes and saw a fuzzy shadow hovering above him. He spoke softly as he looked into the light. “Am I dead?” Ischarus asked, wondering why his vision was so blurry.

He heard a bit of chuckling from around his head. Two of the laughs he recognized, two of the laughs were foreign. One of the familiar chuckles stopped short and spoke up. “No, Ischarus, you are not dead. But you are better off than you were an hour ago.”

Ischarus smiled at the sound of Semeion’s voice and immediately replied now that he knew there was a friend in the room. “Your weak voice sounds good to my ears. Can I assume that if you are here that I am free?”

Ischarus realized his eyesight was returning to normal as Charis leaned over him and spoke softly. Her face was much more recognizable than Semeion’s fuzzy shadow that had stood over him a few moments ago. Her long hair cast a shadow along Charis’ face, but Ischarus was seeing well enough to recognize her smile. “We were able to bring the healer from the temple here to verify your story. Captain Jacobseille said something about an armed conflict in the bowels of the prison that combined with the testimony of the healer assured him of your freedom?”

An unfamiliar voice to Ischarus spoke. The voice was soft and fragile, and his ears thought they picked up a slight pattern of speech that was also used to speaking in the tongue of the Elves. “The patient was brought to me just before you arrived. Fortunately I was able to relieve him of his consciousness before beginning the magical process of healing his wounds. The sickness vanished on its own in due time. With the greater healing power of Barrachius from the temple, we were able to fix your leg completely. No doubt that there will be stiffness for even a few weeks, but you should be able to walk on it.”

The other unfamiliar voice spoke, although as the man spoke Iscahrus was able to place the voice as belonging to the healer Barrachius from the temple. “It would seem that I have been able to repay you for your generous donation to the cause of our mutual god. I consider it an honor to have been used in that regard. Now, as to your leg, I would recommend staying off of it except light travel for a few days. Where is it that you said you were from?”

Ischarus spoke, suddenly feeling a bit uneasy as the pain from his leg clouded his mind. “Huetown. And we …”

Ischarus’ speech was interrupted by a knock at the door. Without being invited in, the door opened and both Captain Jacobseille and Warden Farette strutted confidently into the room. “Is he healed and awake?” The warden asked flatly without any real care for Ischarus’ condition.

The prison’s healer nodded and replied in her fair voice. “He is healed, awake, and no doubt in considerable pain.”

The warden brushed off the last part of the healer’s sentence and marched to the table over top of Ischarus. “We have good news for you, Ischarus. Thanks to your planned stunt below, we have been able to interrogate the man you call Grick more thoroughly and convincingly. It would seem that he comes from Quehalost. And it would seem that you have spent some time there yourself.” The warden looked up from Ischarus and glanced at Charis and Semeion along the other side of the table where Ischarus lay. “I assume that your work in Quehalost is honorable and it is you honor that has brought Grick’s wrath upon you. I would pray that you have not brought the attention of a red wyrm upon our city for dishonorable means. And I should not need to remind you that vigilantism is not a recommended approach to doing business in Fingerdale as far as Lord Ironblood and the city guard is concerned. You are lucky that Grick is such a considerably dangerous criminal.”

Ischarus, Semeion, and Charis remained quiet. They did not want to say anything that would allow the warden or the captain of the guard to change their decision regarding Ischarus’ freedom. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Captain Jacobseille spoke. “I would imagine the results of our investigation will be fruitful, especially since you did ask to interview him yourself when we are finished. I am sure that he has a good tale still yet to tell. I can tell you that you will not be allowed to interview him on account of the twice violent encounters between the two of you. However, there is one particular fact that I believe you may not know about Grick. His power does not stem from the normal means of magic – either study or natural talent. His magical power comes from a specific line of breeding that is intentionally passed on from one generation to another. No doubt you know that Grick is a Drakontai. I assume that you can come to the proper conclusion that his heritage plays an important role in his magical ability. It is rumored that the evil dragons of Quehalost indeed keep lines of innate magical users within their service who are bred from their own person. I would consider yourself sufficiently warned in the fact that the red wyrm you angered has sent such a special person in his service to handle you. I would also consider yourselves lucky. The innate magic users of dragons are not known to be this ineffective. You survived this time.”

Again Semeion and Charis remained silent. The new information was taking time to sink in. Ischarus was not surprised at all about the information that the captain had given to them. He replied almost immediately to the captain’s assertion. “I thank you for sharing this information with us, Captain. And you have my assurance that so long as we need not protect this town from more minions of the red wyrm that you will likewise neither hear of us again nor trouble your guard with our business.”

The warden smirked, knowing that Ischarus and his friends would likely not get so kind a second chance. Captain Jacobseille distinctly leaned over Ischarus’ face as he lay horizontal on the table and spoke directly to Ischarus. “I would hope that you have the intelligence of alerting my city guard next time you are confronted with minions of the red wyrm.”

Ischarus closed his eyes in understanding and chose not to speak further. He had pressed his luck and was in no position to make demands. From where he lay, the prison cells were easier to reach than the freedom of outside.

After another awkward silence, Warden Farette motioned to Captain Jacobseille and they left the room. The prison healer relaxed upon their exit and gave Semeion a questioned look. Semeion merely shook his head and returned to Barrachius’ earlier question. “We came from Huetown, and we came by foot. It is a few miles back as you no doubt know. Will Ischarus be able to walk it?”

Barrachius looked once more at Ischarus, looked deeply into his eyes, and then motioned for the prison healer to remove the bed sheet covering Ischarus’ wounded leg. The healer and Barrachius each examined the healed leg in silence and then Barrachius gave his diagnosis. “I would advise against it. The leg might well be healed, but the remaining pain from the original wound and the healing may well cause a significant limp. If the limp is pronounced over too much time it could cause more serious muscle damage. I would recommend leaving Ischarus here and returning with a horse. Ischarus should be able to ride a horse so long as the horse is kept from trotting or galloping. Of course, a fast moving horse would require Ischarus to use his leg.”

Ischarus sighed, knowing that by this time in the day there was no way that he would be returning to Huetown this evening. That most likely meant finding an inn and staying in it alone so that the other three could return in the evening and be back by morning with the horses.

The prison healer spoke. There was a tone present which told of a desire to finish up this visit in her smooth voice. “I would concur with Barrachius’ opinion. Stay off the leg except for short moments of walking. Rest it often and refrain from applying ice or heat if possible. Just let it heal and allow the pain and stiffness to leave the leg. If there is nothing else, I believe you are free to go. The guards in the hallway will retrieve your items and show you out.”

Ischarus swallowed hard, wondering how he would feel sitting up for the first time since he had grown sick. He managed to sit up well but winced in pain as he slid to his feet and off the healer’s table. Semeion and Charis each rushed to opposite sides of Ischarus and grabbed an elbow for support. Ischarus’ hands instinctively grabbed onto both Semeion and Charis as they offered support. Slowly he made his way to the door.

Outside the room, the guards had already assembled Ischarus’ equipment – including the sword that had been taken from him earlier by the city guard. They coolly dismissed Ischarus and showed him the door that led back to the narrow lobby. Once the three party members and Barrachius had entered the lobby the heavy metal door slammed loudly behind them. Ischarus took a moment to make sure his sword was properly in its scabbard and they left the prison behind them.

