Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
- Thread starter Carnifex
- Start date
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
OK, now I'm in too. I confess I've only read the last two updates, but I'm sure to carry on reading them now!
Nice stuff. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens. Could you do me a favour and mention what sort of levels we're looking at here?
Nice stuff. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens. Could you do me a favour and mention what sort of levels we're looking at here?
Carnifex
First Post
The mountains of the tower were not high, and the late spring offered little chance of snow or freezing temperatures. Activity in the area seemed volatile, but Ecurius foresaw nothing significant. No one could know what the tower could hold, however- Kale wanted a crash course in thaumineering.
"I would like to learn more about the mechanics of thaumineering," Kale said when Ecurius had a moment. "Can you recommend a library or local tinker?" Libraries were hardly public, and tinkers were hardly considered typical sources of reference. Ecurius did not seem pent up on station, however, and Kale wondered what sort of resource he would recommend for the mercenary to learn more. The Truth Seeker did not seem a man built solely on book-knowledge...
Regarding the room, the scene about was quite curious. Alaric was silent, Mel and Pierre were content in their victory, Sandslipper waxed evasive, while Ebri and Sebastion murmured about unknown topics. The focus of power, it seemed, lie with those two, though the entire group seemed to sway on the whim of Her Blueness... Nothing seemed to make sense. Kale became a bit confident of the newcomers capabilities, at the same time wodering all the more about their motives. Not the typical merc band, to say the least.
Burl was impressed with the magic of Ecurious and also his wealth, which was obvious to those who knew the components needed to cast the spell used to identify the properties of the objects. Two questions popped into his mind, “Ecurious, is there anyone in particular that you would recommend that I see when I go to the wizard’s guild? Also, it is my desire to visit the Forest of Fayen while we are in Naseria. Will we be going anywhere near them on our journey to the tower?"
Wyshira made a mental note to show Lord Ecurius her small, crystal globes later on, when she'd had a chance to retrieve them from her pack in the room she'd been given. How long had she been carrying the mysterious magical spheres around now, without the foggiest notion what they were good for? Almost since the beginning of my journey, she recalled. She hoped that their host would be able to fathom their nature as he had the items Melisande carried.
The description of the Flame Serpent that could be summoned with the sorceress' rod caused Wyshira to shudder. The Plane of Fire... What a terrible creature it would be! She could only take comfort in the fact that, should there ever be a need for it to be used, at least it would be under the control of one of her allies.
Burl was concerned with getting supplies and spell components, and seemed to be interested in visiting the Forest of Fayen. That name sounded vaguely familiar to her, but at the moment, she couldn't think why. Some bit of gossip I must have heard along the way.... she mused, but she wasn't in the mood to rack her brain to recall it properly.
She was in fact, beginning to feel quite sleepy, though it was still early in the afternoon. It must be that soft bed back in my room, calling to me, she thought with a smile, and stifled a yawn. She would have liked to speak more with Melisande, and Sandslipper too. The statue-woman had piqued her curiosity; she felt a sort of kinship with her. Because she is a genasi,Wyshira supposed, even if she is earth-kin and not water-born like me.
She couldn't help but notice that she wasn't the only one interested in the Myrmecian. Burl seemed to be fascinated by Sandslipper, but Wyshira suspected his reasons were not the same as hers. For the briefest moment, she felt a twinge of jealousy at that, but she pushed the feeling away. Why should she care who Burl looked at anyway?
Melisande took back the rod and the potion with gratitude, very pleased to finally have the command word that would turn the kobold shaman's fire-mojo to good use. She had no doubt it would be useful in the upcoming adventure, if what Lord Ecurius said about guardians and such was true--and a Truth-Seeker could probably be trusted a smidgen more than most. "I am in need of supplies myself and I'd love to see Tarravus, but right now I think a bath would be in order. And a nap. Burl, do you think you would mind waiting for me before going shopping for spell components? I promise once I'm washed up I'll make better company."
Ecurius pondered for a moment over Burl's questions. "To be honest, not being a wizard, I don't know all that much about the guild. I come into contact with the more important wizards at court, but I don't think they'd be the kind of people you'd be dealing with over spell components."
"As for Fayen, I'm afraid that realm is in quite the opposite direction! You'll be heading back towards the Sarokeans - east - while the elven realm lies in the forests that cover the north-west of Naseria. I'm sure it'll be possible for you to visit them afterwards though, but I must warn you that they do keep to themselves up there. Oh, and don't make the pretty common mistake of thinking that House Fayen has the same kind of rule over the elves as the other Houses have over the humans of Naseria either."
Kale's question brought an amused look to Ecurius's face. "Thaumineering is not a... simple subject. It's a complex fusion of magic and metal-craft. I have a number of texts myself that you can borrow, if you're really that interested, but I doubt much of it will make all that much sense to you if you're not a student of the arcane."
Kale resisted rolling his eyes. He was only being polite, after all...
"Mmm, but there's a difference between the master artist and the passing collector." He would rather forgo the 'hows' in favor of the 'whats.' "Once we get to the tower, I'd just rather keep my hands out of the Arcane Vegetable Chopper, is all.
The books may be of some use," Kale concluded, "Provided I had an interpreter along," he said while offering a questioning glance to Burl. "Sometime later on? In the meantime, I don't suppose there are any gnomes or 'worksman in town?"
Appreciating the Seeker's help, the mercenary felt secure that he could glean enough information to feel at least a bit more secure about what the crew was getting into...
Burl turned to address the two blue women. "Wyshira and Melisande, I am going to restock my component pouch while in town. Would you two care to join me? I also need to acquire some food for Spike.” Turning to Sandslipper, “It would be an honor to have you join us also.” Burl was disappointed that he wouldn’t be going near the Fayen forests, but Ecurious was right, there would be time later. However, for now, the opportunity to escort the three lovely, but distracting women was very much on his mind.
Catching the look from Kale, Burl nodded his acceptance to look at the manuscripts later. After his brief encounter with Ungor Ferechan, the gnome metallo-thaumaturge and engineer, on the boat he had been intrigued with the combination of the arcane with the mechanical.
The Lord Truth Seeker spoke again. "Now, all, listen. It seems that many of you are eager to go down to the city to replenish your supplies, and I need to visit court. So, if you all want to go and get yourselves ready, refresh yourselves, whatever, and then meet me outside in the courtyard, I'll lead you down to the city and you can go about your seperate ways."
Wyshira frowned when Kale hinted that he had private business to take care of in Tarravus. She almost said, "But you know how I hate it when you go off by yourself!" Fortunately, she was able to bite off the words before they spilled out of her mouth, and she merely nodded her head in acknowledgment.
It's silly to worry about them when they're out of my sight, she told herself. But so many unexpected things had happened to the crew in places that had seemed safe and secure. The werewolf attack came immediately to mind. And then there were the Toranites back at the Solar Lion in Halstath. You just never knew what could come up suddenly, and there Kale would be without anyone to back him up.
But mercenaries will be mercenaries, as her mother always used to say, not wholly disapprovingly. She said this usually in response to the girls' questions about the man that wandered in and out of their lives now and then, and who, incidentally, was their father. Kale seemed to be just that sort of mercenary: in spite of his easy-going, good-natured disposition, he liked to keep his own counsel, and he especially liked to keep his distance.
Wyshira turned her attention to the necromancer and his invitation to accompany him on his errands in town. "I'd like very much to come with you, Burl, thank you." She smiled at him a little uncertainly. "The wizard's guild will be... interesting, I'm sure. But if we see a Temple of Ishrak, we must stop in.
"I don't think I've paid much attention to the matter before, but what is it exactly that Spike eats?" As she engages Burl in conversation, she looks around for Cord; she made sure to let the dwarf know that they were going into town, and that she would be waiting for him.
* * *
DM's Note: Both Wyshira and Kale also approached Ecurius to have the magical items they carried identified:
Wyshira's crystalline globes: Lesser Eye Charms: Each one contains a detect magic spell within, which is released on the holder when the globe is crushed.
Kale's Items -
Brine blade: This sword has a minor enchantment to aid its handling and sharpness - it is a short sword +1, with additional abilities (identify can only divine the most minor quality of a magic item).
Lesser Ring of Umbramancy: This ring has the ability to cast darkness once per day upon the command word Shushurek, in addition to whatever properties it seems to possess in drawing the shadows around the wearer (identify did not identify that ability, but obviously you know it possesses it). Ecurius is most intrigued by this item - firstly since it seems to be an example of some form of very old umbramancy, and also because the command word is a name that he has seen pop up in really old texts written in Drakkath before.
