Sekai II: The Third Age

[Luckymoose]

Missy Arrives in Aswarol

“There it is, Missy.” Gildroy spoke with a new found confidence as they rode out of the forest. Before them the city of Aswarol stood in all its magnificence, its buildings clustered together without a visible plan stunned Missy. Seeing the houses stacked on other houses fueled her climbing instincts. She couldn't wait to explore the ins and outs of this marvelous city; so much adventure lay before her eyes.

“This is amazing.” She said, pointing her fingers at all the sights. Their steed came to a steady trot across the open meadows. They were approaching a few outlying farms with fields bare from the winter chill. “How many people live here?”

“Quite a few, I believe, more so than Cocuvy by a good margin.” He wasn't particularly sure of himself on these types of figures. He'd never been one for statistics. “Whatever the number, you should be safe here, at least for a while. We'll go to the monastery and find you a bed to sleep.” Her belly growled. “And a hot meal.”

“Anything would be better than those damned crackers we've been eating.”

“Those 'crackers' are very important in my church.”

“Oh...”

“They are modest.”

“And flavorless.”

“You are young, Missy, and have not yet seen the world as it truly is.”

“I, uh, don't know what that means?”

“You're not supposed to.”

“Oh, that makes – OH MY GOSH LOOK!” Missy pointed at a small fenced in area next to farm building.

“What?!” Gildroy pulled the reins, stopping his horse. “What is it?” He said in a fright.

“Piggies! Wook at duh piggies! Dey are so cuwte. I could just eat dem up. Om nom nom.”

With a sigh of relief, Gildroy nudged his boots and started his mount up again. “Pigs?”

“I know right.” She bit her lip at the cuteness of piglets rolling in the mud, their adorable faces were almost too much for her to bare. “We had pigs at my first orphanage, they are better than dogs.”

“Nevertheless, would you kindly tend to your voice?” He grumbled. “These past three weeks have kept me on edge.”

“I'm sorry.” She continued to make faces at the piglets as they passed, keeping her vocalizations to a minimum. “What's this place we're headed to?”

“House of Saint Ambrus. A monastery on the shores of the Tealstone, in the north center of Aswarol.” Gildroy's hand raised in to point in the general direction. “That way.”

“What's there?”

“Sisters of the church, devoted caretakers of the poor and downtrodden. They make the best beef stew you've ever tasted.”

“Stew? Pinch me, I'm dreaming!”

Before them lay the crowded afternoon streets of Aswarol, filled with people of all castes, doing all number of business. Cobblestone roads paved the way for incoming traffic and kept the streets clean, but did nothing for the stench of the working animals. Piles of fecal matter on street corners, shoveled by young boys and girls attempting to earn a piece of bread, burned Missy's unaccustomed nostrils. Everything she had enjoyed about Cocuvy was amplified before her eyes. Gildroy waved his free hand at onlooking citizens as they passed by, now Missy had begun to assemble a greater picture in her mind of how these towns worked.

“The church is important to these people.”

“Yes, faith holds us all, hand in hand, through this life.”

“Is everyone here a believer like you?”

“Most. There are some who have yet to find their path on this world, and even others who have chosen entirely different ones. The teachings of Esalos are very specific about judgment of others in this regard. They will come to the light if they so choose, but it is not our place to force our will upon others.”

Their journey took another quarter hour to complete, bringing them in front of a single story and rather old stone building. Despite the time of year, gardens were green and lush within the low lying stone walls around the building, with flowers of all colors livening up the dreadful chill of mid-winter. Several middle aged women, dressed very conservatively in dark blue robes and small, round cloth hats, were tending to the plants with abundant care. Gildroy pulled their horse up to the iron bar fence that connected the stone roadway with the gardens of the monastery and hopped off, gesturing to Missy to do the same as he gently ran his fingers through the horses mane.

She was immediately overcome with the same warmth that had kept her through the frozen nights in the forest, feeling the radiant heat pouring out of the monastery. She knew now how the gardens were so beautiful in this season, and was truly amazed. As Gildroy handed the horse's reins off to a young boy, he seemed a member of the church based on his attire she noted, Missy leaned over the low stone wall for a better look into the gardens. In one corner she noticed something she had never seen before, a small wooden shed with metal mesh on all sides, and inside she could see the fluttering wings of several dozen pigeons.

“Excuse me ma'am,” She coughed attempted to get one of the ladies to notice her. “What are those birds for?” One of nuns looked up from her work in the soil and smiled at Missy.

“Why, young lady, they are messenger pigeons of course.” She grabbed a small, dirty cloth and brushed the damp soil from her petite hands. “Would you like to see them?” She said as she stood up, her old bones seemed weak and her movements were slow and careful.

Missy looked to Gildroy for permission, his nod was enough to send her into the gardens in a cheerful skip. “I would love to!” She hesitated for a moment before the nun, sheepishly asking “Do they bite?”

“Only if you deserve it.” The nun chuckled, “My name is Meredith. What is yours?”

“Missy.” They each smiled at each other, with Meredith offering her hand in a welcoming arch over Missy's shoulder to lead her to the pigeon coop. Gildroy continued to chat with the young boy that had been tying up his horse to a post near the wall, but was shortly interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Gildroy?” Said the very warm voice of an older man approaching Gildroy and the boy, he walked with a limp, and his shoulder length hair and beard, once blond, had become almost entirely gray with age.

“Kolya?” A huge grin came across Gildroy's face at the sight of his old friend. “I had no idea you were in Aswarol.” They both reached out for a short, but affectionate hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Don't you know?”

“Know what?”

“The Duke's called for all arms of the church to be at the ready by first thaw.” A short series of coughs temporarily choked him, a quick fist thump to the chest helped him clear up. “We're going to war.”

“War? When was this decided? Against who?”

“Last month a council of church leaders and nobility met in confidence with Ralas. The Medisid are advancing north, against our prior treaties, and are attacking Esalosian people.”

“A crusade?”

“Your first! Exciting, is it not?”

“Coming from you that sounds unbelievable. You've told me the horror stories of the last war.”

“This old limp is partly to blame on a Meddy's arrow, right to the knee.” He slapped his knee and laughed, but his face showed his concern for such conflict. “They'll want you back in Cocuvy within the week, I'm certain of it.”

“I have business to attend here.”

“That girl, huh?” They turned to watch Missy on the opposite side of the garden, tossing seed to the birds and playing with the Meredith. “What kind of trouble did she get you in, Gildroy?”

“I saved her life in Cocuvy. She's a thief and stray by all accounts, no family.”

“Orphaned? Shame.”

“I can't just abandon her. She has a few very dedicated individuals trying for her life. She is far too inexperienced to survive on her own.”

“What did she do?”

“Murder, accidental she claims, but either way a terrible sin that she almost paid her life for.”

“What do you believe?”

“She's kind and young, her innocence may be tainted but it is not yet lost. I swore her safety by Esalos.” Koyla patted Gildroy on the back to comfort him, letting out a audible sigh in the process.

“Her life is just as special as any other, but we have a duty to the people as a whole.”

“I am her only friend.”

“You've done right by her, Gildroy, and no one would claim otherwise. Your heart is strong and guides you well, but thousands of others suffer worst fates by the day elsewhere. We have a duty to protect those that cannot protect themselves. One life is a gift, but a thousand is a miracle.”

“What are you suggesting I do?”

“I cannot guide you. God does not open the door, he merely shows you where it is, and when you attempt to open it, you find it is locked. Our lives are like her skills in a way. To open the lock you must manipulate and fiddle with numerous pins, each case is unique and requires differing amounts of our patience and love. She is but one pin in your lock. By bringing her here you have put her in place -”

“To move on to the next.”

Koyla smiled and rested his hand on Gildroy's shoulder, “I'm staying in the barracks for the time being. Don't linger too long here, we'll need you when the time comes.” He noticed Gildroy's eyes were locked on Missy, who was now throwing seed in the air and dancing like a child in the swirl of pigeons fluttering about. “It is best to not get too attached. Our kind can't possibly mix with hers for very long, for fear of corruption from the path. She is safe here.”

“I hope.”

 

[Adrogans]

City of Madraga

Talith sat in the corner of the tavern watching the comings and goings to distract his mind. How much longer could they maintain the charade? Events were unfolding so fast and knowing his liege’s mind she was beginning to place the clues together to make a story. How far do they let her go on until they revealed the truth? What happens if she forms her own flawed conclusions? He knew what had happened to her, and he was one of only two people who his liege had ever actually told the truth to. Not that he would have known she was telling the truth since she lied without any of the usual signs except for the fact he already knew what had happened and the results.

A man wearing travelling leathers and a forest green cloak entered the tavern and headed to the corner sitting at the small table to the left of Talith. The man ordered an ale from the rather pretty tavern wench who almost magically navigated the crowded tavern without touching or letting a patron touch her. Always just a hair’s breadth shy of contact. She quickly returned to the man in the cloak and placed a mug in front of him and smiled appreciatively at the coin he tossed her way. She sauntered off into the crowd to flirt her way to more wealth.

“Rous,” the man nodded ever so slightly covering the action by taking sip from his mug. “I have a letter for Duchess Aria. Captain Garit of her Silver Guard knows you and will vouch for you. And the Duchess will know my hand writing once she sees it.” The man again silently nodded and sipped his ale. “See to it this is not taken by anyone but her hand. Even if you should fail our agreement stands for your loyalty to ensure that the missive is destroyed rather than taken.” Rous tapped the table in a subtle but distinct pattern indicating understanding. Talith continued talking all the while without looking at Rous. “The missive is in a small sealed cylinder, you know how to operate it and so does the Duchess. I have taught no one else the secret. May the gods speed you on your journey and return you safe.” Talith passed the cylinder to Rous under the cover of getting up and leaving the tavern their cloaks hiding the handoff.

As Talith left the tavern, Rous silently continued to sip his ale and pulled out a pendant from around his neck. He opened it with a barely audible click and looked at the small portrait of a young boy, no more than ten years old on one side and the other side housed a portrait of a plain smiling woman. He closed it after a moment and replaced it under his shirt. For doing this job Talith promised treatment for his ailing son and support for his wife. Talith always kept his promises thus earning the loyalty Rous never thought he would give anyone in this line of work. Rous wondered why so few spymasters realized that by keeping their word they could build a truly impressive network. Talith certainly wasn’t squeamish, Rous knew from personal experience, but he was certainly not wasteful of his resources. After enough time passed and the tavern minstrel whipped up a lively tune Rous slipped out unnoticed in the crowd.

Talith leaned back and against the wall in the shadows and spotted Rous in the crowd leaving the tavern. Once Talith was certain Rous was well on his way to Duchess Aria he began the long walk back to the Palace in Madraga. Talith walked around trees and saplings careful not to leave signs of his passing. Watching as ever over his shoulder to assure himself he wasn’t being followed. Of course it was even more necessary with the undead and their necromancer masters hiding in Sekai. He traversed the dark forest city of Madraga until he arrived just outside the Palace gates. He removed his cloak and revealed the previously covered uniform of a Palace servant. The guards recognizing him as Yven the senior page let him pass.

He made his way up the covered staircase leading to the Palace proper before setting off down the overly complicated halls designed to confuse invaders, a remnant from the early days when Madraga was merely another city state in the Great Forest Home of Aiakal. Now Madraga was the power of the Forest Home of Aiakal and still all additional Palace construction was designed around the possibility of invasion. The Trien dynasty was not willing to simply accept their supremacy; they fought to maintain it on all battlefields, politics, and trade regarding the Aiakal kingdoms and tribes. Finally arriving before the door he had sought Talith made a secret gesture to the Silver Guards posted in the hall and they nodded recognizing him as a personal servant of the King. Talith knocked on the door.

“Your Majesty your servant Talith responding to your summons.”

“Let him enter.”

Talith waited as the door was unlocked and the Silver Guard inside waved him in. Talith nodded to General Winre. The leader of the Silver Guard inclined her head in polite response and proceeded to shut and lock the door behind Talith as he entered the chamber. The King and Queen sat around a small table, obviously working for the future of Madraga without the noise of advisors. Talith kneeled before them.
“My King and Queen I am here as ordered how may I serve.”

The Queen in her light and clear voice, like a finely tuned dulcini, spoke to Talith. “Talith, has Rous gone to fulfill his duty?”

“Yes my Queen.”

“Then Duchess Aria should be as safe as we can make her. I wish we did not need to send anyone to the orcs, but we must.” The King spoke softly and the creases of worry upon his face clearly visable. Talith thought they must be getting a lot of use lately.

The Queen took a moment and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She closed it apparently unable to say what she wanted to. Either way Talith was fairly certain he knew what it was but manners prevented him from acknowledging the moment.

“Leave us then, make the arrangements as you see fit. And report to Duchess Abernay.” Commanded the King. Talith bowed deeply and strode from the room to obey.

Southeast of Dhirum

It had been a quick trip. He was always used to travelling light and moving swiftly through the wilderness, especially in the thinner forest of Koani, unlike the Aiakal it was no longer a Great Forest Home. It had been thinned out due to the lack of balance from the loss of the Elves who once lived here. Rous continued to speed through the woods unimpeded or slowed by the trees since his mounts had been raised in the thicker Aiakal Forest Home.

Rous was born a hunter and would always be a hunter. Thankfully the army he sought could never hope to match his speed in travelling, as with any larger group when compared to an individual in good shape with a good horse and a spare mount to switch off when the other grew tired. Soon he could see the clear signs that the army was not far ahead. Rous dismounted and began to walk forward towards the first ring of guards he was sure were out there.

Rous slipped past the first line of guards around the encampment. It was simple when one was raised as a hunter in the Aiakal Forest, it was said the Sistinack (1) Hunters could hide on your dinner table and be unseen if they wanted to. He approached the second line and decided they were too close together to slip past unaided, especially with his mounts. So he drew up the well of power within himself and used it to conceal him and tied up the steeds in a small concealed area surrounded by small saplings and large bushes. He felt as always a slight chill when using his power.

Rous then walked slowly past a drowsy guard into the main camp of the Madragan First Guard. Once inside the encampment he hid himself and removed the magic. Now he just had to act like he belonged here and began to walk straight and tall with a purpose. As he approached the center of the camp he began to hear a hauntingly beautiful melody being played on a dulcine. It was a tribute piece composed centuries ago to mourn the passing of the previous King. As he walked towards the audience gathered around the dulcine player he began to quietly push his way through the crowd to try and find the Duchess who would surely be front row to such a perfectly used instrument. He stopped once on the inner edge of the standing audience and began scanning the listeners only to stop as soon as he realized the dulcine player was the Duchess.

She stood in a purple dress, finely tailored to accentuate her slight curves and focus all upon her exquisite face. Her head was tilted to the side in the traditional pose of a dulcine player while slowly turning herself in a circle so all could see her play at least for a moment until she continued turning. Rous was surprised. He had been told that she played the dulcine and dulcini, but he never imagined she would do so in public, let alone for anyone in the Madragan First Guard to come and listen. He also didn’t understand why she chose this piece to play, while it was universally accepted as one of the best works composed for the dulcine, it was sorrowful and full of loss for one of the greatest leaders Madraga had ever known. This was not a piece meant to inspire soldiers to new heights, it was a piece to mourn something.

Finally Duchess Aria played the final long note and the crowd gave her a rousing chorus of cheers and applauding. Someone moved over towards Duchess Aria and Rous guessed it was General Yenis. His words quickly confirmed it was.

