Sekai II: The Third Age

[bestshot9]

A Rude Awakening

Alvinar awoke, face down on a simple clay plate, crumbs covering his face and hair. He slowly lifted his pounding head, taking in his surroundings. To his left, he saw a fireplace, the fire licking up from beneath two stacked logs. To his right, he could see the remnants of a night he could not remember. He was in a tavern room, the Porkbelly Inn, if he could recall correctly. All around the room there were broken chairs, plates, cups. Light streamed in through a window-less windowpane, only the jagged remnants of the glass that once sat remained.

In front of him, behind the bar at which he had passed out for the night, stood a towering, potbellied, greasy, mustachioed man. The man was hairy all over, except for the top of his head, which was bald as a new-born babe’s. He had shaggy, wild muttonchop sideburns growing out of the side of his head, a dark black color, with slashes of gray here and there. He had a chipped mug in one hand, and in the other was a dirty rag which he was using to clean the mug. It took Alvinar a moment to realize that this man was glaring silently - angrily - down at him.

Alvinar leaned back and, despite the thudding headache he suffered, managed a smile, and stretched his arms behind himself. He winked one blood shot eye at the innkeeper and said, “’Morning, bartender!”

The bartender merely grunted in reply, “’Afternoon.” he continued to scrub the inside of the mug with the dirty towel, as well as maintaining the same angry expression on his face.

Al pushed himself up from the bar. He scanned the room again, smiled once more at the bartender, and started to back slowly towards the door. “I’ve got to say, I’ve slept on many a bar counter before -”

“Imagine that.” the bartender cut him off, sarcastically.

Alvinar cleared his throat, and continued, “Yes, well, as I was saying, you surely do have one of the most comfortable bar counters I’ve ever had the, uh, privilege to sleep on,” He turned and gestured to the mess surrounding him, “but, I can see that you’re pretty busy right now, so I think I’ll take my leave.” and with that, he turned to leave the inn.

“Ah, I don’t think so, bard.” the innkeeper spat out.

“Pardon?” Alvinar asked, bringing himself to a sudden stop and spinning to face the grumpy fat man.

“You ain’t leaving til yeh pay up.” he growled at the bard.

Alvinar nodded, and smiled again. “Ah, yes. I do believe I owe you for sleeping under your roof last night. Now, since I didn’t rent a room, I anticipate you will not be charging me a full room rental fee, correct? What do you say…” he reached into the coin purse tied to his belt, and pulled out the last two gold pieces he had to his name, “two gold ought be enough, right?” He held the coins up at eye level, so the bartender could get a good look.

But the bartender snorted again. “Gonna need to pay a bit more than that, you talentless hack. You owe me for the mess. T’was you that started the fight, after all, so you’re the one to foot the bill. I expect…no less than one-hundred-and-fifty king’s heads, for the window alone. You know how long I had to save up to buy the glass? Do you?!” he started roaring now, slamming the mug and rag on the countertop with anger, “Nearly a year! I had to save up everything I had just to get one window put in this place!” He was sputtering, his face turning red with rage.

Alvinar gulped, hard. He had just these last two gold coins, and had no way of getting one-hundred-and-forty-eight more to appease the man before him. Thinking fast, he bowed to the bartender. “My good man, I appear to have exhausted my funds. If you’d be so kind, I would go to my wagon down the road and return with the money you demand.” he lied, and again smiled his infectious smile, but his charisma was lost on the bartender.

“I may be a commoner, but I ain’t no fool. If you don’t give me the money you owe me now, I’m going to beat you to a bloody pulp, and then hand you over to the guards.” he said, walking around the end of the bar and advancing towards Alvinar.

Al tried backing away, hoping the man was merely bluffing. But by the fire that glowed in his eyes, and the way he punched one open palm with his other fist, it became apparent, fast, that the man meant what he said.

Adrenaline pumped through the bard’s veins. Suddenly, his headache was forgotten. He had foolishly backed up as the innkeeper approached, and now the big man was between Alvinar and the door. So, Al did the only thing he could. He straightened up, and held out his fists.

The other man pulled an arm back, ready to deliver one head-spinner of a punch when Alvinar suddenly opened his fists, pointing his palms out towards his attacker. “Wait!” he cried, catching the bartender by surprise. The man hesitated for a moment, holding his arm back up and behind his head, contemplating on whether to stop and see what would happen next, or flat out punching Alvinar in the face. “Wait!” he pleaded again, and when it became obvious the bartender would listen to what he had to say, he composed himself, and backed away slowly, stepping between fallen tables and chairs. “Alright, alright. I can understand your mistrust. I am but a stranger here, and it would be wise of you to assume that I would just skip town should you let me leave to retrieve my money from my wagon. However, should this come to blows, I feel it is my responsibility to forewarn you that I have spent many a year studying the martial arts with the Feranji Warrior Monks that live high atop Mount Frost, in the Agadans. As such, I believe it is only fair and honorable to let you be aware of the danger you are about to bring upon yourself.”

The bartender stared, bewildered, for a moment. He slowly lowered his arm to his side as he examined Alvinar from head to foot. Then he shook his head, and glared yet again. “What kind of dumb horse-lover do you take me for? I saw you fight last night. A one armed girl could have beaten you. There’s no way you studied with them monks or who ever. You know, for lying to me like that, I’m going to beat you twice as hard!”

Again, he pulled back his arm like an archer pulling on the drawstring. He held it back, aiming the punch, as Alvinar tried to ready his defenses. It all seemed to be going in slow motion to Al, who raised his arms up to block his face. The man may have been fat, but he was obviously strong, and Al was sure this punch would probably put him down all by itself. Just as the bartender appeared to be ready to let loose, a high-pitched cry filled the room, followed by the sound of a crate of wood crashing to the floor. Then the pitter-patter of clothed feet came towards Al (who’s eyes were shut tight, anticipating the punch) and the innkeeper. “Daddy! No!”

At the sound of the woman’s voice, Alvinar dared to peek out with one eye. The big man in front of him still held his arm back, his jaw still set, his eyes still glaring at Al. Behind him, however, coming from the door, ran a young woman about Al’s own age, in a common burlap dress. Still, she was pretty with her soft strawberry colored hair rolled up above her color, and her large, green eyes glowing with fear. Behind her, in the doorway, was a wooden crate filled with potatoes sitting on the floor.

She ran up to her father, grabbing the arm which, only moments before, was intended to punch Alvinar in the nose. “Daddy! What are you doing?! Stop! Stop right now!” she pleaded, crying, yanking on his arm.

Al leaned back, brought down his defenses, and opened both eyes. He nodded along with the girl’s demands. “I believe you should listen to your daughter, sir. Besides, should you beat me to a bloody pulp, as you stated you would, that would only mean more of a mess for you to clean up afterwards.”

“Get off me, girl!” the bartender howled, trying to push his daughter off of him. “This man owes us money, and has no way of paying! I’m only giving him what he deserves!” He shook her loose, and she fell to the floor, crying.

He advanced yet again towards Alvinar, who had managed to back up to yet another side of the room. “Now sir, it is considered to be in poor taste to fight in the presence of a lady.” Alvinar pleaded, lied, hoping he could still prevent the butt-whooping he was sure to receive.

The innkeeper kept advancing, Alvinar kept retreating. He really did not feel well enough to get into a fist fight right now, the headache was coming back to him, and he was starting to feel a bit nauseated. The girl kept crying, sobbing, her whole body shaking with her wails. Al didn’t quite understand why she was crying so much, maybe her father had a history of beating the tar out of his patrons, or maybe she just really didn‘t like violence. In any case, he hoped she would jump up and help him again, because it was plain as the nose on his face that the bartender wouldn’t listen to Al anymore.

Finally, she was starting to plead again, instead of just sobbing incoherently. “Please father! You…you c-c-can’t… you can’t beat him! You can’t beat my fiancée!”

At that, both Alvinar and the bartender froze in place, then turned to face the wailing girl sitting on her knees in the middle of the tavern floor.

“Fiancée?!” they both blurted out in unison, Alvinar in shock, the bartender in anger.

“M…m…mhm.” she nodded. “He asked…he asked me to marry hi-hi-him last night. D-don’t you remember, my l-l-love?” she stuttered between tears.

Alvinar’s stomach emptied itself right then and there.

And then it all came flooding back to him. Well, mostly. He vaguely remembered bedding the girl last night, in the back room, while the fight was in progress. He really had drank too much. He had forgotten these simple country folk’s traditions… bedding a woman was the same thing as asking her hand in marriage, to these people. And if she allowed it, she was basically agreeing to be your wife.

The bartender, on the other hand, did not forget. He spun around, his face now more red then ever, a small vein on the side of his neck pulsing angrily. “You did WHAT with my daughter?!” Now he didn’t just advance on Al, but charged him. There was no talking him down now, Al understood, and as such, he made a mad dash for the door.

He was able to slip past the brute, who swung wildly. The punch missed its mark, as Al ducked it and ran for the door, and the momentum of it carried the man off his feet. Alvinar managed to zig-zag through the maze of fallen chairs and upturned tables, but tripped over the potato crate on the way out. He hit the dirt outside and rolled, somehow managing to get to his feet. As soon as he was up, he ran down the road as fast as he could, not bothering to look back at the confused young woman who stood in the doorway, watching her lover take off. Or her wrathful father, who slowly stepped out into the street, watching the same person disappear around a bend, waving his fist in the air in anger and victory.

Later that night, after Al had put enough distance between himself and the tavern as he could, and began to set up camp along the side of the road leading to Kertus, he made a mental note to himself: in the future, avoid the Porkbelly Inn.

 

[Nylan]

The Chase

“Lomion, we don’t have to do this. I think we already have enough. There’s no need to take anything else now.”

“Quiet, sister, will you?!” He hissed in reply. “They’ll hear you. Put you hood up or they’ll see that you’re an elf.”

Silima did as she was told and then pressed herself more fully against the cold stone wall. It felt good against her back and she relished the short moment as she whispered.

“I think you’ve done quite enough for me, brother. Let’s end this and settle down.”

“Soon enough, soon enough. It won’t be long before we can rest from our journey.”

Silima didn’t have time to reply. In eight seconds the guard would pass and they would have their chance to move. The twenty-eight-year-old gripped her knife and bit her lip as she heard the guardsman pass. She had never grown comfortable with her trade, even if she was one of the best

“Three…two…one…go.”

Like a shadow in the torchlight she flickered from doorway to doorway, making her way down the hall as quietly and quickly as possible as she searched for the right entrance. At length, she paused and put her hand on one of the doorknobs. She closed her eyes and seemed to strain her ears for a moment, before turning and motioning to her other brother. He was quick to catch up to her, but she had already picked the lock when he arrived.

No time was wasted in collecting what they came for, as the bags they had kept hidden in their cloaks were filled and concealed once more in moments and they were dashing back down the hall from whence they had come. They had taken no time to study the rest of the room they had entered. That was fortunate, because they never would have gotten out before the Renai were on them.

As Silima turned the corner bolts exploded around her feet and she let out a squeak as she ran. Her thirty-year-old brother was right behind.

“Just keep running, Sil, just keep running! We’re almost there!”

They zigged and zagged as a hail of arrows fell around them from above and behind. There were some on the second floor and others were closing the gap in the hallway as the two young, cloaked thieves tried to make their exit. Silima’s heart leapt as she saw the door they sought up ahead, then sank as three Renai cut them off halfway. Oh yes, this was definitely a setup.

Lomion and Silima, however, did not slow down. On the contrary, they pushed themselves even harder as the gap closed between them and their dark-skinned foes. Silima dropped to the ground and slid underneath one while Lomion jumped and pushed himself off the wall, flying over their heads as they tried to make sense of the two.

One of the Renai managed to get his arm up and slashed at Lomion as he passed over him, tearing the hood of his cloak back to reveal his uncommonly-colored eyes. One glinted blue in the torchlight while the amber one glowed in the shadow, as they met with his attacker for a brief moment. It was but a split-second, no more, and the boy was behind him and running once more.

The Renai reached to his hip as he spun and moved as if to throw something, but was halted by the boy’s cry.

“Aaargh!!” he shouted. Lomion had slipped and fallen on his back, smacking his head with a wet thud on the cold stone floor. Silima had been stopped by the sound as well, and gave a shout of her own as she dashed to his side.

“Brother!”

The two were immediately surrounded by Renai, armed with swords, bows, daggers, and dozens of other weapons Silima did not recognize. They did not, however, motion as if to harm them. She pulled her brother’s dagger from his belt and tossed it, along with her own, at their feet.

“You two have given the goblins quite a bit of trouble, you know. Who’d have thought there would be just two of you, and children at that?” A voice floated over their captors. As it continued to speak to them it grew stronger, until finally another Renai with a silver earring stepped forward to meet them. He stooped down to pick up the daggers, baring his arm as he did. Silima noticed that there was a large scar on his left forearm.

“Curse my luck, we were almost there.” muttered Lomion.

“Planning to escape through the water closet into the sewage system, were you? A clever move…and one that few would have discovered. There are not many with the stature to fit through such tight spaces. The goblins simply couldn’t keep up with you. Too bad I’m not a goblin…”

Lomion spat. “No, you’re worse, you filthy dark elf!” Silima winced at the comment.

“Filthy? I’m not the one crawling through sewage in order to take things that do not belong to me. That, to me, epitomizes filth.” The Renai retorted sternly. He stood and crossed his arms as he spoke.

“You don’t know what we’ve been through!”

“Oh no, I don’t know much about you at all. All I know is that you’re a bit far from the Northwild, wouldn’t you say? I’m curious to learn all about your journey. I’m sure we’ll become good friends with time.”

Lomion pushed off his arm and sat up a little straighter. He looked his captor right in the eyes and replied coldly:

“I’d rather go to the chopping block before befriending dirt like you. Were it not for my luck you’d have never gotten to us.”

“I have my doubts, child, I have my doubts. I have my suspicions as well. At any rate, be grateful. A night in a private cell is infinitely more comfortable than a night in the frigid streets, like those you’ve been passing this last month.”

Before the Renai left he ordered them bound, stripped of all personal belongings, and taken to the dungeon. The knots were tight and the searching rigorous.

Silima gave a deep sigh as she began to walk. They had been in this position many times before, but for the first time, she was sure they couldn’t make a run for it.

 

[Seon]

Spoiler Prelude :

You are nuts, one of her victims said. You actually enjoy this job, don't you?

I think it's important for a working girl to enjoy her job, Clemenza had responded. She shoved the man from the tower.

Was that really necessary? The chicken mask part, a novice recruit said.

Son, we kill for a living, Clemenza said. What the hell are you blabbering about whether or not something is unnecessary or necessary? We are the craziest mofos out there.

It just seems a little...degrading

Clemenza laughed. Here's a good remedy for guilt, son. Don't think about those we kill as a human being. Think of them as being...hmm... a duck. Yes, a duck. And that you are the freaking hunter. Don't tense up and start wondering about how they are like as a human being. Only focus on his bad parts. That's why we have you dig up their dirt so much. Let adrenaline fill up the rest of the void. You'll come to enjoy it then.

If you say so, the novice said. By the way! novice began.

What is it now, Clemenza sighed.

Why did you send me to follow that advisor to the court? I am just a novice. I thought I was seen

That's exactly why we sent you, bud, Clemenza replied. Exactly why.