Wand of Lightning: The wand that Kale took off the master werewolf is a Wand of lightning, as per a 5th level caster. It still has 17 charges. As an arcane spell wand, only arcane spellcasters (and rogues or bards trying the Use Magic Device skill) can utilise it.
"I would like to learn more about the mechanics of thaumineering," Kale said when Ecurius had a moment. "Can you recommend a library or local tinker?" Libraries were hardly public, and tinkers were hardly considered typical sources of reference. Ecurius did not seem pent up on station, however, and Kale wondered what sort of resource he would recommend for the mercenary to learn more. The Truth Seeker did not seem a man built solely on book-knowledge...
Regarding the room, the scene about was quite curious. Alaric was silent, Mel and Pierre were content in their victory, Sandslipper waxed evasive, while Ebri and Sebastion murmured about unknown topics. The focus of power, it seemed, lie with those two, though the entire group seemed to sway on the whim of Her Blueness... Nothing seemed to make sense. Kale became a bit confident of the newcomers capabilities, at the same time wodering all the more about their motives. Not the typical merc band, to say the least.
Burl was impressed with the magic of Ecurious and also his wealth, which was obvious to those who knew the components needed to cast the spell used to identify the properties of the objects. Two questions popped into his mind, “Ecurious, is there anyone in particular that you would recommend that I see when I go to the wizard’s guild? Also, it is my desire to visit the Forest of Fayen while we are in Naseria. Will we be going anywhere near them on our journey to the tower?"
Wyshira made a mental note to show Lord Ecurius her small, crystal globes later on, when she'd had a chance to retrieve them from her pack in the room she'd been given. How long had she been carrying the mysterious magical spheres around now, without the foggiest notion what they were good for? Almost since the beginning of my journey, she recalled. She hoped that their host would be able to fathom their nature as he had the items Melisande carried.
The description of the Flame Serpent that could be summoned with the sorceress' rod caused Wyshira to shudder. The Plane of Fire... What a terrible creature it would be! She could only take comfort in the fact that, should there ever be a need for it to be used, at least it would be under the control of one of her allies.
Burl was concerned with getting supplies and spell components, and seemed to be interested in visiting the Forest of Fayen. That name sounded vaguely familiar to her, but at the moment, she couldn't think why. Some bit of gossip I must have heard along the way.... she mused, but she wasn't in the mood to rack her brain to recall it properly.
She was in fact, beginning to feel quite sleepy, though it was still early in the afternoon. It must be that soft bed back in my room, calling to me, she thought with a smile, and stifled a yawn. She would have liked to speak more with Melisande, and Sandslipper too. The statue-woman had piqued her curiosity; she felt a sort of kinship with her. Because she is a genasi,Wyshira supposed, even if she is earth-kin and not water-born like me.
She couldn't help but notice that she wasn't the only one interested in the Myrmecian. Burl seemed to be fascinated by Sandslipper, but Wyshira suspected his reasons were not the same as hers. For the briefest moment, she felt a twinge of jealousy at that, but she pushed the feeling away. Why should she care who Burl looked at anyway?
Melisande took back the rod and the potion with gratitude, very pleased to finally have the command word that would turn the kobold shaman's fire-mojo to good use. She had no doubt it would be useful in the upcoming adventure, if what Lord Ecurius said about guardians and such was true--and a Truth-Seeker could probably be trusted a smidgen more than most. "I am in need of supplies myself and I'd love to see Tarravus, but right now I think a bath would be in order. And a nap. Burl, do you think you would mind waiting for me before going shopping for spell components? I promise once I'm washed up I'll make better company."
Ecurius pondered for a moment over Burl's questions. "To be honest, not being a wizard, I don't know all that much about the guild. I come into contact with the more important wizards at court, but I don't think they'd be the kind of people you'd be dealing with over spell components."
"As for Fayen, I'm afraid that realm is in quite the opposite direction! You'll be heading back towards the Sarokeans - east - while the elven realm lies in the forests that cover the north-west of Naseria. I'm sure it'll be possible for you to visit them afterwards though, but I must warn you that they do keep to themselves up there. Oh, and don't make the pretty common mistake of thinking that House Fayen has the same kind of rule over the elves as the other Houses have over the humans of Naseria either."
Kale's question brought an amused look to Ecurius's face. "Thaumineering is not a... simple subject. It's a complex fusion of magic and metal-craft. I have a number of texts myself that you can borrow, if you're really that interested, but I doubt much of it will make all that much sense to you if you're not a student of the arcane."
Kale resisted rolling his eyes. He was only being polite, after all...
"Mmm, but there's a difference between the master artist and the passing collector." He would rather forgo the 'hows' in favor of the 'whats.' "Once we get to the tower, I'd just rather keep my hands out of the Arcane Vegetable Chopper, is all.
The books may be of some use," Kale concluded, "Provided I had an interpreter along," he said while offering a questioning glance to Burl. "Sometime later on? In the meantime, I don't suppose there are any gnomes or 'worksman in town?"
Appreciating the Seeker's help, the mercenary felt secure that he could glean enough information to feel at least a bit more secure about what the crew was getting into...
Burl turned to address the two blue women. "Wyshira and Melisande, I am going to restock my component pouch while in town. Would you two care to join me? I also need to acquire some food for Spike.” Turning to Sandslipper, “It would be an honor to have you join us also.” Burl was disappointed that he wouldn’t be going near the Fayen forests, but Ecurious was right, there would be time later. However, for now, the opportunity to escort the three lovely, but distracting women was very much on his mind.
Catching the look from Kale, Burl nodded his acceptance to look at the manuscripts later. After his brief encounter with Ungor Ferechan, the gnome metallo-thaumaturge and engineer, on the boat he had been intrigued with the combination of the arcane with the mechanical.
The Lord Truth Seeker spoke again. "Now, all, listen. It seems that many of you are eager to go down to the city to replenish your supplies, and I need to visit court. So, if you all want to go and get yourselves ready, refresh yourselves, whatever, and then meet me outside in the courtyard, I'll lead you down to the city and you can go about your seperate ways."
Wyshira frowned when Kale hinted that he had private business to take care of in Tarravus. She almost said, "But you know how I hate it when you go off by yourself!" Fortunately, she was able to bite off the words before they spilled out of her mouth, and she merely nodded her head in acknowledgment.
It's silly to worry about them when they're out of my sight, she told herself. But so many unexpected things had happened to the crew in places that had seemed safe and secure. The werewolf attack came immediately to mind. And then there were the Toranites back at the Solar Lion in Halstath. You just never knew what could come up suddenly, and there Kale would be without anyone to back him up.
But mercenaries will be mercenaries, as her mother always used to say, not wholly disapprovingly. She said this usually in response to the girls' questions about the man that wandered in and out of their lives now and then, and who, incidentally, was their father. Kale seemed to be just that sort of mercenary: in spite of his easy-going, good-natured disposition, he liked to keep his own counsel, and he especially liked to keep his distance.
Wyshira turned her attention to the necromancer and his invitation to accompany him on his errands in town. "I'd like very much to come with you, Burl, thank you." She smiled at him a little uncertainly. "The wizard's guild will be... interesting, I'm sure. But if we see a Temple of Ishrak, we must stop in.
"I don't think I've paid much attention to the matter before, but what is it exactly that Spike eats?" As she engages Burl in conversation, she looks around for Cord; she made sure to let the dwarf know that they were going into town, and that she would be waiting for him.
* * *
DM's Note: Both Wyshira and Kale also approached Ecurius to have the magical items they carried identified:
Wyshira's crystalline globes: Lesser Eye Charms: Each one contains a detect magic spell within, which is released on the holder when the globe is crushed.
Kale's Items -
Brine blade: This sword has a minor enchantment to aid its handling and sharpness - it is a short sword +1, with additional abilities (identify can only divine the most minor quality of a magic item).
Lesser Ring of Umbramancy: This ring has the ability to cast darkness once per day upon the command word Shushurek, in addition to whatever properties it seems to possess in drawing the shadows around the wearer (identify did not identify that ability, but obviously you know it possesses it). Ecurius is most intrigued by this item - firstly since it seems to be an example of some form of very old umbramancy, and also because the command word is a name that he has seen pop up in really old texts written in Drakkath before.
Wand of Lightning: The wand that Kale took off the master werewolf is a Wand of lightning, as per a 5th level caster. It still has 17 charges. As an arcane spell wand, only arcane spellcasters (and rogues or bards trying the Use Magic Device skill) can utilise it.
Last edited:
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
Sounds like fun. I look forward to it.
