Sir Gerard d'Montfort - In his own words (a tale of Anka Seth)- Updated Nov 11th

[Haraash Saan]

A beautiful blue sky greeted us the following morning. We spent it individually. The others all went and did whatever it was they needed to do while I spent some valuable time writing this journal., I was interrupted by Moxadder who wanted to borrow some coin for information. I hesitated at first, but Moxadder assured me that he would repay me. I relented; trust being the first lesson to be learnt in any team.

Midday came and went, as did Strav and Mortec, off for an appointment that they had made with Gorgonath the Wizard, one of the lords of the of the tower. Argonne and I repeated our tick on Grisha. He was a horrible little dwarf. Ugly to look at and ugly in temperament. He was gruff and rude, but Argonne and I learned that he could indeed create sorcerer’s coins. Not only that, his services were a bargain at half the price of Quickling. We left him soon after with his mocking “That’s fine, drop by for a chat but don’t either of you buy bloody anything, will you. Bastards!” echoing in our ears as we walked away.

Whilst the dwarf was abusing us, Morgan and Moxadder were making inquiries about him. They found out that Grisha lived alone in Stonecutters Cottage, a good half hour walk from town, high up on the bluff that overlooked the ocean and the port. They also learned that that his home was nicely located for any number of unknown visitors to come and go with complete anonymity. Rumour even had it that he worked magics at his home for those customers that wished to be discreet. It was presumptuous, but having met the only other two mages reputed for this sort of work, Grisha did seem our most likely candidate.

That night Strav and Mortec returned with absolutely no news other than the fact that our presence had not been deemed notable by those that sit on high in their precious tower. When questioned further on what they had seen, they declined to give any satisfactory detail claiming that mostly they spoke of personal matters.

It was nice to see that they were working with the Hydra. I had thought that the Baron had employed us for a specific task, yet Strav and Mortec had not unearthed any information to help us from the two most important and knowledgeable people on the entire island. I do wonder about the sort of people I keep company with sometimes. Somehow Mortec’s and Strav’s agendas had become intertwined. This was yet another thing for me to observe. Thank Mühbelung that I have kept this journal, otherwise I would lose track of everything I have to watch for.

Moxadder, on the other hand, brought some very interesting news. During the morning, he had been approached by a man, Ramain Ornamon, who passed himself off as an information dealer. Ornamon told Moxadder that it had only been recently that the Bloodsails had shown interest in such things as kidnap and local history, most likely because they had been hired to do so. Previously they were simple pirates. Loot, rape, pillage, that sort of thing.

Ramain went on to say that he suspected they were only interested in the happenings of the last fifty years. More importantly he let slip that he represented another party that was very interested in who had bought the services of the Bloodsails’. He even implied that there was more than one group interested in the very same thing.

His last piece of information was that the last known pirate captain was the notorious Rumscully Jack. Cunning and clever, he had never been captured. From the time he took charge of the Bloodsails some three years ago, their plans and methods improved to become calculated and meticulously planned assaults on specific targets.

Moxadder also revealed something he had noticed way back in Halfast when the Duchess had been attacked. The lepers bore tattoos of a demonic face surrounded by horns. He remembered this because Ornamon wore a pendant with exactly the same design.

From the description I guessed that it was more likely to be a devil’s face rather than a demon’s, the difference being that devils oversaw the afterlife of believers in hell, and demons tormented those that had no god in a different hell. It is amazing what titbits one can pick up with enough reading.

“And after all that news, he didn’t even charge me!” said Moxadder rather proudly.

Did not pay? “Well in that case I shall take my sickles back, Moxadder.” I said smugly.

His shoulders slumped when he realised his mistake. The poor fellow was crestfallen. He told me that he had already spent my coin. I assured him that I would consider it a loan and that he could repay me.

The information that Moxadder shared with us led to several questions. Who was the pirate leader now? If it was Rumscully Jack, then what was his agenda or who had he hired his crews? And of course, we were still no closer to understanding why these attacks took place.

Also of interest was that Moxadder had essentially been given this information, and he had been sought out, showing that finally someone had noticed our subtlety, or lack there of. Who and why was someone interested in our inquiries? Did they seek to help or hinder us? How did the demonic face tie in with Moxadder’s new friend and our own quest? And finally, was the Duchesses kidnapping actually an assassination attempt and was it related at all to the abductions of the pirates. Probably not, but at this stage we had no proof to the contrary.

They were all very interesting questions, but they had started to make me feel that we were getting very much out of our depth. We would need to tread carefully, a lot more carefully than we had done so far.

After Moxadder had spoken we shared our information regarding the dwarf. Mortec was all for scouting out the dwarf’s hut that very night and seeing if we would be lucky enough to spy some pirates rendezvousing with Grisha. Whilst the rest of us argued that it was a pointless idea, not only because it was highly unlikely that the pirates would happen to appear that particular evening and we had no proof that the dwarf was involved in the plot against Yorath, but mainly because night had fallen. Strav, due to his elvish persuasion, said that the darkness would not be a problem for him and he was prepared to scout the cottage. Mortec, becoming quite infuriating, insisted on going along to ‘help’. Strav, I felt could look after himself, but could he look after Mortec too? We found out the answer to that the next morning.

 

[Haraash Saan]

The two of them stumbled into our room sometime after midnight and briefly reported that they had found nothing of interest. During our morning meal they revealed little else. Grisha had arrived after dark and then gone to sleep. With no light on offer they, and by they I mean Strav as Mortec was useless in the pitch black, found a low passage through some undergrowth but decided it best to return as Mortec finally realised that their tramping about was doing absolutely no good. I must admit a small part of me was very pleased to see the Gnome covered in bruises and scratches from his night-time frolicking.

With that distraction out of the way, I decided that we should all go to search the area more thoroughly that afternoon after Grisha had arrived at his dumpy little market booth.

We waited at the market until the fat little hairy man began to tend his stall and we set off. It was roughly half an hour’s journey to the little cottage way out on the bluff. It gave a wonderful vantage point for the rolling sea whilst also offering a spectacular view of the odd little town and its port. The Triton’s must have let another ship through, I could see its sail being furled as it drew close to the docks.

The cottage itself was unremarkable however the events that followed were not. Let me describe what happened. There was a cat laying on the small porch at the front of Grisha’s house. It was doing no one any harm whatsoever. I admit it was black and if you are superstitious that is not a good sign.

Even when Strav muttered. “I hate bloody cats!” under his breath, I really didn’t suspect that anything untoward was about to happen. I myself was not particularly fond of them, except kittens, they really are quite cute.