They decided to walk the healer back to the temple in an attempt to find Rhema. Halfway back to the temple, Charis spied Rhema and another man walking in their direction. At about the same time, Rhema saw Charis and Semeion helping Ischarus walk painfully along the street. Rhema sprang forward to greet them all, although her eyes focused especially on Ischarus. Her rush left Brandt several paces behind. Bracchius reached out a hand and stopped Rhema from actually hugging Ischarus. “Ma’am, this man is in significant pain from a leg injury. I’ll ask that you not put undo stress upon his wound.”

Rhema’s smile instantly broke into a look of concern, although Ischarus dismissed her concern quickly. “I’ll be fine, Rhema. Don’t worry. But tell me, were you successful in retrieving the services of Brandt?

Brandt’s voice came from behind Rhema. He was still several paces off. “Indeed she was, sir. I am assuming you are Ischarus and therefore, in one manner of speaking or another, my kin?”

Ischarus stopped and allowed Brandt to approach. “I am the one who sent for you. I have a need to ask you of a favor. And it is a favor that I was told to ask from you specifically.”

Brandt completed his approach and stood a pace from Ischarus and faced him. Ischarus smiled as he noted Brandt’s cloak and the fact that it was about as indistinct as he expected. “I believe that I can help you, then. Rhema was quite informative in telling me of your background. But this is not the time to speak of such things. May I invite you to my office where we can speak much more freely?”

Ischarus winced at the thought of walking further, and Brandt must have seen the pain. He had overheard the healer’s warning of injuring Ischarus and Brandt offered up a quick amendment to the plan. “Perhaps I should be more specific. The invitation would require no more pain on your behalf if you allow me to use a bit of magic.”

Semeion smiled, genuinely intrigued by any display of magic. Charis likewise smiled, although her appreciation came from seeing the instant excitement on Semeion’s face. Rhema and Bracchius looked relieved at the fact that Ischarus could be temporarily relieved of his pain. Ischarus noted the reactions of his companions and nodded in the affirmative to Brandt. “I suppose it would disappoint my companions too much to refuse. Much to Rhema’s relief, Ischarus allowed a good natured smirk to pass over his face as he spoke.

Brandt returned Ischarus’ smirk with a broad grin and extended his hands as he spoke. “We must all be in contact with one another. Bracchius, if you desire you may join us.” Once the party had joined hands Brandt continued to give directions regarding the magic. “As much as I like my secretive lifestyle, I always enjoy performing this spell in the midst of the public. I think it gives them hope in the unimaginable happening. Placilicuhn ul-Tactum.”

The party began to waver as if the ground beneath them was growing insanely hot and the heat was rising among the party. There was no heat, of course, but the magical effect made it appear as though the simple road grew with insane heat. Soon the wavering quickened and in a flash the party had vanished.[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Chapter Seven: EXIGENCY

From inside the wavering circle, the party could see none of the external effects. What quite literally happened from the perspective of those under Brandt’s spell was that in one instant they were huddled in a circle on the street and the very next instant they were standing in a circle around Brandt’s desk in his office. Their posture and position remained unchanged while their locale had changed completely.

A huge grin passed over Semeion’s face and Charis couldn’t help but smile at the young mage’s reaction to the use of magic. “I have got to learn that spell!” Semeion made his explanation without thinking that he was actually speaking aloud.

Brandt released the hands of those who were around him and looked back towards Semeion. “My guess, young friend, is that the power of the spell is a bit out of reach given your current understanding of magic. Teleportation magic is not something that you want to mess with until you know you can control it. You could end up zapping yourself miles off target. Or worse yet, you could end up teleporting yourself into the middle of the wall that makes up the room.”

Rhema swallowed hard as Brandt described the possible effects. “No offense, then, but I am rather glad that you didn’t tell us that beforehand.”

Brandt chuckled at Rhema’s thought. “There were no worries, Rhema. I was not teleporting far and I was teleporting into an area that I can quite easily say that I am familiar with. Both of those things were working in your favor. Besides,” Brandt added with a bit of a wink, “I haven’t had a missed teleportation attempt for several days.”

Bracchius laughed out loud. “No doubt that is true if you are measuring days in terms of how time infinitely passes in the heavens! I would be shocked if you’ve missed a teleportation since you came here and took your charge, Brandt.”

The four adventurers found themselves caught up in the fact that obviously Brandt and Bracchius had a working relationship of which they were not aware. Brandt replied to the temple healer while keeping the humor in his voice. “Well, I suppose you might be right. Weeks, then.”

Ischarus joined in the laugh with Bracchius after Brandt’s latest remark. He knew Brandt hadn’t been working here forever, but he also knew that Brandt had been at the temple for as long as he could remember. Ischarus even thought that he remembered his mother telling him that she had been under Brandt’s tutelage.

Bracchius turned and motioned to the four adventurers as he spoke next. “Well, I do believe that my work for the day has been done and your work is just beginning, Brandt. I’ll let myself out, then?”

Brandt merely nodded and smiled and turned his attention to the party. As Bracchius left the room, he could hear Brandt beginning, “So, master Ischarus, you are the Drakontos who was told to seek me out. I believe that I can indeed help you in your personal quest, but you must understand that it may take a few days or a week for you to fully understand how to begin.”

Semeion and Charis shared equally confused looks on their faces. Charis spoke before Semeion could formulate his thought. “Quest, Ischarus? You’re going on a personal quest? Did we miss something that happened when we were off for a time in the hospital seeking out Bracchius?

Brandt interrupted before Ischarus could explain. From his tone and expression it was clear that Brandt had a healthy sense of humor and enjoyed speaking in less tan straightforward means. “Yes, it is likely that you two certainly did. But this is the first time that Ischarus and I have spoken.”

Ischarus chuckled at Charis’ and Semeion’s expense. “I am a Drakontos, and you all know that. Many of our kind find that we develop certain talents according to our parentage when we reach a certain point in our maturity. The talents seldom develop until a few years after we have reached physical maturity. As you should no doubt expect the talents vary from Drakontos to Drakontos.

Semeion was caught in the suspense of the new information. In some respects, deep inside his soul he even found himself wishing that he was Drakontos. He didn’t even know what the new talents could be, but there was a certain allure to Ischarus’ situation that appealed to him. Perhaps that was what had brought him to Master Sathwright’s side in the first place to learn the magic arts. As he thought about the possibilities and reflected them upon his own life he managed to bring himself to ask Brandt a question. “What kinds of abilities develop, Ischarus?

Brandt leaned back, allowing Ischarus to field this question. He wore a genuinely curious expression and turned his body so that he could hear Ischarus’ answer clearly. From his expression Brandt revealed that Ischarus was going to tell more about himself than even Ischarus realized.

