Sekai II: The Third Age

The Darkness at the Heart of the Sun

The Golden Order of the Illuminating Sun is one of the most prevalent and powerful socerous societies in the city of Zambar and the entire kingdom. Its success largely comes from the fact that it exploits tribal beliefs to maximise their acceptance amongst all walks of life. On the surface they are a kind, charitable order that the common folk can depend on to aid them at prices undercutting those of other orders. Little do the commoners realise that the sorcerers tend to take their money and babble nonsense until they go away. This scamming is a problem but the order does also provide genuine services to paying clients and significant benefits to the kingdom. Rouge members are blamed and it is ignored. It’s not an ideal situation but one can hardly argue with an order of sorcerers who provide half the battle magic support for the Royal Army singlehandedly.

A tired looking man runs down the dark alley, by his dress and bearing he is a guard and one who is expecting trouble judging by the drawn sword. He reached the end of the alley and turned right to go down the main street. He ran this way about twenty feet before suddenly halting; stopped dead in the middle of the road with no obvious reason. A more observant observer (sadly for him there were no observers at all, yet alone ones who could actually observe) would have noticed a slightly darker patch of night in the road in front of the man. Its form is totally indistinctive but it does not feel good. Evil somehow emanates from it as though it were a rip into the fabric of the night leading into some hellish underworld. There is one problem with that theory. Rips in reality do not move and they certainly do not hunt down men. The shape started to move with uncanny and supernatural speed towards the man. The man turned tail and fled as though his life and soul depended solely now on his ability to keep ahead of the shape. Something shot out of the shape moving impossibly fast, no crossbow could fire a quarrel with that amount of force. It struck the man. The scream lasted for exactly ten seconds but it was so loud and the night so still it echoed for thirty. The guard would not report what he had just seen to his superior. Indeed he would report nothing at all every again.

“Sir another child has gone missing.”

“And? Orphan wretches disappear all the time. We probably only get reports of a tenth of the missing and of that tenth we probably only find a hundredth. What’s new?”
“Sir this is the fifth child this week alone and it wasn’t no orphan. She had a family, a poor family, but with honour and a proper place in life. They live on the riverside a mile or so from here. Should we pay them a visit?”

“What happened to Tareth?”

“What do you mean sir?”

“Did you think I had forgotten it was his watch last night not yours? Yet here you are giving his report. Are you covering for him again? It won’t make a difference if you are and you’ll be reprimanded as well. Probably a year’s bureaucracy to straighten out that lying tongue of yours.”

“Sir he hasn’t shown up at the barracks yet. With all the disappearances, I think something might have happened to him. “

“I presume you have performed a standard patrol route search to check this hunch of yours?”

“That would require your authorisation sir.”

“One of my guards could be dead and you have spent the last three hours polishing your boots and brass without even checking the local whorehouses and taverns yet alone his patrol route?! Are you trying to kill Tareth?!”

“Nnn . no sir ...”

“Go find him that’s an order and next time we have a missing guard do something about it. Even if its wake me up so I can shout at you and tell you to do the bloody obvious.”

They found Tareth. At least the sorcerer was fairly certain the heap of flesh and bones they found were the mortal remains of Guardsman Tareth. Normally such a sorcerer, who are employed by the guardsmen of Zambar in particular though increasingly in other cities as well to reliably identify remains, would be almost absolutely certain but this case was different. The mortal remains were so devastated it was difficult to reconstruct them accurately and the remains seemed to actively resist any form of physical or illusionary reconstruction. Eventually the sorcerer had tired of reconstructive techniques so he drew upon even more of his power and skill to pass through the barrier between worlds and seek the soul of Tareth in the lands of the recent dead. He lay ‘dead’ for several hours before finally returning to his body. The captain of the Zambar guardsmen, Kaliz, immediately asked the sorcerer.

“So is it my guardsman lying there? Damn who it is actually did they say who killed them?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? We employ you and your apprentices for at a good rate. We do not expect nonsense for our money. Whoever that *points at the heap of flesh* was is dead. Dead souls pass to the in-between place thingy before going away completely. That died at some point this evening thus his-“

“Your knowledge is impressive but he is not there. His soul never passed from this world into the next. Not even for a single moment. In fact, as far as I can deduce, his soul never even left his body. There is no trace of it, no spiritual ‘footprints’ if you like, anywhere in the surrounding vicinity or in the lands of the recent dead. Whatever slew his mortal remains either captured his soul absolutely perfectly the very instant it left the protection of his mortal remains or it totally annihilated him body and soul. As I doubt the former is possible even to the most ancient and powerful beings of this world as no being is capable of instantaneous action I suppose the latter. This would also explain why the remains are very difficult to reconstruct. The essence of his being has been utterly wiped out.”

“But souls can’t be destroyed can they? What in the gods’ names could annihilate a soul?”

“Souls contrary to popular belief are not eternal or immortal. They appear as such because mundane men cannot harm them in any way and they are beyond the ravages of Time. Powerful spiritual beings will quite happily consume or otherwise destroy souls though. No sorcerer or mage of any race has reached sufficient power or depravity in the darkest arts of magic to carry out such an act, at least to my knowledge. A blood sacrifice could be used by a group of more powerful sorcerers to summon a being of shadow, known as a div, which might have sufficient power to utterly destroy a weak-souled man. Those of stronger, purer spirits would require a far more powerful being, known as a shayatin, but no-one not even a fool or a madman would deliberately summon a shayatin into our world. The ritual to summon would demand the blood of one hundred innocents, children being the typical choice, and would need constant feeding to keep it manageable. After a while in our world it would probably regain sufficient strength and coordination to throw off the shackles of the enchantments binding it to the commanding sorcerer, which would be disastrous for said sorcerer as the shayatin’s first act would be vengeance. One would need to gather several master necromancers of great skill and strength and the required number of innocents in a place where the barrier between worlds is already weakened to summon a creature that would require constant feeding and expenditure of magical energy for perhaps a week before it had to be banished again. “

“Do you know of any sorcerous orders in the kingdom which might have sufficient strength to summon either of these monstrosities?”

“One must remember that sorcerers, even amongst our people in whom I believe the inclination runs more deeply and who are skilled at drawing out and developing even slight gifts, are rare. If a hundredth of the population possess sorcerous talent of some sort that gives 17,000 sorcerers in total in the entire kingdom. A hundredth again of those sorcerers will possess a level of skill and power that begins to approach what might be called masterful. That leaves 170 sorcerers of the order of skill and strength required to carry out this act. Of that hundred and seventy the bulk will be found in the Golden Order of the Illuminating Sun or as leading members of other societies and orders. If I had to pick an order within the kingdom I would be forced to say the Golden Order of the Illuminating Sun. If I could be one from without as well as within I would say the Cult of Heras-Fel”

“Where have I heard that name before? The Cult of Heras-Fel”

“To the best of my knowledge they are an order that emerged from the Woodwall about a decade ago with terrifying powers raising a mighty horde of undead and spirits to dominate the north. Several great cities fell until the greatest power of that region, a vast nation of orcs, managed to halt their expansion. They would have the knowledge and power to summon any number of demons, including the two I mentioned.”

“Guardsman Kelan didn’t you say a group of four north men entered the city about a month ago?”

“Yes Captain. They looked a right strange bunch, definitely magic users of some sort. Cloaked and hooded bearing staffs of power they were, like they were order masters. Looked like they had been riding hard for a while as well. It’s strange I can’t really remember what they looked like. We got them to pull back their hoods, as regulations require, but all I remember is that they were north men nothing more. You could show me a line-up of all the north men in the city and I doubt I’d be able to remember enough about any of one of them to pick him out. They were definitely all men though. Said they had come from the far north representing an order up there who wished to treat with the Suns. We let them in as they didn’t seem malicious and they had business with the Suns, who we’re not meant to meddle with.”

“Four men would not be enough for the ritual Captain; at least ten would be needed. Six men of the Hanajj must have aided them if they summoned a shayatin. They could have summoned a div by themselves though.”

“Disappearing children, guards murdered by dark spirits, mysterious sorcerers from the north entering the city at the dead of night; something dark has taken hold of this city. Send word to the Ufallmur. We need a royal decree to search all the properties of the Order of the Illuminating Sun in this city. Send word to all the other city guards and tribes as well. Everyone in the kingdom needs to be on alert. We do not know what is going to happen but I doubt it will be good.”

Meanwhile deep in the bowels of the city another group of people met. All hooded and cloaked, throbbing with the sorcerous power that had made them great, they waited. One of them called out in an ancient and arcane tongue, incomprehensible and unpronounceable to those without magic in their blood. A shadow formed in front of them. It was like a rip in reality.

“The Shayatin did well. Its powers are growing and we have fifty div to accompany it. We also have a company of two hundred wnaga mercenaries and fifty Elvish bowmen. We are ready.”

“We are not ready. How many soldiers does the king have? How many sorcerers will join his army to crush us? We will not take Zambar this night.”

“You said yourself our dominion over the Master is failing. If he breaks our control before we act the Order of the Illuminating Sun will utterly destroy us before we can reveal their secret.”

“We cannot act too soon.”

“We must not act too late.”

“We will not overthrow Zambar this night. But we will overthrow it by the end of this week. I have arranged for more orc mercenaries to join us and goblins from the Akkal Ridge along with some of the more angry dwarves. At the end of this week we will have five hundred soldiers under our command and the spirits. We may even have corrupted more sorcerers to our side. We number fifteen which is enough for now but we will need more at some point.”

“Very well, are we all in agreement?”

They were. They went about their business casting various spells over the shayatin to keep it submissive and attended to other tasks. The sobbing of children echoed through the caves. A more plaintive sound could not be imagined.

OOC: Not an action story as much but a scene setter to explore a bit more of Hanajj culture, namely the prevalence of sorcerous cults of varying power and influence, and to create the seed of an interesting scenario to deal with. I'll write one or two more stories of this sort and them write out action stories dealing my responses, or rather Harrim's responses. This story does explore both necromancy and the idea of life after death and the soul in Sekai beyond what has been outlined in the lore. I believe it will all fit in though. Apologies for any typos and not writing more earlier but I've been busy with school and other things. You can expect, as general rule, longer stories such as this one to only emerage at weekends or in holidays. Oh checking in BTW!
 
Recruitment

The figure crouched, entering the the dusty old hut. Candles flickered in the crowded hut. Odd books and scrolls filled it, leaving very little room to move. Ahead of him, the figure spotted an old crone at a table, waving her hands across a crystal ball. She wailed and howled, before finally staring across her table at the figure with large yellow eyes.

"Greetings my friend, I have foreseen your arrival," she said in a half-whisper. "The spirits speak to me, and tell me many things. Yet... the voices aren't so clear this day."

The figure threw a bag of coins on the table with a thud and sat down at the table. His cloak obscured his face, but the crone gave no heed to it, her eyes first fixated on the bag of coins, and then on her crystal ball as she made erratic gestures with her hands.

"Stranger, the spirits see your future, and it is bright! Many successes lay ahead of you, and your foes will fall at your feet."

"And?" The stranger asked coldly.

"What more do you want? I've told you what the spirits told me. Now please sir, I have some more customers."

"Your prediction was too vague. I want something more definite, or I'm taking my money back."

"You dare question the words of the spirits! Woe unto you, he who questions those that guide the very winds and waters of the world!" With this, the candlelight within the hut grew green, and shadows danced on its walls. The crone began to wail and frantically paw at the stranger.

"I've seen enough," the stranger said as he walked out of the hut. In a few moments all was quiet once more, and the crone cackled to herself. The candlelight returned to normal, and she was content to count her coins. As she counted them, three tall men elves entered the hut.

"Mnalsha, you're coming with us [1]" said one of the elves. The crone recognized the voice. It was her old customer, no doubt wanting a refund.

"Who dares call the Oracle of Vin a Mna...al...sha...." The crone's voice grew silent as she looked up at her accusers. They each bore a Seal of the Ajaman Boar on their shoulders, and had complex items covering their clothing. Some glowed, others moved on their own. Some looked like mundane things like teeth or pebbles, while one of the men carried a scepter encrusted with a stunning array of gems. The Oracle knew who these men were. The Wilakesh. [2]

"Those that aim to restore order to this region, you Mnalsha hag. Now on your feet. Your ability to see into the future is questionable, but there is no doubt you hold some influence on the element of fire. A power to dangerous to be left in the hands of a human."

As two of the elves approached the table, the crone gave a shriek. The flames on the candles roared, and tendrils of flame began to surround the Wilakesh agents. The crone cackled as the flames inched closer and closer to the elves. However, as their danger grew, one of the elves took out a small pot, with strange inscriptions on its side. The crone recognized it as High Elvish, and began to panic. As the elf opened the pot, the flames were immediately sucked in.

After a bout of futile struggle, biting, and cursing, the crone was dragged outside.

"Please, I try to make an honest living. A fortune here or there never hurt anyone!" The "Oracle" of Vin pleaded.

"Money gained through swindling is an honest living?" one of the elves scoffed. "In the old days we would have skinned you and threw you to our boars."

The old woman began to weep and wail.

"But.... the times are changing. Where once the Wilakesh purged, now we repurpose and refine. Tell me this, hag; would you rather face the boars, or offer your unique services to our most noble kingdom?"

The crone looked up, perplexed at this show of generosity. The elf repeated his words, eager to get an answer out of her.

"Yes! Yes! Praise Dulli! Praise the High Elves!" She exclaimed. After a lengthy discussion on what she should do, she was sent to the capital with an escort. It turned out she was a self taught mage, observing priests and traveling performers in their art. Her abilities enabled her to open a fortune telling business, in which her supernatural abilities gave her a good profit. Now she she would living at the Dulli Academy in Kidaj, serving as an instructor in the ways of fire.

As the woman and her escort walked away down the road towards Kidaj, the two remaining elves sat down outside the old hut.

"We should have just sent her to the boars Rumil. She's on death's door as it is. What good is another Mnalsha?"

Rumil sighed. "If she can produce one successful mage, then she was worth the effort. Remember, Dulli possesses greater wisdom than us. He sees purpose within even the lowliest of beings."

"That doesn't change the fact that my boar still hungers."

"Fine Dalhim, we'll go see if there's anyone out passed curfew in our good village of Vin."

Dalhim smirked.

[1] Mnalsha is a derogatory term for a human that can use magic. Mnalsha usually take up careers as entertainers or fortune tellers. Most often found in small, mostly human towns such as Vin.