I was doing my best to search for signs of trails, well more precisely I was watching Argonne who was sniffing about, low to the ground inspecting grass and twigs, when I heard a crossbow being cranked. I spun quickly expecting the worst. I saw Strav purposefully winding the crank on his crossbow. It was much bigger than my own, and as I was about to see, did a lot more damage.

My hand instantly went to my rapier, and my eyes darted this way and that, looking for the enemy about to engage us but I could see none. In fact my companions were now telling Strav to stop being stupid and, this is where things really started getting ridiculous, to leave the cat alone. Did I hear that right? Well, yes, it is sad to day that I did. Strav’s intent was simple. Kill that cat. Argonne argued that it was defenceless and had done no harm. To no avail.

Obviously Strav’s muttered anti-feline statement had a little more meaning than I had first perceived. I tried to reason with him but he was adamant. Argonne was practically pleading with Strav by this stage. It did no good. He ignored us, took aim and released the bolt.

He is a good shot, I will grant him that. Strav’s bolt struck the witless and previously sleeping cat square in the flank, lifting it and slamming it’s body into the hut’s wall. It was pinned, hanging limply from the bolt that was fixed firmly to the wall. We were all gob smacked. I had never witnessed such pointless violence. Even on a hunt the animals had some chance and were aware that they were to be that evening’s meal.

Argonne was almost inconsolable. He fumed, saying that he was not going to be a part of a company that allowed such acts. It took me several minutes to calm him down and get him back to tracking. Morgan and Mortec debated pointlessly with Strav. It was pointless because the cat was dead. Strav had killed it with no reason and they did not understand why so they pestered and badgered him about it. I wanted to but just could not see what point there was to it. Moxadder looked on with vague interest.

That was the episode of the cat. One I eventually hope to put from my mind. It certainly left me questioning the complete irrationality of Strav’s behaviour.

Someone, Morgan I think, hurled the bolted cat from the cliff and into the sea. At least he got rid of the evidence of idiocy, well more of our idiocy, several members of the group seemed to have a penchant for it. Perhaps it is a disease, it certainly looks contagious.

The murder Strav had committed had not only been senseless, but perhaps even detrimental. With a little bit of investigation, sparked by the missing cat, Grisha might actually be able to work out that it was us. Who would know what would happen then. Would he take vengeance for the cat slaying? Would he warn any pirates that he might be dealing with that we were looking for them? At that stage I had no idea of what was to come.

We did not wish to disturb the hut anymore than the hole Strav had left in its wall, so instead we focused on scouring the nearby scrub for any signs of a trail. Fifteen minutes after the cat killing, Argonne finally found what we had been searching for. None of us could see it, but he assured us that he had found a path. It led north east, along the coast and the cliff tops, and that is where we went.

Argonne snuffled along at a snails pace checking and rechecking the track that was evident only to him. Pessimism set in after a couple of hours. It seemed that we were following an invisible trail. None of us were confident that Argonne had actually managed to follow whatever it was that he had found. We were on the verge of giving up and heading back when he told us confidently that the trail headed for a narrow peninsula that jutted out from the cliffs that we had been following. With a collective sigh we resigned to follow him.

The scrub on the peninsula was thick. Tea tree is what Argonne called it. Its’ branches seemed alive, grabbing, catching and tearing our clothing as we attempted to avoid it. I was directly behind Argonne when he stopped rather abruptly causing me to have to sidestep nimbly in order to avoid crashing into him. I discovered the reason why he stopped when I almost fell in it.

There was a massive hole, some sixty feet wide and forty feet long that gaped at our feet. It was only sheer luck that enabled me to clutch at a feral tea tree to stop myself from falling in. And it would have been a deadly fall. The drop was at least one hundred feet straight down into the ocean.

“Watch out!” I yelled, “Hole!” It had the desired effect, the others stopped in their tracks.

If only I had seen the long ship with furled red sails moored to one of the five or so piers beneath me before I cried out.

 

[Haraash Saan]

“Bloodsails below.” I added in a whisper, but it was too late. Horns boomed from across the gorge announcing our arrival. And the Hydra showed exactly why it was named that way; each head went in a different direction, including me. I panicked, I admit it, and hid. The horns had startled me, as had the swift disappearance of my colleagues. I was loading my own crossbow when I heard the soft twang of a bow somewhere to my left. To my right I heard Mortec and Strav speaking, although not loudly enough to discern there words. We were out of control and separated. Theron had taught us tactics but the only thing that had seeped through was the concept of ranged weapons first. Unfortunately strength in numbers, and staying together had not.

I needed to get the others back together. I focused my mind on Argonne, using a technique that Zmrat had taught me, and spoke to him in his own mind.

“Turn back Argonne. Get the others to regroup.” I said.

In my own mind I could feel his surprise at the mental intrusion, but I lost focus as Morgan stumbled into me, bow in hand.

“Pirates are coming.” Was all he said as he continued to blunder past, heading the way of Mortec and Strav.

He was right, they were following him closely. There were two of them, a man and woman. I loosed my bolt at the man, it narrowly missed, and he let out a cry of surprise, then drew a cutlass and came at me. The woman hurled a dagger which struck hard on my hip. I winced, gritting my teeth against the incredible pain, but managed to drop my crossbow and whip out my rapier. My first mistake had been yelling out at the mouth of the sink hole and attracting the pirates attention. My second was to engage in a melee.

This was no like no combat I had experienced on the training grounds of Yorath. It was two against one and on difficult terrain. I ducked, dodged and used the tee trees as cover. We all swung wildly until the pirate bitch stuck me again with a dagger. It staggered me somewhat and I missed with a flailing swipe at the male. I called out for help and was rewarded with an answering shout from Mortec.

Suddenly he burst onto the scene, thrusting his palms onto the woman’s belly. She shrieked in pain and recoiled. I recall now the murderous intent in her eyes as she slashed her knife at the Gnome with all her might. He ducked and she almost toppled over with the force of her swing.

I heard a scream and saw a pirate falling from the edge of the gorge a short distance away to my right. Argonne stood at the top of the cliff that had been recently occupied by the pirate. He was preparing to cleave a second foe with his mighty axe.

As I swayed away from a murderous cutlass swipe, Morgan joined the fray, thrusting elegantly with his rapier and wounding my opponent. With a howl, he scarpered, the female not far behind him. I snatched at a bolt and quickly loaded my hastily retrieved crossbow. I took aim across the chasm and loosed the bolt with deadly accuracy. The male pirate dropped, my shaft stuck deep in between his shoulder blades. Combat is not always about honour. In fact it never is, it’s about living at all costs.