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

Spoiler Report 1. Day 3 :

General Report 1:
Day 3 of Investigation.
We began our investigation into the corruption of the city of Eliri via assembling the information already present within the guild chapterhouse into a coherent report. From this, it was clear that the city guard showed extensive sign of corruption within its ranks, with only around half the guard captains being either stealthy enough or honest enough in their dealings to avoid our more general approaches. Of note, a guard captain named Feris, although we had no evidence to prove his corruption as of this moment, exhibited unusual financial activities, such as a three new horses, 4 boxes of leather armor, 3 boxes of axes, and 5 boxes of crossbows bought from Kertus with his own private money for “aesthetic purposes.” A guard captain’s salary in Eliri is a meager sum at best, with each of them earning only around 5000 pieces of gold a year. It would seem strange for such a man to buy enough weapons to equip 50 men with such a meager income.

Meanwhile, the guards garrisoned in district Seikoi and Jiaraz seem to be openly engaged with the Black Market prevalent in those sectors of the city. It is pitifully easy to obtain military equipment through such entities as the corrupted guardsman, although it is unknown where they receive their supply of equipment from. Investigation of the dock yielded no evidence that weapons in such quantity was being smuggled in except through mostly legal channels.

Spoiler Investigation Planning :

“So where the hell are they getting weapons from?” Samuel bashed his hand on the table, which trembled under strain. Clemenza shrugged her shoulders. She pulled out a pipe and lit it.

“I have been meaning to ask you…” Samuel said. “Where did you get that again?”

“From the black markets, duh,” Clemenza said, rolling her eyes. Only honest man and woman had no knowledge of the wrongs being committed in the city. The Eyes were not honest men or women. “You are thinking it the wrong way, by the way,” Clemenza said patronizingly. She sat on the nearby couch and yawned. “Have you noticed the fact that the Guard vigorously pursues and catches weapon smugglers, but not anyone else?” she chuckled, blowing out puffs of smokes in the process. “I know this smuggler named Mr. Robinson. He says that while he would transport anything from slaves to poison fish, he wouldn’t smuggle in weapons into Eliri. Almost as if the guards are beating out the competition.”

“Guard doesn’t own any ships,” Samuel objected. “If they built an entire ship to smuggle in weapons for them, we would have known about it by now.”

“But we do know where they get their weapons,” Clemenza said. “Go and ask the chaptermaster for a permission to use one of our spies within the Guard to get our hands on one of their requisition order.”

Spoiler Report 2. Day 9 :

Day 9 of General Report:

We recovered the Guard’s Requisition order which revealed that a strangely large number of Guard equipment was being damaged, stolen, or being lost. Our suspicion, therefore, is that the Guard have faked said requisition orders in order to constantly receive large shipment of weapons to sell instead of relying on smugglers.

We uncovered a man of some importance named Dereis, who somehow managed to crawl out of debt by finding a mysterious sum of money long time ago. His financial record is also spotty. Despite the fact that he lives in a 2 story mansion surrounded by armed mercenaries, the value of money received from his “trading fleet” is all too often marked as a “Total Loss.”

We received a tip-off that he carried his private diaries and ledger everywhere he traveled and decided to act upon it.

Spoiler Report 3 Day 15 :

Day 15: The mission was a success. With Dereis’s private memoirs and ledger recovered, we were able to find evidence that proved that Feris was receiving bribes from an individual only listed as M. Furthermore, we were able to find evidence on three more subjects: Rarinus, an advisor to the Court, Laraus, a Knight of the Order, and Inaya, a local leader of a trader’s guild.

Spoiler Following the Mark :

Samuel cursed his luck under his breath as he sat down on the bench. He had been following the nobleman for 4 days. 4 DAYS! So far, nothing interesting had happened.

The nobleman in question was named Baron Laraus, a knight in service to Lord Trin. He had a pale face and a nervous look, although presence of women seemed to have a calming effect on him. He liked to eat Kertusian style Kebab, which was strange considering his knightly ways. He also visited the inn for a drink once in a while, in which he laid out his life story of courting a woman and failing miserably due to his rather short broadsword.

Crude, yes, but nothing to suggest that he was even plotting something. In fact, more he looked, more he seemed to lack the guts to do something like this.

So why the hell was his name on the contact list?

Samuel rubbed his eyes. He hadn't caught a sleep in 36 hours. "Ya okay, son?" a man said next to him.

"Yes," Samuel replied. "I am fine. I am fine..." he traced his eyes over the crowd, trying to get a sight on his mark once more.

Oh what's this?

Baron Laraus entered a small pub on the side of the street. He was not alone. Samuel smiled. Things may be more interesting than he thought.

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

"I was followed," Rarinus said. He was an advisor to the court. "I saw him last night. He ran off into the darkness when he knew I saw him."

"Who was he?"

"How the hell should I know?" Rarinus shouted. "This does not bode well for us, gentleman."

"Perhaps we shouldn't panic," Laraus said, nervously. As usual. "He could have just been a robber."

"Yeah! A robber! In Eliri! Trying to rob the court advisor! Who would dare?!" Rarinus shouted once more. He was prone to shouting. "Speaking of which, are you sure that nobody followed us here?"

"I am sure," a man said. He was named Feris. He controlled a company of guards in the city. "My guardsman are trustworthy. I told them to watch for anyone suspicious."

"That does not fill me up with much confidence," Rarinus said. "Someone check the door. Make sure that nobody's listening to us.

Laraus walked over and opened the door to the room. The hallway was clear. "It's clear," Laraus said.

"Good," Rarinus replied. He did not think to check if the rooms next to them were devoid of clients. Pubs may had been a natural place for people to gather... to claim plausible deniability, but it was also devoid of sound insulation. Samuel knew this and much more. He was hiding within a closet in the room next to them.

He didn't recognize the owners of the voices other than Laraus, though, which was proving problematic.

"We feel that Lord Trin is trying to take drastic measures," Rarinus said.

"Nonsense," Feris replied. "He's too stuck up in his own view of what Eliri is traditionally supposed to be in order to wrong from left. He's a cloud****oolander."

"One of our own, Dereis, was murdered a few night ago, don't you remember?" Rarinus said patiently. "That's exactly why I called this meeting. To discuss our next move!" Rarinus's chair made a creaking noise as he shifted his legs. "I don't know about you, but I won't allow myself to be killed like animals!"

"I thought that was just a robbery gone bad," Laraus said. He sounded pale, thought Samuel. And probably rightly so.

"That's too convenient!" Rarinus said. "That bastard Lord Trin's plotting against us, I am sure."

"Do you have any proof that he's plotting against us?" Feris said.

"No!" Rarinus yelled out. "But I am sure he will. I suggest that we take drastic action on our own!" Feris laughed. "This is no joking matter!" Rarinus continued to shout. "It's our life on the line!"

"Calm down, Rarinus. I am sure that it's nothing," Feris said.

"Oh, but we have the perfect opportunity," Rarinus said with a smile. "We all have been planning for this."

"What is it this time?" Feris said.

Rarinus banged his hand on the table. "We are going to..." Feris also slammed down on the table. "Wait just a second, Feris said.

"What?" Rarinus replied.

"Whatever it is you are about to say, a tavern is not the place to discuss it," Feris said. Samuel cursed his luck over and over again. "Come over to the barracks tomorrow. I will hold a party for my personal friends... you and some other people.... and then we shall discuss this matter further.

"Agreed," Laraus said.

"Bah, we are wasting time, I say," Rarinus complained. "But fine. I will see you all tomorrow."

Shuffling noises of feet. Samuel came out of the closet in his room and stared through the peephole in the door as the 3 men passed by. "Rarinus...Laraus... and Feris..." Samuel said. He opened the door.

The door two rooms over also opened, and out stepped Clemenza. They caught each other's eyes.

"Ladies first," Samuel said, smiling. He showed her the stairs. Clemenza smiled and walked down it, following the three men. She walked out of the pub and melted into the crowd, although Samuel could still see her sometimes as she continued to follow Rarinus. Samuel decided not to pursue Laraus any further. He followed Feris instead.

Spoiler Report 3 Day 15. Cont. :

Unfortunately, Inaya had left the city on an urgent business after Dereis’ death to Kertus. Our agents in that city have been notified and they are ready to extradite Inaya back to Eliri on a moment’s notice.

While we have evidence on some kind of a conspiracy flowing between these individuals, we are not certain that these are all the men involved in the plot.

Spoiler Final Report. Day 23 :

Final Report: Day 23 *Note: Agents were assembling information for the report when the attack on Eliri occurred.

Our agents in the guard have managed to acquire valuable information regarding the conspiracy against Lord Trin by the members of the Guard and the Knight Order. It seems as if…

(News of the attack reached the inn at this moment and forced the agents organizing the report to evacuate the premises.)

Spoiler Final Phase of Investigation :

Day 21:

Guardhouse in the Limara District, home of the protectors of the safest district in the city. Or so the flyer said. Samuel scrunched it into a small ball and tossed it aside.

The guardhouse was a simple stone building- all the guardhouses were. There were plenty of people on the outside who wanted to see it burst into flames, and the Guard took no chances with that. There was a large gate enough for 5 people come out at once if the district was somehow troubled, requiring a large number of guards to quickly reach the scene. Stables were at the side of the building and were filled with lightly armored horses, ready to burst out at a moment’s notice.

The kennels were next to the stables. This was the place where the war dogs were being kept. Samuel hated these creatures. More than one spy had been sniffed out-literally, by such creatures. He sat on a bench in front of the guardhouse and waited as the crowd around him grew thicker and thicker. It was at a time when the shadow was cast southwest, when the streets were at the busiest.

A city guard sat next to him. “Nice weather isn’t it?” the guard said. He was clad in light chainmail armor. A small badge indicated that he was in the position of a squad leader.

“Do you have the information that we are looking for?” Samuel said simply. They didn’t ask each other’s name. That was part of the Code. “You must know that we do not have much more time.

“Yes. There is an order for us to clear the interrogation room in the second floor. I assume that that’s where the meeting is going to take place,” the guard said. He yawned. “My name’s Cadel, by the way.”

Samuel was shocked. What? Why had he broken the Code? “This isn’t…” Samuel said.

“I am telling you this because you are going to be hearing it often from now on,” Cadel said, laughing. “See, the Code doesn’t prohibit agents like us to not acquire more and more resources. In fact, it encourages it. More friends in high places, you know. See, whatever Feris is planning, I am going to put a stop to it. Permanantly. Then I would be the highest ranking member of the Guards in this guardhouse, and then I am going to seize the position of the Guard Captain.” Cadel said. “Isn’t that marvelous?”

Samuel eyed the large crowd around them, quite nervous. “Don’t worry about them,” Cadel said. “They can’t hear us. I’ve experimented quite a lot of times.”

“If you say so,” Samuel said, muttering. Cadel chuckled. “Well, off to greet the guests. See yah around, bud.”

“See yah,” Samuel said. Cadel melted away into the crowd. Did he just do that in the guard uniform? Samuel rubbed his chin.

Cadel meanwhile entered the guardhouse. “Hey, Cad,” one of the guardsman said. “We are going to grab a bite to eat in the Seikoi District. Lots of women there too. Do you want to come?”

“No, I can’t,” Cadel said. He looked at the stairs leading up to the second floor. “I have to take a look around the guardpost.”

“Come on!” said another guard. “You are always taking a look around the guardpost!”

There was a murmur of agreements. “Commander’s pet!” one of the guard jeered. “Janitor!” another one said.

Cadel clicked his tongue. “As much as I would like it, I must refuse. Commander Feris is giving me some crap about leaving a window open in the second floor. Yeah, because obviously the assassins aiming for the Most Worthy and Awe Inspiring Commander are from a race of birds with tiny crossbows strapped to their talons.”

A few of the guardsmen let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, he’s been on his edge for a while.”

“Anyways,” Cadel said. “I am going to take a look around the house. I’ll catch up to you guys as soon as I am done, alright?”

“Sure, Cad. Take care.” Cadel sighed as the guards began to leave the guardhouse. “That was too easy,” Cadel muttered. It was almost sad that, once Lord Trin took the flames to the Guard, as he most assuredly would, it would be much harder to pull things like this off. A few of the guard remained in the house, patrolling lazily and aimlessly around the corridors. As soon as they heard the door close, they gathered around Cadel.

“Are they gone?” one of the man said, pointing towards the door where the other guardsmen had went through for the day’s carousing.

“Yes,” Cadel said. “They are gone.”

“Thank goodness,” another guardsman said. “All of these new recruits… I think they are all members of gangs… Do you know I saw one of them beat up a merchant and confiscate his goods for apparently no reason?”

“Yes, you’ve told me that many times,” Cadel said. The guard spat on the floor. “It’s one of those things that makes me want to puke! What’s Lord Trin doing? Is he frickin blind to all this?”

“Comrades,” Cadel said. “I know that this has been dark days for us, members of the Old Guard, but keep hope. Our numbers are steady, not falling. Soon, we shall be able to make the Guard become what it used to be, the Protectors of our city rather than its Oppressors.”

“About time too!” the guards said in unison. Cadel nodded. “There is a meeting between several important town officials that is about to happen in the second floor. One of us must be in position to eavesdrop on this meeting. Then we shall be able to inform Lord Trin about this.”

“By the way…” one of the guards said. “How do you know these things?”

“I know a lot of people who knows a lot of things, and they tell me things,” Cadel said simply. “I don’t know why.”

The guards chose not to pursue the subject further. Why should they when they are about to get what they want? “So what’s the plan?” the guards said.

“I must be in the interrogation room next to the one which is being cleared,” Cadel said. “I loosened a few of the bricks between the rooms. I should be able to use the crack to eavesdrop on them. All you need to do is just get their attention while I sneak inside.”

“Can do!” the guards said. “Good, you people go up first.”

The loyal guards ran up the stairs. Soon enough, the sound of discord broke loose. Insults were fired amongst guardsman. Punches were thrown. Cadel creeped up the stairs to see the members of the old guard lock themselves in hand-to-hand combat with the traitorous goons of Feris, apparently due to the comment on the latter’s mother made by the old guards. Not exactly what he wanted, but Cadel took the chance to slip past the guards unnoticed and into the room. There were no sources of light within the tiny interrogation room, but there was a tiny window at the side of it

“It’s psychology, you know,” Cadel remembered Clemenza talking about it. She talked about the most morbid things in a cheerful manner. “That is one finely designed interrogation room.”

“But why?” Cadel had asked. “Why would a simple addition of a window change things?”

“You see,” Clemenza said. “Through a window, one can see what’s happening outside. They would think… ‘if I was not being interrogated right now…I could be walking outside in the streets…chatting with people.’ That keeps them hopeful. Hopeful that if they confess whatever secrets they have right now, the interrogators will let them go. Now if you start out with an already despairing subject, it’s much harder to break them. They know that the interrogators probably won’t let them go, so why bother to talk? Of course, whether or not you have a window, the intentions of the interrogator never changes. So I guess you could consider windows to be an illusion of hope.”

Cadel cleared such thoughts from his mind. He had a job to do. He put his ears against the crack in the wall and listened.

Spoiler Final Report. Day 23. Cont. :

We must apologize. We had not expected the attack to occur so soon.

The likely explanation for how the recent attack was pulled off with such precision seems to be that some members of the Guard on lookout duty were bribed to ring the defensive bells too late.