[2] The Wilakesh is an old office dating back to 890 when Common Elves who could use magic and Mnalsha were causing significant problems; leading rebellions, causing calamities, and just generally creating chaos. The Wilakesh were formed to find and execute unwanted magic-users. They are purely made up of High Elves who have centuries of experience under their belts. During the reign of Dulli II, they are now sending magic-users to Kidaj either by force or coercion so that they may help realize Dulli's dream of an army of mages. Those too old to actually serve in this army are made into instructors or officers, while those who are able bodied are trained for combat.
____________________________________________________________

The Rambler

A few Humanfolk came out of their service-shops and began to sweep the area around Gargel's stool. One of them looked up at Gargel:

"I am listening, sir. Please continue."


As the humans began to gather around the strange beaked man, one of the guards in the market took notice. Humans gathering in large numbers was never good, especially when an eccentric was involved.

"Begone!" The guard shouted. "Break it up and go back to your shops. Nothing to see here! You! With the beak! state your business or leave!"
 
Chapter 1: ALS Glenoak Grandeur-Mission to Taiford Part 2

Just to be safe, Captain Steven ordered the ship to stay anchored in the deeper water and for a patrol to set at night. Hopefully the small storm he saw heading towards them earlier won’t become larger.

Inside, he called a Council of War. He hated the name; there is no military action per say, so why are all emergency councils called Council of Wars? However, he didn’t write the rule book. The code is Council of War, and that was what he yelled through the pipes that night to gather his advisors and lieutenants.

To his right sat Sir Aliar Temune III, along with Ship Master Peireaphar and some of his trusted mystics; crewmen he depends upon to manage the Living ship. To his left sat his First Mate Kramer, the Marine Sergeant Harold as well the rest of the “Normal Crew”. He sat at the head of the officer table, holding his face like no tomorrow while he let Aliar finish explaining the situation with the merfolk.

“The Merfolk seemed to have now returned, and we must decide what to do.” finished Aliar. He sat down.

Steven stood up. “Yes, that is our reason to return to Rivetwood and search at Balifeather.

However, we still have a mission to complete. We still have to reconner the Taiford Rebels, and aid them in anyway we can with our hold. That is our mission when we set out from Rivetwoord.”

Muttering begun, some of which is simply curiosity, but others wonder the risks the cove, seemingly a safe harbor, will pose to future travelers. Maybe it even answers how several merchantships lost crewmembers without pirate attacks; the situation changed, why shouldn’t they return.

Steven raised a palm, rendering all silent. “I've considered that one of our Elven crewmembers and one of the forecastle-treefolk be established here as a light-house warning of the danger in that cove so that at least until we return others may be warned. It will also send a message to research the Merfolk at Baliflower at any other ALS ships.

This will be done tomarrow, and we will stay until it is complete. After that, we will continue to Taiford.

Ship Master Peireaphar, please inform us of the possibilities of leaving one of the tree folk here while we continue to complete our mission.”


Chapter 1: The Delegation-Petition of the Woodland Folk Part 2

There was silence as all turned towards the young human Delegate. He flinched in his chair as the probing eyes all fell upon him.

"Of... Of the 360 delegates" he muttered, "We have 10 Elven Delegates and nearly two hundred Half-Elven delegates in our great Delegation. They are represented, aren't they?"

The silence turned deadly. The Elven Ship Master turned, gracefully yet barely hiding the rage, the anger of being misunderstood. He walked towards the human.

His footsteps rung in the chamber. Almost as an afterthought, he took the amplifying medallion and brought it with him. He leaned towards the human.

"We Elves are unappreciated for what we do for our glorious commonwealth. You Humans pride yourselves in your ability in dull and hard labor on land and at sea. And You Half-Elves pride yourselves with your heritage, thinking that you are so special because you are both human and elf. You all think that there are no problems with the Delegation, that this is the best government possible." He was almost yelling now, despite whispering the entire time, "We have served for centuries, long lifetimes after lifetimes! Only we together is all this possible! Pride? Pride is for the Human Blood! We seek to be represented fairly within the Delegation; Give the Elves of the Living Fleet a voice! Give the Elves of the Forest a Voice! Long have we dwelled in Ainbridge... since the end of the First Age! Long have we watched and were unable to do. Long have we stood on the sidelines."

He backed off, and returned to the podium, "This petition will authorize the establishment of Boroughs on Greater Ainbridge, and have been signed by 13 Elven Princes, 9 Ship Masters, and over 300 other elves."

"Consider it well." he finished. He handed the petition roll to Haedrin, and backed off into the shadows.
 
Missy, The Guard and The Paladin

The turmoil of mud and rocks beneath the wagon wheels made sleep a near impossibility. Missy had hitched a ride with an early morning grain merchant heading out of Egholme, and had packed herself secretly into a warm, and dry considering the rain, nook in the raw wheat. The sun had come up over the horizon, but was filtered by the thick trees that surrounded the “road” on the edge of the Palerise Forest, making it a rather chilly morning, only exacerbated by the dampness of her clothing and hair. Several hours had passed since her murder of Tara, accidental or not the deed was done and the Jadeflies would surely be hunting her down. She had no choice but to flee her most recent and longest home, the closest thing to a true anchor she had known. She wiggled about in the grain, attempting to get comfortable after a series of large bumps in the road, when she began hearing the sounds of other wagons, horses and people walking along the road.

“Cocuvy.” Missy whispered to herself. She was relieved to finally be at her destination, and having put a fair distance between herself and the Jadeflies, but most importantly it would allow her to get out of the wagon and end this bumpy ride. From underneath the covered grain she poked her head out the side of the wagon, looking quickly from left to right and thinking of her plan of action. She could see plenty of wagons going in the other direction, but none directly behind hers, meaning she had a shot to pull this off without being spotted. After a second of hesitation, she dove out from underneath the cloth covering and to the ground, however, as it typically goes with Missy, something did not work out as planned. Her foot snagged on the cloth and the wagon, forcing her smooth roll into an awkward swan dive into the slimy muck that made up the road. Her face landed first, shoving mud up her nose and into her mouth as her body flipped over her neck and caused a sharp pain before falling on her back.

“What the hell?” She shouted, causing the driver of a passing wagon to usher the reins and speed his passage up. Spitting the mud from her mouth and in a very unladylike manner blowing it from her nose with horrible noises fit only for a drunkard man. With both hands she slowly wiped her face clean, sniffing her hands and realizing the horses may have left her a present. She quivered in disgust and spit as she cursed her luck. Now wet and filthy she gathered herself and began walking towards the town in the distance, rubbing her neck as she did.

The sun had nearly made it to its midday height, bringing more light down through the trees and lighting the town up in glorious detail in the distance. The air had lost the morning chill and she was finally drying up as she walked, occasionally having to jump over small puddles on the road, of which the passing merchants found hilarious. After what seemed like a terribly long walk over a short distance, she arrived at the edge of town and was greeted by a few guards in iron chainmail and helms, with sheathed short swords at their side. They were investigating everyone that entered the town, though only with passing glances, Missy on the other hand.

“Hey!” A brown haired, square chinned guard stepped forward to talk to her. She ignored his call at first, but after a harsh whistle she knew she'd better return conversation. As the rather tall and stocky man approached her, with his buddies of similar builds and looks behind him, she knew she looked worse for wear. With mud caked into her hair and her face darkened with spots of dirt, nonetheless they seemed interested in her other assets.

“Hi.” She said in her sheepish voice, sounding innocent and nervous. The lead guard crossed his arms in an attempt to flex his muscles, which he did indeed have, she let out a little smile to make him feel confident.

“What's your name little one?” Said the guard with a hint of charm.

“Dariana'Oculosina'Muhabaleene.” She knew she'd have to hide her true name, for her own safety, and this ridiculous name my be enough to dissuaded the guards.

“Da... OK. Hi. Welcome to Cocuvy. I'm Gorlon, I work for the city guard.”

“That must be a scary job.” She said faintly and with fascination.

“Maybe for some people, but I'm more than competent with this blade, nothing scares me.” Gorlon winked, and Missy rolled her eyes in her mind, but kept on her new persona to the boys. “You seem a little under the weather, rough morning?”

“I've been walking and I'm so tired...” She feinted a faint into Gorlon's arms, he caught her with ease as her hand slipped onto his belt and freed him of his worldly wealth. She looked up at him with her chin on his armored chest, a blush across her face. “I'm sorry, I.”

“No. You're coming back to my place to rest.” He said compassionately, almost making her regret her actions. He lifted her up and cradled her, walking her back to his place and telling the other guards to stay on post and he would be back in a little while. They cracked a few comments with sexual innuendo, but Missy pretended to ignore them.

The distance traveled was far less than she expected, and his home was modest, a multiple room wooden house, probably only a few decades old and decently furnished. He walked her inside and laid her on his small bed.

“I'll get you some water, you stay put.”

“That won't be necessary, Gorlon, really.” She tried to sit up and explain, but he pushed her back down.

“Don't argue with me woman, you're not fit to be up and about, rest a while.”

Missy sighed in agreement as he left the room to fetch a pail of water. While he was out of the room she stuffed the bag of coins into her bosom, a place she was confident he wouldn't suddenly grope, but then again...

“Here,” He said as he returned with a pail with ladle, pushing water into her face. “Sip, it's cool.” And she complied. It was indeed cool, and cleaner than any water she had ever been given. “Now Frondle was just here, one of the other guards, and I told him to call one of the paladins to look you over. I'm no good with illness, and the Priests of Esalos do this kind of work all the time.”

“No, no, really this won't be necessary Gorlon. I'm fine see!” She stood up and did a little shuffle of her feet, raising her arms out to her sides in a tada moment. “You shouldn't cry wolf to priests and paladins, I hear they take their work very seriously.”

“What is done is done, I'm afraid, and it won't hurt you to rest and get a prayer or two. Young women should be more careful out on the roads.”

“Uhh.” She sighed as he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back into a seated position on the bed.

“Look, I'm sworn to protect, and if my intentions at first were rather less noble, I intend to see you off in health. I'd be rather saddened if you were to be seriously ill and I had nothing done about it.”

“That is oddly sweet of you.”

“Now, sit your buttocks down and wait here for the paladin. I'm going into the other room to give you some privacy, there should be enough water here to clean yourself up a bit and a rag in the top drawer of that cabinet.”

She nodded at him and smiled as he backed out of the room. What now? She had no idea how thorough a paladin or priest might be when searching for illness. What if he found the money, or worse the knives? Plenty of scenarios fluttered through her mind as she wet the rag in the bucket and began cleaning her hair and face, and embarrassingly the other stinky areas of her body. A street urchin can't go around being smelly. Slowly the clear water in the bucket became murky with the filth from her body, but as it did her freshness level rose considerably, making her charisma skyrocket, at least in her own mind.

After around half an hour, and now resting on the bed, she heard a knock on the door and a new male voice call out to her.

“Are you decent madam?”

This must be the paladin, “Yes, I am sir.” She replied.

He entered the room in magnificent style, behind him was Gorlon, but he gestured for him to wait outside. The paladin was blond haired, wearing white garments with assorted decorations in very bright dyes all about it. Religious symbolism that Missy knew nothing about. His stride was intimidating, as he was clearly on a mission and had nothing to concern him and this frightened her a bit.

“Lay back.” She did. “I'm going to lay my hands on you.”

“For what purpose?”

“I need to get a feel for your body.”

“No, sir, you do not need to feel my body!”

“What? No! I'm not being... forget it, just lay back down.”

Uncomfortably she agreed, the hands of a strange man feel on her legs and arms, and then hovering over her belly and chest made her feel like some kind of prostitute. But an odd warmth radiated from his hands, sucking the nervousness right out of her.

“OK. I don't believe you are ill.”

“You could have asked me that.” She snarled.

“Right,” He stood up. “Now get on your knees and close your eyes.”

“Seriously? You have to be messing with me now.”

He stared into her eyes without flinching on his demand, she felt very uneasy as she did it.

“Any demons that reside within, any illness, any pains. Leave this woman and relieve her of her sins, for she may hold blood on her hands, but nothing is unforgivable. And with protection guide her...” He trailed off into an unknown language in his prayer. Missy squinted her eyes to look up at him, his hands were out over her head and he had his head down and eyes closed in prayer. He finished and she quickly closed her eyes, very confused by the words he had uttered and was feeling, exposed. She stood to meet him and he smiled.

“I do not know what to say, sir.” She began, but was quickly silence by his hands shoving down into her cleavage. “Sir! Excuse me what do you think you're doing?” He wrestled with her for a moment before pulling out the bag of coins and shaking them infront of her nose.

“These are not yours.”

“Hey!”

“Find yourself. I know what you are, and what you can be. I'll protect you, this time. I forgive you.”

She was unable to speak. What had just happened? She was baffled as he left the room, his elegant clothing spinning as he did. She heard him mention something about a bag he found outside the house, and Gorlon being excited that he had almost lost his money. She stepped out of the room after gathering herself, Gorlon was waiting for her, sitting on a stool near a small table, the paladin was gone.

“I have some bread if you want-” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, causing him to stutter.

“Thank you, but I must be going.”

“Um, OK. Will I see you around?”

“Maybe.”

She exited with grace, closing the door behind her and standing in the early afternoon sunlight in this rather dense town.

“Now. Where would a paladin go?”
 
The Mnalsha's Bane

In Ajama

As the Elvish soldiers took the poor Mnalsha from her tattered tent, the frost on the ground near the encampment crunched and melted. Peering from behind a tree was a little boy, no more than seven years old. He shivered in the cold and wore an oversized fur coat, probably stolen. He put more of the top portion of the coat around his bluish-hued, frozen neck, and quickly fled from the scene. The wind picked up a bit, freezing his tears. He ran faster, his breath turning into icy ghosts. At last he came to a grouping of tents and small wooden cottages, a typical Human hamlet within the Ajama domain.

The little boy found a tent with the symbol of a boar with wings sprouting from its side. He walked up to the tent and rang a small silver bell that hung by its fur opening. He rang it three times, in a rhythmic fashion. A man emerged at the entryway, draped in furs and with a tusk hanging by leather from his neck. He wore oddly civilized boots - for a Mnalsha. The man turned, holding the entry-fur open, and the boy came in. The tent was warm and featured a hearth in the center. Crowding around the hearth were six other individuals. They did not turn to greet the boy. The boy noticed one blond-haired woman who was sitting on her fur, wearing only her tattered leather under-clothes. She played with a small baby in her lap. The boy tugged on a tassel hanging from her vest, and she stood with the baby and walked with the boy to the edge of the tent. There, they spoke, their shadows dancing on the tent's interior.