Ischarus cleared his throat, winced in pain as he shifted positions so he could sit down, and began his answer. “It really depends on the Drakontos. As you know with Grick, some Drakontos develop innate abilities derived from the magical nature of dragons. Some become able to throw force around as if they were casting a spell. Apparently some also develop the ability to make people nauseous from a distance. Others of my race develop innate abilities of an arcane kind. They can control magic and spells as a part of their essence. Many who aspire to be wizards through deep study find that they gravitate toward certain areas of spells that are easier to decipher, memorize, and cast with heightened efficiency. Some find deeply rooted religious connections that dwell within their very being and can heal as Bracchius and Charis are able. In fact, I would not be surprised if Charis has already passed through her change when she learned that she was able to heal. Like humans, female Drakontos typically reach physical and emotional maturity before males.”

Brandt turned to Charis and gave her and unexpected smile. Of course he had assumed that Charis was a Drakontos from the story that Rhema had told him earlier, but he did not realize that Rhema’s abilities manifested through the gift of healing. When she caught his eye, Brandt spoke to her, “I was unaware that you were a natural healer, Charis. And to develop such a natural gift from a red wyrm lineage is indeed quite rare. I can see why your people wanted to keep you alive and develop your family line through the means of the Provenience.”

Charis merely smiled at Brandt without offering up a response. Much of the information Ischarus was relaying was completely new for her as well. She had seen much of these talents develop before her eyes, but she had not fully understood her own people until meeting Ischarus. Their father dragon was not so much interested in explaining their gifts as he was exploiting them.

Brandt continued, “Don’t take this the wrong way, of course, because I am glad that you were freed from the oppression and fear of living in the shadow of a great red wyrm. But in many respects I would be significantly interested had your people’s experiment taken hold and the gift of healing had spread through your people. A healer among the Drakontai of Quehalost is unusual indeed.”

Charis shifted on her feet and decided that it was time for her to sit down. As she moved to the chairs, Brandt watched as the others looked to follow and sit where only a short time ago Brandt had sat and spoken with Rhema. He held up a hand to stop them and spoke clearly. “Do not misunderstand my intentions, friends. But I really must ask that you not get terribly comfortable here. Much of the work that Ischarus and I have to do will have to be done alone. That does mean that Ischarus will need to stay alone with me in Fingerdale for a few days.”

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Chapter Seven: EXIGENCY

From inside the wavering circle, the party could see none of the external effects. What quite literally happened from the perspective of those under Brandt’s spell was that in one instant they were huddled in a circle on the street and the very next instant they were standing in a circle around Brandt’s desk in his office. Their posture and position remained unchanged while their locale had changed completely.

A huge grin passed over Semeion’s face and Charis couldn’t help but smile at the young mage’s reaction to the use of magic. “I have got to learn that spell!” Semeion made his explanation without thinking that he was actually speaking aloud.

Brandt released the hands of those who were around him and looked back towards Semeion. “My guess, young friend, is that the power of the spell is a bit out of reach given your current understanding of magic. Teleportation magic is not something that you want to mess with until you know you can control it. You could end up zapping yourself miles off target. Or worse yet, you could end up teleporting yourself into the middle of the wall that makes up the room.”

Rhema swallowed hard as Brandt described the possible effects. “No offense, then, but I am rather glad that you didn’t tell us that beforehand.”

Brandt chuckled at Rhema’s thought. “There were no worries, Rhema. I was not teleporting far and I was teleporting into an area that I can quite easily say that I am familiar with. Both of those things were working in your favor. Besides,” Brandt added with a bit of a wink, “I haven’t had a missed teleportation attempt for several days.”

Bracchius laughed out loud. “No doubt that is true if you are measuring days in terms of how time infinitely passes in the heavens! I would be shocked if you’ve missed a teleportation since you came here and took your charge, Brandt.”

The four adventurers found themselves caught up in the fact that obviously Brandt and Bracchius had a working relationship of which they were not aware. Brandt replied to the temple healer while keeping the humor in his voice. “Well, I suppose you might be right. Weeks, then.”

Ischarus joined in the laugh with Bracchius after Brandt’s latest remark. He knew Brandt hadn’t been working here forever, but he also knew that Brandt had been at the temple for as long as he could remember. Ischarus even thought that he remembered his mother telling him that she had been under Brandt’s tutelage.

Bracchius turned and motioned to the four adventurers as he spoke next. “Well, I do believe that my work for the day has been done and your work is just beginning, Brandt. I’ll let myself out, then?”

Brandt merely nodded and smiled and turned his attention to the party. As Bracchius left the room, he could hear Brandt beginning, “So, master Ischarus, you are the Drakontos who was told to seek me out. I believe that I can indeed help you in your personal quest, but you must understand that it may take a few days or a week for you to fully understand how to begin.”

Semeion and Charis shared equally confused looks on their faces. Charis spoke before Semeion could formulate his thought. “Quest, Ischarus? You’re going on a personal quest? Did we miss something that happened when we were off for a time in the hospital seeking out Bracchius?

Brandt interrupted before Ischarus could explain. From his tone and expression it was clear that Brandt had a healthy sense of humor and enjoyed speaking in less tan straightforward means. “Yes, it is likely that you two certainly did. But this is the first time that Ischarus and I have spoken.”

Ischarus chuckled at Charis’ and Semeion’s expense. “I am a Drakontos, and you all know that. Many of our kind find that we develop certain talents according to our parentage when we reach a certain point in our maturity. The talents seldom develop until a few years after we have reached physical maturity. As you should no doubt expect the talents vary from Drakontos to Drakontos.

Semeion was caught in the suspense of the new information. In some respects, deep inside his soul he even found himself wishing that he was Drakontos. He didn’t even know what the new talents could be, but there was a certain allure to Ischarus’ situation that appealed to him. Perhaps that was what had brought him to Master Sathwright’s side in the first place to learn the magic arts. As he thought about the possibilities and reflected them upon his own life he managed to bring himself to ask Brandt a question. “What kinds of abilities develop, Ischarus?

Brandt leaned back, allowing Ischarus to field this question. He wore a genuinely curious expression and turned his body so that he could hear Ischarus’ answer clearly. From his expression Brandt revealed that Ischarus was going to tell more about himself than even Ischarus realized.

Ischarus cleared his throat, winced in pain as he shifted positions so he could sit down, and began his answer. “It really depends on the Drakontos. As you know with Grick, some Drakontos develop innate abilities derived from the magical nature of dragons. Some become able to throw force around as if they were casting a spell. Apparently some also develop the ability to make people nauseous from a distance. Others of my race develop innate abilities of an arcane kind. They can control magic and spells as a part of their essence. Many who aspire to be wizards through deep study find that they gravitate toward certain areas of spells that are easier to decipher, memorize, and cast with heightened efficiency. Some find deeply rooted religious connections that dwell within their very being and can heal as Bracchius and Charis are able. In fact, I would not be surprised if Charis has already passed through her change when she learned that she was able to heal. Like humans, female Drakontos typically reach physical and emotional maturity before males.”

Brandt turned to Charis and gave her and unexpected smile. Of course he had assumed that Charis was a Drakontos from the story that Rhema had told him earlier, but he did not realize that Rhema’s abilities manifested through the gift of healing. When she caught his eye, Brandt spoke to her, “I was unaware that you were a natural healer, Charis. And to develop such a natural gift from a red wyrm lineage is indeed quite rare. I can see why your people wanted to keep you alive and develop your family line through the means of the Provenience.”

