Having left the Blacksmith's shop and the haughty apprentice of their Master behind, Refti and Dremn, the manservants of Noscalle headed back to his tower.
"Not sure why he stays on so long," began Refti. "Never seen one of them last more than a few months before. Couple of minor spells and off they go, usually." He stretched his back recalling how the sizable blacksmith scooped the mirror stand out of their hands as if it were a feather.
"Remember that kid from Julm?" reminded Dremn. "He was with the Master for nearly a half year. Course he said he should have left after a few months but he did stick it out longer."
Dremn, seeing the pain that Refti was displaying, halted his companion in the street and positioned himself behind the slightly larger man. Being Trundlefolk, neither was much taller than five foot and both kept themselves in modestly good shape, but Dremn was clearly the smaller, being a full three inches shorter than the other. Reaching his arms around from behind, Refti knew the drill and folded his arms across his chest and waited for the assistance of his kinsman. In one swift movement, Dremn locked his hands in front of Refti, lifted him from the ground and sent a cacophony of popping sounds to the ears of all the townsfolk within hearing distance. Setting him back down, Refti gave a contented sigh and they hurried on their way home.
"See how strange the Trundlers hug each other, Mommy?" questioned a small girl as her Mother wove their way through the increasingly crowded streets of Jalston. "They do it from behind and make clicky sounds!"
"Pay no attention, dear one," her mother cautioned, "and never let one of them get behind you! They'll steal your purse or worse, I dare say!" Bumping into a man supporting himself with a walking stick she said, "Pardon me, good Sir…"
"Think nothing of it, woman," he muttered as he shuffled past her and on his way to the wharf. Continuing to mutter to himself he said, "No respect for an old sailing man. No respect at all. All my life spent at sea and nothing to show for it on the water or on the land…"
A large wagon, moving a bit too fast considering the growing crowds on the streets, bore down on the old sailing man forcing him to scramble to the side and he yelled, "Rein those beasts in, you marble headed fool! There's folk about in Jalston! This isn't a ruined town yet!"
"Watch yourself, old timer!" returned the teamster from his seat atop the wagon. "If I don't get this load moved through before the sun is full in the sky I'll be stopping every other building while some old codger drags his feet to cross the road and find some shade!"
Turning to the man riding crossbow on the seat beside him the teamster said, "Gotta get this through early. I told you we shouldn't have dawdled on the docks. But, 'Noooo', you said to me, 'No, we have plenty of time' and the girls being loaded on the boat for Madosture were so pretty in their rags, all barely clothed and freshly rinsed by their handlers. You're an idiot, you are. An idiot!"
"Hold your tongue, little man," countered the man beside him. "I've got all the time in the day and I couldn't care less how long it takes for you to do your job. What difference to me if I'm riding in one direction or another, eh?"
"I'll be asking for a different partner on future jobs if you keep that attitude, friend. Make no mistake about it. I've earned some pull in the years I've worked and I can pick and choose who sits beside me on my wagon!"
As they proceeded to argue three young women halted them in their path as the women struggled with a handcart they were pushing from one side of the road to the other. The teamster and his partner took no notice of a fourth young woman walking past the back of the wagon, swirling her shawl from her shoulders over a small cask in the payload, and casually removing it from the wagon to a place it under her arm. When the wagon began to move again, the weight of the cask was never missed.
After the wagon was safely out of range, the four young women gathered around the handcart to giggle about their prize. Uncovering the now remarkably light handcart, they brought forth a tap, mallet and four mismatched mugs, popping the cask and pouring themselves an all-too-early cup of wine.
Two patrolmen who had gone unnoticed until now sauntered up to the four women with knowing looks upon their faces. They had seen what had transpired and one of them was surely going to be getting his due.
"Ladies?" inquired the older guard as if it were enough to elicit a full confession filled with appropriate remorse. He smiled knowingly and nodded toward the wagon as it continued down the street. "Bit early to be drinking, wouldn't you say? Or, by my whiskers, should I say it is a bit early to be drinking without proper companionship?"
"Oh, hello, Gormel," submitted the self-elected leader of the light-fingered foursome. "You're moving rather stealthily on those old legs of yours, aren't you?" She batted her eyes as she spoke, knowing his weaknesses better than he knew them himself.
Shifting his focus to his partner he said, "Follow along behind that wagon and see that no one else helps themselves to any of the goods. No need to let them know about this little cask, though. No doubt it would have fallen from the back when they made the turn and they'd be in trouble if it had rolled over some noble's toes." He gave his buddy a wink, which was answered with a nod, and followed by his patrol mate moving along and leaving his buddy to fend for himself with the gang of unassuming thieves.