Identity of the guards on lookout duty at that night, however, could not be determined. All the records had been conveniently relocated to a guardpost close to the docks and had been destroyed when the guardpost was overrun. Notably, the guardsmen in that guards post were able to retreat to a safe location in record time with remarkably few casualties. Guard captain Santus was one of the few casualties, which lead us to believe that individual guardmembers were bribed in order to bring this about. Santus, an outspoken loyal guardsman, was relocated to that post yesterday, which leads us to believe that it was the conspirators gearing up to remove any opposition to their rule. While it may have been possible to examine the financial records of the Guardsmen individually to discover the culprits, it must also be noted that most, if not all, the Guardsmen assigned near the docks are bribed on a regular basis and is usually full of unusual financial activities. Thusly, our investigation into who exactly was behind the attack on the harbor ended in failure.


Nevertheless, we have uncovered a conspiracy between the members of the Guard, the Knight Order, and the Advisor’s Council to raise a coup against Lord Trin. Take warning when the Advisors advise Lord Trin to speak to the populace regarding the pirate attack recently in order to warm their spirits. It is a sign for the members of the guard and the knights to declare their traitorous intentions. They will lead you to the podium in the center of the city, where an ambush of traitorous guards and mercenaries will have been prepared to receive him. We shall provide you with a list of traitorous guard captains with this scroll.

Intentions of individual guards, however, is unknown. While vast majority of them is bribed at different levels, there exist pockets of Old Guard still loyal to the city. We expect that many of the guardsman will side with Lord Trin, should he decide to take any drastic measures to fight against the corruption in the city. However, a significant number of guards are expected to defect to the opposing cause, especially due to the recent attacks causing Lord Trin to be viewed as weak and ineffective to many people of the city. If there is time for leadership for Lord Trin, this would be it.

As we expect that the attack on Lord Trin’s life to occur soon, we shall conclude our investigation. Please contact the nearest Winged Eye agent if you desire to hire our mercenaries for protection duty.

Due to the late nature of this report, we will agree to only be paid if Lord Trin’s will is still firmly in control of the city.

 

[merciary]

OOC: apologizing for the lateness of this, its a little crazy for me right now.

Athon sat in his office, looked at his empty desk and sighed. The guild hadn't received a major contract in ages, sure there has been the steady supply of minor contracts but nothing that reflected the greatness that this academy deserved. Minor nobles who wanted to show off that they could employ a mage but could afford to have one on staff, merchants needing to protect their "precious" cargo, and other demeaning task. Of course if he was to be honest it wasn't the demeaning nature of the task that was the true problem, it was the meager pay that came with it.

He sighed again and looked over the fiscal report that his advisers had given him. If things kept up this way the estimated money that should come in would only cover a little more than half of the academy's expenses. His advisers had told him that this wasn't a problem, that the academy's reserves were great enough to keep it afloat until it can get a major contract. That might be true especially with the return of the Melgoth but Athon never like trusting that safety net because each time you do its weaker for the next time.

He got out of his chair and paced the room examining the portraits of the previous High Mages before him. He would not be known as the one who let the Green Cloaks fall to ruin. What he needed was a war, that would kill two birds with one stone. The academy would get its funds for the rest of the year and it would send more contracts this way. But wars just don't appear whenever you need them, he'd need to think of some other way...

Suddenly he was snapped out of his scheming by the sound of his office door being opened. His assistant Doyme came bursting through the doorway looking quite excited.

"Sir we just received a loremaster from Oagramakandi who I believe you will want to speak to."

"Well by all means do show him in."

Doyme bolted away and then returned shortly with a human in tow. Odd Athon figured he would be dealing with an Orc, not that it mattered.

"Greetings High Mage my name is Aggro and I come bearing a request from my lord to hire a band of your mages to aid us in combat against the Cult. Will you help us?"

Athon nearly fell over from excitement, this is exactly what he needed. He was never a religious man but something was clearly looking out for the academy.

"Of course we will aid you, the Green Cloaks provide their services to all who need it. You must be tired after your journey please stay the night and we can discuss the exact nature of the contract in the morning after I have made some arrangements. Once we agree on things I will have a company ready to leave when you do. Doyme here can show you to your quarters for the night, I do hope you find them acceptable."

With that Doyme, looking as giddy as Athon felt, gestured Aggro to follow him to the guest quarters. After a few minutes Doyme returned carrying the list of all available mages.

"Doyme, we can't mess this one up. This is the opportunity the academy needs. he said the Cult right? That means undead. Right put together a company of our best metamagic and impact casters. That should hit the undead hard. While your at it put a few healers in there just in case."

"Very good sir, I know quite a few people who are perfect for this. I'll have them all ready by tomorrow."

After jotting down a few notes Doyme ran out of the room whistling happily. Athon walked back over to his chair and sighed for a third time, but this time it was a sigh of relief.

 

[Luckymoose]

Missy Want Fire >=(

Galloping through the crisp, cool air of the early winter night left a numbness across Missy's face. She snuggled up against the thick, white cloak of Gildroy to shield herself from the chill. His breath reflected the moonlight with every movement. A flurry of snowflakes swirled down on them, she dug her face deeper into the cloak.

“I figure another twenty miles before we break for camp.” He said as he kicked his heels against his steeds sides, gaining more momentum in the soggy soil.

“Twenty miles?” She sighed. “I cannot possibly last another twenty miles of this wind. I won't.”

He pulled upwards on the reins, whispering gently to his mount, causing them to slow to a steady trot. “You know, Missy, you're a real character. Stopping will only shorten our advantage.” She gave him a quick nudge in the back.

“Well, I simply ain't gonna deal with this cold. I want a fire!” Part of her temper flared in her voice, causing a sound similar to an “ew” to come forth from Gildroy.

“By all that is holy! Missy, if you stop moving this close to Cocuvy they'll find you.” He brought his horse to a dead stop near an oak tree, the crescent moon shining through the barren branches above. With a quick kick of her leg, she had dismounted.

“I'd rather be warm than safe right now, Gildroy.” She snarled, kicking the ground in the darkness.

“Really?” He scoffed, rolling his head in a chuckle of disbelief as her stubborness.

“Yes!” She drew her dagger, “And if they catch us I'm more than capable with this!”

His eyebrows rose in curiosity as he rolled off his saddle. “Really? Because, the way I see it, you might be able to take on one of them in a fair fight, but we're dealing with a large group. Do you think you can fight the whole gang of hoodlums?”

“Uh... yeah, I guess I could. I'm pretty damn fancy if I do say so myself!” She swirled the blade in her knuckles, not unlike a coin, much to her own amusement.

“Prove it.” He said confidently, resting his hand on his sword's handle safely at his side.

“What?”

“You heard me.” His resting hand became a gripping fist, loosening the blade from its sheath just enough to make removal easier. “Prove to me you can use that blade as well as you use your mouth.”

“I don't think, uh, you could handle me, and, uh, I am a bit cold so. The whole circumstance is a bit uneven for us both, dontcha think?”

“I can make the cold cease, if you just prove yourself to me.”

“I -”

“No more talking, Missy. The time for action has come.” He stepped closer to her, making her rather uneasy and forcing a clumsy back step in return. The sharp hiss of cold steel being drawn alerted her that he was serious. “Guh!” He grunted in a mighty breath as he brought the blade in a slicing arc at her head. With a fast lean she dodged certain death.

“Are you insane!” She side stepped as much as she could before another roaring noise flew from within him, and another swing at her followed. Without thinking she placed her tiny dagger in defense against his blade, a clank and slice caused a spark in the swirling flurry. “This isn't funny, Gildroy.”

“For the past two days and nights I have heard nothing but humor from you.” He brought the sword at her again, and she parried nimbly. “Everything has been a joke, everything is funny to Missy! Why the change of heart? Ungh!” Gildroy's blade missed her by a hair and cut into the bark of the oak they had been under, temporarily slowing his advance.

“I'm sorry, ok? I don't want to fight anyone.” She pleaded. Another swing goes over her ducking head.

“You think I am being unfair? You sound apologetic. You sound afraid!”

“You are! You're scaring me!”

“Good. Combat is never fair, never apologetic, it only looks out for itself. It favors no one, and the man who thinks he has battles favor is on his last breath! HEYAH!” His blade catches fire, or so it seems, pure white light radiates from it as it aims for Missy. In a fraction of a second she falls to the ground in a split, her legs horizontal beneath her. She sees her target and forces her elbow into it. It being Gilroy's groin.

“Ungh!” He cried out as he dropped his blade and gripped himself in pain. “Why?”

“Oh, no I'm sorry.” With her arms outstretched she tried to comfort him with pats on the shoulder. “I do that a lot.”

“Yes, you do.” Gritting his teeth in agony. “I am very pleased that you did not stab me. And while not the honorable path I had intended, a promise is a promise.”

“Fire?” She cheered.

“No.” Raising his hand in several gestures, Gildroy conjured a faint glow around them. Missy was in a frown from his words, but slowly felt a bizarre warmth come over her.

“I should have know!” She smirked, gleeful that her shivers had subsided.

“Phexerian Flame.” He said with a boastful tone. “Entry level magic. Now, back on the horse.”

 

[Lord_Iggy]

The Noble

This late in the winter, the sun shone little on the Koalir Mountains. Ewain sat down on a thick-padded chair, gazing through the glass wall as dawn light began to make its way into the room and the sun commenced its short traverse across the sky- rising in the northeast, skimming the mountainous horizon for a few hours, then slipping back down in the northwest. Behind him, the hearth was slowly beginning to warm the room, but Ewain enjoyed the chill air of the early morning. Relaxing back, he reached out, feeling for the little imp that kept him company. With a lithe scamper, the creature ascended his arm, looped around his neck and curled up on the dwarf’s lap. Cary, as he called the creature, looked something like a fuzzy cross between a lizard-sized dragon and a kitten, having a temperament somewhat closer to the latter.

With a wave of his hand, a cup, filled with a hot, sweet liquid materialized in Ewain’s hand. He took a few sips and sighed. Life was good. The dawn sky was now alight in all of its fiery splendour, as the clouds were lit up in bright shades of pink and orange by the steeply inclined sun. The other Mage Towers of the Delving were visible, the sun’s light refracting off of their jewel-like exteriors. Cupping his morning refreshment in both hands, Ewain rose, slipping his feet into two soft slippers, and walked around the house, getting the blood flowing into his extremities.

Ewain was an enchanter by occupation and lifelong training, although by all means he could probably get away with lounging all day, being the heir apparent to the House of Grymwyr and its associated armouring business. However, while he quite enjoyed the comforts provided by his circumstances, Ewain could never quite resign himself to the life of leisure- his mind was drawn inexorably to the mental stimulation and technical challenges of enchantment. Thus, despite this being his day off, Ewain’s morning wanderings inevitably led him back to his study, a neatly-ordered room filled to the brim with bookshelves and desks. Cary curled up on his shoulder, purring gently, while Ewain sat down on his rich leather chair, his hands flipped through his notebooks. He had several commissions due within the month- rewards for questers who had performed particularly notable services for the Kingdom, for the most part. While the vast majority of the actual magical enhancement of objects was done by the lower-downs in the armoury, special cases such as these would go directly through his hands.

Opening a new piece of paper and uncapping his ink, Ewain began to write out several notes and parameters, the roughest outline of his project. His approach to magic was utterly methodical- while some might prefer to let their mind wander and lay down their enchantments on the spur of the moment, Ewain was not possessed of the inherent Fyir that burned within many of his compatriots. This had been a matter of some resentment in his childhood, but were you to ask him now he would characterize it as a blessing- working for one’s power gave one a far better understanding than one would gain from having such talents from birth. If nothing else, Ewain knew that his works could be counted on to be reliable in the extreme.

Pages and pages filled up as Ewain worked out how he would fulfil the unique demands for this new project. Contrary to popular belief, there is not one single spell one can place to create ‘enchanted armour’. There are magical effects which lighten armour to make it wearable, ones which strengthen their wearer, ones which prevent damage and tarnishing, and so on. A vast multitude of spells need to be applied in coordination with each other in very specific manners in order to optimally cancel out their negative impacts, while leaving the positives unaffected. All the while, the armour needs to be magically sealed- common disenchants must be resisted, and the armour must not ‘leak’ and slowly lose its abilities over time- armour that needs active recharging was useless unless you were a Battlemage or Warsorceror intimately familiar with the magic behind their armour. Ewain strongly doubted that this was the case for any adventurer.

Ewain’s private world was suddenly invaded with a loud knock on his front door. His concentration broken, he jotted down a few notes on a scrap of paper, used the scrap as a bookmark and closed the tome in irritation.

“What?”

A muffled voice came through the door. Ewain rolled his eyes and walked to the door. Outside, he saw through his scrying-glass, was a messenger of some sort. A young dwarf, still without a beard. Ewain himself didn’t grow a beard, but that was more of a choice than a physical inability. Straightening out his robes, he opened the door.

“Yes? What is it?”

The young dwarf seemed to be distracted by the Imp on Ewain’s shoulder- most young ones were- but he delivered his speech, with the intonation of someone who had been repeating the same words to himself until they had lost all meaning.”

“King Anerryn requests your presence for a meeting of the Council of the Delving of Gryddfyir.”

“Doesn’t he know this is my day off? Shouldn’t a loyal servant of his highness get even a...” Ewain trailed off. He had been working regardless of that fact, but this was different. The Council was a hassle. Work was fun.”

“I’m sorry sir, but King Anerryn has requested your presence nonetheless. At the Council of the Delving of-”

“Yes, yes. Very well. You may go.”

The messenger turned and ran back down the long spiral staircase cutting through the center of the tower. Ewain wished that these messages could be sent by far simpler magical means, rather than by living couriers, but some of the more paranoid members of the council- and for that matter, his own house- had sealed off their towers with so many wards so as to make such communication nigh-near impossible. With mild frustration and a bit of resignation in his heart, he changed into his court robes, and gave another look at the early-morning sun.

“And it was going to be such a nice day.”

With a puff black smoke, Ewain disappeared to the innermost reaches of Gryddfyir.

 

[kkmo]

In Naliria, Wyldra, a middle-aged man writes in his journal:

Written in the journal of my ancestors is a tale of blood and hellish traps.

In the Year of the Eastern Boar, 730 III, the collective naval might of many lands partook in the destruction of the northern fleet. They were many: grunting, banging drums and starving captors in their brigs. The north-men were frightening, and many tales have been told about their brutality during their great invasions. Our galleys had only the lady of the sea to guide them, and guide them she did. All of the great harbors of the northern coast made haste to confront the vicious neanderthals of the piney woods. Many women and children had died. Whole generations erased by the painted faces of the wild. No longer would the lands of honor and justice permit the ravaging horde to continue its onslaught on liberty and God's people.

The stormy day in fall in which the Melgothi longships met their defeat is recorded as many things: the Battle of Homin's Current; the Liberation of the Maebon, the Last Raid of the Painted People; and many others. To me and my ancestors, this day did nothing but replace one evil with another. God watched as Homin the Sea-Worthy, former king and lord of Wyldra, was slashed in the throat by one of his most trusted captains. HE watched again as his wife was raped and then sent to Nalahorah on a cog, her fate unknown, but surely grim. HE watched as then, one by one, Homin's children were slaughtered in their sleep. And finally, HE watched as the old shop of my family was burned to the ground, my great, great, great grandfather being forced into a life of secrecy and whore-running. God bore witness to many horrid acts after the crushing defeat of the Melgothi.