Another bolt struck the woman slamming her into a tree. I guessed it had been come from Strav’s crossbow. The brute of a thing had claimed another life, this time a more worthy adversary.

As we ran to the two downed pirates I thanked Mortec and Morgan for their timely aid, it was only later that I wondered about what power Mortec had managed to harness to cause the woman such hurt.

Reaching the pirates, Morgan quickly applied bandages to the one I had felled “For questioning later,” he mumbled as he worked. The woman was beyond help.

Leaving him and Mortec with the wounded pirate, I forged my way along the left edge of the crevasse, eventually meeting up with Strav and Argonne. I was glad and relieved to see them alive and none the worse for wear.

A cry of pain sounded from where I had come. We spied an archer who had just loosed a shaft and Strav immediately targeted him with a bolt that struck with resounding success. We ran back to where our allies were to find Mortec tending Morgan’s prone form, beside whom lay a bloodied arrow. The arrow loosed from Strav’s recent victim had struck the Fastendian in the chest and knocked him from his feet.

We cautiously walked to the far side of the sink hole, making sure there were no more pirates waiting to ambush us, before resting in a small clearing.

As I was making myself more comfortable on the top of a small boulder, Morgan mentioned something about Moxadder and hurried off to the opposite side of the gorge that we had been defending. It was the first I time I had thought of our drug addled friend since I had yelled out.

Morgan stumbled back several minutes later, shaking his head in disbelief, Moxadder not far behind him.

“I don’t believe it.” Morgan said. “You just killed him after trying to heal him. I don’t believe it.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been such a smartarse!” huffed Moxadder in response.

The story we got out of the two of them was that Moxadder was trying desperately to save one of the pirates that Argonne had taken down so that we could question him, but had only made things worse. Morgan had arrived at precisely the right moment and managed to successfully stop the pirates bleeding.

Moxadder went into a rage and stabbed the unconscious fellow several times, ensuring that he would never wake. We could only reason that Moxadder did not appreciate being shown up by anyone. I really am in association with some seriously deranged people.

It was then that Strav noticed that the large rock slab against which Argonne leaned looked to be some sort of concealed doorway. But none of us could puzzle out how to open it. Even I began to probe the rock and its surrounds before I realised how filthy I was getting. I stopped immediately and made sure that there was no sign of dirt upon my gloves. I must have looked a frightful mess at that stage. My clothes were torn and bloodied from vicious trees and combat, so I stopped and cleaned myself as best I could firstly by brushing myself off vigorously and then with water from my canteen.

Finally Morgan finally found the edges of an opening. He traced a line on the rock showing us what he found. With the edge revealed, Strav’s sharp eyes saw the door at once. He pulled his gauntlets off and casually threw them aside to land in the dirt. His black hands raced across the stone, fingers pushing and prodding, testing the surface. It was not long before a satisfied exclamation pass his lips.

The reason for his self indulgence was that he had discovered a loose piece of rock that he pulled away to reveal a hole with a handle in it. Just as Argonne was reaching in to grasp and turn it, Strav voiced a warning, saying that it was trapped. Upon further examination he determined that when twisted, the handle would release a small guillotine that would have severed Argonne’s wrist.

These cutthroats certainly did not want anyone skulking into their lair. It was an ingenious precaution, although Strav continued his fine work and wedged a dagger in place to stop the blade falling. Then, he turned the handle. The rock face swung open to reveal crudely cut stairs, narrowly winding their way down.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Even I could tell that the stairs were poorly fashioned, the chisel marks were obvious evidence that the masons had done a poor job. I slipped and caught myself twice on the descent, the second time cutting my palm on a particularly sharp rock.

The stairs delivered us to a stone corridor. Sunlight could be seen bathing the stone walls at the eastern end of the hallway. Quick investigation by Moxadder and Morgan revealed that the longship we had seen from above was docked there on a small wooden landing. The pair had also seen that across the water on the other side of the gorge were several other landings like the one that the ship was tied, each with an exit that led deeper into the cliffs.

Argonne took point with Strav close behind as we began to move through a series of winding stone passages. We passed a few unoccupied storerooms, and a couple of exits to the landings before Argonne rounded a corner and Strav stopped abruptly at its bend., “’Ware! Archers behind a barricade!”.yelled Argonne. I heard the whistling of several arrows followed by their clatter as they struck stone. Strav let fly with his massive crossbow, the accompanying thud and curse indicated he had shot true.

Morgan whipped past me and around the corner. Instead of following him I spun on my heel and darted off down a short passage that led to a landing. From my new vantage point I could that Strav had moved to shelter behind some barrels near an opening to the landings and was on bended knee, busily loading his crossbow. Everything had fallen silent as we, and no doubt our foes, sought to better position themselves.

The landings on this side of the gorge were separated by narrow channels of water. I ran across the creaking boards and nimbly leapt from one landing to another, passing the opening in which Strav crouched and stopping at the next one. I carefully unshouldered my own crossbow and loaded it.

A bellow burst through the cautious quiet “I’ll chop you all!” Argonne had joined the skirmish with a vengeance. “You’re nothin’ but firewood to me!”

I took a peek around the corner and saw an unmasked Argonne screaming curses, atop a hastily made barricade. Wooden benches and upturned tables provided the bulk while a sailcloth draped over the structure hid our foes. I assumed he had ripped his mask off to drive fear into the hearts of the enemy, personally the massive axe did it for me. He loomed over a pirate and hefted his axe for a mighty cleave, but the pirate quickly loosed a bolt from his crossbow. His aim must have been hampered by the threat of merciless death and the bolt sparked as its head smashed into the ceiling above Argonne. The woodsman swung his axe violently above his head, his eyes ablaze with fury as he let fly with a massive strike that caught archer in the shoulder.

“Watch out! Rumscully!” called another of the men behind the barricade as an arrow thudded into a table leg next to the weathered and scarred face of a pirate.

So here was the pirate lord, trapped with nowhere to run.

The cutthroat that cried the warning stood recklessly, an arrow already sticking out from his side and took aim with a crossbow at Argonne not ten feet away. He never loosed his shaft for he arched suddenly as my own bolt slammed into his back.

The image of Argonne, long filthy hair whipping around the barbaric expression he wore while bravely flailing with his mighty axe stirred my very soul. My sword rasped from its scabbard as I advanced upon the barricade. With blood pounding through my veins I bawled out a salute to my companion and for this battle, our champion.