Heck, what with this and P-kitty's update-a-day, we're being spoiled at the moment.
Now if only Sepulchrave would start his new thread!
Heck, what with this and P-kitty's update-a-day, we're being spoiled at the moment.
Now if only Sepulchrave would start his new thread!
Carnifex
First Post
Seeing the other group preparing themselves for a trip to the city, Sebastion felt pretty sure that his own companions would wish to do the same. Ebri might not be the type - though he wouldn't guarantee it - but he'd put even money on Melisande not being able to resist the pull of shopping....
... and somewhere deep down inside where he didn't want to admit it he knew that he felt the urge to make sure the three women with whom he'd travelled stayed safe. It was rash, perhaps, foolish definitely, and ultimately not his problem, but another day or so wouldn't hurt... would it?
And I could do with a few lance caps... might be able to fashion something usable out of a sapling on the road... he thought. There'll be plenty of time to spar with Ebri, and I've seen plenty of stables...
Despite having convinced himself to go, he couldn't quite convince himself to enjoy the trip....
The party collected outside a while later in the afternoon sun, horses having been saddled up and prepared for the trip down. Idle conversation passed back and forth amidst the various strangers.Cord patted Wyshira's hand lightly. "I think I will accompany some of our new friends into the city," he said softly. "I am curious, especially of the soldier and the quiet one. Shall we meet at your goddesses' temple later in the afternoon?"
Silently approaching Sebastion in the shade of the city gate, he introduced himself once more. "May I accompany you into the city, soldier?" he asked, laying a light hand on the man's arm. Sebastion started slightly at the surprising comment, turning to see the old dwarf that was speaking.
"Uh... certainly. I'm travelling more as guard than shopper, but... please, feel free." He returned to stroking the horse for a few moments more before mounting up with the consumate ease of someone more than simply used to horses. He rode in silence for a short while, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each trotting step, and finally cleared his throat noticably.
"So, uh... Cord, wasn't it? How long have you fellows been on the road?" It wasn't much, but it was a start. Cord heard the strain in his voice, and wondered again. What is eating at this young one?
"A week or two, I imagine," he responded pleasantly. "I cannot be entirely sure. I do not notice the passage of the sun, many days. I have only accompanied them recently; the other four have experienced their share of adventures several times over, I believe."
Cord absently brought a hand up to stroke his beard, his sightless eyes peering from within deeply inset wrinkles engraved across his face. "They are like a family. Wolf is like a father to Kale, like a child eager to prove his worth. Burl is the reclusive brother and Wyshira cares for them all like a mother protecting her cubs. They have learned to depend on each other, though they may not believe they do."
And what would that make me, he wondered briefly. The dear grandfather, watching over their family?
He shook his head, realizing he had once again sunk into a silent reverie. Too often he was becoming lost in his own thoughts. With a force of will, he wrenched his clouding mind away from such thoughts and smiled at Sebastion. "How about your company, Sebastion? What kind of family has adopted you?"
Sebastion found himself surprised at the insightful question, turning his thoughts for a moment to his father.
How long has it been since I even thought of father? he wondered, running a hand slowly along the wooden sheath of the double sword stuck through his pack-strap.
"A family? Not really... although, perhaps a group of distant and estranged cousins would be the closest. They travel together because they happen to be going in the same direction, I think." He observed, not realising he had left himself out of the explanation. "Although I think Ebri might see herself as the older sister type, if you'd have been speaking to here."
Cord nodded thoughtfully. Yes, a ragtag band of estranged cousins seemed to fit their disposition quite nicely.
The two, following the women closely, but respectfully, wound their way through the bustling streets of Tarravus. The pungent odor of sweat, oil, smoke, and refuse permeated the atmosphere, nearly obscuring his sense of smell and overwhelming all tastes. But he had spent a considerable amount of time in cities, many worse off than this one, and he had learned to adapt. He began to tune out the dull roar of people yelling, running, haggling. His senses refined, filtering out the noise, and after only a few minutes he became more comfortable with his surroundings.
He spoke with Sebastion in pleasant, melodic tones as the young soldier searched for a possible smith to replenish his instruments of war. Cord told him a little of his recent travels, of the large variety of people across the Drakkath and in Naseria that were willing to simply listen and ask questions. He told Sebastion about his life as a student, and about being a student of life. He could not help but grow wistful as he thought about the innumerable people he had met that brought so much meaning and enlightenment into his own long life.
"Every one is a student of some discipline. We must learn all the time, must develop our own talents, lest we die. What do you strive to learn, my friend? Why do you travel, as you have been?"
Looking up at the women riding before him for a moment, recalling the last time he had told this particular piece of information, he watched Melisande giggling like a maiden in the wash-paddock at home, leaning in towards Wyshira with whispered commentary.
Turning back to Cord, he smiled a wry, ironic, slightly sad grin.
"Last time I told someone this, I don't think I managed to convey what I really meant." he said, by way of an introduction. "True, she was a woman, and a witch at that, and not likely to know the ways of men or war, but I'm not sure it wasn't partly in the way I told it, either..."
With that warning given, and slipping down from the saddle to hold the ladies' horses as they almost dashed into some establishment or other, Sebastion turned to the dwarf and told him.
"My father was soldier. Not just a man with a sword, but someone who put his life on the line for something he felt was right: he fought for things he believed in. I can't see that in a nation, at least, not in any of the nations I see at the moment.
I want to fight for something I believe in, something that matters - fighting seems to be the only thing I ever had a talent for, really. So... I train, and I learn... and I travel. The way of mercenary seems to be the only path that fits, but I need to be able to decide when and where I fight, and more importantly for what.
Mercenaries fight for pay, but people tend to look down on them for that. People need money, that's why they work, but they can choose for whom they work, and when. I want to make sure people realise that, I want to make a difference somewhere, to do something worthwhile.... I... I guess that all sounds a little bit arrogant, doesn't it?" he forced a chuckle, flushing slightly with embaressment as he picked an imaginary piece of something from the mane of Wyshira's mare, and patted down its flanks, more for his comfort than for the horse's.
Cord shook his head, an understanding smile on his face. "Not at all, my friend," he said in a deep voice. "All must find their own path in the world, and yours is more noble than most, I believe. To fight for what you believe, to protect what you love: those are hardly selfish desires, Sebastion. My own path does not lie in the direction of violence, but our goals are very much the same. To train, to learn, to travel, you said. I have done likewise for nearly a hundred years."
He paused a moment, his last words echoing in his ears. A hundred years. Has it truly been that long? He had learned much, yet had so far to go. He knew enlightenment was not within his reach, but the venture brought him closer in a way that nothing else could. His time was growing short, he knew, but he longed to stay.
Cord clapped Sebastion on the back, more to shake himself from his own reverie than to get Sebastion's attention. "Do not be embarrassed. Take pride, as you do in your horse. Everyone may freely choose their own destiny. You have the rare gift of recognizing the fact. Make a difference. Do something worthwhile. And fight for what you believe in."
Cord nodded briskly. Wyshira's scent was near, the almost salty tang carried by a stray breeze. He wondered how she and the other woman were getting along.
"Be prepared to answer the question," he continued, easing his horse away from Sebastion, "What do you believe in? No debates about upbringing, or ethics, or mercenaries, matters if you cannot answer that question."
Meanwhile, as she rode, Melisande did a thorough search of her pockets. Along with lint, string and mismatched buttons she recovered a good many biological samples from her journey, including some odd seeds and dried flowers, but minus a few insects and worms she was sure had put there. And, fortunately, her pockets also turned up exactly seven gold pieces. Not much for spell components, but at least with Lord Ecurius' sumptuous hospitality she would not have to worry about scrimping.
It looked like Burl was doing a bit of inventorying himself. A pair of beady black eyes and a sharp little whiskered snout wriggled from one of his pockets and squeaked at him for a while; she assumed this must be Spike. It's a hedgehog, she told Pierre, who had been fretting, having had his dose of stress with Meg'anna's fox. He seemed relieved.
In Tarravus she joined Burl and Wyshira, chiding her horse up alongside the priestess's and waiting for Lord Ecurius to leave before leaning close to whisper, "Isn't he a dreamboat?"
Straightening, she gestured to Burl to lead the way. "To the wizards' guild, then. And on the way I'd love to hear what sort of arcana you're in."
Wyshira giggled at Melisande's comment. Dreamboat wasn't actually a word in the young priestess' vocabulary, but Mel's conspiratorial whisper and the admiring glance she shot at Lord Ecurius, made her meaning clear. Truthfully, Wyshira had barely noticed their host's good looks. But she took a moment to appreciate them now, and to appreciate too, the girlish fun of whispering and laughing with a female companion.
