Sins of Our Fathers - 2/10 - Final Update
- Thread starter Destan
- Start date
Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
A Soul-Stirring Story
Moments after John had announced the title of his tale, a squall swept eastward across the Conomora, trailing sheets of rain in its gray wake. Were Kellus a reader of portents, he might categorize the sudden storm as a harbinger of things to come. As it was, however, the former priest ignored the elements as capably as he ignored those men scrambling for cover.
“Careful, you dolt!” Corban slid from his horse and began barking orders. “Eamon, if you move your wagon another two paces in that direction, you’ll spend the next tenday regretting it. As sure as Auril is a cold bedfellow, the rest of us won’t be helpin’ you dig her free!”
Luke and John, oblivious to the sudden commotion, made their way under the spreading boughs of a large oak. The bard stopped and looked over his shoulder at Kellus. “Hurry, friend – your breastplate has enough rust upon it!”
Kellus shook his head –he did not feel ready to squeeze amongst Luke’s men beneath the tree. That was John’s element, not his. Kellus was never one for camaraderie – at least not since his father’s death.
The rain – though cold - felt surprisingly good upon his face. Clean. Kellus sat upon a log, just off the roadway, and let the rain splatter upon his uncovered brow. Perhaps he was wrong to be so concerned with secrecy. They had achieved what they had set out to do, even if their methods had been…not what he would have hoped. Ippizicus was gone, the staff destroyed, the threat passed. Let the bard spin his tale; he earned it. They all did.
Two of Luke’s drovers pulled a barrel off the rear of one of the wagons. They rolled the cask across the spongy turf before standing it upright next to the Pellman. Another of Luke’s men stepped forward with alacrity, as if saving a companion from a deadly fall, only to wipe mud from the lid. John sat, smiling his thanks, and withdrew a reed flute he had whittled during their journey from the Bluehorn.
Kellus was as uncompromising when judging himself as when judging others. Moreso, really. Thus, he did not attempt to ignore the dawning realization that – now more than ever - he missed his Church. He missed his God. Kellus sat upon a log in the rain, but he wanted nothing more to be sitting upon a pew within the Helmite Temple of Tarn Cal. He heard the laughter and voices of Luke’s men and his companions as they clustered around John, but he instead yearned to hear the soothing hymnals of Helm being recited from Matins to Compline.
The memories brought visions – in rapid succession – of his earlier life. His life under the protective eye of Helm. The flickering candles, the massive stone shield above the altar, the childhood antics of Helm’s acolytes. His father’s beaming smile when Kellus’ own Ordination was complete. The way his mother came alive while within the Temple, when she felt closer to the two infants she had lost. She would hold the hymnal book open before her while singing, but never did she need read the words.
He did not want to remember, but remember he did. And – when he tasted the salt upon his tongue – he broke his silence. Kellus spoke to Helm for the first time in fourteen years.
He thanked the Lord Protector for the rain.
***
“Hold up,” John raised a hand for silence. “Who is this dour-faced and rain-soaked person that now approaches?” The bard stood, his eyes alight, as he squinted dramatically at Kellus. “Tell me, traveler, are some undead creature doomed to wander the Coastal Road? Perhaps the storm has drawn you forth from your grave?”
Luke’s men laughed, clustered around John’s barrel like a gaggle of school children. The Pellman pretended to rub the disbelief from his eyes. “You wear armor that seems older than these hills. Surely you are neither alive nor dead. For what living man would be caught dead in such attire?”
Raylin smiled. “I seem to recall you being very thankful for his armor when you had that oversized helm perched upon your head-”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Baden. The dwarf was already on his third cup of ale. “At first I thought you a cowardly southlander when you did not assault the wyvern with the rest of us. Now I know it was because you could not see the brute – the iron cap on your head covered your eyes! Ha!”
John frowned with mock seriousness. He glanced askance at the dwarf. “Tell me – is that what passes for humor among the Halls of Axemarch?”
Baden grumbled within his beard. “Three more drinks and I will be funny.”
“Three more drinks for you,” John asked, “or for us?”
“Both.”
On cue, one of Luke’s men pulled the cork from a bottle with his teeth and refilled the dwarf’s tankard. The drovers passed around the drink as they made room for Kellus to join them. The former priest tipped a bottle, drinking deeply, and wiped the foam from his chin. “So, friends, has the bard sung his tale yet?”
“No,” Luke said sullenly, “he has not. He seems more interested in blowing wind through that reed and drinking my hard-earned mead.”