"They took another one, mother," the boy spoke. The woman looked solemn for a moment, then touched the boy's face. His immense exhaustion vanished, and his eyes widened. "She was playing with fire," he continued.

"Thank you, Dansl[1]. You must be hungry. We have fresh deer this evening."

The sun was setting and the boy sat down to feast with the others in the tent. While he did this, the woman walked outside in the freezing cold, barefoot and still not wearing her furs. She sat in the snow outside of the tent, and pushed her hands deep into the fluffy, white ground beneath her. She could see the boy's footsteps in the snow, and she considered the future for a moment.

Her eyes then glowed with blue moonlight, and the ground began to tremble slightly. Icicles began to rise from the ground and her eyes flicked on and off. For a moment, the man who had greeted the boy opened the tent's entry and stared at the woman, then closed it and went back inside. The woman began to whisper to herself, and then she paused. She picked up the icicles and placed them all in front of her feet. Waving her hand over them, they grew larger and larger, until they were twice her size. The sound of cracking ice was quieted by her whispers, though still a few souls from the other dwellings peaked their heads out to see the workings of the woman. The woman became quiet again, and then she breathed air into seven, humanoid ice-creatures. She then stepped back. Their eyes glowed blue, just as hers had moments before. They began to move. She whispered a few more words to the creatures, and then stepped back into her tent. The creatures quickly set out, seven of them, across the snowy ground, their every footstep creating the subtle cracking sound of ice.

Back in her tent, the woman pulled a scroll from her small bag. On the scroll, seven figures could be seen moving. She touched them one by one, and outside, they vanished from sight.

Notes
[1] Dansl is a term of endearment for a small child in Ajama-Human societies.
 
The Architecture of Power; or, Introduction to the Chartered Bank of Kertus

There are only two locations more opulent than the palace of the Lord of Kertus in that eponymous city.

The first is the grand assembly hall where Lord Brinor Zanil summons his nobles and the chief people of the city. And the second is the Chartered Bank of Kertus, where the Lord and all his nobles store their money.

Any qualified architectural critic in Kertus (and at my last count, there are five) will give the questioner a glowing review of the bank's edifice. It stands on a hill in the High Quarter of the city, angled perfectly to receive fresh sea breezes from the Anokan without also inheriting the stink of the port. Built in the grand-yet-intimate Horasean Revival style, the black marble columns, imported at great expense from Xas, support three grand glass domes, each depicting immaculately detailed scenes from the history and progress of civilization. Naturally, the grandest tableau is the depiction of the first incorporation of the bank one and a half centuries prior. Kelinor Zanil hands a magically-inscribed scroll to Velkerath Cinna, the saintlike expressions on the faces of the man and the half-elf completely at odds with the violent hatred the men felt for each other in reality. But does politics not make prostitutes of us all?

The courtyard, cobbled in shining white stone to contrast with the glimmering black halls of the bank, is lined with the stalls of scribes, notaries, and tax assessors who pay for the privilege of the space. Virtually any document needed to run a business efficiently in Kertus can be secured here, though as anyone can tell you, it takes far more than documents to run a successful business in Kertus, even a supposedly legitimate one. The Bank is the epitome of legitimate business in Kertus, but for all its power and grandeur, the bulk of its wealth is not in the bank's vaults, though certainly such things as diamonds, platinum, and ancient magical texts are found therein. The bank's wealth lies in investments.

If we consider the grand city of Kertus from the sky, we see that within the walls it is a crowded, warrenlike affair, where space is constantly at a premium. This makes good real estate a valuable investment. If we consider the fact that the legally-taxed day markets make approximately one quarter of the profit of the black market, we learn that any financial institution seeking to survive must learn to profit from the underground economy in addition to its more pedestrian duties.

So, the bank leases space to the black market. If they refuse to pay, the city guard is given 'incentive' to shut them down and confiscate their goods, which then naturally return to the lessor, the Chartered Bank of Kertus. As a result, the black market always pays. Not that they like it. It is a curious affair that in a city where the black market's wealth constantly holds a dagger to the throat of the city councilors, the bank holds a dagger to the throat of the black market. The bank's true aim is not simply manipulating the levers of commerce as much as manipulating the levers of power. But any member of the Bank and the black market would agree, despite their competitive pseudo-alliance, that commerce is power.

For the aforementioned reasons, robbing the Chartered Bank itself would not drive the institution out of business. Even so, allowing an intrusion of any sort would gravely damage the bank's business and its international reputation. As a result, magical and security expenses compose one quarter of the bank's outlays, which costs more than the bank spends on interest payments, the salaries of bank employees, and even bribing the proper officials in the Kertusine bureaucracy.

The Chartered Bank maintains a diviner to obscure magical penetration of its defenses through scrying or infiltration. A full guard barracks is buried in the first sub-basement of the bank, with a full complement of two hundred guards, an archery range, training rooms, and a fully stocked kitchen. The floor and walls of every surface on the bank are covered in magical runes of ancient power and vast complexity, calibrated to discern intent. Once or twice, an errant murderer planning on killing his wife after visiting the bank was vaporized by its wards, which apparently mistook his desire as hostility towards the bank. Or so the bank's lawyers argued. Naturally the wards were recalibrated after that little incident.

Of course, the most formidable defense of the Chartered Bank of Kertus is its founder, Velkerath Cinna. Being a half-elf graced with a lifespan of 500 years, the founder of the Chartered Bank is very much alive, and a power in his own right. Denied in his longstanding wish to become the Lord of Kertus, Cinna has instead assembled an institution without which Kertus could not survive.

But the secret of Velkerath Cinna lies in his mastery of contracts. Over the past two centuries, the founder of the Chartered Bank has bound to his will a number of terrifying and unknown creatures, by enticing or otherwise tricking them into contracts. They are rumored to live within the shadowed vaults of the Bank, guarding its greatest treasures. Still, one must wonder, what power does the Executor of the Chartered Bank himself possess? That is a mystery.
 
Conversations with an Old Philosopher, Part 2

You have heard how Diodor graced the courts of foreign lords. Hear now how he received them into his own, how a wise jurist sat in judgment before suits of the people, how a dread sovereign granted audience to embassies from far-off lands, how a revered warrior-king kept silent before the words of a prophet.

The two merchants, both young humans, had been arguing for some time. They began meekly, in the high formal style, but quickly realized that Diodor had elected to remain silent. In fact, he had closed his eyes. He sat cross-legged upon the throne, hands on his knees, straight-backed, not availing himself of the high back of the Lion Throne. Indeed, he looked almost out of place, a meditating Kyriotes[1] ripped from the painting of the mountain on the Temple wall and pasted on a painting of a throne. He made only the barest concessions to the formal dress of the court, and his disdain even for these luxuries was apparent to all who cared to see. His closed eyes heightened the effect, to the point that the merchants had slowly come to regard him no more than a wall-hanging, turning their pleas on one another, addressing each other directly and steadily more informally. Eventually, some threat or insult revealed that the two men were related. Diodor opened his eyes.

"You two are kinsmen?"

They were startled at his sudden speech, and answered hesitantly, fumbling in an attempt to resume the high style of court.

"Wise judge, your loyal subject Mikkan and this man are both sons of brave Hallowyr, of House Rhedekos."

"Hear the doom of the Lion Throne upon both these beings: The goods in dispute, indeed, even unto all of your possessions and household shall be returned to the hands of Hallowyr of House Rhedekos. You both will report to Fort Casca by midday tomorrow and return to military service in the same unit for a period of two years. At the end of this period, your father may apportion your goods as he sees fit. In addition, Hallowyr of House Rhedekos shall be censured by a council of his fellows for raising two such beings who would so shame the Laws of the City and the sacred bond of family by bringing so vile a case before the this court. Now begone."

The trillanedd[2] sounded the ceremonial close of the case ("So speaks the Law of the People of the Holy Citadel") as the dumbstruck merchants were removed from the room. My lord had already resumed his composure as he awaited the next petitioner, but I knew him well and could see his agitation. He was clearly disgusted by the brothers. Though I should have been well-used to it, his tenderness always surprised me. There was so much of the barbarian still in the souls of these Orcs, where feuds would have been settled by clan chieftains before ancient hearthfires, chieftains who were also fathers, grandfathers, or uncles, where the punishment would not be according to some rigid and impersonal law, but by the intimate knowledge of the family. Most Orcs still lived almost in the same fashion, though those who did not brought great shame upon the rest, and no doubt Diodor had these in mind when he pronounced his doom.

The man who entered next was, to say the least, very different. I had thought, initially, that he might be some elderly hedge wizard, but his ease of action and the youthful strength of his bare arms betrayed an otherwise weathered face. He was haggard, but possessed of an obvious vital energy. He was lean and threadbare, but powerful and steady. His eyes were hollow and deep, and I could not shake the foolish thought that he was like the corpse of an athlete animated by some spirit of fire. As for his dress, at first glance, a less attentive man might have taken him for a beggar. But a beggar does not look a king in the eyes. The entire atmosphere of the court changed as Diodor took notice. The man spoke, eyes aflame, gaze fixed upon the old Orc on the throne.

"Hear the words of the LORD, O King! Tremble before his voice!"

Royal guardsmen started to remove the old man before Diodor stood from his throne and the room knelt before him, save for the man who was not a beggar.

"Release him. Speak, human. But know this: if you speak blasphemies, you shall of course die, but even if you speak only platitudes or meaningless gabble, you will not see another day on this earth. Let the LORD speak through you now, for if you choose your own words, I will kill you myself."

"You cannot kill me, O King. My life is in the hands of another, and He alone shall determine when it comes to its close. For he has formed us all in His mind before all creation, and knew the hours of the life of a man before the worlds were young. So too does He know the course of all created things. The nations are without the law of the LORD, and there is not truth in them. The child shall rise against his parent and the slave shall strike his master in foolish anger. From the land of the birth of the Unconquerable, a young hunter comes in search of the Lion, and a serpent enters the house of a child. A hidden power works even unto the borders and the edges of the realm of the righteous, and a dagger comes from the dark unto the House of Elkannah's Lion, and woe unto the nations when it shall fall. The House of Elkannah must prepare itself for the coming of the damned, for a house divided cannot stand against the coming flood. The scourge and judgment of the LORD comes with fire and sword against the nations, as the unspeakable gathers strength. The LORD will use the heathen to shield the righteous, but the shield shatters and the ranks break and flee for their lives. The day of the damned is coming, and with it the fall of a great kingdom of the nations. Pray for the mercy of the LORD, for His righteousness swings near to the earth, and creation may crumble at the weight of it."

For the first time in my lengthy life, I saw what looked like fear enter into the eyes of Diodor, Lion of Arkannah.

NOTES
[1] An elite order of warrior-monks from ancient Orcish military tradition; after the conversion of the Orcs, the order adapted to the new religious beliefs, but brought the old devotional forms and rigorous trials and training. A central motif involves meditation in the wilderness, particularly in the Mountains. The Kyriotes are incredibly well-respected in Ka'elkannah, both for their fighting prowess and for their theological reflections.
[2] One of the many slaves involved in the operation of the High Court
 
Night. The starry stars provided some measure of light into the city.

Clemenza let out a whistle as she hid in the shadows between the alley. Four whistles came back. Clemenza nodded in satisfaction as she examined her light crossbow again. The trigger mechanism seemed to work. The bowstrings were in good condition. The sights were normal. Everything was set up for the perfect kill. She smiled as she waited for the plan to begin, and stared at the direction of the town square.

There was a small obelisk there, set up during the time of the city's founding.

A man came by and began to draw on the monument. Clemenza tensed. That was the signal that the target was near.

Another man, surrounded by three others, soon pulled up. The silhouette of the man in the center included a large hat, which indicated that he was a man of some status. They paused at the vandal standing next to the monument, thought nothing of it, and tried to walk away. "Hey!" the vandal said. "Do you know what I am doing?"

The men stopped. "No. What is it?"

"Art! Come and see, folks, come and see!" the vandal said.

The men looked at each other and then the vandal. The monument was an important place for the man in the center. It was, after all, where he proposed to his wife. He broke into a run and ran towards the monument.

"Get off the monument!" the man pulled away the vandal, who ran off into the darkness of the city. "Somebody, give me a light! Let's wipe this filth off of the damn monument. Some people have no respect..."

One of the man lit a torch, shining light on themselves and the writing on the monument. It simply said "We see."

5 arrows came out of the alleys and the windows around the town square and impaled the assembled men around the monument, downing them all instantly. Clemenza smiled. She tucked away the crossbow into her holster and took out the dagger. No reason to risk anything. She came out of the alley and quickly ran towards the downed bodies of the man.

One of the man was still quite alive and tried to pull out his own dagger. Clemenza kicked his knife away and stabbed him through the throat. "All clear!" she yelled.

Four other assassins melted into sight, carrying weapons of various kinds. "You," Clemenza said. "Wipe that message off of the darn monument. You, search the other bodies and then dump them into the hay cart over there. We'll pay somebody to dispose of that." She knelt down and plucked out the crossbow bolt from the body of the nobleman. "And I'll be taking that back, thank you," she said.

She kicked the body and turned it over to see the face of Larain. He was a major official in the city who, after seriously indebting himself over a failed trading venture, mysteriously recovered by suddenly 'finding' a large sum of money.

She dug through his pockets. Bastards like him usually ever trusted important things on his own body. "Jackpot," she said, pulling out a small notebook.

"What is that?" one of the assassins said, curious.

"The information we received from the courteseans were correct and the couriers and the officials we beat up were correct. The bastard kept his diary in his own damn pockets. Hah!" She chuckled. "Go. Names on his contacts should be here. Pirates have been using this man as a middleman to bribe the officials. Delete some of the pages that include references to people who hired our protection services and send the diary to Lord Trin. It should provide him with enough evidence to condemn the officials with treason." Clemenza tossed the book towards another assassin. "No need for US to kill absolutely everyone who worked with the Coralfires. Lord Trin can pull his own weight sometimes."

"Roger that," the assassin said. He took the diary and ran off.

"I found a pouch of money, ma'am," an assassin said, smiling.