"Lord Ecurius," Ebri said, when the others were engaged in their conversations, "I wonder, are you familiar with a man by the name of Karbal? I was told he was recently in the area; a fellow traveler of my order asked me to pass on greetings to him."
Ecurius looked a little surprised at Ebri's mention of the name 'Karbal'. "I certainly do know of Karbal. He's a merchant from Killanon - deals mostly in books, parchment, things like that. Quite a well-connected man, and I've bought a fair share of texts from him in my time. It's actually not unusual to see him in court, I have to say. He lives on the same street as the wizard's guild, if you want to find him. I didn't know he had any conections with the Immarians though."
DM's Note: Ebri was in fact informed that she should contact Karbal on her journey north from Corvus. There are a few incidents I don't think I included in the SH, and one was her night-time meeting with an Old Master, who informed her that Karbal was the Nephian contact within the capital city.
A short while later, after a pleasant trip down the side of the verdant valley past green fields and tall, ancient oaks, they arrived at the gates of the city; a mighty portal through the massive, sand-coloured stone walls, above which the pennants of Tarravus fluttered, their symbol a golden dragon on a pure white background. The gate guards, clad in the high-quality armour and garb of Royal Guard, let the Truth Seeker's party in without troubling them.
"Well, my path takes me to the palace. If you tell me where you wish to go before I depart, I may be able to help point out the way there."
The band put forwards their wishes; the temples of Grumand and Ishrak, the wizad's guild, an armourers; and Ecurius gave them what directions he could. And then the party fragmented to go about their business.
Unlike Corvus city, the centre of the domain of Tarravus was not orderly in its arrangement. It had not suffered from the kinds of devastation that had allowed House Corvus to rebuild their bastion along new, planned lines, instead having grown organically from the original small settlement that had once been here on the banks of the river. Several main arteries of life, wide and well-cobbled roads, wound their way through the place, but off of these, the streets were often winding and the slate-roofed houses packed tightly side by side, looming up over the roads before them. The buildings were generally not as tall or dominating as the stone buildings of Corvus, here and there a tower or noblemans residence rearing up, a white-washed temple or a large stone public building, though the mighty bulk of the palace was visible from nearly everywhere and the Wind Hawks fortress, the Air Tower, reached impossibly high.
The main streets were full, packed with merchants and messengers. Goods came to the west coast through the port of House Thrazan, passed through Tarravus, and then headed east through the mountains into the Drakkath, so the city was full of mercantile business. there were few guards around, for unlike the wide boulevards of Corvus city it would be near impossible to keep watch over the throngs here - though that didn't mean they were entirely absent. An occasional Wind Hawk, resplendent in white and airy blue hues, with light cloaks covered in hawk feathers, prowled through the crowds, keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble.
* * *
Kale found himself in a small square off from the main Merchant's Ward - a cacophony of hammering and the heavy smell of chemicals and soot on the air. The myriad of forges and alchemicreative engineers would doubtless provide someone able to make the armour he wanted to commission.
It hadn't taken long for Kale to find the district he was looking for: it was marked by merchants and peddlers hawking their wares to an incredibly diverse crowd that slowly flowed through the booth and shop maze. Likely intended to literally trap and wander its quarry, the marketplace was an alluring enviroment that tempted its explorers to buy, buy, buy.
Even amidst the everyday commercial fervor, however, there were the dedicated and trueblooded movers. Every few booths, a buyer's discerning eye, the merchant's carefully placed words, subtleties of a seldom-recognized artform revealed themselves: gems amidst the dross.
As a lifestyle, the road-dusted mercenary could never survive as a merchant. But the challenege and the energy of the trade... a small grin escaed his lips as he passed a haggling pair. Merchantry was a life, not a skill, and the two grown men haggled over the price of a small bushel of apples: it was purely for 'the love of the game.'
Resignation and protestations tapered to a close as Kale walked by, commerce traded hands, and two everyday men parted, respectful as soldiers as they disengaged, polite as neighbors as they departed the battlefield. Every man a tiger, the mercenary thought as he regarded the two veterans of the mercantile front.
It was with all respect, then, that he walked unassumingly to a smithshop in the trade district. Purposeful traffic along with scattered browsers mixed underneath the old oaken sign: "Gimfin's Ironworks", it declared in a mix of drawn a wrought black-and-white. Solid, and not too pretentious, a close look revealed the aged sign's vintage, as well as its soft-spoken quality.
Hopeful, Kale entered the shop, pausing a few steps inside and aside to take in the shop's wares. Sheltered from the sun and well-ventilated, ingenious decoration and plush furnishings of the gnomeshop was a stark contrast to the familiar forgefires of the dwarven smiths.
Armor and arms, wheels and chairs, bits and ploughs and lines of unintelligible machines and works dotted the shop, all in a definate but incomprehensible organization. The toolvest-clad proprieter stood yards away, talking cheerfully with a human wizard, the man standing fully three feet taller than the dimunitive maker. Size, of course, made no difference to the gnome, laughing and carrying on with the man for who he was: an enjoyable and regular customer.
Helping himself to a seat and a nearby wrought-iron 'puzzler,' Kale worked patiently at the contraption while the tall spellcaster made his way to the door. "Off you go, then!" said the one who could only be Gimfin. "Bring the kids next time- I've got a new one they have simply got to try" he finished, holding up a strange contraption box while the man smiled and rolled his eyes.
"Ah, then!" the gnome began, his gaze falling on the newcomer in his entry chair. Browsers and the curious filtered in and out from time to time, tolerated as a cultural oddity by the gnome. Why all people did not desire to sit a bit and visit, he could not understand. To each his or her own, perhaps. Still, as far as his own was concerned, he would rather spend his time speaking with the one who knew how to sit and... with a click and "Aha!" solve one of his simpler but intriguing puzzlers.
"Clever," Kale began, returning the iron ring to its nest of entrapping rods and curls. The gnome sat opposite in a matching, but small-scale cushioned chair, and produced a curious and heavy steaming pot from a nearby table. Helping the gnome with the cups, Kale could only wonder what in the world the pot contained, or how it managed to keep its contents hot.
Shortly, a quick taste revealed tea, though the mercenary was careful in his sips to only wet his lips- who knew what colors or effects the brew could conceal. If the market was a battle of wits, then the gnomehouses were a battle of pranks. Often, gnomekin merchant would tone down their passions to accomodate most 'stuffy and boring' tall-ies, but Kale was looking for something special, and he suspected that might make him fair game.
"My name is Kale," he said, replacing his cup. "And it's a long road that has brought me here." Launching into an oblique but selectively detailed account of some misadventures, Gimfin seemed quite interested, though couldn't conceal his disappointment when he saw the tales begin to weave around a certain tattered shirt of armor. Tales and adventures were great for the maker to hear, but what fun was there in repairing an old chain shirt?
"But what fun is there in repairing an old chain shirt?" Kale asked as he looked down on several beast-battered flat spots, three even stab holes, and a tooth-rent tear in his shoulder. "A dedicated dwarfsmith would repair the links, but what I'm looking for is something new. It's been a long time since I've seen something new and exciting," Kale began to change the subject as he made clearer what he was seeking. Conversation turned to new contraptions... a powder-powered 'bang stick' he heard of. Gun-spear without the range, that was something new. He wasn't ready to make a proposal on the shirt, and Gimfin didn't really seem ready yet to accept. Sure, the maker would likely accept a commission for a great shirt of mail, but it wouldn't be terribly fun for the man. Kale wanted the gnome's heart in it. Besides, there are other things I'd like to learn...
They chatted about warfare, the state of the trades, even of strange rumors in Corinthia, but what wese most interesting to the both of them were ironworks and thaumineering. Chatting and experimenting, Kale learned the basics, prodding various curiosities and puzzlers while Gimfin looked on. It was a mix between conversation and outright laughter, the gnome completely engaged shorty after Kale succeeded in splattering both arms blue, and being zapped with a strange storm-charge that stood his hair on end.
Modes and methods, tricks and escapes, it was an exchange where Gimfin would never give up his best, but would encourage the mercenary on with key concepts, in trade for a few clever ideas, or victim-humor in the absense of mechnical wit.
All in all, Kale figured he fared alright. He had managed to secure a commission for a fine shirt of mail: not fancy, not complex, just expertly made, of a special alloy the maker had been working on for quite some time. His battered shirt would go to a recommended dwarven smith, and he could soon return for a newer and better coat, with the promise of a bit more conversation, and anything more he knew about the odd 'bang stick.'