“Behold Argonne! Friend of friends and slayer of foes. His mighty axe cleaves them down, even as they pale at his loathsome visage.”

“Behold Argonne! Bravery and madness linked together in a wicked embrace.”

“Behold Argonne! None shall stand before him; all will perish under his relentless blade or cower and weep begging for his mercy.”

I had finally seen some worth in the woodsman.

Inspired by my words, Strav flashed into view and leapt to the barricade, rapier drawn and swinging wildly.

More arrows flew into the melee. The Argonne’s axe fell rapidly and repeatedly, downing one of the three defenders. Stravarius’ rapier parried and darted forward like an asp. Another dropped. The third, Rumscully Jack, knew not where to turn.

“Yield! Throw down your weapon.” I said, with as much surety as I could muster. My speech and the run over the gangways had almost ruined me. Even worse, my skull throbbed as I felt myself succumbing to the wounds that had earlier been inflicted upon me.

Argonne clambered over the barricade and began securing our famous captive. Morgan and Mortec jogged up to assist him. Meanwhile Strav explored the area behind the make shift fortifications. I sat down, my hip aching where the thrown dagger had cut deep, and passed out.

Strav’s voice stirred me to consciousness as he called out “Prisoners! And with them the prince of the Tritons!”

Although I saw no Tritons, I did see that two more pirates had been bound. Morgan explained that on questioning Rumscully Jack, Argonne had learnt of pair that had not participated in our skirmish. They had sheltered in another room and surrendered when they realised that all was lost.

Now that I had a chance to look about me I can better describe our circumstance. We stood on the outside of the barricade in a large room that looked to me to be a dining area or common room. Cutlery and broken crockery littered the stone floor indicating that the ramshackle defences had been made in a hurry. Unlit torches sat in brackets on every wall. Swords, crossbows and a long spear lay strewn about behind the barricade.

Like the corridors that we had travelled to come here, the room was a natural cavern that had been crudely shaped by men at some stage. To the north, where I had entered, was the gorge. Three short passages led to it. To the west was a store room. To the south west a corridor exited the banquet area in which we stood.

On the eastern wall on the protected side of the barricade were two more short passages. One led to a kitchen and the other to more stores. Finally there was the path that Strav had taken to the south east.

He had come back to the group and told us he had found prisoners of the pirates; three Tritons, a few older folk and some younger girls, no doubt taken from Ravenswood. They were behind a barred and locked gate a little further down the corridor that lay beyond the defences.

A quick search of the corpses and the captive by Morgan and Argonne revealed no keys., so I politely asked Rumscully Jack about them figuring that he would be the one to have them.

“Don’t have nah keys matey.” He replied smugly.

“Where are they Jack?” I asked in a measured patronising tone. “You’re the captain, you have them So where are they?”

“I found me some doors.” Sang out Moxadder. I had forgotten him. Again. “They’re locked though.”

“It looks like we need another set of keys Jack. Be a good prisoner and tell us where they are.” I said.

“I’ll chop ‘is head off!” interjected Argonne abruptly. I turned to see that Argonne had one foot placed very firmly between the shoulder blades of one of the captives’. The buccaneer was kneeling with his head laying sideways on a chair. Tears ran down his face, his eyes wide and darting about from each of us as if seeking some sort of mercy.

Personally I would not have employed such a simplistic and violent threat to garner the information we sought. However, I could not argue with its effect.

“Awright, awright. They be behind that door your friend found.” He said, indicating in the tunnel that Moxadder had explored. I was not convinced. It seemed pretty foolish to lock your keys behind some doors that were locked.

Mortec, who had gone to the south west corridor to look for Moxadder, saw him standing in front of a pair of double doors. He told Moxadder to try and force the locked doors. Bad move. I heard something whistle through the air and then something heavier thump to the floor.

“Moxadder’s down!” cried Mortec shrilly. He began to sprint down the corridor.

“Todesmagie give me strength.” He said and then was gone from sight.

Suddenly Argonne’s axe flashed down from above his head where he had been waving it threateningly, into his victims neck. Metal through bone, the blow mashed the man’s spine into wood as the force of the swing continued, shattering the chair that the pirate’s head had been resting on. It was a sickening sound, a gruesome sight. The head bounced several times before rolling to a horrific stop, lifeless eyes still staring wide. Blood oozed from the gaping wound of the headless corpse.

“Where are the ing keys!” roared Argonne, the same fury reflected in his eyes now as had been in battle.

“I don’ have ‘em!” screamed Rumscully Jack. A pool of urine forming at his feet.

“Well its’ dying time den ain’t it?” threatened Argonne as he strode purposefully toward the quaking pirate king with every intention of making good his threat. But he halted suddenly, peering over my shoulder.

“This aint Jack” he hissed suddenly, and then he was off, charging past me.

 

[Haraash Saan]

We all turned to see a large man, his face hidden by with a long red wavy beard, standing at the furthest passage that led to the gorge. He wore a long navy coat concealing a rapier that appeared in his hand quicker than I could blink.

The man laughed loudly, even as Argonne charged to meet him. “Who dares trespass in the domain of Rumscully Jack?”

Argonne tried to silence him. He swung, intent on another beheading, but the real Rumscully Jack easily dodged the clumsy attack. He replied with a sudden thrust which missed when his front foot slipped on a loose stone. The lunge which should have pierced Argonne’s heart fortunately only flicked his shirt.

The rest of the Hydra rained arrows and bolts into the melee but none hit their mark, clattering uselessly on the rocks. Jack realising that the old adage, “discretion is the better part of valour” was true, ran across the water. That’s right, straight across the water of the gorge as if it was solid ground. Still cackling his annoying little laugh he stopped in the middle of the gorge and turned to face us.

Moxadder, now with a rolled weed clinging to his bottom lip, ran to a mooring and let fly with a dagger. How he managed I do not quite know as he had been felled. Perhaps Mortec’s faith in his god had paid off? Somehow he had managed to revive a man I assumed to be dead or close. The little bearded bastard had not offered to help me! I did have two obvious wounds and a ruined blood stained shirt to prove my need.

Standing on the surface of the water Jack made a fine target. Missiles came from everywhere. Several struck true. His chortling became more boisterous, as if he thrived on the pain he was in. He reached within his cloak and brought forth a fine golden horn, put it to his lips and blew a single mighty note.

