Delegado became aware of the pounding in his skull first. It was huge, relentless, a behemoth of a pain.
He cracked open one eye. The searing light stabbed at him, burning him.
He quickly shut the eye and rolled over. The rough cot creaked in protest, horribly loud in his ears. The empty clay jug – which had been full of whiskey when he’d first lay down for the night after watching her go – rolled off the end of the cot and shattered against the stone floor.
It was like hearing an earthquake.
Finally the pounding stopped, or slowed at least. The door opened, letting in a cold morning air that the remains of the fireplace could not hold back.
The half-orc grunted and fumbled for the blanket. “Shudda fi- fi- test – shudda door.”
“Delegado, are you all right?” came the warforged’s voice, from so far away.
Delegado sighed, feeling a horrible taste in his mouth. “Shut. The. Door.” Each word was like pushing a boulder uphill.
Orphan shut the door, and it seemed to Delegado that it shook his bones. “Did you drink all that whiskey?”
“No, Feather did,” spat the half-orc. An affronted squawk came from the perch in the corner of the room. Delegado shoved his head under the nearly flat linen pillow. And this was considered one of the nicer rooms.
“I take it that your father’s body is in that stone bier?” Orphan asked.
A dull rage began to build in Delegado. “Your point?” the half-orc asked. Do not blow up at the warforged. He says dumb stuff because he doesn’t understand what it implies.
“My point being they should have given him something fancier, wasn’t he someone important in your House?”
Delegado sat up slowly, feeling a thousand needles in his skull. “He still is.” The half-orc pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the room to stop moving before he opened his eyes. “This is the fanciest they have. Blood Crescent is pretty much just a military outpost that collects dragonshards and narstones.” He opened his eyes slowly. Slow was the key.
“You drank all that whiskey because she left?” the warforged asked.
Delegado creaked his neck to look at the warforged. “No, I just figured it was what an honor guard for my father’s body should do,” he snapped. “There, I said it, I’m weak, I dishonored my father by getting drunk. Happy?”
Orphan walked over to him and stuck out a hand. After a glower, Delegado took it and rose to his feet with the warforged’s assistance.
They stood in silence a moment before the warforged finally spoke. “I do not judge you for drinking, Delegado. I think you should realize that I’m a better friend than someone who would criticize you in this situation.” He then produced a flask from one of the many pockets in his monk’s outfit. “Here, citrus juice mixed with a powder, got them both from the adept. He thinks it’s for someone else, an unnamed orc.”
“Damn, you’re becoming Riedran,” the half-orc said, taking the flask. He sucked half of it down in one long swig.
“No, I just know you really well,” the warforged said. Then he continued in orc. “We’ve spent time together so that we’ve given our brother stories.”
Delegado’s eyes widened in surprise. “You became very fluent,” he responded, also in orc. “Let me get myself together and we’ll get a real tour of this place. Take my mind off Ois.” He began to take another swig from the flask.
“You can also explain sex to me again,” the warforged said.
Delegado nearly spit the juice and powder mixture out. A moment afterwards, he realized that the warforged was flexing the corners of his mechanical jaw ever so slightly.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 8
That night, the full-blooded orcs talked to him about different things. Mostly they talked of home, and what they would do with their pay when they returned. They liked Orphan, and not just because Delegado vouched for him, and they discussed things with him freely. They’d also been told by the famous Delegado that Dancing Orphan was trying to learn their language, and this made them proud to teach it.
Orphan found other tasks to keep him busy aside from language skills. There were plenty of mundane tasks to be done, pumping water, stacking firewood, taking out trash, and sharpening weapons. The monk didn’t see any of this as beneath him, the Balanced Palm taught that such work purified both mind and body. He enjoyed being useful.
He also enjoyed the constant activity. The full-blooded orcs, which were roughly a quarter of the population at Blood Crescent, worked at night, and slept during the day. Orphan was used to being alone at night, as he did not sleep, and he enjoyed the camaraderie.
Some of the gnolls were awake at night as well, and a couple of them tried to talk to him, but they made him uneasy. They wanted to discuss the cries of pain from Orphan’s vanquished foes, expressing that they were upset that he had been too far away for them to hear.
He had little to say to such a mindset.
By the time the morning of the twelfth of Zarantyr came, Orphan had picked up a great deal of orc, and learned the names of everyone on the night shift.
The warforged was in a much better mood than he had been earlier when it came time to wake up Delegado.
Orphan found other tasks to keep him busy aside from language skills. There were plenty of mundane tasks to be done, pumping water, stacking firewood, taking out trash, and sharpening weapons. The monk didn’t see any of this as beneath him, the Balanced Palm taught that such work purified both mind and body. He enjoyed being useful.
He also enjoyed the constant activity. The full-blooded orcs, which were roughly a quarter of the population at Blood Crescent, worked at night, and slept during the day. Orphan was used to being alone at night, as he did not sleep, and he enjoyed the camaraderie.