Once-honorable captains who had served in the united navies began to take wealth and materials from the coffers of small locales. Apparently, their service to civilization came only with a price. Decent merchants were killed, their bodies tossed into the Kiorman, their daughters taken to be used as gold. Thousands of weapons were brought into the humble realms, sold to peasants to protect against monsters. The only monsters were the scoundrels themselves. Poor souls became addicted to the Suruli ales, and many died as a result. I witnessed in my old home the curling and decay of my brother's body, who sipped the fungus water until he passed in our previous quarters. Artifacts from the vaults of great realms in the Agadans and even the Koalir began to circle our streets, sold to madmen who would enslave entire villages. After the Melgothi, the west became a ruined place, a house in such disarray that even God Himself could not forgive its sins.

Now, I sit in my small abode in an alleyway in Naliria. The forest here smells like flowers trapped in ice, a lovely scent to such a cruel place. There is a steady leak in my room. The only portrait of my family that survives is that of my father's, and it was slightly soiled in my migration from the coastal towns. When I go to the markets, I often catch a glimpse of a group of well-dressed Elves. I envision them in this forest hundreds of years ago, armed with bows, taming spirits of old, and defending God's creations. Now, their weapon of choice is a wagon and a pen. They tame only whores and mushroom-ale addicts. And they defend the raiders who hail from caves and coves along the Coralfire Cliffs, their ships more deadly and frightening than anything to come from the Northwild.

In Naliria, the place that offers the most comfort to me is the cemetery. Here, the graves of glorious heroes can be read and prayed to. The tombs of the great Houses of the Ho'led are absent of gold and jewels, but the frescos on the stone walls remain. Occasionally, I will find candles lit in these tombs, offering a faint glimmer of hope to my weary soul.

The man sighs and closes his journal, placing his feather on the leather-bound tome. He adjusts his body and sprawls out on the floor. He leans his head to the wooden planks of his quarters and closes his eyes, allowing the white noise of the dripping water to guide him into a comfortless slumber.

 

[Adrogans]

Lady Aria followed the page into the brightly lit dinner chamber; it was obvious some royal mages had been employed to provide lighting by the very impressive floating spheres of light hovering above the dinner guests. She was led to the second table, which is reserved for the higher-ranking nobles at a gathering. This surprised Aria because her family was typically assigned to the third table since she was an heir and not actually a Duchess yet.

She swept into the chamber and floated gracefully to her seat before settling upon it. To her right was Duke Malchese she politely inclined her head and said the formulaic greetings. To her left was Duchess Abernay, Aria’s great aunt. Aria inclined her head even further to her relative, as was customary, and greeted her. “Esteemed Duchess, how wonderful and unexpected to be seated with you this fine evening.” Duchess Abernay slightly inclined her head in response and winked at Aria.

“Yes, I was happy to see you came. How is your dear father doing?”

“Not well I am sorry to say,” Aria wasn’t sorry but wasn’t pleased about it either. “He slips further away every passing day.”

“I am sorry to hear that child.” Duchess Abernay laid her hand upon Aria’s shoulder. “It is troubling that he should succumb to such a disease so early in his life. Pass along my best wishes to him when you return home.”

“I will Duchess.” Aria smiled. “I am sure he will be glad to hear it.” The discussion ended as the first course was placed before the guests. A rather pleasant bisque. Aria slowly ate her soup distracted by the implications that her great aunt had her seated higher. It certainly wasn’t a whim, nothing that schemer ever did was on a whim no matter what it may seem. That was probably why she liked Duchess Abernay so much. The Duchess had taught Aria many tricks to use. Who did she displace to be seated here, Aria scanned the third table looking for who it could be. Count Faing, yes he was always on the cusp, but usually was seated at the third table. Perhaps Count Tearn? Yes he was the highest at the third table so it must be him. Aria guessed he must have upset Duchess Abernay somehow. Whatever it was Aria was always happy to please her great aunt since keeping her happy was generally a good idea for any nobility.

The dinner proceeded and Aria simply watched the nobles noting who talked with who and who seemed opposed in the detached manner of one who does it by habit. When the dinner was finished Aria remained seated and was far more interested in who left and in what order. Various minor nobility made their excuses and left while the higher nobles began to congregate into various cliques. It had been so long since Aria had been to one of these functions, and she would have skipped this one as well if the invitation had not been from the King himself, that she was caught by surprise at just how few cliques there were. Apparently power was consolidating. Aria heard her aunt shift slightly and so was unsurprised by the hand placed on her shoulder.

“Come child, his majesty has asked to speak with us.” Aria nodded and stood subtly helping Duchess Abernay to her feet and aiding her in walking. “I believe he may have a task for you, well that’s what the rumors say.”

“Really? What could he possibly want with me? I am barely an adult and have not inherited yet.” Aria queried her aunt, but the Duchess simply smiled and led the way.

They entered the royal chamber, curtsied, and placed their right hand to their forehead and brought it back down to their side in the proper greeting when the King of Madraga summons you. The king nodded and then motioned for them to seat themselves in the chairs placed before him. They sat and waited for the king to speak.

“I welcome you both and hope dinner was enjoyable.” The both smiled and offered affirmative responses. “Good then let us get down to business.” They both sat straighter and with their complete attention to the king, well aside from a momentary glance by Aria at the row of servants, Talith had somehow gotten a royal page uniform. Damn was he resourceful. “As you probably know the ambassador to our loyal vassal the Principality of Rowen on the south lake passed earlier this year and I have been unable to determine who should be his replacement.” The fact the ambassador had not been picked for the most important vassal for over six months was news to Aria, but she had been busy studying other matters lately. “I asked my senior councilors to help determine a selection and led by Duchess Abernay we have decided to send you Lady Aria.”

This was a surprise. Lady Aria sat stunned for a moment; there was no reason to send her to such a position. But this could be the opportunity Aria had been waiting for. A whole new region that had never met her. The plans began whirring inside her mind. Buying time before having to respond Aria turned to look at her great aunt quizzically.

“No need for such confusion on your face dear.” Duchess Abernay began in a very grandmotherly tone. “Your father and I decided you needed experience and training. Especially since you will be inheriting sooner than we’d hoped.” Duchess Abernay’s face fell slightly at the thought of Duke Mithra’s condition. “The healers believe he has some time yet, so while he can still run his duchy is the best time for you to travel.”

Lady Aria stood and curtsied low and was already planning the fun she could have and the personal influence she could build through this rare opportunity. “I am your loyal servant your majesty and am humbled at the faith you place in me.”

 

[Haseri]

“Well you can tell those stuck-up priests to remove the stalagmites that are quite clearly growing up their own caves! The Lords of the Second Chamber have approved of the theatre and there is grit-all that they can do about it. Now leave. I have my remembering to do.” Lord Kavk shut the door to the small cavern. This was a special place, away from politics. There was something in the water that makes the sediment build up much quicker. This wasn’t the biggest cavern where this occurred, but it was big enough to house the bodies of nobles. Soon after death they were mummified in the lake of natron water in the True Chamber. Then they were brought here. In the course of a lifetime – a dwarven lifetime – one could see their relative being consumed by the limestone, returning them to the mountain.

Dalkd’s father was bent over in the traditional stance of prayer. The Lord joined him in his future spot. His father already had a hood of grainy white rock nearly obscuring the death mask. A decade more and the hood would reach the floor. There was silence save for the steady drip of dozens of droplets hitting the floor of the cavern. “Father, I have come to you for advice.” Although it was quite impossible for anyone to overhear the one-sided conversation, there was always the sense of embarrassment talking to what would one day be a column of limestone. “The gnomes came to me today with an idea to increase trade. They say they could build a canal to the Solamoan River, which will open up new routes. Eventually, they could even build a canal all the way to the sea, they say. I doubt I or even they will see that, but you know how gnomes are. Always thinking about the future…” Kavk started to suck on his pipe – it would be forbidden to light it. “Of course, the priests are against it. They say it would bring yet more wickedness to the city. I told them that the wickedness would be kept to the Open Chamber, but they did not listen. So the nobles once again have something that will make them even richer, but require the priests to make them really commit.” However stupid he felt whenever he began remembering he could not deny the small comfort of having someone to talk to that would definitely not stab him in the back. “So I’m guessing I’m asking you to ask the gods and spirits to let the priests see the light. Oh sorry, little humanism, see the dark.” Silence once again ruled, before the Lord lifted himself off the damp stone. He reached the door before he turned and said, “Be at peace, father.”

 

[Seon]

Spoiler Report-3921 :

Hail Lightbringer,

As our standard procedure, we have finished our annual investigation into the black market, criminal, and pirate entities around the West. As per contract, we shall send a copy of this report to Rivetwood.

Report Subsection 1: Narcotics Trade

Narcotics trade is still very prevalent in the nations of Wyldra, Kertus, and Eliri. While many of these substances such as the Feliff Weed [1] are arguably harmless, highly dangerous substances such as the Suruli Ale can be found circulating the market at surprisingly low costs.

Most of the users of such drugs are members of the Middle Class and the Upper Classes of these cities, who have much money to spend on such substances. It is common to receive reports of high-ranking nobleman spending two days straight in a den, sipping Suruli Ale and drinking in the smoke of a burning Feliff Weed. The thriving black market on this substance is the reason for the economic instability of the various state entities of the western world, with much of the money disappearing into the shadows and never being recorded by any government official.

Report Subsection 2: Weapons Trade

Weapons trade in the West, whether due to lack of security or through lack of regulation, is proliftic. In Eliri, for instance, agents disguised as mercenaries and adventurers reported that a few guardsmen attempted to sell weapons from the armory by bringing in "interested parties" into the station for "questioning." Please see detailed report on criminal elements of Kertus, included, for more information.

Organized Criminal Activity

Other than the major bands of raiders from the Coralfire Cliffs, gangs of every kind operate in every single city of the West. These gangs operate as the "tax collectors" of the underworld, coercing "protection fee" from the merchants involved in black market business. Many of them also engage in smuggling, kidnapping, and other illicit activities to supplement their power and income.

Several companies of guards in Eliri, in fact, could be seen by some as a "gang," with their mass racketeering operation and the weapons trade.

Piracy Report

Aside from the standard reports of pirates on the coasts, there has been alarming sightings of Melgoth Raiders in the city of Eliri. In addition, several ships on the sea reported seeing galleys of Melgothi design lazily patrolling in the distance.

If true, then coastal trade and travel in the west may come to a grinding halt due to the lack of power that the governments of many world possess. As Melgoth have not been receptive to our Guild's influences or agents, this may cause trouble for the Winged Eyes in the future [2].

P.S.: Lightbringer's Eye Only

Of Note: Situation in Eliri. A civil war within the city seems likely with the conspiracy and criminal elements becoming uncovered by the Eye agents in that city. However, this tension may be tempered by the common fear of Melgoth raiders rooming over the city. It would essentially be Lord Trin's decision.

Here is your data, as you requested. Do you still wish to pull resources out of the open cases involving the man known as the Stranger? We already have 2 assassins tracking him down, but the man's unpredictable nature makes him hard to follow. He was sighted in Anyuvel last week.

P.S.: Rivetwood

Here is your data, as you requested. Our advice to you is to not to focus on the ragtag bunch of pirates scattered throughout the west. Hunting them all down will be a significant expenditure that may be difficult to afford.

If reports of Melgothi Pirates are true, then we believe that the greatest threat to your polity would not be the bands of pirates roaming the high sea, but rather the coastal raiders of Melgoth.

We recommend that you set up a system of alliances in order to defend yourself from the enemy. Lord Trin may be the most reliable person to seek help with.

[1]Feliff Weed is a herb that grows deep within some forests, causing mildly disorienting effect on the user.

[2] Please see report 3421 to see the results of our attempts to infiltrate Melgoth.

 

[Nylan]

Incarcerated Hearts

“Though bush be burned and trees be felled
Delia shall guard us well
The woodland spirit
Forever in it
Home

In distant age, with other stars
The heavens seemed not all too far
Eternity’s sweet, loving kiss
Was never lacking, never missed

Yet this blissful closeness, warmth and care
Withered under Zalask’s stare
The seas boiled and the sky, it wept
Yet the trees e’er since us kept

Though bush be burned and trees be felled
Delia shall guard us well
The woodland spirit
Forever in it
Home”

“That song yer singin’…what’s it about?”

The interruption returned Lomion to reality, and he looked around to see who spoke to him. In the far corner of the room sat someone who seemed accustomed to the dank cold of the city dungeon. The bars that separated them cast a shadow over his face, giving him a sinister look.

“Oh, ah…it’s about…a place.”

“A place?”

“Yes, a place that’s very far away.”

“Mhmm. You miss it there, kid?”

“No…no, not at all…never been, actually….”

The dwarf snorted. “Right, and I’m a friggin’ Esalos priest.”

Lomion crossed his arms and pouted. “Okay, well maybe I’ve been there, but it’s certainly not home. Not anymore.”

“Exiled?” The stranger leaned forward interestedly, revealing a long, red beard.

“Not...exactly.” Silima mercifully intervened on her brother’s behalf. “We left. We felt our home village was too small for us and struck out on our own. I’m sure you know the feeling.” She hoped that would satisfy the dwarf.

He thought for a moment, running his hand through his beard as he let the memories take him back. Silima had guessed right. Whoever this dwarf was, he too was far from home. “Yes, yes…I know th’ feeling. Still, there’s no shame in feelin’ a little homesick.”

Silima pressed the dwarf for more details, eager to divert the conversation from a topic so sensitive to her and to her brother. “And where exactly is home for you?”

“Cadfenn. Way up north wit’ the wizards an’ adventurers. It’s beautiful this time o’ year. White as far as th’ eye can see.”

“So we’ve heard” she assented.

The stranger shot them a curious look, then continued his story. It seemed he hadn’t had anyone to chat with in a while.

“It’s a shame I had to get caught up in this political nonsense. I think The Conclave and the guilds should just let each other be. Anyways…where was I?” He scratched his head.

“Oh yes, I remember! I left home when I was jus’ a lad, ya see. Wanted t’ see th’ world. I headed west first, of course, curious t’ see if those Melgothi were worth all th’ fuss…”

Lomion was grateful to his sister for diverting the conversation. He didn’t want to talk about home right now. He spent the next few minutes trying to stare at a particularly interesting splotch of grime on the wall, but his hands instinctively went to his ring. He took it off, rubbed it between his fingers, and put it back on repeatedly without thinking. It was the only thing the Renai had allowed him to keep on his person, convinced that it was of no use to him in an attempted escape. They did, however, register it and advise the guard of his possession of it.

That ring was the only thing he had left from home. It was the only thing that had survived the burning of their house, in fact, and Lomion treasured it dearly. It had been his father’s.

”If only we hadn’t been so clumsy…” he found himself thinking. His mind wandered into dark memories, and did not hear Silima’s tender voice as she called to him.

“Lomion…Lomion…brother, they’re here for us.” She shook him, and only then did he come to his senses once more. Silima frowned, but didn’t ask him about it. She knew what he was thinking. She was feeling the same way.

The two brushed away stray pieces of straw as they stood and Silima turned to regard her new friend. Brushing her golden hair out of her face, she smiled at him. “Thank you for keeping us company, mister…”

“…Ovric, lass. Ovric the smith. See if yeh can get a good word in with th’ warden for me, will ya? I’ve been behaving myself lately.”