Fog quickly spewed from the horn’s mouth, surrounding and enveloping him. We hurriedly loosed more missiles at him, once again several struck. His laughter changed to violent spluttering and coughing, the silly fool was sucking in the fog that he had somehow created. Sometimes people just need to learn to get on with things without over embellishing them.

A long howl pierced the laughter. Like Moxadder, Kuruul was easy to forget. Easier in fact.

The mist that had been sheltering our foe slowly dissipated, tendrils still clung to the mouth of the horn but they quickly succumbed to whatever it was the Kuruul had done. I assumed it was Kuruul, as he had claimed that he was some sort of wizard. We had finally seen some evidence of his claims.

Rumscully Jack, however, was not to be thwarted that easily. He sheathed his sword as quickly as he had drawn it, grabbed another horn from within his coat,, this one encrusted with beautiful shells, and blew a deep rumbling note.

The water at his feet began to bubble and spit as if boiling. Then, suddenly, six Tritons erupted from the depths. They gazed about uncertain of their environs, almost as if they had been wrenched from elsewhere to the waters of the gorge.

“Attack ‘em!” commanded Jack, now without any trace of his maniacal laughter.

They tritons obeyed, kicking their powerful legs and swimming toward us. Each held a cruel trident, and it was the Hydra that they were aiming to catch upon their wicked forked spears.

Another volley of missiles was our response. More pierced Jack; he was beginning to resemble a porcupine. Others splashed harmlessly as they hit the water.

My own archery talents had deserted me. I had only managed to score one hit on Rumscully Jack, and now I faced an advancing threat. One triton was coming directly for me. My rapier would be next to useless against and the reach of its trident, but I remembered the long spear that I had seen behind the barricade. I dropped my crossbow and dashed to retrieve it.

It lay exactly where I remembered it. I gathered it up in both hands, my memory flashing back to my success with the pike on the docks of Halfast, and charged. My boots slapped against stone as I thundered toward my waiting opponent. He set his trident to receive me, but I knocked it aside with a nudge of my shoulder and rammed the spear home. It slid easily into his chest, so easily that I almost overbalanced and toppled into the water. I managed to catch myself, waving my left arm for balance whilst holding to the spear in my right hand. My victim slid off the spear and only left a dark stain on the waters surface to acknowledge his passing.

Argonne appeared on the opposite side of the gorge and leapt onto the moored longship. One swing from his axe effectively loosed the longship and set it adrift. He gave it a mighty shove, and jumped in, crying curses to Rumscully Jack as the boat slowly moved toward him.

A bolt whizzed passed my right ear and thumped satisfactorily into Jack’s chest to add to his increasing collection of protruding wooden shafts.

“Take that ya octopus!” screamed Moxadder in defiance.

One glance confirmed my suspicion; Moxadder had taken too many drags on his weed. It was no longer in his mouth and his twitch was more pronounced. The poor man was obviously becoming delusional. His eyes were dilated; I could see that even at some distance. It is quite amazing that he did not take my ear off!

Strav, who had been sharing the same stretch of landing with me ran past and into the banquet hall. He hurdled an upturned table that had formed part of the defensive barrier and snatched a large sword from the ground. He rushed down the corridor that led to the prisoners.

I turned back to the battle and once again I grabbed my crossbow and began to loose bolts at Jack. Meanwhile, three Tritons were trying to engage Morgan on a landing, but he had the sense to leap out of reach of their tridents. The other two had reached Argonne on the ship, and he was valiantly defending against their thrusts.

Heavy footfalls behind me announced the arrival of Strav. He carried two Tritons, one supported by his right arm, the other unconscious over his left shoulder. At first I had no idea as to what he was doing, then it dawned on me. He sought to free the triton prince and get him to command the Tritons to stop attacking us.

The stumbling Triton looked sickly and dehydrated. His skin was pale blue, instead of the usual deep blue of the other Tritons we had encountered. It was cracked and peeling as if he had been overexposed to the elements. I supposed that he had, after all his usual environment was the water, he probably had not been submersed in days.

I quickly retrieved the cockleshell we had been given from my pack and as they passed me I thrust it into the triton’s hands saying. “We are here to help you. Call off your brethren!”

 

[Haraash Saan]

He looked at the shell in his hands, turned to me and nodded weakly. Then Stravarious pushed him and his friend into the welcoming water.

It was almost as if I then witnessed a miracle. The triton looked to be waiting for death to claim him, yet upon entering the water he suddenly seemed invigorated. His skin was now a more vibrant blue and the scabs on his arms and body peeled away. His face emerged from the blue and yelled something in his own strange tongue, his voice strong and commanding. The other Tritons stopped their assault immediately, shaking their heads as if they had suddenly woken from some strange dream. They looked about them and on seeing their prince recognition flooded them as they put words, speaker and Rumscully Jack all in the right context.

The tables had turned. Rumscully Jack was immediately surrounded by the Tritons. Our foes were now our allies. Jack dodged and jumped thrusts and prods from five tridents as he managed to break through the hedge of metal forks that encircled him. He ran without a splash across the water towards a narrow tunnel in the eastern rock face, leaving a diluted bloody trail behind him.

Argonne saw the danger of his potential escape. He ran and then leapt from the bow of the boat in an attempt to drag Jack to ground, well water. Argonne is not a small man, but then neither is Jack. Arms outstretched Argonne sought to grasp his quarry, but Jack was nimble, Jack was quick (I apologise but even though it is a child’s rhyme it somehow seems appropriate as I write it). He saw the flying assailant and managed to push him away. A huge splash marked where Argonne struck the water.

More arrows flew at Jack although did not strike their target, they speared the waters or clattered against the rock walls that were in front of their quarry. The Tritons sought vengeance for the imprisonment of their prince. They swam after Jack, encircling him once more. Two tridents penetrated his flesh and Jack screamed in pain and panic. He moved again once more to break free of the prince’s men. He managed to shake the persistent Argonne loose, who had managed to grasp onto Jack’s ankle in an effort to avoid drowning. Jack had almost reached the entrance to the tunnel, and freedom. If he managed to escape our mission would fail and I could not allow that!

I grabbed my spear and with four bounding steps across the rickety landing I jumped. Time slowed, as it seems to in these life or death circumstances. I screamed. I cannot recall what it was that I screamed, but I can recall feeling anger and fear.

The mighty leap cleared maybe ten feet of water before my spear bit deep into Rumscully Jack’s side. My momentum thrust the spear through his body and out of his belly and drove us both deep into the water. I released the spear and flailed, trying to swim. It was not something that I had ever been taught. We of noble birth do not swim, we bathe in scented tubs.