“Thank you Duchess for such a performance, and thank you for playing our requests. But now we must return to our duties and prepare for another long day full of exciting marching!” The crowd playfully groaned at this, but began to break up nonetheless. Rous was even more surprised the Duchess not only played for the soldiers, she took requests as if a tavern minstrel? He wondered for a moment and then saw some of the faces on the soldiers and heard snippets of their conversations as they passed him and it dawned on him. By doing a simple performance and respecting the soldiers enough to take a few requests, because from what he heard she only took two requests at the end of her performance, she had begun to win over the Madragan First Guard. Not just the officers, but the common soldiers. Talith had told him she was slick and subtle, but he doubted any other noble would have lowered themselves to do this. Which he supposed made it even more effective.

The gathering had now thinned enough that he could approach Captain Garit. “Captain, I am here to deliver a missive and to work at the pleasure of Duchess Aria.” Rous showed the message cylinder. Captain Garit looked at him a moment and nodded then brought him to Duchess Aria who was talking with General Yenis and a few senior officers, and an orc who could only be the Loremaster.

“General really there is no reason to thank me again, I played at first simply to spend an evening practicing for my own enjoyment. Then a few officers nearby heard it and came over so I invited them to sit and eventually it just grew from there.” Duchess Aria smiled gaily and continued to work over the dulcine to make sure it was in perfect condition.

“All the same you didn’t need to do it, let alone simply invite whoever wanted to come to listen. That crowd was much larger than even I had expected once I heard what was going on. Whatever happens know that the senior officers and myself are grateful for the diversion you provided the troops. They needed something to break up the monotony.” General Yenis said to the approving nods of his senior officers and the orc.

“Yes while entertaining it was very different from what I am used to in music. And now I must return to the Legion and prepare for tomorrow. It will only be a few days before we reach Dhirum.” The orc inclined his head and then left with his stoic guards.

Rous and Captain Garit approached Duchess Aria as she began to head back to her personal space in the camp. Captain Garit went up along side Duchess Aria and whispered something in her ear that Rous could not hear. She turned around and stood for a moment looking Rous over appraisingly. Apparently satisfied that whatever she was checking for was either not a problem or positive, Rous could not tell from that wooden face, she approached him with Captain Garit alongside.

Rous kneeled and presented the cylinder. “Duchess I come on behalf of Talith to deliver his message and pledge myself to your service in his stead.” She took the cylinder and deftly opened the cylinder without triggering the trap within. She pulled out the couple of sheets and began to read them silently and motioned for Rous to stand. He waited silently as Duchess Aria read the three sheets still without changing her expression even a little. It was hard to imagine this was the same woman who just moments ago had been smiling and appearing happy and cheerful and playing the dulcine to a crowd of troops. Finally she finished the document after rereading a second time and looked at Rous again.

“So you are Rous?” He nodded confirmation. “Good then we have much to discuss. I am worried about the rumblings of more necromancers in Madraga though he cautions me that there will be far more here and to be on our guard.”

“Yes Duchess, there have been no new incidents, but reports from the Sistinack tribes that they have killed some undead scouts and even one idiot necromancer. They do not think many will come this way due to the other natural dangers that deep in the Aiakal Forest Home.”

“Ah you are from the Sistinack I take it?” Again Rous nodded confirmation. “Yes while we in Madraga do call the forest home and continue to respect its ways, we long ago stopped calling it the Great Forest Home of Aiakal, the tribes have not.”

“Yes the tribes are slow to change.” Rous commented.

“Fine now shall we retire and you can advise me on what these ‘lessons’ will be tomorrow?” Rous nodded once more and bowed as he turned to leave.

“Oh and do not forget your steeds, being them in we will see to their needs for you.” Rous was startled he had hidden them well how did they find them?

 

[Terrance888]

Chapter 2: The Glenoak Grandeur-Northward Ho! Part 1


The icy wind blew again, and the ship shuddered in its wake.

Captain Steven kept his eye out for the port-city of Horanor. He passed by the Taiford Islands, but with the unpredictable weather of the Kiorman he dared not risk to land at the harbor. No rebel responded to his signal, so he left. Simple as that.

In the distance, he can make out a light house. “One two… three” he counted as the light blinked from a turning device. He turned to the navigator. “DotDashDot signal over here!”. The navigator’s thin fingers held a giant magnifying glass, which he used to scan the nearby islands. “The Horanor Sandbars! The port city is near!”

Steven swept his sea glass again, viewing the horizon for any pirates. Most of them have learned to not mess with a Living Ship, but there are reckless Pirate Lords out there. He thinks. “Be on Guard” he commanded through the communications knot. Sailors and Marines kept their weapons extra close, and loosened their sheaths

The Grandeur sailed above the Sand Bar. Although it only has a limited ability to hold itself together out of water, it has numerous roots shifting in whatever direction the Ship heads, and these roots helped it push right through the low sand bar, saving them an hour or so in navigation.

Drifting pass the point of the Lighthouse, there they saw, sprawling from the edge of the docks up a hill, their destination.

Horanor.

Just as they entered the port, and as Captain Steven dressed the line…

“Ah, Captain Steven!” a voice cried out from the docks. “That’s odd” he thought, “This was supposed to be a secret mission.” The captain peered over the side of the ship to see a man waving at him. “I have a message for you!” cried the strange fellow, grinning in the chill.

“What is it?” the Steven asked. Suddenly, The man threw the message bag at the captain. He caught it and then tore apart the seals that held the bag together and examined its contents.

It was dominated by a large envelope labeled, “Top Secret New Orders”, a note saying “Three Half-elves and a human will disappear with the money. Ignore them.”, A listening gem and, strangest of all, a large pie from his mother.

“What,” he said.

“Indeed, terrible times all around, sir,” the man said, nodding understandingly. “I have also been contracted to accompany you, sir, as protection. May I come in? This winter cold is not doing any wonders for my skin. My name is Maelon, by the way, sir.”

Captain waved is hands, and promptly dropped anchor and allowed the stranger in. After all, his orders told him to.

Hmmm... The pie was still hot.

 

[bestshot9]

A Change of Plans

Seph was not a happy man. He used to be a happy man, but that was before recent events took place. He had joined the city guard five years ago. He worked hard, sucking up to the right people, to be promoted to a section chief at the Zengia Gate. This was nearly unprecedented in the history of the Kertus City Guard. By the time anyone was promoted to section chief, they usually had seven or more years in service. Seph had been considered, by some at least, almost prodigal.

Of course, this quick rise to power very soon went to his head. Being relatively young and in charge of other guards (a few who were actually older than himself), he believed he had to act tough to earn their trust and respect. It didn't help that he enjoyed being a bully, that was one of the reasons he had joined the Guards in the first place, but now that he had his own command, as small as it was, he felt he had to be even harsher on people.

And so it was that one day, a few months ago, he came to meet the beginning of his downfall. The “monk” who looked like a filthy beggar had beat him near to death in front of his very own guards, without even breaking a sweat. This, of course, left a very bad impression on him for his superiors. They began wondering if it had been right to promote him so fast while he was so inexperienced. After months of recovery, however, he was given the chance to return to his post. However, he could not afford another “incident” such as happened before.

And so it was his dumb luck that, during his first week back on the job, some fool bard had come upon the gate during his shift. Seph was eager to prove that the previous experience had not shaken him, that he could still rough up travelers and prove his superiority. This penniless bard would the perfect person to prove it with. He knew, after all, that every bard was a craven man who could be easily extorted, due to the fact that the only thing they were good for was singing or storytelling, and as such could never stand up to an armed and dangerous foe.

Of course, as it turned out, this bard was the exception to his rather illogical assumption. As he sat on his knees in the middle of the road, hunched over from the fiery explosion of pain emanating from his groin area, he knew he was screwed. He hadn't even been back on the job for a whole week, and he had already suffered another incident. The bard, a bastard as he was, escaped into the city unharmed. Seph, on the other hand, had not only lost the remaining bits of his pride, but he was sure to lose his rank and command. As it turned out, that was exactly what happened. He was summoned to the Guard Chief's office later that day, stripped of rank (the Chief seemed a bit sad about having to do it, at least) and re-stationed to night patrol duty in the Narrows. To call it a setback would be an understatement, this was a job assigned only to fresh guardsmen, or the washouts.

Seph saluted the Chief smartly as he left his office. Outside it was a beautiful day. The air was cold and crisp, the skies clear. Seagulls squawked in the sky above. But the sinking pit in his stomach was all he felt as he lowered his head and headed off, dejectedly, to his new barracks.

------------

Al hadn't had quite the luck he had hoped he would. He was making money, but not nearly enough. He had a little under a week until the tournament started, but he was only up to 27 gold. It wasn't so much his fault, as it was the people he was playing against. Due to his lack of funds, he couldn't stay in the higher class parts of the city betting large sums of cash. Instead, he was stuck in a small, dank tap house somewhere in the Narrows. Judging from the smell, it was close to the sewer-filled river. Or, maybe, it was just the smell of the other gamblers and drunks. The Lord knew they probably had never bathed once in their lives.

The place wasn't too bad. It only cost him two gold a night for a bed. He had to share the room above the tavern floor with three other renters, but as it was, it wasn't too bad. The pillowcase was stuffed with straw, and the wool blanket was ripped and tattered in places, but again, it wasn't too bad. There was a fair amount of lice in the sheets and they smelled of mildew and foul body odor, and if Alvinar kept telling himself that it wasn't too bad, maybe, just maybe, he'd begin to believe it.

It was late at night and the tavern was packed. There were a few good games going, and Alvinar happened to be on a hot streak. He was playing against a couple of dock workers, a blacksmith's apprentice, and two rather unsavory looking individuals who would not speak of their line of work. He had won the past three hands, and was looking at winning this one.

“Barkeep!” he yelled when it was his turn to bet. He placed his cards face down on the table and held up his hands to get the bartender's attention, “Another round for my friends, here!” He gestured to the other players at his table, a big smile on his face. The bartender nodded, and began pouring a pint for each man. The other players glared at him, not impressed. As the beers were passed around, they grumbled a thanks, each hunched over and looking intently at their cards.

“Oh, where was I? Yes, yes,” Alvinar said arrogantly, casually picking up his cards with one hand and pausing to think a moment. “Yes, I believe I will raise you...three gold.” he threw out his bet into the center of the table, with the rest of the money.

“Blast it!” yelled one of the other players, who threw his cards face down on the table. A few other players folded as well. Only two others remained in the game. Alvinar's hand beat both of theirs easily, and he scooped up his winnings. He bought in for the next round. He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, cocky, and sipping his warm, frothy beer.

---------

Seph patrolled the streets in the Narrows along the canal. The stench of dead fish and fecal matter assaulted his nose, and the cold black air bit his exposed skin. He had wool on underneath his mail armor, as did his fellow guardsman, to stave off the chill. It kept him warm enough, except for his exposed face which was flush with color from the cold.

This was his third night in the Narrows. It was terrible. There was nothing glamorous about this job, as the Zengia Gate had been. At the Gate he had been feared and respected. People did what he said, most of the time, anyways. In fact, the rich merchants and nobles would thank him for the necessary job he was doing, protecting them and the city. But here, in this run down slum, people watched him with uneasy, untrusting eyes. It was enough to make a man almost feel ashamed to be wearing the colors of Kertus. He always kept a hand on his sword, ready for anything.

“Damn! It is colder than a witch's titties out here!” declared his partner, Mert. Hot steam rose from his mouth with every word. Seph nodded in silent agreement. It was damn cold out, and they still had more than a few hours left on their shift. But then, what could he do about it, other than try his best to think of warmer places?

They continued walking a ways, down the deserted street. There was sounds of a scuffle a little ways away, but the two men ignored it. They knew it best to not get involved in anything going down in the Narrows unless it was absolutely necessary. Best to pretend things weren't happening then to get wrapped up in someone else's affairs and lose your head.

As they walked down the canal road, they passed a few run down stores boarded up for the night. Eventually, however, they reached a building still lit up. The glow of fire from inside shone through the thin paper which acted as windows. The glow was friendly and inviting on such a cold, winter night. Mert stopped next to the door and turned to Seph. “Reckon we should stop in there to make sure there is no breach o' the peace? Eh?” He grinned and winked. Seph agreed wholeheartedly and the two men opened the front door.

They were met by a blast of warmth, pipe smoke, the smell of body odor, and laughter and swearing. The little tavern was packed with dockworkers and other Narrows residents. Nearly every seat in the house was taken. Seph casually glanced over the occupants, who seemed to take little notice to his entrance. He didn't pay any real attention to what he was looking at, he was just happy to get out of the cold. He began to make his way towards the fire to warm up even more when his eyes caught sight of the one person in the room who was obviously not a fisherman, dockworker, or slummer. The man stuck out like a sore thumb, and Seph immediately recognized him for who he was.

---------

Al only half noticed the two guards enter the tavern. Sitting at the far side of the room, he saw the men enter, but didn't pay much attention to them. He was too busy getting ready to win yet another hand. As he was scrapping an armful of winnings from the center of the rough wooden table to his side, he glanced up at the guards one more time to see the mad eyes of Seph glaring at him.

Seph was weaving between the tightly packed tables and chairs. He was already drawing his sword, and he had upon his face the most foul expression of hatred Alvinar had ever seen. And Alvinar had seen many such expressions after running into the fathers (or husbands) of the women he had bedded, the look of the defeated gamblers whom he often took advantage of (such as he was doing tonight), or the angered look of people who had purchased bunk cure-alls Alvinar promised were the real deal, in an attempt to make a quick coin or two. But none of those looks could match the one glaring at him now.

“Well, gentlemen,” Al said, quickly jumping to his feet and pocketing his winnings, “I just realized the time and I must be going now. I wish you all a good rest of the game.” He turned to leave, hoping he could escape before Seph reached him, but he found he could not move. The scrawny toothless man next to him had a firm grip on his dark green long sleeved wool shirt (the rest of the patrons wore roughspun or even burlap clothing, all of a boring gray or brown color, while Al had to always look his best).

“Hey just where do you think you're going? The game ain't over yet, sit down and play. We want a chance to win back our money. What are you, a cheat?!” he accused angrily.

Al jerked his arm free, checking to make sure the man had not messed up his sleeve. Annoyed, he quickly replied, “No sir, I can assure you I certainly am no cheat. Had I been cheating I wouldn't have won nearly as many games as I did. A smart cheater knows to throw a few games to keep people unaware. Now, I told you I have to leave. I have an urgent matter to attend to which requires my attention elsewhere.”

He quickly skirted around the table, to the back wall. Seph closed in on him, his partner stood near the fireplace watching, confused. Seph shot him an angry look after he called out Seph's name. Seph motioned impatiently towards the door, the only way in or out of the tap room, and the other guard moved quickly to position, confused, but ready to stop Al from escaping.

Al quickly ran through the options in his head. He could try and fight his way out. There was only two guards. However, he didn't know how many of the patrons would jump in to help him, or to hinder him. He obviously had not made many friends at his Bluff's game. They were sure to help the guards out if it meant they'd get their money back. No, he couldn't count on them for help. The others seemed to care more about playing their own games then meddle in the affairs of the guards and their target.

He had to choose. He could try another escape, he had done so successfully once before against this very same guard. But would he be able to do it again? Obviously Seph was set on capturing, if not killing, Al. The other guard probably didn't know about Seph and Alvinar's past together...if he could get passed Seph, he could probably get out of this situation with his heart still beating.

