Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
- Thread starter Carnifex
- Start date
Carnifex
First Post
Broccli_Head said:oh yes! Kale's first encounter with the Gilgamees. This leads to a lot of stuff later!
How soon until you catch up ?
Well, gotta cover Ebri's foray into the city, then we're onto the next day and their second foray into the city, with all the mayhem that ended up entailing
Then after that we're nearly caught up!I'll see if I can get another update done today, covering Ebri, if not two updates with luck
Carnifex
First Post
Meanwhile, Ebri had departed the main band outside the wizard's guild to visit the abode of the bookseller Karbal...
* * *
Ebri pushed through the heavy curtain draped over the entrance to the shop; a claustrophobically cluttered purveyor of books, small and cramped and so full of books that...
She looked down.
Yes, she wasn't imagining things. The floor was covered in books, stacked as if the planks below them were like more shelves, spines facing upwards and making an uneven footing. The whole place was draped in wall hangings and oddities, and lit gently by a few small windows.
Lovely. She would not have to feign a willingness to come back here. She breathed in the musty scent of gathered knowledge.
From somewhere in the back of the shop, a man pushed forwards; trimly tidy, slimly built and with a cropped beard and head of dark hair. His dark eyes flickered around, taking in this new arrivals appearance.
"Hello, can I help you with anything? Is there any book in particular you require?"
"Why, yes--" she said pleasantly. "I should like it very much if you had a copy of Feodor's Useful and rare plants --- or failing that, works by any of the old masters of botany." She stressed the important words slightly, intensifying her smile as she gazed around the shop, and behind the man. "It seems I was not directed wrongly. I was told to find Karbal, as he was said to be an expert in many of the very things I was interested in. Are you he, sir?"
Karbal watched the woman carefully for a few moments. "I might have just what you need; please come through to the back, where I keep the rarer books."
He led Ebri through, into a room quite devoid of books except for a couple of administrative ledgers. She followed Karbal through the dusty maze of books to the back room, alert but not concerned. It was well to be wary, but the Old Master would not have deceived her, or guided her needlessly here.
"Yes, I am Karbal, and by your description I was given you are Ebri Zol?" His eyes glimmered silver for a moment. "Yes, you are, good." He smiled. "Don't worry; just a little trick I have been gifted with by the Prophet to help tell friend from foe, true agent from infiltrator. You've passed that test at least; always a god thing, I hate having to get rid of dead bodies, not my kind of thing." He sniffed. "Leave that to those trained as assassins, I say, since I quite prefer to avoid bloodshed. My talents lie in other areas, which is why I am the Collector for this area."
He gestured for Ebri to sit down on one of the wooden chairs that sat around a stout wood table. "Now, from what I was told, doubtless you'll have a lot of questions, and unlike the last one who could aid you that you met, I have the time and inclination to answer them. Oh, never try and pry answers out of them anyway, they'll tell you what they think you should know when they think it a good idea, and not before. Well, let me begin; I know you were despatched with greater haste than usual and without the normal briefings. It was quite a sudden request by the masters, and urgency of needing a guard for the ward meant that there wasn't the time for the usual procedures. It falls on me instead to fill you in on a few matters. I've got some equipment for you too, gifts from the masters that I'm sure you'll find useful."
"Now, how about some introductions, eh? Proper ones. I am Collector Karbal - and if you're wondering what Collector means, well, I gather information from other agents and pas them on to the masters, and they in turn tell me the orders to hand out to the agents. I am also a Shadowspeaker - that is a ranking priest of the Prophet. I operate from here, this building, and the agents all come to me. You're one of some half-dozen in this area at the moment."
"Now, I know you are a priestess, an Initiate of the religion. We maintain a small shrine here in the city, well hidden from prying eyes. It's also good as a sanctuary should you need safety for any reason. Unlike the structures of the monasteries, you'll find our faith's organisation a little more haphazard out here in the real world, simply due to practicalities."
"Well." He sighed tiredly. "How about I field any questions you have first, anything urgent you need and suchlike, then I'll fill in any more details you need to know, yes? This is most irregular, and I'm sorry for that, since most of the time agents are well-briefed before they're set loose. Though maybe the fact you've had a little practical experience now already means you might be a bit wiser than most of those just freshly assigned to the Purpose."
With Karbal's introduction and opening remarks, she felt a tension leave her that she had not known she carried. She would note it, of course, and meditate on the lack of self-perception later, properly, but the reason for it seemed normal enough. The role she had carried--by duty, which she honored, but not by choice- could fall away safely. The illusion of the world could be abandoned in the presence of those who walked the true path. We share the commonality of the Purpose. And while she took pride in her efforts to feign a cheerful, gregariously simple traveller, to acquaint herself with the bewilderingly illogical mythology and customs of Immar, to be released from it was nearly as welcome as the sound of monastery bells would be, and the mist-shrouded view off some mountain cliff. I am among my own. She gave a genuine, if restrained, smile, and supplied a few details of her own. "I am Ebri Zol, yes-- Ebri is how I am called, while Zol is a name my clan gave me as a small child. I keep it for now in honor of their raising me, but of course, I will choose a new name if my masters should ever deem me worthy of such. And as for questions, it is true, I should have many, but I understand so little that it has been difficult to know even how to formulate the questions I might ask..."
Ebri Zol, Ebri Zol... She could not remember a time when she had had one name, as the rest of the clan. She had always been Ebri Zol. Ebri the holy. It was the purest superstition, the result of an accident of infancy, the nonsense of blind faith stimulated by the need for stability in the face of seemingly capricious gods. False idols promised comfort, it was said, but it was sparing. More often they had seemed promote guilt and confusion and blame among those who professed to be guided by them. This she remembered all too well.
That is the past. What parts of the past inform the present you will meditate on at the proper time, which is not now.
"My most immediate concern, as I'm sure you might guess, is with the safety of my ward, and the nature of the threat against her. And any information you might have that could help me to guard her and predict risks. What is the source of her blue coloring, and its meaning? Why is she shadow-touched -- and more to the point, what does that mean?"
Karbal nodded at Ebri's question. "Wise to begin with such an important matter. I cannot explain all to you, but I can do my best with what I myself know of this..."
"Your ward's unique colouring is due to her heritage - strange blood lies in her veins. She is aasimar; that is, she is the result of holy energies on mortality. It comes from her fathers side, but unfortunately we don't know who her father is; it seems her mother, a Carthagian minerologist had the encounter resulting in Melisande while taking part in a deep cavern exploration mission."
"This means we cannot fully know the meaning of her blue colouring, what ramifications it has beyond the purely racial differences it has laid upon her. This is more than a small obstacle because of the answer to your second question, on why she is shadow-touched."
"To explain why she is shadow-touched and what that means is difficult because I myself do not hold all the answers. Doctrine handed down from the masters is... confused on the matter. I have the feeling that they do not all agree amongst themselves over it. Essentially, she is a descendant of one of a number of mortals who have been imbued with a divine spark as part of the Purpose, tools in part of a greater plan. When the Great Prophet locked away the power of the Elder Gods in the great ritual, some of the mortal archmages who aided him wove in faults so that they might try and use the power themselves; the Prophet ended up expending his very essence to keep the ritual stable, and as part of this he imbued a number of mortals nearby with his own life spark before ascending to become a true god - in death he gained divinity, and in the shadow-touched we have the remnants of his mortal self. The problem is that it seems that this mixing with her unknown aasimar heritage could cause unforeseen problems, so she especially of the shadow-touched needs to be watched."
"Now, of foes you need to be vigilant for... There are many enemies we must face in this world. Be wary of the followers of ancient gods, whose schemes and plans hold danger for us all. Of the cults of Gilamesh, the cabal known as the Children of Gilamesh is the most powerful, who plot to return the Dragonlord to his ancient throne. The insidious disease-bringers of Kevayek too, who would see the world fester in pestilence. Many others as well - these are circumstantial foes. Further, be watchful for those who would pursue your ward for more personal reasons - Carthagian hunters, and those who would slay her because she is Carthagian or aasimar."
"But all these foes are unaware of the truth; that she is shadow-touched. They have no understanding of the purpose, not even a comprehension of what the shadow-touched are. Yet there are some who do know of the shadow-touched; worse, who know of us, and the masters, and would eagerly see us all destroyed. They are the True Enemy."
"They hide, concealed from the view of others behind the facades of the societies in which they bury themselves. Manipulating others to achieve their ends, plotting ceaselessly... they are the Dreamweavers, and we have waged a secret war against them for centuries, unseen by the throngs of common people who inhabit these lands."
"The Dreamweavers are so dangerous because those who do their bidding often do not know it; attacks which seem to come from one foe may in fact be a Dreamweavers doing. Worse, they pose a threat to your ward - and you, and everyone - which is not just physical. They can corrupt the mind and the soul itself, and you must be ever vigilant for them."
"Once, they nearly ruled the world, but during the Divine War the masters took the opportunity to smash their influence and scattered them. Now they hide, plotting for revenge and a return to power. Killing a shadow-touched is something theywould delight to do."
"So beware. Guard the mind as well as the physical form, and if you ever discover that you are in danger from a Dreamweaver, be certain to notify a superior about it, so that the masters may hunt it down."
* * *
* * *
Ebri pushed through the heavy curtain draped over the entrance to the shop; a claustrophobically cluttered purveyor of books, small and cramped and so full of books that...
She looked down.
Yes, she wasn't imagining things. The floor was covered in books, stacked as if the planks below them were like more shelves, spines facing upwards and making an uneven footing. The whole place was draped in wall hangings and oddities, and lit gently by a few small windows.
Lovely. She would not have to feign a willingness to come back here. She breathed in the musty scent of gathered knowledge.
From somewhere in the back of the shop, a man pushed forwards; trimly tidy, slimly built and with a cropped beard and head of dark hair. His dark eyes flickered around, taking in this new arrivals appearance.
"Hello, can I help you with anything? Is there any book in particular you require?"
"Why, yes--" she said pleasantly. "I should like it very much if you had a copy of Feodor's Useful and rare plants --- or failing that, works by any of the old masters of botany." She stressed the important words slightly, intensifying her smile as she gazed around the shop, and behind the man. "It seems I was not directed wrongly. I was told to find Karbal, as he was said to be an expert in many of the very things I was interested in. Are you he, sir?"
Karbal watched the woman carefully for a few moments. "I might have just what you need; please come through to the back, where I keep the rarer books."
He led Ebri through, into a room quite devoid of books except for a couple of administrative ledgers. She followed Karbal through the dusty maze of books to the back room, alert but not concerned. It was well to be wary, but the Old Master would not have deceived her, or guided her needlessly here.
"Yes, I am Karbal, and by your description I was given you are Ebri Zol?" His eyes glimmered silver for a moment. "Yes, you are, good." He smiled. "Don't worry; just a little trick I have been gifted with by the Prophet to help tell friend from foe, true agent from infiltrator. You've passed that test at least; always a god thing, I hate having to get rid of dead bodies, not my kind of thing." He sniffed. "Leave that to those trained as assassins, I say, since I quite prefer to avoid bloodshed. My talents lie in other areas, which is why I am the Collector for this area."
He gestured for Ebri to sit down on one of the wooden chairs that sat around a stout wood table. "Now, from what I was told, doubtless you'll have a lot of questions, and unlike the last one who could aid you that you met, I have the time and inclination to answer them. Oh, never try and pry answers out of them anyway, they'll tell you what they think you should know when they think it a good idea, and not before. Well, let me begin; I know you were despatched with greater haste than usual and without the normal briefings. It was quite a sudden request by the masters, and urgency of needing a guard for the ward meant that there wasn't the time for the usual procedures. It falls on me instead to fill you in on a few matters. I've got some equipment for you too, gifts from the masters that I'm sure you'll find useful."
"Now, how about some introductions, eh? Proper ones. I am Collector Karbal - and if you're wondering what Collector means, well, I gather information from other agents and pas them on to the masters, and they in turn tell me the orders to hand out to the agents. I am also a Shadowspeaker - that is a ranking priest of the Prophet. I operate from here, this building, and the agents all come to me. You're one of some half-dozen in this area at the moment."
"Now, I know you are a priestess, an Initiate of the religion. We maintain a small shrine here in the city, well hidden from prying eyes. It's also good as a sanctuary should you need safety for any reason. Unlike the structures of the monasteries, you'll find our faith's organisation a little more haphazard out here in the real world, simply due to practicalities."
"Well." He sighed tiredly. "How about I field any questions you have first, anything urgent you need and suchlike, then I'll fill in any more details you need to know, yes? This is most irregular, and I'm sorry for that, since most of the time agents are well-briefed before they're set loose. Though maybe the fact you've had a little practical experience now already means you might be a bit wiser than most of those just freshly assigned to the Purpose."
With Karbal's introduction and opening remarks, she felt a tension leave her that she had not known she carried. She would note it, of course, and meditate on the lack of self-perception later, properly, but the reason for it seemed normal enough. The role she had carried--by duty, which she honored, but not by choice- could fall away safely. The illusion of the world could be abandoned in the presence of those who walked the true path. We share the commonality of the Purpose. And while she took pride in her efforts to feign a cheerful, gregariously simple traveller, to acquaint herself with the bewilderingly illogical mythology and customs of Immar, to be released from it was nearly as welcome as the sound of monastery bells would be, and the mist-shrouded view off some mountain cliff. I am among my own. She gave a genuine, if restrained, smile, and supplied a few details of her own. "I am Ebri Zol, yes-- Ebri is how I am called, while Zol is a name my clan gave me as a small child. I keep it for now in honor of their raising me, but of course, I will choose a new name if my masters should ever deem me worthy of such. And as for questions, it is true, I should have many, but I understand so little that it has been difficult to know even how to formulate the questions I might ask..."
Ebri Zol, Ebri Zol... She could not remember a time when she had had one name, as the rest of the clan. She had always been Ebri Zol. Ebri the holy. It was the purest superstition, the result of an accident of infancy, the nonsense of blind faith stimulated by the need for stability in the face of seemingly capricious gods. False idols promised comfort, it was said, but it was sparing. More often they had seemed promote guilt and confusion and blame among those who professed to be guided by them. This she remembered all too well.
That is the past. What parts of the past inform the present you will meditate on at the proper time, which is not now.
"My most immediate concern, as I'm sure you might guess, is with the safety of my ward, and the nature of the threat against her. And any information you might have that could help me to guard her and predict risks. What is the source of her blue coloring, and its meaning? Why is she shadow-touched -- and more to the point, what does that mean?"
Karbal nodded at Ebri's question. "Wise to begin with such an important matter. I cannot explain all to you, but I can do my best with what I myself know of this..."
"Your ward's unique colouring is due to her heritage - strange blood lies in her veins. She is aasimar; that is, she is the result of holy energies on mortality. It comes from her fathers side, but unfortunately we don't know who her father is; it seems her mother, a Carthagian minerologist had the encounter resulting in Melisande while taking part in a deep cavern exploration mission."
"This means we cannot fully know the meaning of her blue colouring, what ramifications it has beyond the purely racial differences it has laid upon her. This is more than a small obstacle because of the answer to your second question, on why she is shadow-touched."
"To explain why she is shadow-touched and what that means is difficult because I myself do not hold all the answers. Doctrine handed down from the masters is... confused on the matter. I have the feeling that they do not all agree amongst themselves over it. Essentially, she is a descendant of one of a number of mortals who have been imbued with a divine spark as part of the Purpose, tools in part of a greater plan. When the Great Prophet locked away the power of the Elder Gods in the great ritual, some of the mortal archmages who aided him wove in faults so that they might try and use the power themselves; the Prophet ended up expending his very essence to keep the ritual stable, and as part of this he imbued a number of mortals nearby with his own life spark before ascending to become a true god - in death he gained divinity, and in the shadow-touched we have the remnants of his mortal self. The problem is that it seems that this mixing with her unknown aasimar heritage could cause unforeseen problems, so she especially of the shadow-touched needs to be watched."
"Now, of foes you need to be vigilant for... There are many enemies we must face in this world. Be wary of the followers of ancient gods, whose schemes and plans hold danger for us all. Of the cults of Gilamesh, the cabal known as the Children of Gilamesh is the most powerful, who plot to return the Dragonlord to his ancient throne. The insidious disease-bringers of Kevayek too, who would see the world fester in pestilence. Many others as well - these are circumstantial foes. Further, be watchful for those who would pursue your ward for more personal reasons - Carthagian hunters, and those who would slay her because she is Carthagian or aasimar."
"But all these foes are unaware of the truth; that she is shadow-touched. They have no understanding of the purpose, not even a comprehension of what the shadow-touched are. Yet there are some who do know of the shadow-touched; worse, who know of us, and the masters, and would eagerly see us all destroyed. They are the True Enemy."
"They hide, concealed from the view of others behind the facades of the societies in which they bury themselves. Manipulating others to achieve their ends, plotting ceaselessly... they are the Dreamweavers, and we have waged a secret war against them for centuries, unseen by the throngs of common people who inhabit these lands."
"The Dreamweavers are so dangerous because those who do their bidding often do not know it; attacks which seem to come from one foe may in fact be a Dreamweavers doing. Worse, they pose a threat to your ward - and you, and everyone - which is not just physical. They can corrupt the mind and the soul itself, and you must be ever vigilant for them."
"Once, they nearly ruled the world, but during the Divine War the masters took the opportunity to smash their influence and scattered them. Now they hide, plotting for revenge and a return to power. Killing a shadow-touched is something theywould delight to do."