The burliest of the four women then took hold of the handcart and started moving it into a nearby alleyway, while the youngest handed her cup to the guard, and the third placed a caressing hand on his chest. The fourth, unheeded now that the guard had all of the warmth he could possibly desire on a cool late autumn day, used one of her hands to rub the back of his neck. The other hand she used to lift the dagger skillfully from his sheath as the five disappeared from anyone's view down the alley to who-knew-what-ends.
"Castoffs?" called a Priestess of Lakliana as she led her entourage through Jalston collecting used clothing and broken items from any who would give. "Castoffs for the poor?"
"Here's for you!" shouted a caring sort from the second-floor window of his shop while holding out a bundle bound with twine. One of her acolytes positioned his body below the window to catch the garments as the patron of the poor tossed the bundle down.
Off to the side three children tittered. The oldest boy having just made short work of an apple chucked the core at the acolyte and the three delinquents turned to flee before seeing the results of their mischief and they ran off around a corner. The apple core, however, struck well the side of the acolyte's head causing him to misjudge the bundle and it glanced off his shoulder to fall to the dusty street. The Priestess sighed and motioned for two other minions to assist the embarrassed underling in collecting the now sundered bundle of garments as they lay strewn about at the foot of the building.
This gave her time to reflect on her position as a minor functionary of a temple that she deemed got far too little in a world that held so much…
Ah, Lakliana! The lover of life! No religion in all the Kingdom of Toeffrus was more selfless, yet, too, no religion in Toeffrus was so little followed. Still they toiled on against the odds to try and bring some comfort to the poor, some relief to those in need and some hope to those with no cause to hope.
The hierarchy of the worshipped deities throughout the kingdom was no secret to those with a moderate education. At the root of it was Darlak, Mother of All. Said to have shaped the known world with the help of the Elder Gods, the Four Primuses of Elementals, she was less a figure of power now than a respected but largely ignored Goddess.
Respected by all but those few that served the Elder Gods, that is. For it was they who ruled throughout time immemorial while the world was chaos and all but unformed. The four Primuses battled openly upon the water, air, rock and burning flame that made up what all there was. It was not until Darlak had come to show them that there could be more that they worked together the bring order. To them, she had promised, she would give back the world after it was shaped, but they were cajoled by Darlak and so betrayed.
They allowed their might to be harnessed and with their help all things were controlled by Darlak. She bade them form the mountains and the plains, and from the surface of the world she bade them carve great seas. She bade them organize the winds and through them conquered fierce and wild flames to bottle them beneath the ground. When all was made as she had envisioned, she looked upon the world and had a change of heart.
She wept to the Four Primuses that her plans could not be complete without a child, for without a child she could not produce the greatest creation the Primus could achieve. She convinced them that it would not be complete without beings to walk the world and worship the Four Primuses, and so to their egos she appealed and that was their folly. To her they bent their wills and to her they gave a child in her womb.
Yet this was not the end of her treachery for she willed herself to bring forth a child like herself. To her was born a Goddess and though she rejoiced in this, she further explained to the Primus that this would not yet be enough. Although they felt that they were giving more than the original bargain, they were not so clever as to see through her plans and gave to her a son who was a God.
Through these two offspring Darlak populated the world with all nature of flora and fauna, from the smallest to the largest and both simple and complex. While they went about their tasks, Darlak saw that the Primus were fatigued from bringing upon her the two offspring and she took advantage of them one last time.
Darlak had, through time, learned the secrets of the power of the Primus and used it against them to trap the Primus in other planes of existence. It is claimed they dwell there still, railing against the world when they can from these foreign places. But even Darlak's power was not so great as to last forever for her daughter had designs of her own on who should reign supreme.
Darlak's power, or so it is said, was later usurped by her eldest child Krem, even as the worship of Darlak was waning and her children enjoyed the wide, naive attention of the mortal beings upon the world. Krem had chosen for herself a mate from the mortal beings that walked the world and even as Darlak had betrayed the Primus, so to did Krem betray Darlak. The namesake of the kingdom, Toeffer, First Consort of Krem had been elevated to help her bear a child of her own just two and one half centuries ago after founding the kingdom from the six tribes of the Northwestern peninsula.
Indeed, he served his purpose, did Toeffer, for he had given of his loins to help Krem produce her only child, Nekrem. Terrible as a storm and all Darkness as the night, the coupling of Krem and Toeffer had unforeseen results. She is Nekrem who shunned the shades of gray that colored the moods and whims of the deities before her. Even from the womb, they say, she schemed to throw down her Mother from her throne of power and bring to the world an everlasting Darkness. But the power of Nekrem, though great, was not as strong as that of the others and she was banished to other realms where she plans her revenge and gathers the dead to her bosom where they suckle and despair.
It was Darien, Guardian of Darlak and second of her offspring who was instrumental in the casting out of Nekrem. Ever-mindful of his place as the shield between his sister Krem and the utter destruction of their Mother Darlak, he held Nekrem in check just long enough to prevent her from her goals. And Toeffer's strength and might with weapons combined with the wizardry of Beltazar, it was, that laid low Nekrem and drove her to her nether realms.