It wasn't hard to outrun Seph again. He faked like he was going to run to the left of the tavern floor, and then sprinted to the right, jumping over tables and knocking cards, coin, and cups all over the place. The bartender and gamblers screamed out in protest, Seph screamed out in anger. Seph's partner fumbled for his sword, pulling it out and holding it across himself just in time to meet Al. The man blocked the way too well, and there was no where else to go. As Al saw Seph plowing through the rest of the tables, chairs, and patrons, he decided to call it quits.

He turned his attention to Seph's partner, and raised his hands. “Alright chaps,” he said calmly, “You got me. Take me away.”

The look on Seph's face was ugly and disgusting. Al couldn't tell if it was gloating or fury as Mert took him into custody and marched him off to jail.

------------

All during this fiasco in the tavern, a cloaked, hooded figure sat in the far back corner of the room, sipping a drink alone. Hidden in shadow, the stranger had gone unnoticed during their entire time spent in the bar. No one noticed the figure intently watching Alvinar, nor did they pay any mind when, shortly after Al was hauled out of the building, the stranger got up and slipped out behind them.

 

[Adrogans]

Duchess Aria walked out of the cabin that had been built for her at this new encampment outside Izkili, Rous at her heels as always now. She breathed in the cold air and it slashed at her lungs bringing her fully awake. The march here had been longer than expected because the Madragan First Guard tried to stay in or along forests as much as possible and were avoiding populated areas to prevent conflict. That made any sort of extended stay pleasant. Even if it was among Orcs and Goblins. Aria still found it strange to address a goblin, well a goblin who wasn’t a merchant, with any kind of respect. They were ignored for the most part in Madraga, allowed to live as long as they caused no problems and stayed away from the general population. This had caused friction. Intersting times mused Aria as she glanced at the large and lonely mountain.

“Duchess, I would like to know if you intend to go through with this plan for sure.” Rous commented after waiting a polite amount of time for the Duchess to order her thoughts.

“Of course I do, ultimately the Silver Guard are temporary for me. They are only a loan while I complete my mission for the King.” Aria turned around and pointed to an open field in the shadow of Skyfather Mountain just inside the barricaded region the First Guard had enclosed. “I want a sturdy and private training hall setup there. I want the walls thick to discourage eavesdropping.”

“What should I explain it as?”

“Call it a meeting hall; we will occasionally use it to host important dinners and such to cover it.” Aria responded quickly.

“Well since it appears we are going to do this I suppose I should list a few candidates from the First Guard, and a few other sources I have heard about as well. Do you care where they come from or what race they are?” Rous asked, dropping his voice a little at the end from caution.

“Yes please do, as for backgrounds I really do not care so long as they are loyal to me.” Aria began to tap her right forefinger on her chin thinking about the second part of the question. Finally she made a decision. “As for race, they would have to be exceptional to be an orc or goblin. Otherwise not really an issue, though to be fair I have never met any of the dwarves but I suppose they can’t be worse than orcs.” Aria laughed quietly for a moment. “Ah worse than orcs? Not very likely is it Rous?”

“Necromancers and Undead.” Rous replied quickly and deadpan.

“Way to ruin a little levity Rous. Even if you are right.” Aria’s face fell back into the expressionless mask she wore for most of her life. “Go get start Rous.” Rous bowed and walked away.

Aria turned and looked the silent Captain Garit in the face. He had realized, as he always did somehow without being told, that she had wanted space to discuss privately with Rous. And she saw on his wooden face the merest hint that he knew she didn’t trust the Silver Guard. They were tools of the King ultimately and while she knew they would fulfill their orders, she was not their true mistress. She signaled for him to come over to her. He approached and saluted her.

“Yes Duchess how may I assist you?”

“I have a few questions.”

“I will Endeavour to answer them to the best of my ability, Duchess.” Captain Garit stood stiffly and with eyes mixed with interest and something else? Confusion, perhaps even regret? Aria was unsure and normally she could read faces very well, which of course was why she learned to be expressionless.

“Fine, what would you do if the King ordered you to harm me?”

“Duchess, the King would nev…”

Aria cutoff the predictable answer. “I am not saying he would, I am saying IF he did what would you, Silver Guard, do?”

“I cannot answer that, firstly because it would not happen, and secondly you have to be a Silver Guard to understand my response.” Captain Garit was visibly disturbed by the question, but once more Aria noted a lack of surprise that it was asked.

“Captain.” Aria let command seep into her voice. “I demand what your action would be.”

“Fine,” Captain Garit showed frustration for the first time in front of Aria and spoke quickly. “I cannot say what each of us would do, but for myself, and I suspect the rest of them, I would kill myself for being unable to fulfill my command from the King and the Silver Guard oath.”

Aria’s violet eyes widened. She had expected him to respond that he would carry out the King’s command or much less likely side with her. She certainly did not expect suicide as a response. Suicide simply made no sense to Aria, nothing in this world was more valuable to her than herself. Aria might have her own code she followed, but she knew when faced with a situation where she had to break it she would take the option that let her live, and if possible get revenge. To adhere to a code so strictly and be so obsessed as to kill oneself.

“You are right Captain I do not understand that response. Fine. The next question is do you report to the King or his agents about me, would any of the Silver Guard do so?”

Captain Garit stifled his anger but spoke through clinched teeth. “No Duchess, that would break the oath we gave you.”

“What about after the King takes you away from me again? Would you tell him what he wants to know?” Aria ignored his anger, in fact she was being blunt to provoke him into telling the real truth not a lie.

Captain Garit still speaking through clinched teeth spoke. “No and he knows we wouldn’t anything we learn about you stays your secrets.”

“Good, last one then.” Aria spread her hands dramatically before her. “Let’s say I was to plan killing someone, the King for instance what would you do?” Aria closed her fists in a violent and sudden motion.

“We would not carry out the mission, but we would not speak of it either. Your secrets are yours. Do you mean to tell me you intend the King harm?” Captain Garit demanded raising his voice to Aria for what would be the first and only time.

“Nope.” Aria answered him and smiled widely. “I simply picked the most extreme situation I could think of to nettle an answer from you. Thanks Captain you have satisfied my curiosity.” He nodded cooling off now that he knew no more offensive questions were going to be directed to him. “And I do apologize for asking you but I needed to ask them.”

“Duchess I wish I could say more but I cannot. Just know the Silver Guard have never and will never break our oath.” He saluted and turned quickly marching away from his charge.

Aria summoned some of her servants to fetch her a chair and painting supplies. Once settled she sat before the blank canvas and began to move the brush. By the time she was done most of the black had been used as had a good bit of white and red. Eventually Rous returned and he came over to where she was sitting on the little hill.

“Here is the first list of candidates I have found. It is rather short as your criteria are high.” Rous looked over her shoulder and stared at the painting. “Is that your design? “

“Yes, please fetch the best Hirati Smith in camp. I have a job for him and wish to hire his services.” Rous nodded and went to fulfill her command.

Aria continued to stare at the painting making minute adjustments and corrections the longer she stared at it. Yes this would do nicely.

 

[Anonymoose]

Wotep was in the dark, damp prison of Kertus. Indeed, as he anticipated, this was the heart of much darkness in this city. So much pain was here, and the only emotion that outweighed that sensation was fear. The prisoners all feared for their lives, but some hid their souls, drooling when he came in, yelling,
"'Ey look at the freshy!"
"E's a beggar!"
"Easy prey here, the night-fight's are gonna chew him up!, haha."

Wotep stoically accepted the jibes and even a few racial slurs. These men were so afraid that they had to resort to aggression. It is the dark family's oldest trick. Fear facilitates for pain through aggression. The guard tossed him into a cell alone. They didn't want him in the general population yet... they had heard what he could do.

In the Kertus prison, there are two wardens. One is the 'day warden' and obviously runs the prison during day hours. The other is a subordinate 'night warden' that effectively runs the prison during the night. There is a high level of corruption in the prison system, and the night warden, resentful of his position and desiring power, has instituted a heinous system of punishment. He regularly pits the prisoners against one another in one of the larger cells. He takes bets from the guards and makes a tidy profit every night, and all it costs him is the life of a prisoner. Of course, this is all before any trial or due process, and he doesn't mind this at all.

The rumors of Wotep's prowess had spread throughout the guards' ranks, and they were eager to see him fight the reigning prison champ, known as 'Big Nel.' A couple of days passed, and the night warden, known by all in his pitiful domain as Warden Callus, indicated he wanted a good fight, and started taking bets, asking,

"We got any good takers for ol' Nel? I'm practically losing money every time he scraps now. We need some fresh talent."

One guard captain told him about the monk, and Callus smiled raunchily. Oh the opportunity. He arranged for the big cell to be cleared and prepared for the fight. Wotep was carried to the new cell and tossed in. He flopped onto the ground like a sack of old flour and simply lay there. There was just nothing better to do. Big Nel came in an hour or so later, and Warden Callus talked to both of them. Callus was familiar with the drill, and ignored the corrupt old guard. He told Wotep,

"You know what you got yourself into yet, beggar? It's time to pay Kertus her due. This is justice 'round here. You gotta give the blood what you took from her... unless you can stop Nel from smearing you on the granite that you lay on. That's how he's earned his life around here."

Nel was a large man, and was used to his position as top prisoner. As the warden left, Nel offered Wotep a deal,

"Hey beggar, I ain't got anythin' against ya, I just want to have my own peace. We can make it quick, if you'd like. One good slap on the granite will have you out like a candle. You won't even feel it, I reckon."

Wotep pondered the odd semi-mercy of the thug. He was trying to end pain? It's like Nel was on the way to enlightenment, and he had found the narrow way by himself. Wotep told him they could avoid the fight altogether, and that nobody could make them fight. They could rebel against the system of pain and fear that was being implemented, and topple the darkness that pervaded this corrupt institution.
Nel laughed. He didn't care about the corruption. He was getting a kickback from the Warden if he made the fights quick and efficient. There was no mercy here.

They sat alone, occasionally speaking for an hour or so before, in the deep dark of the night, the guards all came into the area with the large cell and crowded around. The Warden came to the corner of the cell and yelled an order to begin the fight. Wotep was staunchly opposed to this whole business, and sat on his side of the cell.

"You don't have to do this, Nel. You can take the narrow way. We can stop this now."

"Sounds like you're afraid, little man. Just stand up and take yer beating nice and easy-like." He advanced toward Wotep, who was becoming upset with the necessity for violence in this place, and stood facing the brawler. He assumed a defensive stance, ready for anything. Nel swung a haymaker at Wotep, attempting to end it early. He did, after all, like the guy. Wotep ducked under the wild punch and side-stepped the huge man. He tried reason once more,

"You can avoid this, Nel. The choice you make next could make you a paragon of light, or it will break you. I cannot be responsible for your self-inflicted pain."

Nel looked at him as if he had just realized the error of his ways. He dropped his hands to his side and smiled at Wotep, who dropped his guard. Wotep was elated that Nel had seen the light, but Nel whipped his limp hand from his side, ridiculously fast, aiming to incapacitate Wotep and finish him off with the other hand. Deep to the core of his soul, Wotep was saddened. It was so unfortunate to see the martial potential of this man wasted, not to mention the irredeemable loss of his soul. He caught the right hand and broke it. He reached a knuckle forward to Nel's left collar bone and applied the breaking technique there as well. He crushed Nel's left elbow, and broke the man's nose. Nel cussed and kicked toward Wotep's groin. Wotep caught his foot between his thighs and snapped his femur with a twist. He turned away from the wailing, broken mass on the floor. Wotep wept openly.

The Warden was quite pleased with this turn of events. He waited for the killing blow so he could collect his coin, but the beggar wouldn't do it.

"Finish the wretch off, beggar! It's your job. Do justice's work!"

Wotep moved rapidly to the corner of the cage and grabbed the Warden's collar and pulled his face into the iron bars repeatedly. In a few moments, the Warden's teeth were on the floor and he was crying and bleeding everywhere. The guards laughed after he stumbled out of the room. For some reason the Warden didn't order Wotep's death. Apparently his greed outweighed his pain. An odd thing, really, that greed could outweigh pain and suffering in this place.

Wotep wound up in his old lone cell again, and he enjoyed some solitude for a while, but Kertus's criminal problem is unending, and soon he had to deal with a cellmate. They tossed in a shabby-looking fellow with a surprised look on his face. The guards misunderstood Wotep and assumed he would enjoy killing whoever they tossed into a cell with him, and one of the two guards, vaguely familiar, glared at them both with intense hatred. Wotep shed the negativity as water off of a duck's back, and welcomed to the stranger. He had a good feeling about this one. His face was friendly, and Wotep wanted to trust him. He greeted him warmly, smiling,

"I am Wotep of Tepchu, friend. I have come here to end pain and fear. What do they call you?"

The stranger gave him a strange look and disregarded him for a minute, surveying the enclosure. He did a full survey of his surroundings before his eyes landed on the monk again. He put his hands on his hips like he had everything under control and looked at Wotep in the eyes, saying,

"Yeah I'm Alvinar. What are you in for?"

Wotep misunderstood the question and shot off into a lecture about the value of hermeticism, which Alvinar appeared to listen to. As far as Wotep was concerned, he had just made a friend, one whose attentiveness and genuine interest in learning the Muchit way made him a valuable treasure in this dark place. The way Alvinar saw it, he had a good bit of time before he figured a way out, so might as well pretend to give a damn. For several days, they chatted, and Alvinar finally got the monk talking about something other than philosophy, when the toothless Warden came by with a menacing gaze lingering on the pair. He said nothing, but he effectively made both of the prisoners very uncomfortable.

 

[Thlayli]

Posted on behalf of Luckymoose.

---

Missy and the Amulet of Saint Diogenes

Missy couldn't help but be conflicted on whether or not the news Gildroy was keeping from her was for her safety or something else entirely. She was certain however, that a big change was on the horizon for her. After an afternoon of being introduced to the various sisters, altar boys and priests from the cathedral, she settled down for a scrumptious feast in the monastery. Day old bread, hard boiled eggs and fresh, steaming beef stew were the things that covered the tables before her. Unbeknownst to her there seemed to be a rule about waiting for a blessing of the food before diving in, she sneered at Gildroy for allowing her such embarrassment as she dropped a chunk of bread back onto her worn iron plate. After a healthily long meal, accompanied by many interesting and exciting stories from that man she now knew as Kolya, she was ushered off to a tiny, yet cozy, bedroom that resembled the one she used back in Cocuvy.

It what seemed like a blink she awoke the next morning, fully rested and had stirred in her sleep. Missy thought that this had been her first dreamless night in a long while, perhaps the magic of these nuns aided in rest, or maybe the comfort of a bed after weeks of sleeping on the ground was enough to ease her. She had not a minute to contemplate this before the same sister that showed her to the room in the night came knocking. The loud thumping echoed in the small stone room, making the tiny little hands of the woman sound like hammers banging on a dong. Missy scurried to open the door, still dressed in the long night dress she was offered and lazily rubbing her eyes.

With a large smile on her face and a quick glance around the room from the door, the nun said “Excuse me, Missy, but were you not informed of the time for breaking fast?”

“Um, huh?” Were the only words Missy could speak as she adjusted her feet over the chilly stone floor.

“The first meal of the day?” The nun continued, walking into the room and making up the bed behind Missy. “You were missed this morning, and I am sorry to say the food is all gone.” She said without looking at Missy, carrying out her tidying. “Brother Gildroy has called for you to meet him in the nave across the way at the cathedral.”