Strong scaly hands gripped me tightly and hoisted me onto the landing. I coughed, spluttering water from my mouth. What I sight I must have made. My clothes were saturated and my hair hung dripping into my eyes. I must have looked like a drowned rat. My hat, broad brim ruined, bobbed up and down on the ripples beside Jack’s body.

He was still alive, although only barely. The spear wound was deep, but after towing him to shore Mortec managed to staunch the bleeding. Rumscully Jack would hopefully provide some interesting answers for us.

Moxadder quickly searched our new captive, finding some keys. Doubtless they would unlock the doors that had caused Moxadder such pain some minutes earlier. He and some of the others scurried off to investigate the locked room. I unsheathed Jack’s rapier. It was an elegant weapon of excellent workmanship, with the name “Eldritch Light” engraved at the base of the blade. It had a beautiful fine guard fashion with intricate curves. I gave it a few appraising slashes, tearing some of the sail cloth that had formed part of the barricade. It sliced through them with ease. Now I freely admit that I am no expert on swords or weapons, but this one was obviously far superior to my current rapier.

Whilst I fenced shadows, drip drying in the process, the others returned. They were carting with them two chests that they had found in a concealed cavity in the wall of the room which proved to be Jack’s abode. The two chests contained a piles of coins, including some that were tarnished and dark.

Morgan grimly muttered “Dominion coins.” And gave Strav a suspicious look. When pressed Morgan revealed that coins that spent significant time in the lands owned by the Dominion became blackened. Most common folk however cared not, for silver was silver, even if tarnished.

Also amongst our spoils were vials of liquid. I took one that had instructions written on the label; ‘Understand the mind of men. Concentrate and nothing will be hidden from you.’ There were also various weapons of good quality, some rings and well made armour, including a suit of knights’ mail. I checked carefully for insignia but could find none. I had thought that it may belong to a family that I was familiar with. Finally there were the two horns, the first was Jack’s and had emitted the fog and the second had called the Tritons from their watery home. This horn was given to us as a gift by the Prince, who on parting from us said that if we needed his help, blowing the horn would summon his folk to our aid.

The fish Prince also left us with advice as to where we may find a protected cove to sail Rumscully Jack’s longship which we had decided to take.

All of our plunder was divided amongst the group. I kept the rapier and picked out a suit of light leather armour to replace my own which had had several cuts and slashes, and although repairable I saw no need as there were several excellent undamaged suits to select from.

Whilst the others loaded the ship with anything useful that could be found I looked for some dry clothes. I did find some that would fit, however they were much too poor quality for me to bother with. I would have looked destitute, perhaps like Moxadder, if I had worn them. In the end I stuck with my own wet clothing and hoped that the breeze and sunlight remaining would dry me as we sailed.

 

[Haraash Saan]

On our short journey to the hidden cove we questioned the prisoners Strav had freed about their abduction and how they had been treated by the cutthroats. Their answers confirmed our deductions about the Blood Sail’s raid. They had been taken from Ravenswood the night before we had arrived. Two of the older folk were none other than Brother Goethra and Brother Tom from Leathes Abbey. The others were those that had also been taken from the town. The fate of the girls was obvious. Torn clothing and bruises confirming what Moxadder had put so bluntly to them, “So you been raped then?”

Honestly, the man has no tact or compassion, although the way he had unconsciously rubbed his backside made me wonder about his own experiences in the slums of Irudesh City.

Just as the twilight was fading Argonne steered us into the cove. We dragged the boat up onto the beach, covered it with scrub that we found and then made a fireless camp. Thankfully my clothes had dried, and my dip in the water had even cleansed them somewhat of the dirt, blood and sweat that had covered them. Still, I would have to see a tailor soon to see if he could mend my shirt and pants. For now I realised grimly, they had to do, at least until tomorrow as we all desperately needed rest.

A fantastic, vibrant orange sky greeted my eyes as they slowly flickered open and registered that dawn was upon us. The spectacular backdrop was highlighted with crisp white streaks of clouds whose underbellies glowed with bright sunlight. Whilst waking at dawn is something a little foreign to me the sight almost made it worthwhile. I arched my back to stretch, attempting to re-mould it into its usual shape as opposed to the stiff plank it had become. Sleeping outdoors was something that I never wanted to get used to. It felt as though I had slept on a bed of broken glass, but it was only the rocks that had penetrated my mattress of thick ship’s blankets.

It took most of the morning to decide on a line of questioning for Rumscully Jack. He was not yet conscious, but his condition had improved overnight. Mortec was hopeful that he would wake by early afternoon.

He finally came to just after midday. I was sitting on a rock nearby, idly sharpening my rapier. Jack started struggling against the bonds that Argonne had excellently tied. Two pale blue eyes blinked rapidly, accustoming themselves to the bright sunlight. His red bushy brows gave them no respite. He turned his head away from the light and rolled onto his side and registered that I was there, watching his struggles.

“Good day Rumscully Jack.” I said jovially. “Oh sorry. I must apologise for the inconvenience of the gag. My associates and I were a little concerned about you causing a ruckus,” I continued with mock concern as I freed his mouth.

His eyes darted about, taking in all of his surrounds.

“Who are ye? And what do ye want with me?” he rasped.

“Forgive me.” I said, “Perhaps some water would clear your throat.” Never let it be said that a Montfort abandons courtesy even when interrogating a prisoner.

I helped him to a sitting position and he gulped down the water I offered. “Thank ye. Now what do ye want me?” he said.

“Well, as one business man to another…” I began.

“Business man? He’s a bloody pirate.” Interrupted Morgan hotly.

I glanced contemptuously at him. These people do not know the meaning of discretion and subtlety. We had learnt through Moxadders’ source that Jack thought himself more of an entrepreneur and business man than a pirate. Piracy was just another job to him that had certain benefits.

“One business man to another.” I started again, “I believe we can help you to help not only us, but yourself. We just want to ask a few questions.”

“Ah. So information is what ye want. Well ye aint gettin’ it from me. I have nothing to say to ye.”

“Come now Jack, may I call you Jack?” he did not respond so I carried on, “We only want to know a few things and then we will be happy to let you go.” This was partially true. I had nothing in particular against Jack, and providing I did not think he would threaten us I was willing to let him go.