“He needs time to think up some lies,” Baden offered.
John sat upon the cask and pressed a hand to his chest. His face wore a look of hurt. “You wound me, dwarf.”
Baden coughed mead from his nose. “For letting these men know you lie?”
“No,” John answered easily, “for letting them think I need time to do so.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Out with the tale, John. I have enough ale and food for the Mon Mith garrison, but apparently not enough for you and your companions. Would you leave me destitute?”
John sighed. “First, would someone give the half-troll some meat? He cannot drink alcohol, and his eyes appear like those of a kicked puppy. I cannot concentrate on the story while staring at such a face, however comely.”
Luke stood and fished around in the back of a nearby wagon. He turned, holding a jar to his chest, and deposited it near Vath’s sandaled feet. The half-troll wasted no time – soon his chin was drenched with slaver and verjuice.
“Now, then,” John began, a bit ruffled as to the distraction the feasting Vath posed, “let me begin the tale of How John of Pell Slew Ippizicus Child-Easter.”
***
“We knew the demon was imprisoned within the staff, but also did we know he might soon break free. I argued to my companions that we must strike now, while we held the initiative, regardless of the terrible dangers we could face. The world, I told them, was depending upon us. We must do what must be done.
“So it was that we set the staff upon the rocks of that old temple. Thousands of virgins had been sacrificed there during the Age of Darkness, and I could hear their voices calling to us on the wind. I began to sing, gentlemen, to drown out their carnal pleas. I feared we would lose Kellus to their sultry promises – he has been long without companionship.”
A few of the younger drovers shot Kellus an empathetic look. He returned their gazes stone-faced.
John continued. “And then the Child-Eater arrived amidst a chorus of those infernal maidens. Have you ever seen a Cymerian galley as she breaks free from a fog bank? Hmm? No? Well, then, let me tell you – Ippizicus reminded me of just such a scene. He was large, swathed in the mists, and bespoke of power both visible and hidden.
“A foul stench wafted outward, then.” John crinkled his nose for effect. “Have any of you ever had the misfortune of being close to a Rorn grizzly? No? It is not a pretty position to be in, let me assure you. Ippizicus smelled just as those great, red bears often do – wet fur, blood, decay. I pushed our elf behind me even as I placed myself in the fore of our group.”
John ignored Amelyssan’s quizzical expression. “The demon was more animal than man, though he stood upright. He was twice as tall and twice as ugly as the half-troll you see eating mutton. Black fur covered his chest and ran down his back, and his arms ended in taloned hands the size of yonder horse’s head. He grinned at me with crocodile teeth, marking me as a threat, and even as I strode forward with my blade, he stepped from the mists to meet my challenge.”
John drew his rapier and thrust it through the air. “It was a hard-fought battle. One of the hardest, gentlemen, I have chanced to be in - and I have been in some very rough spots, let me tell you. Soon I was left virtually alone against the monstrosity – the dwarf was sorely wounded and the clansman had retreated behind a nearby stone wall.”
John sheathed his sword with a flourish and leaned forward, his voice pitched low enough to cause his listeners to do the same. Even Corban’s face was rapt with attention and awe. “We traded blow for blow, as my companions did their best to distract the demon. Yet Ippizicus, though he appeared a beast, was not stupid. He knew that he must defeat me should he gain his freedom to terrorize these lands.”
John leaned back. He looked at a beardless youth of Luke’s company, and when next the bard spoke, his voice was filled with passion. “I knew that – should I fall – the demon would rampage across Valusia as he did in days of yore. He would tear infants from their mothers’ breasts; he would devour children by the hundreds. I steeled myself, then, to give my life in defense of all those who travel the roadways in these parts – though they might never learn of my sacrifice.”
John ruffled the hair of a nearby drover, smiling to dispel the mood of doom. “But ol’ Ippizicus had met his match. And he knew it, as did I. I moved in, sword held low, ready to deliver the strike that would send him to his death-”
“Demons do not die,” Kellus interrupted.
“What?”
“They do not die. Not if you slay them on this world, on this plane.” Kellus smiled. “Killing them only banishes them to their home plane of existence. For Ippizicus, that would likely be somewhere in the Abyss.”
John frowned. “You mean – he is not dead? Truly dead?”
“That is exactly what I mean.” Kellus folded his arms over his chest. “Please, continue. I apologize for the interruption.”
It took a moment for John to regain his composure. The Pellman gazed upon his listeners for support. “As I was saying, I stepped forward. By now the Larrenman was down on the ground, bleeding, and I knew his life was forfeit if I did not strike quick and true.”