Missy rubbed her belly with a frown, “The food is gone?” The nun stood up and dusted her skirt with her hands, giving Missy a confirming look. “Oh, and what is a nave?”

A short lesson the layout of a church later, Missy was on her way to the front door with the watchful eyes of the sisters behind her. The morning sun had yet to rise above the heights of the two and three story homes and shops that surrounded the cobblestone streets. The air was chilled and heavy with moisture, forcing her to wrap up in her thick cloak to stay the shivers. As she stepped down from the raised curb she nearly slipped on a frozen puddle that had accumulated in a low spot in the road. She really disliked the winter up here, though she couldn't decide if the ice was worse than the near freezing rain from Egholme.

Business was as usual in Aswarol on this morning, wagons and men on horseback roamed the streets, little shops were opened everywhere. Missy could hear the clanking hammer of a blacksmith somewhere down the street and could smell a bakery making fresh breads, it was wonderfully noisy. As she turned her attention towards the cathedral before her, she realized the absolute magnitude of this building for the first time. It had become clear to her why this was the main house of worship in all of Halde. The steeple alone rose over seven or eight stories in height, topped off with what appeared to be actual silver decorations and a large bronze bell, while the rest of the building stood a good story or two above the rest of the buildings in Aswarol. The entire thing was build from carved marble or some other white stone, with large painted glass windows showing scenes of epic battles of the past and various saintly figures. As she crossed the street to stand before the building, she ran her fingers along the large brick stone pillars that lined the exterior and a strange warmness flowed through her like water. This new sensation took her by surprise in how much it reminded her of Gildroy's magical heat, such an emotionally splendid feeling. During all of this she couldn't help but feel she was being watched, but quick glances revealed nothing.

She finally made her way to the large oak and iron doors, hand carved with a what looked like a battle scene and a dragon. She ran her hands over the details of the carving and the door suddenly opened, revealing the gray haired Kolya and his kind smile.

“Kolya.” She said, giving a slight bow of her head in respect.

“Missy.” He replied. “Come inside. Gildroy has been waiting a good while for you to wake.”

“Everyone is on my case today.” She sighed, looking over Kolya's shoulder and seeing Gildroy sitting alone inside the colossal interior of this building. “Do you know what this is about?” She queried him with her best helpless damsel face.

“I do.” She said as he walked passed her and out onto the street, ignoring her questions and heading off to the north much to her frustration. In an attempt to remove the obvious redness from her flustered face she took a series of deep breaths before walking slowly towards Gildroy. It was a long walk and allowed her to inspect the murals on the ceiling and walls, much the same as the ones on the doors and windows in theme, but all the more pretty. She felt a bit wrong in walking around this holy place, still dressed in the outfit she has stolen and... murdered in – but god was forgiving right?

“Have a seat.” He said with a heavy tone. “We have much to discuss.” She noticed a deep sorry in his words, a stark contrast to the cheerful and optimistic Gildroy she had come to know. She took a seat next to him on the hard wooden bench and noticed he was staring at the altar.

“Where is everyone?” She asked, genuinely curious about the emptiness of such a large and important building.

“It is the middle of the week, Missy. Worship occurs during the weekend.”

“Ah... interesting.”

The both went to speak at the same time, but cut each other off, after a brief moment of awkward silence Gildroy took charge.

“There is something very important I am going to tell you here. I think it is best you hear it from me and get the straight and narrow before I am forced to leave.” He said with a sigh as Missy perked her head sideways.

“Where are you going?”

“Very far away, I'm afraid, too far for me to be of any use to you any more.”

“I thought you swore to protect me... and we're friends right?” She said in a rush, confused by all of this.

“We are friends, and I did swear and I believe I have completed my mission in bringing you to Aswarol and leaving you in the care of the church.” He said with out much emotion, clearly forcing himself to get to the point. “I have to head back to Cocuvy in the morning.”

“Why?” She jumbled a few words together trying to make reason of it.

“I've been called to war, to protect the peoples of the southlands from the Medisids. Kolya informed me that we're setting out on a campaign in the spring.”

“War!? What if you get hurt? What about me? If it wasn't for you I'd be dead already.” She was becoming frantic, and her eyes began to water. Gildroy was the only person that had cared for her without personal gain in mind and she felt the harsh heartbreak of loss for the first time.

“That is precisely why it burdens my heart to tell you so, Missy. You've been a great care of mine these past weeks and I have grown to care for you like a dear friend. Alas, there is nothing I can do about the call; it is my duty as a servant of Esalos to protect all peoples when needed. But you remain a special cause to me, one I will never forget and fully intend to return to once my time is done on the field of battle.”

“But what if you die?” She voiced her concern with a hard hug on his right arm.

“My fate is not in my own hands. I trust in the Lord for his guidance and wisdom. If my time comes... so be it, I will die knowing I have served at least one person to my fullest.” He reached into his robe, fiddling inside one of his inner pockets, and pulled out a silver chained necklace. “This,” He said, pointing to the silver and gemstone encrusted locket dangling from the fine chain. “is the amulet of Saint Diogenes.” He unlatched the connection on the chain and pushed Missy's hair back, placing it around her neck. “Inside this locket is a piece stone from Heaven, sent down by God to smite the great demon Ygir. When the demon was destroyed his power erupted and shattered the stone, annihilating all but this small piece.”

Missy took a moment to look the amulet over before opening it and seeing a small spinning, solid black stone inside. Contained by some form of magic, she didn't understand it, but thought it was cool. “What does it do?”

“That is a very hard question to answer, Missy.” He smiled, looking back at the altar. “God works in mysterious ways. The amulet decides what to do based on the wielder.”

“What did it do for you?” She asked, thinking it was his.

“Nothing. It has never been mine.”

“Where did you get -”

“Kolya.” He said. “The amulet presented itself to Kolya in the last crusade in a time of need. It saved his life. He and I talked for a long while about you, and just this moment he offered me the amulet to insure your protection.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He trusts my judgment and sees great things in you.” Gildroy stood up and looked down at Missy fiddling with the amulet. “And the amulet told him so.” Missy looked up in confusion, she didn't understand any of this magical talk and certainly wasn't sure a necklace could talk. “We'll spend the day on the town. Will you humor me for a stroll?” They both smiled as they walked towards the door, but Missy was saddened.

 

[Seon]

"There we go," Karin muttered as he caught sight of Missy.

"So...uhhh....Boss?" said one of the hired thugs. Karin twisted away from the spyglass. He was a middle aged man with brown hair and an average look. "Yes?"

"You sure that the...uhh...this Corwin fellow... will come to her? Do you even know if she's the right gal? She looks just like any other..."

"Bob," Karin said.

"My name is..."

"Oh shush," Karin replied. "Bob, she's traveling with a bloody Paladin, and a couple of people told me that they saw a Paladin rescue a girl that Corwin himself was trying to kill. Now how many ordinary folks travel around with a paladin?"

"I knows a lot of people who travel around with a Paladin. If I had a copper for every ordinary folk I saw traveling with a Paladin...uhh...."

The thug trailed off. "Two coppers?" Karin suggested sarcastically.

"No, more than that. I can't remember..." the thug finished. He had not caught on to the tone of Karin's voice yet.

"See, that's why I didn't hire you to think," Karin said. "I just hired you to hold a knife and then stab it into Corwin when he comes here."

"Uhh...Is Corwin even in the city?"

"Yes, Bob, I saw him myself," Karin said. He rolled his eyes.

"Why didn't you jump him then?"

"Because he was holding a wicked knife?" Karin suggested. "Besides, I can't do all the work, can I? That wouldn't be fair!"

"Yeah," Bob agreed, chuckling. "It wouldn't be fair."

"And if that happened, I wouldn't have hired you, and you wouldn't have that wicked cool knife you are holding right now."

"It is a wicked cool knife," the thug said. He brandished it threateningly into some unseen opponent in the air.

Karin grimaced. Of all the thugs to pick in the streets, he had to pick this idiot. Karin shook his head and then returned the spyglass to his eyes.

"Essus's frozen teats," he muttered when he realized that he had lost her.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

I had a bizarre channeled dream last night- when I awoke, I scrawled it all down before it escaped my mind forever.

Here it is.

Missy Dies?

By the next morning Gildroy had left, and much to her disappointment he had gone earlier in the morning to escape any more sorrow. She could understand his wishes to make this less painful than he had to be, but that did not dampen her feelings about it all. She forced herself through breakfast and the chores she had gained to compliment her new living situation. Missy couldn't help but tinker with the little amulet that Gildroy had given her, opening it every now and then to gaze upon the spinning black stone inside with wonder. She didn't feel any different – in fact she couldn't feel anything from the amulet at all, it was practically weightless around her neck. As curious as she was about all of this, her sadness at losing her first genuine friend was overwhelming. She took time during the day to cry a bit, and rightfully so, she was alone in an unknown city, living with a bunch of strangers.

As the mid day meal came, chimed in with rings from the bell tower, she felt the realities sink in. The meal didn't come off as horrible, but the quality and quantity was deteriorating with every sitting. A slice of bread and a small bowl of onion soup were all that she received; it wasn't long before she realizes that the larger meals were shows of respect to guests, and she was now a resident. None of this lifted her spirits and the remainder of the afternoon dragged on much the same as the morning had. She had grown so restless in her dreadful cleaning and personal sorrow that she skipped dinner altogether, grabbed her knives and cloak, and sneaked out through the gardens of the monastery.

A swift wind ran through the streets intermittently and the setting sun cast a red hue over the sky. As she stepped out onto the lesser occupied side street she felt it again, the tingling feeling of being watched. She glanced around, feeling uneasy without Gildroy nearby, and saw a couple of burly men who were watching her from down the street, sitting on the corner under the sign for the tailor. She didn't give a long stare before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Not wanting to give into her suspicions, her emotions were probably getting the better of her, she thought. Missy gave herself a quick feel over under the cloak, checking all of her daggers were in place in case something happened. She definitely didn't want a repeat of Cocuvy without Gildroy around. She kept telling herself it must be nothing but coincidence, or perhaps they were checking her out for her looks, either would be splendid. She dozed into a walking day dream with guys whistling at her as she walked the streets, a fantasy she found relaxing.

She had been walking for almost an hour, examining and exploring everything she came across and learning the layout of the city. She had nearly completed her loop back around to the monastery and was feeling much less stress, perhaps she could sneak a bite of leftovers afterall, when she came to a full stop in front of the colossal cathedral. Her eyes perks to attention as she scanned the steeple, she would be lying to herself if she didn't at least attempt to climb it. Her curiosity always gets the better of her, and so began her ascent up the pillars on the rear of the building, out of sight of the monastery.

It took her a good thirty minutes to climb up, and she was noticing how rusty she was after being on the run. She quickly regained her rhythm in the last leg and pulled herself up onto the stone tiled roof. As she got to her feet she noticed a large flock of pigeons were roosting on and around the steeple base, but they had yet to stir from their slumber, much to her happiness. The sound a couple hundred birds fluttering over the monastery might draw the attention of the sisters afterall. Cracking her fingers, stretching her legs and arching her back, she prepared to climb the steeple, putting one of her hands on a groove in one of the bricks.

“Hi.” Came a familiar voice from behind her, sending shivers through her entire body as she lowered her hand from the brick. Stepping back and turning to face the man who spoke, she immediately recognized him as Corwin, the Two Blades. Another strong gust of wind overtook them, flapping their cloaks violently in the ever dimming twilight.

“Co – Corwin.” She stuttered in shock and fear. “Wha -”

He smirked, handsomely staring off across the rooftops of Aswarol.

“Did you think you would get away with it?” He took a deep breath. “I have an image to uphold, alright, and you just spit all over that when you killed Tara. Then you neutered Sal, which was rather humorous, I give you credit for that.” Shaking his head, “Sad thing really, Sal was a good thief. He just was a tad bit – mental.”

“Were you the one following us through the forest?” She quickly remarked, attempting to get a word in.

“No. That was Reid, I sent him bumbling through the forest to force you to move. I didn't think it best to strike you down while bathing.”

Without thinking Missy blurted, “You were watching me bathe?” She closed her cloak over her chest tightly, blushing.

“Don't flatter yourself. Your pathetic and childish crush on me was an annoyance at best. The problem with you girls is that weak heart. So easily broken and toyed with like a puppet in the hands of a master puppeteer.”

“You're cruel.”

“You promoted me!” He laughed. “Killing Tara was the greatest thing you could have done for me. I mean, she'd have been dead soon anyway by my hands, but you saved me a lot of trouble. And here I am now, respecting Tara and gaining the loyalty of my men by slaying the great Missy.”

“You have yet to slay me, Corwin. I bested Sal, and I can best you.” She said triumphantly, reaching into her cloak to unbuckle one of her daggers.

“I could have you at any moment, girl; I'm in the mood to allow one last dialogue between the soon to be victor and... the stray.”

“Straaaaay?” She gasped. “I'm not an animal, Corwin, we were friends.”

“I have no friends, only employees and enemies. Guess which you are?” With hand movements so fast Missy couldn't follow them, Corwin drew his two daggers, which were long enough to be considered short swords in some parts of the world. He twirled them in his hands with ease as he smirked at Missy. “So how will this go, Tenderfoot? The easy way or the fun way?” Her eyes bounced left to right as she bit her lower lip in concentration. “Well?” Corwin said impatiently.

“My way!” She roared, turning her back on him in a blur of movement and bolting up the brick work of the steeple.

“This is still the fun way, Missy!” He shouted at her, tossing his left blade at her as she reached a few feet above the cathedral roof. The blade swirled through the air with absolute accuracy as it struck through her dangling cloak and pinned it to the brickwork.

Missy panicked, squirming and tugging at her cloak to free it as she looked over her shoulder and down at Corwin, who had begun walking her way. With a hard kick to the handle of the blade she freed herself, the blade clanked on the rooftop below as she neared the midpoint of the steeple.

“You're cornering yourself!” He shouted up to her with a hint of disappointment. “You're not making this any fun!” Corwin began following her up, tracing a better path through the brickwork and climbing almost twice as fast as she had.

As Missy rolled over the ledge into the bell tower, she received her first glimpse at the shiny bronze bell. Gathering herself, she looked over the edge and down at Corwin, who had made it halfway up and was gaining speed. Unsheathing one of her daggers, she started scanning for a possible escape route, but behind her she heard the sound of boots making contact with the bell housing floor.

“No where to go?” He mocked. “Certainly you should have seen this coming.” He pulled his blades back from their sheathes and gave them an elegant twirl in his hands. “Are you going to fight me or not?”

Missy cursed under her breath, “Why can't you just lie about killing me?” She pleaded, not wanting to fight against a superior foe such a Corwin. “No one will know!”

“I'll know.” He thumped his fist against his chest. “I never go back on my word.” He said with a wink.

“This is not very nice -” She began to scold him, but he began his onslaught of stabs and slices before she could finish. Missy proved too nimble for the first few blows and led him in a circle around the massive bell, a few of his swipes clinging against it, sending faint rings across the city.

She parried and dodged as best she could, but he was overwhelming her with his speed and accuracy. They continued their dueling dance for a few minutes until the wind picked up speed once more, causing them both to lose footing and nearly tumble out of the steeple. Corwin took advantage of this to get close enough to Missy to give her a hard kick to the side of her abdomen, forcing a harsh exhale of air and her to drop her dagger.

“See? This wasn't so hard now was it?” He said, panting from his previous efforts, raising his left blade up to bring the killing blow.

