Tulca Doliond was twenty six years old when the last king of the last dynasty was overthrown. That day was twice the more memorable for the fact that there was twice the usual amount of memorable events. The coup d'etat took place in the morning; King Macil III was stabbed several times by "his" soldiers, Chief General Fein Gwethiond sat down in the Golden Throne and put on the great crown, and his lieutenant Angren Rochoniyond assumed the position of Chief General. Macil III was old, heirless, bitter and needlessly cruel; he was not missed, and so the magocrats, the urban nobles and Fein's lieutenants dined together in celebration of the victory. Tulca, a junior adjutant of Angren, was there too at first, but later, seeing the glint in Angren's one eye, made an excuse and walked away. Soon after the entire huge dining room of the main palace turned into a battlefield; Angren's men attacked everyone in sight, while Angren himself attacked Fein, who quickly found himself at a disadvantage. Under Angren's pressure, the duel moved upstairs, and all was going according to plan until Fein managed to inflict three severe wounds in a row. Before Fein finished off his treasonous lieutenant, he saw the latter make some weird gesture. Tulca ran out from behind his cover and tried to attack Fein with his sword, but was quickly disarmed and thrown to the ground.
By then the second coup had failed, but the feast, alas, could not quite continue. In its stead King Fein I held a trial in the same room, not bothering to clean away the blood beforehand. When he ordered the execution of the remaining officers answerable directly to Angren, none questioned this judgment, despite it going against the First Commandment of Draugel; those people were, it was agreed, thoroughly evil and untrustworthy. And besides, the new king did, after some discussion, agree to pardon the rest of Angren's followers. He did, however, aim to make an exception... and Tulca, who had just a few minutes ago regained consciousness and realised the full gravity of his situation, looked around and saw that none of the survivors were about to disagree with Fein about the fate of the would-be regicide.
All except one. Merenel Eruiyond, already then known under the informal title of the Magister, came forward and calmly gave a somewhat rambling and impromptu speech about the universality of measures, the importance of mercy, the mistakes of youth and the value of redemption. Tulca did not listen. He did not see the strange expression on Fein's face, he did not hear his reply; he was too busy shaking with fear and trying to remember the names of the good gods, and time passed either immeasurably slowly or immeasurably quickly. But it ended. He was forced to stand up and escorted out of the room. When he gained the will to ask his guards about the method of his upcoming execution, he was answered with a surprised look and a brief explanation that the king, in his infinite mercy, granted the young dog life. He was dismissed from the army and denied his pension, and had to leave the city for five years - just like all the others that were granted mercy. Thankfully, his parents owned a large estate just outside of the city limits.
Tulca Doliond - now fifty two years old and minister of the army for young King Fein II - lived by few rules, but one of those few rules was rememberance, and another was gratitude, though it was very selective. He took small favours for granted, and just about everything was a small favour to him. But there was at least one thing that he remembered (even if in poor detail) as a large favour, and therefore at least one person he owed infinite gratitude to. And in his defense it must be said that he knew that this debt could not be repaid, yet did not decide to ignore it, instead - on the first day after his exile - vowing impassionately to do whatever his saviour willed. The Magister - now even more ancient and incomprehensible than before - laughed, smiled and noded. And gave him his first task. It was perhaps to the Magister's honour - in one way or another - that he only ever required knowledge. Well, and sometimes some political assistance. Tulca was only too happy to provide it.
And today, as on every other day, he went alone, without any bodyguards or servants, from the outwardly-grand royal palace to the outwardly-humble house of the Magister. Inside, the palace was well-decorated, but empty of meaning; besides, it was decaying. The Magister's house, meanwhile, had an air of unsurpassed permanence to it (or so it seemed to the fairly impermanent Tulca); it was decorated with many maps and a few paintings, as well as many well-kept curiosities, and books. Lots and lots of scrolls and books. Tulca knocked, entered (because the Magister never commented and never protested his minister's arrival at the appointed hour) and looked around. He did not have a head for anything in here, and never bothered trying to understand anything from it; but even he couldn't but notice that somehow the amount of books and scrolls was completely undiminished, despite the fact that the Magister did donate a large part of his personal library to the newly-reformed ministry of magic. Tulca shrugged. The ways of the Magister were, again, not something he understood, and therefore not to be questioned.
The Magister - dressed in his plain gray robes, just like on that day of judgment or on any other day ever - emerged from his study. The hood hid his eyes; his ever-present simple smile was, however, clearly seen. He greeted Tulca and sat down in his rocking chair opposite the minister. Tulca suspected that his eyes were closed. Faces were more in his area of expertise, and so he did once ask the Magister whether or not his eyes were closed. Back then, the Magister laughed and replied that his ears were open. He would probably have said the exact same thing now, and therefore Tulca began his report.
He spoke of petty intrigues and minor plots, of appointments and promotions, and of resignations and exiles. He had no idea what the Magister wanted from him, or why; but the Magister never refused any of the information offered, and so Tulca spoke about everything - absolutely everything - that happened at the court and in the government since his last report. Occasionally the Magister nodded, or laughed; it was so today, just like on any other day. Ofcourse, sometimes there were exceptions, when the Magister spoke; Tulca had a theory that those happened in matters of great importance to the Magister, but he could never quite discern any particular pattern.