"So beware. Guard the mind as well as the physical form, and if you ever discover that you are in danger from a Dreamweaver, be certain to notify a superior about it, so that the masters may hunt it down."
* * *
Carnifex
First Post
The morning sun found that all of the members of the band Ecurius had gathered had once again returned to their lodgings. Kale, Wolf and Ebri had all arrived after the others, all except Wolf - who had apparently gone for a long walk in the estate gardens - having gone directly to bed. Now, in the airy common room provided in the guests' wing of the manor, they found themselves together being served breakfast by two servants. Ecurius was speaking with some visitors from the city but would be along soon.
Even with his night's sleep, Kale was still aching, much of his skin red and raw and his injuries still causing him pain with every movement. Merciful sleep had come easy to the merc, exhausted shoulders slumping in slumber before his body even hit the soft estate mattress. Sleep was fast and deep, and he felt no pain.
The morning, however, brought its own round of revenge. Rolling to the floor with a prolonged groan, hibernating aches awoke to reclaim their grip on the mercenary’s sanity. With patience and the stubborn doggedness that only footmen knew, Kale schooled himself to not respond to his body's harsh complaints.
Still, undressing was a chore (he had slept in his armor- oh the aches). Peeling ooze-soaked puttees from his face and body, he suffered one rinse of his face before deciding that any other grooming would just have to wait until he had his wounds tended. Absent mail and padding, his shirt was at least marginally serviceable, if not stained by blood on his left shoulder. His host and company would simply have to deal with the mess, he had no will to spare.
Wyshira can heal me... no doubt she'd pine over some finer point about being careful, while asking if I would like some cool water.. An abraded spirit willed roll his eyes, but his body would not comply. Being 'mothered' just then was his body's desire, if not his heart's. She was an odd one, breathing water and healing folk when she wasn't cracking skulls. Hmm.
* * *
The morning sun found that all of the members of the band Ecurius had gathered had once again returned to their lodgings. Kale, Wolf and Ebri had all arrived after the others, all except Wolf - who had apparently gone for a long walk in the estate gardens - having gone directly to bed. Now, in the airy common room provided in the guests' wing of the manor, they found themselves together being served breakfast by two servants. Ecurius was speaking with some visitors from the city but would be along soon.
"You look like you had a rough night, Kale," said Wolf, one eyebrow raised quizzically, as he wandered into the room from the corridor leading into the rest of the manor rather than, as everyone else had, emerging from their respective rooms. "Been up to much? How was everyone's day yesterday?"
"Thank you, my day was quite excellent," Ebri said smoothly, the soul of morning politeness. She helped herself to more potatoes, carefully avoiding another look at the greasy sheen of the panoply of fried meat. Instead, she glanced again at Melisande, as she had been at regular intervals all morning, keeping an eye and ear open for any signs of sleeplessness or odd dreams. "I spent hours in the shop of an unparalleled bookseller. Far more wonderful than any I have come across in my travels." She chewed, and made some appropriate sounds of enthusiasm. "A credit to this city, the merchant Karbal, if I may say. I will certainly add him to my order's 'Register of Exceptional Destinations', as soon as I am able."
Wolf's convenient ackowledgement of the mercenary's condition gave her the excuse she needed to leave the pretense of packing away a 'healthy' meal. She pushed her plate aside and turned her chair to face the injured Kale. "I would be more than pleased to offer you healing assistance, sir. Perhaps you would allow me to tend you while you answer your friend's question? How did you come to be in such a sorry state?"
"No, you don't have to do that," he said, not desiring to make any acceptance of a favor. But of course, he really didn't resist the healing powers as they were tendered.
Looking around the table, Burl noticed Kale, Ebri and Wolf engaged in conversation. Kale it seems had once more found trouble, but once again, he had survived although a bit tussled. “Kale, I thought that trouble had been following me, but from the look of you it must be following you. What trouble did you get into this time? By the way, we haven’t discussed when we are going to be moving on. I would like to work on my salves. This will take today and tomorrow to prepare. I have all the ingredients and my jars. All I need is access to a lab, if Ecurius has one, or at the very least the kitchen. Once I get it cooking, I will need a couple of items more that I forgot and will need to go back into the town. Melisande would like to get some lantern oil also. Is there anything else we could use for the trip?"
I'm easily bribed, Kale thought as he consented to healing, welcoming the restorative powers of the traveler's god. Does this make me a bit of a god whore? he mused. Hell, no. That's what they're around for, to heal people... he rationalized, but knew the was much more to it than that. Elder gods, younger gods, there was so much he didn't understand. What did Ebri say about that bookstore? Karbal. Maybe he'd have some answers. With reluctance, another item was added to the list of questions: who was the damned merchant-mage, and why does he oppose the Blades? And who are the Blades, for that matter?
Musing for the moment came to an end as the mercenary's eye saw something of attention. Light blue robes- There's Wyshira, what a relief. Singed cheeks reacted poorly to his chewing, and Kale looked forward to getting fixed up. Ebri's ministrations helped, but hadn't repaired everything. She offered to help with herbal mixtures and traditional remedy, but Kale resisted. "Thank you, no. Not at the table. Surely I must be breaking countless folks' bloody protocol, getting healed at breakfast. Please, sit, enjoy your meal," he concluded with a wave of his hand, indicating Ebri's decidedly... boring breakfast plate.
Glancing to Wyshira, he wished she would heal him right then, finish him up, but that was a fanciful dream at best. He had no idea why, but his instinct told him that no woman would jump up and heal him just after another priestess had finished. The gods' purpose was more than just to heal people? No doubt the followers' purpose ran deeper than that, as well. The mercenary hoped Wyshira didn't feel like nothing more than a walking healing potion. She can swim, too, he thought cynically for a moment. He felt strangely... guilty for the thought.
A brief awkward moment passed. "Healing for a story, seems a fair trade." Kale recovered smoothly. "Good morning all, I suppose it's story time. There really isn't much to share, I'm afraid," he said, as though almost being murdered in the streets was point of little personal consequence. However, he continued with a tinge of seriousness that belied his light treatment of the topic. "I was out browsing for a few odds and ends when I ran into an 'admirer' of yours," he indicated Wolf, who had first asked what in the world happened to the younger last night. "Well, he must have considered me an even greater threat than the Wolfman here, because just a few choice words later, he laid into me with his fire magic." Sarcasm added color, but the projected truth was that Kale wasn't deemed important enough to live. Not a big enough threat, as it happened, to be accorded proper respect. Fortune, as it happened: that was why he managed to get away. Respect and recognition were things he could do without. Except, perhaps, within his own team. Bragging and banter had its place, but what drove the story was Kale's feeling that his audience needed to know what happened, and also be aware of his abilities.
"What kind of man immolates himself in fire, just to hurt his enemy?" At least five people present knew the answer to that question, but he continued. "He wasn't even protected from his own magic. I slipped him and his goons, and was about to follow them back home, when this mage cast a strange summoning." Kale paused for a moment to grab another pastry. It wouldn't do to trump up or over-dramatize his tale. This sort of stuff was, after all, seeming to become the norm in his life. "Before I know it, I'm off again, this time dodging two goons and a blasted invisible hound that tracked my every move. Finally, I disengaged, and returned to the estate by a route I doubt anyone could track. Course, with that magic, who knows." And THAT was why they need to know what happened.
Who knows when these yahoos are going to make another try?
"When on the reception, it is the defender's mission to survive," Kale quoted the bits of military doctrine he remembered from what seemed a lifetime ago. "While the aggressor must conquer to win... I guess, then, that this is the face of victory." Kale didn't seem to like it too much. Finishing his breakfast and his story, he swallowed. "I have a couple leads- I think I can find out who this guy is." Looking to Wolf, he wanted to know what the man wanted to make of this. Kale, he had a few ideas of his own.
Wyshira had taken full advantage of Lord Ecurius's hospitality. She spent extra time in the incredibly luxurious, heated, sunken bath tub before retiring for the night; relished the soft comfort of the plump feather bed and clean linen sheets well past the time she usually rose in the morning; and came downstairs to breakfast with a healthy appetite.
With an energized step and a smile brightening her face, she entered the sunlit common room. Some of the others had gathered there already. She was pleased to see that Kale had evidently made it back in one piece. Of course... What did you think would happen? He can take care of himself.
That cleric of Immar, Ebri Zol, was talking to him... saying something about healing assistance......
The smile faded from her lips and she stopped in place. Kale looked burned. She knew - she'd seen him look that way before. Where his skin wasn't burned, it was scraped or bruised. What in the name of the Lady happened last night? She took a few steps in the mercenary's direction, then stopped again, waiting to see if he'd accept Ebri's offer.
Wyshira bit her lip, uncertain of what to do. She was never sure with Kale if he wanted or needed her help. She wanted to hurry over to his side; to examine the extent of his wounds and tend them; to chide him for going off on his own. But she didn't move.
He glanced in her direction just then, saw her standing there for the first time. She thought she could see relief in his eyes at the sight of her. He DOES want my help, she thought with a sudden sense of... well, something. Fulfillment maybe? Her smile came back, and she continued on into the room and over to the table.
Kale started telling his story while she found a bowl and filled it with water and prepared to cast her spells. He must have been really messed up to still look this bad after Ebri's healing. Why hadn't he come to her last night? He couldn't have slept well.
She resisted the urge to scold him. In fact she said very little while she did her work, except to urge him to drink lots of water during the day today.
What was it with Kale and fire anyway? How many times would the man end up getting burned to a crisp? "Your eyebrows hadn't even grown back in from last time," she commented lightly. "If you'd come with us yesterday, that fire genasi that we met at the mage's guild probabably would have attacked you too!" She had a hard time laughing at her own joke however; the fire-kin had made her nervous, and Kale's experience was just the sort of thing that she feared. She closed her mouth then and let the others talk.
And if Kale is going to be following up any leads, he's not going alone, she resolved. She had wanted to observe Burl work on his salves today, but she wasn't going to let Kale get out of her sight.
The face of victory? Ugh. Mel listened to Kale's very offhandedly-delivered report all while keeping her eyes on the jelly rolls instead of his face, which looked like he had been exposed to a bank of mutation-stones in the lead chambers of a biothaum lab. In a few days he'd be sprouting antennae. She'd been in a fine mood until he walked in. Now she found herself pushing the ham off her plate nauseously.
She knew it was hopeless, but she had washed and brushed her hair and done it up nicely for Lord Ecurius. She'd gone to a lot of trouble and then looked in the mirror only to recall that she was still blue, very much the wrong color for anyone looking to marry up. And she was still in travel-stained old clothes which had seen almost as much action as Kale. She knew of no alchemical stain-remover that could entirely bleach away the dark patches where her own blood had soaked through her dress and robe.
And here she was walking into trouble again. A trip into unknown mountains to a haunted mage's tower? Why?
Hopelessly she gave a mental shrug. Walking into trouble with people who are already being hunted by kamikaze wizards. Well, one thing at a time.
"I can mend some of your loose ends. I mean leather and clothes, not... skin... Ahem. You should probably tell Lord Ecurius he might expect some invisible hounds to come sniffing around. He might be able to divine something for you, too. I do hope he'll come to breakfast soon..."
After tending to some bitten pant legs she poured herself a tall mug of tea, sipping the piping aromatic stimulant appreciatively. "I suppose Burl and I'll be spending the day brewing, unless you need our help hunting down your assailants. Just let us know."
It surprised her how easily she had adopted these new people, but then she'd never had the luxury of being picky about her friends. Kale was potential trouble himself, but he had made her laugh, and she did feel bad seeing the shape he was in this morning. She supposed if they were going to travel together, their problems were now very much shared. She only wished this gruff, taciturn Wolf person would volunteer a little more about what they were up against. From Kale's questioning glance she guessed Wolf hadn't told him, either. Maybe Burl would be more talkative while they worked together.
Sorry, no caviar this time, she apologized to Pierre, letting the toad out to roam the windowsills for spiders. The day before she had been unable to explain to Wyshira--though she had talked for twenty minutes--what it was "like" having a two-headed toad for a familiar. Really, she couldn't think what it would be like not having him around. Though she had let on that he was the source of some of her more level-headed decisions, as well as that the contrast of his two heads (the right being of optimistic disposition, and the left quite the opposite) helped her see two sides of every situation. On the other hand, having two empathic minds bent on unearthing grubs all the time could be distracting. Right now she concentrated on satisfying her own appetite with assorted cheeses. It was going to be a long day in the lab.
Sebastion had woken early, as the first of the stable-hands came in, and looked around a little blearily as he tried to place himself.
The hayloft. he remembered quickly enough, tossing and turning in the large room, unable to settle with the strange echoes that seemed to come back off the distant walls. A late-night walk had brought him here, where he felt comfortable, and he had drifted off to sleep easily enough with the scent and noise of the horses below, and the familiar feel of stiff stalks poking through his clothes. Perhaps stables were the same the world over... he found it a comforting thought.
A quick wash in cold water, brushing his hands through his hair in front of the immense mirror - fully three feet high, and the same across - and he made his way down from breakfast. He ate heartily, listening to others at the table. They weren't quite the guards of his home-town, but somehow the easy back-and-forth banter of Wolf and the other men with him seemed similar, and he felt he could fit in with them in a way he hadn't managed with the assorted women he had been travelling with.
Ebri Zol was her usual enigmatic self, suddenly enthused about - of all things - a bookshop, animated in a way that she hadn't managed to be at all before now. Not in the conflict with the Kobolds, nor during the flight through the tunnels. Not even at the sight of this magnificent mansion house.... strange?
And Melisande... she had obviously taken advantage of the opportunities presented by the house, and looked stunning that morning. Her hair primped and arranged like one of the girls from home at the Spring Festival dance, it seemed to suit her skin colour, strangely, and he watched her face sadden slightly as she picked gently at the spots on her bodice.
"You should try salt and cold water on that, soak it." he suggested, quietly, leaning over to spear another sausage and some more bacon. "It'll lift that right out. It's a shame to let a little blood spoil the effect when you've gone to su...." He drew up short, suddenly, realising what he'd been saying. "Uh, that is. It's a shame to ruin such a pretty dress."
Sitting back, and hastily shoveling food into his mouth before it could run away from him again, he focussed his attention on his plate, and his plans for the day. Burl had expressed an interest in waiting a day to complete some alchemical work, and he didn't suppose there was any hurry to investigate a tower that had been abandoned for so long. He intended a trip to the fire genasi later on, of course, but first....
First, he needed to get his hands on the Mimir again.
"I'm heading back into town later on. I can get oil for you, and if you don't need to talk about what you need I can get your gear for you too? Just make a list... he offered, to Burl, as he settle back to listen to Kale's tale of his adventures the previous evening.
Kale felt the healing magics of the two priestesses flow through him, wounds knitting up and skin sealing; the two prayers so alike in effect yet so different as well. Ebri's a quiet, almost whispered prayer than soothed pain and healed wounds in such an inobtrusive manner as that Kale was surprised when he suddenly noticed the edge had been taken off his aches, while Wyshira's was like a rush of cool water running through his veins.
Wolf had been listening attentively to Kale's recounting, even though he had been gazing out the window all through the story, as if in thought. When the young man had finished his tale the mercenary turned round, expression virtually unreadable. Certainly it didn't betray any worry or alarm.
"Sounds like you tangled with a Daedroth hound. Not many mages know how to summon them; it's Elder magic, hard to master. You're right to be worried about being tracked; they're supposed to be excellent hunters, especially because their prey can't see them."
"You say they knew me? That's a worry; if they thought you were worth attacking, I'm sure they don't mean well for me either. Hmm."
"Well, I see a number of courses of action. Either we ignore this little incident, at least for the time being, and depart as soon as possible for the mountains, or we take the time to hunt down and deal with whatever threat is posed here. Though if their interest is just in me, there's no onus on any of you to worry about this. I'd advise that people travel in groups in the city from now on anyway, just to be on the safe side. What are you lot's opinions then?"
Elder magic... Ebri mused, filing the information away. It wasn't exactly likely that there would be a connection between attacks on the mercenary and a threat to her ward, but neither was it unlikely.
"For my part, I should just as soon get back to the road." Ebri announced, allowing a small interval of space so that she might not seem unnaturally eager. i]Anything, anything to get away from the city.[/i] With each moment she stayed there, the filth and noise and press of people grew about her. The mental unrest, the threats from all angles to her ward... Although her devotion to Immar was nothing more than a ruse, and was the idle superstition of the weak-minded in need of certainties in life, Ebri could almost see the appeal of cult of travelling. The open road. It wasn't mountains, but it far surpassed the city. "But you are correct, sir-- we should none of us travel alone, whether we are within walls or no. Even I would not, given what we have just heard, and my god protects me." She smiled and stood, repacking her first aid supplies, since Kale had no use for them. "And we may as well be expeditious, since Lord Ecurius has employed us. Also, we will find out easily enough the motives and identity behind this attack. If it is anything more than random urban violence, the perpetrators will follow us if we leave."
Brurl, while eating, watched and listened to the others. His chances of buying a couple of days to make his salve and more importantly to gather the information for Tewlcroghen were slipping away. Swallowing a piece of crisp bacon, he added his thoughts, “Look, I won’t hold us up if the decision is to move on to the tower. I can easily put off making my salve, but I do need some things from town. Spike has a digestion problem and I need to pick up something for him, plus I found that I missed a spell component. I need one more trip into the town before I can leave. I do think it would be better for me to make the salve, but it can wait. By the way, we should probably pick up some extra forage for the horses if the trip to the tower is a long way. We could combine my excursion with that chore. Any volunteers to help me?"