“Corwin, the Two Blades!” Shouted a deep and manly voice from the cathedral roof below them. Causing Corwin to halt his actions for a split second, giving Missy an opportunity to grab her dagger and toss herself over the ledge and out of the bell housing. She slid down the side, digging her dagger into the mortar between the bricks to slow her fall, until she hit the roof hard at the bottom and let out an audible yelp.

Corwin was now looking over the ledge and down at the man who called out his name. “What!” He shouted at the annoyance that had cost him his kill. The man at the bottom was a brute if there ever was one, a large upper body with bulging muscles and an improvised club over his shoulder. Missy had been rubbing her buttocks to ease the pain and was now looking around the corner of the steeple base at the man.

“The price on your head is mine!” Roared the brutish man, slapping the club into his open palm and growling.

“Really?” Corwin leaped down from the bell housing with style, rolling upon impact with the roof and instantly returning to his feet. He walked over to the man with a cocky composure. “And how might you do that?” He said with a smirk. All the while Missy scanned the rooftops for a potential escape route, keeping her ear keen on the conversation nearby.

“I'm gonna take this here club,” He slapped it again in his palm, grinning sharply. “and I'm gonna turn your head into blood pudding.”

“And all by yourself, then?” Corwin mocked his deep voice and twirled his blades in his palm.

“Nope.”

In that moment both Missy and Corwin noticed the silhouettes of a gang of men on the nearby rooftops. One in particular looked especially important, wielding a crossbow and hiding just in the edge of the shadow. The sun finally crept below the horizon during this realization, shutting all light off from them, save for the faint flicker of magical street lamps below. Just as Missy began to feel safe, preparing to climb down the pillar beneath her, Corwin called out to her.

“I haven't forgotten you, Missy!” His voice sent shivers down her spine. “You stay right where you're at. I'll be with you in a moment.”

No you won't!” Grunted the brute, reeling back his club and swinging at Corwin's head. Corwin merely laughed as he ducked, bringing his own blade up to the mans thick neck and slicing in a fraction of a second. As the man fell to his knees, holding his neck, his gang on the other rooftops began rushing towards the cathedral. Corwin turned to face Missy, who had been peaking around the corner of the steeple.

“Time to end this.” He said, charging at her with his blades drawn. She backpedaled on her butt, sliding around the backside of the steeple as fast as she could. Corwin followed her around the corner with haste, and she got to her feet in a clumsy crawl, getting back around to the open rooftop and sprinting to the opposite end of the building. She lept over the now dead man, his blood running in a stream down the tiled roof, continuing her sprint towards the edge of the roof with intent to jump to the next building over. With a kick of her legs she cleared the distance, the landing was still painful on her feet, but she had put some distance between herself and him. Corwin soon followed, leaping much the same as she had, but the swishing of a bolt through the air caused him to panic and he landed awkwardly in a roll.

“Neeeah!” Missy shouted as she punted him in the side of the head before he could stand up, sending him spinning near the edge of the roof. She could hear the approach of the men that wanted Corwin dead as they made their way across the other rooftops in the darkness. She attempted to kick him again, but his hand caught the base of her foot and he flipped her onto her back. She grunted as she lost her breath; the both of them now scurrying to their feet.

“Damn you!” Corwin yelled at Missy as he gave her a backhanded slap across the her left cheek, sending her to her knees again. He rubbed his head in the spot she had kicked, checking his fingers for blood. “You're really ruining this for me.” Another bolt flew towards Corwin, but his keen instincts forced a dodge. In anger he drew a small throwing blade from his boot and tossed it at one of the men climbing up the roof, striking him in the chest and causing him to plummet three stories to his death. “I'll deal with you in a minute!” Missy had begun to crawl away, finally getting to her feet again. “No you don't!” He shouted as he pursued her in a full charge.

“Ack!” She squeaked as she blocked his incoming slash with her dagger at the last moment, sparks flying from their blades on contact. He slashed once more at her, one blade at her dagger and the other at her free arm. Missy managed to parry the first, but the second dug into her flesh and forced a cry of pain from her lips.

“How's it feel, b*tch?” He laughed, her face now red with frustration as she cursed him once more. She brought her good arm back up to strike at him, and a moment of angry knife play followed as neither of them got a hit in.

Corwin's efforts were paying off as he forced Missy to the edge of the roof, a dark alley way some forty feet below. Her ankles were dangling off the edge as she continued to fight him, struggling to match him blow for blow.

“This is it Miss-” He had his words cut off by the untimely sound of an incoming bolt at his back. With a quick turn of his shoulder the bolt passed him and made a tearing thud as it ripped into Missy's chest.

“Ugh!” She mumbled, losing her breath and having a hard time gaining another. Corwin laughed loudly at the misfortune, grabbing her by the her blade belts and raising his blade to her throat for the finishing blow.

“Any last w-” He began, but his final words were nothing more than a spitting of blood onto Missy's face. They both looked down at his torso and could see two barbed, steel bolts sticking through. He grabbed onto Missy with both hands, dropping his last wielding blade, and sending them both tipping over the edge of the roof. Missy was fainting from the pain as they fell, but could hear the cheering of the thugs in the alley below them. The amulet around her neck began to glow a bright white as her eyes closed.


Across the rooftops the lightbringer Karin lowered his crossbow. The two bodies entangled and fell from the roof, he thought his mission complete, with only one accidental kill, a shame, but nothing too serious. He then saw the bright light erupt from the alley, lighting Aswarol as if the sun was at midday height. A bright flash and a deafening sound followed as the buildings around that alley ripped themselves a part in a magical explosion. The shockwave leveled a few surrounding buildings and sent Karin flying backwards and bouncing down the rooftops. He crawled back to see what had happened, his body aching from the force, and noticed a burning crater of coals were all that remained of the alley.

Somewhere unknown, the bodies of Missy and Corwin appeared midair above a frozen sea, crashing into the thick ice and remaining limp. The amulet of Saint Diogenes glowing brightly as a beacon over the pitch blackness of night.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

The Northern Watcher

Tyggus adjusted his glasses as his eyes drifted side to side across the book. His nose was prominent, his face weathered by the wind and cold so as to thoroughly disguise his age. He was nestled in the highest room of his tower, an old watchpoint and lighthouse constructed in a squat and rugged gnomish style that dated back the better part of two centuries.

His eyes flickered out into the darkness for a few brief moments. Cloud-interrupted starlight provided a faint scattering of pinpricks across the moonless night sky. Seeing nothing, his attention returned to his book, “Heir of the Horaseans”. A rich library decorated the rest of the cluttered room, providing the gnome with entertainment through the long winter months.

A clear sound of a small bell suddenly rang through the room. Shaken in surprise, Tyggus nearly dropped his book as he rose to his feet. A bright light in the distance was already fading into blackness. Brushing off a pile of books and loose papers from a table, he picked up his watchcrystal and looked through it with a heavy squint. A heavy magical aura continued to hover some distance out over the ice. A purposeful look spread over the gnome’s face, and he picked up a set of thick winter goggles, snapped the crystal into place and fitted the device over his face. Stepping into heavy boots, he started off down the stairs, stopping only for a moment to knock on a closed wooden door.

“Meaghan, beacon’s gone off outside. I’m going to check it out.”

Not waiting for a response, he continued down the spiral staircase. At the bottom, he grabbed and pulled a thick fur overcoat over his wiry frame. Two sealskin gloves completed the ensemble. With a shove, the tower’s front door opened. There was no wind or snow outside, but the cold was numbingly bitter nonetheless. Tyggus made his way around the building, and entered into the kennel. A few minutes passed before he emerged riding a dog-drawn sleigh. A magical torch shone light ahead, and the gnome called to his dogs, setting off down the trail to the frozen beach, onto the solid surface of the Hael Sea.


Missy shuddered. Her wounds cried out in pain, and the wicked fingers of cold were worming their way in from her extremities to her bodily core. The cold stars hovered distantly above her, glaring down in disapproval at this spatial transplant as if they knew that she did not belong here. Her mind was swimming in a warm, syrupy mass of confusion. Yet after what had felt like an eternity out on the cold ice, the pain was fading. The cold had changed to a glowing warmth, which now burned as a searing heat. With a pained movement, Missy tried to roll over onto her side, only to find that her flesh and clothes were now frozen fast to the ice. After two more attempts, she rolled more vigorously, vaguely noticing the skin on the back of her left forearm ripping off onto the cruel surface. At least, she thought as she lay on her back, there was nothing more of herself touching the ice. Not that it mattered. This was the place she was going to die. She didn’t even know how she’d arrived in this frozen hell- escaping death once only to fall straight back into its clutches.

Oh well. At least she’d die beautiful. And not entirely alone- Corwin had wandered off a few steps towards that distant light in the sky before collapsing himself. Missy embraced the cold, her eyes dilating as a new light entered her attention. It came closer and closer, and the sounds of heavy breathing soon filled her ears. As if heard through thick water, a voice could be heard, speaking some strange foreign language.

“Wo! Af inmar, afyn mar.”

A wet nose touched her, and a warm tongue brought a shock of sensation to her system as several furry bodies crowded around her.

“Brydedd, yn rhewedd lythwch. Beth wyt wneud ymar?”

The sound of crunching footsteps drew closer, and Missy tried to speak, but her mouth failed her, releasing only a weak moan. Her eyes struggled to focus as she looked upward at the figure. Big, hairy, with glowing red bug eyes.

“Ych iawn?”

Missy made no response, but felt the warm bodies move away from her as the red-eyed one closed in. Smooth paws closed around her, and the figure grunted as it attempted to lift her.

“Mych in rhyddyw wyt beth meud...”

With what strength she had, Missy rolled her weight around, feeling herself sink into a furry mass. In a moment, she was completely engulfed, and saw nothing. The muffled voice seemed to disappear, its footsteps returning an unclear amount of time later. Some shouting and grunting preceded a second heavy weight thudding down on top of her.

“Hyc!”

Missy felt vibration and heard a scratching sound, then felt the warm tongue returning. A whining noise accompanied it. Weakly, Missy tried to reach for her daggers, before her cold-addled brain recognized the creature lying atop her as a dog. Relaxing, she instead ran her fingers through the creature’s pelt, holding onto this precious source of warmth for all it was worth.

 

[Terrance888]

Chapter 2: The Lord Protector- Undelegated Duties-Part 1

The cold wind of Amin swept around Haedrin. Winter was coming in harder, but there hasn’t been a true frost yet and the ground is damp. He pulled his hat lower… no need for anyone else to know where he’s going.

The Delegation has broken up for a week of relaxation and idleness. The days around Delistari-deina, “Night of Grounded Phantoms”, or when the new moon coincides with the longest night of the year, was also a day of morbid celebration for those with Elven Blood. Although most humans might only see three or four of these celebrations (after all, they only occur once every twenty to thirty years), for Elves (and some Half-Elves) it proves to be a solemn festival of introspection and self-criticism. For most of the Half-Elves and Humans, they prefer to celebrate All Spirits Day every year, and believe that the long night weakens the shade between life and death, and the souls of those long past return to seek and give gifts of knowledge (and toys) to the living.

Of course, it also proves an excellent chance for him to actually get something done. While the Elven Delegates travel to Greater Ainbridge for a secluded meeting, most of those celebrating All Spirits Day prepare with shopping, crafts, and cooking. While others waste the day sitting stoned or sharing frivolous gifts, he would personally aid the commonwealth.

“So you think you can make a difference all by yourself, eh?” accused an inner daemon. “What can you do to aid the Commonwealth. You have no actual powers as Lord Protector.” Haedrin give himself a small smile. Of course, he has no right or power given directly from the Common Writ of Rights, but he can use his authority in other ways as well. He turned over a listening stone and asked the Pawn-Keeper, “Saphire, I assume?”

“Aye’n that’s only one ova set,” growled the surly shop keeper. He is anxious to choose a gift for his mistress…es, guessed Haedrin. The squinty-eyed man pulled out a box and opened it, and placed the questioned gem within to form a set of six. “Lookee here, mate. Six o’the fin’st listen’n stones in all of the Anokan.”

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Jordan Clivesson, in finding such treasures” buttered Haedrin as he brought a Gem closer for inspection. The faceted gem immediately reflected a falling projective from the roof. Swearing silently, he jumped back as it fell, splatting into the earth. Instinctively he looked up and grabbed his dagger, only to meet the terrified eyes of one of his Rangers.

He twitched his eyes left, towards a drain, and thankfully the young helf has the mind to recognize his signal before the scowling Jordan can lean out and look at his roof. “Whats’da mattar?” he asked. “You have a leaking roof” replied the Lord Protector. “I’ll by the entire set for 60 gold.”

“Agreed good sir!” replied the man. An exchange of coins later, he left the shopfront. He gave a quick glance at the front of the Winged Cyclopes- good, the horse manure is out. He would love to hear their report. With the Glenoak Grandeur nearly in position, he can start to wipe out those pirates, one city at a time.

Starting with Horanor.

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

When he returned to his study, he found an envelope onto of a stock of notes. "Well well, good news from our friends." he muttered. While the partying goes on outside, he opened the package and started going through it.

The Message

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

This is troublesome. Very troublesome. The fact that it is so trouble some that he decided to not tell the Delegation about it.

Well, they didn’t know that he sent the Glenoak Grandeur north either. Or that he contacted the Winged Eyes, or even that the Westfolk Reserve bill gave him more access to the treasury than any of them could have guessed. Even the Elves didn’t see the implied clause, although he was sure the magical ink he embroidered the key words with helped in that regard.

He’ll have to contact them somehow, before the Kiorman trade falls apart all together; a civil war in Horanor will pair with a Melgothi invasion worse than a dry wine with a steak.

He sighed. The only way he can get a message through is from the Winged Eyes. And their rates for a message to a city relatively far from one of their chapters is relatively expensive. Not to mention how convenient it is… they’re probably going to make hundreds of gold over the years if he keeps his hand in the Commonwealth’s foreign affairs.

Just for that, he'll put one of those listening gems into the package. The Delegation Chamber is studded with them, with the sending gem on the Podium. These saphire ones are two-way gems, very powerful.

Well worth the cost, hopefully.

“Kivoreniel” he whispered, and the tip of a powerful shortbow appeared through the shadows behind his bookshelf, “Take this package to our friends. You know what to do.” The shrouded Ranger took the package, leaped out of the open window, and flew threw the air held by some grappling wire.

They’re going to make a lot off of him, indeed.

 

[SouthernKing]

The thunderstorm was not stopping anybody in the city of Kertus from stepping outside their homes and shops. Naturally, the worst of the storm seemed to fall upon the Narrows. The guards stationed at the Narrows ends of the drawbridges across the Indbur Canal had shelter in the form of stone toll booths that were no longer in use. Many of the guards were lazily trying to kill time and drown out the ruckus made by angry orcs and goblins, often with cheap mead bought in bulk from Zengia sellers.

The North Harbor Bridge was the westernmost of these drawbridges, connecting Blackport in the south to the ancient, run-down harbor used by the Orc underworld to bring in illegal goods cheap into the Narrows. On the Narrows end this day was Paulis, a veteran militiaman who had taken to drinking after his wife's death, and Tarsus, a fresh recruit from the farmlands outside of the city walls. Even though there was a crowd of a hundred or so Narrows-folk congregated in front of the drawbridge, Paulis didn't seem to care. It was Tarsus's first day, and he asked, "Shouldn't we be doing something about this?"