Suddenly, the Magister stopped rocking his chair and slightly raised his head. Tulca finished the sentence and stopped talking.
"A dungeon? Mhm... Those are interesting things you tell me, friend Tulca." - the Magister said with a sign of irritation in his voice - "Many interesting things, and all in one report." - he added, and smiled. Tulca couldn't but notice that the smile was... forced.
"Would you mind if I asked some questions?" - asked the Magister. Tulca did not mind.
"Good, then. First of all: this general Feardor recruits humans?"
"Some of his captains do." - cautiously noted Tulca.
"Captains are the eyes and hands of generals." - said the Magister. Or maybe it was a quote? It sounded like one.
"Yes," - Tulca immediately agreed - "And I think I already told you about that, some months ago. The captains are seeking out human mercenaries for special missions."
"Yes..." - the Magister noted - "Yes, yes, I do remember: 'to use the more gifted of the western migrants as scouts where armies would be redundant and the skills they would have had to pick up while traveling to the Golden Kingdom would be of great specific utility'. This human, is he gifted?"
"Well..." - Tulca started.
"Magically gifted." - the Magister interrupted him instantly - "And yes, yes he is. He is a somewhat capable mage, a relative rarity amongst humans."
"The general's report says nothing of the kind." - said Tulca, not at all in protest.
"But he is." - the Magister smiled triumphantly - "Why would they approach him otherwise? Or even the captain, he must have had some idea... Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. The general wants him to scout a dungeon, correct?"
"Correct."
"Breishn." - the Magister said and suddenly stood up, took a clean quilt from his table and pointed at some point on one of his maps on a wall. Tulca approached it and confirmed that the location pointed out by the old one was, indeed, known under that name.
"And there are two more dungeons nearby. Besides, this is an area of unclaimed wildlands. 'Unclaimed wildlands are to be conquered by the righteous, yet not in ones or pairs; they are to form large armies and march there in unity, so as to attain a true and proper lasting victory rather than a vainglorious barbarian triumph'." - the Magister quoted, for this was definitely a quote, though Tulca knew not from where.
"The idea is to scout out the area and..." - started Tulca.
"No. No, no, no." - the Magister quickly cut him off - "The idea is to achieve a vainglorious barbarian triumph, though doubtless the general is being ignorant and impatient rather than knowingly evil. Besides..." - the Magister searched with his quilt for a moment, than pointed at a small hut on the map - "the human is at Hath'len. 'Let us stand on our feet and reach for the sky with our arms; everything is where it must be for us to prevail'. Ofcourse, the general is... somewhat mistaken, but not unintelligent, for he did send the report to you and did not act of his own accord; besides, what he put forward is merely a recommendation, correct?"
"Correct."
"Splendid!" - the Magister smiled widely - "Then nothing bad has happened. The idea here is sound, if... exploitable by those with dubious purposes, but it can easily be salvaged, I am certain. Ragnar - that is the human's name?"
"It is."
"The general was only wrong about the details; commend him and his... captains for the idea itself and encourage them to continue recruiting... no, not humans in particular, but restless, battle-worthy migrants in general, but not into the army; instead, they would simply be mercenaries in the service of the ministry of the army - in your own service, if you will, paid for from your treasury. As to Ragnar, inv-... No, wait." - the Magister stopped, and for a moment, his smile disappeared; it was as though he noticed some inconvenient contradiction. Then he brightened up again - "write him a letter, and send it with one of your functionaries. Promise him a reasonably great pecuniary reward for a very discrete and potentially dangerous extensive task. There are many strange happenings in the south of the peninsula..."
"Such as the orcs?" - Tulca offered encouragingly as the Magister stopped again for a time.
"The orcs? Why, yes, there are the orcs..." - smiled the Magister - "But east of the Orc kingdom of Zalask - half-way between their capital and the eastern coast - there is something strange that, as I have written to the king, merits investigating at some point or another. A magical phenomenon of some kind; who else to send there but a freelance mage in the payroll of the minister of the army? Young Ragnar is to go there, look at it and write down everything of importance. And also everything interesting that he encounters along the way; I will be happy to hear it from you on the day you receive his final report. Is everything understood?"
"Yes, magister."
"Good. I trust that you have nothing more to say that is of genuine import?"
"Absolutely nothing, magister." - Tulca said with some relief.
"Splendid. Thank you, once again, for your services."
"Thank you for making it possible for me to serve anyone at all."
"Yes, yes." - nodded the Magister - "Now, if you will excuse me, I have some letters to write, while you yourself too still have some paperwork and an audience ahead of you. Farewell and good luck."
"Same to you, magister." - Tulca bowed and walked away, trying not to think about any new peculiarities and suspicions. The Magister, he decided long ago, was either insane or planning something that was beyond even Tulca. The former would render his life ridiculous, whereas the latter might very well kill him and everybody else, if his own political instinct was to be trusted. But...
But gratitude overrides.
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OOC: In other words, I want Ragnar to scout out hex #T-21, and the surroundings.
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