Charis merely smiled at Brandt without offering up a response. Much of the information Ischarus was relaying was completely new for her as well. She had seen much of these talents develop before her eyes, but she had not fully understood her own people until meeting Ischarus. Their father dragon was not so much interested in explaining their gifts as he was exploiting them.

Brandt continued, “Don’t take this the wrong way, of course, because I am glad that you were freed from the oppression and fear of living in the shadow of a great red wyrm. But in many respects I would be significantly interested had your people’s experiment taken hold and the gift of healing had spread through your people. A healer among the Drakontai of Quehalost is unusual indeed.”

Charis shifted on her feet and decided that it was time for her to sit down. As she moved to the chairs, Brandt watched as the others looked to follow and sit where only a short time ago Brandt had sat and spoken with Rhema. He held up a hand to stop them and spoke clearly. “Do not misunderstand my intentions, friends. But I really must ask that you not get terribly comfortable here. Much of the work that Ischarus and I have to do will have to be done alone. That does mean that Ischarus will need to stay alone with me in Fingerdale for a few days.”[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Rhema’s jaw nearly hit the floor as Brandt asserted the necessity for Ischarus to stay. “But that’ll mean …”

Ischarus, not Brandt, cut Rhema’s complaint off. “That’ll mean that I have a reason to stay hear in Fingerdale and not travel on my broken leg. I’ll be in the care of someone who knows where to get me healing if anything goes wrong. And it’ll likely only be for a few weeks anyway.”

Rhema shot a disapproving glance to Ischarus and then turned to Charis and Semeion for support. Semeion was smart enough to stay out of this battle between friends. Charis returned Rhema’s look with a smile and a suggestion of her own. “Well, certainly Ischarus can’t be in training all of his time here. Perhaps that’ll give us an excuse to come to Fingerdale once a day and see how he is progressing? Besides, you all have been telling me that I need more practice to become accustomed to the ways of a civilized lifestyle. We could come to Fingerdale to visit Ischarus briefly and then spend the rest of the day shopping and teaching me how to do the stuff that city people do.”

Brandt originally thought of objecting to Charis’ idea, knowing that Ischarus’ time would be valuable. Yet as Charis spoke he found himself seeing the wisdom in her argument as well as knowing that Rhema would likely find it a satisfactory solution. “As the one who would be administering wisdom along Ischarus’ quest, I suppose it would be possible for me to build a small amount of free time into his quest – say an hour after noon each day? We’ll need to stop his training to eat regardless, and I do not get much in the means of company due to my intentionally sheltered life.”

Rhema still looked dissatisfied, but logically she knew it was about as good an offer as she could hope to receive. As she thought, Semeion decided to add his opinion to the mix. “Besides, we do have work to accomplish here in Fingerdale. It is work that we were supposed to accomplish today but have not gotten done. Judging by the time that this mess with Grick as cost us, I doubt we’ll get any of it accomplished with what’s left of today. So we have to return home tonight and come back tomorrow anyway. It just makes sense for Ischarus to stay here and begin his necessary training under Brandt while we are already here. Besides, as Ischarus already said, he can’t travel tonight anyway.”

Rhema knew that she was finally defeated. To object now would only prove to everyone else what she was already feeling inside. She felt like a spoiled little girl who didn’t want to leave. She knew that she must rise above that immature instinctual reaction. “Very well, then. The sooner we are off to head home the sooner Ischarus can begin his training.”

Rhema looked down to Ischarus who was seated beside her and fought the urge to be sad. Her hand reached out and rested atop Ischarus’ right hand. She wasn’t sure if Ischarus’ earlier profession of love was sincere or a means of keeping Brandt from using the drake to destroy her, but either way she was making her affection know through this subtle act. “So I suppose this is goodbye until tomorrow afternoon, then?”

Ischarus allowed the corners of his mouth to curl up in a slight smile as he recognized the emotional difficulty Rhema had in saying goodbye. He turned to look up at her, but his wince from the pain in his leg from the shift in positions told Rhema that he would not be rising to give her a hug. “Once I have found my new talents, my leg pain will be gone. I’ll be good as new, and we can actively find out just how many minions the red wyrm is willing to send after Charis.”

Ischarus’ train of thought inspired Charis. “And perhaps we can take another quest into Quehalost and finish what you started the last time through!”

Brandt smiled and began to walk for the door to his office. “Perhaps. Although if I take you meaning to be finish the red wyrm, I think you might want to grow in a bit more power before you think of that.”

Charis looked surprised at Brandt’s suggestion. “You mean take on Grixanthrosilithiss? I would never think of doing such a thing head on! His might is terrific! I do not know if slaying him is even an option for simple mortals like us. Now perhaps your dragon father might be able to slay Grixanthrosilithiss. Rather, I was thinking of returning to the village and seeing who managed to flee and who was recaptured.”

Rhema smiled as she let out a soft breath through her nose as an amusing thought passed through her mind. “I’d honestly like another shot at Druff, to be honest.”

Semeion saw his opportunity. He wrapped one of his arms around Rhema’s shoulders and began to walk her to the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder and gave a simple nod of goodbye to Ischarus and spoke in return to Rhema, “Somehow I imagine that Druff would like another shot at you, too.” The three enjoyed a good laugh as Brandt showed them out of the temple office. Soon they were on their way back to Huetown.

Back inside Brandt’s office, the master returned to the pupil. “Now that we are alone, tell me why you have sought me out at this time.”

Ischarus paused for a moment and collected his thoughts. His eyebrows wrinkled together and his lips pursed until he had cemented his thinking. “Far a few weeks now I have been having odd sensations in my right hand primarily. The sensations come and go, although most of them came when I was having memories of our last trip into Quehalost and the red wyrm’s village. Once and a while during my practice I would feel the sensation as I went through the motions of my fighting strokes with my sword during my daily rigor.”

Brandt leaned back in his chair, “Tell me more of these sensations. Describe to me how they feel within your body. Describing how your body reacts to them will help me understand their origin.”

Ischarus immediately began again as if he was anticipating the question. “There are at times two distinct feelings. I feel these most noticeably during swordplay and practice. One of the sensations is not unlike the pins and needles feeling when an arm or a leg loses circulation for a short time. The other sensation is quite cold. It is as if the heat drains out of my arm. The rest of the sensations are not so easily distinguished from another.”

Brandt leaned forward, intrigued by Ischarus’ description. “I gathered from Rhema earlier that your swordplay is your livelihood. I suppose if you are undergoing your final step in maturity that it is much more than completely symbolic that your sword arm is affected by these feelings. I have a hunch, if you are prepared to listen. Although you will be in some pain, draw your sword. If I am right, the memory of the pain of combat may just intensify the transformation occurring within you for it to be observable. If that is true, then Grick may have done you a tremendous service.”

Ischarus stood, fighting back the pain that shot through the muscles of his leg. With both hands he focused intently on removing the small leather straps that kept his sword in its scabbard and with a sudden spark of motion a metallic ring shot through the room. Ischarus’ sword was now poised and ready in his right hand. The sudden twisting motion of drawing the sword from its scabbard put tension upon his leg and he cried out in pain. His right hand gripped tightly around the hilt of his sword as it looked to ease the pain.

