[Realms #440] A Not So Fond Farewell
"Oh, I dont think so!" Huzair objected and stepped in front of Akerman. "You got the divinity spark after we do all the work and we get caught in your wretched stench! That smelled like an ogre fart!" He'd used Prestidigitation to clean his clothes, but the memory of the Stinking Cloud was still all too fresh in Huzair's mind.
"My apologies for that," Doctor Akerman said. "I did not expect Alechtus to get so close to me so quickly. I... I panicked. I am no warmage. I spend most of my time in the archives and this sword-" He reached out a hand toward the weapon and Shamalin dragged it protectively away from him, an expression of warning on her face.
"You already got what you came for," she cautioned. "Our friend is in there and you're NOT putting her behind some glass case in your archives!"
"I could not have said better myself," Huzair added, crossing his arms and fixing an eye on the Doctor. for his part, the old man stepped back and shrugged his thin shoulders beneath his voluminous black great coat.
"I have no interest in your friend's soul, Mercybringer," Akerman said. "The sword has great historical value to the Memento Mori. The souls are... incidental." Ahlear bristled at that.
"Akerman! I have had enough of your disrespect for souls and all things divine!" he snapped, stabbing the stem of his pipe at the satchel the wizard wore to indicate the divinity sparks contained therein. "You have your 'lab rats', and there are two - not just the one you were expecting. You have no claim on this sword, as it is booty of 'war', rightfully claimed by this group of allies." Akerman raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really?" he asked, smugly. "I could consult with the town magistrate. He might have other ideas." The druid did not back down.
"I have stayed my thoughts on your behaviour because we were allies of convenience and we both needed each other," Ahlear pressed. "Now however, I will not be restrained by such, even if my hopes of aquiring magic from you will be thrown away by my stepping up to keep your grubby hands from aquiring more 'lab rats' for your doubtful research."
"Your fears about the trapped souls are unfounded," the wizard countered. "As I already said, neither I nor the other members of Memento Mori care one wit about the souls. Only the sword is important!" Ayremac turned to the mage at that.
"That's where you're wrong, Doctor," he said his face set and gaze flinty. "The three souls need to be released somehow, so that they can begin their journey to Umba's judgment and then this dispicable weapon needs to be destroyed."
"What?" Akerman exclaimed, aghast at the suggestion.
"Breaking the weapon is bound to release the souls but also render the weapon unusable," Ahlear observed, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. "I am loath to do that, however." Ayremac turned his unyielding eyes on the druid.
"Sadly, I still believe the weapon needs to be destroyed," he said flatly. "Such an evil weapon... capable of ending your life and your existance in the afterlife with a single slash should not be trusted in anyone's hands. Not one among us could truly take on the responsibility and I can't as a man of faith allow one of you to make that mistake."
The hair on Ahlear's neck practically stood on end at the holy warrior's proclamation but he held his tongue for the moment.
"I will hold the sword for now... Shamalin, would you pray on this?" he asked as he turned to the cleric. "I will do the same, I am just not sure what this means." He extended a hand to her but she turned as she had done with Doctor Akerman, keeping the weapon out of the man's reach. Ayremac looked both hurt and confused by the Mercybringer's refusal. He looked meaningfully into her eyes and said gravely, "This weapon is inherently evil, Shamalin. It swallows and destroys souls. By my definition, and the faith I believe in that is evil." The priestess tore her eyes away from Ayremac's gaze and shook her head fiercely.
"No," she said. "You trusted me with the Rod of Withering and nothing ill came of it. As Ixin was my friend, I will hold this sword until we have decided the best course. I need some time to reflect." Ahlear nodded.
"I can live with that," he said. "I don't know that reference to the Rod of Withering and what weight it carrries, but I don't think Shamalin is the impulsive kind of 'goody-two-shoes' who on sight wants to destroy any weapon that seems remotely dubious in the narrow view of said 'goody'." Ayremac ignored Ahlear and looked imploringly at the cleric.