“You said the clansman was behind a stone wall.”
John sighed. He fixed a pedagogical gaze on the youth near his feet. “What?”
The boy looked suddenly unsure of himself. “You…you said earlier that the clansman – the Larrenman – had retreated behind a stone wall.”
“So?”
“But,” the boy looked around, glanced at Raylin, then looked to John once more. His voice was meek. “But…you just said he was on the ground bleeding.”
“Tell me, child,” John said in an even tone, “were you there?”
Baden snorted with laughter, mead splattering against those sitting next to him. He winked at John. “Judgin’ by what ye been saying, I’m beginnin’ to wonder if you were there, Pellman.”
The crowd tittered with confused laughter. John bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. “Please,” he raised his hands, affecting the posture of an exasperated lecturer, “I am trying to tell it true. There are those here who would appreciate some silence so that I may finish the tale. Yes? Good.”
John once more lowered his voice. “As terrible as the sight of Ippizicus was – terrible enough to freeze a veteran’s blood. And as horrible as his smell – more horrible than all the midden heaps you have ever passed upon. The worst, friends,” John shook his fist, “the worst was when he spoke.”
“Spoke?” Corban asked.
“Spoke,” John answered without missing a beat. “He sounded like a dying destrier – his voice was part scream and part growl. His words spilled forth in waves of pure evil. Do any of you know the speech of Old Gordia, the black tongue they use only in the most remote mountain canyons of that wintry isle? I understood-”
“I do,” came a voice from the rear. The drover Eamon raised his hand tentatively.
“What?” John’s mouth opened and closed a number of times like a fish out of water. “You speak Black Gordian?”
Eamon nodded over the sudden explosion of laughter from Baden and Raylin. “Not well, but some. Me father was a fisherman outta Deepcove. Some of the men on his boat were from the northlands, and they would teach me some curses in their Black tongue. I never-”
John spat in the mud at his feet. “Enough,” he said. “Ippizicus spoke a tongue I learned while traveling through the jungles of Genn…none of you have been to Genn, correct?” John looked uncertain for but a moment. “Good. It was not Black Gordian, but sounded somewhat like it. Very low, guttural.”
John screwed up his face in a demonic pantomime. “The Child-Eater fixed his yellow cat’s eyes upon me and said, ‘You are a worthy opponent, manling. Step aside and let me leave these ruins, and I shall reward you with thousands of coins I gathered during the Age of Darkness. I have coffers of emerald, and necklaces of diamond. I have drinking horns fashioned from the teeth of dragons, and pendants glinting with sapphires from Genn. You will be as rich as any King or Queen. Only let me pass.’”
John let the words hang in the air for a long moment. Only then did he continue, his face now set with resolve. “And I said unto the Child-Eater, ‘Never will I allow such, for you would kill those innocent babes and children that live under these stars. You would slay those good and honorable men that drive and guard the caravans between the Valusian cities. You would lay waste to entire towns, leaving naught but death in your wake.’”
John sat back and drew himself up. “Then Ippizicus’ eyes flickered with an emotion not seen in them for an eternity…”
“What was it?” came the hushed question from the back.
“Fear,” John answered.
The bard slapped his hands together, causing many of those in the front ranks to spill some of their mead. “It was at that precise moment I stabbed him through the eye, then through the other eye as he fell, and finally through his neck as he lay twisting upon the stones.”
John spread his arms. “And lo! As the demon perished a hundred souls were released from his body. Light, wispy things – like mists upon the mountainside. They spiraled and dived about the clearing, wrapping around each of us – myself and my companions – murmuring their thanks in childlike voices. Some of the spirits even passed through us, and in their wake left emotions of relief and gratitude.”
John’s voice softened. “It was more than enough reward for our exertions – to know we released those trapped souls from torment. Better than all the gems and jewelry we might have gained should we have let Ippizicus purchase his freedom.”
John’s earlier discomfort melted as he basked in the wondrous murmurs of his audience. “But,” he held up a finger, “I did not slay him alone. No, sirs. Do not give all your praise unto me. For my companions bought me valuable time so that I might puncture the demon with the tip of my rapier.” John inclined his head toward his companions like an actor upon the stage.
Luke stood after a moment and pounded John on the back. “A good tale, and well told, friend. It appears the lot of us owe you our lives and livelihoods.” He laughed and ordered for another crate of bottles to be brought forth before measuring John with a look. “But what of your wagon? Why do you travel with a wagon that appears more like a prison upon wheels?”