Brandt noticed a faint magical aura around Ischarus as the pain shot through his body. Following a master’s instincts, Brandt quickly held out his left hand and shouted to Ischarus, “Now, don’t think about it – just touch my wrist!”

Ischarus stretched his left arm forward and touched Brandt on his left wrist. Instantly the smell of melting flesh filled the room. Brandt stepped backwards from where Ischarus stood but before he had moved he looked at Ischarus and saw the magical aura move from his right hand through his body and discharge through his extended left hand. Brandt looked down at the flesh on his hand and saw that it had been burned as if a flask of burning oil had been poured over the skin. As Brandt looked down at his wrist, Ischarus likewise looked at what he had done to Brandt.

Ischarus spoke as the shock of the action caught up with him. “Sir, I meant no offense!” Ischarus blurted out his apology at the surprise of seeing Brandt injured. “If I knew I was capable of injuring you in that manner I would not have touched you!” Ischarus was horrified at his action.

Brandt grimaced through the pain. “When I told you to touch me I assumed that there would be injury to me. I did not expect an acid burn, however. Either way, with me it is little matter.”

Brandt stepped back from Ischarus another step and rested his right hand gently over the burned flesh of his left wrist. He spoke the simple words he had heard Charis speak elsewhere. “Bondras-tol Egro” A white light emanated from his right hand through his wrist. In a matter of seconds his wrist was healed. When he moved his right hand, Ischarus saw that not even a scar remained where the acidic burns had once been.

Brandt flexed his wrist slightly and winced at the pain as Ischarus simply looked on in awe. “There now, I am good as new. My wrist will heal. And it would seem that we will both have subtle pain to remind us of your struggle while you learn your new gifts.”

Ischarus replied and was still a bit embarrassed at injuring Brandt, even if it was unintentional. “You must believe me that I meant no harm.”

Brandt returned Ischarus’ apology with a kind smile and soft words. “There is no harm done. Believe it or not, you just cast your first spell – and I believe it was of the arcane nature. Time will tell, Ischarus, as to whether your natural gift is of magic or religion. But given the way that it is manifesting and the fact that you are skilled at swordplay, I would assume it is arcane.”

Ischarus unintentionally cocked his head to the left as Brandt gave his revelation into Ischarus’ transformation. “You mean I can cast spells? But, I’m a swordsman! I’m not a spell caster like Semeion!”

Brandt placed his right hand on Ischarus’ left shoulder. “Sheath your sword and have a seat, Ischarus. It would seem that we have a bit of learning to do. And remember, you are only at the beginning of your journey. My guess is that neither you nor I can foresee where these things will take you in the end.”

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Rhema’s jaw nearly hit the floor as Brandt asserted the necessity for Ischarus to stay. “But that’ll mean …”

Ischarus, not Brandt, cut Rhema’s complaint off. “That’ll mean that I have a reason to stay hear in Fingerdale and not travel on my broken leg. I’ll be in the care of someone who knows where to get me healing if anything goes wrong. And it’ll likely only be for a few weeks anyway.”

Rhema shot a disapproving glance to Ischarus and then turned to Charis and Semeion for support. Semeion was smart enough to stay out of this battle between friends. Charis returned Rhema’s look with a smile and a suggestion of her own. “Well, certainly Ischarus can’t be in training all of his time here. Perhaps that’ll give us an excuse to come to Fingerdale once a day and see how he is progressing? Besides, you all have been telling me that I need more practice to become accustomed to the ways of a civilized lifestyle. We could come to Fingerdale to visit Ischarus briefly and then spend the rest of the day shopping and teaching me how to do the stuff that city people do.”

Brandt originally thought of objecting to Charis’ idea, knowing that Ischarus’ time would be valuable. Yet as Charis spoke he found himself seeing the wisdom in her argument as well as knowing that Rhema would likely find it a satisfactory solution. “As the one who would be administering wisdom along Ischarus’ quest, I suppose it would be possible for me to build a small amount of free time into his quest – say an hour after noon each day? We’ll need to stop his training to eat regardless, and I do not get much in the means of company due to my intentionally sheltered life.”

Rhema still looked dissatisfied, but logically she knew it was about as good an offer as she could hope to receive. As she thought, Semeion decided to add his opinion to the mix. “Besides, we do have work to accomplish here in Fingerdale. It is work that we were supposed to accomplish today but have not gotten done. Judging by the time that this mess with Grick as cost us, I doubt we’ll get any of it accomplished with what’s left of today. So we have to return home tonight and come back tomorrow anyway. It just makes sense for Ischarus to stay here and begin his necessary training under Brandt while we are already here. Besides, as Ischarus already said, he can’t travel tonight anyway.”

Rhema knew that she was finally defeated. To object now would only prove to everyone else what she was already feeling inside. She felt like a spoiled little girl who didn’t want to leave. She knew that she must rise above that immature instinctual reaction. “Very well, then. The sooner we are off to head home the sooner Ischarus can begin his training.”

Rhema looked down to Ischarus who was seated beside her and fought the urge to be sad. Her hand reached out and rested atop Ischarus’ right hand. She wasn’t sure if Ischarus’ earlier profession of love was sincere or a means of keeping Brandt from using the drake to destroy her, but either way she was making her affection know through this subtle act. “So I suppose this is goodbye until tomorrow afternoon, then?”

Ischarus allowed the corners of his mouth to curl up in a slight smile as he recognized the emotional difficulty Rhema had in saying goodbye. He turned to look up at her, but his wince from the pain in his leg from the shift in positions told Rhema that he would not be rising to give her a hug. “Once I have found my new talents, my leg pain will be gone. I’ll be good as new, and we can actively find out just how many minions the red wyrm is willing to send after Charis.”

Ischarus’ train of thought inspired Charis. “And perhaps we can take another quest into Quehalost and finish what you started the last time through!”

Brandt smiled and began to walk for the door to his office. “Perhaps. Although if I take you meaning to be finish the red wyrm, I think you might want to grow in a bit more power before you think of that.”

Charis looked surprised at Brandt’s suggestion. “You mean take on Grixanthrosilithiss? I would never think of doing such a thing head on! His might is terrific! I do not know if slaying him is even an option for simple mortals like us. Now perhaps your dragon father might be able to slay Grixanthrosilithiss. Rather, I was thinking of returning to the village and seeing who managed to flee and who was recaptured.”

Rhema smiled as she let out a soft breath through her nose as an amusing thought passed through her mind. “I’d honestly like another shot at Druff, to be honest.”

Semeion saw his opportunity. He wrapped one of his arms around Rhema’s shoulders and began to walk her to the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder and gave a simple nod of goodbye to Ischarus and spoke in return to Rhema, “Somehow I imagine that Druff would like another shot at you, too.” The three enjoyed a good laugh as Brandt showed them out of the temple office. Soon they were on their way back to Huetown.

Back inside Brandt’s office, the master returned to the pupil. “Now that we are alone, tell me why you have sought me out at this time.”