“I would like to achieve this peaceably if at all possible. We do not want it to resort to violence, now do we?” I said in a mock concerned tone. I did not want to hurt him either for that matter, but I would if I had to. Being of noble birth does expose you to some things. I remember a time when my father had caught a hunter illegally shooting game on his lands. Father questioned him most unpleasantly about a second hunter, for father had found a second animal, along with the captured hunters’ own prey, yet with different fletching to that of the prisoners arrows. He got his answer in the end and used crude but effective methods to get it.

“Nothin’ ye do to me can be as bad as what they’ll do. Kill me if ye wish, it’ll be better for me.” He said matter-of-factly.

Who were his employers? We had threatened the man and he did not care. If only he would give us some clue as to who they were, at least then we could follow that trail. As it stood we were very much at a dead end.

“Jack, Jack, Jack.” I said in a consolatory tone. “Who said anything about death? We just want information. Who hired you to capture the Tritons hmm?”

“Ye’ll get nothin’ from me I told ya. Right now my employers know nothing of what has taken place. I probably haven’t been missed yet. However, in a few hours, or days,“ he added quickly, noting our interest in the time mentioned, “they will notice my absence, and they will ask questions. There is nothing I can do to stop them getting answers. And that means they’ll find ye. Best head back down the path ye came down and let me go.” He said.

“Let you go?” I chortled in surprise, “Why would we do that? You have given us no reason to. Give me some answers and then we can talk terms.”

“I already told ye, ye’ll get nothin’ from me.” Then stared straight at me and repeated slowly, “Best head back down the path ye came down.” I noticed a glint in his eye as I held his gaze. “Free me and leave me in peace and we can make it look as though none of this happened.”

Silently I chastised myself for not noting his subtle hint the first time around, but it had finally dawned on me. He had said, “Best head back down the path ye came down." It was obvious! The path he meant had been the one we had followed to the dwarf’s house. So, it was at Grisha’s home we would find more answers.

“If we were to let you go, how could we be sure that you would do us no ill?” I asked.

“Why would I harm ye? All that would do is bring attention to ye. And that is something neither of us want.” Replied Rumscully Jack.

After quick discussion with my companions it was decided that there was no benefit in keeping him captive, not if we wanted to keep up any pretence of secrecy.

“So what is it that you propose?” I inquired casually whilst wondering who his employers might be and how it was that they held such a sway over him.

“Well, you have borrowed one of my ships. I’ll say that it was lost in a raid. They won’t question that too much.” He winced a little. I reasoned that he would be questioned, and none too pleasantly, but it certainly was a plausible explanation. It would also result in less pain than the truth. Jack guessed that if his employers found out what really happened it would be a long and painful exercise for him as they extracted every last detail.

“I’ll not mention you, this conversation, my capture or anything else for that matter to anyone at all. To do so would only cause me more grief,” he said. “It’s best for all if ye just let me on my way and this whole little incident is not spoken of again.”

As he finished I could see a glimmer of hope on his face. It was well placed. I could not see a flaw in his logic. If we kept him there would be many questions asked by his employers. I had no doubt with a little persistence they would find us. I had even less doubt that if they found us, our lives would be forfeit. The conviction with which Jack had spoken had convinced me that we were dealing with a foe that was much greater than anything we could conquer.

Letting him go would of course huge risk for us, but seeing that I am not a cold blooded murderer, I was not going to kill him and I could not fathom any reason to keep him. It was in everyone’s best interest to let him go. So we did, much to his surprise and relief. With a wink and a nod he plodded through the scrub toward his hidden dock.

This really was getting a lot bigger than I liked and we still had no proof for the Baron.

 

[Haraash Saan]

After Jack had disappeared through the scrub we considered our own situation. We had no need for a second ship considering our own was still moored in Port of Warlock. Although, as some argued, we could sell it for considerable gain, however it needed to be out of the region so that it could not be spotted and discredit Jack’s story. In the end we decided to give it to the freed folk of Ravenswood and let them sail it to their home. That way we would be rid of it and the obligation to them, although I was sure I could have consoled the lasses about their harrowing ordeal.

As the sun began its descent in the west we watched the departure of the longship. After it had left the cove we turned our thoughts to more pressing issues. It was decided that we would rest for the remainder of the day and that on the morrow we would revisit the site of the cat slaying, the dwarf’s home, and see what we could discover.

I awoke feeling refreshed. We had a clear direction and we had a plan, of sorts. My wounds had finally healed and I felt like a new man. Then I moved. I have already mentioned my dislike of sleeping in the wilderness. Two nights in a row did not make it any better. As soon as I moved I felt like an old man. Pain shot through my lower back. Several stretches did little to remedy it, although eventually the walk to Grisha’s cottage did.

We hid amongst some scrub that was on a small hillock that overlooked the dwarf’s abode. I felt like a bandit awaiting his prey; I did not enjoy it one bit. I was not about to duel over a lady, her token scarf wrapped around my wrist. I was not in the arena listening to the adoration of the people. No! I was lying amongst the long grass, on my belly, in the dirt and peering through some brush. It was not at all what I had thought my life would come to.

We waited for several hours before Moxadder had had enough. I watched him run in a hunched gait to the rear of the house before skulking slowly and carefully around until he was out of view. I cursed. We had decided to wait until the dwarf had left to go to the market, as he did daily at noon. But no, idiocy had once again planted a seed into the mind of one of my companions. We only had perhaps another hour to wait and he would have left and we could have examined his property at our leisure.

It horrifies me that I can actually write that. How low have I fallen? Am I now just a common thief? Well no. I can justify it as I was following the orders of my liege and I could think of no other way to get the information. Somehow asking the dwarf never really did come into our calculations. His demeanour had not enamoured me to him and I did not honestly think he would help us. Why would he?

Mortec was the next to move. It was an amusing sight. The grass was almost as tall as he was and it looked as though his head was somehow floating just above the sea of green, cheeks puffing out in exertion as he ran down the hill. He followed Moxadders trail to the front of the house. Argonne and Morgan left soon after. I know not where Strav was, but with a shake of my head and muffled prayer to Srcan asking for success in our endeavours, I joined the others.

Morgan disappeared around the other side of the house, the opposing route to that taken by Moxadder and Mortec. Argonne waited by a shuttered window, flat against the wall. I went join him, sucking in deep breaths as I ran. As I approached he swung his mighty axe into the shutters. They exploded inwards. With momentum behind me I dove through the now open window, landed in a roll and sprung to my feet.

I found myself in a bedroom. There was a bed in one corner, a small chest at its foot and a writing table with inks and parchments in another corner. I heard Grisha’s gruff voice on the other side of one of the inner walls. There was a door that provided an exit to the room. Crossbow still in hand I flung it open.