Devastating self-consciousness threatened to crush Melisande to a blue pulp. Her face went blazing indigo when she realized it was evident to everyone (and Sebastion in particular) that she had done herself up. If anyone figured out it was for Lord Ecurius she thought she'd melt into a sticky blue puddle. She felt ridiculous, pathetic and--and even a little guilty, strangely, for even having thought Lord Ecurius might notice her.
"A little blood," she managed to giggle, squirming in excruciating embarrassment.
Apparently unaffected by the barbecued Kale, Sebastion leaned past her to stab more sausage. A sweet, warmish, earthy scent was wafting off him. It reminded her of... autumn fields? Farmers at market? Fresh mouse cages? Straw. Suddenly Mel was regretting having committed her day to stinky alchemy with Burl. How nice it would be to go see the horses of Lord Ecurius' stables and walk in his gardens, and smell more smells like that one. Sebastion must have spent an early morning in the stables. She, on the other hand, had spent an early morning primping for a desperately silly reason.
Fortunately, Wolf drew attention away from her hairdo. He did not seem to know what the attack was about either, which consternated everyone, but he had at least one good recommendation.
"No sneaking off for soup this time, eh?" she grinned at Ebri Zol after the priestess agreed to take Wolf's advice.
More seriously, she continued, "Mister Wolf, this is not the first time Elder magic has popped up in our travels. If you know anything else about this, you should tell us now, because if your enemies are pulling out that kind of arcana against your apprentice I think we're all concerned. In fact, Ebri, if you're going back to that bookseller's today, would you see if he has anything on Elder gods and their magic? And on this cult of the Prophet that's been scrying on me, and the Nephians and all that?"
Kale perked up at the mention of the Elder Gods, standing up in interest and with a familiar bearing, before mentally reminding himself that he was without mail and blade. The familiar weight of his shirt was absent, the light touch of his scabbard eluded his senses. His body retuned to his surroundings. He also noted a wonderful, soothing comfort. Suddenly something occurred to him, he clasped Wyshira's arm in silent thanks for the relief he'd been seeking for quite some time.
Wolf continued to lay it out. The Elders. Sick of hearing about them. Hashruuk and his dreadspawn, Kevayek's new country, Gilamesh and his dragons, Wolf had mentioned Shauku's icy wrath... Kale's mind jumped between memories. Cryosians on the attack; an odd, filthy ship on the docks at Iril; dreadspawn and the new 'gourmet orcs'; strange sounds during the night, huntfindseekheretherego; a new country of the disease god; and dragons, dragons behind every fable and fairy tale. Irilsons, Ascarians, Carthagians, 'Kavarail Kavas'... everyone had some draconic claim to fame.
Yet, most of the lands' current events had benign explanations. Standing there in the Tarravus' dining room, Kale had no idea what to make of all that he'd seen. Maybe Ecurius or this Karbal could help me out... No doubt everyone Kale thought about desired power- but only the most dedicated and insane would draw upon the elder gods. From what little he understood, the only thing he could know for sure was that the Elder forces lived for power. How could anyone make more sense from those horrible natures? Those who followed insanity could only do it for one reason: power. Unlimited power... all it'll cost you is your humanity. This 'merchant-mage' had to be stopped.
The young mercenary pondered his position, and Ebri was the first to speak up. What an odd woman. Is it book smarts or naivete? You'd think an Immarian would be more streetwise. Maybe she's just minimizing the situation. She was a bit... coy?
"Random urban violence?" Kale asked incredulously. "Yeah, I'm sure it's just ol' Gilamesh starting an inner-city turf war. Nothing to worry about."
"Look, these guys may recognize Wolf, but as long as we work together, they're a threat to all of us. With poor enough luck, before long they'll be a threat you, no matter who you work for.
"I'm not interested in the politics or the power plays," Which wasn't entirely true. He'd have to learn all about those things, if he wanted to live a long life. "But this bastard tried to kill me, and I'm not going to give him a second chance. Right now we have the initiative," he said, indicating Wolf and himself. "I'm all for finding this guy and taking the fight to him while we have best advantage. The tower and its goodies can wait.
"Look, you all have been very kind to help me out, so let me stress that this isn't something anyone'd expect you to do. Wolf, we need to deal with this threat now, if we can. Ladies and gents, your help would be appreciated... but I'm not gonna blow sunshine up your ass. It took all I had just to get away from this guy. He's powerful, and he'll likely be on guard. But now is the time to learn and to move, I don't want to wait around until he decides to make his next step."
Cord sat at the breakfast table silently, tasting the food as well as the emotions permeating the table. The last walk in the dwindling light of the previous evening had been a pleasant one, and his night had been as surprisingly restful as when he first arrived. Under normal circumstances he enjoyed the outdoors, but as of late his contact with the earth seemed to make the writhing pain beneath his body all the more real. Not until arriving at the home of Lord Ecurius was his sleep unapproached by such haunting dreams.
Cord listened to Kale's narrative, noted Wyshira's action to Ebri's tending of wounds and Kale's reaction, in turn. He smelled the faintest scents of perfumes Melisande must have found and sensed her stiff posture; he sensed Sebastion's own change in posture, as well. The table was rife with eagerness, hesitancy, confusion, confidence, noise, and silence. He smiled as he brought a mug to his lips. He could spot himself in the mixture, of course, and chuckled internally as he pinpointed the rest.
He had little preference concerning the direction of the party. He saw no need to accompany Kale and Wolf in search of their unknown enemy, and confessed he was eager to explore this tower that might prove to be one source of the earth's corruption, but another day of rest appealed to his aging body. Another walk in the town, another day to learn from and teach his newfound companions, another night to sleep on a comfortable mattress. His senses thrived under such circumstances, and he knew that a single day would not cause Grumand to become overwhelmed. There was time.
He swallowed another mouthful and kept his attention of those at the breakfast table.
Wolf smiled wryly at Melisande's question and her calling him 'Mister Wolf'. "Well, Miss Melisande, Elder magic is simply magic that draws its power from the Elder gods. A daedroth hound is a creature of legend and it matches up to what attacked Kale; a mage well versed in Elder lore could probably manage such a thing."
"Anyway, since several of us need to go into the city for one thing or another, I propose that we travel down as a group, just to make sure. How does that sound to people? Kale, obviously you and I need to travel down to try and make some headway on finding out just what is going one; Burl, you said you needed to get some more supplies? Anyone else coming?"
Melisande piped up. "Well, if Burl and I aren't going to be brewing anything today, then I guess I'll come along. Maybe I'll check out that bookseller's myself. I just hope Lord Ecurius won't be vexed at us for delaying our departure. I think we ought to tell him what's going on. He might be able to explain a few things, maybe even track these people down."
Of course, he might also decide the group was too great a liability to worth employing, too. It was a risk, but Mel had utmost confidence in Lord Ecurius' good nature. She finished her tea and had another spoonful of condensed milk--she would need the energy. Where was the sorcerer anyway? She could hardly keep her eyes from straying to the doorway every few seconds in anticipation.
"Indeed," Ebri replied, not blinking, "I should relish the chance to visit the shop of Karbal one more time. I will ask him those things, of course, if you wish, but as we have said, we should not travel alone. Perhaps you would like to accompany me?" she asked the blue woman. "Who knows but he has rare magical texts among his stacks?" This was advantageous for Ebri; she had every intention of sticking to her ward like glue all day. It was paramount that no harm came to Melisande.
"Really, he's that good? Oh, I'm sure I could spend hours there..."
But a memory of having dragged her friends through a library once not that long ago killed some of Melisande's enthusiasm. Meg'anna and Sebastion had looked bored. On the other hand, even the ambitious mercenary had found a book or two to browse that day, and it probably didn't hurt him to spend some time on intellectual pursuits if he wished to be respected as a famous warlord.
"But I do think we should all stick together today, even if it's just to buy straw..." (that pleasant scent must have been going to her head; she couldn't stop thinking of straw--had he been rolling in it?) "... hay... whatever for the horses. No subdelegations sneaking off." She looked Kale's direction, sensing they had another amateur of surreptitious soup in their midst.
Another day traipsing around in the city wasn't really what Wyshira wanted to do, and she couldn't quite hide her disappointment.
And the idea of Burl going off in one direction, while Wolf and Kale went off in another left her feeling anxious and split down the middle. Which way will Cord want to go? she wondered.
She brightened at Mel's suggestion that they all stick together today, but she really didn't think that Wolf would go for it.
"I'll go too," she said finally. "Just let me go change my clothes first." She had decided that this time she would not necessarily be representing the Storm Lady in town, and would prefer to be dressed appropriately, in case she had to flee with Kale over the rooftops.
Burl absolutely needed to get into town one last time. “I totally agree that we need to stay together. It seems as though whenever we split, something happens. This elder magic wielding mage does not sound like someone I want to meet on my own. I need to make two stops in town and then I’m free unless we need to pick up supplies for the trip. When are we planning on moving out? Does anyone have any idea of how long we will be away from civilization? Are there other towns close to where we are headed? Can we get a map of the area in town?” Burl was really only interested in his agenda and all the questions hopefully throw the others off of it. Taking a big slice of bread and rolling a couple of thick slices of bacon in it, “ I don’t know about rest of you, but I’m going to miss this hospitality when we do leave.”
Sebastion listened to the plans for the day, and finally brought himself to speak.
"I'm not so sure we should all stick together, at that. Anyone hunting down this mage and his associates will not want to be in a large group, but they do need to be hunted down, one way or the other.
This tower will be dangerous: if it weren't, Ecurius wouldn't be sending us, he'd go himself. It wouldn't do to be caught between that danger, and whatever danger Kale's friend chooses to send after us." Placing his knife and fork down, carefully, delicately, choosing his words carefully, he continued after a moment.
"If you ladies would speak with this bookseller, then you should go. No offence intended, but it would be difficult for you, I think, to appear nondescript, and that may be required.
I'll accompany Kale and Wolf, if you'll have me, and we'll see if we can't shake this tail before we leave?"
With his plan on the table, he turned to Ebri with a quiet mutter.
"Ebri, do you still have the Mimir? Could I have it, after breakfast?"
He still had questions, enquiries... and he still had a visit to the Flame Guildsman to make.
"Of course you may, Sebastion," Ebri replied, "Anyone of us may use it. But I thought you did not care for such tools of witchery?"
"I will give it to you after breakfast."
Kale looked on as the conversation continued. Sebastion seemed pragmatic enough, but the young mercenary still arched an eyebrow at his comment. Unsure whether or not any resentment lay there, what with Kale seeming to trail problems in like dust from the playground, it seemed a little discomfort had to be expected.
And what was this mimir business he and Ebri went on about? Looking about the large dining room in the rising light, he regarded the disparate crew. Something, someone seemed amiss.
Missing, rather. "Hmm, I suppose someone ought to let Sandslipper know, too. Is she going to be coming down to the meal?" he asked to the room, unsure who might know her whereabouts. She seemed so on edge the previous night... considering how dangerous things always got around this crew, Kale hoped she was alright.
"Any case, we should be alright with the timing, Ecurius mentioned it would take a few days to get the particulars together, including a detailed map of the area,” he finished in answer to Burl’s question. "I should hope we’d see Ecurius again before we take off for the day. These meals, I certainly can’t complain,” he said and paused as he seemed to remember something. Sitting smoothly back into his chair, he relaxed as the remainder of the arrangements were completed, taking the opportunity to double down on sweetrolls and fresh jam.
Listening to the direction the conversation was headed, Burl decided to add another thought to the mix, “As one who is being sought also, I really don’t like the idea of splitting up. As we have found in the past, there are situations where each of us on our own would not have survived, but as a team we won out. I think that since we have to separate groups joining forces, we should start learning to work as a combined team, not seven or eight individuals. As long as I can finish my shopping before we leave, I would rather look for Kale’s antagonist first. The benefits of staying together are much more than if we split.”
"Well, if we must split up, let's at least make sure each group knows exactly where the other is, and stay split up for the shortest time possible. To be honest I really agree with Burl we should stick together, but Sebastion's right, it might be hard to catch this mage if we travel in a flock." She chose to ignore the comment about her and Ebri Zol being conspicuous, because it brought back that burning in her cheeks.
She was still licking condensed milk off of her spoon and trying to stop feeling so distracted by Sebastion's smell. The thought of rolling in straw was leading her mind in surprising directions.
Pierre must have been surprised too, because he tumbled off the windowsill with a splat. Sheepishly he hopped under the table, hoping no one noticed.
Wolf listened carefully to what was being said. "Much of what you all say has good reasoning behind it, I have to say," he said with an appreciative smile. "I am still caught in two minds on whether we should split up though. It is true that, as a divided force, we are weaker - and as Burl wisely says, we need to learn to work together. Yet, as Sebastion says, together we may stand out a little too much - we may be too large a group to go unnoticed or the unusual complexions of Wyshira and Melisande might draw too much attention."
"I think, for the time being, it would be good for us to split up; myself, Kale, Sebastion and anyone else who wishes to come, while Melisande, Wyshira and whoever else has things to attend to in the markets and purveyors goes in another group. Now, what we three will do is merely try, for the time being, to gather information on our enemy; if we find out what we need to know, or if any sign of trouble flares up, we get back to the rest of you as soon as possible to reorganise and prepare ourselves as a group. That way we get the practical tasks for the journey ahead done, as well as hopefully making headway on this fire-slinging wizard."
Kale's search, although no doubt useful if they did not want to be plagued by vengeful mages attacking on their heels, held little appeal for Cord. He wished the small company luck, of course, and raised a silent prayer to Grumand to absorb their footfalls in stealth and be free of obstacles in flight. His own focus lay in a different direction, and so he decided to accompany the less aggressive group for the second day into the city.
Wyshira hurried to change out of her robes and into a tunic and trousers. She wrapped a lightweight cloak around herself, readied her weapons, scrolls, and potions, then returned to the guest's common room. She was just in time to hear Wolf's decision on the party split.
Essentially what he's saying is that my strangeness outweighs my usefulness.... she thought wryly. Well, I have no desire to visit this bookseller. I suppose I'll get the chance to explore the grounds here a little today.
Wolf had given his opinion. Burl wasn’t upset in the least not going with Kale and the others. He had work to do in the markets and really needed to get it done. Burl went back to his room, gathered his equipment and went to meet Wyshira and Mel for the trip to the markets. Hopefully he could get the needed information and head back. Maybe there would be enough time to get the salve started, even if he had to work late into the night.
Wyshira arrived, practical in dress. Kale was interested to see her experience grow; not that it was anything remarkable to dress a bit blandly, but it was just a bit of a change, she was receptive to try what it takes. Why it would seem such an accomplishment, Kale couldn't say... perhaps there were conceptions lurking about deep in his head. Holy girl from her tiny mountain village... but didn't she take a big piece out of that gruesome wolf-Master?
* * *
Sword in hand, pack-straps already tightened, Sebastion was ready to depart within few minutes of breakfast finishing, and he made his way with the Mimir to the solitude of the hayloft where he'd slept last evening.
Climbing the ladder, seating himself comfortably in the straw, he placed the silver skull, on the floor before him, taking a moment to look at the crease in the surface, wondering how it had gotten there. Having finished his deliberations, though, he sat back and thought for a moment, reflecting on his questions.
"Mimir. Tell me of the following: Dracoverr and Dracoverr swords. Imellin Daerlen, a Fire Mage. A Huronese soldier called Alban Cornell. Lord Ecurius Taverrus. The Truth Seekers. The Elder Gods. Haashruuk. Kavayek. Gilamesh. Shauku. Immar. Grumand. Ishrak. Toran. Karbal, a bookseller." Leaning forward, concentrating on the answers, Sebastion found his hearbeat rising slightly and sweat beading his brow as he worried about what the skull might reveal about his father, and his father's past, and about the people who had seemed to gather around him.
"And the phrase 'Sneak off for soup'." he added, with a slight grin, at the end.
As Sebastion laid the mimir down on the straw-strewn wooden floor of the hayloft, the air around him heavy with the smell of horses and hay, the construct's eyes glimmered for a moment and then it hovered up to float a few feet in the air, its silvery surface reflecting the light from outside. It was still sunny and slits of light reached into the loft from the gaps between wooden slats; but clouds were gathering on the horizon and the wind getting up - it looked like they'd get a storm before too long.
The mimir listened to the warrior's request, then bobbed, it's features as ever set in that rictus grin. "My, you're an inquisitive one today, aren't you? Well, let me process those requests..."
It paused for a moment, then began chattering away.
* * *
"Dracoverr and Dracoverr swords: I have the following information..."
A terrified voice, deep and growly; it sounded like the guttural voices of the ogres Sebastion had fought against with the Blood Raven mercenaries. It was also, unfortunately, in a language he couldn't decipher, but it was urgent, afraid and was cut off with a roar of pain before the recording halted.
A human voice this time, creaky and low."My, this skull-thing is quite a find! Anyway, this is what I want to record; while looking out of my window today and watching the troops marshalling outside the Tower of Zhatan, I was surprised to see two dozen Dracoverr there, resplendent in their green and red armours. Dracoverr! Their presence can mean only one thing; the Lord Commander of Huron himself sees the mission that the Tower Commander is deploying as of vital importance - I mean, for Lord Belgaroth to send two dozen of his personal house cavalry! It makes me feel a little more safe about the whole thing; I might be an experienced mage but I have to admit I'm afraid of what we're going to have to do."