Some of the gnolls were awake at night as well, and a couple of them tried to talk to him, but they made him uneasy. They wanted to discuss the cries of pain from Orphan’s vanquished foes, expressing that they were upset that he had been too far away for them to hear.
He had little to say to such a mindset.
By the time the morning of the twelfth of Zarantyr came, Orphan had picked up a great deal of orc, and learned the names of everyone on the night shift.
The warforged was in a much better mood than he had been earlier when it came time to wake up Delegado.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 7
Ois left that night on the Lyrandar ship. Now wearing the form of a half-elf, she approached the captain as the crew was unloading supplies, and they softly haggled over price. There was no bound elemental powering this ship, but it seemed seaworthy enough.
Orphan jumped down from the battlements, to the shocked oaths of a half-orc sentry that he had been practicing the orc tongue with. Lightly touching the wall as he fell, the warforged tumbled gently to the ground without the slightest scratch, and somersaulted up to Ois.
“What the Keeper –” The Lyrandar captain put his hand to a rapier, then relaxed. “Somebody ought to program this Tharashk tinkertoy that charging up at people isn’t the healthiest thing!” the half-elf captain snapped.
“So you’re leaving, are you?” Orphan asked Ois, ignoring the Lyrandar officer.
Ois looked at the half-elf, said something in elvish to him, and the Lyrandar turned and walked away, muttering deprecations about crazy golems. Once he was decently far enough away, she turned to Orphan with cold eyes.
“For someone who was going to leave me in the demon capital, you pick an odd time to care if I leave,” she said coldly.
“I care about Delegado,” he told her bluntly. “And I think you should at least say good-bye to him.”
“Go f’test yourself,” she said to him. “Take your morals, your piety, your certainty about what everyone else needs to do, drill yourself a hole, then shove them all in there.”
“Don’t tell me that you don’t care about him,” Orphan said. “Don’t tell me that you aren’t aware of what your leaving will do.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” she snapped. “You came to me, remember?”
Orphan began to realize that he’d picked the wrong tack to take with her. Belatedly he realized that his bluntness would be expected by an orc, but not by a changeling. “I know you care about right and wrong,” he pressed.
“I’ll not have a creature without a soul lecture me about right and wrong,” she snorted.
“I am alive,” he stated.
“You’re alive,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you have a soul.”
He could tell she was saying what she was saying in order to get at him, to hurt him. “You obviously think I do, else you wouldn’t have tried to convert me in the Wastes,” he pointed out.
“We’re still in the Wastes,” she countered. “And I’m not trying to convert you, or anyone.”
Orphan considered this. “Ois, look, Delegado –”
“Has his extended family,” she said. “And for all of his frustrations with them, they’re what he needs. So we’re done with him needing me.”
“And what about what you need?” Orphan pressed. “You don’t need him? Really?”
“Apparently not,” she said.
Orphan looked at her, watched her eyes. She was serious, in a way. But also she was not. But then she was a trained Thranish intelligence agent, so perhaps she could fool him.
“Ois,” he said again. “Are you sure? Are you blaming him? Is that it? Like you blamed him for Droaam?”
“No, I’m not blaming him,” she said. “Now good-bye.” She turned away from him and began to walk towards the Lyrandar ship’s gangplank.
“What were you promised?” he called after her, playing a hunch.
“What?” she asked, turning around, a puzzled look on her face.
“We were all promised something to get us to go to the Wastes,” Orphan said, remembering a conversation that he’d had with Delegado while the two contemplated a flying wall of volcanic shards. “What were you promised?”
She stared at him, and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. “The truth,” she finally answered.
“Of what?”
“The truth of my relationship with the Flame,” she said.
“And you found it?” he asked.
She dug into a pocket, producing the silver arrowhead holy symbol that he had seen her use. “I did,” she said.
Then she tossed the arrowhead into the water, and boarded the Lyrandar ship.
Orphan jumped down from the battlements, to the shocked oaths of a half-orc sentry that he had been practicing the orc tongue with. Lightly touching the wall as he fell, the warforged tumbled gently to the ground without the slightest scratch, and somersaulted up to Ois.
“What the Keeper –” The Lyrandar captain put his hand to a rapier, then relaxed. “Somebody ought to program this Tharashk tinkertoy that charging up at people isn’t the healthiest thing!” the half-elf captain snapped.
“So you’re leaving, are you?” Orphan asked Ois, ignoring the Lyrandar officer.
Ois looked at the half-elf, said something in elvish to him, and the Lyrandar turned and walked away, muttering deprecations about crazy golems. Once he was decently far enough away, she turned to Orphan with cold eyes.
“For someone who was going to leave me in the demon capital, you pick an odd time to care if I leave,” she said coldly.
“I care about Delegado,” he told her bluntly. “And I think you should at least say good-bye to him.”
“Go f’test yourself,” she said to him. “Take your morals, your piety, your certainty about what everyone else needs to do, drill yourself a hole, then shove them all in there.”
“Don’t tell me that you don’t care about him,” Orphan said. “Don’t tell me that you aren’t aware of what your leaving will do.”