Grisha stood in the corner of a large room.. At least it looked like him. Beard, angry snarl and beady eyes, but he was now huge! He stood over ten feet tall and had to hunch his neck forward to avoid brushing the ceiling. In his hands was a tree trunk! Well it was the size of a small one and it was heading my way and wielded with rage. I squeezed my crossbows’ trigger and the bolt slammed into the dwarf’s (and I use the word with some trepidation because he was no longer a dwarf in the true sense of the word) chest just as his massive staff crashed into me. The blow sent my crossbow spinning out of my grasp and numbed my left shoulder so that my arm hung useless by my side. Nausea struck me immediately and I blinked back tears as my vision blurred.

Once I regained focus I saw that the others had not been idle. Another shaft stuck out from Grisha’s arm and the grey mass that was Kuruul leapt at his throat. He swatted the mutt away as if it were a gnat, giving me an opening. I summoned the last of my strength, whipped out Rumscully Jack’s rapier and with one stride thrust it into Grisha’s belly. I started to cry out a remarkably witty comment but I fear I cannot recall it for darkness engulfed me.

 

[Haraash Saan]

Chapter 6 - Horrid little Rodents

I woke from my unconsciousness to find myself laying atop my bed in the Witches Brew. My left arm ached, but that was not my main concern. I was still dressed, and filthy!

My companions were not there, although Kuruul lay asleep in a corner, so I called a serving boy to organise a bath. In the time it took to arrive I managed to brush off most of the dirt from my clothing and retrieve a fresh clean set from my pack. The bath was terrible. Frightfully cold and with none of the oils to which I am accustomed, however, it did allow me to wash myself thoroughly.

Dressed in my spare set of clean travelling clothes I felt much better, even my arm was less painful. I headed to the common room to get some much needed nourishment. I was famished.

It was there, well after the sun had passed noon and during my third glass of wine for the day, that my comrades eventually found me. Each had been off on various personal businesses. Once all had returned we retired to our room to discuss the events of the previous day.

I was surprised to hear that the fight had continued after I bravely fell. I had been sure that my strike was deep and would have caused Grisha to fall, however, it was not the lethal blow I had assumed. The rather tall dwarf managed to down Kuruul and a defenceless Argonne. The shaft of his huge axe had split apart from a wayward blow. In the end it was Mortec who killed Grisha, apparently by draining his life from him. Morgan, who had not been shy with his archery during the combat told me that Mortec’s hands blazed with white light the moment they touched the dwarf’s calf (a Gnome does not have a great reach) and that Grisha rapidly emaciated until he became a withered husk! Normally I would have laughed off Morgan’s words as a tall tale, but I did not take him for a liar and had seen too many strange things since journeying from Halfast.

When I questioned Mortec about the incident he simply responded with “It was the will of Todesmagie.” and left it at that. Todesmagie seemed to be a curiously vicious god considering that knowledge was his province. Unless of course he could somehow learn from the soul that his power had claimed.

After bandaging the fallen the others searched the cottage on the bluff and discovered several things, most importantly a note that read;

“Grisha,

The last dispatch you sent was detailed. I trust that they were accurate and complete. The Arcanists are more advanced and numerous than we supposed. Keep them squabbling!

Our master is missing one of his children.”

The next sentence began with an indecipherable name.

“was supposed to be our agent of destabilization in Halfast. He has not been heard from, nor does his Gem respond.

Find him. He has local knowledge. Memorise the sketch then burn it.

If you require further resources feel free to find them yourself. Kill someone. I care not.

Do not fail or you will be my next cat skin hat!

Hurak”

The note gave us the one thing we sought, another lead, and Mortec had already followed up on it. He visited his friends in the Tower of Navrod and they informed him that Hurak was a general for Strav and Kuruul’s nemesis, Rorlock the Transmuter.

After all of our efforts with pirates, oversized dwarfs, Tritons and even bureaucratic port officials we finally had an insight into the those responsible on the attack on Yorathton; the Dominion. Armed with that information Mortec clasped the gem around his neck and communed with Baron Yorath. I heard his reply.

It was only a brief conversation, the end result of which was that we were commanded to return to Yorathton.

In short time we had settled our debt at the Witches Brew and set sail in the Swift.

After many hours at sea, fighting a swirling and unpredictable wind, we found ourselves once more pulling oars through a calm ocean. We knew not where we were as the winds had turned us about several times before dissipating entirely. The general consensus was that we were lost. Argonne denied it, and whilst his facial covering could mask any look of worry or concern, his voice betrayed him.

“We’re fine. No problems at all. Just waiting for the wind to pick up before we head, er, that way.” Argonne said waving a finger nervously in an arbitrary direction. Excellent to have at your side in a sortie, but I maintain he has no real comprehension of boats nor the art of sailing them.

You may recall that we had a dolphin, Maron Devlis’s animal friend, Elwing, to accompany us and act as our guide. He left us shortly after we embarked on our return voyage, another animal demonstrating way too much knowledge of the human tongue, after a drug addled taunting by Moxadder.

“Come ‘ere little fishy.” Moxadder had commanded. “I wonder if ya’re a tasty little fishy. I could eat ya all up. I’m starving.”

With an angry flip of its tail the dolphin had disappeared from sight, apparently unhappy at the lack of respect it thought it deserved. I still do not understand. It is a bloody fish! Undoubtedly an oversized and impressive one but a fish nonetheless. How it could come close to understanding our idiotic companion is beyond me.

The crew, everyone bar Argonne, was getting restless. The tightly knit unit we had become was fraying rapidly. Abuse was hurled by all at all, although Argonne seemed to be on the receiving end of most of it.

Frustrated and annoyed at the ceaseless bickering and whining I withdrew from my comrades and pulled out one of two books Mortec had found in Grisha’s cabin and began to scan through it.

It was the dwarf’s book of magic. Within the leather-bound tome were instructions and recipes for such things as; The Pounce of a Lion, Ariso’s Spell of Many Faces and The Vanishing Word. They were written or described as incantations of some sort and sounded most intriguing.

Whilst my companions continued to cast blame I became more enthralled with Grisha’s spells. I followed the instructions for Morice’s Majestic Muscles, gesturing with fingers and sounding out unfamiliar words yet I found that my muscles remained as elusive as ever. Somewhat deflated I stashed the book away.

The second book proved to be much more interesting.

 

[Haraash Saan]

A quick note to apologise to readers. I accidentally double posted previously but have now fixed the error. Post number 20 is now correct.