"Once I've finished collecting together my luggage for the trip I'm to go down and speak with the Dracoverr captain, it seems. 'Zhalfiras,' said the Commander to me, 'Zhalfiras, you need to go and talk to the fellow leading the Lord Commander's knights, he's a Dracoverr called Alban Cornell.' A Cornell! I wonder if he's related to Captain Cornell of the Zhatan guards?"
Lord Commander Belgaroth; that was the ruler of Huron. Of course, the recording didn't reveal whether it was the current Lord Voregras Belgaroth or his predecessor. And the Tower of Zhatan was the westernmost bastion of the nation, a mighty fortress on the Cliffs of Zhatan that marked the boundary of Urazel's favoured people.
A human voice, strong anf confident, his style of speaking suggesting he was recording onto the mimir something from writing. "New Entry: The Dracoverr. The Dracoverr are the elite guards of the Lord Commander of Huron. Highly skilled heavy cavalry, they are noted for wearing a unique style of heavy armour that is excellently designed to achieve maximum mobility and minimum encumbrance of the wearer. Rather than lances, the Dracoverr are noted for usually using more exotic weaponry. Established when the first of the Belgaroth dynasty was placed upon the throne of Huron, they have remained an established regiment ever since. The Dracoverr highway, reaching from Zhatan in the west to the port of Dar 'Urazel in the east, is named in their honour."
* * *
"Immelin Daerlen: I have no direct matches in recordings to this name, but I do have some relating just to Daerlen."
A human male voice, speaking quietly but calmly. "They say the suit of armour that the Dracoverr commander wears is called 'Daerlen's Gift'. Apparently it was crafted many decades ago by a powerful wizard called Daerlen as a gift after the then-commander Carnifex Haerven saved him from a raid by fire giants from the wastes."
* * *
"Alban Cornell: I have the following information..."
It first repeated the earlier recording it had brought up due to Sebastion's question about the Dracoverr, then began to speak in the same voice again. "We're currently just sitting around feeling useless. With most of my spellbook in tatters my capacity to help out Alban Cornell, who is now in charge of this expedition as the ranking officer present, has been severely diminished, and it's incredibly frustrating. It also means we're far more vulnerable to any more attacks by magic-using enemies. Alban has sent out scouts, so we just have to wait. I'm still in shock at seeing a Black Knight peeled open like a... like a... I don't know like what. I thought their dragon armour was nigh-impregnable and well worth the fuel we had to cart along with us, but I'm no longer so sure..."
* * *
"Lord Ecurius Tarravus: I have the following information..."
A deep male human voice. "It seems that there is some sort of communication being passed back and forth between the noble called Ecurius Tarravus and someone in Zhatan. What's interesting is that this is going on covertly. I will notify the Bloodkin as soon as possible."
* * *
"The Truth Seekers: I have the following information..."
A crotchety, wheezy voice. "I have discovered that the Truth Seekers are gathering up any old artifacts or - better yet - prophecies of the old times that they can. They pay good money, but I wonder what they've achieved with all this knowledge they're accumulating."
* * *
"The Elder Gods: I have the following information..."
An excited, wild male voice. "The Elder gods? Defeated! Defeated at last, and now before us spreads an age of peace and wonder! Oh, how my soul sings to know that mighty Shauku is fallen, that even now the warrior-knights of Urazel pursue Gilamesh and that dark, dark Hashrukk is shattered and banished! My soldiers are pursuing Hashrukkites to the west, while I have sent parties into the mountains in the east to try and hunt down any of the foul Men of Shadow who have remained upon the surface! Treacherous Men of Shadow - know that the Men of Fire shall hurl you into the abysses below the earth to skulk there like you should! Wait, my Liege Himself comes, Urazel the Mighty! I hear his footsteps echo down the corridor outside and the joyous cries of my guards at seeing his visage! I shall go now, to report to my Liege, to tell him that our warriors fight on valiantly in His Cause..."
With that the mimir began to chatter at least a dozen other recordings, but none of any interest to Sebastion.
* * *
The mimir spouted out a reel of recordings at Sebastion's requests for information on various gods. Much was of no importance to him but a few caught his attention.
"The Daemonflesh is not dead; merely banished, beyond this world and his power fractured. Part of his physicality has been fractured as well as his divinity; it seems that within the Pits of Hashrukk, south-west of the Myrmecian desert, a fragment of his noisome bulk lies in the deepest part and festers there in its unholy aura."
"Gilamesh be praised! I am pleased to report that all goes well, Bloodkin."
"The tales tell that Shauku had three mighty servant upon the material plane at that time, for even banished and so weakened he was still powerful. These three were the Ice Demons, and they led the Ice Horde into battle against the peoples of the tundra; and the Cryosians fought them off and parleyed with them and some of their wizards even aided them. With magic and sorcery the leaders if the Ice Horde tried to bind Fenris with divine chains, but three great heroes of the Ascarian tribes met the Ice Demons in battle and slew them. At the Forge of Fenris were the chains cast off and destroyed, and the Fire Wolf once again brought his powers to bear and the people of the Tundra defeated the Ice Horde, though at great cost. And the scars of the land where Fenris gouged great rifts as he was chained can still be seen there, that the people might remember. And the people of the Ice Horde were scattered and they too suffered, and many cursed Shauku and deserted his worship; but many too remained amongst his followers, and threaten the lands still. For they say that Shauku bears eternal enmity for Fenris, for the Fire Wolf was the one that subdued Shauku in the last and greatest battle of the Divine War that his ally Naskha might finally banish the Frozen God."
"Strange, I saw a priest of Ishrak here today. It seems an odd occurance, all things considered."
"I am intrigued. The powers of the Manipulators are significant and their skill at fleshtwisting great, but even so the fleshtearers are impressive. I know that the Church of Toran has a hand in their creation; but in what way? I will see if I can find out..."
* * *
"Karbal: I have no information on that name..."
"Sneak off for soup: I have the following information..."
The voice was a woman's, imperious and strangely charming. "Nas, this is Eltanar. Don't think about trying to 'sneak off for soup' in this place, alright? This is a sodding city in Hell, remember that, and though I know you might think that makes it an excellent place for causing mischief in the shady parts of town I don't really want to end up in a baatezu jail because an associate of mine has been messing with the wrong devils. Understand me? I'm off to try and see if I can get an audience with Palanar; screw what Krynnish thinks about his son, I reckon I might be able to get some information out of the fellow."
* * *
Their plans finally laid, the party headed out to ride into the capital. They had been unable to find Sandslipper, an unsettling matter, but as they prepared to leave Ecurius arrived out of the grand front doors of the manor to speak with them.
"Ah, good morning to you all, I am glad to see you are all up and ready so early. I hope all is going well with making arrangements for your journey; I'm afraid I have some minor bad news though. Early this morning my servant Mark escorted Sandslipper, your Myrmecian companion, down to the temple of Naskha in the city. She comes from such dry and warm southern climes that I'm afraid our damp northern lands don't seem to agree with her much, and she's fallen ill. Not serious, mind you, but since her fever hadn't abated this morning I've sent her off to see what the priests can do for her. Anyway, have yourselves a good day!" The sorcerer sent them off with a pleasant smile.
Wolf's 'decision' split them, but it was news of Sandlipper's illness that united them, at least those that had travelled all this way with her, and Sebastion found himself walking near Melisande and Ebri as they departed.
"Do you think we might be able to get anything to aid Sandslipper whilst we're out?" he wondered.
This time, there were bits of straw actually clinging to Sebastion's pant legs when he rejoined the group for their departure. Mel smiled, but let the mystery remain, declining to ask even as he joined her and Ebri. She didn't mind if he decided to ride with the outcasts at least as far as the city. He must be getting used to the company of brainless chickens.
She, too, was worried about Sandslipper. "If we have time, I'd very much like to stop by the temple of Naskha and see her. Although I'm sure she's in good hands, she might have a request, you're right.
"She has been a little strange since the attack in Corvus city, don't you think? She was very friendly up until then. I wonder what kind of sickness she's come down with. I'm afraid those scorpion-people did something bad to her brain."
Of all the group, the one called Ebri proved to be the most enigmatic to Cord. He had spent little time with her, save for lunch the previous afternoon and the quick morning breakfast, and Cord found himself intrigued by her silence. As the company made its way into the city, he found himself at her side, with Melisande on the other. He remained silent, content to allow the morning sun to warm his face, and studied her movements, scents, and voice with genuine curiosity.
Even with his night's sleep, Kale was still aching, much of his skin red and raw and his injuries still causing him pain with every movement. Merciful sleep had come easy to the merc, exhausted shoulders slumping in slumber before his body even hit the soft estate mattress. Sleep was fast and deep, and he felt no pain.
The morning, however, brought its own round of revenge. Rolling to the floor with a prolonged groan, hibernating aches awoke to reclaim their grip on the mercenary’s sanity. With patience and the stubborn doggedness that only footmen knew, Kale schooled himself to not respond to his body's harsh complaints.
Still, undressing was a chore (he had slept in his armor- oh the aches). Peeling ooze-soaked puttees from his face and body, he suffered one rinse of his face before deciding that any other grooming would just have to wait until he had his wounds tended. Absent mail and padding, his shirt was at least marginally serviceable, if not stained by blood on his left shoulder. His host and company would simply have to deal with the mess, he had no will to spare.
Wyshira can heal me... no doubt she'd pine over some finer point about being careful, while asking if I would like some cool water.. An abraded spirit willed roll his eyes, but his body would not comply. Being 'mothered' just then was his body's desire, if not his heart's. She was an odd one, breathing water and healing folk when she wasn't cracking skulls. Hmm.
* * *
The morning sun found that all of the members of the band Ecurius had gathered had once again returned to their lodgings. Kale, Wolf and Ebri had all arrived after the others, all except Wolf - who had apparently gone for a long walk in the estate gardens - having gone directly to bed. Now, in the airy common room provided in the guests' wing of the manor, they found themselves together being served breakfast by two servants. Ecurius was speaking with some visitors from the city but would be along soon.
"You look like you had a rough night, Kale," said Wolf, one eyebrow raised quizzically, as he wandered into the room from the corridor leading into the rest of the manor rather than, as everyone else had, emerging from their respective rooms. "Been up to much? How was everyone's day yesterday?"
"Thank you, my day was quite excellent," Ebri said smoothly, the soul of morning politeness. She helped herself to more potatoes, carefully avoiding another look at the greasy sheen of the panoply of fried meat. Instead, she glanced again at Melisande, as she had been at regular intervals all morning, keeping an eye and ear open for any signs of sleeplessness or odd dreams. "I spent hours in the shop of an unparalleled bookseller. Far more wonderful than any I have come across in my travels." She chewed, and made some appropriate sounds of enthusiasm. "A credit to this city, the merchant Karbal, if I may say. I will certainly add him to my order's 'Register of Exceptional Destinations', as soon as I am able."
Wolf's convenient ackowledgement of the mercenary's condition gave her the excuse she needed to leave the pretense of packing away a 'healthy' meal. She pushed her plate aside and turned her chair to face the injured Kale. "I would be more than pleased to offer you healing assistance, sir. Perhaps you would allow me to tend you while you answer your friend's question? How did you come to be in such a sorry state?"
"No, you don't have to do that," he said, not desiring to make any acceptance of a favor. But of course, he really didn't resist the healing powers as they were tendered.
Looking around the table, Burl noticed Kale, Ebri and Wolf engaged in conversation. Kale it seems had once more found trouble, but once again, he had survived although a bit tussled. “Kale, I thought that trouble had been following me, but from the look of you it must be following you. What trouble did you get into this time? By the way, we haven’t discussed when we are going to be moving on. I would like to work on my salves. This will take today and tomorrow to prepare. I have all the ingredients and my jars. All I need is access to a lab, if Ecurius has one, or at the very least the kitchen. Once I get it cooking, I will need a couple of items more that I forgot and will need to go back into the town. Melisande would like to get some lantern oil also. Is there anything else we could use for the trip?"
I'm easily bribed, Kale thought as he consented to healing, welcoming the restorative powers of the traveler's god. Does this make me a bit of a god whore? he mused. Hell, no. That's what they're around for, to heal people... he rationalized, but knew the was much more to it than that. Elder gods, younger gods, there was so much he didn't understand. What did Ebri say about that bookstore? Karbal. Maybe he'd have some answers. With reluctance, another item was added to the list of questions: who was the damned merchant-mage, and why does he oppose the Blades? And who are the Blades, for that matter?
Musing for the moment came to an end as the mercenary's eye saw something of attention. Light blue robes- There's Wyshira, what a relief. Singed cheeks reacted poorly to his chewing, and Kale looked forward to getting fixed up. Ebri's ministrations helped, but hadn't repaired everything. She offered to help with herbal mixtures and traditional remedy, but Kale resisted. "Thank you, no. Not at the table. Surely I must be breaking countless folks' bloody protocol, getting healed at breakfast. Please, sit, enjoy your meal," he concluded with a wave of his hand, indicating Ebri's decidedly... boring breakfast plate.
Glancing to Wyshira, he wished she would heal him right then, finish him up, but that was a fanciful dream at best. He had no idea why, but his instinct told him that no woman would jump up and heal him just after another priestess had finished. The gods' purpose was more than just to heal people? No doubt the followers' purpose ran deeper than that, as well. The mercenary hoped Wyshira didn't feel like nothing more than a walking healing potion. She can swim, too, he thought cynically for a moment. He felt strangely... guilty for the thought.
A brief awkward moment passed. "Healing for a story, seems a fair trade." Kale recovered smoothly. "Good morning all, I suppose it's story time. There really isn't much to share, I'm afraid," he said, as though almost being murdered in the streets was point of little personal consequence. However, he continued with a tinge of seriousness that belied his light treatment of the topic. "I was out browsing for a few odds and ends when I ran into an 'admirer' of yours," he indicated Wolf, who had first asked what in the world happened to the younger last night. "Well, he must have considered me an even greater threat than the Wolfman here, because just a few choice words later, he laid into me with his fire magic." Sarcasm added color, but the projected truth was that Kale wasn't deemed important enough to live. Not a big enough threat, as it happened, to be accorded proper respect. Fortune, as it happened: that was why he managed to get away. Respect and recognition were things he could do without. Except, perhaps, within his own team. Bragging and banter had its place, but what drove the story was Kale's feeling that his audience needed to know what happened, and also be aware of his abilities.
"What kind of man immolates himself in fire, just to hurt his enemy?" At least five people present knew the answer to that question, but he continued. "He wasn't even protected from his own magic. I slipped him and his goons, and was about to follow them back home, when this mage cast a strange summoning." Kale paused for a moment to grab another pastry. It wouldn't do to trump up or over-dramatize his tale. This sort of stuff was, after all, seeming to become the norm in his life. "Before I know it, I'm off again, this time dodging two goons and a blasted invisible hound that tracked my every move. Finally, I disengaged, and returned to the estate by a route I doubt anyone could track. Course, with that magic, who knows." And THAT was why they need to know what happened.
Who knows when these yahoos are going to make another try?
"When on the reception, it is the defender's mission to survive," Kale quoted the bits of military doctrine he remembered from what seemed a lifetime ago. "While the aggressor must conquer to win... I guess, then, that this is the face of victory." Kale didn't seem to like it too much. Finishing his breakfast and his story, he swallowed. "I have a couple leads- I think I can find out who this guy is." Looking to Wolf, he wanted to know what the man wanted to make of this. Kale, he had a few ideas of his own.
Wyshira had taken full advantage of Lord Ecurius's hospitality. She spent extra time in the incredibly luxurious, heated, sunken bath tub before retiring for the night; relished the soft comfort of the plump feather bed and clean linen sheets well past the time she usually rose in the morning; and came downstairs to breakfast with a healthy appetite.
With an energized step and a smile brightening her face, she entered the sunlit common room. Some of the others had gathered there already. She was pleased to see that Kale had evidently made it back in one piece. Of course... What did you think would happen? He can take care of himself.
That cleric of Immar, Ebri Zol, was talking to him... saying something about healing assistance......
The smile faded from her lips and she stopped in place. Kale looked burned. She knew - she'd seen him look that way before. Where his skin wasn't burned, it was scraped or bruised. What in the name of the Lady happened last night? She took a few steps in the mercenary's direction, then stopped again, waiting to see if he'd accept Ebri's offer.
Wyshira bit her lip, uncertain of what to do. She was never sure with Kale if he wanted or needed her help. She wanted to hurry over to his side; to examine the extent of his wounds and tend them; to chide him for going off on his own. But she didn't move.
He glanced in her direction just then, saw her standing there for the first time. She thought she could see relief in his eyes at the sight of her. He DOES want my help, she thought with a sudden sense of... well, something. Fulfillment maybe? Her smile came back, and she continued on into the room and over to the table.
Kale started telling his story while she found a bowl and filled it with water and prepared to cast her spells. He must have been really messed up to still look this bad after Ebri's healing. Why hadn't he come to her last night? He couldn't have slept well.
She resisted the urge to scold him. In fact she said very little while she did her work, except to urge him to drink lots of water during the day today.
What was it with Kale and fire anyway? How many times would the man end up getting burned to a crisp? "Your eyebrows hadn't even grown back in from last time," she commented lightly. "If you'd come with us yesterday, that fire genasi that we met at the mage's guild probabably would have attacked you too!" She had a hard time laughing at her own joke however; the fire-kin had made her nervous, and Kale's experience was just the sort of thing that she feared. She closed her mouth then and let the others talk.
And if Kale is going to be following up any leads, he's not going alone, she resolved. She had wanted to observe Burl work on his salves today, but she wasn't going to let Kale get out of her sight.