Paulis took a swig of mead and looked at Tarsus, "You're new here, right? They do that everyday, trying to get a free passage across, even though they know you can't cross here."

"Then why is there the bridge here?"

Paulis just shrugged and went back to downing his mead, even as more orcs began to join the angry crowd. Even though it wasn't warm at all that day, Tarsus was sweating under his armor. Somehow, there was something wrong with this crowd...

There was the distinct crackle of a fire starting. A cheap inn and pub on a street corner facing the drawbridge was now smoking from the inside as an Orc had lit a stick of wood on fire and had thrown it in. The orc roared loudly, and the other orcs roared in response. Paulis looked up. "That can't be good, kid. There's a riot coming. Get your weapon ready."

Tarsus tremulously lifted his militia issue sword and waited. He looked out and saw, even though it was pouring, that the building was burning from the inside and that the fire had spread to the buildings next to the inn. More Narrows-folk were peeking out to check what all the fuss was. At least two hundred orcs had lined up and were facing the bridge, angry looks on their faces. Tarsus looked to see that his hands were shaking, and then felt his groin go moist. He looked to the other end of the bridge. Nobody had noticed.

Then came a single roar.

The entire contingent of orcs charged. It was two against at least two hundred. Deeper in the Narrows, a load roar could be heard. Others took this as a signal, and began their own riots. Even as the rain fell in droves, the flames spread across the densly packed district of cheaply built structures. In the east, fortunately, an entire company of militiamen had arrived in time to fight off the orcs from reaching the bridge. But they arrived seconds too late for Paulis and Tarsus.

The next day, all Kertus woke up to see at least half the Narrows in ruins, and hundreds of orcs dead in the worst massacre in centuries. Yet only two militiamen had died; the two that died fighting at the North Harbor Bridge.

 

[Terrance888]

Chapter 2: The Rangers- Private Messaging

There are two carts piled high with liquor heading for the Winged Cyclopse. Business has been going well at the sordid establishment, it seems. From Serat Bitters [1] to Andelian Cordial, the barrels bumped and sloshed on top of the wagons while the passerby parted around the heaving horses.

With fresh liquor, there is a promise of a free round of beer for all. Following the wagon were several clumps of men and helfs [2], joking on their holiday while they wander towards the Winged Cyclops. The establishment can only be differed by the hundreds of others by its grimy sign over the street… and the other business the pub manages.

Suddenly, there was a roar of obnoxious laughter from across the street. Three figures pushed their way out of Clivesson’s Pawn Shop; a tall, strong, brown haired human with a cruel gleam in his eye, his wider companion sporting a rather large bag of cash, and a lithe goblin [3], his little eyes sparkling with supposedly clever ideas. “Look fellas, these folks ain’t so bad,” boomed the tall man, “look at all this, for us? Why, we can’t refuse!” He walked forward while his cronies grinned. One of the Bartender’s men walked out of the Winged Cyclops. “Yo, git yer dirty hands off ofa booze. Ye can buy some if ye want!”

The Bartender’s man saw the flying keg, but raised his shield too late. A barrel of Andelian Cordial smashed into his chest and shattered, flinging the syrupy liquid across the street.

There was a collective gasp. Then came the clatter of coins.

The coins hidden inside the barrel scattered across the street. The tall man laughed, “Would ya look at that! Such a trick has never been seen outside of da Narrows; hiding yer goods in yer wine!” The goblin shook a keg of bitters, and it jingled. The fat man said, “We’re going to confiscate all this and take it to our ship, so play nicely and…”

Suddenly, his hand was nailed onto the rail of the wagon by an arrow. As he cried in surprise three knives flew threw the air and, butt first, knocked the tall man from Kertus to the ground, unconscious. Another hail of bolts from the Winged Cyclops struck the goblin, killing him before he fell from his high perch on the barrels. The fat man opened his eyes, took one look at his fallen companions, and fainted, then and there.

The guards’ bell [4] started tolling and the people, at least those not busy picking up the golden coins, scattered. However, even before the guardsmen arrived a shadowy figure, noticed by none, cut off the fat one’s bag of money and disappeared inside the alley way.

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

At the trap door, the bartender growled at nothing. The alleyway seemed empty except fro his angered face and the tiny sliver of light arcing from the cellars.

“Smooth going, you bumbler. Look at the attention you attracted to the pub!” cursed the thick-jowled man. “And you lost a pound of gold. In fact, I’m going to charge you five extra above the twenty five just for brining attention to my cover.”

Silence. A bag flew from the darkness and landed by his feet.

“What is this Sh*t. Magic whistles and bells? You think we’ll accept your Ranger hocus pocus? Second rate!” The Bartender dragged the bag in and opened it. There was a stifled gasp and his face, now filled with concern, peered out the cellar. “Where did you get them? Not that they’re any good of course, but…”

“Assessed by Clivesson-worth fifty five great shieldlings [5]” came a gruff, disguised voice from the emptiness.

The Bartender frowned, then he smiled; “Ah, the infamous Ranger, stealing from his victim.”

No response. A shadow moved… or did it? The Bartender grunted and closed the cellar, looking at the gems with a magnifying glass. A small package tumbled out, labeled, “Send to Horanor, additional instructions within.”

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

Kivoreniel leapt thew the air, her sorcery bending the light around her. As a human, she doesn’t have the innate agility of the elves, and as an Ranger she had to train for twenty years before being given the Ranger’s Flute [6]. Oh, it’s but a few months for elves and those helves, but she dedicated herself to serve in this way, as the Commonwealth rarely have positions of mages or sorcery of any power.

As she landed ontop of the building, she felt the flow of magic dull the slight thump she made, even with her training. With a push of her legs, she jumped for the next roof.

[1] Ale is usually made at the Nearport, brining in the wheat of the western fiefs.
[2] helf->sort for Half-Elven. The people are used to and tolerate their differences, and felt that the latter term is too long and complicated for casual relationships.
[3] Generally, agile peoples like goblins and elves are preferred to manage the rigging of a sailing ship
[4] Most shops have guard bells which they ring to call the city guard, which is usually a volunteer service, although it can be stiffened by the Militia if needed.
[5] Shieldlings are the largest issued coins of gold studded with gems, they are worth 1/10 of a pound of gold
[6] The ranger’s symbol. The wood symbolizes the silence of the forrest and the metal symbolizes the development of the city

 

[Luckymoose]

Missy's Unusual Acquaintance

Missy writhed in pain as she awoke once more from unconsciousness. She inhaled deeply the frozen air as the furry warmth she was grasping left her and the strange voice from before returned again. Opening her eyes she could see the outline of some kind of man in the darkness, reaching towards her and grabbing at something. Missy heard the familiar grunt of Corwin as he choked and coughed, attempting, weakly, to kick his legs at the stranger. Another round of unusual sounds came from the figure, but this time Missy picked up on a distinct tone of annoyance. After much struggle she felt Corwin's body flip over her again, putting much pressure on her chest and sending the worst pain she had ever felt up her body.

“Uhhsa!” She cried out, exhaling all of her air into the freezing black night. The voice spoke again, grunting in a struggle and slowly fading away from her. The scratching of dozens of feet in the snow confused her senses as she attempted to focus on her surroundings. Unable to move, with her eyes glazed over with ever freezing tears of pain, she was unable to discover much.

She thought to herself, trying to remember what had happened and how she could possibly have arrived in this situation. Straining her memory to the best of her ability brought flashes of her fight with Corwin, mixed with happier moments with Gildroy. It had become one giant blur. She thought about Gildroy's words, his warnings of the afterlife for those of ill deeds. Had she arrived in the realm of the unworthy? Was this frozen hell her punishment? The pattering of paws on the ice scattered as the louder thuds of the man returned.

“No...I'm not dead.” She muttered to herself, seeing the silhouette of the figure looking over her. It grabbed her foot, pulling her lower body out the sled and with much stress and vocalization, cradling her into its chest. Missy felt the distinct features of this man... and he seemed rather short. Even under her miniscule weight he struggled, but their destination proved to be only a few steps nearby.

Missy could hear more voices now, but not just any voices, feminine and concerned ones she thought. A sudden brightness overtook her face as she heard the creaking of wood, perhaps a door? And then warmth, stable, fire born warmth. Coughing come from nearby, it sounded like Corwin, but she couldn't be sure. Scurrying feet ran to the noise, and more chatter continued, she heard the unbuckling of belts the opening of jars and then two sets of hands roamed over her, pushing back her cloak and snatching at her knife belts. They made a distinct metallic clank as they were tossed to the other side of the room and bounced off of a stone wall.

As they inspected her up and down with their hands, she tried to decipher the words they were speaking. She had never heard anything like this before.

“Where am I?” She tried to speak, but the pain in her chest made it difficult. Another figure wandered off to her, speaking frantically with the others and rushing off to another room. Warm hands ran under her leather chest piece, bringing a soothing to her ice cold flesh. In her disoriented state she could not make out what they were doing, but the cold steel against her skin and the cutting sound alerted her.

They peeled her clothing back off of her torso, some areas were frozen to her skin by the blood seeping from her wound. After a few moments of considerable discussion, they finally pulled the last pieces of clothing over the embedded bolt in her chest. The slightest touch sending her into a convulsion of pain. One of the figures move around to behind her head, she glanced up and could briefly make out the smooth face of what looked to be a small girl. The girl placed her hands firmly down on Missy's shoulders with all her might, as the other one gripped the bolt in one hand and placed the other square on her chest. After a slow muttering of three sounds, which Missy figured to be counting, she ripped the bolt from her chest.

“Ahhh!” Missy screamed, trying to roll onto her side to cough, but found herself held in place. She squirmed, but they restrained her long enough to apply a greasy substance to the wound. It numbed the pain immediately, sending a feeling through her like a cool summer breeze. She quickly calmed down and regained control of her breathing. The young girl released her hold on Missy's shoulders and patted her on the head, faintly singing a soothing melody. Missy smiled at her, and looked down her bare chest at the other one, whom she would clearly see now as an older, very short woman. The woman had grabbed a large fur and tossed it over Missy, and they both tucked her in to help her warm up.

Missy took the moment of clarity to view her surroundings in detail. The room she was in had a square appearance, made of stone and well lit by candles and a roaring fireplace. It all looked very... squat, just as the people living here. She mused over it all for a while, until the heavier steps of the one that carried her inside returned. She could make him out now, without all of his winter gear on and lacking the horrible red eyes, as a wiry framed stump of a man, with a short beard and, for his size, a large nose. He walked over to the wall opposite her, stepping over a passed out Corwin, and began tinkering with a metal object hanging from a hook.

He ushered his family to get her to speak for him, and they tried very basic sign language along with their unusual words. Missy caught on quickly to this act and began reciting her name and asking questions about where she was. After a few minutes of this, and to Missy's great relief, he shouted.

“'Ere we go!” His accent was very heavy and bizarre, but his words were now in her own tongue.

“I can understand you.” She mumbled, still having breathing difficulties from the crossbow shot.

“Now, whater oo doen out here?” She giggled at his pitch fluctuations, it was all rather strange sounding.

“You mean... you don't know?”

 

[Lord_Iggy]

The Northern Watcher: Contact

“No, I haven’t the faintest of why you’re here. Your gentleman friend here showed up along with yourself in some big burst of Fyir-”

“Fyir?”

Tyggus paused for a moment and regarded the figure closely. She was large and tall- bigger than the tallest and slenderest of dwarves- possibly a human or an elf. He recalled that there was some way to tell between the two that had something to do with height, or ear shape, but the memory eluded him. The woman’s voice- and the figure’s gender was one of the few things that Tyggus felt confident about- had an unfamiliar accent. The translator crystal on the wall was reliable enough, but it always tended to lend accents to speakers of different languages- possibly by design, Tyggus mused.

“Um, Fyir?”

Tyggus paused for a few more moments, confused by the woman’s unfamiliarity with the concept.

“It’s... energy, the ability to manipulate the world through arcane means.”

“Magic?”

“Ah. Yes, that is a word I have heard foreigners use before. Well, I spotted that from the top of the tower- I run the watchpost out here see- so I brought my dogs out to have a look and there you were. Damn close to dead.”

“Auh... I’m... feeling mauch bettor, thanks. Vhy haff you healed me, by ze vay?”

Tyggus flicked at the crystal on the wall, and the woman’s accent moderated itself again.

“Well I can hardly let you bleed to death after hauling you back in from there. Now, it’s best that you get some sleep- salves can only help your body pull itself back together. Or if you’re feeling bright and chipper, you can try to answer me a few questions.”

“Well, I can try.” The woman tried to push herself up into a sitting position, but immediately winced in pain. Meaghan was immediately at her side, helping to ease her back onto the table. After a few seconds, she continued “Shall we start with names?”

“I’m Tyggus.”

“Missy.”

“A pleasure. Now, how did a pair like yourself and...”

“Corwin.”

“And him end up out here? Some powerful Fyir, I’d wager, where’d you come from and how did you do it.”

“Well... we were in Halde... Aswarol specifically. We were fighting and... we both got shot... then we fell off the churchtop and... appeared here. Where is here?”

Tyggus nodded slowly before responding.

“You’re on Great Yoa, in a house the northernmost tip of the northernmost island of the northernmost kingdom that Sekai has to offer- Fyirmenedd. I suppose that’s probably just been translated by this little crystal to sound like ‘Magic Mountain’ or some tripe like that, but I can assure you that its name sounds pretty damn poetic in our language. Anyway we’re on the far side of the island from Yoacwerr, which is the only real town hereabouts.”

“How far is-”

“Wait- first, Halde. Can’t say as I’ve heard of it. Human civilization? Oh, and on that track, are you human or elven?”

“Ah... mostly human. And a long way to the south of her. And I’m human too. Now, how far is... that town? Yoker?”

“Yo-ah-cw-err. Not terribly far, maybe half an hour away by sleigh.”

“And by foot?”

“First, you don’t travel there by foot. Second, there’s no way I’m letting a guest wander off into the snow when they’re in a state like this. Right dear?”

“O’ course hun.” Smiled Meaghan.

“Now, we’ll be taking you out to Yoacwerr in the morning- that’s still a good 7 hours off- speaking of which... kids! Back to your beds.”

The young trio marched off with varying degrees of resistance, disappearing out the door and padding their way back to the upstairs rooms. Missy smiled slightly as they went up, then returned her gaze to Tyggus.

“So...” she began with a slight squint in her eyes, “If I may ask, what kind are you? I’ve heard stories of Halflings, but I thought they were just a childhood myth.”

“Halfling? Eh, I’ve heard the word before, but it is not what I’d call myself. Meaghan, the kids and I- we’re all gnomes.”

“Gnomes...” Missy laughed lightly, “You know, back home we have little decorative clay figurines that we called gnomes... but I’d never have thought that you were real.”

Tyggus raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “Real enough. Snow-silver hair, lighter-built than a dwarf and shorter by a head, and... I guess my ears kind of look like this.” Missy regarded them. They didn’t look quite as extreme as an elf’s, although they were clearly not human and came to a bit of a point. They were backwards-leaning ovals, looking just a touch animalistic- like a pig’s perhaps?

“So then,” Missy began, changing the subject, “Neither of us has any idea of how I got here?”

“I know no better than you. Fyirmenedd is a kingdom that prides itself greatly on its mastery of the arcane, but it’s really not for me. You’ll be talking to someone who might have more answers tomorrow.”

“In Yoacwerr?”

“In Yoacwerr. I sent a report, they seem to be... quite excited about you.”