"Keep it," Clemenza muttered. With that diary and the myriad of other information, Lord Trin will finally be able to know who to purge the corruption in his government with the support of his own people. This combined with... some strategic culling of the black market by the Winged Eyes would drive the criminal elements of the city to desperation, willing to seek protection and take drastic measures. Then Lord Trin would himself be forced to take drastic measures in turn. And Winged Eyes always profited from other people's drastic actions.

And all this time, Clemenza smiled. The Winged Eyes have been maneuvering to expand influence of their own in the black market. Blood will be shed on this land very soon.

"I'll leave you people to deal with the rest," Clemenza said. She walked off into an alley. She needed to sleep.
 
Gargel, the Rambling, Part II (Last & Response 1 and 2):
And thus spake.

A few Humanfolk came out of their service-shops and began to sweep the area around Gargel's stool. One of them looked up at Gargel:

"I am listening, sir. Please continue."


Gargel's eyes rested on the man for a bit, weighing the posture of him; his poor statue was probably in need of food, the pride of his begging him to stand upright with his broom. He didn't fulfill his own wishes fully, though, as his back was a little arched. Gargel beat his stick against the stool in a thunderous manner.

"They say," he exclaimed slowly, then raised his voice to reach a heartshaking tremor, "That those in need bear the source to the true heir of the ninth moon. Call death! if not those in power sought to keep game in balance by intimidation; as they are the true bringers of doom to this world. Have the kings and emperors not forsaken vassals before for petty gold? Such they forsake this world. Never shall the Heir see wisdom and take arms, never to this forsaken realm. The kings preserve their shinies like magpies, and see their fates crumble as their nests are consumed in the trees' fires!"

As the humans began to gather around the strange beaked man, one of the guards in the market took notice. Humans gathering in large numbers was never good, especially when an eccentric was involved.

"Begone!" The guard shouted. "Break it up and go back to your shops. Nothing to see here! You! With the beak! state your business or leave!"


Gargel began speaking in a low, clear voice.

"But dear warrior of prides, are you no ears to my words? What I see is not my wished visions; but they are mine - why do you question my purpose when I state it repeatedly?" Gargel then began yelling again: "Tell you of the Coming! Tell you of the Going! Warn you to find the Heir! Do you want your family to be saved? Purify the walls that bind this world away from the Devouring One!"

Gargel pointed at the guard, crouching at him to meet his eye: "At night it will come to eat your children. Cry death in spite and desperation! as it encroaches you like a wailing shadow. Our eyes only repeat what lies within runes and starlight - the world beckons for you to wake up! Doom! Terror! Call hatred! Call oblivion!" Gargel rose again and let out a voice now no more trembling, but weakened in a shrill tone; few tears ran through his throat; he burst with a soft, broken word, almost silent, but perfectly listenable: "Save us... Save us all..."

And he collapsed in front of the guard and the small crowd.
 
Return of the Melgothi

Eliri. At the mouth of the Solamoan River, a once-powerful realm continues to display its coat-of-arms with pride: a shield shape with a gray sea-serpent of the north with its tongue outward, curling its body and leaning leftward, and an arch of blue fire spurring upward. In tomes of history documenting the last four-hundred years, Eliri will be mentioned frequently. In the cold Maebon, the old galleys of Eliri made a stand against the Melgothi longships. Using fire and rams, brave captains and their even braver crews fought valiantly on the cold seas.

Lord Trin's family has a lengthy history of seafaring leadership. His grandfather captained one of the Ryirsi[1], and his grandfather before him did the same. In Lord Trin's chambers, there are countless portraits and diaries hanging underneath them in a traditional hal-yn salir[2] style. One such portrait is of the second generation of Trin, a brave, red-bearded captain by the name of Kelirn. His diary was found at sea, floating above the debris of his ship, almost wanting to be found. In it, Kelirn states how much he misses his family and how fond he is of Elirian ale. He speaks of tradition and brilliant lords, and how Eliri forged success through blood and iron. Closer to his death, he begins to ramble about a kerilagrack[3]. The man was obviously tormented and had spent too much time at sea. He was outnumbered and massacred by a fleet of longships sailing from Heloth. His wife was with child then.

The similarly red-bearded Lord Trin, lean but full of strength, stared at the portrait for some time. None of his family hung in the lordship court, for none of his family had been lords until Lord Trin's grandfather met an Elvish daughter of the court. A picture of her was hung ceremoniously at the right side of the court hall.

The Realm was in decline. Once a steward of the Wyldran throne, Eliri has fallen from grace. Its handful of galleys rot in the docks, with few seasoned captains to care for them. Once the war against the Melgothi had been won, there was little to do but defend the realm against lesser foes. More wealth was accumulated by these ventures, but that contributed to a greedy noble class. The advisors to the court also fell to this curse. Every day, Lord Trin has to deal with an advisor here and an advisor there, protected by the Alir[4]. They tell him to do favors for the weapons merchants. They tell him to sign deals with the witches who came with glass bottles of curses. They tell him there is great money in the hallucination-inducing ales of the Ajama[5]. But Lord Trin despises these men. He longs for an honorable return to the age in which nobles gave their brilliant young men to the sea, and peasants personally brought their produce to the court halls in great, all-inclusive feasts. Many of his people are behind him, but every day, many fall.

And then, in the cold winter chill, a flame shot up from a tower at the coast. A signal. Helirn Aniri, a crooked, hunched-over old man and advisor to the court, shuffled clumsily into Lord Trin's quarters, as the dear Half-Elf was writing his lore:

My lord. The signal. It has been lit.

Lord Trin dropped his feather and rose quickly. The signal had not seen fire for hundreds of years. He called his small guard, a dying knight-order, and they set off together on horseback, towards the north coast. They arrived moments later to the sight of a dozen longships in the chilling winter mist, decorated in hanging leathers, serpent-skins, and animal bones. They banged the Melgothi drum steadily, a deep, bass-locked drum. Every now and then, the collective cheer of hundreds of barbarians could be heard coming from the sea. The nobles in their sea-side mansions had begun to flee, attempting to put in carts all of their gold and jewels. This was futile. One man was lying on the cobblestone, a spear through his gut. Another had arrows in his arm, but was still loading crates. Fire raged at the docks. Eliri's galleys were being burned. Finally, an Elirian horn came from the forefront, and a host of soldiers rushed to the docks. But the Melgothi were not here to stay. They had only come to intimidate, in true Melogthi fashion. As they sailed away, Lord Trin galloped back to his court.

Notes
[1] A Ryirsi was one of the finest galleys of Eliri. They were instrumental in the defeat of the Melgothi in 730 III.
[2] Hal-yn salir is a type of portrait style in which the diary or personal effects of the individual in the portrait are hung by a gold-laced thread underneath the frame.
[3] Kerilagrack is a word given to a mythical beast of the sea. It is said to resemble a giant whale, though can supposedly shape-shift into a pitch-black, hulking humanoid.
[4] The Alir are an old Wyldran code of ethics that the Elirian court still follows. They state that advisors are installed for life, only after those advisors undergo tests of morality and judgment.
[5] There are several alcoholic mushroom spirits made in Ajama which are tasty and simply inebriating to Elves, but can be addictive to Half-Elves and deadly to Humans.
 
Missy and the Unfortunate Day

As she stepped into the afternoon sun, for the first time she could appreciate the city of Cocuvy. Tightly packed urban streets, cobblestone with some mud filled side alleys, filled her view. With a deep breath she inhaled the various scents of a true town, Egholme was nothing compared to this and she was eager to raid the coffers. She could not see the paladin that had been so fresh with her moments earlier, but he couldn't have gone very far. She looked down at her petite feet, and checked the cobblestone road for any sign of tracks, but there was nothing and this disappointed her. She figured he would have come from the north, as she came from the south and it wasn't very far to the edge of town. A church or temple would most probably be at the center of a town, right?

“Hey!” She called out to a passing woman and child.

“Good day.” The mother replied to her, a bit taken aback by the sudden conversation.

“Ma'am, I'm afraid I am in of directions. Can you help me?” Missy put on an act of concerned innocence.

“That depends on where you need to be miss.”

“I'm looking for a paladin.”

“Well -” The mother was interrupted by her small daughter.

“Thewe at da big chuwch!” Missy's face lit up with joy at the sound of this adorable child's voice. She always loved children, having been in many orphanages with them over the years, and found herself to be quite good with them. She bent down on one knee and reached out to shake the small girls hand.

“Thank you, madam.” She gave a little playful bow. The girl giggled and hid behind her mother, who was now smiling at the situation.

“She is right. The cathedral is near the center of town, on the river, you can't miss it.”

“Thank you very much.” Missy nodded her head in thanks. The woman and child walked away to continue their business as Missy tried to figure out where the center of town was.

She wandered the streets for about a half hour, looking town side streets and alleys, but she couldn't see over the tall buildings. It was time for her to get a better view. Moving into a side alley, she checked behind her to make sure there was no one watching as she mounted a gutter pipe and climbed up the wall. Climbing was one of her specialties, being a rogue required a such athletic ability in order to succeed, and she was very good at it. Within a matter of seconds she had scaled the wall and was on top of the timber shingled roof.

“Wow.” She said to herself as she saw the true size of Cocuvy for the first time. Sprawling streets of multiple story homes and shops as far as the eye could see. Looking to the east she could see her target, the tallest building in the city, with a steeple and bell tower.
“Da chuwch!” She said with a snap of her fingers. Joy overwhelmed her, she knew that her target was in sight and with all likelihood she would find that paladin she had become intrigued with. She scurried across the roof top to the opposite street with ease. Finding herself standing over another filthy alley, no wider than two or three persons, she decided this would be a safe location to jump down. With a leap and wall jump she was safely on the ground, she thought to herself how awesome such a maneuver was, and how much of a shame it was that no one else saw her do it.

The light contrast between the street and the alley were so much that, even standing right outside the entrance it was unlikely that anyone could see into the darkness. Missy was liking the lay of this town more and more by the minute. She quickly gathered herself for her grand entrance onto the street, brushing off dirt from her hands, straightening her cloak and hair, then she took a step forward nearing the sunlight once more.

A sudden sharpness in her back halted her, “Where are you going?” A familiar voice whispered into her ear. She attempted to spin around, but his arm wrapped around her throat as his dagger dug into her lower back. “I gotcha.” He said with a laugh as he pulled her back into the darkness.

“How?” She nervously replied.

“How?” He laughed. “We aren't stupid you know.” He spun her around and slammed her back into the stone wall of the house on the left side of the alley, pointing his knife at her throat and holding back her left arm with his. His face was now directly in hers, and her suspicions were confirmed, it was that mustached member of the guild. “Tara is dead.”

“Good!” She scoffed. He dug his blade deeper into her neck, causing a small trickle of blood to drip from it.

“Oh, yeah, it's good. Tara was nothing compared to Corwin.” He mocked.

“Corwin?” She was confused by this statement.

“He took charge. He helped track you down in the streets and it was his guess you hitched a wagon to Cocuvy this morning. He sent me personally to make an example of you.” He smirked and laughed as he leaned in and sniffed her hair. She tried to pull her head away but couldn't.

“Corwin must really like me!”

“What?”

“If he sent you to kill me, he really doesn't want me dead. Ha-ha-ha.”

He took his left hand and punched her in the stomach, shutting her up and pressing up against her harder on the wall. “You think everything is a joke don't you? Huh? I'm gonna make an example out of you! After I get finished, no one will cross the Jadeflies again.”

“Ki - Killing me? That won't stop a thing. Everyone knows you're weak right now!” Missy spit at him cruelly. The pain on her neck and in her stomach were starting to get to her. “I don't even know your name! Hah!”

He removed the blade from her neck and quickly replaced it with his clasping left hand, choking her. “San, is my name. And in a moment you'll be calling it out like a little street whore.” Tears began to fall from her eyes as he slide his blade behind her belt on her pants. The cold blade on her lower belly caused her to squirm.

“No!” She cried, but it was muffled by her lack of air. With a quick pull of his blade her belt was severed, and her pants fell to her knees, exposing her to him. In a last ditch effort she crossed her legs with all her strength as he lowered his own pants. His laugh was horrifying as he shoved his knee between her thighs and forced them open.

“Don't worry Missy, I won't be gentle. You'll love -”

She had her eyes closed as his final words were halted by a resounding thud, she felt his hand around her neck loosen and his body pulled from his at the last moment. Opening her eyes she saw the paladin from earlier, tossing San into the opposite wall, causing his dagger to fall from his hands. Without thinking, and with the swiftness of lightning, Missy grabbed the dagger in one hand and reached for San's manhood with the other. In an instant she has dismembered him with the blade. San fell over in screaming agony as Missy stood up, her hair ruffled, her pants on the ground, a bloody penis on one hand and a dagger in the other. She tossed it back to San, who was bleeding profusely. Breathing heavily she looked at the paladin, who looked at her.

“I approve.” He said as he kicked San in the side of the head, knocking him out and silencing his screams of agony. He began taking off his outer cloak, in its glimmering white brilliance, and wrapped it around Missy's lower half. “Cover yourself.”

“Kill him.” She panted at him.

“No.” He gave her a stern look. “He will stand trial in the morning for rape and attempted murder. Justice will be served by the courts in the presence of the divine.” He whistled and a few guard came stumbling around the corner a moment later. “Take this man to the jail, have a priest stop the bleeding. We don't want him bleeding to death.” The guards agreed and hoisted San up and out of the alley.

“Thanks?” Missy stuttered, still shaken by the events.

“No need to thank me, it is my duty. You're lucky I was nearby.”

“I truly am.” Missy thought for a moment on how to break the awkwardness. “Well since you seen me naked, I should probably tell you my name.”

“Missy, I know.”

“What?”

“I heard him say it before I grabbed him. You owe me nothing, and besides, your nethers are no concern of mine.”

“Well then mister righteous, what is your name?”

“Gildroy.”

“No last name?” Missy picked.

“No last name?” Gildroy returned the favor. Missy dropped it. “Come with me, I'll get you cleaned up... again.”

Missy followed him back to the cathedral, which was the grandest building she had ever seen in her short life. Magnificent stone work, with statues and painted glass, benches for prayer and sermons, it was all beyond her. The cathedral was rather empty this time of day, with a few paladins and priests wandering about.

“I can't help but notice the lack of women.” Missy queried.

“The fairer sex cannot hold such positions.” Gildroy answered without a missed beat.