John’s smile faded from his face. He glanced at Kellus, at Vath, at all his companions in turn. He then looked to Luke. “We had hoped to cage the beast, to bring him to the nearest Temple, and thereby end his existence on this plane and all planes.” John studied the ground. “Alas, it was not to be.”
“Ah well, John,” Luke commiserated, “’twas noble in thought, if not in deed.”
***
Neither Luke’s men nor the party left the oak the remainder of the day, since the rain showed no signs of lessening. Thus the night was far advanced when Eamon the drover approached Baden; the dwarf was noisily relieving himself against an outlying bush.
“Master dwarf,” Eamon began as he fumbled with the strings of his breeches.
“Aye?”
“Tell me, sir, please,” the drover asked, “was John’s story true?”
Baden shrugged, the movement causing him to curse with surprise and step backward a pace. “Some of it.”
Eamon was bold from drink. “John didn’t kill the demon single-handedly, like he made it sound, did he?”
“No.”
Eamon nodded sagely. He began to urinate and, like most simple men, felt his mind clear as his body did likewise. “And the Larrenman – he never done run away like John said, did he? To hide behind some wall?”
“No. Raylin was in it from the first, and till the end.”
“And the demon – was he really as tall as John said? Twice as tall as the half-troll?”
Baden finished his work and pulled his breeches upward. The dwarf craned his neck to stare at the sky, a few drops of rain pelting his upturned face. Bolder stars had begun to show themselves. “No. He was not quite so tall as that.”
Eamon frowned as he retied his pants. “About them souls of the children the demon done ate – was that true?”
“What part of it?”
“Well,” Eamon’s face grew taut with drunken concentration, “were there spirits set free when Ippi…when the demon done died?”
“Aye, that part was true.”
Eamon’s eyes widened. “Truly?” Then, after a pause, “And they passed through ye, then? The children’s spirits – they passed straight on through ye?”
“No,” Baden shook his head and turned back toward the campfire and the wagons. “Some of them decided to stay for a while.”
Eamon watched the dwarf walk toward the men and horses. He was at first confused, but then began to laugh. The dwarf had nearly had him fooled – just like John did – but Eamon was no simpleton. He had made the Mon Mith to Val Hor ride more times than any of them, save maybe Luke and Corban. The drover ran to catch the dwarf. “I nearly believed you, master dwarf!”
Baden gave a slight grin. “Believe it or not, ‘tis all the same to me.”
And then, within Baden’s head, came the voice he had been hearing – a child’s voice – since Ippizicus had been slain by Raylin’s two swords. I like you, Baden. I am glad I am with you now.
As am I, little one, Baden replied, never saying a word aloud.
Moments after John had announced the title of his tale, a squall swept eastward across the Conomora, trailing sheets of rain in its gray wake. Were Kellus a reader of portents, he might categorize the sudden storm as a harbinger of things to come. As it was, however, the former priest ignored the elements as capably as he ignored those men scrambling for cover.
“Careful, you dolt!” Corban slid from his horse and began barking orders. “Eamon, if you move your wagon another two paces in that direction, you’ll spend the next tenday regretting it. As sure as Auril is a cold bedfellow, the rest of us won’t be helpin’ you dig her free!”
Luke and John, oblivious to the sudden commotion, made their way under the spreading boughs of a large oak. The bard stopped and looked over his shoulder at Kellus. “Hurry, friend – your breastplate has enough rust upon it!”
Kellus shook his head –he did not feel ready to squeeze amongst Luke’s men beneath the tree. That was John’s element, not his. Kellus was never one for camaraderie – at least not since his father’s death.
The rain – though cold - felt surprisingly good upon his face. Clean. Kellus sat upon a log, just off the roadway, and let the rain splatter upon his uncovered brow. Perhaps he was wrong to be so concerned with secrecy. They had achieved what they had set out to do, even if their methods had been…not what he would have hoped. Ippizicus was gone, the staff destroyed, the threat passed. Let the bard spin his tale; he earned it. They all did.
Two of Luke’s drovers pulled a barrel off the rear of one of the wagons. They rolled the cask across the spongy turf before standing it upright next to the Pellman. Another of Luke’s men stepped forward with alacrity, as if saving a companion from a deadly fall, only to wipe mud from the lid. John sat, smiling his thanks, and withdrew a reed flute he had whittled during their journey from the Bluehorn.