The face of victory? Ugh. Mel listened to Kale's very offhandedly-delivered report all while keeping her eyes on the jelly rolls instead of his face, which looked like he had been exposed to a bank of mutation-stones in the lead chambers of a biothaum lab. In a few days he'd be sprouting antennae. She'd been in a fine mood until he walked in. Now she found herself pushing the ham off her plate nauseously.
She knew it was hopeless, but she had washed and brushed her hair and done it up nicely for Lord Ecurius. She'd gone to a lot of trouble and then looked in the mirror only to recall that she was still blue, very much the wrong color for anyone looking to marry up. And she was still in travel-stained old clothes which had seen almost as much action as Kale. She knew of no alchemical stain-remover that could entirely bleach away the dark patches where her own blood had soaked through her dress and robe.
And here she was walking into trouble again. A trip into unknown mountains to a haunted mage's tower? Why?
Hopelessly she gave a mental shrug. Walking into trouble with people who are already being hunted by kamikaze wizards. Well, one thing at a time.
"I can mend some of your loose ends. I mean leather and clothes, not... skin... Ahem. You should probably tell Lord Ecurius he might expect some invisible hounds to come sniffing around. He might be able to divine something for you, too. I do hope he'll come to breakfast soon..."
After tending to some bitten pant legs she poured herself a tall mug of tea, sipping the piping aromatic stimulant appreciatively. "I suppose Burl and I'll be spending the day brewing, unless you need our help hunting down your assailants. Just let us know."
It surprised her how easily she had adopted these new people, but then she'd never had the luxury of being picky about her friends. Kale was potential trouble himself, but he had made her laugh, and she did feel bad seeing the shape he was in this morning. She supposed if they were going to travel together, their problems were now very much shared. She only wished this gruff, taciturn Wolf person would volunteer a little more about what they were up against. From Kale's questioning glance she guessed Wolf hadn't told him, either. Maybe Burl would be more talkative while they worked together.
Sorry, no caviar this time, she apologized to Pierre, letting the toad out to roam the windowsills for spiders. The day before she had been unable to explain to Wyshira--though she had talked for twenty minutes--what it was "like" having a two-headed toad for a familiar. Really, she couldn't think what it would be like not having him around. Though she had let on that he was the source of some of her more level-headed decisions, as well as that the contrast of his two heads (the right being of optimistic disposition, and the left quite the opposite) helped her see two sides of every situation. On the other hand, having two empathic minds bent on unearthing grubs all the time could be distracting. Right now she concentrated on satisfying her own appetite with assorted cheeses. It was going to be a long day in the lab.
Sebastion had woken early, as the first of the stable-hands came in, and looked around a little blearily as he tried to place himself.
The hayloft. he remembered quickly enough, tossing and turning in the large room, unable to settle with the strange echoes that seemed to come back off the distant walls. A late-night walk had brought him here, where he felt comfortable, and he had drifted off to sleep easily enough with the scent and noise of the horses below, and the familiar feel of stiff stalks poking through his clothes. Perhaps stables were the same the world over... he found it a comforting thought.
A quick wash in cold water, brushing his hands through his hair in front of the immense mirror - fully three feet high, and the same across - and he made his way down from breakfast. He ate heartily, listening to others at the table. They weren't quite the guards of his home-town, but somehow the easy back-and-forth banter of Wolf and the other men with him seemed similar, and he felt he could fit in with them in a way he hadn't managed with the assorted women he had been travelling with.
Ebri Zol was her usual enigmatic self, suddenly enthused about - of all things - a bookshop, animated in a way that she hadn't managed to be at all before now. Not in the conflict with the Kobolds, nor during the flight through the tunnels. Not even at the sight of this magnificent mansion house.... strange?
And Melisande... she had obviously taken advantage of the opportunities presented by the house, and looked stunning that morning. Her hair primped and arranged like one of the girls from home at the Spring Festival dance, it seemed to suit her skin colour, strangely, and he watched her face sadden slightly as she picked gently at the spots on her bodice.
"You should try salt and cold water on that, soak it." he suggested, quietly, leaning over to spear another sausage and some more bacon. "It'll lift that right out. It's a shame to let a little blood spoil the effect when you've gone to su...." He drew up short, suddenly, realising what he'd been saying. "Uh, that is. It's a shame to ruin such a pretty dress."
Sitting back, and hastily shoveling food into his mouth before it could run away from him again, he focussed his attention on his plate, and his plans for the day. Burl had expressed an interest in waiting a day to complete some alchemical work, and he didn't suppose there was any hurry to investigate a tower that had been abandoned for so long. He intended a trip to the fire genasi later on, of course, but first....
First, he needed to get his hands on the Mimir again.
"I'm heading back into town later on. I can get oil for you, and if you don't need to talk about what you need I can get your gear for you too? Just make a list... he offered, to Burl, as he settle back to listen to Kale's tale of his adventures the previous evening.
Kale felt the healing magics of the two priestesses flow through him, wounds knitting up and skin sealing; the two prayers so alike in effect yet so different as well. Ebri's a quiet, almost whispered prayer than soothed pain and healed wounds in such an inobtrusive manner as that Kale was surprised when he suddenly noticed the edge had been taken off his aches, while Wyshira's was like a rush of cool water running through his veins.
Wolf had been listening attentively to Kale's recounting, even though he had been gazing out the window all through the story, as if in thought. When the young man had finished his tale the mercenary turned round, expression virtually unreadable. Certainly it didn't betray any worry or alarm.
"Sounds like you tangled with a Daedroth hound. Not many mages know how to summon them; it's Elder magic, hard to master. You're right to be worried about being tracked; they're supposed to be excellent hunters, especially because their prey can't see them."
"You say they knew me? That's a worry; if they thought you were worth attacking, I'm sure they don't mean well for me either. Hmm."
"Well, I see a number of courses of action. Either we ignore this little incident, at least for the time being, and depart as soon as possible for the mountains, or we take the time to hunt down and deal with whatever threat is posed here. Though if their interest is just in me, there's no onus on any of you to worry about this. I'd advise that people travel in groups in the city from now on anyway, just to be on the safe side. What are you lot's opinions then?"
Elder magic... Ebri mused, filing the information away. It wasn't exactly likely that there would be a connection between attacks on the mercenary and a threat to her ward, but neither was it unlikely.
"For my part, I should just as soon get back to the road." Ebri announced, allowing a small interval of space so that she might not seem unnaturally eager. i]Anything, anything to get away from the city.[/i] With each moment she stayed there, the filth and noise and press of people grew about her. The mental unrest, the threats from all angles to her ward... Although her devotion to Immar was nothing more than a ruse, and was the idle superstition of the weak-minded in need of certainties in life, Ebri could almost see the appeal of cult of travelling. The open road. It wasn't mountains, but it far surpassed the city. "But you are correct, sir-- we should none of us travel alone, whether we are within walls or no. Even I would not, given what we have just heard, and my god protects me." She smiled and stood, repacking her first aid supplies, since Kale had no use for them. "And we may as well be expeditious, since Lord Ecurius has employed us. Also, we will find out easily enough the motives and identity behind this attack. If it is anything more than random urban violence, the perpetrators will follow us if we leave."
Brurl, while eating, watched and listened to the others. His chances of buying a couple of days to make his salve and more importantly to gather the information for Tewlcroghen were slipping away. Swallowing a piece of crisp bacon, he added his thoughts, “Look, I won’t hold us up if the decision is to move on to the tower. I can easily put off making my salve, but I do need some things from town. Spike has a digestion problem and I need to pick up something for him, plus I found that I missed a spell component. I need one more trip into the town before I can leave. I do think it would be better for me to make the salve, but it can wait. By the way, we should probably pick up some extra forage for the horses if the trip to the tower is a long way. We could combine my excursion with that chore. Any volunteers to help me?"
Devastating self-consciousness threatened to crush Melisande to a blue pulp. Her face went blazing indigo when she realized it was evident to everyone (and Sebastion in particular) that she had done herself up. If anyone figured out it was for Lord Ecurius she thought she'd melt into a sticky blue puddle. She felt ridiculous, pathetic and--and even a little guilty, strangely, for even having thought Lord Ecurius might notice her.
"A little blood," she managed to giggle, squirming in excruciating embarrassment.
Apparently unaffected by the barbecued Kale, Sebastion leaned past her to stab more sausage. A sweet, warmish, earthy scent was wafting off him. It reminded her of... autumn fields? Farmers at market? Fresh mouse cages? Straw. Suddenly Mel was regretting having committed her day to stinky alchemy with Burl. How nice it would be to go see the horses of Lord Ecurius' stables and walk in his gardens, and smell more smells like that one. Sebastion must have spent an early morning in the stables. She, on the other hand, had spent an early morning primping for a desperately silly reason.
Fortunately, Wolf drew attention away from her hairdo. He did not seem to know what the attack was about either, which consternated everyone, but he had at least one good recommendation.
"No sneaking off for soup this time, eh?" she grinned at Ebri Zol after the priestess agreed to take Wolf's advice.
More seriously, she continued, "Mister Wolf, this is not the first time Elder magic has popped up in our travels. If you know anything else about this, you should tell us now, because if your enemies are pulling out that kind of arcana against your apprentice I think we're all concerned. In fact, Ebri, if you're going back to that bookseller's today, would you see if he has anything on Elder gods and their magic? And on this cult of the Prophet that's been scrying on me, and the Nephians and all that?"
Kale perked up at the mention of the Elder Gods, standing up in interest and with a familiar bearing, before mentally reminding himself that he was without mail and blade. The familiar weight of his shirt was absent, the light touch of his scabbard eluded his senses. His body retuned to his surroundings. He also noted a wonderful, soothing comfort. Suddenly something occurred to him, he clasped Wyshira's arm in silent thanks for the relief he'd been seeking for quite some time.
Wolf continued to lay it out. The Elders. Sick of hearing about them. Hashruuk and his dreadspawn, Kevayek's new country, Gilamesh and his dragons, Wolf had mentioned Shauku's icy wrath... Kale's mind jumped between memories. Cryosians on the attack; an odd, filthy ship on the docks at Iril; dreadspawn and the new 'gourmet orcs'; strange sounds during the night, huntfindseekheretherego; a new country of the disease god; and dragons, dragons behind every fable and fairy tale. Irilsons, Ascarians, Carthagians, 'Kavarail Kavas'... everyone had some draconic claim to fame.
Yet, most of the lands' current events had benign explanations. Standing there in the Tarravus' dining room, Kale had no idea what to make of all that he'd seen. Maybe Ecurius or this Karbal could help me out... No doubt everyone Kale thought about desired power- but only the most dedicated and insane would draw upon the elder gods. From what little he understood, the only thing he could know for sure was that the Elder forces lived for power. How could anyone make more sense from those horrible natures? Those who followed insanity could only do it for one reason: power. Unlimited power... all it'll cost you is your humanity. This 'merchant-mage' had to be stopped.
The young mercenary pondered his position, and Ebri was the first to speak up. What an odd woman. Is it book smarts or naivete? You'd think an Immarian would be more streetwise. Maybe she's just minimizing the situation. She was a bit... coy?
"Random urban violence?" Kale asked incredulously. "Yeah, I'm sure it's just ol' Gilamesh starting an inner-city turf war. Nothing to worry about."
"Look, these guys may recognize Wolf, but as long as we work together, they're a threat to all of us. With poor enough luck, before long they'll be a threat you, no matter who you work for.
"I'm not interested in the politics or the power plays," Which wasn't entirely true. He'd have to learn all about those things, if he wanted to live a long life. "But this bastard tried to kill me, and I'm not going to give him a second chance. Right now we have the initiative," he said, indicating Wolf and himself. "I'm all for finding this guy and taking the fight to him while we have best advantage. The tower and its goodies can wait.
"Look, you all have been very kind to help me out, so let me stress that this isn't something anyone'd expect you to do. Wolf, we need to deal with this threat now, if we can. Ladies and gents, your help would be appreciated... but I'm not gonna blow sunshine up your ass. It took all I had just to get away from this guy. He's powerful, and he'll likely be on guard. But now is the time to learn and to move, I don't want to wait around until he decides to make his next step."
Cord sat at the breakfast table silently, tasting the food as well as the emotions permeating the table. The last walk in the dwindling light of the previous evening had been a pleasant one, and his night had been as surprisingly restful as when he first arrived. Under normal circumstances he enjoyed the outdoors, but as of late his contact with the earth seemed to make the writhing pain beneath his body all the more real. Not until arriving at the home of Lord Ecurius was his sleep unapproached by such haunting dreams.
Cord listened to Kale's narrative, noted Wyshira's action to Ebri's tending of wounds and Kale's reaction, in turn. He smelled the faintest scents of perfumes Melisande must have found and sensed her stiff posture; he sensed Sebastion's own change in posture, as well. The table was rife with eagerness, hesitancy, confusion, confidence, noise, and silence. He smiled as he brought a mug to his lips. He could spot himself in the mixture, of course, and chuckled internally as he pinpointed the rest.
He had little preference concerning the direction of the party. He saw no need to accompany Kale and Wolf in search of their unknown enemy, and confessed he was eager to explore this tower that might prove to be one source of the earth's corruption, but another day of rest appealed to his aging body. Another walk in the town, another day to learn from and teach his newfound companions, another night to sleep on a comfortable mattress. His senses thrived under such circumstances, and he knew that a single day would not cause Grumand to become overwhelmed. There was time.
He swallowed another mouthful and kept his attention of those at the breakfast table.
Wolf smiled wryly at Melisande's question and her calling him 'Mister Wolf'. "Well, Miss Melisande, Elder magic is simply magic that draws its power from the Elder gods. A daedroth hound is a creature of legend and it matches up to what attacked Kale; a mage well versed in Elder lore could probably manage such a thing."
"Anyway, since several of us need to go into the city for one thing or another, I propose that we travel down as a group, just to make sure. How does that sound to people? Kale, obviously you and I need to travel down to try and make some headway on finding out just what is going one; Burl, you said you needed to get some more supplies? Anyone else coming?"
Melisande piped up. "Well, if Burl and I aren't going to be brewing anything today, then I guess I'll come along. Maybe I'll check out that bookseller's myself. I just hope Lord Ecurius won't be vexed at us for delaying our departure. I think we ought to tell him what's going on. He might be able to explain a few things, maybe even track these people down."
Of course, he might also decide the group was too great a liability to worth employing, too. It was a risk, but Mel had utmost confidence in Lord Ecurius' good nature. She finished her tea and had another spoonful of condensed milk--she would need the energy. Where was the sorcerer anyway? She could hardly keep her eyes from straying to the doorway every few seconds in anticipation.
"Indeed," Ebri replied, not blinking, "I should relish the chance to visit the shop of Karbal one more time. I will ask him those things, of course, if you wish, but as we have said, we should not travel alone. Perhaps you would like to accompany me?" she asked the blue woman. "Who knows but he has rare magical texts among his stacks?" This was advantageous for Ebri; she had every intention of sticking to her ward like glue all day. It was paramount that no harm came to Melisande.
"Really, he's that good? Oh, I'm sure I could spend hours there..."
But a memory of having dragged her friends through a library once not that long ago killed some of Melisande's enthusiasm. Meg'anna and Sebastion had looked bored. On the other hand, even the ambitious mercenary had found a book or two to browse that day, and it probably didn't hurt him to spend some time on intellectual pursuits if he wished to be respected as a famous warlord.
"But I do think we should all stick together today, even if it's just to buy straw..." (that pleasant scent must have been going to her head; she couldn't stop thinking of straw--had he been rolling in it?) "... hay... whatever for the horses. No subdelegations sneaking off." She looked Kale's direction, sensing they had another amateur of surreptitious soup in their midst.
Another day traipsing around in the city wasn't really what Wyshira wanted to do, and she couldn't quite hide her disappointment.
And the idea of Burl going off in one direction, while Wolf and Kale went off in another left her feeling anxious and split down the middle. Which way will Cord want to go? she wondered.
She brightened at Mel's suggestion that they all stick together today, but she really didn't think that Wolf would go for it.
"I'll go too," she said finally. "Just let me go change my clothes first." She had decided that this time she would not necessarily be representing the Storm Lady in town, and would prefer to be dressed appropriately, in case she had to flee with Kale over the rooftops.
Burl absolutely needed to get into town one last time. “I totally agree that we need to stay together. It seems as though whenever we split, something happens. This elder magic wielding mage does not sound like someone I want to meet on my own. I need to make two stops in town and then I’m free unless we need to pick up supplies for the trip. When are we planning on moving out? Does anyone have any idea of how long we will be away from civilization? Are there other towns close to where we are headed? Can we get a map of the area in town?” Burl was really only interested in his agenda and all the questions hopefully throw the others off of it. Taking a big slice of bread and rolling a couple of thick slices of bacon in it, “ I don’t know about rest of you, but I’m going to miss this hospitality when we do leave.”
Sebastion listened to the plans for the day, and finally brought himself to speak.
"I'm not so sure we should all stick together, at that. Anyone hunting down this mage and his associates will not want to be in a large group, but they do need to be hunted down, one way or the other.
This tower will be dangerous: if it weren't, Ecurius wouldn't be sending us, he'd go himself. It wouldn't do to be caught between that danger, and whatever danger Kale's friend chooses to send after us." Placing his knife and fork down, carefully, delicately, choosing his words carefully, he continued after a moment.
"If you ladies would speak with this bookseller, then you should go. No offence intended, but it would be difficult for you, I think, to appear nondescript, and that may be required.
I'll accompany Kale and Wolf, if you'll have me, and we'll see if we can't shake this tail before we leave?"