“I’ll be sure to.” came Silima’s sweet reply.

Lomion frowned with concern. The warden? Why would they be seeing him? Perhaps it had something to do with what he had mentioned in the treasury. It seemed the Renai was suspicious of something bigger going on than two simple thieves. It would be just Lomion’s luck, getting himself confused with highly dangerous and wanted men.

”Well, I guess that explains why they went through so many pains to catch us.” he thought to himself. He wondered what fate would await them when they met with the warden. Surely their crimes had been serious enough to merit quite a long stay in this dungeon, and as of yet he hadn’t found a way to escape. Things did not bode well for the young siblings.

As they were lead out of the cell and into the corridor, Lomion’s thoughts returned to a familiar melody…

“Though bush be burned and trees be felled
Delia shall guard us well
The woodland spirit
Forever in it
Home”

 

[Adrogans]

Lady Aria had been making the final arrangements to begin her journey to the Principality of Rowan to serve as the King’s Speaker(1) to their court when she heard a polite knock on the door to her study.

“Enter.”

A man dressed in the uniform of a royal messenger came into the room led by Sir Egrain. The pair bowed and Lady Aria waved off Sir Egain who nodded and closed the door behind him as he left.

“Milady.” The messenger walked forward and handed her a sealed envelope adorned with King Firenas III’s personal seal. The messenger then sat and smiled. “I think your plans will have just changed. From what I hear you need to thank your great aunt.”

Lady Aria set the envelope down unopened and looked at the man. He was very plain and easily forgotten. A few dren(2) shorter than Aria herself, not handsome or ugly, black hair and gray eyes like many of the elves nothing unique, just the way he liked it. “Why Talith I think you positively delight in dropping just enough hints to distract me!” Lady Aria laughed it sounded as light and wonderful as a perfectly tuned dulcini(3).

“Why milady when have I ever delighted in arousing your curiosity? Would I your humble servant and mentor in certain arts of ill repute even imagine annoying you?” Talith responded oozing so much sarcasm Aria swore she saw grime appear on the wall. She would need to make sure to order this room cleaned later.

“Ah well glad to see your sense of humor is still there.” Talith nodded his head in agreement. “But please report before I read this.” Talith’s posture changed subtly, he became more rigid as he switched over to their real business.

“I cannot comment on what the letter says. All I can say is many of the higher nobility who have not left the capitol yet have been summoned. Essentially all five of the ducal lords and ladies with you standing in for your ill father.” Lady Aria sucked in a little air at that, so a true King’s Council(4) then? Lady Aria had never been in one before. Was her father even worse off than she thought? To be treating her these last few days as if she had already become a Duchess…well perhaps her father was simply planning for the inevitable, he was always such a man. Talith sat attentively waiting as he watched his Lady’s face. To any others it would not seem her expression had changed at all so schooled she was in hiding her emotions and thoughts. Talith had been the one to perfect her natural talent at this though so he saw through her as always. Finally she made a small wave of her left hand and he continued. “One thing I do know that the others do not is the summons were sent out an hour after a delegation from Oagramakandi arrived. And I know they sent a loremaster.”

“Did they finally declare open war?” Lady Aria stood up and slammed her right hand down on the exquisite salis wood(5) desk. “There have always been the border tensions and their ridiculous assertion that we hold some sort of ancestral Oagramakandi land.”

“Calmly milady. I know you are not fond of the orcs since losing your cousin in that border skirmish a decade ago,” Talith paused as the rage fled Lady Aria’s eyes then continued when she lowered herself gracefully back into her chair having regained her composure. “but I do not think it is war.”

“Fine so it’s not war. But aside from war what could we possibly have to discuss with them? I mean it’s not like we haven completely ignored each other.” Aria took out a very finely made and very expensive throwing knife she kept hidden in her sleeve. She began to play with it. “We certainly trade with them, but that’s merely due to proximity. If we could both of us would simply refuse to acknowledge the other.”

“True enough, but I suggest you open your summons milady lest we speculate into the darkened hours.” Lady Aria smiled and took up the envelope and deftly sliced it open. She began to read:

Spoiler :

My most loyal Lady Aria,
I you liege call upon you to attend me on the morrow at first light. The Kingdom of Madraga faces a decision of the utmost importance and I require my council to convene. As you are in the capitol and will soon inherit the Duchy of Mithra from your father I summon you in his stead. I have been advised by Duchess Abernay that you are ready to enter the world of your birthright as evidenced by the appointment I gave you last evening and so feel no issue in summoning you as a member of the council.

King Firenas III

​

She put it down upon the list she had been finishing. “Well that was blunt. Usually his majesty is much more flowery. Of course he usually lets his scribe dress up his summons.” She looked at Talith. “Are you prepared to run my eyes and ears here in Madraga and report to me wherever I may be shortly?”

“Yes milady.” Talith answered instantly and placed his left hand to his right shoulder in salute to ones superior.

“Tell me for I have always wondered, with your skills you could work for the royals directly and make yourself very wealthy, far more than I can make you. So why are you serving me.”

“Do you question my loyalty?” Talith looked surprised. But he was an exceptional actor. Which was evidenced by his long survival in the field of distrust and lies.

“Not really,” which Aria was surprised to find was true. “just curious as to why you chose to serve me.”

“Ah, yes well when I found out you were seeking a teacher in the disreputable arts I watched you for a few weeks. I discovered you had natural talent at lies and deceit, and once I began to train you I realized we both have certain things we find entertaining our fellows would call ‘uncivilized.’” He chuckled and relaxed. “But in all honesty those reasons were just extras I suppose.” Talith made a complicated hand motion that signaled to those trained in the language of silence that complete honesty was to follow, the sign was rarely used as the gods would punish those who lied after using it. “I owed my life to your great aunt and there is honor in my line of work despite what others may think.”

Lady Aria leaned back, so Duchess Abernay really had taken her completely under her wing then all those years ago after…the incident. The Duchess had been the first family Aria had met with after the incident and was the only one who knew of Aria’s change. Apparently the duchess had decided to make the most of it.

“I suppose that is all we do not want to raise suspicion you have been here too long. I will be there on the morrow.” Talith nodded, stood, and saluted his liege and left quietly leaving her to her thoughts.

1- King’s Speaker is the official title of an ambassador from the King of Madraga.
2- A dren is a measurement unit in Madraga. It is a little less than an inch.
3- A dulcini is similar to a viola and a dulcine is similar to a violin.
4- In Madraga proper the highest nobles after Royalty are the five ducal lords and ladies. When all five are summoned at once it is known as a King’s Council. This usually only occurs semi annually.
5- A hardwood cultivated by Madraga in the heart of the Aiakal Forest.

 

[Adrogans]

The Envoy Part 2:

“My Liege!” Count Rickas, the stupid pig, stood and yelled his displeasure at the pronouncement of the King. Just like how he had been one of the few to snort in disapproval when she took her seat as the Representative of Mithra at the head table. Aria momentarily dreamed of cleaving his fingers off and shoving them all into his nose and mouth to suffocate him. Not than any of this showed on her expressionless face. “Surely you cannot be serious!” The idiot had just challenged the King directly, in front of the assembled nobles. King Firenas III was known to be a calm monarch, but stern. Aria quietly awaited the verbal slap across the face Count Rickas was sure to receive.

“Shut up!” Duke Hient yelled at Count Rickas. The count’s face went pale as his brain finally realized his yells had been an external monologue not the internal one he had imagined it was. “This is a King’s Council, not a gambling den.” Duke Hient continued. “I for one am ashamed that one of my subjects has insulted your majesty.” He turned to the king and bowed his apology.

“No Duke Hient. This is a sensitive topic and we understand the count’s over enthusiastic response.” The King motioned for the duke to sit. “We have made our decision and the offer of a permanent border treaty and normalizing relation with the Oagramakandi is too good an opportunity to pass up. I called this council not to discuss the issue, but to declare that the Kingdom of Madraga is now going to send a force to aid in the defeat of the vile cult in the north.”

“Your Majesty, should we not sit aside and bide our time? Should we not await the winner and side with them?” Countess Yesin asked. The chamber went still and quiet as the King prepared his answer to a question they all had wanted to ask.

“Because as volatile and unstable as our relationship has been with the Oagramakandi over the centuries we have had relative peace with them and can expect more of the same were the situation to remain as it is. The cult on the other hand is literally made of the scum of Sekai. They would commit unspeakable atrocities in the name of their faith and it is impossible to be their ally and remain Madragan!” The assembled nobles all sat a bit straighter and taller as the King raised his voice profoundly and slammed his fist on the table at the end. “I will now allow the delegation from the Oagramakandi to enter and hear our decision. You will respect them as diplomats.” All heads bowed at this royal command as the King signaled for the guard to let the orcs enter.

“Loremaster Oan of the Oagramakandi and entourage.” announced the guard as a trio of orcs entered. It looked to be a diplomat and two personal guards.

Aria caught herself as she began sliding one of the throwing daggers into her palm. She silently replaced it back in the sleeve. Her hatred boiled beneath her calm and still exterior. The sight of that orc, the grayish skin, the way he was walking, it all drew her into a rage. How dare they come here, how dare they! She would obey her monarch, but she was very glad to be going to Rowan. The orcish scum thought he was all high and mighty. He was probably not even as old as Aria and he was already halfway to death. Provided Aria didn’t help death along.

“Loremaster Oan.” The orc inclined his head just enough to not be insolent but not enough to be considered polite. Aria felt the power begin to well up in her, crying to be loosed on the orc insulting her and her Kingdom. The Duchess Abernay seated next to her began to feel warmth under the table and glanced down at Aria’s hands, they were coated in a purple flames slowly coalescing into a sphere of fiery death. Duchess Abernay poked Lady Aria in the ribs just out of sight of everyone. Lady Aria jumped and looked at Duchess Abernay who replied with a stern gaze as if to say ‘I thought you wanted to keep it a secret. Calm down.’

“Loremaster we have called you here today to respond to your request for aid in the conflict with the Cult of Heras-Fel.”

“Thank you for your consideration King of Madraga, Lord of Aiakal Forest. I await your response to take back Mokata.” Aria noticed the Loremaster was clenching his fists so tightly a small trickle of blood was coming from them. So the bastard orc hated Madraga as much as Madragans hated him.

“My council and I discussed several possible responses. As I am sure you can imagine with the mutual enmity and contempt we have held each other in for so long even we elves have forgotten when it started the possible responses were extreme. Some would have us assault you while you are distracted. Some would have us ignore the whole thing, some would have us impose trade embargo of the cult and supply you with weapons and armor.” King Firenas looked down upon the orcs and Aria was glad to see that while they were not afraid they were definitely contemplating if they would leave the room alive. They wouldn’t if Lady Aria had her way. The orc, Oan, made a motion seeking permission to speak. The King waved approval.

“King Firenas, may I know what you have decided upon then.” Loremaster Oan spoke, in a stern but measured voice. Lady Aria found herself contemplating her lessons in sorcery to distract herself from killing the orcish scum.

The King stood gripping his sword of state and symbol as ultimate authority in Madraga. He removed the blade and held it out pointing due north.

“We, Monarch of Madraga have decided to declare war upon the Cult of Heras-Fel. We may not get along with the Oagramakandi, but we at least trust them to keep their word. The Cult of Heras-Fel cannot be negotiated with, cannot be trusted, and would rather see all of us as undead servants. If Oagramakandi falls we will unlikely be able to contain the cult. We will send half our forces north to aid you, including mages and support. We will also be sending a direct representative to be the King’s Speaker to represent the Kingdom of Madraga and General Firt Yenis to lead the Madragan forces. So we command.” King Firenas slammed the sword of state home in its scabbard with surprising force sounding a clear metallic echo through the chamber.

Loremaster Oan stood stunned, his composure lost he dropped his jaw limply. Loremaster Kvan had been more right than he knew. Loremaster Oan finally responded after several seconds of regaining his composure. “King of Madagra that is unexpectedly generous of you. May I leave to report this agreement?”

“You may send a messenger, but I ask you and some of your delegation to stay and travel forth with our forces to prevent any ‘misunderstandings’ as we cross into your lands.”

“That is probably wise King of Madraga. I will remain and send a messenger with the agreement then.” The Loremaster bowed, politely this time, and left the chamber in haste.

“This Council is adjourned. We ask that the Dukes and Duchesses remain to discuss specifics of this campaign.” The chamber erupted into sound as chairs were pushed away from tables and nobles clamored to leave and spread the news. Lady Aria quietly moved her table as her long dead mother had taught her and stood gathering her notes to leave when Duchess Abernay grabbed her sleeve and tried to pull her back down.

“The King meant what he said, sit.”

The Inner Council

“Esteemed Aunt, I am confused. I am not a Duchess yet nor will be one for years, even if Father has the wasting disease he still has time.” Aria stated simply and refused to sit. “It would be the height of impropriety to remain when not a Duke or Duchess, the King was clear.”

“The King will explain once the chamber is cleared. Now sit down girl.” Duchess Abernay said in a deadly serious voice. Aria sat and waited as the chamber emptied. The King must have wanted her to remain to pass the information on to her father. That must be it. Aria watched as the nobles filtered out of the chamber. She longed to leave and discuss this with Talith. He was more experienced in these matters, being over 200 years old.

Gods it took so long to empty the chamber and this wasn’t even half the nobles who could fit in here. The chamber was built around the trunks of seven great elder trees so it was quite possibly the largest single room in the whole of the Kingdom of Madraga. But for some reason despite all the effort that went into its opulence and construction the builders only thought to put in a single grand stair to leave. It made for long waits if you were a noble of any real stature and not consigned to the edges of the chamber.

“All right,” The King finally spoke after the chamber had been cleared and then dropping all formality once alone with the inner council, all of whom were fairly close in relation to the King himself, continued. “now that we have some peace I want to hear your thoughts. We will not change my decision, but we welcome your ideas on the matter.” The King looked at Aria for a moment and there was something strange in his eyes, was it confusion? Must be, it wasn’t often that emotion was in his majesty’s eyes.

“Your majesty, I must ask why am I still here? Did you want me to take notes and send a message to my father?” The King winced ever so slightly at this. Aria was worried did she offend him? Perhaps she wasn’t being polite enough since her father was the King’s brother after all. “I mean Duke Mithra.” The King waved her to sit, Aria hadn’t even realized she stood and curtsied the King before speak it was such a habit. She retook her seat.

“There is something we wanted to let you all know. My dearest brother, the Duke of Mithra has informed us via Duchess Abernay and a sealed letter in his own hand that he is going to abdicate his title to his daughter.” Aria jumped to her feet and began to sputter a protest, the King glared her down. They may be more informal but he was still the King and he was not finished. Aria stood mutely. “He will remain in the Duchy of Mithra as a sort of regent running the Duchy while his health remains, but he felt that it was time to give his daughter the authority she would need and deserves as her birthright. We will make the announcement public at the end of the week before Duchess Aria goes out to perform as an ambassador. I will take your oath of fealty now.” The King stood and drew the sword of state once more. All four of the others at the table stood and waited while a kneeling pillow was brought. When the servant brought it in the Queen came as well. No one had expected that as she rarely attended any governing function. She was a private person and preferred to stay out of attention as much as possible. She smiled politely as the nobles all paid their respects while she got settled into the usually empty second throne. In fact Aria could not recall having ever met the Queen before. She looked strangely sad. The King moved to take his place before the throne and then the pillow was placed on the ground before him.