"Gimfin, thank you. Well met, and I hope to see you again soon." Intercepting the gnome's handpat, he opted instead for a quick handshake with the man. An awkward texture in his hand was met with a wry smile from the gnome- some averted prank slipped back into the maker's pocket, rather than on Kale's flank. Blue hands and a ruffled hairstyle, the mercenary-student felt he had done alright.
Exiting the quaint shop, Kale was shocked to see the sun already easing toward the horizon. He had been with the gnome nearly all day! Thinking the snacks and drinks only a token of gnomekin hospitality, he didn't even notice how much time had passed.
Making his way quickly to 'Runestone's,' he hoped there would be enough time for the smith to weld his old links before the day was out. Once inside the forge, Kale bided his time washing his hands and inspecting the rest of his body for undiscovered changes. Times like this, his small mirror always came in handy...
It was quite an enjoyable day, yet for whatever reason he couldn't shake the desire to get back to the estate soon. He'd always enjoyed his market time the most, chatting and bargaining, challenging and exploring the urban landscape. Still, he couldn't deny the draw... an irksome desire to get back to the crew. Impatiently, he schooled himself so sit still and wait for his shirt repairs.
* * *
The Scribe's Ward was a small area of the city over the other side of the river, part of the Old Quarter wherein the mighty Air Tower sprouted upwards. On the cul-de-sac of a street that made up the bulk of this particular Ward stood the wizard's guild, a formidable and imposing building of dark gray stone, its upper reaches wreathed in glowering gargoyle carvings. Around it was a myriad of smaller buildings, alchemists and scribes businesses and book-sellers. Not far down rose the temple of Grumand, built from heavy blocks of stone.
The streets here were less crowded, with few people wandering around, and those mostly messengers delivering and departing the clerks buildings. A handful of city guardsmen in breastplates wandered the pavements idly as the band consisting of Melisande, Wyshira, Burl, Sebastion, Cord and Ebri passed through the low arch that deliniated the Ward. Wolf had disappeared off on his own, as Kale had done.
Melisande nearly fell off her horse gawking. Seven gold pieces wouldn't go far at the booksellers' or the alchemists', but how she longed just to peruse their wares. There was so much to learn.
Then again, the only spell component she needed to restock was a little powdered iron, and that wouldn't cost much.
After the Wizard's Guild, she reminded herself judiciously, even as she was about to leap from the saddle to root through an alchemist's.
As the daunting gray building rose up before them she moved in on Burl again, not to be discouraged by his secrecy. Perhaps he simply had not heard her question. But she was determined to know what sort of spellcaster she had to work with on this upcoming adventure so they could coordinate their efforts and perhaps also their purchases. "I do hope we'll have time to stop in at an alchemist's after the Guild," she began conversationally. "I dabble in a little alchemy myself. What about you, Burl?"
The disparate band made its way towards the guildhouse, drawing more than a few looks from the few wanderers who strolled around the cul-de-sac - a handful of nobles and clerks, and the armoured guards. It was just glances and mutters amongst themselves, along with a few mild leers from guardsmen eyeing up the exotic-coloured women.
The guildhouse was grander than the one in Corvus, clearly having had more wealth poured into its construction. The arcanists themselves who entered and exited the impressive oak double-doors looked similar though - mostly in the trappings of merchants and clerks, with only a few tell-talke signs that they were spellcasters; and even those could be mistaken, like a spellbook for an accounts ledger. Another reminder of the inferior station of wizard's in Naseria, where sorcerous magic ruled supreme.
As the band came to the doors, an entirely different figure strode out, in a garb that Sebastion immediately recognised.
Flame Guildsman.
He seemed to project his own personal aura, a fair space around him that the Naserian wizards didn't dare invade. Some of them gave him sullen glances or even outrightly hostile glares, though not a one moved to act against him. Tall, carrying himself with an imperiosu manner, the wizard was clad in the long red and orange robes of the Flame Guild, the organisation of war wizards that provided the magical support for the Huronese and Carthagian armies on a mercenary basis - robes that Sebastion had heard were often reinforced with leather and padding, making them an adequate protection by themselves. Over his chest a gleamingly polished steel breastplate was tightly fitted for the minimum of interference and encumbrance, a flaming brazier etched into it, and belts of components were slung around his waist. Yet the fiery garb was not all that marked out this man from the crowd - his ashen, gray-black skin and fiery red hair that shifted as if alive drew stares, his eyes gleaming like tiny flames. A red slik mask covered the lower half of his face and nose, keeping his visage enigmatic.
Sebastion knew the reasons behind the unfriendly attitudes of the otehr wizards too. Guildsmen serevd in the Carthagian armies as magical fire support, and it was their magics that had brought down Corvus city during the Fang Wars. Exactly what the hell a Flame Guildsman was doing here - and a high-up too, since rumour said the breastplate was a mark of seniority - was a mystery, made even more inscrutable by the inhuman appearance of the spellcaster.
Opinion in the lands he had been brought up in was of course not hostile to the Guildsmen and their organisation, though often people were suspicious of their motives and power. He rarely had chance or reason to see them himself though.
The wizard strode past the band to a small gathering of men at the bottom of the stairs to the guildhouse entrance, armed men who they had previously assumed to just be guards but who seemed to be this man's personal guard. Then they were within the building itself, and the relative cool air compared to the suin-lit warmth outside,
The entrance hall was broad, well-decorated and the home of a number of portaits along the walls, possibly of famous guild members. A broad, polished wooden desk sat just inside the doors, the robed and bespectacled clerk sitting there looking up from a ledger to grin at the odd assortment before him; the wizened man finished his writing then closed the book shut with a snap. "Good day, welcome to the Tarravus guildhall of the wizards of Naseria. What can I help you with?"
* * *
At the back of the group as they had come in, Sebastion noted the southern wizard stop amidst his retainers, pausing as if suddenly struck by a thought. Then he turned on his heel and came striding back up the steps, reentereing the building, eyes locked on the Huronese man.
His voice was strange, reminding Sebastion somehow of a crackling fire. "Are you the younger Cornell?" he said forcefully, an urgency in his voice.
* * *
The knowledge that Kale picked up that day was wide-ranging, and not just from talkative gnomes either. Several main topics ran through the mercantile social circle, topics the man picked up on through half-heard conversations, friendly or worried merchants as they sold him rope or metal claw or hammered new rigns into his chain shirt. One that he had heard for a while now, but which seemed to be growing in urgency, was the impending famine.
It was virtually an accepted fact now that there would be food shortages this year. The winter would be harsh indeed with little grain and other crops to sustain them - it wasn't as if the preceeding years had been bountiful. The countries of the Drakkath had found their crops failing, the yield looking to be low as some strange blight troubled the land. Attacks and raids by nomadic abhumanoid races were increased, probably because they too were finding their stocks of food low. Some said that the only reason Adbar was attacking the hobgoblin nations to their east was to steal their barns full of grain, but even that seemed unlikely to provide a respite for the word was of disturbingly effective resistance forces. No-one had the answers, either, and it was that which really troubled the merchants. Priests could not explain it. The followers of Solanthar were receiving poor favour since some blamed the destructive influences of the Sun Lord for the trouble, his baleful scorching rays killing the crops. The clergy of Grumand spoke of a taint within the earth, but when asked to do something about it they could do nought but throw up their hands and say that Grumand did not know what it was. Ishrakites called down rainbut all it did was erode soil and do more damage. In some places priests or those with powers over nature seemed able to hold off the worst of the malign influence creeping over the Drakkath, but the crops of Killanon, Adbar and Corinthia were going to be severely diminished. The food shortage would have severe repercussions.
It wasn't as if Corinthia hadn't already suffered economical problems this year. The king had been removed in a coup led by House Irilson, and now was ruled by the more 'democratic' merchant council, made up of the heads of each merchant house. The chaos following the change of rule had of course already caused merchants enough problems - the port of Iril was the primary outlet of trade from the entire of the Middle Kingdoms out to the Azure Sea and the lands beyond, and turmoil there was far from appreciated due to the disruption it caused to shipping schedules. Fortunately it seemed the Irilsons had managed to set up the new system with good efficiency to prevent too much trouble, but in the rest of Corinthia things had yet to settle down.
Wild rumours circulated about the fate of the king, but the generally accepted account of events was that the merchant princes had him executed fairly promptly. Apparently the Azure Guard had pretty quickly surrendered (or changed sides, or instigated the whole thing, depending on who you talked to).