He led her into a back room, his private quarters she thought, a small and rather modest living area for a man so well dressed. He had nothing of value, besides his armor and weaponry which were on racks near his small bed. A shelf of books stood next to the wall, and Missy looked them over. She knew how to read some, but these words were out of her grasp.

“What are these about?” She asked.

“Mostly history of Sekai, and even some about the world beyond.”

Missy read the title of one aloud. “The Teshini-”

“Techniques of a Blade Master”

“Techniques? How did you get that out of this?”

“By not being a street urchin.” Missy combed through the book. “If you want, you can read it, or try to anyway.”

“What is it about?” She perked up.

“Proper fighting techniques with all manner of cutting blades. It's an ancient text, from atleast the early Third Age, but all the secrets hold true.”

“I would love to!” She shouted, echoing her voice through the large cathedral, much to her embarrassment.

“Well, I'm going out to find you some new pants. Any color preference?”

“Black.”

“Right, I should have known.”

Gildroy left her in the care of a couple of younger priests, who were eager to get her fed and clean up her wounds in the meantime. He eventually returned and told her to stay in the cathedral tonight, until the trial in the morning, and she agreed, mostly out of fear.

They are a very large meal, larger than anything she had seen before, with roasted hen, various vegetables and fresh bread. The joys of fresh bread were something she rarely could experience. After a full meal, and a test wearing of her new pants and belt, it was late afternoon and she was deeply tired and mentally exhausted. Gildroy found her a very uncomfortable bed, even by her standards, but it was good enough for someone so tired.

The next morning, very early, before dawn, Gildroy came to wake her.

“Get ready, we're leaving Cocuvy shortly.”

“Why?”

“Your friend was poisoned in his cell last night, you aren't safe here. I won't have a young girl killed on my watch.”

“Where are we going?”

“Aswarol.”
 
Anyuvel, Pier 5

The dockmaster's office was a simple wooden building with one room. There was a lit fireplace at one corner, which was necessary due to the cold winter months in Anyuvel. Over the fireplace hung a portrait of a woman and models of ships. Outside was a sunny day, a rarity in Wyldran ports during the winter months. It was a good day for ships to dock and leave. The oaken door, worn from use over the long ages, creaked whenever it was opened by somebody. The wallpapers were beige colored; dye for beige colored objects were commonly found in the shells of molluscs that lived around Wyldra.

Dockmaster Karim glared at the man in front of him. Pearl, his secretary, was at the back, constantly writing something into the ledger. Sometimes, Karim believed that she was just doodling instead of actually doing work.

"So," Karim said. "What is your name, sir?"

"Robinson," the man replied. He smiled as he extended the arm across the table. "How do you do?"

Karim didn't accept the handshake. The man sat back into the chair, disappointed. "Ahh... Mr. Robinson? You said you were going to...Kertus?"

"Oh, yes!" Robinson said. "There's an urgent business there that I must simply take care of."

"But the provisions that you asked for..." Karim continued. "They seem to be much more than you need for such a short journey."

"I am into livestock business," Robinson replied. "Of course I need more food than usual."

"But this is human food."

"An associate of mine says that animals who grew up eating human food tends to be better tasting," Robinson shrugged. "I am sure that you can take care of the job quickly, though?'

Karim sighed. "Sorry, sir. But there are 3 ships in front of yours who needs to be resupplied fir-"

"Didn't you hear me?" Robinson protested. "I said urgent business!"

"Sorry, sir," Karim replied. "Our policy is a strict first come, first ser-"

Robinson reached across the table and grasped Karim's hands. Karim could feel the weight of the small gemstone in his hands. "Bend it," Robinson said.

Karim gulped. "Of course, sir." Robinson withdrew his hands, minus the gemstone.

"Glad we are in agreement then," Robinson replied. He rose from his seat, tipped his hat at Pearl, and walked quickly out of the office.

Pearl closed the ledger. "He was a slaver, you know," she said.

"I know," Karim replied.

"It would be hell for us if the Kertusians figured out that he was transporting slaves into the black market there," Pearl continued on. "And that we allowed it to happen. And Robinson? What the hell kind of name is Robinson? Obviously a fake."

"Yet..." Karim said, toying with the gemstone. "We need the money." He tossed the gemstone into his pouch.

An urgent knock on the door. "Come in!" Karim said.

The door opened, admitting in a man in an exotic looking dress. "Why hello there, Mr. Karim!" the man said. "Did you want to see me?"

"Ah yes," Karim said. "It's about the contents of your ship, Demeter... Mister...err....Mister..." Karim frowned at the illegible handwriting on the document.

"Mr. S!" the stranger replied. "You can call me Mr. S for now."

"Ah, well, thank you, Mr. S," Karim replied. "Well... about the boxes of unknown fragile materials..."

"Fireworks!" the stranger said excitedly. "I got a few boxes from those dwarves and gnomes up north! Forgot which country though. Started with an F. Friendly chaps! And their fish was to die for."

"Oh, alright then," Karim said. "And the gardening shears..."

"My assistant, Lyra, was a gardener! She still carries those stuff around."

"Ah, I see. And the boxes of books entitled Gospels of Elaros?"

"She was a priestess too!"

"Knives?"

"She was a chef as well."

"Medicine bags?"

"She was a doctor."

"Gags?"

"Don't ask."

"This Lyra fellow...seems to be a very multitalented woman, sir," Karim said, holding back laughter and the urge to punch the stranger simultaneously .

"That's exactly what I tell her every day," the stranger nodded. Karim let out a small chuckle. "Well sir," Karim said. "That would be 100 pieces of copper or 10 pieces of silver..."

"Whaaat? But that's absurd!" the stranger complained. "It was only 50 pieces of copper last time."

"I am sorry sir," Karim said. "But there's been a change in regulations..."

"Oh? Why haven't I heard of it?"

"We only changed it a few weeks ago."

"I came here 10 days ago, you know," the stranger said. "It was 50 pieces of copper then."

"Listen, sir. That is the rule," Karim said. "It would be 100 pieces of copper... or else I am afraid that we cannot allow you into the city."

"Oh, very well then," the stranger said. He dug around in his pockets and tossed him a bag. "Here, take it."

"Why thank you sir. Your ship will be resupplied by the end of this week. Here, take this form and sign it, sir."

"Oh. What is it?" the stranger said, taking the document from Karim.

"It's a document that says that we would not be responsible for any damage done to the ship by a third party," Karim said. "Sorry, sir. Policy, you know? Ever since the hooligans took over this town, it has never been the same," Karim handed the stranger a pen.

The stranger sighed and accepted the pen and made some random dashes through the paper. "There," the stranger said.

"Thank you sir, have a wonderful stay in Anyuvel," Karim said.

"Thanks. I was planning on staying here for a while."

"Are you planning on selling these... fireworks?" Karim said.

"Oh, no. You see, I was taught that when you have something that brings other people joy, you should share it freely," the stranger said. "Is that the portrait of your wife, by the way?"

Karim turned his head to see where the stranger was pointing at. It was the portrait of a brown-haired woman wearing a white dress. She had tied her hair behind her and was smiling at him. The letters on the frame spelled "Faradea."

"Why, yes sir," Karim said. "That is the picture of my wife."

The stranger whistled. "You are a lucky man," he said. He quickly walked out of the door.

"Freak," Karim said.

"I thought he was pretty nice in comparison to other people we met," Pearl said.

"Oh shush," Karim replied. "Who's next?"

"I believe he's one of our....creditors...sir..." Pearl said weakly.

"Oh boy..." Karim said. Moneylenders. "Call him in. Let's get this over with..."

.............................................................................................................................................

Karim sighed as he entered the carriage bound for home. Dealing with slavers and freaks were fine... but moneylenders?

"Damn it!" Karim yelled out. The dock was a family operated business. It had been that way for many years. Taking the deed to the docks from his father was one of the most wonderful time in his life...

But now the dock was struck by debt. He could simply not keep up. He had refused to pay when the gangs came and demanded protection money... and the damage that resulted from the fires that the gangs set was extensive. He had never been able to recover from that, even through the many unsavory practices that he adapted.

"Where to, sir?" the driver said. "Home," Karim said without even thinking. Hang on, that driver sounded like a woman.

"Wait, who are..."

"Now now, sir," the stranger said, suddenly shooting out of the back seat of the carriage. "It won't do to ask too many questions now, would it sir?"

Karim gulped. "You?"

"You are doing fine, Lyra!" the stranger said, waving towards the driver. The driver waved back. "Do you know that she was a horsedrawn carriage driver for a nobleman in Egholme once?"

"Alright," Karim said. "If it's money you want, you should know that I..."

"Money?" the stranger said. "I don't want your money. Come on, Lyra. Drive us to Karim's home!"

Lyra struck the whip, starting the carriage through the streets.

Karim tried to remain calm. "Let's...let's not take this to our home, shall we?"

"Do you know..." the stranger said, ignoring him. "the expression known as being happy as a clam?"

"Err....Yes?"

"Well, when I think of that expression," the stranger said. "I can't help but also think of this carriage! See, Lyra over there is happy... and inside every clam is a..."

A muffled groan emerged from the back of the carriage.

"A PEARL! SHUT UP!" the stranger yelled at the groaning noise.

"Is that my secretary?!" Karim yelled.

"Oh yeah," the stranger said, shoving a knife to Karim's throat. "And she's going to get one between the throat if you make too much noise. Got that?"

"Crystal," Karim said.

"Good. Lyra, wake me up when we get there," the stranger said. He lay back on the chair of the carriage. Karim let out a groan. Today was not his day, not his day at all.

................................................................................................................................................................

Knock Knock.

"Come right in!" Faradea yelled as she ran towards the door. "Karim! How good to see you!" Faradea said.

"Faradea...please," Karim said. Desperation was in his eyes. "Just go in. Don't make a sound.

"Honey?" Faradea said. "What's going on?"

"Faradea, listen to me." Karim said hurriedly. "You have to go in. You hav-"

"SURPRISE!!!" the stranger yelled as he shoved Karim out of the way and punted Faradea into the door, knocking her out cold.

"No! Stop it!" Karim yelled. "Don't hurt her! You don't need to hurt her!"

"You have any servants?" the stranger asked.

"Just one, a cook. Why are you..."

"Lyra, go take care of the cook," the stranger said. "He should be in the kitchen by the sound of it."

Lyra smiled, nodded, and quickly rushed into the house.

"No! Don't!" Karim yelled. "Run! Tarus! RUN!"

"Oh why thank you," the stranger said. "Lyra do enjoy a little challenge." He moved over to the unconscious body of Faradea.

"You better not touch her you piece of..."

"Ah-ah!" the stranger said, brandishing a dagger. "Do anything and I'll cut her."

Karim slumped helplessly to the floor. The stranger grabbed Faradea by her hair and began pulling her into the house. Faradea woke up with a start.

"Karim? What's happening? Who are these people?"

"Don't worry," Karim said. "Everything will be fine... just listen to what they say..."

The stranger laughed. "And I thought my joke was bad!"

Faradea let out a scream.

.......................................................................................................................................................................

Faradea sat on the chair in front of the dinner table, gagged and bound. A rabbit ear was placed on her head, making her look like a caught game animal.

"Oh Lyyyyra!!!" the stranger yelled into the kitchen. The stranger had changed into a new clothing reminiscent of a priest. "When's dinner?"

"Just a minute sir," came the reply.

"Please. Leave my wife out of this," Karim said desperately. He was also bound to the chair and sat next to Faradea.

"Oh, you are STILL going on about that?" the stranger yelled. "Come now."

"I got everyone my special!" Lyra said as she emerged from the kitchen. She carried a small basket in her hand. "Boiled eggs!"

"Ah, thank you Lyra!" the stranger said. "Come! Try it!" the stranger said. "Her boiled eggs are truly the best!" He stuffed an egg into Karim's mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full now!" Lyra chimed in. "Next up in our menu is the rabbit!"

She began sharpening her knives next to Faradea, who let out a frightened gasp.

"This begs the question," the stranger said, addressing Karim. "Which comes first? Eggs?" Lyra pressed the knife to Faradea's throat. "Or the rabbit?" Faradea yelled out a muffled scream.

"The eggs!" Karim yelled out. "The eggs!"

"What did I say about talking with your mouth full?!" the stranger yelled, slapping Karim.

"Eggs!" Karim continued to yell. "The eggs!"

"Aww... you really love her, don't you?" the stranger said. "Let's put that love to the test." He put a spoon in Karim's unbound hand. "Eat it. Eat all the eggs."

Karim stared at the stranger. His arms were still bound to the chair. How did he expect him to eat the eggs with the spoon?"

"Oh, and by eggs, I mean your eyes," the stranger said.

"What?" Karim said.

"I want you..." the stranger said, slowly this time. "To poke out your eyes with that spoon and eat it." Karim's arms were still bound to the chair.

"Why, can't do it?" the stranger smiled. "Well, I guess it's rabbit then."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Karim yelled. "No! NO NO NO!!"

"Ohhh shushushushushuhshush!" the stranger said hurriedly. "You are impossible! Alright, let's make a deal..."

"What? Please... I'll do anything..."

"Really? Because that's exactly what I was asking for," the stranger said. "You'll do everything I tell you... and in exchange I'll let you see her again. Understood?"

"Yes," Karim said weakly.

"Good. We'll be back by midnight because... if we don't..." the stranger pulled out a firework from his pockets and placed it on the table. "Kaboom."

Faradea let out yet another muffled scream. Stranger let out a cackle, grabbed Karim, and dragged him out of the house.

.................................................................................................................................................................

"Please!" Pearl yelled. She was holding the reins of the horses as the carriage stuttered on. "Let me go! I won't tell anyone... I promise I won't tell anyone! I just want to see my family again! See my home again!"

"Oh of course!" the stranger replied. Karim was bound in the backseat. "Where is your home? We could take you there!"

"What?" Pearl said. "Oh no. Oh nonono..."

"I could read your son a bedtime story!" the stranger said, smiling wickedly. "You should listen to my story some times. They are a real killer!"

"No..." Pearl said. "No, please..."

"Changed your mind?" stranger smirked.

Pearl nodded.

"Thought so. Let's go to the chapel then."

"Where?"

"Karmarav's, duh," the stranger said. "Your moneylender, remember? "

"Does he..." Karim said, barely concealing his rage. "Does he have anything to do with this?"