Aria took her place and lifted her head. She looked at the King and even though she felt little love for anyone, most of it was for her father. She silently pleaded with the King not to take away her father’s title. While she did covet it there was no need to hurry. The King stepped forward and surprising Aria he took up the sword of state once more and placed it against her exposed and defenseless neck.

“As all here know most nobles we simply have them kiss the ring and take the oath before they assume their duties. For the five duchies this is not the case. The duchies and the crown lands are the backbone of the Kingdom. The ducal oath is different and more binding. The sword of state, few realize it has another enchantment upon it aside from the one for preserving it from being damaged.”

The King pressed it just hard enough against Aria’s neck to draw a parchment thin incision where he rested it. The Queen winced and the King looked down upon Aria stern and commanding.

“I tell you now of the other ability the Blade of Madraga holds. When in placed upon a person and the wielder of the blade asks a question it will force the wielder to kill the person answering if they lie. I now ask you Lady Aria, Daughter of Duke Mithra, Third in line to the Throne,” here again the King and now the Queen looked askance. There was something odd, Aria would need to ask Talith to investigate it. “Do you swear loyalty and fealty to the Throne of Madraga?”

Aria sat there breathing for a moment while she ordered her thoughts. Was she truly loyal to the Throne? She certainly accepted its rule over Madraga. She also certainly was willing to do almost anything commanded by the throne, but ultimately she was most loyal to herself. But was being loyal to oneself enough to be considered lying when you were willing to be loyal and swear fealty to the Monarch of Madraga. Well all she could hope was that the blade would agree it was truth.

“I, Lady Aria of Mithra,” now the Queen had visible worry on her face, why? “Daughter of Duke Mitras,” here the Queen audibly inhaled, so strange. “Do swear loyalty and fealty to the Throne of Madraga.” Aria could have sworn the blade was about to plunge through her neck. But it did not and then the King withdrew it and the Queen looked visibly relieved.

“Stand Aria, Duchess of Mitra and take your place among us.” The new Duchess Mitras stood and walked to her place as the newest of the five inner council members. Once she did the Queen rose and left the chamber.
“Now to business Dukes and Duchesses.” The King smiled as he returned to the meeting table. He waved for a servant to fetch refreshments. “I have to rethink who is assigned to what post in light of being at war now. Firstly…” The king began discussing the placement of Generals and forces. The muster of soldiers and who shall lead them. Aria furiously took notes. Finally they began discussing the ambassadors.

“So that brings us to the Principalities of Rowen and Lyndra, and of course the one going to the Oagramakandi.” The King stretched as everyone else had done already since the meeting was now going on its sixth hour. I will send my son to Lyndra as he will be marrying the daughter of the prince soon anyway he can learn diplomacy there. And to Rowen,” Aria sat straighter as she thought of how good a job would she would do, and earn benefit from her monarch, “I will be sending Lord Eerin the son of Count Lychant.” Aria stared at King Firenas III. She felt betrayed. She had just sworn her loyalty and meant it, which was against her normal deceitful nature, and she was rewarded by losing her post as a King’s Speaker? Given all the shocks of the day Aria’s wooden expression had long since collapsed. The hurt on her face was plainly evident to all. But she remained silent. Luckily Duchess Abernay did not.

“Majesty, how can you take away Duchess Mithra’s post? You just gave it to her.”

“And then there is the Oagramakandi,” continued the King as if there had not been an interruption. “and I will be sending Duchess Mitra to that post.”

Utter silence greeted this pronouncement. Unconsciously all present had expected Duke Hient to be sent as he was both experienced in leading troops and as a diplomat.

“My liege,” Aria got out through clenched teeth. “you expect me to sit and be rational with a bunch of savage orcish scum?” This was the final straw her raw and pained emotions could not handle this final insult on top of all the other surprises and concerns the day had raised. “If left with them I will kill the first one to so much as look at me in an insulting manner. I will put him on a spit and slowly roast him until…”

“SHUT UP!” roared King Firenas. “THIS IS NOT A DISCUSSION!” Aria was shamed into silence. She had just spat all over the King’s decision. And she did it just after essentially being told he had faith in her to manage what would be an unmanageable situation. King Firenas got out of his chair and walked around the table to Duchess Aria and slapped her hard across the mouth as a father would punish an unruly twenty year old child. “You will sit and you will do as I command.” Aria didn’t even reach up to wipe off the blood pouring from her split lip she simply nodded and sat meekly. She knew she had overstepped drastically. King Firenas was within his rights to strip away her new title and privileges. She risked much for nothing more than an emotional outburst. That was the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life.

King Firenas returned to his chair and sat. No one spoke, no one had ever seen him like this. He summoned a servant to bring some Alyndan Wine. The room was still as the King regained his composure and drank.

“I am sending you because I trust you to be loyal, I trust you can handle it, and I think I will need Duke Hient here to help control the reaction I expect to this pronouncement. I think all the important nobles will support and understand my decision. However, the Duchy of Hient is the one that has suffered from border raids and conflict for the longest and the worst over the centuries. He will need to stay here and prevent any of his subjects from running across the border now that the Oagramakandi will be pulling out all their forces to face the Cult.”

Aria simply nodded even after the fifteen minutes had passed she still had not made a move to clean herself up. All she could do was nod. Everything the King said made sense, but still it was those filthy, disgusting orcs. No, she took many deep breaths and performed the one minute meditation to calm herself and steel her nerves. She had to do this, she must. Even if it makes her hate everything not just most things.

“Now I want you to meet with the Loremaster and his entourage tomorrow and begin making arrangements. The first forces will be sent at the end of the week. I will also be detailing you a personal guard pulled from the Silver Guard. They will stay with you until I decree otherwise. They will keep your secrets even from me until they are no longer in your service. They will make sure no one harms you until either I relieve them or they are all dead in your defense. Do you understand?”

Duchess Aria nodded. A contingent of the Silver Guard was unheard of for anyone outside the royal family. They were the elite family guard of the Trien dynasty. They were all orphans taken in and trained to be loyal only to whoever they were assigned. The specifics of their training were never known by anyone outside the Silver Guard or the Trien dynasty. So this is how serious the King was taking this decision.

“Good now clean up your face before we adjourn, we must be united and we must not show discord. The trials we face for this will be serious, but the end rewards could be a lasting peace and an end to pointless raids.”

 

[Adrogans]

The next morning Aria awoke and examined herself in the mirror. Her bottom lip was swollen on the right side and her cheek has a very impressive purplish bruise. No one had ever hit her like that in her life. Well no one who wasn’t dead anyway.

The newly made Duchess of Mithra left her chambers after the maids had dressed her in a finely tailored gown of silk from the Halith Tribe of Elves deep in the Aiakal Forest. While they were loyal to Madraga they wore their loyalty lightly. But boy did they make fine silk and wood craft. They also used a lot of cosmetics to cover her injury as much as possible.

Talith was waiting for her with a summons from the King. He looked up and saw her swollen and bruised face through the covering make up. He looked around covertly and seeing an audience of maids and servants choose not to speak freely. “Milady I have a summons from the King.”

“Thank you messenger.” She took it and dismissed him. Talith left as quietly as always. He was such a spy and thief he couldn’t help but not make noise as he moved.

She went to her study and pulled a letter opener out and read the document. It was a command to not be at the meeting today but to go and meet the Loremaster as he had directed last darkness. She set the letter opener down and walked outside to order a horse and escort only to find ten members of the Silver Guard waiting for her with what could only be a gift from the Royal Stables of Madraga.

“Hello Sir…” Duchess Aria paused waiting for the leader of the guard to introduce himself.

“Captain Garit, milady. There are no nobles among the ranks of the Silver Guard. We are addressed by rank and name only.” Captain Garit spoke courteously and without any hint of derision.

“Thank you for explaining that Captain. I have never dealt personally with any of the Silver Guard.”

“None outside the Royal Family have.”

“I see. Well I hope we have a safe trip and all this worry is for naught. Thank you for the horse Captain. He is a fine looking stallion.”

“The King personally sent this horse to you. He told me to say you would understand why.” Ah so the horse was an apology. Such a magnificent animal for being slapped once? Perhaps she should let the King hit her more often?

“Well then do you know where the orci … I mean Oagramakandi delegation are housed?” The Captain nodded affirmative to this so Aria gracefully, as she tried to do everything thanks to her long deceased mother, mounted her steed. “What is his name?”

“Farinath, due to his solid black color. Also you need to be aware that all horses in the Royal Stable are trained in the old speech for their commands. This prevents them generally from being used by an enemy.”

Farinath huh? Well it certainly suited the stallion to be named after the god of darkness.

“Lead the way Captain.”

They rode through Madraga at a fast trot. Everyone was bowing when they saw the Silver Guard approach assuming it was a Royal among them. Aria noted it bemusedly since she wasn’t a royal, but it was still a nice feeling to get the respect they did.

Eventually they arrived in what was known as diplomat’s alley. Aria was surprised when they got there since the Oagramakandi had never been allowed to have a permanent residence in the capitol before. Previously all diplomacy had been handled by the small nation of Sonol. That they had been allowed a permanent embassy was going to upset many people. Aria had assumed they would be going to an inn but she had been way off the mark.

They approached the building slowly so as not to alarm the four orc guards at the gate to the property. Aria dismounted from Farinath, patted him on the neck and waited as four of the Silver Guard dismounted with her. Apparently they felt going in with equal numbers of guards was sufficient. Given their reputation Aria was inclined to agree.

“Greetings.” Aria certainly did not actually feel like greeting them, but niceties must be observed. “I am Duchess Mithra and I am to be the King’s Speaker to the Oagramakandi. I have been charged with coming and meeting Loremaster Oan.” Aria ground her teeth behind her mask of unconcern as one of the guards, he couldn’t be more than two decades old, leered at her. She tried to ignore it. She had to keep in mind as disgusting as they are they certainly are not stupid as a rule. Brutish and rude, yes. Dumb, not necessarily. She had a hard time with that runt of a guard being smart though.

“The King of Madraga sends us a child! I do not believe for a moment that you are the ‘King’s Speaker’ being sent.” He spat at the ground. Oddly Aria found herself in agreement with the orc; she’d love to spit in his face as much as he’d love to spit in hers.

“But I do have official documentation appointing me as such.” Aria drew out a sealed document from the saddle bag. “Regardless of how you feel about it I am his Majesty’s representative.” She handed over the document and placed her hands behind her back where she played with her father’s, well her's now, signet ring which Duchess Abernay had given to her last darkness after the meeting. It still felt wrong on her finger and yet comforting knowing she had the power of the Duchy of Mithra behind her.

“Whatever girly,” the runt of a guard, Aria decided to name him Runty until corrected, took the document and handed it to his fellow guard. The second guard, who was acting much more respectable and looked so much more like an orc guard should, took the document and headed inside.

Aria calmly stared the Runty down while they waited. None of the Silver Guard so much as twitched a muscle throughout the whole event. Eventually an official looking orc came out of the building with the real guard alongside. He noticed the staring match and apparently out of interest stopped his approach to see how it would finish. Aria continued to stare unblinkingly and undisturbed at Runty. After several minutes Runty finally made a small twitch, her unconcern had apparently finally disturbed Runty on some level. Everyone present deciding that twitch decided matters continued approaching the gate.

“Greetings King’s Speaker, or should we call you Duchess Aria?” asked the official orc Aria decided to call him Scribe until she learned his name.

“I will answer to either, whichever is perfectly polite.” Aria responded in her most sweet and light tone. “I am new to both titles so there is no difference to which you use.”

“Ah, I see. Well then I shall call you Duchess as King’s Speaker is rather odd to our way of things.” Aria nodded her agreement to Scribe.

As she entered the property she heard the real guard look down at Runty and say, betraying their underappreciation of elves’ exceptional senses, “So Tas you're afraid of the little elf girl? Wait till everyone hears.”

Tas, aka Runty, replied quietly. “I’m telling you there’s something wrong like she’s touched in the head and I think she might be older than I thought.”

“You just figured that out now? Elves live for a very long time for all we know she might be older than your father’s father.”

Aria smiled to herself and they came up to the entry way to the building. Scribe stopped and two more guards approached. These seemed like personal retainers, much better trained than those gate guards.

“I am sorry but only you may enter Duchess and meet with Loremaster Oan.” Scribes eyes darted between all four of her Silver Guard. “And you must surrender your weapons if you have any.” This finally broke Captain Garit’s calm. Aria reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder before he could speak. Captain Garit stilled and waited to follow Aria’s lead.

“Dear sir,” the orc was confused apparently they did not address one another thusly, “I am sorry but I no more trust you than you obviously trust me.” Scribe was surprised by this bluntness, from an elf diplomat especially. “But, since my King has ordered it I will comply.”

Aria debated quickly in her mind how many of her hidden daggers and throwing knives to give up. She decided all of them since she could always fall back on her various powders in her rings and then of course her most potent defense of all if needed.

She took a step back and told Captain Gatih to hold out his hands. First she placed her long dagger, almost a shortsword really, that she carried openly in his hand. That was followed by the two throwing knives up each sleeve, the knife hidden in her left boot, the knife hidden in her busom, the dagger hidden on her left thigh, and finally the three throwing knives hidden on her right upper leg.

Everyone other than Captain Garit opened their eyes in surprise at the small arsenal Aria carried on her. Aria noted Captain Garit’s lack of response and wondered who had told him. Scribe coughed in surprise.

“Um I have to ask do you have any other weapons on you?”

“No, just myself and the power of Madraga that stands behind me.” Scribe led her inside leaving all the guards outside to stare at one another silently threatening mutual destruction should either of their charges be harmed.

 

[bestshot9]

Arrival at Kertus

Kertus. He had finally made it. After months of traveling, Alvinar had finally reached the city that was his destination. And he was broke. He only just had two coins to rub together, the same two coins he had offered to the innkeeper of the Porkbelly Inn. The man had turned his most gracious offer down, so luckily he at least had the two coins to his name.

He stood now, on the main highway on which he had been traveling before. He was in the sea-side pastures of the Sarxon region of the city. It was sunny, even if a bit chilly, but that did not seem to stop the farmers from tending their sheep and other animals. He could taste the salt in the crisp, mid-morning, winter air. Seagulls filled the sky, squawking at one another. Disgusting, useless creatures, he thought to himself, watching them ride the wind in circles, looking for an easy meal to steal.

Alvinar was not here to admire the countryside, however. No, he was here for the annual Dragon's Bluff Championship match, one of the biggest gambling matches of the year. It was not the biggest, by far, but for an amateur competition, it was about as big as it got. Nearly all the greatest card players got their first major win at the Kertus Dragon's Bluff Championship, and Alvinar planned to be one of them.

However, he currently found himself lacking the funds required to meet the entrance fee. He needed a minimum of fifty king's heads to enter the tournament, which was set to begin in two week's time. The tournament itself was set to last a whole weekend, granting the victor a pot of nearly 1000 gold pieces, enough to make Alvinar drunk and happy for a while.