"As you said, Shamalin, I bent on the Rod of Withering and I expect that you will return the favor and respect my wishes in this," he told her but she did not relent. Looking around at the others he said, more loudly. "Let me be utterly clear... I will not tolerate this weapon to exist, nor can I turn my back and forget its existance. None of us has the right to gamble with another's soul and their right to an afterlife so that we can feel more powerful."
Ahlear scoffed, blowing smoke from his nostrils.
"If and when the weapon's current occupants get released and it is then empty of souls 'to misuse' as you say, Ayremac, then it is only a weapon to be used. When you actually make the killing blow, then you get to decide if you want to not only kill that person but capture his soul, and - for re-use - store it," the druid said, gesturing with the stem of his pipe. "It could even be used for good, that is, to store a soul we cannot raise as yet, and later when we can, give it a new body! Not a very efficient way of doing it, but possible anyway."
"I am a druid, if you forget my powers, Ayremac. I have to know a thing or two about balance and such. I am not a simple thug to misuse anything we might come across, just because it might suit me personally," Ahlear went on, bending down to scratch Nibble behind the rat's ear. "I am neither Good, nor Evil. That should say more than you are presuming..." Ayremac turned on the druid, his feathers - literally - ruffled.
"I had hope that you were not as dumb as you look, Ahlear... but in what circumstance would you kill someone to save their soul?? It's a stupid context," the Officer of Umba snapped. "The fact is you are not powerful enough to keep this from the hands of our enemies. If you were taking this weapon to a church or a stronghold... you would still have a weak argument, but at least it would be an argument. You plan to take this weapon into the heart of the enemy, and none of us know what will happen." The druid puffed thoughtfully on his pipe but said nothing.
"Further, I have just as much a right to veto anything I want as you do to tell me what will be done with this sword," Ayremac growled, glaring imperiously down at the man. His hand was on Windblade's pommel. "I will tell you one last time, Ahlear, insult me, my faith, or anything about me... including the state of my fingernails and I will cut you down where you stand for your insolence."
"STOP IT!" Huzair yelled, interposing himself bodily between the two opponents. "I will not tolerate fighting in the party." That was enough to diffuse the conflict momentarily and Ayremac took a step back from the wizard, but continued to glare at the druid who calmly scratched his dire rat's ear.
"I know I kicked Morier's ass, but this is different. Put the weapons down or I will take care of you both! Do not mess with a pissed off wizard boy," Huzair said cockily as he chomped on his cigar with hands at the ready to apparently cast spells. "Are you not both just dying to know how? Go at each other and you will find out. I will not allow either to hurt the other one."
Neither druid nor holy warrior said anything, but both now had their attention on Huzair.
"I say the party decides what to do with the sword. It is not Ayremac's decision alone. I for one say we empty the souls into a dead body. There sure are enough of them around... too many to worry about your damn righteous ideologies," the mage went on. "If you want to kill them after the souls are emptied, well that is your problem. But that is murder in my eyes. I may be a selfish bastard, but I never have killed anyone without good reason before. It would be a shame if I had to start now. Got better things to do than squabble around with you two girls... no offense Shamalin and Anania." Huzair flashed a winning smile at the two females and then held his hand out to Shamalin.
"I will hold on to it until we decide what to do," he said to the cleric. "You know I will not use it."
The Mercybringer didn't immediately hand over the sword, but neither did she pull it away as she had done twice before. Huzair reached out and for a moment, both their hands were on the sword. In that moment, she gave him a piercing stare trying to fathom his intent. Then she nodded and released it to him.
"Put it in your Haversack until we decide what to do." She instructed him before letting go. All eyes watched as Huzair opened his traveler's purse and slid the bastard sword into its extra-dimensional space. There was a pause in the dialog then into which Morier stepped diplomatically.
"It is important that we keep in mind that while we each bring our own individual beliefs with us, the most important thing is that we continue to function as a collective. Obviously there are times that our own personal beliefs clash with what is best for the entire group," the eldritch warrior said, laying a hand lightly on the Officer of Umba's shoulder guard. "Ayremac, I understand your position, but yours is not the only position represented among we six. As much as you expect your beliefs be upheld, I ask you to consider the beliefs of the five others around you to be valid as well. I won't try to convince you that the sword is good or bad or useful or not, I will only ask you to consider that there are others here who believe things as strongly as you do, and that we all must make concessions from time to time for a group as diverse as ours to survive."