Kellus was as uncompromising when judging himself as when judging others. Moreso, really. Thus, he did not attempt to ignore the dawning realization that – now more than ever - he missed his Church. He missed his God. Kellus sat upon a log in the rain, but he wanted nothing more to be sitting upon a pew within the Helmite Temple of Tarn Cal. He heard the laughter and voices of Luke’s men and his companions as they clustered around John, but he instead yearned to hear the soothing hymnals of Helm being recited from Matins to Compline.
The memories brought visions – in rapid succession – of his earlier life. His life under the protective eye of Helm. The flickering candles, the massive stone shield above the altar, the childhood antics of Helm’s acolytes. His father’s beaming smile when Kellus’ own Ordination was complete. The way his mother came alive while within the Temple, when she felt closer to the two infants she had lost. She would hold the hymnal book open before her while singing, but never did she need read the words.
He did not want to remember, but remember he did. And – when he tasted the salt upon his tongue – he broke his silence. Kellus spoke to Helm for the first time in fourteen years.
He thanked the Lord Protector for the rain.
***
“Hold up,” John raised a hand for silence. “Who is this dour-faced and rain-soaked person that now approaches?” The bard stood, his eyes alight, as he squinted dramatically at Kellus. “Tell me, traveler, are some undead creature doomed to wander the Coastal Road? Perhaps the storm has drawn you forth from your grave?”
Luke’s men laughed, clustered around John’s barrel like a gaggle of school children. The Pellman pretended to rub the disbelief from his eyes. “You wear armor that seems older than these hills. Surely you are neither alive nor dead. For what living man would be caught dead in such attire?”
Raylin smiled. “I seem to recall you being very thankful for his armor when you had that oversized helm perched upon your head-”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Baden. The dwarf was already on his third cup of ale. “At first I thought you a cowardly southlander when you did not assault the wyvern with the rest of us. Now I know it was because you could not see the brute – the iron cap on your head covered your eyes! Ha!”
John frowned with mock seriousness. He glanced askance at the dwarf. “Tell me – is that what passes for humor among the Halls of Axemarch?”
Baden grumbled within his beard. “Three more drinks and I will be funny.”
“Three more drinks for you,” John asked, “or for us?”
“Both.”
On cue, one of Luke’s men pulled the cork from a bottle with his teeth and refilled the dwarf’s tankard. The drovers passed around the drink as they made room for Kellus to join them. The former priest tipped a bottle, drinking deeply, and wiped the foam from his chin. “So, friends, has the bard sung his tale yet?”
“No,” Luke said sullenly, “he has not. He seems more interested in blowing wind through that reed and drinking my hard-earned mead.”
“He needs time to think up some lies,” Baden offered.
John sat upon the cask and pressed a hand to his chest. His face wore a look of hurt. “You wound me, dwarf.”
Baden coughed mead from his nose. “For letting these men know you lie?”
“No,” John answered easily, “for letting them think I need time to do so.”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Out with the tale, John. I have enough ale and food for the Mon Mith garrison, but apparently not enough for you and your companions. Would you leave me destitute?”
John sighed. “First, would someone give the half-troll some meat? He cannot drink alcohol, and his eyes appear like those of a kicked puppy. I cannot concentrate on the story while staring at such a face, however comely.”
Luke stood and fished around in the back of a nearby wagon. He turned, holding a jar to his chest, and deposited it near Vath’s sandaled feet. The half-troll wasted no time – soon his chin was drenched with slaver and verjuice.
“Now, then,” John began, a bit ruffled as to the distraction the feasting Vath posed, “let me begin the tale of How John of Pell Slew Ippizicus Child-Easter.”
***
“We knew the demon was imprisoned within the staff, but also did we know he might soon break free. I argued to my companions that we must strike now, while we held the initiative, regardless of the terrible dangers we could face. The world, I told them, was depending upon us. We must do what must be done.
“So it was that we set the staff upon the rocks of that old temple. Thousands of virgins had been sacrificed there during the Age of Darkness, and I could hear their voices calling to us on the wind. I began to sing, gentlemen, to drown out their carnal pleas. I feared we would lose Kellus to their sultry promises – he has been long without companionship.”
A few of the younger drovers shot Kellus an empathetic look. He returned their gazes stone-faced.
John continued. “And then the Child-Eater arrived amidst a chorus of those infernal maidens. Have you ever seen a Cymerian galley as she breaks free from a fog bank? Hmm? No? Well, then, let me tell you – Ippizicus reminded me of just such a scene. He was large, swathed in the mists, and bespoke of power both visible and hidden.