So, he was here now, in the bustling seaport city of Kertus. Or, more realistically, he was just outside its walls. No matter, he was basically in the city, but with no money. He needed to raise forty-eight gold pieces by the end of the next two weeks. It wasn't a wholly impossible task, but it would take a certain amount of finesse and brains to achieve it. Singing was too long of work for too little of pay. He could sing all night at some dank inn and only make two or three coins. No, he needed the money fast. He needed money not only to get into the tournament, but to pay for his room and food for the next couple of weeks as well. So, with singing out of the option, that left him with three choices: thieving, gambling, or conning. But really, the last two were just different styles of thieving anyways.

Standing before the Zengia Gate, Alvinar reached into his pack for his deck of cards. When he could not find it, he peeked inside the pack to see that the cards were missing. He cursed under his breath, realizing that in his haste to leave the Porkbelly, he must have forgotten to bring his deck with him. Figuring his best bet was to head into town to find a Dragon's Bluff game already in progress, he headed towards the gate.

There were guards posted along the road leading to the gate. As Al approached, one of the guards stepped into his path. He wore chain mail armor under the banner of the Republic of Kertus. On his head he wore a typical pointed helmet, common among soldiers across Sekai. He seemed only slightly older than Alvinar, but then it could have just been because of the fact that he had a neatly trimmed brown goatee on his face.

“And where do you think you're going, foreigner?” he demanded. As he spoke, Alvinar could see he was missing a couple front teeth, the rest were a sickly brown color. His breath stank, and Alvinar could not help but get a whiff of it as his face was nearly up against the bard's.

Holding back a cough, as was his natural reaction to such foul a smell, Al replied, “I am heading into the city. If you'll please excuse me.” Al tried to slip past the guard, who only sidestepped into Alvinar's way again.

“Nuh-uh. I do believe you are forgetting the toll.” he said, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. By now his fellow guardsmen had approached, hands on the hilts of their swords, grinning like loons. A few were laughing. The guard in front of Al turned back to wink and smile at them, then turned back for Alvinar's response.

“Uhhh, if I'm not mistaken, this is a free city. I wasn't aware there was any sort of toll to enter, at least by land.” Alvinar said calmly, hoping the guard was just bored and wanted to tease a traveler.

“'Fraid you thought wrong, friend.” he said, “This here gate costs five gold to pass through.” he grinned a cocky, victorious grin. His friends laughed behind him.

Al swore under his breath yet again. If only he had drank a few less pints at the Porkbelly Inn. That place was really coming back to kick him in the butt. “I tell you what,” he said, reaching for his coin purse. “I have two gold right now. That's all the gold I have to my name. I will pay it to you if you'll let me pass through this gate.” He held the coins out to the guard for his inspection.

The guard snatched the two gold coins from his hand. “Fat chance. I said this here toll was five gold. If I let you get in for two, I'd have to let any other bloke who came through here in for only two as well.”

“Well,” Alvinar started, leaning back on his heels and shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to appear as casual and unintimidated as possible, “we could just keep this as our little secret. Between you and me, you know. Don't have to let anyone else know.”

The guard just shook his head. “No, I don't think so.” he said plainly. “I'm a man of...strong morals. It just wouldn't be right to let you pass through for anything less than the required amount.” the guards behind him now were bursting with laughter. He just stood there, smiling like a jackass.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to convince the man to let him through without the gold he demanded, Alvinar submitted. “Alright, alright.” he said, bowing his head in defeat, “I see you truly are an honest man, and it was wrong of me to try and sway you. If you'll give me my gold back, I will return with the fee you require.” he placed his hand out, ready to receive his money.

“Gold?” the man asked, feigning ignorance. He cocked his head to the side and frowned at Alvinar. “What gold?”

Alvinar glanced up at him, the man barely able to hold back a smile. His friends were still behind him, doubled over in silent laughter. Al nodded in defeat. “Alright, guardsman. You're right, I must have been mistaken. I guess I will take my leave now.” he said, and turned to walk away.

“That's right, walk away, you coward!” the guard called after him, laughing. His buddies behind him were still laughing as well. Alvinar continued on, ignoring the group and thinking about how he was going to get his hands on a deck of cards.

He figured it would not be too hard to find someone playing a card game. It was mid-winter, afterall, and most farmers would have plenty of free time, and what better way to spend that free time than playing some betting games? Al headed back down the road a ways, in the direction he had come. Just outside of Kertus was a small town, named Sarxontown. Inside the town was an inn which, even before midday, Al had spied peasants entering and exiting. Surely there had to be a game going on somewhere inside.

So, he made his way to the inn. There was no sign out front with a name at all. That wasn't too strange, many small town inns and taverns that the bard had been too in the past didn't bother with names. This particular in had two swinging doors which he pushed through to enter. Inside was a packed dirt floor, covered in dry straw. Off to one side was a fireplace, with a stewpot over the top. The aroma of what ever was cooking inside made Alvinar's mouth water, but he did not pay much attention. He scanned the small room before him, seeing the bar across the floor from the fireplace, and the middle ground populated with a number of small, round, wooden tables, each with four seats surrounding them. There were about a half a dozen people in the room, not counting Alvinar or the older barmaid working the place. Four of the patrons sat around one table, each with a frothy mug of some ale in their hands, laughing and telling stories. One man sat at the bar, talking to the barmaid, while the final man sat in the back of the room, playing some solitary card game. Al honed in on his target.

“Well, hi there!” Al said, after walking across the room and approaching the man's table. “I see you've got yourself a deck of cards. Care for a game of Dragon's?”

The peasant, clothed in some dirty furs, with a thick, brown mustache growing from his upper lip, looked up at the stranger before him. He studied Alvinar curiously, all the while cutting the deck and shuffling the cards over and over. The cards themselves were old and faded, but they didn't appear marked in anyway that Alvinar's expertly trained eye could tell. Finally, the peasant nodded. “Olright, then. How much you wager?”

Alvinar pulled back the wobbly wooden chair (it seemed one leg was slightly shorter than the others) and sat down. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a bottle of golden Lorenatian honeywine. With a broad smile, he held it out to the peasant before him. “How about, I wager this bottle of Lorenathia's finest, for...” he rubbed his chin, pretending to decide what he wanted, “...lets say, your card deck?”

The peasant set the cards down carefully on the wooden table. The grains of each individual piece of wood which made up the table top ran in opposite directions of its neighbor. There were deep scratches here and there in the wood which told stories of countless nights of rough use. The peasant scratched his head, then reached out to grab the bottle of wine. Alvinar let him take it graciously, he knew this was a rare commodity in this area. The peasant turned the bottle over and over in his hand, then held it up to the light streaming in from the doorway. Behind them, one of the men at the other table had noticed the bottle of fancy spirits, and was pointing excitedly at Alvinar and the man across from him.

The peasant set the bottle down carefully, and pushed it across the table to Al. He frowned slightly. “Gee, mister, I don't know...” he said, rubbing his mustache in thought, “This is the only deck o' cards I got, but that is a mighty fine bottle of wine...”

“Yes, it is! It is about three years old, I've been holding on to it for quite some time now, but I really have had a hankering to play some cards lately, and that's the only thing of value I have to bet.” Alvinar admitted happily, hoping the man would agree.

After another moment's pause for thought, the man finally nodded. “Olright, then.” he said again, and went about shuffling the deck.

Now, Dragon's Bluff is a simple game to learn, but relatively hard to master. To begin with, in a normal game, each player would have to buy in. Seeing as the only things on the line were a bottle of wine and a deck of cards, that would be the only bets placed in this particular game. The peasant dealt three cards to both Alvinar and himself. The deck holds forty-two cards; four suits which contain numbered cards of one through ten, and then two extra cards, the red dragon card which “burns” your hand, effectively making your hand not worth anything, and a black dragon card, which was “wild” and could take the place of any card in the deck.

At this point in the game, each contestant would get a chance to pass (as in, not place a bet but not withdraw, either), raise (bet more than the previous bet, or open betting for this hand), match (match the same bet as before), or withdraw (discard your hand and forfeit any previous bets). Once a player raises, then each player after will either have to match or withdraw, though there is a chance for all players to pass, which would lead to the next round of the game without any new bets. Again, since the only thing up for grabs in this game was the bottle of wine and the deck of cards, the two players had to pass by default.

Al looked down at his hand thus far. Of his three cards, he was doing as good as anyone could hope to at this point in the game. He had three fours: the four of swords, the four of maces, and the four of bows. All he needed left was a four of spears and he'd have the second highest scoring hand possible, pretty much cementing his victory. He looked over at the peasant across from him. The man wore a somewhat dim expression on his face as he stared down at the cards in his own hand. Good sign, Al thought to himself. Out loud, he said, “Alright, my good man, I shall pass.”

“Me too.” came the peasant's reply.

The next phase of the game would be the end phase. Each player would receive two more cards, to complete their hand. Once they received their cards, they could pass, raise, match, or withdraw again, and once all the raising and matching was concluded, the remaining players who did not withdraw would show their hands, and the highest scoring one would win the pot.

The peasant picked up the deck of cards, and slid one to Al. Alvinar picked it up calmly and glanced down at it. His heart jumped up into his throat as he saw he had the four of spears. His outward expression did not change, however, he still wore his nearly present grin, though the other player was hardly watching him. After he dealt himself a card, he dealt Alvinar his final card. Al picked this card up, just as calmly. It was a 10 of swords, nothing helpful, but it didn't hurt any, either.

“Alright!” Alvinar said happily, as always, once the dealing was done. “Lets see what you've got!”

The peasant laid down his cards in the order he held them in his hand: six of swords, three of swords, four of swords, seven of swords, and five of swords. Alvinar almost had a heart attack. A straight flush. The best hand in the game. He angrily placed his cards upon the table, four of swords, four of maces, four of spears, four of bows, ten of swords. Upon placing his cards down, however, he saw the peasant's face drop.

“Well, darn,” the peasant mumbled, “I guess you've won. I didn't even have a single, lousy pair.” He sighed and got up to leave.

Alvinar sat there, staring dumbfounded down at the cards in front of him, as the peasant left the building. He couldn't believe his luck! The poor fool didn't even know how to play the game! He finally had a deck of cards, and a way to make some real money before the tournament could begin.

 

[LittleBoots]

The Life and Times of Gaetas Rhodymwnthos, Mad Kyriotes of Halfwall

Cold. Clear. Silent. Free. There'd been a scream down the road, a child perhaps, or a woman. Three men, one on the ground with the woman, two watching, backs to the wood. An error in judgment. Not your place, he said, not your business, keep to the wood and the task at hand! No, damn it! A scream, the corpse of a man, a dead horse, an idle wagon. Three men and a length of rope. The one on the ground was tying her up, the other two mocking him. Swords sheathed - another lapse. Three paces away. He closed in two and told himself it wasn't just for a moment's rest.

The first had no chance. Left hand to cradle his head, the right, closed, for a swift blow to temple, dead before he hit the ground. The second would turn to look, and meet the right elbow flying back immediately from one blow into another. Break his nose and he'll reel for a moment, too dazed to draw his sword (damned fool was no soldier, starving farmers-turned-brigands have no battle sense, with his hand to his nose and not his blade - much good that'd do you). As he arches back, a strong blow to the gut with the left will bring him back forward, then, rising, bring the right knee up and into the bloody mess that was his face. The third'll be up by now, running if he's scared, drawing his sword if he's dumb. Thugs never are very bright. A wild high chop, lack of training exacerbated by fear and shock, easily dodged, down and to the left, building tension in the leg to spring back into a hard strike to the elbow to stun his swordarm and a blow to the throat to finish him off. From first to last was no more than twenty seconds, and the woman had not yet stopped screaming. The sight of a tattooed half-elf standing over three fresh corpses had he strangest effect - namely, she continued screaming.

Almost too late, he realized he'd been too hasty, assumed too much. The sound was nearly inaudible, but it was enough. Four men, not three. Stupid. He rolled left narrowly missing the axe's cleave. A child, no more than fourteen, in a wool jerkin. Not a brigand. A son? The axe stuck in the dirt and child looked up from his struggle in horror. Gaetas cocked an eyebrow. This proved too much excitement on top of everything else that'd happened, and the lad passed out. The woman had meanwhile collapsed into incomprehensible sobbing. Unwilling to be caught off guard again, Gaetas waited and listened for moment until he was sure he was alone. He surveyed the situation.

The father was dead, there was no helping that. The horse, not as dead as he'd thought, was nevertheless not long for the land of the living, and he eased its passing. He cut the ropes binding the mother, but she remained incapacitated. He laid her in the wagon, along with the boy, the corpse of the father, and whatever goods the brigands had taken. The scrawny ox seemed no worse for wear, and Gaetas pointed the stubborn creature in the direction of the nearest village and slapped it with the flat of his sword. As if offended, the creature moved grudgingly forward and with luck they'd arrive before too long.

For Gaetas, the calm, the rest was over. Felt good, did it? Fine, its done with, back to our task.

 

[Terrance888]

Chapter 2: The Rangers- Collecting the Shadows

Trehareli wanted to sigh, but he can’t. He has to check on the Winged Cyclopes bar with no record whatsoever of that occurring, and sighing while hiding at the under hang above a customer is generally a bad, bad thing to do.

His arm is aching, but he has learned to ignore that a long time ago. More worrying is a drop of sweat hanging from his nose. If it fell onto the Half-Elven noble… no, the consequences is to horrible to think about. Not only will the existence of the Rivetwood Rangers be revealed, but also he will be thrown out for compromising their secrecy. It took years of training before he was allowed to join special Urban Guard used in operations within Rivetwood itself, as well as Kertus, Aspenarches and Horanor (infact, a small squad is going there right now).

Another bead of sweat joined the first. He tried to –gingerly- to lick it off.

Success!

Failure, Failure, Failure! A drop of droll slipped from his mouth and headed for the front of the Nobleman’s shirt!

The Half Elf, however, leapt back and looked up… to reveal the face of Haedrin! What is the Helven Lord Protector doing in the seedy slums of Rivetwood?

The Lord Protector twitched his eyes to the left, and when Trehareli glanced he saw a little ledge in the overhang which lead to a small storm drain. Like a spider, he quickly leapt across the underpass, flipped upside-down, and skittered into the drain. The shop keeper looked up from his booth, but saw nothing. The Lord Protector dropped a hint about a leaky roof, and proceded to buy whatever he was seeking in that pawn shop. Trehareli finally let himself sigh, and wedged himself a bit more securely in the wet drain. He’ll have to wait longer before he can return and stalk the bar, waiting for the signal

Trehareli took a risk to look out again before the shop closed, and found that the signal (a rather large pile of horse manure) was set up. He hurried back to base to give the news, leaping like two shadows between the buildings and alleyways.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

Night.

The Half Elf went back to the Winged Cyclopes, which is now full of merchants and sailors staying for the night, and chocked full of gossip. Unnoticed (he hoped) he landed on the walls, climbed down to the attic window, and retrieved the message.

Hidden in his cloak, he made his way back to the Ranger Hideout, wary of any followers. He is wary, and didn’t see any.

He isn’t wary enough, and what he didn’t see, can’t hurt him. That badly. Or can it?

Two shadows leapt over the rooftops of Rivetwood.