DM's Note: The other PC's also heard the same kind of rumours as Kale did as they passed through the city; Wyshira also found out that there as a temple of Ishrak, near the river. After the talk with the gnome, Kale felt fairly confident he could use Disable Device on the kinds of things the inventor showed him.
... and somewhere deep down inside where he didn't want to admit it he knew that he felt the urge to make sure the three women with whom he'd travelled stayed safe. It was rash, perhaps, foolish definitely, and ultimately not his problem, but another day or so wouldn't hurt... would it?
And I could do with a few lance caps... might be able to fashion something usable out of a sapling on the road... he thought. There'll be plenty of time to spar with Ebri, and I've seen plenty of stables...
Despite having convinced himself to go, he couldn't quite convince himself to enjoy the trip....
The party collected outside a while later in the afternoon sun, horses having been saddled up and prepared for the trip down. Idle conversation passed back and forth amidst the various strangers.Cord patted Wyshira's hand lightly. "I think I will accompany some of our new friends into the city," he said softly. "I am curious, especially of the soldier and the quiet one. Shall we meet at your goddesses' temple later in the afternoon?"
Silently approaching Sebastion in the shade of the city gate, he introduced himself once more. "May I accompany you into the city, soldier?" he asked, laying a light hand on the man's arm. Sebastion started slightly at the surprising comment, turning to see the old dwarf that was speaking.
"Uh... certainly. I'm travelling more as guard than shopper, but... please, feel free." He returned to stroking the horse for a few moments more before mounting up with the consumate ease of someone more than simply used to horses. He rode in silence for a short while, feeling more and more uncomfortable with each trotting step, and finally cleared his throat noticably.
"So, uh... Cord, wasn't it? How long have you fellows been on the road?" It wasn't much, but it was a start. Cord heard the strain in his voice, and wondered again. What is eating at this young one?
"A week or two, I imagine," he responded pleasantly. "I cannot be entirely sure. I do not notice the passage of the sun, many days. I have only accompanied them recently; the other four have experienced their share of adventures several times over, I believe."
Cord absently brought a hand up to stroke his beard, his sightless eyes peering from within deeply inset wrinkles engraved across his face. "They are like a family. Wolf is like a father to Kale, like a child eager to prove his worth. Burl is the reclusive brother and Wyshira cares for them all like a mother protecting her cubs. They have learned to depend on each other, though they may not believe they do."
And what would that make me, he wondered briefly. The dear grandfather, watching over their family?
He shook his head, realizing he had once again sunk into a silent reverie. Too often he was becoming lost in his own thoughts. With a force of will, he wrenched his clouding mind away from such thoughts and smiled at Sebastion. "How about your company, Sebastion? What kind of family has adopted you?"
Sebastion found himself surprised at the insightful question, turning his thoughts for a moment to his father.
How long has it been since I even thought of father? he wondered, running a hand slowly along the wooden sheath of the double sword stuck through his pack-strap.
"A family? Not really... although, perhaps a group of distant and estranged cousins would be the closest. They travel together because they happen to be going in the same direction, I think." He observed, not realising he had left himself out of the explanation. "Although I think Ebri might see herself as the older sister type, if you'd have been speaking to here."
Cord nodded thoughtfully. Yes, a ragtag band of estranged cousins seemed to fit their disposition quite nicely.
The two, following the women closely, but respectfully, wound their way through the bustling streets of Tarravus. The pungent odor of sweat, oil, smoke, and refuse permeated the atmosphere, nearly obscuring his sense of smell and overwhelming all tastes. But he had spent a considerable amount of time in cities, many worse off than this one, and he had learned to adapt. He began to tune out the dull roar of people yelling, running, haggling. His senses refined, filtering out the noise, and after only a few minutes he became more comfortable with his surroundings.
He spoke with Sebastion in pleasant, melodic tones as the young soldier searched for a possible smith to replenish his instruments of war. Cord told him a little of his recent travels, of the large variety of people across the Drakkath and in Naseria that were willing to simply listen and ask questions. He told Sebastion about his life as a student, and about being a student of life. He could not help but grow wistful as he thought about the innumerable people he had met that brought so much meaning and enlightenment into his own long life.
"Every one is a student of some discipline. We must learn all the time, must develop our own talents, lest we die. What do you strive to learn, my friend? Why do you travel, as you have been?"
Looking up at the women riding before him for a moment, recalling the last time he had told this particular piece of information, he watched Melisande giggling like a maiden in the wash-paddock at home, leaning in towards Wyshira with whispered commentary.
Turning back to Cord, he smiled a wry, ironic, slightly sad grin.
"Last time I told someone this, I don't think I managed to convey what I really meant." he said, by way of an introduction. "True, she was a woman, and a witch at that, and not likely to know the ways of men or war, but I'm not sure it wasn't partly in the way I told it, either..."
With that warning given, and slipping down from the saddle to hold the ladies' horses as they almost dashed into some establishment or other, Sebastion turned to the dwarf and told him.
"My father was soldier. Not just a man with a sword, but someone who put his life on the line for something he felt was right: he fought for things he believed in. I can't see that in a nation, at least, not in any of the nations I see at the moment.
I want to fight for something I believe in, something that matters - fighting seems to be the only thing I ever had a talent for, really. So... I train, and I learn... and I travel. The way of mercenary seems to be the only path that fits, but I need to be able to decide when and where I fight, and more importantly for what.
Mercenaries fight for pay, but people tend to look down on them for that. People need money, that's why they work, but they can choose for whom they work, and when. I want to make sure people realise that, I want to make a difference somewhere, to do something worthwhile.... I... I guess that all sounds a little bit arrogant, doesn't it?" he forced a chuckle, flushing slightly with embaressment as he picked an imaginary piece of something from the mane of Wyshira's mare, and patted down its flanks, more for his comfort than for the horse's.
Cord shook his head, an understanding smile on his face. "Not at all, my friend," he said in a deep voice. "All must find their own path in the world, and yours is more noble than most, I believe. To fight for what you believe, to protect what you love: those are hardly selfish desires, Sebastion. My own path does not lie in the direction of violence, but our goals are very much the same. To train, to learn, to travel, you said. I have done likewise for nearly a hundred years."
He paused a moment, his last words echoing in his ears. A hundred years. Has it truly been that long? He had learned much, yet had so far to go. He knew enlightenment was not within his reach, but the venture brought him closer in a way that nothing else could. His time was growing short, he knew, but he longed to stay.
Cord clapped Sebastion on the back, more to shake himself from his own reverie than to get Sebastion's attention. "Do not be embarrassed. Take pride, as you do in your horse. Everyone may freely choose their own destiny. You have the rare gift of recognizing the fact. Make a difference. Do something worthwhile. And fight for what you believe in."
Cord nodded briskly. Wyshira's scent was near, the almost salty tang carried by a stray breeze. He wondered how she and the other woman were getting along.
"Be prepared to answer the question," he continued, easing his horse away from Sebastion, "What do you believe in? No debates about upbringing, or ethics, or mercenaries, matters if you cannot answer that question."
Meanwhile, as she rode, Melisande did a thorough search of her pockets. Along with lint, string and mismatched buttons she recovered a good many biological samples from her journey, including some odd seeds and dried flowers, but minus a few insects and worms she was sure had put there. And, fortunately, her pockets also turned up exactly seven gold pieces. Not much for spell components, but at least with Lord Ecurius' sumptuous hospitality she would not have to worry about scrimping.
It looked like Burl was doing a bit of inventorying himself. A pair of beady black eyes and a sharp little whiskered snout wriggled from one of his pockets and squeaked at him for a while; she assumed this must be Spike. It's a hedgehog, she told Pierre, who had been fretting, having had his dose of stress with Meg'anna's fox. He seemed relieved.
In Tarravus she joined Burl and Wyshira, chiding her horse up alongside the priestess's and waiting for Lord Ecurius to leave before leaning close to whisper, "Isn't he a dreamboat?"
Straightening, she gestured to Burl to lead the way. "To the wizards' guild, then. And on the way I'd love to hear what sort of arcana you're in."
Wyshira giggled at Melisande's comment. Dreamboat wasn't actually a word in the young priestess' vocabulary, but Mel's conspiratorial whisper and the admiring glance she shot at Lord Ecurius, made her meaning clear. Truthfully, Wyshira had barely noticed their host's good looks. But she took a moment to appreciate them now, and to appreciate too, the girlish fun of whispering and laughing with a female companion.
"Lord Ecurius," Ebri said, when the others were engaged in their conversations, "I wonder, are you familiar with a man by the name of Karbal? I was told he was recently in the area; a fellow traveler of my order asked me to pass on greetings to him."