“A foul stench wafted outward, then.” John crinkled his nose for effect. “Have any of you ever had the misfortune of being close to a Rorn grizzly? No? It is not a pretty position to be in, let me assure you. Ippizicus smelled just as those great, red bears often do – wet fur, blood, decay. I pushed our elf behind me even as I placed myself in the fore of our group.”
John ignored Amelyssan’s quizzical expression. “The demon was more animal than man, though he stood upright. He was twice as tall and twice as ugly as the half-troll you see eating mutton. Black fur covered his chest and ran down his back, and his arms ended in taloned hands the size of yonder horse’s head. He grinned at me with crocodile teeth, marking me as a threat, and even as I strode forward with my blade, he stepped from the mists to meet my challenge.”
John drew his rapier and thrust it through the air. “It was a hard-fought battle. One of the hardest, gentlemen, I have chanced to be in - and I have been in some very rough spots, let me tell you. Soon I was left virtually alone against the monstrosity – the dwarf was sorely wounded and the clansman had retreated behind a nearby stone wall.”
John sheathed his sword with a flourish and leaned forward, his voice pitched low enough to cause his listeners to do the same. Even Corban’s face was rapt with attention and awe. “We traded blow for blow, as my companions did their best to distract the demon. Yet Ippizicus, though he appeared a beast, was not stupid. He knew that he must defeat me should he gain his freedom to terrorize these lands.”
John leaned back. He looked at a beardless youth of Luke’s company, and when next the bard spoke, his voice was filled with passion. “I knew that – should I fall – the demon would rampage across Valusia as he did in days of yore. He would tear infants from their mothers’ breasts; he would devour children by the hundreds. I steeled myself, then, to give my life in defense of all those who travel the roadways in these parts – though they might never learn of my sacrifice.”
John ruffled the hair of a nearby drover, smiling to dispel the mood of doom. “But ol’ Ippizicus had met his match. And he knew it, as did I. I moved in, sword held low, ready to deliver the strike that would send him to his death-”
“Demons do not die,” Kellus interrupted.
“What?”
“They do not die. Not if you slay them on this world, on this plane.” Kellus smiled. “Killing them only banishes them to their home plane of existence. For Ippizicus, that would likely be somewhere in the Abyss.”
John frowned. “You mean – he is not dead? Truly dead?”
“That is exactly what I mean.” Kellus folded his arms over his chest. “Please, continue. I apologize for the interruption.”
It took a moment for John to regain his composure. The Pellman gazed upon his listeners for support. “As I was saying, I stepped forward. By now the Larrenman was down on the ground, bleeding, and I knew his life was forfeit if I did not strike quick and true.”
“You said the clansman was behind a stone wall.”
John sighed. He fixed a pedagogical gaze on the youth near his feet. “What?”
The boy looked suddenly unsure of himself. “You…you said earlier that the clansman – the Larrenman – had retreated behind a stone wall.”
“So?”
“But,” the boy looked around, glanced at Raylin, then looked to John once more. His voice was meek. “But…you just said he was on the ground bleeding.”
“Tell me, child,” John said in an even tone, “were you there?”
Baden snorted with laughter, mead splattering against those sitting next to him. He winked at John. “Judgin’ by what ye been saying, I’m beginnin’ to wonder if you were there, Pellman.”
The crowd tittered with confused laughter. John bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. “Please,” he raised his hands, affecting the posture of an exasperated lecturer, “I am trying to tell it true. There are those here who would appreciate some silence so that I may finish the tale. Yes? Good.”
John once more lowered his voice. “As terrible as the sight of Ippizicus was – terrible enough to freeze a veteran’s blood. And as horrible as his smell – more horrible than all the midden heaps you have ever passed upon. The worst, friends,” John shook his fist, “the worst was when he spoke.”
“Spoke?” Corban asked.
“Spoke,” John answered without missing a beat. “He sounded like a dying destrier – his voice was part scream and part growl. His words spilled forth in waves of pure evil. Do any of you know the speech of Old Gordia, the black tongue they use only in the most remote mountain canyons of that wintry isle? I understood-”
“I do,” came a voice from the rear. The drover Eamon raised his hand tentatively.
“What?” John’s mouth opened and closed a number of times like a fish out of water. “You speak Black Gordian?”
Eamon nodded over the sudden explosion of laughter from Baden and Raylin. “Not well, but some. Me father was a fisherman outta Deepcove. Some of the men on his boat were from the northlands, and they would teach me some curses in their Black tongue. I never-”
John spat in the mud at his feet. “Enough,” he said. “Ippizicus spoke a tongue I learned while traveling through the jungles of Genn…none of you have been to Genn, correct?” John looked uncertain for but a moment. “Good. It was not Black Gordian, but sounded somewhat like it. Very low, guttural.”