"Yeah," Huzair chimed in, clapping the albino on the back in a rare show of unity between the two men. Ayremac, however, wasn't feeling it. His face was creased with conflicting emotions.
"Morier, as a man of faith, I do not have the freedom to make those decisions," the celestial said. "But if a member of our group believed in murdering children to get their parents to tell us their secrets... would you allow it from time to time 'to keep the peace'?" Morier scowled disapprovingly at the holy warrior.
"I really don't want this to become a contentious discussion, but please, Ayremac... your argument is far more dramatic than it is compelling. You speak in such black and white terms, as though you alone have the power to declare it a given that murdering children and the use of this weapon are one in the same. But the objective truth is that they bear little resemblance to one another, even under the greatest scrutiny," the eldritch warrior countered. "Yes, absolutely... I certainly see your point that this sword has the potential to be used for a purely evil purpose. That's clear, and the destiny of the souls currently held within it is not something I haven't thought about, especially considering that Ixin's is one of them. It may well be that when we consider every angle, we aren't able to reconcile oursleves with its use. But to dismiss something this powerful out of hand is foolish, particularly when you consider the enemies we encounter regularly." The Officer of Umba was unswayed.
"I understand you feel as if you are asking me to compromise on what is not a big issue but I feel you are being blind to the fact that this sword has gobbled up three souls, one of our own, and with a whim, it could have been erased from all eternity... to kill again," Ayremac said, his voice heavy with emotion as he looked around at the faces he'd thought he knew. "The fact that you all stand here debating its worth disgusts me. I will not be a part of it, nor will I turn on any of you. So I will depart."
He turned and started walking.
"I will be at the inn," he said before pausing to look once more into everybody's eyes - everybody's except for Ahlear, that is. "But I swear this to be true: if you bring that sword into my company again, I will travel no further with you." And then he started walking again, his head bowed by the weight of his own convictions.
"What?" Huzair hissed. "Is he serious?" Morier started after Ayremac.
"Let me talk to him," he said as he went. It didn't take him long to catch up to Ayremac; the holy warrior's heavy armor made him slower on foot than Morier.
"You've travelled with me long enough to know how cheaply life comes and goes in pursuing this task we've set out to accomplish," the albino said as soon as Ayremc looked up, acknowledging his presence. "Maybe I've become jaded by the death of so many companions who have traveled with me, but Ayremac, you must have considered by now that no matter how much it would hurt me to do so personally, walking away and leaving you at the inn wouldn't slow my need to progress toward the pull in my head in the slightest." Ayremac looked at him, but said nothing so Morier went on.
"Has there ever been a shortage of 'hired muscle' to fill the shoes of one of our departed in the past?" he asked, hooking his hand into Ayremac's elbow to stop the holy warrior. "At least allow us to see what we can learn about this weapon. If it is used to destroy evil, and the souls of that evil are destroyed to make us even stronger against an even greater evil... then what harm has come?"
"Morier, I don't expect you to walk my faith... but please don't think I would compromise my beliefs or that which I know is right for you or this quest," the Officer admitted. "You have not known me long, Morier, but if you think me such a fool, then it is best you find new company in any case."
He extricated his arm from Morier's grip and started to turn away when Shamalin's cries drew his attention.
"I HAVE A SOLUTION!" she yelled, waving her right arm frantically in the air.
Morier met Ayremac's gaze and he angled his head toward the cleric. "Come on," he suggested. "Let's hear what she has to say. How often does anyone have a solution for us?"
"Ayremac is free to part ways here if he chooses," Shamalin said as they got back within easy earshot. "But we can't let Windblade walk away. So we trade swords. Ayremac can have the new blade, to do with it as he sees fit, in exchange for Windblade. Which Ahlear should get." Ayremac looked at Shamalin with something akin to disbelief on his face.
"Not a bad idea," observed Huzair, exhaling smoke into the sky.