"Oh no, I am going to kill him," the stranger said. "You see, his daughter is having a wedding tonight somewhere... but I wasn't invited, so I don't know where that is! Pearl, on the other hand..."

Karim quickly glanced at Pearl, who quickly fell her head. "Sorry, sir. I needed the money..."

"You are fired," Karim said.

Stranger laughed. "Isn't this a lovely scene! Pearl! Drive!" Pearl struck the reins on the horse.

.......................................................................................................................................................

"We are here," Pearl spat out. "You can see the chapel from here."

"Thanks. Lyra?"

Lyra nodded and dug through the carriage, pulling out a gardening shear.

"HELP!" Pearl yelled out. "HELP US!"

"Help us help us help us!" the stranger yelled out. "This is pirateville, son! No guard with a sane mind will help somebody who asks for help! Try fire instead. Yell out fire and everybody will go nuts. Fire."

Stranger looked around. "Guess nobody's around then."

"What are you doing with that gardening shear?" Karim asked cautiously.

"Gardening," Lyra replied.

"That's right," stranger nodded. "Lyra, keep watch on them. If they misbehave, cut off their heads with the shear."

"Yes, sir."

"Meanwhile..." the stranger said, pulling out a crossbow from the same box that Lyra pulled out the shears from. "I am going to go have some fun."

....................................................................................................................................................................

"Leon, was it?" Kamarav said to the groom. "Here, let me tell you a story of my life, son."

Leon nodded. "But first, let me thank you for marrying your daughter, sir. I know that I am just an artist, but..."

"That's what I was about to talk to you about. Sit down, Leon," Kamarav said. "When I was young, I courted the attention of a young lady named Fabilla, who is Elena's mother. Her father agreed eagerly, of course. I was a wealthy man... and he was eager for greater political gains."

Leon nodded.

"But Fabilla... she never loved me back," Kamarav said. "She wasted away bit by bit... and died when she birthed Elena. I never forgave myself for it."

"That's... I'm sorry, sir," Leon said.

"I am letting Elena marry you..." Kamarav continued. "Because you love her, and she loves you back. That's all that matters to me. I just want my daughter to be happy."

"Aye, Sir."

"So you better not disappoint me, son. If you make her unhappy... if she is dissatisfied with her life... I will make you pay, son."

Leon gulped. "Alright, sir."

"Don't say alright to me!" Kamarav yelled. "I need you to promise me. Promise me that you will always care for her."

"I do, sir."

"Promise me that you will always love her."

"I do, sir."

"Promise me that you will let no harm come to her."

"I do, sir."

"Good!" Kamarav said. "I will hold you to that promise. Go, Elena's waiting at the alters."

"I won't let you down, sir," Leon said. "I give my word."

Leon ran out of the room where all the eyes in the chapel focused on him. He slowly walked up to the alters, where the bride was waiting for him.

"Leon!" Elena said.

"Elena!" Leon replied. "This is the happiest day in my life."

"Most people consider weddings that way," the priest suddenly said. "But I never understood it myself. Why bound yourself to one person? It just gets in the way of things. And all this esoteric rituals too!'

The chapel suddenly grew silent. The priest began to chuckle.

Kamarav came out of the room. "Wait... you aren't the priest... who are you?"

"Just a stranger," the stranger said. He pulled out a crossbow from the folds of his robe and aimed it towards the ceiling.

"Oh...my..." Elena let out a moan.

"Stand behind me, Elena," Leon said.

Kamarav took a step forwards towards the stranger. "Please. We'll do anything you ask, don't hurt anyone."

"Oh, I don't think so, you see..." the stranger said. "What I want.... is for somebody to die tonight."

Everyone in the chapel let out a loud gasp.

"Just don't hurt my daughter," Kamarav said desperately. "I don't want anything to happen to her..."

Stranger raised an eyebrow. "Don't want anything to happen to her? This was supposed to be the greatest day of her life! Make up your mind, old man!"

The stranger aimed a crossbow at Kamarav and fired. "Actually nevermind, since you are dead."

"Daddy!" Elena cried out. All the patrons jumped out of the seat and ran towards the door of the chapel.

"You.... you bastard..." Leon cried out. He charged forwards towards the stranger, only to be punted aside, unconscious, by the man.

"You need to work out more, man," stranger said. He eyed Elena. "Now it's only you and me, kiddo."

Elena looked around frightened, suddenly aware of her situation. "Please..." she gasped. "Please don't kill me..."

"Don't worry, I won't," stranger said. "Could you grab that book on the floor for me?"

As Elena bent down, stranger threw a dagger into her back. "I was just kidding," stranger muttered.

...............................................................................................................................................................

"I am back! Did you miss me?" stranger said as he entered the carriage.

"Miss Pearl tried to run away, sir," Lyra said.

"Oh? What happened to her?"

Lyra showed him the bloody shears.

"Good," the stranger said.

"You... you monsters..." Karim said.

"Oh, don't worry, old man," the stranger said. "You are going to be next if you don't hush up. Here, sign this form for me."

"What is this?" Karim said.

"It's a document saying that we aren't responsible for the damage done to anyone else, duh?" the stranger said. "I want you to sign it."

Karim sighed and signed the papers. "It's not going to hold up in any court..."

"We'll see about that," the stranger said. "Hey look! Guests!"

Karim looked out the window to see Leon, limping weakly towards the carriage. Their eyes met.

"Karim?" Leon said. Karim had helped him out in some difficult situations before and those two were friends ever since.

"Leon! No!" Karim yelled out. "It isn't what you think!"

"Karim? Karim?!" Leon yelled. "DAMN YOU!"

The stranger laughed. "Go, Lyra, Go! To Karim's house!"

"I'll KILL YOU!" Leon yelled out. "I'LL RIP OUT YOUR EYES!"

The stranger's laughter echoed through the streets as the carriage moved quickly away from the scene.

.......................................................................................................................................................................

"I did everything you asked for..." Karim said as the carriage rolled to a stop before his house. "Let me go, as promised."

"Nope, I don't think so," the stranger said. "How much do you care for the dock of yours?"

"Very."

"More than your wife?"

"No," Karim said.

"Then sell it," the stranger said, handing over a crystal ball. "I want you to sell it."

The crystal ball whirled to life and a voice came out of it. "Hello there, Mr. Karim."

"You..." Karim muttered. The voice behind the crystal ball droned on. "I heard that you were selling some property?"

"Yes," Karim spat out. "Take it. Take the dock. I don't care. I just want to see my wife again."

"Understood, sir. We shall hold you to that," the crystal ball said. The stranger took the crystal ball away. "Alright then. I'll send the deed over soonish," the stranger said. "He signed it himself."

The stranger put the crystal ball in his pockets. "Now that you really did everything I asked for, it's time to celebrate, man... with FIREWORKS!"

"What?" Karim said, his eyes widening. "No, you promised... you promised... NO!!!"

Karim's house suddenly burst into flames, debris flying apart everywhere. "NOOOO!" Karim yelled. "NOOOOOO!!!"

"See those ashes?" the stranger said. "Those are pieces of your wife!"

"You.... you piece of...." Karim launched himself towards the stranger.

"Go to sleep," stranger muttered, punching Karim in the head. He quickly tossed Karim out of the carriage. "Let's go home, Lyra," the stranger said.

Lyra nodded and got the carriage going again.

...............................................................................................................................................

Karim leaned on the walls of the building next to his as people gathered about, quickly trying to douse the spreading fire with pails of waters.

"You..." a voice said. Karim turned to the source of the voice. Leon.

"Leon..." Karim said.

"You... you took Elena away from me... you bastard..." Leon said. "Did you hate Kamarav that much? She was innocent, damn it. She was innocent!"

"Just...do what you want..." Karim said. "I am too tired..."

"Oh don't worry..." Leon said. He pulled out an artisan's knife. "I wasn't planning on asking your permission anyhow..." there was madness in his eyes. He raised the knife.

.......................................................................................................................................................

Did you hear?

Hear what?

Do you know that dockmaster Karim? Well, apparently he went nuts and hired a hitman to kill Kamarav!

What? Oh man, I knew that he was always crazy... but that?

Some people just can't get ahead with the time. Those people also tend to do drastic things when things go really bad.

This is sad. They say that the hitman killed Kamarav's daughter too. In her wedding night too!

Terrible stuff. Then the groom spotted Karim trying to escape the premises and chased after him by foot to kill him. On foot! Karim was escaping in a carriage.

What did Karim do?

Apparently he killed his servant and set fire on his own house after selling the docks. He wasn't planning on living apparently after he killed Kamarav. Then the coward was too afraid to kill himself.

My gods.

Yes. They found Leon stabbing Karim with a small artisan's knife. Hundred puncture wounds on the body.

What happened to the docks?

Don't know. An overseer came in, but he doesn't seem to know much about the owner either. The Winged Eyes mercs are using the place as a fort though, so apparently the business is going good.

What happened to Leon?

He got arrested. The poor fellow. They say that they are going to hang him tomorrow.

That's terrible! He's innocent!

He committed murder. On a criminal scum, but murder's still murder.

What's going to happen to Kamarav's assets?

They say that his cousin is inheriting it.

His cousin? He wouldn't know what to do with that kind of money. He's too honest.

Oh well. Hey, have you heard? Price of wool just plummeted in Kertus!

What? That's terrible!
 
“... And then she said to me please my lord where do I start?” Lord Dustin grinned as the assembled lords of Prince Borcas inner circle burst into gales of laughter. Dustin was always a good story teller, capturing the attention of his audience with carefully thought out words and the wild gesticulations of his arms. Often his body was as much apart of the story as his voice.

Borcas did not laugh along with the others. He dipped a hunk of bread into the meat broth and chewed thoughtfully before replying in a dry tone. “Perhaps, Lord Dustin, she had trouble finding your short sword.”

The table resounded with laughter once again. Dustin sat down, chuckling along with the others. He could always laugh at his own expense. Lord Orlof, who sat at the Prince's left, banged his fist on the table and made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeak as he half choked on some gristle. His fat belly jiggled as he reached out for his wine and with his other hand made as if to give the Prince a friendly slap on the back. A mere glance from Prince Borcas stalled his approach and his hand hung in the air like a sea bird in the breeze before returning to Orlof's side. Even among his trusted councilors, Borcas always maintained the majesty of birthright.

The eight lords settled down as servants brought forth more wine. Lord Estermount looked down the table to Borcas and inquired, “My prince, what news from the court of Bokra? Will he march?”

Borcas sipped his wine and then answered bluntly, “No. He said to wait as usual.”

“Wait. That's all he ever says is wait. We wait while he sits on his comfy throne and get his boot's licked by sycophants.” Estermount declared in a dry rasp.

“Actually it's a smart move on their part.” Lord Virgo countered, always ready with a rebuttal. “Even with our own men King Bokra doesn't have the strength of numbers to take on the cult.”

Lord Dustin waved his hand dismissively. “Oh come now Virgo your always taking the most downtrodden of views. Aside from their magic what does the cult have? A bunch of shambling corpses that haven't the grace to know when to die. We'd ride over them as if practicing for jousting.”

“Tell that to those who died when those shambling corpses took Kelen from us.” Virgo shot back.

“We were betrayed and taken from the inside..!” Dustin shouted.

“There is more.” Prince Borcas interrupted quietly. His lords immediately stopped their arguments and looked to him expectantly. “King Bokra has agreed to all that was asked of him. We will soon receive a shipment of good quality metal. Lord Orlof, you will make sure our blacksmith gets to work on repairs as soon as the shipment arrives.” Orlof nodded solemnly. “Bokra has sent word to Lorenthia for warhorses. Among other things.” Borcas paused to look over his lords, drawing them in. “I received a request from their head lore master to detach some of my guard to help them explain to the neighboring kingdoms about the threat that the Heras-Fel represents. I have consented to this request.”

Lord Estermount leaned forward, showing an eagerness that wasn't often seen in one so old. “What do you believe this means, my Prince?”

Prince Borcas looked down at the table for a moment before picking up his goblet and taking a sip. He regarded Estermount over the lip of the goblet as he considered his words. “I believe that we will get our war. Soon.” He spoke at just above a whisper.

It seemed as if the room let out it's collective breath as the lords looked at each other and back to their prince. One by one the lords began to apply themselves to their meals once again, a few leaning over to their neighbor to whisper an opinion.

Prince Borcas Windem watched them all as he took another sip. Soon.
 
The Thaumatologist

Dafydd Gwythur put on a broad grin as he surveyed the figure before him. A skinny, disrobed human was held down in a massive iron chair by several obscenely thick chains and leather straps. Dafydd, a shortish dwarf possessed of a jet black beard and an excessively curious mindset, was protected behind a wall of magically-shielded glass, while the human was on a platform isolated in the middle of a fantastically tall cylindrical room.

“So, I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

“I swear, I didn’t steal anything!”

“Right. And all of the enchanted coins were given to you as change from the bread vendor.”

“But I-”

“Please. The watchcrystals saw your entry up until the point where they inexplicably became depowered by the timely application of a dampening powder. The stolen items perfectly match the items that were inexplicably replaced with nonmagical replicas. The magical trace follows their path from the vault, matching your path perfectly. We’re impressed with your gumption in trying to pull something like that off, and I’d hate for you to ruin that impression by treating us as idiots.”

The young man slumped, as much as he could in the firm restraints.

“Well, now you’re going to repay that little debt to society you’ve accrued. You’re going to help us in the identification of a few of our artefacts- contributing a little back to the society you’ve been leaching off of. You see, the Wielders of Fyir, wise though we are, frequently encounter enchantments the likes of which we have never encountered before. Thus, while we may be able to identify most magical items with a most cursory inspection, some require... a more direct approach. Lemon Ale?”

“What?”

Dafydd took a deep sip from a mug and put it down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Care for one?”

“I’m not taking anything you offer me!”

Dafydd shrugged and waved his hands through the air, as a dull glow began to permeate the chamber.

“Just bein’ sociable.” he muttered, taking another gulp before pushing his glowing hands forward.

A series of crystals folded out from the walls, focusing on the subject in the chair. These would detect and record any magical activity for immediate analysis and later review. Dafydd went over the apparatus once more in his head, before holding out his hands once more. The white light materialized as an invisible mage hand. With a few expert movements, Dafydd manoeuvred the hands into a sealed box, withdrawing from it a small silvery ring.

“Now, you can let me put this on, or I can break a few of your fingers and put it on forcibly.”