Ecurius looked a little surprised at Ebri's mention of the name 'Karbal'. "I certainly do know of Karbal. He's a merchant from Killanon - deals mostly in books, parchment, things like that. Quite a well-connected man, and I've bought a fair share of texts from him in my time. It's actually not unusual to see him in court, I have to say. He lives on the same street as the wizard's guild, if you want to find him. I didn't know he had any conections with the Immarians though."
DM's Note: Ebri was in fact informed that she should contact Karbal on her journey north from Corvus. There are a few incidents I don't think I included in the SH, and one was her night-time meeting with an Old Master, who informed her that Karbal was the Nephian contact within the capital city.
A short while later, after a pleasant trip down the side of the verdant valley past green fields and tall, ancient oaks, they arrived at the gates of the city; a mighty portal through the massive, sand-coloured stone walls, above which the pennants of Tarravus fluttered, their symbol a golden dragon on a pure white background. The gate guards, clad in the high-quality armour and garb of Royal Guard, let the Truth Seeker's party in without troubling them.
"Well, my path takes me to the palace. If you tell me where you wish to go before I depart, I may be able to help point out the way there."
The band put forwards their wishes; the temples of Grumand and Ishrak, the wizad's guild, an armourers; and Ecurius gave them what directions he could. And then the party fragmented to go about their business.
Unlike Corvus city, the centre of the domain of Tarravus was not orderly in its arrangement. It had not suffered from the kinds of devastation that had allowed House Corvus to rebuild their bastion along new, planned lines, instead having grown organically from the original small settlement that had once been here on the banks of the river. Several main arteries of life, wide and well-cobbled roads, wound their way through the place, but off of these, the streets were often winding and the slate-roofed houses packed tightly side by side, looming up over the roads before them. The buildings were generally not as tall or dominating as the stone buildings of Corvus, here and there a tower or noblemans residence rearing up, a white-washed temple or a large stone public building, though the mighty bulk of the palace was visible from nearly everywhere and the Wind Hawks fortress, the Air Tower, reached impossibly high.
The main streets were full, packed with merchants and messengers. Goods came to the west coast through the port of House Thrazan, passed through Tarravus, and then headed east through the mountains into the Drakkath, so the city was full of mercantile business. there were few guards around, for unlike the wide boulevards of Corvus city it would be near impossible to keep watch over the throngs here - though that didn't mean they were entirely absent. An occasional Wind Hawk, resplendent in white and airy blue hues, with light cloaks covered in hawk feathers, prowled through the crowds, keeping their eyes and ears open for trouble.
* * *
Kale found himself in a small square off from the main Merchant's Ward - a cacophony of hammering and the heavy smell of chemicals and soot on the air. The myriad of forges and alchemicreative engineers would doubtless provide someone able to make the armour he wanted to commission.
It hadn't taken long for Kale to find the district he was looking for: it was marked by merchants and peddlers hawking their wares to an incredibly diverse crowd that slowly flowed through the booth and shop maze. Likely intended to literally trap and wander its quarry, the marketplace was an alluring enviroment that tempted its explorers to buy, buy, buy.
Even amidst the everyday commercial fervor, however, there were the dedicated and trueblooded movers. Every few booths, a buyer's discerning eye, the merchant's carefully placed words, subtleties of a seldom-recognized artform revealed themselves: gems amidst the dross.
As a lifestyle, the road-dusted mercenary could never survive as a merchant. But the challenege and the energy of the trade... a small grin escaed his lips as he passed a haggling pair. Merchantry was a life, not a skill, and the two grown men haggled over the price of a small bushel of apples: it was purely for 'the love of the game.'
Resignation and protestations tapered to a close as Kale walked by, commerce traded hands, and two everyday men parted, respectful as soldiers as they disengaged, polite as neighbors as they departed the battlefield. Every man a tiger, the mercenary thought as he regarded the two veterans of the mercantile front.
It was with all respect, then, that he walked unassumingly to a smithshop in the trade district. Purposeful traffic along with scattered browsers mixed underneath the old oaken sign: "Gimfin's Ironworks", it declared in a mix of drawn a wrought black-and-white. Solid, and not too pretentious, a close look revealed the aged sign's vintage, as well as its soft-spoken quality.
Hopeful, Kale entered the shop, pausing a few steps inside and aside to take in the shop's wares. Sheltered from the sun and well-ventilated, ingenious decoration and plush furnishings of the gnomeshop was a stark contrast to the familiar forgefires of the dwarven smiths.
Armor and arms, wheels and chairs, bits and ploughs and lines of unintelligible machines and works dotted the shop, all in a definate but incomprehensible organization. The toolvest-clad proprieter stood yards away, talking cheerfully with a human wizard, the man standing fully three feet taller than the dimunitive maker. Size, of course, made no difference to the gnome, laughing and carrying on with the man for who he was: an enjoyable and regular customer.
Helping himself to a seat and a nearby wrought-iron 'puzzler,' Kale worked patiently at the contraption while the tall spellcaster made his way to the door. "Off you go, then!" said the one who could only be Gimfin. "Bring the kids next time- I've got a new one they have simply got to try" he finished, holding up a strange contraption box while the man smiled and rolled his eyes.
"Ah, then!" the gnome began, his gaze falling on the newcomer in his entry chair. Browsers and the curious filtered in and out from time to time, tolerated as a cultural oddity by the gnome. Why all people did not desire to sit a bit and visit, he could not understand. To each his or her own, perhaps. Still, as far as his own was concerned, he would rather spend his time speaking with the one who knew how to sit and... with a click and "Aha!" solve one of his simpler but intriguing puzzlers.
"Clever," Kale began, returning the iron ring to its nest of entrapping rods and curls. The gnome sat opposite in a matching, but small-scale cushioned chair, and produced a curious and heavy steaming pot from a nearby table. Helping the gnome with the cups, Kale could only wonder what in the world the pot contained, or how it managed to keep its contents hot.
Shortly, a quick taste revealed tea, though the mercenary was careful in his sips to only wet his lips- who knew what colors or effects the brew could conceal. If the market was a battle of wits, then the gnomehouses were a battle of pranks. Often, gnomekin merchant would tone down their passions to accomodate most 'stuffy and boring' tall-ies, but Kale was looking for something special, and he suspected that might make him fair game.
"My name is Kale," he said, replacing his cup. "And it's a long road that has brought me here." Launching into an oblique but selectively detailed account of some misadventures, Gimfin seemed quite interested, though couldn't conceal his disappointment when he saw the tales begin to weave around a certain tattered shirt of armor. Tales and adventures were great for the maker to hear, but what fun was there in repairing an old chain shirt?
"But what fun is there in repairing an old chain shirt?" Kale asked as he looked down on several beast-battered flat spots, three even stab holes, and a tooth-rent tear in his shoulder. "A dedicated dwarfsmith would repair the links, but what I'm looking for is something new. It's been a long time since I've seen something new and exciting," Kale began to change the subject as he made clearer what he was seeking. Conversation turned to new contraptions... a powder-powered 'bang stick' he heard of. Gun-spear without the range, that was something new. He wasn't ready to make a proposal on the shirt, and Gimfin didn't really seem ready yet to accept. Sure, the maker would likely accept a commission for a great shirt of mail, but it wouldn't be terribly fun for the man. Kale wanted the gnome's heart in it. Besides, there are other things I'd like to learn...
They chatted about warfare, the state of the trades, even of strange rumors in Corinthia, but what wese most interesting to the both of them were ironworks and thaumineering. Chatting and experimenting, Kale learned the basics, prodding various curiosities and puzzlers while Gimfin looked on. It was a mix between conversation and outright laughter, the gnome completely engaged shorty after Kale succeeded in splattering both arms blue, and being zapped with a strange storm-charge that stood his hair on end.
Modes and methods, tricks and escapes, it was an exchange where Gimfin would never give up his best, but would encourage the mercenary on with key concepts, in trade for a few clever ideas, or victim-humor in the absense of mechnical wit.
All in all, Kale figured he fared alright. He had managed to secure a commission for a fine shirt of mail: not fancy, not complex, just expertly made, of a special alloy the maker had been working on for quite some time. His battered shirt would go to a recommended dwarven smith, and he could soon return for a newer and better coat, with the promise of a bit more conversation, and anything more he knew about the odd 'bang stick.'