Ischarus paused for a moment and collected his thoughts. His eyebrows wrinkled together and his lips pursed until he had cemented his thinking. “Far a few weeks now I have been having odd sensations in my right hand primarily. The sensations come and go, although most of them came when I was having memories of our last trip into Quehalost and the red wyrm’s village. Once and a while during my practice I would feel the sensation as I went through the motions of my fighting strokes with my sword during my daily rigor.”

Brandt leaned back in his chair, “Tell me more of these sensations. Describe to me how they feel within your body. Describing how your body reacts to them will help me understand their origin.”

Ischarus immediately began again as if he was anticipating the question. “There are at times two distinct feelings. I feel these most noticeably during swordplay and practice. One of the sensations is not unlike the pins and needles feeling when an arm or a leg loses circulation for a short time. The other sensation is quite cold. It is as if the heat drains out of my arm. The rest of the sensations are not so easily distinguished from another.”

Brandt leaned forward, intrigued by Ischarus’ description. “I gathered from Rhema earlier that your swordplay is your livelihood. I suppose if you are undergoing your final step in maturity that it is much more than completely symbolic that your sword arm is affected by these feelings. I have a hunch, if you are prepared to listen. Although you will be in some pain, draw your sword. If I am right, the memory of the pain of combat may just intensify the transformation occurring within you for it to be observable. If that is true, then Grick may have done you a tremendous service.”

Ischarus stood, fighting back the pain that shot through the muscles of his leg. With both hands he focused intently on removing the small leather straps that kept his sword in its scabbard and with a sudden spark of motion a metallic ring shot through the room. Ischarus’ sword was now poised and ready in his right hand. The sudden twisting motion of drawing the sword from its scabbard put tension upon his leg and he cried out in pain. His right hand gripped tightly around the hilt of his sword as it looked to ease the pain.

Brandt noticed a faint magical aura around Ischarus as the pain shot through his body. Following a master’s instincts, Brandt quickly held out his left hand and shouted to Ischarus, “Now, don’t think about it – just touch my wrist!”

Ischarus stretched his left arm forward and touched Brandt on his left wrist. Instantly the smell of melting flesh filled the room. Brandt stepped backwards from where Ischarus stood but before he had moved he looked at Ischarus and saw the magical aura move from his right hand through his body and discharge through his extended left hand. Brandt looked down at the flesh on his hand and saw that it had been burned as if a flask of burning oil had been poured over the skin. As Brandt looked down at his wrist, Ischarus likewise looked at what he had done to Brandt.

Ischarus spoke as the shock of the action caught up with him. “Sir, I meant no offense!” Ischarus blurted out his apology at the surprise of seeing Brandt injured. “If I knew I was capable of injuring you in that manner I would not have touched you!” Ischarus was horrified at his action.

Brandt grimaced through the pain. “When I told you to touch me I assumed that there would be injury to me. I did not expect an acid burn, however. Either way, with me it is little matter.”

Brandt stepped back from Ischarus another step and rested his right hand gently over the burned flesh of his left wrist. He spoke the simple words he had heard Charis speak elsewhere. “Bondras-tol Egro” A white light emanated from his right hand through his wrist. In a matter of seconds his wrist was healed. When he moved his right hand, Ischarus saw that not even a scar remained where the acidic burns had once been.

Brandt flexed his wrist slightly and winced at the pain as Ischarus simply looked on in awe. “There now, I am good as new. My wrist will heal. And it would seem that we will both have subtle pain to remind us of your struggle while you learn your new gifts.”

Ischarus replied and was still a bit embarrassed at injuring Brandt, even if it was unintentional. “You must believe me that I meant no harm.”

Brandt returned Ischarus’ apology with a kind smile and soft words. “There is no harm done. Believe it or not, you just cast your first spell – and I believe it was of the arcane nature. Time will tell, Ischarus, as to whether your natural gift is of magic or religion. But given the way that it is manifesting and the fact that you are skilled at swordplay, I would assume it is arcane.”

Ischarus unintentionally cocked his head to the left as Brandt gave his revelation into Ischarus’ transformation. “You mean I can cast spells? But, I’m a swordsman! I’m not a spell caster like Semeion!”

Brandt placed his right hand on Ischarus’ left shoulder. “Sheath your sword and have a seat, Ischarus. It would seem that we have a bit of learning to do. And remember, you are only at the beginning of your journey. My guess is that neither you nor I can foresee where these things will take you in the end.”[/Sblock]

 

[Nonlethal Force]

Ischarus wrinkled his eyelids toward Brandt, but knew that the wizened elder had likely been down this path with others. His instincts had been right so far, even if it did lead to his own injury. In fact, his instincts had proven reliable even in the event of the injury, although Brandt himself had not expected to be burned by acid. In the end, Ischarus did sheath his sword and sit back down in one of the plush red chairs. Brandt sat opposite him and a conversation much like the one between Rhema and Brandt followed. Ischarus spoke of his hometown, his father dragon, his training as a swordsman, and his adventures in Quehalost.

After about and hour, Ischarus had shifted his legs once too often and Brandt noticed his fidgeting. “So, you’ve come far by using that sword of yours. Your reliance upon the sword is significant and I doubt that’ll change any time in the future. But I believe it is my calling to see that you learn how to teach yourself your newly developing habits. Care to give it a shot?”

Ischarus smiled; he was eager to get out of the chair. As soon as he moved, however, he felt the ache in his leg from the earlier healing. “I would like the chance to learn, but I’m afraid that my leg may not be willing. Besides, Bracchius told me to keep from straining it.”

Brandt smiled broadly, his eyes scheming with an obvious thought beyond his response to Ischarus’ query. “Bracchius is an able healer, but do not forget that I am also significant in my own right. I would not be working in conjunction with a temple if I did not have divinely granted powers of my own. If anything should happen to you, I can fix it. Trust me.”

The last two words offered by Brandt held a clearly mischievous tone. There was certainly something that Brandt was planning, and his tone aroused a deep curiosity within Ischarus. Yet, Ischarus feebly offered up one more expression of caution. “And what of the leg pain?”

Brandt erupted in laughter, but his laughter had a distinct lack of amusement. The eruption of noise was more like what Ischarus was used to hearing from a card player who had just suckered him into betting his last gold on the table. After the short laugh, Brandt added, “The battlefield does not wait for you to be free of pain, Ischarus. And I believe you already know that through your experience. If you wish to learn, you must practice whether you feel prepared or not. There is no other option if you wish to survive against the foes who will no doubt seek you out in Quehalost. Now get on your feat and give me your sword.”

The last sentence was spoken with the same near magical quality that instantly allows any parent to automatically get the attention of their own children. Ischarus immediately obeyed without hesitation, not wanting to disappoint Brandt with another comment. Ischarus drew his weapon and handed it to Brandt in the same manner that his weapons master trainer had taught him. The sword was extended to Brandt hilt first with the flat edge of the blade lying upon Ischarus’ outstretched palms.

Brandt took the sword and smiled. Nodding in a general direction, Brandt spoke softly, “Daancrah Pashfuul.” As Brandt concluded the spell a small creature appeared in the middle of the room.

The creature looked rather much like a fat, ugly, yellow blob. The creature had long arms that dragged on the floor as it appeared before Ischarus. Its light green beady eyes quickly found Ischarus in the room. Somewhere out of the indistinguishable fat roll where the face should be located it almost appeared to smile in a menacing way. It lifted its hands off of the floor and clenched them tightly.