"I don't know how you guys divide spoils, but my interests mostly lie with the Ring of Freedom, nothing else," Ahlear said, rising to his feet. Nibble continued to huddle against his legs, but the druid seemed not to notice; he was deep in thought. Then he said, " I will forgo my claim on the samsara sword, so that Ayremac in his wisdom can leave with it, to go and destroy it as he pleases, and I will hope for the Ring of Freedom instead. Regardless of where the airblade goes; that is not mine to decide. Freedom above all for me and the Ring represents that moreso."
Ayremac said nothing, but stepped up to Huzair, unstrapping Windblade from his belt. With the elemental sword in his left hand he extended his right to the wizard. Huzair looked around for confirmation from the group before taking Windblade and handing over the samsara sword. As he attached the bastard sword to his belt, Ayremac looked at Shamalin.
"In the end, I am saddened that neither myself nor the sword over which we disagree are all that important to you," he told her. "My beliefs are strong, as is my loyalty to my convictions. I will give Ixin your goodbyes." He turned to leave but Shamalin called after him.
"Is that truly your regret, Ayremac? That you were not important enough to me?" she scoffed. "It's because of your convictions that I don't beg you to stay; I think your disappointment lies elsewhere."
Then she turned and stomped off down the street.
"Journey well," Ayremac said softly, spread his alabaster pinions and took to the air. After only a few heartbeats he disappeared over the rooftops across the street. Everyone just stood watching him go as if they expected him to turn and come back at any moment. He didn't.
"I am stunned Fly-Boy left us hanging," Huzair said when it became obvious that Ayremac had really left their company. Morier sighed and clapped the mage's shoulder.
"Come on," he said. "Let's find Shamalin and then we'll probably need to talk with whoever's in charge around here."
Several blocks away, Shamalin wandered in the direction of the temple with an argument careening back and forth within her mind. Had she pushed Ayremac into leaving by suggesting he trade Windblade for the samsara sword? There had been so many times when she had admired and even envied his convictions. She should have known he would choose this path.
"Of course you knew," one of the voices inside her head chided. "You gave him no choice. And in doing so, you removed the measure by which you were failing. It works out rather nicely, doesn't it?"
There were bodies in the dirt outside the temple. Ignoring them, she moved toward the large wooden doors and past their broken lock into the stillness of the temple. She had often considered Ayremac's faith in comparison to her own, yes. But that hadn't driven her to force the issue.
The look he had given her as they made the exchange haunted her. What had he wanted? Would it have made any sense for her to back him, going against the wishes of the party? He hadn't given her any time to think!
"And he didn't ask you to go with him," the voice reminded her. Well, there was that, too. She would have said no, of course. Her duty was to protect the party. Those were her convictions; she thought Ayremac understood that.
And suddenly it became clear. She sank to her knees, her armor clanging loudly against the stone floor. He had understood her - knew what bound her. Just as she had known in her heart he would act upon his principles - nothing less.
A small sound escaped her, echoing from the temple around her. Without warning, a violent wave of grief welled up from within. It was ancient and deep and threatened to drag her into the despair she so vividly remembered. And this time, she let it come.
Several blocks in the other direction, Ayremac sat on the roof of a building with melting snow running inside his armor. He didn't notice it, however. He was intent on scanning the town, hard faced, looking for the right spot.
He found a place... hidden from the streets and void of any overlooking windows and he landed on it slowly, trying to be silent for anyone beneath - no easy task for a warrior in spiked plate armor. Once settled, he sat, removed his helm and stared down at the samsara sword, pondering.
Somehow, he felt as if he had lost a second family. A tear rolled slowly down his cheek as he felt again in his heart the bitter loss of his own family. The only thing that had ever eased his grief over them was knowing that mother and child had stood before Umba and that their souls had been judged. To risk a weapon as gross and malign as this in the world... it was a disrespect to himself... to Umba... to his late wife and child.
The tears flowed more heavily for a time, but at last he mastered himself.
"There is other work to be done," he said aloud, his voice swollen with righteousness. He slipped the sword into the scabbard at his hip, positioned his helm back in its proper place, and looked northwestward toward Frothingham and Justiciar Galmache.
