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Message: <blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 4017816" data-attributes="member: 1210">The LajatangAs a youth in a dwarven hill community, Barouk was the son of a smith named Tordek. Tordek had a very good reputation amongst his own, and all the surrounding, communities. Some even called him “Truehammer” for the skill with which he wrought metals, base and noble alike. For Tordek Truehammer could craft silver bells or golden bangles nearly as well as he could iron weapons and steel armor. Most folk of such lofty and diverse skills would have trouble come, if anything, because of their skill with gold and jewels. But for Tordek Truehammer, it was his proficiency with forging even the strangest of weapons. It was called a lajatang. It was a weapon originally of Peshan origin, said the customer- a haughty human aristocrat. It was a curiosity. Yet he had heard of Truehammer’s skills, and he would have no lesser smith work the weapon for him. He offered Tordek an exorbitant price for the work- for his finest work. Near to bursting with all the things the nobleman said to inflame his pride, Tordek carelessly agreed and set to work immediately, spending day and night laboring over the strange dual-ended weapon. Young Barouk watched his father work as if possessed. The amount of money that the aristocrat was willing to spend was outrageous. Tordek finished the work in just over two months. When the nobleman arrived to claim his prize, his breath left him at the sight of the work now before him. “It is perfect!” he exclaimed, feeling its weight, its balance. He tried a few experimental cuts in the air. “Perfect!”Tordek smiled proudly. “Ah, I am glad you like it,” he declared. Then he cleared his throat. “Now, as to the matter of payment...”“What? Oh, yes. I am afraid,” the earl sniffed, “that this piece does not measure up. What I told you I would pay in gold, I offer instead in copper.”The dwarven smith was thunderstruck, outraged. He spluttered, he demanded, he shouted; and the aristocrat laughed in delight, for the dwarf had played in his hands. “You dare to raise your voice and your fist in anger at me, earl of these lands! Well, I dispense judgment here, and I judge that treason!” And as simple as that, the smith was hanged by the neck until dead. Barouk hid, then fled, joining the Order of Saint Spadron, where he learned to discipline his mind, his body- and his voice. For he knew that to level such an accusation at someone from the upper class was asking for trouble. Indeed, the earl was perhaps within his rights. No, Barouk would never speak of it... until the time came for his revenge.Someday, he vowed, I will reclaim my father’s lajatang.But somehow, that day never came, as months became years, and years decades, until at last, Barouk was ready to go on his Walk and to earn his beard girdle pin.***It is him.After all these years, it is him. Barouk recognizes him: the earl is the man who betrayed his father, who hanged his father, who killed his father, who murdered his father.All around him, well over a dozen men-at-arms shift their hands onto weapons.“You know this man, Barouk?” asks Severin boldly.“Yes,” the dwarven monk bites out. He spits on the ground.The earl chuckles. “Come now, Barouk. We are acquainted, yes. It is fortunate that you have come along; I require... a favor of you.”Barouk cannot believe his ears.“Yes- aid me in what I require, and you and your friends will be on your way in an hour, probably less.”Barouk’s fingers flex. He glances around, trying to count the number of men-at-arms serving the earl. Over fifteen, he thinks grimly. He glances at Romdar; the duskblade looks lost and confused, standing near the earl.“Uh,” Romdar says, then stops, shaking his head. “Do I know you? Do you know me?” He pauses, frustrated. “I don’t remember any of you, or much of anything else... just a woman’s face,” he groans.“Ah, the woman,” Striker nods sadly.“What?” Romdar wants to pounce on any clue as to his lost memories. “What do you know about her?”“Not much... you talked about her, and you used to say-”“There will be time enough for this soon,” the earl interrupts smoothly. “Assuming that Barouk here cooperates.” He rubs his hands together. “Ah, Barouk, years ago I was too hasty. It was a mistake,” he admits. “Now, will you help me?” His tone is soft, but the menace is implicit. Romdar looks at his friends helplessly, then looks back at these people who seem to know a great deal about him. I was a captain here, he thinks. I could be again. It’s obvious that these people are ready to follow me- all of them except the earl. He must be the one that is really in charge. I have probably sworn myself to him at some point that I can’t remember. His teeth clench together like lovers in a very small nest. And I have to know! I have to know who I am, and whatever these people can tell me is the most that anyone I have encountered so far can. He almost groans in indecision. He doesn’t want to see his friends hurt. But he has to find out what he can!