John screwed up his face in a demonic pantomime. “The Child-Eater fixed his yellow cat’s eyes upon me and said, ‘You are a worthy opponent, manling. Step aside and let me leave these ruins, and I shall reward you with thousands of coins I gathered during the Age of Darkness. I have coffers of emerald, and necklaces of diamond. I have drinking horns fashioned from the teeth of dragons, and pendants glinting with sapphires from Genn. You will be as rich as any King or Queen. Only let me pass.’”
John let the words hang in the air for a long moment. Only then did he continue, his face now set with resolve. “And I said unto the Child-Eater, ‘Never will I allow such, for you would kill those innocent babes and children that live under these stars. You would slay those good and honorable men that drive and guard the caravans between the Valusian cities. You would lay waste to entire towns, leaving naught but death in your wake.’”
John sat back and drew himself up. “Then Ippizicus’ eyes flickered with an emotion not seen in them for an eternity…”
“What was it?” came the hushed question from the back.
“Fear,” John answered.
The bard slapped his hands together, causing many of those in the front ranks to spill some of their mead. “It was at that precise moment I stabbed him through the eye, then through the other eye as he fell, and finally through his neck as he lay twisting upon the stones.”
John spread his arms. “And lo! As the demon perished a hundred souls were released from his body. Light, wispy things – like mists upon the mountainside. They spiraled and dived about the clearing, wrapping around each of us – myself and my companions – murmuring their thanks in childlike voices. Some of the spirits even passed through us, and in their wake left emotions of relief and gratitude.”
John’s voice softened. “It was more than enough reward for our exertions – to know we released those trapped souls from torment. Better than all the gems and jewelry we might have gained should we have let Ippizicus purchase his freedom.”
John’s earlier discomfort melted as he basked in the wondrous murmurs of his audience. “But,” he held up a finger, “I did not slay him alone. No, sirs. Do not give all your praise unto me. For my companions bought me valuable time so that I might puncture the demon with the tip of my rapier.” John inclined his head toward his companions like an actor upon the stage.
Luke stood after a moment and pounded John on the back. “A good tale, and well told, friend. It appears the lot of us owe you our lives and livelihoods.” He laughed and ordered for another crate of bottles to be brought forth before measuring John with a look. “But what of your wagon? Why do you travel with a wagon that appears more like a prison upon wheels?”
John’s smile faded from his face. He glanced at Kellus, at Vath, at all his companions in turn. He then looked to Luke. “We had hoped to cage the beast, to bring him to the nearest Temple, and thereby end his existence on this plane and all planes.” John studied the ground. “Alas, it was not to be.”
“Ah well, John,” Luke commiserated, “’twas noble in thought, if not in deed.”
***
Neither Luke’s men nor the party left the oak the remainder of the day, since the rain showed no signs of lessening. Thus the night was far advanced when Eamon the drover approached Baden; the dwarf was noisily relieving himself against an outlying bush.
“Master dwarf,” Eamon began as he fumbled with the strings of his breeches.
“Aye?”
“Tell me, sir, please,” the drover asked, “was John’s story true?”
Baden shrugged, the movement causing him to curse with surprise and step backward a pace. “Some of it.”
Eamon was bold from drink. “John didn’t kill the demon single-handedly, like he made it sound, did he?”
“No.”
Eamon nodded sagely. He began to urinate and, like most simple men, felt his mind clear as his body did likewise. “And the Larrenman – he never done run away like John said, did he? To hide behind some wall?”
“No. Raylin was in it from the first, and till the end.”
“And the demon – was he really as tall as John said? Twice as tall as the half-troll?”
Baden finished his work and pulled his breeches upward. The dwarf craned his neck to stare at the sky, a few drops of rain pelting his upturned face. Bolder stars had begun to show themselves. “No. He was not quite so tall as that.”
Eamon frowned as he retied his pants. “About them souls of the children the demon done ate – was that true?”
“What part of it?”
“Well,” Eamon’s face grew taut with drunken concentration, “were there spirits set free when Ippi…when the demon done died?”
“Aye, that part was true.”
Eamon’s eyes widened. “Truly?” Then, after a pause, “And they passed through ye, then? The children’s spirits – they passed straight on through ye?”
“No,” Baden shook his head and turned back toward the campfire and the wagons. “Some of them decided to stay for a while.”