Brandt only offered up a single piece of advice. “I’d strongly recommend dealing with it quickly. Beings from the dark realms of evil don’t care for being summoned and they rather enjoy killing.”

Ischarus gave Brandt a quick glance as he broke his stare from sizing up the creature summoned. He knew enough from talking to Semeion about his training that sometimes surviving a summons could be accomplished by simply avoiding contact with it until the spell ran out. However, from the look of pleasure of Brandt’s face Ischarus knew that would be one solution that wasn’t available to him. Ischarus also noted the death grip that Brandt held on his sword. There would be no retrieving the sword until he had bested the beast with his bare hands.

As Ischarus sized up the summoned creature, it apparently decided to size him up as well. The creature shifted its fat body around, the rolls of fat twisting and undulating as it rotated its small frame. The creature stepped forward a bit and as it moved it lifted its long arms up from resting on the ground. The rolls of fat underneath each arm flapped with each movement.

Ischarus stepped forward, and his previously wounded leg muscles shot signals of pain to his brain. On top of the normal pain from being healed, they were stiff from sitting so long as Ischarus talked to Brandt. Ischarus growled as his brain registered the pain. He clenched his teeth firmly and inhaled deeply.

The beast surprised Ischarus at how fast such a fat body and stubby legs could move. He nearly underestimated the creature’s reach and only narrowly dodged the evil beast’s first fist assault. Ischarus returned with a swing of his own. The swing missed, and as he swung he had to catch his balance because he had anticipating hitting the solidly obese creature. Once more pain ripped through Ischarus’ leg as it complained against the unusual workout.

The creature lifted both fists above his head in a super smash attack, but Ischarus was able to shuffle out of the way before the blow could connect. He knew his mobility was being severely compromised on account of the pain in his leg. In spite of his reduced mobility he was also quite sure that his fat opponent was significantly more agile than he looked. Ischarus swung again and landed a solid blow. The obese opponent’s fat laden body absorbed the shock easily and Ischarus could almost see another evil grin coming from where the face should be if the creature hadn’t been so fat.

Ischarus felt his anger rising inside him at his ineffectiveness in this combat. He doubted for a moment that this was a test of his pride. For just a second Ischarus contemplated winning by tactically avoiding the summoned creature long enough for the spell to wear out. However, the temptation didn’t last long and as Ischarus moved again to dodge another blow he winced in pain and nearly pulled up lame on his recovering leg. He shot a glance towards Brandt. The religious mage sat watching the combat with all the interest of a fanatical fan observing an excellently performed bullfight.

Ischarus angrily scowled at his opponent and clenched his fist tightly. As he did, Brandt noticed that Ischarus’ right hand developed a faint red aura. Ischarus struck, and landed another solid blow. The red aura passed from his hand into the creature and only then did Ischarus himself notice the magical discharge. Although it felt like power was drained from his being, the release of the built up energy felt very satisfying. Ischarus gave a quick shout of joy as the blow landed.

Surprisingly, as the blow landed Ischarus saw his opponent nearly fade from sight. He could still see the faint outline of his combatant, but it appeared as though the fat laden opponent had lost touch with the physical world and was a mere ghost. Of course, Ischarus knew at once what was happening. He lowered his defensive posture and as the creature threatened to attack once more Ischarus offered up no resistance. The outline of the creature’s hand struck out at Ischarus and appeared to pass straight through the pained combatant.

Ischarus shook his head as he ignored the strike and slowly turned to face Brandt. “An illusion? You put me up against an illusion?”

The obese opponent continued to fight against Ischarus as though it was not aware that Ischarus had not felt its last blow. As Brandt looked on, a fat fist launched itself harmless at Ischarus’ midsection and emerged out the other side. The illusion tilted its head back in a simple howl of joy at the perceived howl. Ischarus was either ignoring these attacks or simply oblivious to the fact that the illusionary opponent continued the pursuit.

However, Brandt appeared rather amused. He grinned widely enough to expose several of his front teeth and as Ischarus was struck a second time Brandt spoke. “You didn’t honestly think that I had the power to summon real minions of evil, did you? And certainly you did not think I would summon them here and risk diverting their attention away from Quehalost and onto Tongra? It is bad enough that they are already so concentrated in Quehalost. But at least there they fight among each other!”

Ischarus could only shake his head at the fact that the simple illusion had managed to trick him. The pain fromhis leg and his desire to please Brandt had blinded him from the truth.

Brandt continued, “As you have spoken, I believe that the source of your power stems from combat. Come, sit. Let us talk some more of this now that you have stretched your leg.”

As Ischarus moved to sit in his chair, the illusionary outline followed Ischarus. Ischarus sighed and Brandt realized that his game had lost its fun for Ischarus. With a mere thought Brandt dismissed the effects of the spell and the outline vanished from sight. Once they were seated they spoke of overcoming the pain in Ischarus leg and the motivations within combat. It was clear that Brandt did not intend to make Ischarus a better fighter. However Brandt intended to make Ischarus a smarter fighter.

When they had talked long enough for Ischarus’ pained leg to grow restless again Brandt concluded with an invitation to rise out of the chairs. “I think we have had enough for today. Over the next few days I hope that you will discover what that latest spell was in addition to developing the ability to use your magic outside of combat. For now, I think it is promising that we know from which arena in your life your magic stems.”

Brandt rose and handed Ischarus his sword in the same manner that Ischarus had given it to him. Ischarus readily accepted his blade back and sheathed it. Together the men left Brandt’s office and headed for Brandt’s house. The first day of Ischarus’ new training had came and gone rather successfully.

[Sblock=Color-Free Speech Section]
Ischarus wrinkled his eyelids toward Brandt, but knew that the wizened elder had likely been down this path with others. His instincts had been right so far, even if it did lead to his own injury. In fact, his instincts had proven reliable even in the event of the injury, although Brandt himself had not expected to be burned by acid. In the end, Ischarus did sheath his sword and sit back down in one of the plush red chairs. Brandt sat opposite him and a conversation much like the one between Rhema and Brandt followed. Ischarus spoke of his hometown, his father dragon, his training as a swordsman, and his adventures in Quehalost.

After about and hour, Ischarus had shifted his legs once too often and Brandt noticed his fidgeting. “So, you’ve come far by using that sword of yours. Your reliance upon the sword is significant and I doubt that’ll change any time in the future. But I believe it is my calling to see that you learn how to teach yourself your newly developing habits. Care to give it a shot?”

Ischarus smiled; he was eager to get out of the chair. As soon as he moved, however, he felt the ache in his leg from the earlier healing. “I would like the chance to learn, but I’m afraid that my leg may not be willing. Besides, Bracchius told me to keep from straining it.”

Brandt smiled broadly, his eyes scheming with an obvious thought beyond his response to Ischarus’ query. “Bracchius is an able healer, but do not forget that I am also significant in my own right. I would not be working in conjunction with a temple if I did not have divinely granted powers of my own. If anything should happen to you, I can fix it. Trust me.”