“Quite excited?” Missy seemed nonplussed.

“Oh, you know how they are.”

“I really don’t.”

“You will. Now I’d advise you get some sleep, because you’re heading out soon as there’s sun in the sky tomorrow.”

 

[Luckymoose]

Missy Meets Ridlius

The next several hours went buy uncomfortably for Missy as she slipped in and out of slumber, constantly waking from nightmares of her battle with Corwin, only to see him sleeping, wrapped in furs, across the room. She worried about Corwin, and how he would take all of this when, and if, he finally came to; she hoped he wouldn't attempt to kill her right away, at least not in their current state, but that thought remained in forefront of her mind throughout the night. Sometime later, many hours by Missy's recollection, the wife of Tyggus, Meaghan, came back downstairs to check on their health.

“Ma'am...” Missy whispered, hoping not to wake anyone else.

“Yes?” Replied the sweet and caring voice of Meaghan as she checked Corwin's wounds.

“I do not mean to be a bother, but it seem – it seems during my treatment you removed my chest piece.” Missy blushed in the darkness, sighing a bit. “I have no other clothing.”

Meaghan worked her way back to her, fumbling through a pile of clothing that Missy recognized as her own. Pulling out the blood covered and heavily damaged leather piece, Meaghan let out a wise “Mmmm” before taking it back upstairs with her. Missy hoped it could be fixed, that piece was one of the only things she truly cared about, having worked very hard to steal all the components and construct it. Another long wait passed and Missy could not rest, she was beginning to feel nervous about the morning journey.

“You will.”

The conversation with Tyggus replayed in her mind over and over. Was she in trouble? Missy brought her arms up to her chest in a nervous self-hug, and noticed for the first time that her necklace was not there.

“No!” She shouted, pushing back the furs on herself and frantically searching where she had laid. The chilled air ran across her uncovered torso, covering her in goosebumps and striking a shiver, forcing her to grab the furs and wrap up again. The shuffle of feet coming down the stairs alerted her, and within a few seconds Meaghan appeared before her. Standing upright, Missy could now see the size difference between the two of them, herself almost touching the ceiling with her head, and he startled her for a moment.

“What is the matter dear?” She squeaked, holding a candle in her left hand and the nearly patched leather chest piece in the other. Missy found her self confounded and unable to speak for a moment.

“Um... Meaghan? I, uh, where is my necklace?” She scrambled to get the words out, knowing she sounded flustered.

“I removed it while treating your wounds, along with other less reputable items.” Missy had forgotten about the knives. “Tyggus told me it radiates much Fyir...”

“It is a protection charm from a dear friend.”
“Regardless dear, I cannot return such a powerful item to a stranger in my home. Tyggus may feel differently in the morning, but until such time I hope you'll understand. It is safe. We will not rob you of your possessions, if you had fear that, we are good gnomes.”

Missy frowned, but understood she was at the mercy of her saviors. She returned to her makeshift bed on the floor, wrapped up in furs and watched Meaghan repair the chest piece intently. Her tiny hands moved swiftly, years of motherly practice without a doubt, in stitching the leather back together. Her soothing voice let out a witty melody about one “Ol' Gnome Fygnus” and his various exploits. Missy felt honored to hear this song, even though some of the words used made little sense to her, or maybe that was the translator acting up again.

In another short while she had finished the repairs and returned the piece to Missy. She checked it over and noticed the fine craftsmanship in the stitch, Meaghan had even added an embroidered design over the seam. Missy slipped into it, noting allowed that she was likely to chafe herself without her usual undergarments. She hugged Meaghan with a great bowing bend, their size difference made such contact uncomfortable, and planted two wet and sloppy kisses on her cheeks. As Missy bent upright, her wounds ached, but a humorous voice distracted her momentarily.

“Can I get in on this?” Both Meaghan and Missy looked towards the stairs, seeing the wiry, clean shaven and shaggy haired teenage son of Meaghan and Tyggus. He was standing with a cocky lean on the wall, having likely been watching sense before Missy was fully dressed.

“Ridlius! Don't be a smart aleck! And more importantly,” She flustered and grew red in the face. “Do not snoop around ladies! Your father will hear about this one, mister, you can bank on that.”

“Mom, calm down, it was merely a joke.” He retorted with a wink at Missy, who had now found this all rather funny.

“I saw that.” She snapped. “When is your father coming down? It is almost dawn and I'd rather you be back home before dark. The days are short this time of year.”

“Two hours isn't a day, mother, it is a travesty.”

“Two hours?” Missy replied with a confused face. Meaghan lit a few more candles to bring more light into the room.

“Yes, dear, two hours of daylight. It is the middle of winter you know.” Said Meaghan calmly.

“I've never seen a day that... well... didn't last all day.”

“Wait 'til summer girl.” Ridlius responded with his cocky and laid back voice. “The day lasts months!”

“You're joking...” Missy considered the prospect of a month long day and the affects on her nighttime prowls. The more she thought about the long nights the more she enjoyed the idea. She sank into a day dream where she was the greatest thief in history.

“What is she do-en?” Tyggus queried as he came down the steps, pulling Missy back into reality. She must have really bonked out, she had slobbered on his chin and was staring most aggressively at nothing. She noticed Ridlius had been watching her with a smirk. “Good to see you up.” Tyggus said.

Missy went to reply, but noticed he was not talking to her, but to Corwin, whom was now sitting upright and leaning against the stone wall. He had his shirt off for Meaghan to apply more salve to his wounds. He too had been staring Missy down. Ridlius watched them stare each other down, and after noticing Missy wince he decided to break the ice.

“Missy is it?” He smirked coolly.

“Yeah.” She replied, wrapping the fur around her tightly.

“How old are you?”

“Rude... sixteen.”

“Interesting.”

“Ridlius!” Tyggus scolded. “Stop it.”

“What?” He replied a lot less cockily to his father than his mother. Missy picked up on this as fear of punishment. Tyggus did not reply, he only stared him down for a moment before carrying on with his preparations, signaling Ridlius to follow him outside.

Meaghan, Missy noticed, had helped Corwin to his feet, but he remained unstable and leaned against the wall.

“There, there.” She comforted him. “How in the world did you acquire such injuries?” Corwin did not answer, he just shot an angry glance at Missy. Meaghan, luckily, did not catch this and continued by wrapping him up with a length of gauze.

“We were attacked – obviously.” Missy drew the attention towards herself.

“That much is clear.” Meaghan retorted with a snappy voice. “Whether you deserved it or not has yet to surface.”

The wooden front door that Missy had been carried through the night before slammed open once more. A sliver of sunlight shown over the horizon in a very dull and usual blue-green color. The frost bite wind soared inside, splattering flurries across the floor before Ridlius could close it behind him.

“Time to go.” Tyggus hurried about the room in his thick fur clothing, Ridlius wearing similarly design gear. “You'll want to bring these.” He tossed a couple of thick fur cloaks at Corwin and Missy. They were short in the backs, but were wide enough to cover the upper body and part of the bottom on Missy, Corwin however looked rather foolish. “There are more furs in the sled. Rid!” He called out to his son.

“Yeah?”

“Stick to the paths and don't wander. You're still a child in my eye and I feel uneasy putting strangers' lives in your hands, let alone your own life, do you follow?”

“Yes sir.”

“You'll take them to town -”

“I know where to take them, dad. We went over it a dozen times already.” He sighed.

“Right.” Tyggus scratched his chin in deep thought. “Oh, and I don't want you meeting those friends of yours either. Bunch of brutes, the lot of them!”

“Let's just go.” Ridlius motioned to Corwin and Missy to follow him out of the door as his father and mother chattered about his friends behind his back. “Love you, too” He replied to his mothers cry.

Missy stepped first into the cold morning air; it blistered her face like a raging fire. She noticed the sled waiting, pulled by a dozen fluffy white and black dogs, just outside the lighthouse. They all barked impatiently at the sight of her.

“Just take a seat anywhere.” Ridlius called out to her as he closed the door behind Corwin. Missy, wanting to get off the cold ground, walked quickly to the sleigh and hopped in the front behind the dogs and grabbed a fur to wrap up in. Corwin fell across the backseat, wrapping up and hiding himself from the elements with a loud grunt of pain. Missy was not sure what Corwin was up to, but he seemed to be unusually content. “Scooch over.” Ridlius barked at Missy as he hopped into the front next to her, tossing a bag to his feet then smirking as he grabbed the reins and mushed the dogs.

“Woah!” She shouted as the dogs jerked the sleigh and slid her into Ridlius.

“Irresistible, I know.” His grin, now almost too large for his thin face, was growing on Missy.

“You're funny.” She said, as they sped across the nights fresh powder. “Ridiculous? Is that your full name?”

“Rude human... very rude. My name is not ridiculous, madam, it is Ridlius, but you, like my friends, may call me Ridley, or Rid, or Handsome, whichever you prefer.”

“Handsome doesn't suit you.” He scoffed at her words. “Ridley it is!”

After a moment of silence he spoke again, “Do you have parents?”

“Sorry, no.” She replied sternly.

“Oh... I'm sorry.”

“I never knew them, don't be sorry. Go on.” She perked, wrapping the furs tighter and checking over her shoulder to investigate Corwin in the backseat.

“Did you hear my parents earlier? Always the moral guard, you know, keeping me in line. My humor isn't their humor, etcetera etcetera.”

“You're hilarious.” Missy complimented him as he twinged at his own words.

“Thank you.” He paused and looked over the landscape and Missy mimicked him. She could see miles of ice out to sea, and miles of snowed covered tundra all around them. They were sleighing along the smooth tundra at a decent speed, the dogs panting and barking up front. “You know – we don't get many visitors up here. Your accident is the first interesting thing to happen in a while. Most of the year I'm locked up in the lighthouse.”

“That sounds horrible.” She frowned at the idea of being isolated.

“It is.” He looked down at the bag at his feet. “I noticed the things you had on you and, based on my readings, you must be some kind of thief. Right?”

Missy hesitated for a moment. “Yu... yes. I have been known to do that, but not recently. And even then I was never very good at it and it was mostly to survive, being an orphan and all.”

“You don't have to apologize to me. You've done no harm by me, and as far as I can tell you seem to be kind spirited. A person with bad intentions would not admit their wrongdoings.” He lectured, sounding fairly educated when he drops the cool kid act.

“I 'spose so.” She replied.

“Does that mean you've been to a lot of places?” He queried with genuine interest; his purple eyes shining like gemstones on the wintery background.

“I was born somewhere near Egholme, south of Halde.” He listened with fascination as she described her story. Going over the places she had been and recounting her last, nearly, two months on the run. “... and then he came for me.”

“He tried to kill you?” Ridley whispered.

“It was all an accident and I don't blame him... he was just defending his image and... I disobeyed Gildroy...” She sniffled her nose, recounting her recent history had proven emotionally unstable for her.

“Okay! That,” He patted her on her covered leg. “was the coolest story I have ever heard. It doesn't explain how you got here, though.”

“I don't know how I got here.” She said quickly with a hint of anger.

“Heh, at least you got here in one piece.” He looked her over. “While you're still something to look at.”

Missy had always been a sucker for compliments, and Ridley carried himself in a very outspoken manner. “Just because you've seen me bare skinned you rat!” She playfully punched him in his upper arm.

Their conversation grew friendlier and more flirtatious as they approached the outskirts of the town of Yoacwerr. The sleigh came up to the main street of the tiny town, smoke billowing out of dozens of chimneys atop stubby stone towers and very few people could be seen in the open. Most of the buildings, as Missy could see, were built as if they were underground save for the entrance. Ridley commented on this and said the town held more people than she might think. The sun had barely come up in the sky as Ridley commented it was noon.

“Woah, woah!” Ridley commanded his dogs to slow with a tug on the reins. They came to a stop in front of a rather wide stone tower connected to many adjacent buildings. Missy remembered now that the only way they were speaking had been because of the translator Ridley brought with him, as she could not read the signs on the buildings. “This, Missy, is our stop.”

“You're not going to leave me are you?”

“I can think of a million reasons not to.” He winked, turned and jumped onto the crunchy snow beside the sleigh. He moved to the backseat and shook Corwin's covered legs. “Wake up!” Corwin lifted his leg away from Ridley and sat up, uncovering his face and staring darkly into Missy's eyes. “Right, best we get inside.”

 

[Lord_Iggy]

The Northern Watcher: Yoacwerr

Ridlius handed several coins to a silver-bearded and balding dwarf, who looked over them with a critical glance before nodding and dropping them into his pocket.

“That’ll do.” The old fellow nodded, leading the gnome’s sleigh dogs back into the kennel. Ridlius turned away and led his two human companions out of the squat, grey building. Corwin barely avoided a second collision with the upper edge of the doorframe, cursing as he ducked. Missy stifled a giggle. Returning into the midday twilight, Ridlius turned right and set out down Yoacwerr’s main outdoor thoroughfare. The humans followed staring around at the strange city. The buildings were generally uniform in design. Most were squat and rounded, seemingly crafted out of solid stone. A few extended upwards as towers, the tallest being a little under ten storeys tall. The writing on the sides of buildings was a strange script, oddly reminiscent of the dwarfish runes that Missy had seen in the south... but much more less angular and more scriptlike.

“How the hell do you even find your way around here?” Corwin muttered, breaking his characteristic silence. Ridlius turned and looked the man in the eye, and responded.

“Scent. Same as with all gnomes.”

Corwin made a confused face, while Ridlius turned his head and mirthfully winked at Missy. Dramatically sniffing the air, he turned left and faced a domed structure.

“Here we are. The-”

“Oy Rid! What’re ‘oo doen’ back in town so soon?”

“Din’cher dad swear to keep ‘oo in the tower ‘til you’d figured out ‘ow to get ‘is fyirspotter worken’?”

“What’s with the elves?”

A trio of dwarfish youths approached the group. The leader was a short-bearded dwarf with bright red hair and flushed cheeks, flanked by a taller beardless dwarf with wild and unruly, black hair, and a stocky individual with bleary eyes and a scruffy brown beard. A wide grin spread across the gnome’s face as he responded.

“Afternoon fellahs. King’s business, real hush-hush stuff.”

“Aw Rid,” grinned the first, “‘oo know we woulden’ tell!”

“You blokes hold a secret like your granny holds liquor. You know I couldn’t tell you a thing about some magical teleporting roguish adventurers from the distant southlands who’ve got their mitts on some wickedly powerful fyir and have now been summoned by Lord Mallorwynn, and shall no doubt later be brought to the courts of Anerryn himself in the Mage Towers of Gryddfyir itself! Also, I’m to understand that they’re humans, not elves.”

“...wow.”

“Yeah, I was surprised too. You can tell by the ears though.”

“No Rid... I mean that other stuff.”

“That’s Green Cloak business right there that is!” piped in the second.

“Not Green Cloaks mate...” added the third, “fudging’ Order of Elynn... Royal Questers and all that!”

“That’s right boys, now I need you to mind your wagging tongues. You never saw me here.”

“Wow...” repeated the first.

“So that’s what an ‘ooman looks like?” asked the third.

“The lady looks quite fine though,” began the second, “She with ‘oo?”

“I thought ‘e was with ‘oor sister!” the third responded.

“’Ey! No jokes ‘bout my sister, she can do better than a gnome!”

“Well our gnome ‘ere’s done as well as getting one of the tall folks- I hear that they... ah...

The group’s lively discussion faded out for a moment.

“No offense Rid.”