With his plan on the table, he turned to Ebri with a quiet mutter.
"Ebri, do you still have the Mimir? Could I have it, after breakfast?"
He still had questions, enquiries... and he still had a visit to the Flame Guildsman to make.
"Of course you may, Sebastion," Ebri replied, "Anyone of us may use it. But I thought you did not care for such tools of witchery?"
"I will give it to you after breakfast."
Kale looked on as the conversation continued. Sebastion seemed pragmatic enough, but the young mercenary still arched an eyebrow at his comment. Unsure whether or not any resentment lay there, what with Kale seeming to trail problems in like dust from the playground, it seemed a little discomfort had to be expected.
And what was this mimir business he and Ebri went on about? Looking about the large dining room in the rising light, he regarded the disparate crew. Something, someone seemed amiss.
Missing, rather. "Hmm, I suppose someone ought to let Sandslipper know, too. Is she going to be coming down to the meal?" he asked to the room, unsure who might know her whereabouts. She seemed so on edge the previous night... considering how dangerous things always got around this crew, Kale hoped she was alright.
"Any case, we should be alright with the timing, Ecurius mentioned it would take a few days to get the particulars together, including a detailed map of the area,” he finished in answer to Burl’s question. "I should hope we’d see Ecurius again before we take off for the day. These meals, I certainly can’t complain,” he said and paused as he seemed to remember something. Sitting smoothly back into his chair, he relaxed as the remainder of the arrangements were completed, taking the opportunity to double down on sweetrolls and fresh jam.
Listening to the direction the conversation was headed, Burl decided to add another thought to the mix, “As one who is being sought also, I really don’t like the idea of splitting up. As we have found in the past, there are situations where each of us on our own would not have survived, but as a team we won out. I think that since we have to separate groups joining forces, we should start learning to work as a combined team, not seven or eight individuals. As long as I can finish my shopping before we leave, I would rather look for Kale’s antagonist first. The benefits of staying together are much more than if we split.”
"Well, if we must split up, let's at least make sure each group knows exactly where the other is, and stay split up for the shortest time possible. To be honest I really agree with Burl we should stick together, but Sebastion's right, it might be hard to catch this mage if we travel in a flock." She chose to ignore the comment about her and Ebri Zol being conspicuous, because it brought back that burning in her cheeks.
She was still licking condensed milk off of her spoon and trying to stop feeling so distracted by Sebastion's smell. The thought of rolling in straw was leading her mind in surprising directions.
Pierre must have been surprised too, because he tumbled off the windowsill with a splat. Sheepishly he hopped under the table, hoping no one noticed.
Wolf listened carefully to what was being said. "Much of what you all say has good reasoning behind it, I have to say," he said with an appreciative smile. "I am still caught in two minds on whether we should split up though. It is true that, as a divided force, we are weaker - and as Burl wisely says, we need to learn to work together. Yet, as Sebastion says, together we may stand out a little too much - we may be too large a group to go unnoticed or the unusual complexions of Wyshira and Melisande might draw too much attention."
"I think, for the time being, it would be good for us to split up; myself, Kale, Sebastion and anyone else who wishes to come, while Melisande, Wyshira and whoever else has things to attend to in the markets and purveyors goes in another group. Now, what we three will do is merely try, for the time being, to gather information on our enemy; if we find out what we need to know, or if any sign of trouble flares up, we get back to the rest of you as soon as possible to reorganise and prepare ourselves as a group. That way we get the practical tasks for the journey ahead done, as well as hopefully making headway on this fire-slinging wizard."
Kale's search, although no doubt useful if they did not want to be plagued by vengeful mages attacking on their heels, held little appeal for Cord. He wished the small company luck, of course, and raised a silent prayer to Grumand to absorb their footfalls in stealth and be free of obstacles in flight. His own focus lay in a different direction, and so he decided to accompany the less aggressive group for the second day into the city.
Wyshira hurried to change out of her robes and into a tunic and trousers. She wrapped a lightweight cloak around herself, readied her weapons, scrolls, and potions, then returned to the guest's common room. She was just in time to hear Wolf's decision on the party split.
Essentially what he's saying is that my strangeness outweighs my usefulness.... she thought wryly. Well, I have no desire to visit this bookseller. I suppose I'll get the chance to explore the grounds here a little today.
Wolf had given his opinion. Burl wasn’t upset in the least not going with Kale and the others. He had work to do in the markets and really needed to get it done. Burl went back to his room, gathered his equipment and went to meet Wyshira and Mel for the trip to the markets. Hopefully he could get the needed information and head back. Maybe there would be enough time to get the salve started, even if he had to work late into the night.
Wyshira arrived, practical in dress. Kale was interested to see her experience grow; not that it was anything remarkable to dress a bit blandly, but it was just a bit of a change, she was receptive to try what it takes. Why it would seem such an accomplishment, Kale couldn't say... perhaps there were conceptions lurking about deep in his head. Holy girl from her tiny mountain village... but didn't she take a big piece out of that gruesome wolf-Master?
* * *
Sword in hand, pack-straps already tightened, Sebastion was ready to depart within few minutes of breakfast finishing, and he made his way with the Mimir to the solitude of the hayloft where he'd slept last evening.
Climbing the ladder, seating himself comfortably in the straw, he placed the silver skull, on the floor before him, taking a moment to look at the crease in the surface, wondering how it had gotten there. Having finished his deliberations, though, he sat back and thought for a moment, reflecting on his questions.
"Mimir. Tell me of the following: Dracoverr and Dracoverr swords. Imellin Daerlen, a Fire Mage. A Huronese soldier called Alban Cornell. Lord Ecurius Taverrus. The Truth Seekers. The Elder Gods. Haashruuk. Kavayek. Gilamesh. Shauku. Immar. Grumand. Ishrak. Toran. Karbal, a bookseller." Leaning forward, concentrating on the answers, Sebastion found his hearbeat rising slightly and sweat beading his brow as he worried about what the skull might reveal about his father, and his father's past, and about the people who had seemed to gather around him.
"And the phrase 'Sneak off for soup'." he added, with a slight grin, at the end.
As Sebastion laid the mimir down on the straw-strewn wooden floor of the hayloft, the air around him heavy with the smell of horses and hay, the construct's eyes glimmered for a moment and then it hovered up to float a few feet in the air, its silvery surface reflecting the light from outside. It was still sunny and slits of light reached into the loft from the gaps between wooden slats; but clouds were gathering on the horizon and the wind getting up - it looked like they'd get a storm before too long.
The mimir listened to the warrior's request, then bobbed, it's features as ever set in that rictus grin. "My, you're an inquisitive one today, aren't you? Well, let me process those requests..."
It paused for a moment, then began chattering away.
* * *
"Dracoverr and Dracoverr swords: I have the following information..."
A terrified voice, deep and growly; it sounded like the guttural voices of the ogres Sebastion had fought against with the Blood Raven mercenaries. It was also, unfortunately, in a language he couldn't decipher, but it was urgent, afraid and was cut off with a roar of pain before the recording halted.
A human voice this time, creaky and low."My, this skull-thing is quite a find! Anyway, this is what I want to record; while looking out of my window today and watching the troops marshalling outside the Tower of Zhatan, I was surprised to see two dozen Dracoverr there, resplendent in their green and red armours. Dracoverr! Their presence can mean only one thing; the Lord Commander of Huron himself sees the mission that the Tower Commander is deploying as of vital importance - I mean, for Lord Belgaroth to send two dozen of his personal house cavalry! It makes me feel a little more safe about the whole thing; I might be an experienced mage but I have to admit I'm afraid of what we're going to have to do."
"Once I've finished collecting together my luggage for the trip I'm to go down and speak with the Dracoverr captain, it seems. 'Zhalfiras,' said the Commander to me, 'Zhalfiras, you need to go and talk to the fellow leading the Lord Commander's knights, he's a Dracoverr called Alban Cornell.' A Cornell! I wonder if he's related to Captain Cornell of the Zhatan guards?"
Lord Commander Belgaroth; that was the ruler of Huron. Of course, the recording didn't reveal whether it was the current Lord Voregras Belgaroth or his predecessor. And the Tower of Zhatan was the westernmost bastion of the nation, a mighty fortress on the Cliffs of Zhatan that marked the boundary of Urazel's favoured people.
A human voice, strong anf confident, his style of speaking suggesting he was recording onto the mimir something from writing. "New Entry: The Dracoverr. The Dracoverr are the elite guards of the Lord Commander of Huron. Highly skilled heavy cavalry, they are noted for wearing a unique style of heavy armour that is excellently designed to achieve maximum mobility and minimum encumbrance of the wearer. Rather than lances, the Dracoverr are noted for usually using more exotic weaponry. Established when the first of the Belgaroth dynasty was placed upon the throne of Huron, they have remained an established regiment ever since. The Dracoverr highway, reaching from Zhatan in the west to the port of Dar 'Urazel in the east, is named in their honour."
* * *
"Immelin Daerlen: I have no direct matches in recordings to this name, but I do have some relating just to Daerlen."
A human male voice, speaking quietly but calmly. "They say the suit of armour that the Dracoverr commander wears is called 'Daerlen's Gift'. Apparently it was crafted many decades ago by a powerful wizard called Daerlen as a gift after the then-commander Carnifex Haerven saved him from a raid by fire giants from the wastes."
* * *
"Alban Cornell: I have the following information..."
It first repeated the earlier recording it had brought up due to Sebastion's question about the Dracoverr, then began to speak in the same voice again. "We're currently just sitting around feeling useless. With most of my spellbook in tatters my capacity to help out Alban Cornell, who is now in charge of this expedition as the ranking officer present, has been severely diminished, and it's incredibly frustrating. It also means we're far more vulnerable to any more attacks by magic-using enemies. Alban has sent out scouts, so we just have to wait. I'm still in shock at seeing a Black Knight peeled open like a... like a... I don't know like what. I thought their dragon armour was nigh-impregnable and well worth the fuel we had to cart along with us, but I'm no longer so sure..."
* * *
"Lord Ecurius Tarravus: I have the following information..."
A deep male human voice. "It seems that there is some sort of communication being passed back and forth between the noble called Ecurius Tarravus and someone in Zhatan. What's interesting is that this is going on covertly. I will notify the Bloodkin as soon as possible."
* * *
"The Truth Seekers: I have the following information..."
A crotchety, wheezy voice. "I have discovered that the Truth Seekers are gathering up any old artifacts or - better yet - prophecies of the old times that they can. They pay good money, but I wonder what they've achieved with all this knowledge they're accumulating."
* * *
"The Elder Gods: I have the following information..."
An excited, wild male voice. "The Elder gods? Defeated! Defeated at last, and now before us spreads an age of peace and wonder! Oh, how my soul sings to know that mighty Shauku is fallen, that even now the warrior-knights of Urazel pursue Gilamesh and that dark, dark Hashrukk is shattered and banished! My soldiers are pursuing Hashrukkites to the west, while I have sent parties into the mountains in the east to try and hunt down any of the foul Men of Shadow who have remained upon the surface! Treacherous Men of Shadow - know that the Men of Fire shall hurl you into the abysses below the earth to skulk there like you should! Wait, my Liege Himself comes, Urazel the Mighty! I hear his footsteps echo down the corridor outside and the joyous cries of my guards at seeing his visage! I shall go now, to report to my Liege, to tell him that our warriors fight on valiantly in His Cause..."
With that the mimir began to chatter at least a dozen other recordings, but none of any interest to Sebastion.
* * *
The mimir spouted out a reel of recordings at Sebastion's requests for information on various gods. Much was of no importance to him but a few caught his attention.
"The Daemonflesh is not dead; merely banished, beyond this world and his power fractured. Part of his physicality has been fractured as well as his divinity; it seems that within the Pits of Hashrukk, south-west of the Myrmecian desert, a fragment of his noisome bulk lies in the deepest part and festers there in its unholy aura."
"Gilamesh be praised! I am pleased to report that all goes well, Bloodkin."
"The tales tell that Shauku had three mighty servant upon the material plane at that time, for even banished and so weakened he was still powerful. These three were the Ice Demons, and they led the Ice Horde into battle against the peoples of the tundra; and the Cryosians fought them off and parleyed with them and some of their wizards even aided them. With magic and sorcery the leaders if the Ice Horde tried to bind Fenris with divine chains, but three great heroes of the Ascarian tribes met the Ice Demons in battle and slew them. At the Forge of Fenris were the chains cast off and destroyed, and the Fire Wolf once again brought his powers to bear and the people of the Tundra defeated the Ice Horde, though at great cost. And the scars of the land where Fenris gouged great rifts as he was chained can still be seen there, that the people might remember. And the people of the Ice Horde were scattered and they too suffered, and many cursed Shauku and deserted his worship; but many too remained amongst his followers, and threaten the lands still. For they say that Shauku bears eternal enmity for Fenris, for the Fire Wolf was the one that subdued Shauku in the last and greatest battle of the Divine War that his ally Naskha might finally banish the Frozen God."
"Strange, I saw a priest of Ishrak here today. It seems an odd occurance, all things considered."
"I am intrigued. The powers of the Manipulators are significant and their skill at fleshtwisting great, but even so the fleshtearers are impressive. I know that the Church of Toran has a hand in their creation; but in what way? I will see if I can find out..."
* * *
"Karbal: I have no information on that name..."
"Sneak off for soup: I have the following information..."
The voice was a woman's, imperious and strangely charming. "Nas, this is Eltanar. Don't think about trying to 'sneak off for soup' in this place, alright? This is a sodding city in Hell, remember that, and though I know you might think that makes it an excellent place for causing mischief in the shady parts of town I don't really want to end up in a baatezu jail because an associate of mine has been messing with the wrong devils. Understand me? I'm off to try and see if I can get an audience with Palanar; screw what Krynnish thinks about his son, I reckon I might be able to get some information out of the fellow."
* * *
Their plans finally laid, the party headed out to ride into the capital. They had been unable to find Sandslipper, an unsettling matter, but as they prepared to leave Ecurius arrived out of the grand front doors of the manor to speak with them.
"Ah, good morning to you all, I am glad to see you are all up and ready so early. I hope all is going well with making arrangements for your journey; I'm afraid I have some minor bad news though. Early this morning my servant Mark escorted Sandslipper, your Myrmecian companion, down to the temple of Naskha in the city. She comes from such dry and warm southern climes that I'm afraid our damp northern lands don't seem to agree with her much, and she's fallen ill. Not serious, mind you, but since her fever hadn't abated this morning I've sent her off to see what the priests can do for her. Anyway, have yourselves a good day!" The sorcerer sent them off with a pleasant smile.
Wolf's 'decision' split them, but it was news of Sandlipper's illness that united them, at least those that had travelled all this way with her, and Sebastion found himself walking near Melisande and Ebri as they departed.
"Do you think we might be able to get anything to aid Sandslipper whilst we're out?" he wondered.
This time, there were bits of straw actually clinging to Sebastion's pant legs when he rejoined the group for their departure. Mel smiled, but let the mystery remain, declining to ask even as he joined her and Ebri. She didn't mind if he decided to ride with the outcasts at least as far as the city. He must be getting used to the company of brainless chickens.
She, too, was worried about Sandslipper. "If we have time, I'd very much like to stop by the temple of Naskha and see her. Although I'm sure she's in good hands, she might have a request, you're right.
"She has been a little strange since the attack in Corvus city, don't you think? She was very friendly up until then. I wonder what kind of sickness she's come down with. I'm afraid those scorpion-people did something bad to her brain."
Of all the group, the one called Ebri proved to be the most enigmatic to Cord. He had spent little time with her, save for lunch the previous afternoon and the quick morning breakfast, and Cord found himself intrigued by her silence. As the company made its way into the city, he found himself at her side, with Melisande on the other. He remained silent, content to allow the morning sun to warm his face, and studied her movements, scents, and voice with genuine curiosity.
Carnifex
First Post
Maldur said:
I like your world more and more
I would not mind forgoing PS if you wanted to runa nother game here
Thanks! And thanks just for reading it in the first place
That's an interesting idea, actually. This campaign does have PS-like elements, and the PC's are likely to at some point visit certain outer planes and come into contact with powerful outsider beings, but the primary focus will remain in the campaign world.
It'd be interesting to run a second game in the same world simultaneously
Something to ponder
Carnifex
First Post
Sniktch said:Your setting rocks, Carnifex, and the storyline is pretty cool, too. Have you any thoughts about publishing your campaign setting at some point? I'd be interested in it
An interesting idea
the main problem would be that the setting has a fair bit of metaplot, which often isn't good for published settings. Certainly, by the end of the current game it'll have changed a lot through the events that are being unleashed upon the world And thanks for the complement
Another update up in a moment
Carnifex
First Post
With the clatter of hooves on cobbles the mismatched band once again entered the city gates; Sebastion, Kale and Wolf far enough ahead to make them seem a seperate group entirely to the later band with the blue-skinned women. Wolf's trail led the three men deep into the city sback-streets, while the others made their way to the more central parts of the settlement.
Their patron's reaction to Kale's little announcement about daedroth hounds and possible enemies had been a calm one, instilling some confidence in the mercenaries that he could handle such problems intruding on his home. He hadn't actually even said anything, merely giving the young man a quizzical look before returning into his abode.
* * *
Burl's needs were dealt with fairly quickly; it didn't take long to find iron ore or grain merchants, or to surreptitiously note down their prices for later conveyance to Tewlcroghen. With that done, Cord, Burl, Ebri, Wyshira and Melisande carried on to the home of Karbal the bookseller.