The last two words offered by Brandt held a clearly mischievous tone. There was certainly something that Brandt was planning, and his tone aroused a deep curiosity within Ischarus. Yet, Ischarus feebly offered up one more expression of caution. “And what of the leg pain?”

Brandt erupted in laughter, but his laughter had a distinct lack of amusement. The eruption of noise was more like what Ischarus was used to hearing from a card player who had just suckered him into betting his last gold on the table. After the short laugh, Brandt added, “The battlefield does not wait for you to be free of pain, Ischarus. And I believe you already know that through your experience. If you wish to learn, you must practice whether you feel prepared or not. There is no other option if you wish to survive against the foes who will no doubt seek you out in Quehalost. Now get on your feat and give me your sword.”

The last sentence was spoken with the same near magical quality that instantly allows any parent to automatically get the attention of their own children. Ischarus immediately obeyed without hesitation, not wanting to disappoint Brandt with another comment. Ischarus drew his weapon and handed it to Brandt in the same manner that his weapons master trainer had taught him. The sword was extended to Brandt hilt first with the flat edge of the blade lying upon Ischarus’ outstretched palms.

Brandt took the sword and smiled. Nodding in a general direction, Brandt spoke softly, “Daancrah Pashfuul.” As Brandt concluded the spell a small creature appeared in the middle of the room.

The creature looked rather much like a fat, ugly, yellow blob. The creature had long arms that dragged on the floor as it appeared before Ischarus. Its light green beady eyes quickly found Ischarus in the room. Somewhere out of the indistinguishable fat roll where the face should be located it almost appeared to smile in a menacing way. It lifted its hands off of the floor and clenched them tightly.

Brandt only offered up a single piece of advice. “I’d strongly recommend dealing with it quickly. Beings from the dark realms of evil don’t care for being summoned and they rather enjoy killing.”

Ischarus gave Brandt a quick glance as he broke his stare from sizing up the creature summoned. He knew enough from talking to Semeion about his training that sometimes surviving a summons could be accomplished by simply avoiding contact with it until the spell ran out. However, from the look of pleasure of Brandt’s face Ischarus knew that would be one solution that wasn’t available to him. Ischarus also noted the death grip that Brandt held on his sword. There would be no retrieving the sword until he had bested the beast with his bare hands.

As Ischarus sized up the summoned creature, it apparently decided to size him up as well. The creature shifted its fat body around, the rolls of fat twisting and undulating as it rotated its small frame. The creature stepped forward a bit and as it moved it lifted its long arms up from resting on the ground. The rolls of fat underneath each arm flapped with each movement.

Ischarus stepped forward, and his previously wounded leg muscles shot signals of pain to his brain. On top of the normal pain from being healed, they were stiff from sitting so long as Ischarus talked to Brandt. Ischarus growled as his brain registered the pain. He clenched his teeth firmly and inhaled deeply.

The beast surprised Ischarus at how fast such a fat body and stubby legs could move. He nearly underestimated the creature’s reach and only narrowly dodged the evil beast’s first fist assault. Ischarus returned with a swing of his own. The swing missed, and as he swung he had to catch his balance because he had anticipating hitting the solidly obese creature. Once more pain ripped through Ischarus’ leg as it complained against the unusual workout.

The creature lifted both fists above his head in a super smash attack, but Ischarus was able to shuffle out of the way before the blow could connect. He knew his mobility was being severely compromised on account of the pain in his leg. In spite of his reduced mobility he was also quite sure that his fat opponent was significantly more agile than he looked. Ischarus swung again and landed a solid blow. The obese opponent’s fat laden body absorbed the shock easily and Ischarus could almost see another evil grin coming from where the face should be if the creature hadn’t been so fat.

Ischarus felt his anger rising inside him at his ineffectiveness in this combat. He doubted for a moment that this was a test of his pride. For just a second Ischarus contemplated winning by tactically avoiding the summoned creature long enough for the spell to wear out. However, the temptation didn’t last long and as Ischarus moved again to dodge another blow he winced in pain and nearly pulled up lame on his recovering leg. He shot a glance towards Brandt. The religious mage sat watching the combat with all the interest of a fanatical fan observing an excellently performed bullfight.

Ischarus angrily scowled at his opponent and clenched his fist tightly. As he did, Brandt noticed that Ischarus’ right hand developed a faint red aura. Ischarus struck, and landed another solid blow. The red aura passed from his hand into the creature and only then did Ischarus himself notice the magical discharge. Although it felt like power was drained from his being, the release of the built up energy felt very satisfying. Ischarus gave a quick shout of joy as the blow landed.

Surprisingly, as the blow landed Ischarus saw his opponent nearly fade from sight. He could still see the faint outline of his combatant, but it appeared as though the fat laden opponent had lost touch with the physical world and was a mere ghost. Of course, Ischarus knew at once what was happening. He lowered his defensive posture and as the creature threatened to attack once more Ischarus offered up no resistance. The outline of the creature’s hand struck out at Ischarus and appeared to pass straight through the pained combatant.

Ischarus shook his head as he ignored the strike and slowly turned to face Brandt. “An illusion? You put me up against an illusion?”

The obese opponent continued to fight against Ischarus as though it was not aware that Ischarus had not felt its last blow. As Brandt looked on, a fat fist launched itself harmless at Ischarus’ midsection and emerged out the other side. The illusion tilted its head back in a simple howl of joy at the perceived howl. Ischarus was either ignoring these attacks or simply oblivious to the fact that the illusionary opponent continued the pursuit.

However, Brandt appeared rather amused. He grinned widely enough to expose several of his front teeth and as Ischarus was struck a second time Brandt spoke. “You didn’t honestly think that I had the power to summon real minions of evil, did you? And certainly you did not think I would summon them here and risk diverting their attention away from Quehalost and onto Tongra? It is bad enough that they are already so concentrated in Quehalost. But at least there they fight among each other!”

Ischarus could only shake his head at the fact that the simple illusion had managed to trick him. The pain fromhis leg and his desire to please Brandt had blinded him from the truth.

Brandt continued, “As you have spoken, I believe that the source of your power stems from combat. Come, sit. Let us talk some more of this now that you have stretched your leg.”

As Ischarus moved to sit in his chair, the illusionary outline followed Ischarus. Ischarus sighed and Brandt realized that his game had lost its fun for Ischarus. With a mere thought Brandt dismissed the effects of the spell and the outline vanished from sight. Once they were seated they spoke of overcoming the pain in Ischarus leg and the motivations within combat. It was clear that Brandt did not intend to make Ischarus a better fighter. However Brandt intended to make Ischarus a smarter fighter.

When they had talked long enough for Ischarus’ pained leg to grow restless again Brandt concluded with an invitation to rise out of the chairs. “I think we have had enough for today. Over the next few days I hope that you will discover what that latest spell was in addition to developing the ability to use your magic outside of combat. For now, I think it is promising that we know from which arena in your life your magic stems.”

Brandt rose and handed Ischarus his sword in the same manner that Ischarus had given it to him. Ischarus readily accepted his blade back and sheathed it. Together the men left Brandt’s office and headed for Brandt’s house. The first day of Ischarus’ new training had came and gone rather successfully.
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