The human did not resist, and the magical ring slipped onto his hand. With a brief yelp of pain, black quills burst out of his skin, starting around the ring but spreading rapidly across his whole body. Several cries of pain and unpleasant cracking noises were muffled through the glass as his hands and feet curled into scaly claws, his neck extended and his face pushed out into a long beak. The quills completed their growth, exploding open into a rich pattern of yellow and blue feathers.

“Hmm! Transmogrification... interesting!” Dafydd took a few notes of the bipedal avian-looking thing, before calling out through the glass. “Can you still talk?”

“Errrgh... yes... aughh...”

“Fantastic!”

With a swift movement, the mage hand pulled the ring off of the subject’s enlarged claw-finger. The human groaned again as the quills noisily sucked themselves back into his skin, and his form slowly reverted. Dafydd made further note of the reversion, and then repeated the process with several different variations for certainty. By the end of an hour or so of study, Dafydd was quite pleased with his results. Making a few notes in his journal, he returned his attention to the chamber.

With a wave of his hand, Dafydd deactivated the focusing crystals around the room. With a clicking noise, the bindings holding his cooperative test subject in place loosened themselves.

“Alright, thank you very much for your time.”

The human just groaned and nodded.

“There should be a fresh meal in your room when you get back. Tell the next girl that she can come in now.”

A stone bridge extended from a door on the far face of the cylinder. The human crossed it and disappeared down the dark hall, but Dafydd’s attention had already returned to his journal, into which he was rapidly scrawling his notes.

The ring triggered a localized, fast-acting transformation spell that turned the wearer into a sentient birdlike creature with an upright stance. The method itself seemed to be interesting- while the effects were straightforward and imitable enough, metamagical analysis revealed that the spell applied itself in a unique manner unlike any specific school of magic that Dafydd had encountered before- logical enough, seeing as the ring had been acquired by a group of adventurers out on the southern face on the distant Akkal Ridge. Whether this difference was merely one of magical semantics, or a genuinely different approach to shapeshifting, remained to be seen from further testing. The dwarven thaumatologist nearly closed his journal before pausing, and adding one more note:

Should test Ring #271 on more subjects in future.
 
A small distance from Prince Borcas' tent, his devoted lifeguard enjoyed their own meal around a blazing fire. A stand of animal skins had been placed around them to give a semblance of privacy from the rest of the army. These were men chosen by the Prince himself for the honor of protecting his person.

Sir Trigar quietly joined his brethren, trying not to seem as out of place as he felt. Tall and brawny, with a good set of plate over chain he looked the part of a lifeguard, but compared to the others he was young. Painfully young.

Sir Bryce of Wyndale looked up from his meal as Trigar bent down to grab a loaf of black bread and a bowl of broth. His eye's narrowed dangerously and he spat out a piece of bone. “Who guards the Prince?”

Trigar made himself look Bryce in the eye as he answered. “Sir Rolf has that duty right now, sir.”

Someone on the other side of the fire chortled. “Sir Rolf son of Rolf son of Rolf!” Others joined in the laughter. Sir Rolf's father had been named Rolf and so had his father and so on. It was one source of many that the other lifeguards found amusing about Sir Rolf. It didn't help that Rolf was a big dumb brute who owed his place in the lifeguard mainly due to his absolutely loyalty and his ability to crush heads with his bare hands.

Trigar seated himself down by the fire without saying anything further. He set his meal aside, clasped his hands together and bent his head. His lips moved as he said his thrice daily prayers. Trigar kept the faith of his mother's family as best he could. It wasn't easy to believe in something that never seemed to hear.

“I'd 've thought you'd wise up by now lad.” Bryce sneered at him. Sir Bryce was mean sort who liked to bully any and all who came into his sight. Some said it was because Wyndale had been lost to the cult many years ago and Bryce had never gotten over the loss of his estate. Others said he was born mean. Whatever the case, Bryce had served the Prince's family faithfully for many years and in doing so had earned himself a place in the lifeguard.

Sir Bryce made a rude gesture and spat. “There's for your Gods, snotty. They don't care whether you kiss their ass three times a day or not. You know why that is? Cause they aren't listening boy! Why do you think we're stuck out here in the middle of orc territory eh? If the Gods really gave a about us we'd be living in some great golden palace or some such.”

Trigar did the best he could to ignore Bryce's blathering and continued to pray. Bryce wasn't about to be ignored however. “Hey! I'm talking to you snotty! Look at me when I'm speaking!”

“Oh shut up Bryce and eat your damn food.” One of the other lifeguards exclaimed. “Leave the boy to pray. All your doing is boring the rest of us with your pathetic nonsense.”

Bryce rounded on this challenger, leaving Trigar to his prayers. The lifeguard wasn't what it was. Before the lifeguard was made up of the finest and bravest that Kelen had to offer. But most of them had died during the Night of the Bell. For want of men, Prince Borcas had been forced to choose men who'd shown absolute loyalty without thought for there character. Trigar didn't feel that he should be apart of this group of men. He hadn't even been a noble until after that night.

Trigar had been a commoner. His mother was a midwife who was also one of the few who still worshiped the old gods. His father was a blacksmith in the employ of Lord Orlof. He had joined the city watch in part for what he thought would be adventure but mostly to prove himself brave and strong to Sharleena, a girl he wished to marry.

Any hopes and dreams he might have had came crashing down during the Night of the Bell. Trigar only had to close his eyes to remember that terrible night. The city watch had been on alert because Prince Borcas had suspected treachery was in the air. As Trigar had patrolled outside of the Prince's hall, a bell had sounded. It was unlike any bell he had heard before, a ringing that seemed to touch his very soul. Then all the bells in Kelen had begun to ring, all of them ringing exactly as the first had done. It was a terrible clangor that caused ear's to bleed. That was when the dead came for them.

Trigar had never struck out in anger before this night. Around him, men died and then rose again to join their murderers. Some of his fellow's ran in a desperate effort to save themselves. Others simply dropped to the ground and curled into a tight ball, screaming pathetically and holding their ruptured ears tight.

In the swirling turmoil Trigar fought with all his strength, hacking and slashing at the creatures that rose to drag him down. He didn't know how he came to be fighting beside the Prince and his entourage as they fought to escape the fall of Kelen. Trigar remembered striking down one bizarre looking creature as it attempted to grasp at the Prince as Borcas was mounting his horse. Trigar was almost left behind as the lords of Kelen took off down the main thoroughfare but Prince Borcas himself had reached down and grabbed a hold of Trigar as he spurred his horse to a gallop. One might not think that the Prince had such strength given his small stature, but he hauled Trigar up in front of him and followed the others out of the city.

It wasn't the most dignified way to flee for your life, strewn across the mount while your face smacked against the saddle, Trigar reflected. But he could hardly complain given his life was spared. After they had fled Kelen Trigar had been able to find his own horse.

As the survivors grouped together and made their way south to Orc lands, Prince Borcas had sought Trigar out and knighted him right there in the northern plains. He then requested that Trigar immediately come into his service as one his lifeguards.

Trigar remembered stuttering out protests to his Prince. He wasn't worthy of such an august position. He had been but a commoner only moments before. But Prince Borcas silenced him with his stern gaze and said “You saved my life back there. I need men such as you to protect me in the times to come. I don't care about your birth, you've already shown me your worth.”

And so now here Trigar sat, a man of the lifeguards. Sworn to protect Prince Borcas with all that he had. He still didn't feel like he should be here.
 
Missy and the Nighttime Escape

They waited until the evening to depart, their adventure cloaked in secrecy and known only to the cathedral stewards. It would be what they least expect, and it was clear now that the Jadeflies even came out during broad daylight. Gildroy passed Missy a fresh thick, wool, brown cloak. She looked at it for a moment, and looked back at Gildroy. She cracked a joke about the cloak not being black, but Gildroy was focused and solemn, much to the young girl's dismay.

Cocuvy at night was far different than it was during the day. The bustling sounds of merchants and nobles seemed to pause in the district around the church, while strange hooded folk wandered about carrying odd trinkets and medallions. The moon was a crescent tonight, hanging downward and pointing up, the eye of night harboring secrets. Gildroy, too, was draped in a dark-brown cloak. Underneath he wore chainmail and several pieces of whitened silk. He carried strange books in his pack, along with ample amounts of bread and water. He also carried a sword on his horse, hanging to the side, sheathed and looking like a creature within itself. Missy wondered what that blade could do.

Gildroy placed Missy upon his steed, a white horse with brown speckles by the name of Hyliwan. Gildroy explained that his name meant grace in an old dialect of Elvish. Missy wondered why a man would name his horse something Elvish, but her thoughts were interrupted as a book was placed in her lap. "Here," spoke Gildroy. "Something for the road." The book was Techniques of a Blade Master by one of Halde's old blademasters, a now-deceased man by the name of Alendis. Apparently, he had long ago single-handedly trained a legion of soldiers to fight the fanatics in the south. Gildroy mentioned all of this to Missy as he gathered his belongings and jumped upon the horse, with Missy hanging onto his waist.

The pair took off, fast and furious. The winter air made Missy's lips freeze, but the rest of her body was remarkably warm. She felt something strange on that horse. As they rode, even her lips began to feel the warmth the rest of her body had been blessed with.

Northern Cocuvy contained a district filled with brothels, seedy taverns, and a plethora of "businesses". Missy looked around as they rode through, feeling as if this might be her future. Gildroy whispered to her. "You don't belong here. And neither do I." A few whores stood at the edge of the road and called out to Gildroy, but he ignored them and kept riding, mud splashing from Hyliwan's hooves and onto the tattered clothing of the mistresses.

They could see the watchtowers of the northern gates, but just as they did, a dagger flew through the air and towards Gildroy's neck. As the dagger spun in the air, Hyliwan froze and Gildroy closed his eyes. About a foot away from the horse, the dagger froze in midair and dropped onto the ground, clattering and making quite a commotion in an otherwise quiet alley. Several more daggers began to fly, and the pair began to ride once more. The daggers all stopped short of hitting them and dropped. Missy looked up, terrified, and noticed a strange light around the pair. Every time a dagger hit the light, what looked like a blacksmith's sparks dropped from the air and onto the ground. Gildroy rode faster.

After getting through the alley, Gildroy peered behind them and noticed several cloaked figures in the distance. He signaled to the guards at the north gate and showed them a strange trinket. They nodded and opened the gate. The pair rode out. Meanwhile, the guards blew a horn and reinforcements arrived. The cloaked figures backed off, and dispersed into the alleyway.

+ Gildroy the Paladin
Spoiler Gildroy's stats :
Gildroy, the Cocuvite Paladin (NPC/Luckymoose)
Human, Male / 6'1 / 175 / Short blond hair, brown eyes, clean shaven, round face; 26
Aspects: Horseback Riding (4/5), Sword-Fighting (4/3), Protective Blessings (5/4), Offensive White Magic (5/2), Misc. Enchantments (3/3)
Inventory: Hyliwan the horse, leather saddle, longsword, enchanted chainmail and cloth, various books and religious trinkets, standard paladin wear
Current Location: Leaving Cocuvy
A paladin from the Lord's Hill cathedral in central Cocuvy, Gildroy has long studied the arts of white magic and combat. He is one of the finest paladins Lord's Hill has to offer, though he is still relatively inexperienced.
 
These being the words of Diodor II Leonis, Monarch of the Holy Citadel

Kings and holy men have no time for reflection. Contemplation is the province of philosophers and theologians. So do not call this my reflection. At most, call it a memory. Perhaps it is best considered a holy musing. I am Diodor, the Second of that Name, by the Providence of the Hidden High One and by the Wisdom of the Laws of Leonos, Stratikrator and High Justice of the Holy Citadel, Protector of the Senate and People, Guardian of the Laws, Consecrated Brother of Kyrios[1], Archenautikos Megas[2] of the White-Sail Fleet, Shield of the Tribe of Elkannah, Master of the Anokan Sea, Autocrat of the Merchant-Princes, Bearer of the Sacred Curse, and Scion of the Eighth Tribe. In the taverns and the back halls of villas, I am called the Boy-King, Left-Hand, and the Lion of Arkannah. I am the son of Diodor, the First of that Name, of House Leonis and of the fair Lady Tria, of House Arkannah. I have reigned over the Holy Citadel for fifty three years, and I saw twenty-two harvests before that. I am Diodor, King of Orcs and Men, of the Greatest Republic in the World, and this is my Final Confession.

I was born, as all members of the Eighth Tribe, in the Sacred Grotto, the Luminous Darkness, of my ancestors beneath the Temple of the Unconquered, in the place where the Cursed Mysteries take place, of which I am not permitted to speak. It is a rite of birth, of course, and of death, where we pass from our ancient gods into the bright darkness of the High Hidden One, where our old gods are both slain in triumph for their wickedness and also brought under the governance of the High Hidden One, now known as the Mighty Ones. I do not presume to understand this mystery. You may ask a theologian if you wish, but I would not ask the holy man, for you will not enjoy his answer. It will demand everything you have, everything you are. In any case, I was a difficult birth and my mother did not survive the ritual. There is more than spiritual meaning to the rite of birth and death.

My father was not pleased that my mother died, nor that his son was born small, and blind in both eyes (the prattling of oraclemongers about blindness as blessing did not persuade him to relent in his anger). Magic would eventually cure me of that defect (though it would leave them an unsettling pale grey), a mighty accomplishment born of years of research by our healers, gently encouraged of course by my father, who would not have “that runt escape duty so easily.” At the age of seven, I was sent to the Monastery of Kyrios, as was traditional for male members of the Royal Family. I nearly lost my life when, at seventeen, I, in secret, was consecrated and took vows. Royalty was to train with the Kyrioteai, not to become one. We were meant to be formed by their ascetism and their religious teachings, but the life of court was to be our calling. My father commanded a massive legal inquiry, for such a thing had never happened before and it was unclear whether one who had taken vows could become Stratikrator, for the vows prohibited marriage and the bearing of children. Eventually, it was discovered, or decided, I am to this day unsure which, that there existed nothing in the vows of the Order or of the Throne that conflicted, nor anything which expressly forbade their union. The succession was secured, but my father never forgave me. He took another wife (not from the family of his dead wife, my mother, House Arkannah, but from House Tothdalo, against all custom, though not against law) and had more children to provide heirs where I could provide none. My brother, Aegis, twenty years my junior, will succeed me to the Lion Throne. For the headache this caused, the Brother who initiated me, my mentor and friend for my entire life at the Monastery, was sent on dangerous embassies and military missions again and again until, predictably, one of them went sour and he lost his life in defense of the Republic.