Eamon watched the dwarf walk toward the men and horses. He was at first confused, but then began to laugh. The dwarf had nearly had him fooled – just like John did – but Eamon was no simpleton. He had made the Mon Mith to Val Hor ride more times than any of them, save maybe Luke and Corban. The drover ran to catch the dwarf. “I nearly believed you, master dwarf!”
Baden gave a slight grin. “Believe it or not, ‘tis all the same to me.”
And then, within Baden’s head, came the voice he had been hearing – a child’s voice – since Ippizicus had been slain by Raylin’s two swords. I like you, Baden. I am glad I am with you now.
As am I, little one, Baden replied, never saying a word aloud.
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Gidien
First Post
Guess it's about time I chimed in. Excellent story Destan. The writing is always top quality, the story flows well, and the characters are all very interesting. I can't wait for the next update... Please keep this up. Don't be afraid to write controversial stuff. I think the though decisions the characters were forced to make was the high point of the story. Looking forward to more.
Lela
First Post
Destan said:
Whoa. And, to think, you managed to overshadow even this with this next section.
I'm starting to really like Kellus too.
Destan said:
Oh, wow.
Dozens of questions fly through my head. What effect will these children have in the future? How much influance will they have over that which is around them? What the heck are they?
I can't wait to see it all unfold.
handforged
First Post
wow.
that was awesome. When I read the line about the men leaning forward tensely listening to John's story, I realized that I was doing the exact same thing in front of my computer.
Kellus's revelation was enjoyable as well.
Would it be possible to have a meta-story post about some of the details of the fight against Ippizi... I mean the demon.
Great story
that was awesome. When I read the line about the men leaning forward tensely listening to John's story, I realized that I was doing the exact same thing in front of my computer.
Kellus's revelation was enjoyable as well.
Would it be possible to have a meta-story post about some of the details of the fight against Ippizi... I mean the demon.
Great story
Meta-game post
Based on yours and other folks' comments, Destan has been buggin us (his players) about the little 'details' and rogues gallery type stuff.
Unfortunately, the stuff Destan is posting right now was played about 18 months ago in January '02. The details of these encounters are far from fresh for any of us and we all did a poor job of keeping old records.
To the best of my memory the fight against Ippi was very one-sided. We were buffed to the max, or as buffed as 3rd level guys get, and had all readied actions just waiting for him. We laid a lot of damage on him before he really could react. I don't think the fight lasted more than 3 or 4 rounds. Somewhat anti-climactic after the build up.
I simply love the way Destan presented it.
For those of you out there looking for Rogues Gallery stuff we ask for your patience. We'll get there. Our group records start to improve considerably after about 4th or 5 th level.
Thanks for the interest,
frostrune
Based on yours and other folks' comments, Destan has been buggin us (his players) about the little 'details' and rogues gallery type stuff.
Unfortunately, the stuff Destan is posting right now was played about 18 months ago in January '02. The details of these encounters are far from fresh for any of us and we all did a poor job of keeping old records.
To the best of my memory the fight against Ippi was very one-sided. We were buffed to the max, or as buffed as 3rd level guys get, and had all readied actions just waiting for him. We laid a lot of damage on him before he really could react. I don't think the fight lasted more than 3 or 4 rounds. Somewhat anti-climactic after the build up.
I simply love the way Destan presented it.
For those of you out there looking for Rogues Gallery stuff we ask for your patience. We'll get there. Our group records start to improve considerably after about 4th or 5 th level.
Thanks for the interest,
frostrune
Lazybones
Adventurer
I've only just finished page 1, but I wanted to offer my (preliminary) comments.
Great description and characterization; the various characters really come alive in your narrative and dialogue. The vivid imagery in your text is generally really good; a lot of similies, some better than others (dragging entrails like a wedding dress?), and it can get a bit overwhelming when everything is compared to something else, but overall I really like the style. As someone else noted above I really want to learn more about these characters (luckily I've got 5 more pages to read through).
Thanks for writing. I look forward to getting caught up with everyone else in the coming days.
Lazybones
Great description and characterization; the various characters really come alive in your narrative and dialogue. The vivid imagery in your text is generally really good; a lot of similies, some better than others (dragging entrails like a wedding dress?), and it can get a bit overwhelming when everything is compared to something else, but overall I really like the style. As someone else noted above I really want to learn more about these characters (luckily I've got 5 more pages to read through).
Thanks for writing. I look forward to getting caught up with everyone else in the coming days.
Lazybones
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