Stepping into the shop they found, as Ebri had, a place where every available surface - even the floor - had been used as a bookshelf, spines of tomes making up the ground beneath their feet. The lean man himself greeted them with a pleasant smile, nodding to Ebri. "Ah, the priestess returns, and with friends! What can I help you with, ladies and gentlemen? What book would take your attention, or what knowledge draw your mind?"
* * *
The process of tracking their quarry began with vagueness, nets cast wide to try and drag in the smallest pieces of information. Questioning merchants brought in little by the way of clues for the three hunters, not providing any positive identification, but then a name slipped out.
Cancer. That was, apparently, the man's first name, but the merchant who knew it couldn't remember his sirname, or even if he had one. The fellow just knew of this Cancer, rather than directly knowing him. The carriage and description that Kale gave had jogged his memory far enough for that. How did he know of Cancer? Oh, he'd met him before; Cancer had bought iron manacles from him, one of the range of iron goods this purveyor sold.
It was just a name, but it was good enough.
"I think I may be able to guess what our friend Cancer is up to," said Wolf quietly as the three strode out of the ironmongers shop and into the light outside. The clouds were gathering fast overhead now, the sun's light darkening and the wind whipping up in the herald of what would probably be a brief but intense summer storm. "Quite often when I've come across cults of Gilamesh hidden in cities like this they've been involved in illegal slavery. It's not as if slavery is outlawed in most places, it's just heavily regulated; I mean, here in Naseria, there are indentured slaves who are criminals who have to pay off their crimes by work, but the Gilameshi*tes practice slavery of a lower level; badly treated and for the worst uses. I think we should probably follow that line of inquiry for now..."
* * *
And so they carried on with their search, a few questions here and there with the rougher elements of the city; fences and barmen and hired thugs and beggars, and they made more headway. Cancer was not a big man in city affairs either above or below board, but he was known. Some recognised the name by linking it with what they knew of a little organisation that dealt in illegal goods and illegal slavery, while others nodded at the name and muttered of a chapel to Gilamesh below the city, deep below, a small one but there nonetheless. Getting more knowledge was difficult but with the combined efforts of all three men they were making progress.
* * *
Thunder rolled, lightning stabbing down from the sky somewhere in the distance to brightly illuminate the room for a moment as rain poured down outside, drops pattering heavily on the small windows. The tavern didn't even have a name, a tiny place where the smoke curled heavy on the air and the murmur of hushed conversation from the patrons sussurated in the ears. It was dark, damp and out of the way, somewhere in the accurately named Rat's Quarter; a dip in the ground by the river full of dilapidated buildings propped up by rotting wooden supports.
The storm had broken not long before the three hurried inside. Sebastion and Kale found themselves looking at the clientele of the tavern, the fitful light from a few lanterns in corners casting long shadows over figures hunched over tables. Occasionally a laugh or angry growl pierced the veil of murmurs, and the clattering of dice rattled in the corner where gamblers gamed.
Wolf approached the barman, a man with a faceful of scars and only one good eye, his row of rotting teeth missing a good few altogether. Attempts to get any information out of a barman usually meant you had to buy some drinks first; they had to be careful not to end up inebriated during their search for Cancer. The veteran merc ordered three beers; the band of hunters found the drink to taste about as bad as they expected for somewhere like this. Exactly which brewery produced a brew this bad was unknown.
Buying drinks had opened up the barman's mind to allow a little chatting with these customers; he nodded at the name of Cancer, as they had known he would, having been directed here by someone else. "Myrley knows more about that," the beggar had said, and he had told the truth. Myrley the barman did know more.
Cancer, he said, was the head of a band of Gilamesh*tes; he knew because the high-ups of several less salubrious organisations frequented this place and he heard things. Ran the occasional slave auction, dealt in illegal goods; his men fenced a few things but mostly bought stuff up, like magic. They didn't use it though, but the word was they passed it on to someone else, probably Cancer's superior in the cult. If the three men were interested in dealing with the Gilamesh*tes, for goods or slaves, they had two choices really. One was to go down deep under the city - for under the surface was a myriad maze of old cellars and buildings and sewers that were more inhabited than might be thought by one who lived on the surface - and go direct to their slave pens and the chapel to the dragon god. The other was to find one of their people and ask for an audience with Cancer. To get down below the city wouldn't be hard; beneath the Rat's Quarter (or Rat's Nest as most called it) there were a few entrances to the lower places. Finding the exact location of the chapel might be a bit tougher though, but if they asked the right person - someone like Rat Trin (but he was an odd one, not even human, Myrley had never trusted him and never would, even though he might be the best at wandering the under-city) - they might get there without too much trouble.
As for Cancer, he was an odd one. Most reckoned he was mad, plain old barmy, crazy as a coot, but there was no denying he was an adept wizard. When he had need to deal with foes he tended to summon up horrible things, all tentacles and writhing flesh and suchlike (though Myrley had only heard of this and never seen one himself) that were enough to make a man's mind doubt what he had seen. Cancer might not be all there but he was a cunning sonofab1tch, for sure; he was usually seen around over these last few months with a big man, well-built, who had the look of a southerner and had tattoos all over him, and who had broken the necks of two of Lagger Jarris's muggers when they attacked him in an alley one night, and Jarris said his boys hadn't stood a chance against the man.
Kale's attention was drawn away from the stream of knowledge absent-mindedly tumbling out of the mouth of the barkeep by the sound of someone coughing and spluttering, Sebastion's gaze following moments afterwards to the man who had just had a shock while drinking his beer.
Kale recognised him, the heavily-built man sitting at one of the tables, not too far off; he hadn't seen him before because the fellow's face had been away from him but he must have just looked round now, and he certainly recognised Kale.
It was one of the two lackeys who had been with the mage, and he gasped into his beer "It's him, it's f*cking him!"
And suddenly there was a blur of action in a few seconds. Sebastion, Kale and Wolf (who was only know looking round) weren't quick enough off the mark, caught by surprise, as the man stood up with beer spattered down his front and reached down to his side to draw a hefty steel longsword with a hiss of metal. The two others who had been sitting with him stood too.
One, a man dressed in inconspicous leathers, his head bald and his features aquine, held up one hand before him as the other made eldritch gestures. Dangling from his outstretched hand a tiny medallion hung, glinting in the lantern-light, a flame within a circle. Then the spell was complete and his hands changed entirely; transforming into vicious claws, the skin crackling into a rough, scaled red, heat and flames shimmering off the large claws and shedding their own ruddy light around the man, who grinned unpleasantly. And the final man, thin, lean, cloaked, a rapier visible in a sheath by his side, instead went for another weapon in his armoury.
A pistol. He drew it with one quick and easy motion fron his belt, pointing the crude firearm at the trio and pulling the trigger. The crack rivalled the thunderstorm outside in its intensity, a gout of smoke billowing from the weapon as the ball spat out at the men. It just missed Sebastion's head, tearing a sizeable chunk out of a wooden beam and spraying splinters of soft wood over the bar. The barkeep whimpered and ducked down to the safety behind the obstacle.
Grimmacing from surprize and realization, Kale's hand went to his blade. It's you! And his eyes dialated as the three men stood. In moments, his ears rang in protest. Kicking away his barstool, the young mercenary stood, but not long enough for another single drop upon that cold cloak-shed puddle.
Soaking wet, charged in action, a vile eldrich-aura marked his target. Kale's eyes gaurded the pistolier, ready that he would try to flank. It was time for a little different type of information-gathering: who will stand, and who will fall?
The storm continued outside, and any shetler that could be found in that dingy, rundown bar was lost as weapons bared, steel and teeth.
It was a testament to Sebastion's father's training that the glimmer of movement from the corner of his eye had him rocking backwards, moving his head aside from the strange contraption that destroyed the shelf behind him. No arrow had flown by, no crossbow arms were visible on the weapon, and yet the hole in the woodwork payed mute testament to the power of the weapon, and Sebastion automatically considered magic.
That opinion was backed up by the muttering from his companion, who's hand took on a daemonic cast, sputtering flame and scarlet scales. Sebastion, though, had spent years under the tutelage of a professional - A Dracoverr - and wasn't about to let the surprise catch him. His opponent had failed to take advantage of it, and that would cost him. Neither the longsword nor the flaming claws, for all their apparent power, were a threat from there: only that strange magic rod.
Bent backward slightly from where he'd dodged, Sebastion reached over his shoulder for an axe and sent it spinning through the air at the thin man, as he slipped the sheaths from his sword and closed the distance, ready to fight, hoping the others would back him up.
The rest of the dingy, dark bar was silent, hushed patrons watching the sudden and brutal fight. This was no melee in which fancy swordplay had a place; it was about bringing swift and brutal death to your opponent.
Simultaneously Sebastion's arm came round, faster than a striking snake, to hurl a gleaming throwing axe at the same time as the pistolier fired again with a gout of smoke and crack of thunder; his weapon a twin-barrel, the two thin barrels and triggers close together. Sebastion felt the force of the bullet as the metal slug clipped his shoulder, sending him reeling from the shock but in fact causing merely a light flesh wound. The hurled axe caved the man's chest in and dropped him dead on the spot.
The clawed man leapt for Kale, but the rogue dodged gracefully back from the burning talons and avoided the swipes easily. Striking back, Kale tried to hurl the lye he had acquired earlier into the eyes of the cleric but didn't manage it; a strike with the brine blade found its mark though, scoring a wound on the man and causing him to yell in pain as the corrosive acid ate ravenously into him, leaving a great livid gouge across his chest; the afflicted man's breath came in ragged gasps and his eyes unfocused with pain. Then Wolf drew his bastard sword with one easy movement and lunged at the foe, cutting him down with a single swipe that sent a wave of blood glimmering in the light for a moment before it splashed to mingle with the dirty, straw-covered floor; the spellcaster fell dead, the blade having cleaved through his face.
It left only the swordsman, the man Kale had met earlier, who had seen his two allies reduced to rapidly cooling corpses in seconds and now took flight out of the tavern as fast as he could. He quickly disappeared through the door and into the maze of alleys beyond.
"Wait, don't let 'em..." Kale shouted, as he reached an arm out, trying with willpower alone to keep the sword-lackey from escaping the bar. Clunking through the way, the lucky hireling marked another defeat for the mercenary band. "Dammit, DAMMIT!" Kale swore, upset to have lost the initiative once again.
Looming around the tattered bar, however, not all was lost. In one piece at least, Sebastion examined his first firearm, while Kale covered the room. The leatherclad pistolier lay at Kale's feet, still warm and oozing blood from an.... axe planted directly in his face!
"Seems chopping wood your whole life has benefits" Kale kidded the Huronese swordsman, knowing then that he'd clearly underestimated the man.
"Leave, now," the barman said fearfully from his hiding place behind the counter, "I don't want trouble here."
Wolf looked as if he was about to race after the fleeing man but paused and instead stooped to check the corpses that had so recently been living men. "Best check these bodies first; might have some useful information on them."
He nodded respectfully to the other two as he knelt. "You two fought well, it's good to know I'm alongside skilled warriors. Now, what do you reckon we should do now? I'd say we head back to the others, tell 'em what we know, before any more trouble befalls us in this place, like that fellow coming back with friends."
DM's Note: I have some additional rules for various firearms; from variant make's like dual-barrelled ones, the magical silenced pistol from Sandslipper's sojourn in Zhatan, and suchlike. I wanted to make them significantly more dangerous than a crossbow or bow, so many firearms can cause their targets to become shaken or staggered if they inflict a hit.
On the bodies are the cleric's holy symbol (of Gilamesh), an unmarked potion, the pistol plus powder and bullets for ten shots, and 27 gp. Oh, and a rapier and a dagger.
There were, Sebastion had heard, mercenary companies who deemed that the goods of the fallen belonged the warrior who had slain him on the field - an auxiliary income for a job that often didn't pay as well as it had promised; for some reason nobility often underestimated the financial costs of going to war, and the first bill to be cut short was the mercenary fee. Other companies held that the goods went to any of their number that the fallen had managed to injure...
Either way, Sebastion filled the gap, and as he fingered the wound in his arm gently he was reaching out to investigate the weapon that had caused the wound. It seemed magical, though it was like no magic he'd heard tell of before, and he wondered for a moment if it wasn't something dwarven - tales abounded of the strange and wondrous magical machines that they toiled away at in their tunnels. It was warm, still, in places, though he grasped the handle easily enough as he retrieved his bloodied axe and cleaned the blade casually on the fallen man's shirt.
Replacing the weapon in its place across his back, he wrapped the other weapon in a cloth torn from the bloodied shirt - a relatively clean piece from the sleeve - and placed it in his pack for later investigation as he rummaged through the rest of the man's pockets for clues.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked Wolf, casually, from the floor, privately swelling slightly at the compliment. His first battle out of his home had been a less than salutory affair, and though he was still alive he'd faired only marginally better since. This had been a resounding, reaffirming victory, and though he knew better than to think himself invincible, he did get a satisfactory sense of a professional job well done.
Hoisting out the small cartridges that smelled like the discharged weapon, he quickly shoved them with the wrapped parcel in his pack, and shouldered it, grasping the sheathes to his sword and replacing them. The coin and mundane blades he left, not wishing to plunder the fallen, any more than the intriguing armless bow.
Wolf smiled at Sebastion's seeming amazement with the pistol. "Haven't you ever seen a pistol before? Most are made in Adbar but the very best come from Huron, because of your peoples thaumineers. I've seen an enchanted firearm blow clean through the chest of a hill giant before, a weapon custom-made for a Killanon nobleman by the Thaumineer-General of Jan Dak Belgaroth himself! Here, let me take a look," he said, taking the pistol from Sebastion's grasp. "Solid weapon, well-constructed out of oak and steel - you could club someone with it as easy as shoot them. Dual-barrelled, so you don't have to sit around for ages reloading the bloody thing, and with the two triggers staggered so you don't accidently fire both at once. It looks like good make, I'm guessing Adbarian, but if we look on the bottom of the metal casing there should be a marking of who made it. There aren't many who can make pistols, see, it takes a master weaponsmith to do it. Eh, that's odd." He pointed at the small circle with 'G F' within it.
"Gravis Ferechan, that is. A gnome outcast. The gnomes of Kerr kicked him out of that city and he ended up, last I knew, in Huron. Now there's a nasty little thing with no morals - his family's ashamed of him, all the Ferechan's you meet'll deny he even exists. But if criminals here have it, and lackeys of our Gilamesh*te friend, then it means he probably sells firearms to anyone no questions asked. I'm confused as to how someone here has got hold of one."
"Anyway," he said, handing the gun back, "If you want to keep it you can, I haven't been trained to use one myself and they need to be kept in good condition if you want it to work properly. Keep the powder and bullets - they're what make it fire - and don't get the powder wet, or it'll be useless. Wet pistol's won't fire."
"And this is the wadding, and ramrod," the young mercenary Kale continued Wolf's description of the weapon. "I can show you how to load it later, but shooting it well's a real feat." He supplied to Sebastion as they prepared to leave. Kale imagined the schemings going on behind the face of the curious swordsman. Oh, the martial possibilities firearms. "Usually, they're more trouble than they're worth, course, you learn all sorts of useless stuff at the acad-" Kale stopped short, realizing they had places to be.
Sebastion took the package back and placed it in his pack carefully, with a slightly introspective thought.
So that's a 'pistol' No wonder Sherrif Brak never liked the idea of someone bringing one into the town... he took another look at the shelf as he rose, marvelling at the damage it had done.
"The authorities will likely be here soon: do we wait for them, do we follow the escapee, or do we search elsewhere?" he asked, with a shrug.
Wolf laughed out loud at Sebastion's words as he led the trio out of the hushed tavern. "The authorities, here? This is the Rat's Nest, the city guards probably only patrol the main routes through and let the criminals get on with things in the back alleys and dark places." He grinned. "Wind Hawks might walk here with no fear but I doubt the guards will even investigate that little incident at all - just some lowlifes in a scrap. No, we don't need bother with guards, but we should keep an eye out anyway. Others here, the high-up criminals, might want to see who's disturbing the status quo on their turf; from what we've learned today Cancer doesn't seem to have any firm allies nor enemies, so I'm guessing the lcaol scum'll watch what happens but not interfere with out business. I hope that'll mean we get a good crack at Cancer without being hampered by others."
"Following the man who ran'll be difficult, especially if Cancer's band lair under the city. No, I say we go back and tell the others now what's happened in case the fellow returns with reinforcements, and then, if we go after Cancer, we seek out that tracker Myrley mentioned - Rat Trin - and then proceed from there."
Moving out silently, Kale's exit was marked only by the dull thud-roll of a few gold onto the filthy bartop. Merely a bit of ceremony, the gold wasn't enough to pay for much, even if Kale thought the barkeep would fiw the blastmarks or bleach the bloodstains to begin with. Yet, after someone tries to kill you, it doesn't do to forget one's manners.
And as they struck out into the filthy mud streets, Kale wondered where in the world he had acquired this calm, when his last tavern experiences ended much differently. Something was changing inside him, and it seemed the best he could hope for was to keep from getting jaded about the whole experience. It wasn't hard, though, to strike down the streets with a subdued purpose. Mild-mannered, absent swagger, but with a bearing that marked experience- I wonder if I look like Wolf at all?
Their patron's reaction to Kale's little announcement about daedroth hounds and possible enemies had been a calm one, instilling some confidence in the mercenaries that he could handle such problems intruding on his home. He hadn't actually even said anything, merely giving the young man a quizzical look before returning into his abode.