At age twenty-two, I was sent on an embassy to an ancient city, to subdue an arrogant king without conflict and without resources. I lost my shield-hand there, though our engineers designed a shield mounting for my ruined stump, such that I do not feel the loss. My father, who had been hoping for a jolly war, was furious upon my return and embarked personally on a lengthy series of raids with the Black-Sail Fleet, the first Stratikrator to do so in three centuries, and got the honorable death I suppose he must have been looking for, as he came back borne upon his shield by his brothers. The Republic was safe and powerful then, and I suppose the Senate thought no harm could come from a traditional succession. No doubt many also thought to wield significant influence over so young a king, and so my succession was confirmed in the Senate and the toadies and flatters who had pervaded my father’s court remained.

It was then perhaps somewhat unexpected when I executed my first man. An Orc of minor nobility, whose position at court was never made entirely clear to me, was found to have committed adultery with the wife of a metoiken Orc of the merchant class. The male I killed myself, according to the ancient way, and the female was burned alive, that she might have a chance at purification before coming before the LORD. My great sorrow at the transgression, and my youth, led me to shower favor on the merchant in repayment for his loss (that is, for having lost his wife to sin and betrayal). In the end, he proved no better, though I suppose one can never expect much of foreign-born, even of Orcish foreign-born. He betrayed my mercy and took bribes, and so he too met my sword.

After this, sycophants and fools began to leave my court of their own accord. My councils were filled with Brothers of the Monastery of Kyrios, and educated sons of noble families. I patronized the Academies and received gifts of wise-men from them, though my Court Phronetoros was wiser than them all, and many of them I sent out on embassies to occupy them. The Nepisite Priests apparently approved of my conduct and the annual Audience of the High Priest, which had fallen into neglect in the waning years of my father’s reign, was resumed with proper observance. I expanded the Republic and subdued heathen kings. I fought many minor wars and one larger one, and I prayed to the High Hidden One daily for wisdom in my judgments at Court. I have sacrificed on the proper days, I have not defiled myself, I have made repentance for every man I have killed and petition for their souls at dawn and dusk. I have read the Elarkah, though I have not the time of Priests for memorizing the length of it. I not taken what was not mine from another of the Tribe of Elkannah, or of the Metoikes, or of the Eighth Tribe. I have not pronounced judgment with favor or respect of persons. I have not committed idolatry or blasphemy intentionally, nor have I permitted idolatry or blasphemy within my realm when I was aware of its practice. I have ruled for fifty-three years, I am the thirty-third Stratikrator since the institution of the Leonid Laws, and I am afraid I may be the last, if half of what the Prophet says comes to pass.

NOTES
[1] Kyrios is one of the Mighty Ones, the repurposed old Pantheon of the Orcs reinterpreted in light of the theology of the Tribe of Elkannah. The Mighty Ones serve a function not entirely dissimilar to saints or demigods, to whom one may be devoted or consecrated, but all serve the High Hidden One, the only true God and Creator.
[2] Roughly, “Lord High Admiral,” as opposed to Archenautikos, “admiral,” or nautikos, “captain.” (lit. “Great First Ship-leader,” “First Ship-Leader,” and “Ship-Leader,” respectively)
 
The Monarch's Birthday, part 1

The band played a light tune as the party continued into the night. The servants bustled around lighting candles and clearing tables as the guests continued to mingle. At the center of the soiree as usual was King Firenas III. He stood surrounded by all the usual hangers on seeking favor and business deals. Aria stood off to the side sipping a fine wine and watching the proceedings with her usual apathy when she saw Count Rickas, the useless lumpy sack of flesh with legs, heading her way. Aria quickly downed the last of her wine, she knew she would need it to deal with the bloated meat sack.

“Ah how lovely to see you Lady Mithra.” Aria extended her gloved hand and Count Rickas grasped it with his pudgy little fingers and pressed his lips far harder than was polite to the back of her hand. He drooled a bit, Aria winced internally. “I was glad to see you came to the birthday party of the King.”

“I certainly could not decline an invitation from our Monarch himself. As ever it is wonderful to see him in good health.” Aria replied in a sweet voice.

Count Rickas adjusted his considerable girth before continuing, subtlety was not his strong suit, and honestly Aria thought to herself his only strong suit seemed to be gluttony in all its forms. “I was curious as to what you thought of my proposal from a few weeks ago. Have you given the matter consideration?”

Aria saw a passing servant with a tray of wine on it and grabbed two glasses, stealthily slipping one of her rings around on her left hand to face into the wine glass. It wouldn’t do to kill the odious pest, but she could certainly make him ill. She dropped in the odorless white powder and handed the glass to Count Rickas before finally answering him. “My dear Count, my father and I debated your proposal most carefully,” which meant she told her father the answer, the dear Duke Mithras was easy to control in his old age and failing health, “and we decided to decline the proposal for me to marry one of your sons.” You filthy little climber, as if I would improve your family’s position on my coattails when you have nothing to offer.

“I see.” Count Rickas’ face fell for a moment before he covered it by taking a long draw on the wine. “Well I hope this will not interfere with any of our.” Count Rickas grasped at his stomach suddenly. “I’m sorry my dear, but I must excuse myself.” The Count rushed off before she could say any polite goodbyes. Aria smiled widely. A servant approached her and bowed politely.

“Milady, was that really necessary? Do you need me to do anything?” Aria placed her half finished wine glass on the servant tray.

“Necessary? Hardly.” Aria’s smile widened. “But certainly fun, I imagine he will be unable to do much for the next week and that makes me feel very happy. The toad.”

The servant inclined his head slightly in affirmation of this statement. “I imagine you used the Garith root?” Aria nodded. “Is there anything you need?”

“No Talith, just continue to be my extra pair of eyes and ears for now. I have no need of your other skills for the moment.” Talith nodded and headed back into the crowd passing out wine. Aria leaned against a tree and continued to watch the nobles and wealthy merchants mingle. She sat there and rated their appearance for her own amusement.

A servant in the royal green and red trim uniform approached her. He bowed and then spoke. “His Royal Majesty requests your company for dinner.” The royal page signaled for her to follow and so she fell in step behind him just as the snow began to fall lightly.
 
"Save us... Save us all..."

And he collapsed in front of the guard and the small crowd.


"Clear the way damn it!" The guard shouted as he pushed his way through the crowd. The guard gave a wide eyed stare at the odd figure laying upon the ground. With a couple curses and a few warning swings with his sword the guard finally managed to reach the figure. Muttering to himself he poked the odd man with his boot, but the figure remained still. The guard gave an stinging whistle.

And equally unpleasant squeal erupted from the far side of the "marketplace." A large half-bred hog[1] stumbled into the clearing, and barreled towards the guard's location, knocking over unaware browsers. In a few short moments it was standing over the figure.

"Yut! [2]" The guard shouted. The pig snorted and began to sniff the man intensely. After a moment or so it gave a shrill squeal and wagged its tail happily.

"No Heyuti, you don't eat this one," the guard. "Now go, bring him to the east gate. Eaaaaast gaaaaaaate. You got that Heyuti?"

The guard quickly jotted down a note and stuck it the collar of the pig and then kicked it in the hindquarters. As the pig raced off the guard grabbed the robed figure by the arms and began dragging him towards his small guardpost; a small cobblestone building with a single cell and a little fire. The guard pushed the door open, and was immediately greeted with a shout.

"Close the door Ahael!" A portly elf sitting next to the fire screamed.

The guard ignored his comrade's comment and dropped the figure on the ground with a smirk.

"Who in the name of Hyala is that Ahael?! Didja arrest a Mnalsha? Do we get a bonus!?"

Before the fat elf could do a celebratory dance, Ahael raised his hand.

"No Olontrufel... I mean.... I don't know what this... thing is," Ahael said with a shrug. "Heyuti gave him the ol' sniff and thought he smelled like a perfectly edible human. So I guess Mnalsha isn't out of the question. But I believe he's simply a human who has lost his mind. A babbling prophet. Heyuti is on his way to the east gate. We'll probably just throw him out of the city for causing trouble."

"Or they'll put him on trial and we can see if he really is a Mnalsha!" Olontrufel said with hope in his words. "Then we get a bonus. Bonus! Bonus!"

"Those trials are foolish. If they're a Mnalsha, they kill the tiger, and then we kill them. If they don't, the tiger eats them, we give a quick prayer for them, and then move on to the next man."

"Mind your tongue Ahael. I've done this job far longer than you, and I've seen some real dangerous men proven guilty by the trials."

"And many more innocent I would wager."

"Silence. Now let's lock this guy up before he comes too."

Ahael reached into his pocket. Then another. Then another, before giving out a long sigh.

"You lost it again, didn't you?"

Ahael rushed back outside, while Olontrufel set the stranger in the cell and closed the door. If the cell can't be locked, he wouldn't want to give any indication of it. Maintaining an almost unblinking stare on the figure, he watched for any sign of movement...

[1] Cross between a regular pig and a giant boar. Usually used by less important troops and by guardsmen. Mainly used for carrying supplies.
[2] High Elvish command for smell.
 
Chapter 1: ALS Glenoak Grandeur: Mission to Taiford Part 3
The Lonely Lighthouse of Drusefaell Cove

The Ship Master, eyes still closed, chanted softly and waved his hand over the wooden table. A sprout, then ten, grew from the surface and entwined itself into the shape of the ship. As all watched, small flourishes sprouted along the deck and begun walking upon it; the other sailors were also approximated. In front of all the council members small letters formed in the grain of the wood, serving to express the quiet voice of the Shipmaster.

“We will have to reduce our cabin size” he whispered, “either of the Forecastle or the Castle.” Two moss-like tendrils separated themselves from the model. They seem to struggle to return back into the bulk of the ship while the edges below them flowed a and sealed over top. “We would also risk dangerous complications with the Tree Folk.” The model’s tendrils suddenly began flailing, fell apart and sank back into the wood. “Danger, Darkness, Death; that is our risk.” The wooden figures writhed in the grainy sea, became still, and sank into the wood. The table smoothed itself as if no ship ever grew upon it.

But the words stayed in the wood even after the Ship Master returned from his whispering back into his omnipresent muttering.

“Danger, Darkness, Death; Why! That’s a day’s worth of night-sailing” said Captain Steven. “Better get too it. Don’t want other ships to fall victim to these Merfolk. Any disagreements?”

Silence.

“Good! Because there is no reason to disagree; First Dawn tomorrow, I order the Ship Master to begin the process of disentanglement and finding an Elven Volunteer. Council Adjourned!”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*


In the Foredeck, the Ship Master held his own meeting. Twelve Elves, the Ship Keepers, came around his table in the Elven Quarters of the Foredeck. The Ship Keepers all touched their lips and blowed towards the Ship Master. He waved his hands and fresh green growth blocked the door way, the window, and the message holes.

“The Captain has given his order, and we must follow” spoke Peiraphar, “It is the role of Elves to follow, for by ourselves we can only decay.”

“We can only decay.” repeated the Ship Keepers.

“What the Captain doesn’t know will not hurt him.” said Peiraphar, “Taking even one Tree Folk will be dangerous. However, instead we can do this.”

Once again, he waved his hand over the table, but instead of growing the whole ship he grew only the writhing moss-like tendrils which was an individual Tree Folk, now part of the colony on the Grandeur. Some of the branches were arched towards the central mass, and dark, berry-like pods can be seen.

“Seeds.” Was all he said.

The Ship Keepers bowed.

The Ship Keepers worked.

The Ship Keepers Obeyed.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Dawn.

“Good Morn’n to you, Ship Master. Did you prepare the Disentanglement yet?”

The Ship Master simply pointed to a writhing bundle held by one of the Ship Keepers.

“That small?”

Pieraphar simply pointed at the wooden and spoke softly, and a sapling sprouted over the head of Captain Steven and became a leafy umbrella.

“Very well. Set the Long Boat, Kramar, and I want a file of your swordsman, Harold! We’re out to establish the Drusefaell Beacon!”

The wood beneath them shivered.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The icy wind offered no respite until they neared the cave. “Go for the slope, I want to reach to top of the headland.” Muttered the Captain. The oarsmen simply grunted and huddled closer against the slicing breeze. They reached shore with the two long boats. The swordsmen quickly spread out; two in the ship, three towards the cave, and another two on each cliff face. The last three lead the group up the slope to the top of the Headland.

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“So, how will you do it?” asked the Captain. The Ship master simply ignored him. He set the Ship Keepers around the bundle and drew lines of loam onto the hill.

“What are you doing?” asked the Captain again, “What is” the Ship Master grabbed his mouth and pushed him off. When he tried to angrily retort, he looked into the Elf’s glowing eyes and slowly backed off.

Slowly, from ancient memory, the Ship Master begun his song. The Song which lured the Tree folk hundreds of years ago, to join the colony, to see the world, the Song which the other elves learned by heart, the song which can break a human as easily as it can enchant.

The bundle untied itself, and within is a polished ball of wood, free of bark and covered with small roots. Immediately, it pushed into the ground, and as the loam lines glowed green, a sprout appeared and it reached towards the sky. The Sailors backed off, their eyes tearing at the song, and at the growth of the Sapling-folk.

Brown bark covered the green sapling, and green leaves; that of an Oak, sprouted from its small twigs. As the song went on, full of strength and triumph, it grew taller, sprouted into two branches…

“Now” whispered Pieraphar, the ship master. A Ship Keeper standing outside the circle but chanting along jumpted onto the fork of the branch. The sapling writhes as the Elf hung on, the tree still growing from the power of the roots.

Back at the ship, the leaf sails all closed and the wood shivered again.

The Branches started growing around the Elf, enclosing it except for a single opening. Through there, a small light, like an eye, shone. It begun turning around the hollow trunk, shining under the overcast clouds.

The Ship Master stopped singing. So did his Ship Keepers, except for one voice.

They Left.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Lilting upon the winds, shivering the branches of the living ship, the elven song can still be heard.

"Gestaeti, deni Gestae, Gestae;
Telibaesetrdai sana Uvie de sana"

Only now were all the Ship Keepers truly noticed, perhaps the first time in the history of the Grandeur, as they all turned and looked upon the growing oaken lighthouse on the distant shore behind them. It looked back.

The boat shivered one last time as the lonely lighthouse disappeared under the horizon.
 
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