And what of Beltazar? Instilled with Arcane abilities by Darlak to bring magic to the world. This great Mage who was taken up by Darlak a millennium ago to teach order to the chaotic children of Darlak and act as Sage to the Gods. It is said that he, after the banishment of Nekrem, withdrew from the plane on which the Deities do squabble over the attentions of the world. Who that worship Beltazar would blame him for his wanting self-exile, since the minds of mages are always occupied with matters arcane and cannot be bothered with such trifling chattel as worshippers?
For mages are a selfish lot that cast their seed about the lands and care not where they take root. It is rumored that when a person has the Blood of Beltazar they are destined to become an Artist Arcane, and should some mage of power take notice of them, be schooled in the Arts. If they go unnoticed, though, they might yet develop the power to wield the Arcane powers on their own. Two ways to the same ends, yet as unlike one another as could be; one schooled and disciplined, the other natural and innate.
But Lakliana, so they say, is the Lover of Life and the child of Light. Some conjecture speaks of a mortal woman whose great fealty to Darien, the Guardian of Darlak, brought her to the stalwart God's attention and struck a chord within him. For him, through her love, she bore a daughter, the beautiful Lakliana, and in this birthing gave all she had, even so her life.
But such were the tales created by mortal beings to explain the world they little understood. Little the machinations of the deities do to salve the world of its woe for it was in this world that all people were left to fend for themselves. A world where eking out a living and putting food on the table is all that most folk can muster between the Darkness and Light…
Her acolytes now finished gathering up the clothing that had fallen to the ground, the Priestess of Lakliana sighed again and took no notice as a youthful girl, holding back tears, hurried past to seek her friend at a small but vital business here on the north side of Jalston.
Ponulia, the daughter of a moderately successful warehouse owner, rushed along her way. Her fears welling up inside her soul and her darkest trepidation nearly driving her mad with grief. As little as she wished to trouble the young man whose favor she hoped to one day possess, she needed him now and she was determined to see if he could help her find her Father.
"Jack?" she cried out when still a half a dozen paces from the door of the Blacksmith's shop. "You must help me, Jack, or surely I will lose all sense and make a fool of myself right here and now!" She stopped just short of Haggerty, paying no mind to the others gathered there.
Arthael was well aware of the reputation of his Master, a powerful man though not well liked in town. He also knew that all who worked for Noscalle were painted with the same brush. Popularity might be overrated but it had a way of opening a few doors and increasing the chance to achieve his own goals. Being thought ill of did nothing to those ends. Perhaps this was a chance to help someone out and in the process, help himself.
Before managing to get too far away from his new acquaintances, Shade could not help but hear the pleading tones of the young woman who had just insinuated herself upon the group. If there was ever a chance to throw in with others who had little in common with himself, and still use those relationships to further his own plans, then this was certainly it.
Danmor's sense of duty was stirred at the tone of this woefully drained girl. She needed help. It wasn't like he'd have to leave town to look into the situation, so it didn't need to concern the temple immediately. Maybe this was something he could accomplish without jeopardizing his status with his superiors.
"My Father has gone missing and I do not know what it is that I can do," Ponulia confessed when she had regained her breath. "I tried to enlist the help of the city guards who patrol the docks but they laughed right in my face. No one is more aware that Father is a man who likes his ale but to suggest that he might be drunk this early in the day, and then to assume he'd fallen off of the wharves and drown is just unthinkable."
She gathered herself further, now realizing that she had been speaking quite openly in front of several others besides her friend. Deciding that she had no way to quickly sort out who could be taken into confidence, nor caring much since she felt time was all important to finding her Father, she went on with her story.
"The new warehouse, well, new to my Father since he has only just purchased it a month ago, was where I saw him last. He was going inside to check out storage rooms below and I was off to our home to bring him back some breakfast. He's been working so hard and taking hardly any time to himself outside of work since Mother passed away last Spring. He doesn't even think of meals or sleep unless I remind him. When I returned he was nowhere to be seen and the workers he had unloading a ship to fill our stalls said they knew not where he'd gone."
It was fortunate that Haggerty had slept well the previous day and did so right up to the time he had left for his shift on the walls. It might not take so long to go and check out the welfare and whereabouts of her Father, and after all, she was a friend of the family. Their Fathers often spent time together and she had caught Haggerty's eye several summers ago when she had started to come into her own as a woman. How dangerous could it really be? And who cared, anyway? He was a guard in the service of the community and she was a member of that community.
"Can you help me, Jack? I wouldn't ask if I thought there was some other way…" Her eyes were desperately trying to retain some semblance of strength but Haggerty could see that it was a waning will that held back her tears…