* * *
Burl's needs were dealt with fairly quickly; it didn't take long to find iron ore or grain merchants, or to surreptitiously note down their prices for later conveyance to Tewlcroghen. With that done, Cord, Burl, Ebri, Wyshira and Melisande carried on to the home of Karbal the bookseller.
Stepping into the shop they found, as Ebri had, a place where every available surface - even the floor - had been used as a bookshelf, spines of tomes making up the ground beneath their feet. The lean man himself greeted them with a pleasant smile, nodding to Ebri. "Ah, the priestess returns, and with friends! What can I help you with, ladies and gentlemen? What book would take your attention, or what knowledge draw your mind?"
* * *
The process of tracking their quarry began with vagueness, nets cast wide to try and drag in the smallest pieces of information. Questioning merchants brought in little by the way of clues for the three hunters, not providing any positive identification, but then a name slipped out.
Cancer. That was, apparently, the man's first name, but the merchant who knew it couldn't remember his sirname, or even if he had one. The fellow just knew of this Cancer, rather than directly knowing him. The carriage and description that Kale gave had jogged his memory far enough for that. How did he know of Cancer? Oh, he'd met him before; Cancer had bought iron manacles from him, one of the range of iron goods this purveyor sold.
It was just a name, but it was good enough.
"I think I may be able to guess what our friend Cancer is up to," said Wolf quietly as the three strode out of the ironmongers shop and into the light outside. The clouds were gathering fast overhead now, the sun's light darkening and the wind whipping up in the herald of what would probably be a brief but intense summer storm. "Quite often when I've come across cults of Gilamesh hidden in cities like this they've been involved in illegal slavery. It's not as if slavery is outlawed in most places, it's just heavily regulated; I mean, here in Naseria, there are indentured slaves who are criminals who have to pay off their crimes by work, but the Gilameshi*tes practice slavery of a lower level; badly treated and for the worst uses. I think we should probably follow that line of inquiry for now..."
* * *
And so they carried on with their search, a few questions here and there with the rougher elements of the city; fences and barmen and hired thugs and beggars, and they made more headway. Cancer was not a big man in city affairs either above or below board, but he was known. Some recognised the name by linking it with what they knew of a little organisation that dealt in illegal goods and illegal slavery, while others nodded at the name and muttered of a chapel to Gilamesh below the city, deep below, a small one but there nonetheless. Getting more knowledge was difficult but with the combined efforts of all three men they were making progress.
* * *
Thunder rolled, lightning stabbing down from the sky somewhere in the distance to brightly illuminate the room for a moment as rain poured down outside, drops pattering heavily on the small windows. The tavern didn't even have a name, a tiny place where the smoke curled heavy on the air and the murmur of hushed conversation from the patrons sussurated in the ears. It was dark, damp and out of the way, somewhere in the accurately named Rat's Quarter; a dip in the ground by the river full of dilapidated buildings propped up by rotting wooden supports.
The storm had broken not long before the three hurried inside. Sebastion and Kale found themselves looking at the clientele of the tavern, the fitful light from a few lanterns in corners casting long shadows over figures hunched over tables. Occasionally a laugh or angry growl pierced the veil of murmurs, and the clattering of dice rattled in the corner where gamblers gamed.
Wolf approached the barman, a man with a faceful of scars and only one good eye, his row of rotting teeth missing a good few altogether. Attempts to get any information out of a barman usually meant you had to buy some drinks first; they had to be careful not to end up inebriated during their search for Cancer. The veteran merc ordered three beers; the band of hunters found the drink to taste about as bad as they expected for somewhere like this. Exactly which brewery produced a brew this bad was unknown.
Buying drinks had opened up the barman's mind to allow a little chatting with these customers; he nodded at the name of Cancer, as they had known he would, having been directed here by someone else. "Myrley knows more about that," the beggar had said, and he had told the truth. Myrley the barman did know more.
Cancer, he said, was the head of a band of Gilamesh*tes; he knew because the high-ups of several less salubrious organisations frequented this place and he heard things. Ran the occasional slave auction, dealt in illegal goods; his men fenced a few things but mostly bought stuff up, like magic. They didn't use it though, but the word was they passed it on to someone else, probably Cancer's superior in the cult. If the three men were interested in dealing with the Gilamesh*tes, for goods or slaves, they had two choices really. One was to go down deep under the city - for under the surface was a myriad maze of old cellars and buildings and sewers that were more inhabited than might be thought by one who lived on the surface - and go direct to their slave pens and the chapel to the dragon god. The other was to find one of their people and ask for an audience with Cancer. To get down below the city wouldn't be hard; beneath the Rat's Quarter (or Rat's Nest as most called it) there were a few entrances to the lower places. Finding the exact location of the chapel might be a bit tougher though, but if they asked the right person - someone like Rat Trin (but he was an odd one, not even human, Myrley had never trusted him and never would, even though he might be the best at wandering the under-city) - they might get there without too much trouble.
As for Cancer, he was an odd one. Most reckoned he was mad, plain old barmy, crazy as a coot, but there was no denying he was an adept wizard. When he had need to deal with foes he tended to summon up horrible things, all tentacles and writhing flesh and suchlike (though Myrley had only heard of this and never seen one himself) that were enough to make a man's mind doubt what he had seen. Cancer might not be all there but he was a cunning sonofab1tch, for sure; he was usually seen around over these last few months with a big man, well-built, who had the look of a southerner and had tattoos all over him, and who had broken the necks of two of Lagger Jarris's muggers when they attacked him in an alley one night, and Jarris said his boys hadn't stood a chance against the man.
Kale's attention was drawn away from the stream of knowledge absent-mindedly tumbling out of the mouth of the barkeep by the sound of someone coughing and spluttering, Sebastion's gaze following moments afterwards to the man who had just had a shock while drinking his beer.
Kale recognised him, the heavily-built man sitting at one of the tables, not too far off; he hadn't seen him before because the fellow's face had been away from him but he must have just looked round now, and he certainly recognised Kale.
It was one of the two lackeys who had been with the mage, and he gasped into his beer "It's him, it's f*cking him!"
And suddenly there was a blur of action in a few seconds. Sebastion, Kale and Wolf (who was only know looking round) weren't quick enough off the mark, caught by surprise, as the man stood up with beer spattered down his front and reached down to his side to draw a hefty steel longsword with a hiss of metal. The two others who had been sitting with him stood too.
One, a man dressed in inconspicous leathers, his head bald and his features aquine, held up one hand before him as the other made eldritch gestures. Dangling from his outstretched hand a tiny medallion hung, glinting in the lantern-light, a flame within a circle. Then the spell was complete and his hands changed entirely; transforming into vicious claws, the skin crackling into a rough, scaled red, heat and flames shimmering off the large claws and shedding their own ruddy light around the man, who grinned unpleasantly. And the final man, thin, lean, cloaked, a rapier visible in a sheath by his side, instead went for another weapon in his armoury.
A pistol. He drew it with one quick and easy motion fron his belt, pointing the crude firearm at the trio and pulling the trigger. The crack rivalled the thunderstorm outside in its intensity, a gout of smoke billowing from the weapon as the ball spat out at the men. It just missed Sebastion's head, tearing a sizeable chunk out of a wooden beam and spraying splinters of soft wood over the bar. The barkeep whimpered and ducked down to the safety behind the obstacle.
Grimmacing from surprize and realization, Kale's hand went to his blade. It's you! And his eyes dialated as the three men stood. In moments, his ears rang in protest. Kicking away his barstool, the young mercenary stood, but not long enough for another single drop upon that cold cloak-shed puddle.
Soaking wet, charged in action, a vile eldrich-aura marked his target. Kale's eyes gaurded the pistolier, ready that he would try to flank. It was time for a little different type of information-gathering: who will stand, and who will fall?
The storm continued outside, and any shetler that could be found in that dingy, rundown bar was lost as weapons bared, steel and teeth.
It was a testament to Sebastion's father's training that the glimmer of movement from the corner of his eye had him rocking backwards, moving his head aside from the strange contraption that destroyed the shelf behind him. No arrow had flown by, no crossbow arms were visible on the weapon, and yet the hole in the woodwork payed mute testament to the power of the weapon, and Sebastion automatically considered magic.
That opinion was backed up by the muttering from his companion, who's hand took on a daemonic cast, sputtering flame and scarlet scales. Sebastion, though, had spent years under the tutelage of a professional - A Dracoverr - and wasn't about to let the surprise catch him. His opponent had failed to take advantage of it, and that would cost him. Neither the longsword nor the flaming claws, for all their apparent power, were a threat from there: only that strange magic rod.
Bent backward slightly from where he'd dodged, Sebastion reached over his shoulder for an axe and sent it spinning through the air at the thin man, as he slipped the sheaths from his sword and closed the distance, ready to fight, hoping the others would back him up.
The rest of the dingy, dark bar was silent, hushed patrons watching the sudden and brutal fight. This was no melee in which fancy swordplay had a place; it was about bringing swift and brutal death to your opponent.
Simultaneously Sebastion's arm came round, faster than a striking snake, to hurl a gleaming throwing axe at the same time as the pistolier fired again with a gout of smoke and crack of thunder; his weapon a twin-barrel, the two thin barrels and triggers close together. Sebastion felt the force of the bullet as the metal slug clipped his shoulder, sending him reeling from the shock but in fact causing merely a light flesh wound. The hurled axe caved the man's chest in and dropped him dead on the spot.
The clawed man leapt for Kale, but the rogue dodged gracefully back from the burning talons and avoided the swipes easily. Striking back, Kale tried to hurl the lye he had acquired earlier into the eyes of the cleric but didn't manage it; a strike with the brine blade found its mark though, scoring a wound on the man and causing him to yell in pain as the corrosive acid ate ravenously into him, leaving a great livid gouge across his chest; the afflicted man's breath came in ragged gasps and his eyes unfocused with pain. Then Wolf drew his bastard sword with one easy movement and lunged at the foe, cutting him down with a single swipe that sent a wave of blood glimmering in the light for a moment before it splashed to mingle with the dirty, straw-covered floor; the spellcaster fell dead, the blade having cleaved through his face.
It left only the swordsman, the man Kale had met earlier, who had seen his two allies reduced to rapidly cooling corpses in seconds and now took flight out of the tavern as fast as he could. He quickly disappeared through the door and into the maze of alleys beyond.
"Wait, don't let 'em..." Kale shouted, as he reached an arm out, trying with willpower alone to keep the sword-lackey from escaping the bar. Clunking through the way, the lucky hireling marked another defeat for the mercenary band. "Dammit, DAMMIT!" Kale swore, upset to have lost the initiative once again.
Looming around the tattered bar, however, not all was lost. In one piece at least, Sebastion examined his first firearm, while Kale covered the room. The leatherclad pistolier lay at Kale's feet, still warm and oozing blood from an.... axe planted directly in his face!
"Seems chopping wood your whole life has benefits" Kale kidded the Huronese swordsman, knowing then that he'd clearly underestimated the man.
"Leave, now," the barman said fearfully from his hiding place behind the counter, "I don't want trouble here."
Wolf looked as if he was about to race after the fleeing man but paused and instead stooped to check the corpses that had so recently been living men. "Best check these bodies first; might have some useful information on them."
He nodded respectfully to the other two as he knelt. "You two fought well, it's good to know I'm alongside skilled warriors. Now, what do you reckon we should do now? I'd say we head back to the others, tell 'em what we know, before any more trouble befalls us in this place, like that fellow coming back with friends."
DM's Note: I have some additional rules for various firearms; from variant make's like dual-barrelled ones, the magical silenced pistol from Sandslipper's sojourn in Zhatan, and suchlike. I wanted to make them significantly more dangerous than a crossbow or bow, so many firearms can cause their targets to become shaken or staggered if they inflict a hit.
On the bodies are the cleric's holy symbol (of Gilamesh), an unmarked potion, the pistol plus powder and bullets for ten shots, and 27 gp. Oh, and a rapier and a dagger.
There were, Sebastion had heard, mercenary companies who deemed that the goods of the fallen belonged the warrior who had slain him on the field - an auxiliary income for a job that often didn't pay as well as it had promised; for some reason nobility often underestimated the financial costs of going to war, and the first bill to be cut short was the mercenary fee. Other companies held that the goods went to any of their number that the fallen had managed to injure...
Either way, Sebastion filled the gap, and as he fingered the wound in his arm gently he was reaching out to investigate the weapon that had caused the wound. It seemed magical, though it was like no magic he'd heard tell of before, and he wondered for a moment if it wasn't something dwarven - tales abounded of the strange and wondrous magical machines that they toiled away at in their tunnels. It was warm, still, in places, though he grasped the handle easily enough as he retrieved his bloodied axe and cleaned the blade casually on the fallen man's shirt.
Replacing the weapon in its place across his back, he wrapped the other weapon in a cloth torn from the bloodied shirt - a relatively clean piece from the sleeve - and placed it in his pack for later investigation as he rummaged through the rest of the man's pockets for clues.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" he asked Wolf, casually, from the floor, privately swelling slightly at the compliment. His first battle out of his home had been a less than salutory affair, and though he was still alive he'd faired only marginally better since. This had been a resounding, reaffirming victory, and though he knew better than to think himself invincible, he did get a satisfactory sense of a professional job well done.
Hoisting out the small cartridges that smelled like the discharged weapon, he quickly shoved them with the wrapped parcel in his pack, and shouldered it, grasping the sheathes to his sword and replacing them. The coin and mundane blades he left, not wishing to plunder the fallen, any more than the intriguing armless bow.
Wolf smiled at Sebastion's seeming amazement with the pistol. "Haven't you ever seen a pistol before? Most are made in Adbar but the very best come from Huron, because of your peoples thaumineers. I've seen an enchanted firearm blow clean through the chest of a hill giant before, a weapon custom-made for a Killanon nobleman by the Thaumineer-General of Jan Dak Belgaroth himself! Here, let me take a look," he said, taking the pistol from Sebastion's grasp. "Solid weapon, well-constructed out of oak and steel - you could club someone with it as easy as shoot them. Dual-barrelled, so you don't have to sit around for ages reloading the bloody thing, and with the two triggers staggered so you don't accidently fire both at once. It looks like good make, I'm guessing Adbarian, but if we look on the bottom of the metal casing there should be a marking of who made it. There aren't many who can make pistols, see, it takes a master weaponsmith to do it. Eh, that's odd." He pointed at the small circle with 'G F' within it.
"Gravis Ferechan, that is. A gnome outcast. The gnomes of Kerr kicked him out of that city and he ended up, last I knew, in Huron. Now there's a nasty little thing with no morals - his family's ashamed of him, all the Ferechan's you meet'll deny he even exists. But if criminals here have it, and lackeys of our Gilamesh*te friend, then it means he probably sells firearms to anyone no questions asked. I'm confused as to how someone here has got hold of one."
"Anyway," he said, handing the gun back, "If you want to keep it you can, I haven't been trained to use one myself and they need to be kept in good condition if you want it to work properly. Keep the powder and bullets - they're what make it fire - and don't get the powder wet, or it'll be useless. Wet pistol's won't fire."
"And this is the wadding, and ramrod," the young mercenary Kale continued Wolf's description of the weapon. "I can show you how to load it later, but shooting it well's a real feat." He supplied to Sebastion as they prepared to leave. Kale imagined the schemings going on behind the face of the curious swordsman. Oh, the martial possibilities firearms. "Usually, they're more trouble than they're worth, course, you learn all sorts of useless stuff at the acad-" Kale stopped short, realizing they had places to be.
Sebastion took the package back and placed it in his pack carefully, with a slightly introspective thought.
So that's a 'pistol' No wonder Sherrif Brak never liked the idea of someone bringing one into the town... he took another look at the shelf as he rose, marvelling at the damage it had done.
"The authorities will likely be here soon: do we wait for them, do we follow the escapee, or do we search elsewhere?" he asked, with a shrug.
Wolf laughed out loud at Sebastion's words as he led the trio out of the hushed tavern. "The authorities, here? This is the Rat's Nest, the city guards probably only patrol the main routes through and let the criminals get on with things in the back alleys and dark places." He grinned. "Wind Hawks might walk here with no fear but I doubt the guards will even investigate that little incident at all - just some lowlifes in a scrap. No, we don't need bother with guards, but we should keep an eye out anyway. Others here, the high-up criminals, might want to see who's disturbing the status quo on their turf; from what we've learned today Cancer doesn't seem to have any firm allies nor enemies, so I'm guessing the lcaol scum'll watch what happens but not interfere with out business. I hope that'll mean we get a good crack at Cancer without being hampered by others."
"Following the man who ran'll be difficult, especially if Cancer's band lair under the city. No, I say we go back and tell the others now what's happened in case the fellow returns with reinforcements, and then, if we go after Cancer, we seek out that tracker Myrley mentioned - Rat Trin - and then proceed from there."
Moving out silently, Kale's exit was marked only by the dull thud-roll of a few gold onto the filthy bartop. Merely a bit of ceremony, the gold wasn't enough to pay for much, even if Kale thought the barkeep would fiw the blastmarks or bleach the bloodstains to begin with. Yet, after someone tries to kill you, it doesn't do to forget one's manners.
And as they struck out into the filthy mud streets, Kale wondered where in the world he had acquired this calm, when his last tavern experiences ended much differently. Something was changing inside him, and it seemed the best he could hope for was to keep from getting jaded about the whole experience. It wasn't hard, though, to strike down the streets with a subdued purpose. Mild-mannered, absent swagger, but with a bearing that marked experience- I wonder if I look like Wolf at all?
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