“What do you want me to do?” Barouk answers the earl at last.“You aren’t very nice,” Kifla declares, pouting at the earl. The earl ignores her. “Come with me,” he replies to Barouk, “into my keep. Just for a few moments. I need you to open something for me.”“Something trapped?”“Not to the best of my knowledge,” the earl shrugs. “I’m not killing anyone for you,” the dwarf grumbles.“I am not asking you to hurt anyone, or any thing. Now, are you coming or not?” The earl is clearly not a patient man. The image of his father, eyes bulging out and tongue protruding grotesquely from his mouth, dancing in the wind beneath the tree...“All right,” Barouk sighs. He steps forward. “Excellent,” the earl moans. Barouk, the earl and four guards walk away towards the empty-looking keep a few hundred yards away. The others watch, fascinated. Kifla glances over at Romdar. What is he doing? she wonders. Is he under a spell? Does he remember things, like these people? He looks very confused and uncertain. She sighs and shrugs. I guess we’ll see what happens, she thinks, and gets distracted by murmurs of conversation from some of the men-at-arms, talking about the best way to cook a pheasant. Severin keeps his eyes open. We’re in a very bad situation, he realizes. Something is clearly up between our dwarven friend and this earl. There is bad blood between them. I worry about what is happening between them right now. I hope that Barouk is okay. The earl- well. If Barouk is right that he’s a murderer, then I hope that Barouk is pounding his face in right now. He has counted the men-at-arms as best he can, though he is not sure that he has seen them all, and he may have counted some twice; but he thinks that there are about seventeen of them, plus Striker and the earl. Well, minus the earl and four of them, for the moment. We could take them, Severin thinks. Looking them over, he has come to the conclusion that the shabby men-at-arms are a rabble that will frighten easily and break almost as easily. He mutters his conclusion to Kifla. She looks at him like he is crazy. “What about Romdar?” she whispers. “He’ll fight for us.” He glances over. Romdar is engaged in conversation, laughing and joking with Striker. “Hmm. Or will he. I see your point.”The two of them exchange uneasy looks. ***The keep is abandoned, but not ruined. It is clear that this is the earl’s keep, though why he and his men choose not to inhabit it is... unclear. The architecture, to Barouk’s dwarven appraisal, appears sound. But no fires are lit, none of the rooms appear lived in, and, in fact, the earl leads him directly to a descending stairway and into the dungeon. Barouk prepares himself. If the earl intends treachery, the dwarven monk vows, he will pay for it. I won’t go down without a fight, and I swear that I’ll go straight for that bastard.The stairs lead to- and through- the keep’s dungeon, via a narrow passageway. Cramped quarters, Barouk thinks, are nearly ideal when one is outnumbered. But he doesn’t make his move, not yet. What would he do about the dozens of men-at-arms? Romdar, he thinks grimly, if you don’t buck up and help us, I am going to kick your ass. The narrow passage ends in a slightly wider room. The earl ushers Barouk in. Two of the guards remain in the hallway to prevent retreat, and the other two move in to flank Barouk. Here it comes, he thinks grimly, and clears his mind for battle. The earl draws out the lajatang- the lajatang Barouk’s father died for. The lajatang that the earl killed for. Barouk starts to fall into a fighting stance, but the earl hands the lajatang to the startled dwarf. “Here,” the earl says. He gestures at the wall behind Barouk. “Insert the end of the lajatang in that slot.”Uneasily, Barouk turns to regard what the earl has indicated. Indeed, the rock wall of the passage has a metal piece affixed to it in one area, cut by a thin slot. Reluctantly, Barouk inserts the lajatang.Click!The metal bracket around the slit starts to slowly push itself forward out of the wall. It seems to be some sort of drawer.“Well done, Barouk,” the earl smiles wickedly. “Now return to your friends.” The guards close in on Barouk, leaving him no choices save to go with them or fight.He almost attacks. Instead, he turns and slowly leaves the chamber. “At last, at last, at last,” the earl croons behind him.Next Time: Will the earl let our heroes go? What will Romdar do? Find out- next time!!</blockquote>

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