 

[kkmo]

"It might be wise to speak elsewhere." Aggro was a tall Orc with dark-brown eyes and very little hair. He wore a hazel sheepskin cloak, warm as a nested dragon, and kept his hand near his side, where a short sword dangled. When he walked on the marble floors, his boots creaked and his head swiveled. He had never been in a hall such as this, a far cry from the grungy Goblin tombs of Diedric's Skyhorns. He towered over the Doyme the Dwarf, who moved with such a waddling that Aggro had to keep himself from laughing at the poor soul's stature. As thick-bellied as an ox during winter, Doyme's arms hung tight to his bustling sides, his little belt forming an indent between the two halves of his stalky composition. "Certainly," the Dwarf grumbled, his beardless, fatty face trembling with each syllable.

Doyme led Aggro to a thick wooden door. He stared up at the Orc and motioned his hand for Aggro to stay put by spreading his hand out and moving it forward two or three times. Aggro nodded, and stood still, as Doyme clumsily opened the door. Aggro stood there, hearing some chatter. He was unnerved. His ride to the Koalir had taken more than two weeks. For much of the time, from the inn in Dorn to the tavern in Thelila, Aggro had felt as if someone was following him. As the loremaster pondered his ride to the mountains, Doyme emerged from the door and led him into a small office. There, he met Athon, master of the Green Cloaks. Doyme shut the door. At least feeling somewhat secure, Aggro began:

"Greetings High Mage. My name is Aggro and I come bearing a request from my lord to hire a band of your mages to aid us in combat against the Cult. Will you help us?"

After some discussion, it was agreed that the Green Cloaks would indeed assist Oagramakandi in its war against the Cult. The exact price of the guild's services had not yet been worked out, but the loremaster would remain in the Koalir for a few more days.

Aggro was given a small room in the academy dormitories, free of charge. The room was certainly nicer than other rooms he had come to know over the last several days--not that the loremaster was picky. The room contained a single bed with modest makings, a small, well-kept wooden desk, and an iron chest with a silver clasp. The dormitory structure itself was dimly lit and there were very few students to be found. The loremaster set his belongings on the desk, removed his cloak and books, and sat for a while thinking before the specter of sleep caught up to him.

* * * * *​

The next day was whiter than the one before it. Aggro was scheduled to meet with Athon once more to discuss specifics of pay and mage-class. Doyme came to his quarters to fetch him. They walked down the same hallway once more. The sight of the Dwarf was still fascinating to Aggro: this creature was gluttonous, presumably lazy, and offered very little worth as an individual. As they walked, Doyme was rather loud when he grunted while leading the loremaster, "You won't be sorry. We can conjure up quite the squad for your war!" Aggro stopped in the hallway. It took a bit for Doyme to notice, but eventually he stopped, too. He looked behind him to see the loremaster staring down into his eyes. "It might be wise to speak elsewhere," Aggro urged, as he had yesterday. Doyme piped down and kept walking, with the loremaster following.

When the pair approached Athon's door, Doyme noticed a note pinned to the wood. It read: In the library's High Blessings section. Doyme took the note from the door and gave it to Aggro. "Looks like we'll be going on a little hike."

Truly, the academy was immense. Doyme was not exaggerating when he mentioned a "hike" to the library. At this time of day, students were going to and from classes, carrying books and assortments of supplies. The academy was quite a different place during the daytime hours. It was remarkable to Aggro. The commotion was an interesting look into one of the most famous mercenary organizations in Sekai. If only I had a better guide than this dangerously obese Dwarf, he thought. He began to wonder if the Green Cloaks will actually be worth the money the Kingdom might end up paying for their services. Perhaps the reputation of the guild has been built from glorious battles of old, and they have very little to offer now. Aggro tried not to concern himself too much with the details, and continued to do his duty as loremaster. His entire self and being was dedicated to the Kingdom, and he had learned from the best. The loremaster's greatest task was yet to come: convincing these greedy guildmen to go to war for honor and the safety of Sekai, not for money.

As a small silver bell clattered, the hall suddenly bursted with countless more faces and footsteps. Wooden doors creaked open and closed shut repeatedly. Doyme and Aggro began to slowly make their way through the long, snaking, crowded corridors. Doyme called back and said something to the loremaster, but he could barely hear the short, fat Dwarf. Aggro seemed to tower over most of the students, but two individuals caught his eye. They carried nothing and kept their heads down. Even with their heads lowered, they were quite tall. Their black cloaks were placed over their heads and their hands were hidden within long, draping sleeves. They were walking towards Doyme and Aggro. As they neared, one of them looked up to reveal only white specks within a pitch-black frame. Aggro reached for his sword as a burst of light was sent forth from the strange eyes. The loremaster fell to the ground and rolled. Doyme stood still, and the other students began to shuffle towards the struggle. Some attempted to intervene. Several mage-students began incantations. The two men in black cloaks hovered above the ground, staring forward. Many students found that their bodies could barely move. Aggro kept to the ground, his sword drawn, scooting himself along the cold marble. He looked at the slow-moving students around him and noticed their necks becoming shriveled and littered with wrinkles. They were being strangled. As Aggro peered through the frozen legs of dozens of magelings, Doyme's body fell to the ground and made a loud thud. His eyes and mouth were wide open, but he was certainly dead. Soon after, some of the students began to fall to the ground, their features similar to poor Doyme's.

Aggro looked up and saw the floating figures at an angle. They had begun to move further down the corridor, speaking an unfamiliar tongue. The loremaster continued to crawl on the marble. He began to see several white orbs drifting into the fallen students and even Doyme's fat, deceased figure. The dead began to rise, their eyes black and their breath making mist. They turned towards Aggro and began an approach. Aggro jumped to his feet and prepared an attack. Before he could lay his blade into the cold flesh of the fallen, he heard several voices chanting. Behind him there stood several older mages, their hands turned outward. A wave of pale light poured through the hallway, nearly blinding Aggro as he covered his eyes with his soft sheepskin.

* * * * *​

Meeting with a frantic Athon, Aggro spoke, "They had enough gall to attack in the middle of Fyirmenedd." Athon was nervously flipping through a few books in the library. This was the second time in the history of the Green Cloaks that the academy had been infiltrated and subsequently attacked (the first being a dangerous magical siege by Melgothi blood mages, but that is a different story). This was, however, the first time such a large number of magelings were killed. Aggro could sense that Athon was beginning to fall apart. He attempted to comfort the Human. "Do not worry yourself. I have seen the power of some of your most knowledgeable members. I am impressed." Athon looked at the Orc and looked back down at the book. He closed it suddenly and pulled Aggro to a dark corner near the bookshelf.

"Do you think there are more?" Athon asked. Aggro stared at him, looking slightly down. Athon was not a stupid man. In fact, Aggro believed this man to be wise and full of secrets. Athon re-opened the book he was looking through and skimmed a page. He closed it again.

Athon and Aggro walked together down the same corridor in which Doyme had passed (and risen). Students had begun to attend class again, though there were several sentries posted throughout the hallway. A sign of strength, but will it work? Aggro's lore-reasoning was particularly active since the attack. They came to Athon's office, where they sat in wooden chairs. "I have sent a message to the Dwarves," Athon spoke, his voice somewhat trembling. "It is my sincere belief that more of the Cult's followers are working within Fyirmenedd."

* * * * *​

Effects

There may be agents of Heras-Fel within Fyirmenedd. Athon has cast several wards and enchantments to protect the academy.

Be on the look out, polities of Sekai. Here is the knowledge of the Cult's followers:

The dead-eyes are the undead, but they are not like zombies. They are strangled, with life breathed back into them. They are highly intelligent and capable of fast movements and advanced actions. Again, nothing like zombies. But they are controlled.

The white-eyes are mysterious necromancers.

It is known that a yearly pilgrimage occurs to Terrormine Island. Thousands of necromancers take part in this pilgrimage. However, not all of these necromancers are aligned with the Cult of Heras-Fel, and not all of them agree with (or even know about) the Cult's views or methods. Some are sincerely interested in the pilgrimage. What happens on Terrormine Island every year is not really known by those who are not necromancers, but it is apparently a spiritual experience (there are rumors of ghost-calling, spirit-summoning, human and animal sacrifice, and so on). This pilgrimage seems to have begun now, so various cities and realms all over Sekai should be seeing some necromancers in their street, walking together or solo, on a path headed for the swampy and thick Absent Sea. Not all necromancers look the same, of course. While they commonly wear black or dark clothing to merge easily with the shadows, one could be dressed in white slacks and a nice shirt. But they could still be potentially identified by the direction they are headed, the belongings they carry, how many are traveling together, and so on.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

A Message for Lord Athon of the Order of Green Cloaks

It is with great alarm that we have noticed the infiltration of necromancers of Heras-Fel into your organization. We request your immediate presence at a meeting of the Council.

-King Anerryn Fyirspark

 

[Adrogans]

Aria followed Scribe into the building, it was really one of the larger mansions in Diplomat’s Alley, yet another not so subtle reminder that the King meant what he commanded. As they wandered the sparsely furnished and unoccupied building Aria realized that this delegation was actually surprisingly small. Even if they sent half of it back she had counted no more than three of what appeared to be scribes or aides and ten guards total of which only four seemed to be experienced. And of course the Loremaster himself.

Aria knew she could never travel with such a small delegation. She counted to herself: her personal maids alone would be three in number, with a personal guard of ten now, a cook, a pair of diplomatic aides, and ten servants her ‘small’ party would be at minimum twenty-seven when she included herself. And that wasn’t even mentioning she would be travelling with the first part of an army. And here was this Loremaster Oan in the middle of what was until yesterday enemy territory with only fourteen. Wait Aria noticed a goblin scurry out of sight as they came up the hallway. Okay fifteen. Aria was brave no doubt, but those were odds she would never have bet her life on.

Scribe stopped at the back of the building in front of what appeared to be a rather large office or study. Scribe turned to her and began to give quick instructions on how to talk with the Loremaster. “Now use his title to address him just as we will use yours Duchess. Also we understand you niceties and manners are very ritualistic and ingrained, Duchess you need to understand that we are a rather blunt people and as such do not mean offence it is just our way.”

“Believe me I can understand blunt well, perhaps that’s why his Majesty sent me.” Aria mused aloud. But now that she spoke it she wondered it seems her liege knew far more about her than she expected he would. But surely Duchess Abernay wouldn’t reveal her secrets. That left only Talith and Aria was sure Talith was true to his loyalty. Aria shelved her thoughts as this was not the right time for such disturbing ideas.

Scribe knocked on the door and a gruff but strong voice came from inside. “Enter.” As the door swung open it revealed a heavily muscled orc sitting behind a simple desk writing in a thick book. Aria listened to the rhythmic scratches of his quill on parchment and realized he was writing rather quickly so either he was well taught or had atrocious handwriting. Aria looked into the Loremaster’s eyes as he raised his head and set his quill aside. Well trained and no fool Aria quickly concluded.

Scribe stood aside and motioned for Aria to enter first. She walked lightly using the long silky dress to give off the effect she was floating a dren or so off the ground. She stopped before the desk and gave a slight polite nod of the head for a foreign ambassador who was not nobility. Aria wasn’t sure if he was orc nobility or not in her view all orc’s are by definition not noble. She doubted he would know anyway. The Loremaster returned a nod of the head that was ever so slightly deeper than hers, so she guessed he wasn’t noble but she did know Loremasters played some sort of important function.

“Greetings Duchess Aria. Please sit.” Loremaster Oan waved to a large and rather comfortable looking chair in front of his desk. Aria slid into the cushioned chair and realized this was very well made.

“Greetings Loremaster Oan.”

“We have serious and what I believe may be near impossible business to conclude today.” Loremaster Oan intoned in his deep voice. This man was far more a warrior than Runty, why was he being wasted on scribe work?

“Indeed and we shall of course complete this task because my King has directed I do so. For me to not return with this treaty complete would cost me dearly.” Aria’s eyes quickly and very deliberately whipped towards Scribe for just a moment before focusing on Loremaster Oan once more.

“Frent you’re dismissed I will call if I need you. Keep everyone else away from this room until we com out.” Apparently he got the hint. Aria notched up her appraisal of this orc’s mental abilities further. Frent looked surprised but quickly gathered his note taking supplies he had set down at a little side desk and exited the office.

“Good. I was told you all like to be blunt so now that we are alone let me get a few points to you quickly.” Loremaster Oan showed no reaction if he was surprised or expected this. Aria continued on. “My King has commanded a force of half of our current standing military to aid you. It will take at least the rest of Amin-Nelachir to gather the total forces into one force ready to go on this expedition. He has also decided sending the entire force at one time would be too threatening to your average orc. To avoid this we will join the First Guard and travel north with them at the end of this week.”

“I am surprised your King is moving so fast. And did you say we?” Loremaster Oan looked upset being dictated to by a foreign monarch and especially the despised Elf-King of Madraga.

“Yes I did Loremaster. I said it not my liege.” Loremaster Oan’s forehead came together as his anger built. “He expected you to rush ahead and leave us with someone like Frent in this effort. I however will not risk that result.”

“Duchess you are not my liege, you are in fact only tolerated here because like you I have a mission to complete.” Loremaster Oan’s deep voice almost growled.

“Yes you do and do you think that at the sign of the First Guard crossing the border your people will just sit idly by while a nobody like Frent debates with them and shows them an ‘official document’ those people will likely not even be able to read?” Aria said lightly while she leaned forward appearing to innocently lower her chest into plain view of Loremaster Oan. Aria decided baiting the freakish orc could be fun, make him think she was a sheltered noble weakling elf. All talk no action.

“Duchess what you say does have merit.”

“Good because let’s get another thing clear you hate elves as much as I hate orcs. I saw it on your face yesterday, and from the blood on your palms.”

“Blunt indeed. Fine yes I hate you elves, I was sure you would flat out deny our request. I am sure you will turn on us at an opportune moment.” Loremaster Oan spat back at her.

Aria daintily leaned back and began to twirl her hair on a finger. “Yes so lets just be open about it between you and I then. You travel with me to make sure we have no ‘accidents’ and I will vent at you and you alone. This will allow us both to keep the peace between our forces and your people as we travel to aid you.” Aria delivered in her sweet girlish voice.

“I see, you have thought this through.” Loremaster Oan leaned back and looked at her with eyes unclouded by prejudice for the first time when looking at an elf. “You are no idiot, drop the act I saw you outside with Tas. Please.”

Aria nodded and sat properly. “You are right I am not an idiot and neither are you. Hate me all you want just as I hate you but I will complete my mission and I have a far better chance of that with you travelling with me than Frent.”

Loremaster Oan nodded. “Fine I will join you. But only until I have other orders.” The Loremaster looked at Aria in silence for about a minute before asking, “How old are you?”

Aria laughed something she had not expected to do in this meeting. She had expected to have to kill him in self defense. “I will be 46 come mid Amin-Sakir. What a fine way for a new Elven Duchess to spend her birthday huh? In the middle of a military encampment surrounded by necromancers and their dead toys who want me dead as well. And allies who would love to rip my limbs off slowly and laugh at me as they do.” Aria leaned forward and placed head slightly tilted upon the backs of her hands. She smiled.

Loremaster Oan would always remember that smile reminded him of a striped plains lion(1) smiling at an unfortunate eebic(2) as it ripped it to shreds. Even if it was for a moment he knew this elf would not be killed easily.

1- A striped plains lion is a big cat that hunts on the northern plains. They are a dark gold color with thin white stripes that go diagonally across their bodies. They live in small family units of a mated pair and any not fully grown offspring.
2- An eebic is a small antelope that lives in huge herds on the northern plains. They are the favored prey of the striped plains lion.