"Gimfin, thank you. Well met, and I hope to see you again soon." Intercepting the gnome's handpat, he opted instead for a quick handshake with the man. An awkward texture in his hand was met with a wry smile from the gnome- some averted prank slipped back into the maker's pocket, rather than on Kale's flank. Blue hands and a ruffled hairstyle, the mercenary-student felt he had done alright.
Exiting the quaint shop, Kale was shocked to see the sun already easing toward the horizon. He had been with the gnome nearly all day! Thinking the snacks and drinks only a token of gnomekin hospitality, he didn't even notice how much time had passed.
Making his way quickly to 'Runestone's,' he hoped there would be enough time for the smith to weld his old links before the day was out. Once inside the forge, Kale bided his time washing his hands and inspecting the rest of his body for undiscovered changes. Times like this, his small mirror always came in handy...
It was quite an enjoyable day, yet for whatever reason he couldn't shake the desire to get back to the estate soon. He'd always enjoyed his market time the most, chatting and bargaining, challenging and exploring the urban landscape. Still, he couldn't deny the draw... an irksome desire to get back to the crew. Impatiently, he schooled himself so sit still and wait for his shirt repairs.
* * *
The Scribe's Ward was a small area of the city over the other side of the river, part of the Old Quarter wherein the mighty Air Tower sprouted upwards. On the cul-de-sac of a street that made up the bulk of this particular Ward stood the wizard's guild, a formidable and imposing building of dark gray stone, its upper reaches wreathed in glowering gargoyle carvings. Around it was a myriad of smaller buildings, alchemists and scribes businesses and book-sellers. Not far down rose the temple of Grumand, built from heavy blocks of stone.
The streets here were less crowded, with few people wandering around, and those mostly messengers delivering and departing the clerks buildings. A handful of city guardsmen in breastplates wandered the pavements idly as the band consisting of Melisande, Wyshira, Burl, Sebastion, Cord and Ebri passed through the low arch that deliniated the Ward. Wolf had disappeared off on his own, as Kale had done.
Melisande nearly fell off her horse gawking. Seven gold pieces wouldn't go far at the booksellers' or the alchemists', but how she longed just to peruse their wares. There was so much to learn.
Then again, the only spell component she needed to restock was a little powdered iron, and that wouldn't cost much.
After the Wizard's Guild, she reminded herself judiciously, even as she was about to leap from the saddle to root through an alchemist's.
As the daunting gray building rose up before them she moved in on Burl again, not to be discouraged by his secrecy. Perhaps he simply had not heard her question. But she was determined to know what sort of spellcaster she had to work with on this upcoming adventure so they could coordinate their efforts and perhaps also their purchases. "I do hope we'll have time to stop in at an alchemist's after the Guild," she began conversationally. "I dabble in a little alchemy myself. What about you, Burl?"
The disparate band made its way towards the guildhouse, drawing more than a few looks from the few wanderers who strolled around the cul-de-sac - a handful of nobles and clerks, and the armoured guards. It was just glances and mutters amongst themselves, along with a few mild leers from guardsmen eyeing up the exotic-coloured women.
The guildhouse was grander than the one in Corvus, clearly having had more wealth poured into its construction. The arcanists themselves who entered and exited the impressive oak double-doors looked similar though - mostly in the trappings of merchants and clerks, with only a few tell-talke signs that they were spellcasters; and even those could be mistaken, like a spellbook for an accounts ledger. Another reminder of the inferior station of wizard's in Naseria, where sorcerous magic ruled supreme.
As the band came to the doors, an entirely different figure strode out, in a garb that Sebastion immediately recognised.
Flame Guildsman.
He seemed to project his own personal aura, a fair space around him that the Naserian wizards didn't dare invade. Some of them gave him sullen glances or even outrightly hostile glares, though not a one moved to act against him. Tall, carrying himself with an imperiosu manner, the wizard was clad in the long red and orange robes of the Flame Guild, the organisation of war wizards that provided the magical support for the Huronese and Carthagian armies on a mercenary basis - robes that Sebastion had heard were often reinforced with leather and padding, making them an adequate protection by themselves. Over his chest a gleamingly polished steel breastplate was tightly fitted for the minimum of interference and encumbrance, a flaming brazier etched into it, and belts of components were slung around his waist. Yet the fiery garb was not all that marked out this man from the crowd - his ashen, gray-black skin and fiery red hair that shifted as if alive drew stares, his eyes gleaming like tiny flames. A red slik mask covered the lower half of his face and nose, keeping his visage enigmatic.
Sebastion knew the reasons behind the unfriendly attitudes of the otehr wizards too. Guildsmen serevd in the Carthagian armies as magical fire support, and it was their magics that had brought down Corvus city during the Fang Wars. Exactly what the hell a Flame Guildsman was doing here - and a high-up too, since rumour said the breastplate was a mark of seniority - was a mystery, made even more inscrutable by the inhuman appearance of the spellcaster.
Opinion in the lands he had been brought up in was of course not hostile to the Guildsmen and their organisation, though often people were suspicious of their motives and power. He rarely had chance or reason to see them himself though.
The wizard strode past the band to a small gathering of men at the bottom of the stairs to the guildhouse entrance, armed men who they had previously assumed to just be guards but who seemed to be this man's personal guard. Then they were within the building itself, and the relative cool air compared to the suin-lit warmth outside,
The entrance hall was broad, well-decorated and the home of a number of portaits along the walls, possibly of famous guild members. A broad, polished wooden desk sat just inside the doors, the robed and bespectacled clerk sitting there looking up from a ledger to grin at the odd assortment before him; the wizened man finished his writing then closed the book shut with a snap. "Good day, welcome to the Tarravus guildhall of the wizards of Naseria. What can I help you with?"
* * *
At the back of the group as they had come in, Sebastion noted the southern wizard stop amidst his retainers, pausing as if suddenly struck by a thought. Then he turned on his heel and came striding back up the steps, reentereing the building, eyes locked on the Huronese man.
His voice was strange, reminding Sebastion somehow of a crackling fire. "Are you the younger Cornell?" he said forcefully, an urgency in his voice.
* * *
The knowledge that Kale picked up that day was wide-ranging, and not just from talkative gnomes either. Several main topics ran through the mercantile social circle, topics the man picked up on through half-heard conversations, friendly or worried merchants as they sold him rope or metal claw or hammered new rigns into his chain shirt. One that he had heard for a while now, but which seemed to be growing in urgency, was the impending famine.
It was virtually an accepted fact now that there would be food shortages this year. The winter would be harsh indeed with little grain and other crops to sustain them - it wasn't as if the preceeding years had been bountiful. The countries of the Drakkath had found their crops failing, the yield looking to be low as some strange blight troubled the land. Attacks and raids by nomadic abhumanoid races were increased, probably because they too were finding their stocks of food low. Some said that the only reason Adbar was attacking the hobgoblin nations to their east was to steal their barns full of grain, but even that seemed unlikely to provide a respite for the word was of disturbingly effective resistance forces. No-one had the answers, either, and it was that which really troubled the merchants. Priests could not explain it. The followers of Solanthar were receiving poor favour since some blamed the destructive influences of the Sun Lord for the trouble, his baleful scorching rays killing the crops. The clergy of Grumand spoke of a taint within the earth, but when asked to do something about it they could do nought but throw up their hands and say that Grumand did not know what it was. Ishrakites called down rainbut all it did was erode soil and do more damage. In some places priests or those with powers over nature seemed able to hold off the worst of the malign influence creeping over the Drakkath, but the crops of Killanon, Adbar and Corinthia were going to be severely diminished. The food shortage would have severe repercussions.
It wasn't as if Corinthia hadn't already suffered economical problems this year. The king had been removed in a coup led by House Irilson, and now was ruled by the more 'democratic' merchant council, made up of the heads of each merchant house. The chaos following the change of rule had of course already caused merchants enough problems - the port of Iril was the primary outlet of trade from the entire of the Middle Kingdoms out to the Azure Sea and the lands beyond, and turmoil there was far from appreciated due to the disruption it caused to shipping schedules. Fortunately it seemed the Irilsons had managed to set up the new system with good efficiency to prevent too much trouble, but in the rest of Corinthia things had yet to settle down.
Wild rumours circulated about the fate of the king, but the generally accepted account of events was that the merchant princes had him executed fairly promptly. Apparently the Azure Guard had pretty quickly surrendered (or changed sides, or instigated the whole thing, depending on who you talked to).
DM's Note: The other PC's also heard the same kind of rumours as Kale did as they passed through the city; Wyshira also found out that there as a temple of Ishrak, near the river. After the talk with the gnome, Kale felt fairly confident he could use Disable Device on the kinds of things the inventor showed him.
)
Similar Threads