Ridlius held up his hands and shook his head with a noncommittal smirk on his face.

“None taken lads. Now before you go off and stick your feet in your mouths any more, I’ll note that my lady friend here’s got a translator crystal on her.

The trio’s eyes widened as they realized they’d been overheard. Missy met a few of their glances, giving a coy wave.

“Alright then, our appointment awaits!” With a wave, Ridlius ushered the two humans into the building.

“Also Dyf, your sister really can’t do better than a gnome.”

Ridlius slammed the door shut and snickered vigorously.

“She really can’t though- I’m told there’s nothing better.”

Corwin, a deeply frustrated expression on his face, considered opening his mouth, but before he could a dwarf walked into view at the far end of the warmly-lit chamber.

“Ah, Junior Watcher Ridlius, good to see you. Have your parents been well?”

“Quite healthy, and otherwise uninteresting, save for our guests from last night. How go things in Yoacwerr, Lord Mallorwynn?”

The dwarf scratched at his salt and pepper beard and adjusted his robe slightly. His appearance, as judged by the humans, was dignified, yet simple and down-to-earth. Missy idly wondered if calling a dwarf down-to-earth would get them angry.

“Much the same as ever. Old Naelen passed away a few weeks ago, a few cogs made it up from the southwest. Beyond all the rumours I’m hearing about the Melgothi returning to their old ways of raiding on the seas, I could reasonably say ‘nothing at all’. But please, I’m to understand that your guests here have brought us something most interesting.”

Missy looked uneasily towards her two companions, but did not speak.

“Well, they appeared in a flash of Fyir over the ice. Tyggus went out by sleigh and found them close to death, but we got them back inside and treated their wounds... and after a bit of recovery, here they are.”

“Mmm...” Mallorwynn nodded slowly and looked over the pair. “Yes, from what I’ve heard they felt the shock of that fyir as far away as the Capital. I for one am... immensely curious about how they did it.”

“Well, it would probably be better to hear from them directly. Milord, I present to you my companions Corwin and Missy, of the southlands.”

 

[kkmo]

One... Two... One... Two... One... Two

Walking. That is something I have forgotten to do. Lift one leg, and then another, but two may not rise at once, or one might become a bird, as I can become. And now I can flap my wings and conjure wind, but it doesn't reach the men of the land, because I am too distant to effect those souls. Instead, it tickles the clouds, though I suppose through such motions, they might produce rain. Maybe then, my enemies would see me for what I am. I would rather do this, than show my true power.

I had left Sekai, like few before me, ignoring the warnings. Through the hot sands, and over the dead ridge of Akkal.

What were you thinking?

I wasn't. The Medisid were wrapping cotton around their brows and sharpening curved blades on whetstones, all while bowing to their tapestries of Medi, his deep brown gaze looking pure in the direction of that far-off realm known as Raieja.

What of Raieja? You should not speak such words here.

Ah, but that fear is old to me, and I have seen too much to be afraid of uttering what lie outside of Sekai. The Dyjj Book by Medi says: "The tribes beyond the Akkal view our land as cursed, so they do not send their hordes over the ridge of death. But what is cursed to them is blessed to us. Thus, the great keepers of our land fooled the tribes beyond the Akkal, so as to keep their masks from our realm."

I know that verse, friend. But I want to know where they took you.

My last stop was Uking-wa-mto, that backwater desert town in the Hanajj, where criminals are made to consume sand until their insides have turned to glass. I was destined for such a fate, and all the while I was wishing for a proper Medisid death, death by scimitar, or to have my hands taken from me -- perhaps even forced to eat my own finger flesh, as the Orcs of the Anokan do. Just as the torturer held my jaws open with his hand the size of a melon, and brought the funnel to my mouth, the deep-desert ravagers came, twisting their eight legs into my captors, and into some of my fellow prisoners. I was forced to run, lest I be consumed by their mandibles.

They are a myth.

A myth is nothing more than a believer's truth, or food for the wise and well-traveled. I was none of the three, but I am free now. Whether or not I would have preferred my fate to the one suffered by my comrades -- now that, my friend, is questionable.

Through the hot sands I traveled, burning my skin until it was unrecognizable. I ate the long-rotted carcasses of bird-men and vultures, an irony at its greatest wits, and I dug ridge-snakes from holes with my bare hands. I could have run north, to Mekad-Al-Mys, but I did not. I knew all would recognize me -- all those who follow the prophet Medi's teachings, and especially those who worship the sand kings.

At one point, along the ridge, I heard water. I ran, hoping to get a sip from a stream, tired of drinking snake blood. Instead, I slipped on mossy stones and was caught in a rush, down a staircase of waterfalls, and eventually, into a calm river. There, a million tentacles grabbed at me, and I felt I would suffocate. Until, at last, a strange hand reached for me, and pulled me to the riverbank.

A Raiejan?

Indeed. But not one of the horde-tribes. Rather, a hunter-gatherer tribe, seemingly cast out by the violent rituals of the interior. But like all the Raiejans we can read about in dusty manuscripts or glimpse within ancient tapestries, they all donned colorful, terrifying masks. And they spoke a tongue that was painful to the ears. They took my clothes off and analyzed me head to toe, touching the inside of my mouth and even the ridges of my manhood.

I took it all, knowing they must be curious, as to why what they consider to be a cursed man has entered what they consider to be a blessed realm. Why do they not kill me? I thought. Why do they not pierce me with their long spears, or torture me with blood magic? Instead, they lit a fire that evening and roasted a menagerie of animals I had never seen. When I tasted their own snake blood, and they saw I could take it, they chuckled and danced around the flame. They took me in.

But when I arrived to the small collection of huts they called home, I saw the result of past expeditions to this strange paradise: hundreds of skulls on their long spears, all of them some form of Sekaiian -- even a fresh, pale-skinned northfolk, his skin still white under the canopy, but his flesh rotting away. I considered myself dead at that moment, but...

You ran?

Run. I had been running. Run to where? To greater terrors beyond? No. I awaited my fate. But they never displayed my head with the others. They did not even acknowledge my relationship to the dead decorating their abode.

Instead, my dear friend, they taught me things. Things I now wish I could unlearn.

What things?

To become a wisp of dust, or to be floating as a bird at one minute, and then slithering as a long-worm at the next. Not able to alter the fates of those you see, but to feel them, taste them, smell them -- be them.

I don't understand.

And so you shouldn't. But let me tell you of what I saw, so that your eyes may be opened, at least halfway.

Go on, then.

A girl running from men with knives. Yes, that was memorable. I tried to become a fish, and so I did, but the lake was cold. I did not recognize the female body at first -- it had been so long. But there it was, swimming and bathing. So I followed them, then as a wisp of dust on a horse's back. They were in the lands beyond the Medisid, the lands we despise. Yet, I became attached to them somehow.

Them?

A paladin named Gildroy accompanied the girl. I suspect some of our old friends will encounter that one on the battlefield soon enough.

The girl was given something by him, though. Something she does not fully understand. Nor will she ever, I'm afraid. She knows little of the blast of energy that transported her and her villain to a snowy, ancient realm in the north. A part of her has actually been severed from the rest... yes... a piece of herself. Indeed. A tragic tale, really, but one that must continue to be told. I see her future, and...

Don't tell me the future.

All right, then. You are wise. Wiser than I thought you to be. When the Raiejans allowed me to transform via their guidance, they told me to report all I see. So I told them about this girl, this Missy, and they told me of her importance. And apparently, that villain of hers is just as important.

I've never been that far north.

Me, neither. But other things stir there, my good friend. I turned into a great bear, wishing to know what it felt like to be a feared beast. Men ran from my growl and I pounded trees with my claws and ate fish, which tasted far more delicious than snakeheads and bird-men limbs. In that great forest, though, I found my next death -- by a javelin to my heart. As I morphed into yet another wisp, which settled on the hunter's fur cloak, I felt a tickle of pain, but nothing so severe as to call it quits and return to the Raiejans.

Upon that hunters cloak, and jumping from fur to fur, I found out much of the Melgothi, and how their numbers have swollen to sizes that none of those Dwarves expect. But something else interested me more. They noticed me. They were the first to notice me, and an old hag attempted to speak to me. That frightened me, almost as much as I was frightened when the first few grains of sand entered my throat at Uking-wa-mto. I fled, then.

They are unruly. The kingdoms of the north will keep them under control.

Foolish, my friend. Foolish. And I had you for wise.

I fled as a snowbird, and kept flying until I reached the spartan Elves of Ajama. I perched myself on a pine and witnessed a massacre: Elvish soldiers cutting the throats of human children, all because one of them started a fire with his hands. I scoffed at the Ajaman arrogance, but at the same time, remembered my own. I considered then, for a moment, how better off I would be if someone had slit my throat as a child.

They are ruthless. But offer much to the middle-world.

Ha! Much, yes, certainly. Hopefully they will offer more, when the furs come charging. I know their fate, too, and...

Please.

Of course, my good friend. Speaking of offering much to the middle-world, that reminds me of my first attempt at becoming an Orc. I wanted to see what it was like to lift twice my strength and pay homage to the Oagramakandi King. Now there is a society which I genuinely feel can stand the test of time, my good friend.

If the dead do not consume them.

Indeed. After enlisting and working to build defenses, I decided to become a deer. I saw hordes of the black cloaks, their hoods bobbing up and down as they made pilgrimage to an island of terrors. Indeed, that was frightening, but not as frightening as when the Melgothi hag noticed me as a wisp on a bearded man's shoulder.

Still, something about that procession was disconcerting, other than the obvious. I attempted to transform into a bird once more, but I could not. I wanted to see their ranks, to see what kind of chances the Oagramakandi have. But...

You couldn't?

I could not. Something blocked me. So I ran, as fast as I could, from that terrible domain. Eventually, I reached a frozen pond, and there, I was able to become a bird once more. I flew south, away from the frozen fingers of the north.

On my way, I found a noble wanderer, a man from the great mists of unexplored mountains, where the clouds train men to become as strong as water itself. I followed him. I could tell that he noticed me, and was perhaps aware of what I was, but he was quiet and calm and did not disturb my spying. All the way to Kertus, I followed him, and witnessed him unleash his skills upon the unsuspecting. I got much entertainment from him, but after he entered into the gate of Kertus, I got swept away as a bird, and could no longer follow him through those dirty streets.

Kertus is a vile cesspool.

It is. But it also makes good men out of gamblers and wanderers. After becoming a pigeon, I became tired of children chasing me off the streets and trying to eat me, so I transformed into a flea, and hopped my way to the nearest tavern. There, I shared a bed with the strangest of men. I leeched onto his clothes, and followed him when he played an even stranger game, but one that I am not completely foreign to. I recognized it by the dragon cards, but we play far different games in the Medisid lands -- as you know.

I stayed with this man until burly men came for him, and put him in a cell. While there, I was amazed to find the man I had followed as a bird from the mountains. The Raiejans would later tell me there was a reason for this.

Don't tell me, though.

I haven't forgotten your wishes, my good friend.

Anyway, I decided to continue my journey, and hopped my way out of a sewer, and into the Anokan. There, I transformed into a hideous sea creature, so as to frighten pirates and the Ka'elkannah. But I am convinced, now, that nothing can frighten those Orcs and their slaves. When I reared my pitch-black head full of stars from the sea, they cursed at me, but were not cowards. They threw spears and nets, and my disguise was thus ruined. Blood dripping from my monstrous tentacles, I decided to become a sea turtle, and made my way home.

So that is how you came back to me?

Partly. When I made my landing near Fiyadin, I became a camel, and trotted my way to the Bearsong, and thus witnessed the prophet's armies gathering. When I tried to visit her, though, I found myself whisked away. I awoke then, feeling the heat of a fire, and as I peeled my eyes open, the masks were all around me. I sat up, and could now speak their tongue.

"It is cursed, is it not?" they clicked to me. Their words no longer made my ears bleed. I thought about their question for a while, until the sunrise, and finally, I was able to respond.

"It is, indeed. It is, indeed." They danced for me, then, once again, and gave to me a small mask with a single feather.

"All that you saw, Taikrek... All that you saw is connected." The Raiejan who clicked a shrill click of these words wore the most frightening mask.

"How?"

At that moment, all that had frightened me vanished, for fear could not compare to the drop of my heart at that moment. His mask smiled, and quickly reverted to its wooden state.

"That is for you to discover. But enter the cursed lands again, and you cannot come back to us," he clicked. His pitch was becoming higher and higher, a shrill stab, but one that had begun to sound beautiful to my tired ears.

So now you can no longer go back? Because you came back here?

The teachings of Medi are imprinted into us as young children. No matter how well the Raiejans treated me, they could not purge my faith from my blood, the faith that the sand kings despise. Or, rather, did I return because I seek vengeance? Regardless, I have returned, and now I sit here with you, drinking this black tar you call tea, and smoking from a bubbler. But I have come to realize that perhaps the Raiejans expect me to return. Not now, though. Not before I learn more of what their riddles predict. Not until this cursed land has become blessed.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must depart once more from you. It might be years before I return to you again, or it could be days. There are more links I must explore. The elder Raiejan told me all that I saw was connected. As he said those words, I realized that I had not seen all there was worth seeing.

Please. You only just returned.

You would have me stay here with you? Of course you would. As I sit here and drink your tea, within the comfort of your home, a dozen scimitars surround this place, looking once more for my head, and willing to give you bags of gold for your betrayal.

F-f-friend...

Unfortunately, it is your head that they will find -- and in a way not unlike what I witnessed when I first visited the Raiejan hive.

No!

You should have allowed me to tell you the future, my good friend. A pity, really. I couldn't finish telling you about all that I had seen.

* * * * *

The next chapter will take place in Spring, encompassing the months of Talenin-Ichir, Talenin-Nelachir, and Talenin-Sakir.​

 

[Terrance888]

Chapter 2: The Glenoak Grandeur-Northward Ho! Part 2

It was night. The dim moon shone silvery over the cold grey waters of Kiorman. The timbers shivered as the breeze, tasting of spring, blew through the leafy sail.

And yet, over a third of the crew was still awake, looking upon the shore of Wyldra. They had left Horanor late in the night, heading northward, deep into the territory of the Coralfires.

And yet, they are the least of Captain Steven's worries. He watched the dim, yet slightly sinister, lighthouses which ran on the rocky shores between Aston and Teynir from his room. In one hand, he held a pen to the ship's log, and with the other, he held the strange Listening Stone to his mouth as he whispered that log. He knew that at least one of Haedrin's secretaries, if not Haedrin himself, will record the message and study it with his most trusted men and elves.

He coughed slightly in the chilly air as he looked back to the sea charts. Only a few more weeks, and they will be at Anuvyl. He suspected that Eliri was the destination, but then... it was still a suspicion.

He shook his head as he squashed the thought. He will do what is best for the Commonwealth, and if that is to investigate rumors of the Melgothi instead of aiding the Taiford independents, what does HE know about Haedrin's job?

"Clear night, good time" he begun "Four merchant and one armed merchantman-no warships sighted. No dissent among the troops..."

He sighed as he turned to the next sort of matter.

"Maelon has started sending out a veritable flock of ravens, one at every two hours, ever since he saw the Haruylan Peak. I suspect things... but that is for your lor... not for me to decide. I checked them, and no physical message was visible."

He looked one more over the seas, but this time, a faint blob detached itself from the shoreline and begun heading towards their ship.

"End log" he whispered. He then turned to the communications root and called, "Middle Shift-wake up! We might have contact!"