“I’m not telling you anything,” she snapped. “You came to me, remember?”
Orphan began to realize that he’d picked the wrong tack to take with her. Belatedly he realized that his bluntness would be expected by an orc, but not by a changeling. “I know you care about right and wrong,” he pressed.
“I’ll not have a creature without a soul lecture me about right and wrong,” she snorted.
“I am alive,” he stated.
“You’re alive,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you have a soul.”
He could tell she was saying what she was saying in order to get at him, to hurt him. “You obviously think I do, else you wouldn’t have tried to convert me in the Wastes,” he pointed out.
“We’re still in the Wastes,” she countered. “And I’m not trying to convert you, or anyone.”
Orphan considered this. “Ois, look, Delegado –”
“Has his extended family,” she said. “And for all of his frustrations with them, they’re what he needs. So we’re done with him needing me.”
“And what about what you need?” Orphan pressed. “You don’t need him? Really?”
“Apparently not,” she said.
Orphan looked at her, watched her eyes. She was serious, in a way. But also she was not. But then she was a trained Thranish intelligence agent, so perhaps she could fool him.
“Ois,” he said again. “Are you sure? Are you blaming him? Is that it? Like you blamed him for Droaam?”
“No, I’m not blaming him,” she said. “Now good-bye.” She turned away from him and began to walk towards the Lyrandar ship’s gangplank.
“What were you promised?” he called after her, playing a hunch.
“What?” she asked, turning around, a puzzled look on her face.
“We were all promised something to get us to go to the Wastes,” Orphan said, remembering a conversation that he’d had with Delegado while the two contemplated a flying wall of volcanic shards. “What were you promised?”
She stared at him, and for a moment he thought she wouldn’t answer. “The truth,” she finally answered.
“Of what?”
“The truth of my relationship with the Flame,” she said.
“And you found it?” he asked.
She dug into a pocket, producing the silver arrowhead holy symbol that he had seen her use. “I did,” she said.
Then she tossed the arrowhead into the water, and boarded the Lyrandar ship.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Chapter 8 - Part 6
There were about fifty of the Carrion Tribesmen who came attacking. Almost all were humans, and every single one of them bores traces of disease and rot. They came over the ridges, hooting and hollering, screaming phrases in their infernal language, brandishing scavenged armor, stone axes, and crude spears.
The first three died within seconds, not knowing what had happened. The next five weren’t killed, their legs were broken instead, and they fell forward, tripping the ones behind.
The warforged had been hiding under a thin layer of cold sand, and was now twirling and punching, kicking and fighting. The thing made of stone, wood, and metal bounded forward and back, fists and feet crunching bones, breaking heads, and otherwise causing havoc and mayhem.
The plague-infested tribesmen had been promised nirvana by their leader. The hag was persuasive, controlling their minds, telling them magnificent lies. Her entire intention was to deplete Tharashk’s arrows and to test their defenses. Maybe even actually get close to one of the Defenders of Blood Crescent and infect the place.
They didn’t even get within decent longbow range. The warforged who had been hiding was destroying them. He moved faster than them, bounding forward and back, striking with impunity. The few times someone managed a swipe at him, he easily avoided it, as if he anticipated the strike before it was made.
It took five minutes, maybe six, and then entire group lay dead or dying. Orphan stood among them, looking them over.
He supposed he should have pity. Maybe when he got back to civilization. For now, if it came from the Wastes, especially if it worked for one of the fiends, he had none.
He waited another few minutes, his head turning, trying to spot the hag. Something in him wanted another fight.
He saw nothing but the Wastes.
Finally he turned, jogging back faster than a horse could run. Delegado met him at the gate.
“Feeling better?” the half-orc asked him.
“No,” Orphan said. “You?”
“Nope,” Delegado said. He stepped back, and a half-orc adept stepped forward to paint Orphan’s bloody hands and feet with a disease-purging laminate. “But a whole lot of other people are feeling better.”
Orphan was puzzled, but once the adept was done, the warforged stepped through the narrow entryway into the courtyard of the main compound of Blood Crescent. There he saw a mass of orcs, humans, half-orcs, and even gnolls.
And when they saw him, they let forth a tremendous cheer, hooting and yelling words in orcish.
“They’re calling you ‘Dancing Orphan,’” Delegado said, clapping his arm around the shoulder of the stunned warforged.
“Um, thank you,” Orphan said to them. “Thank you, but, wow, I was glad to help.”
“Say ‘Deh’g’nad,’” Delegado instructed.
“Deg – nahd,” Orphan said, stumbling over the word. Several of the orcs laughed.
“I’ve got to teach you more orcish,” Delegado chuckled. He hollered something and the Tharashk warriors ran forward to carry Orphan around on their shoulders.
The first three died within seconds, not knowing what had happened. The next five weren’t killed, their legs were broken instead, and they fell forward, tripping the ones behind.
The warforged had been hiding under a thin layer of cold sand, and was now twirling and punching, kicking and fighting. The thing made of stone, wood, and metal bounded forward and back, fists and feet crunching bones, breaking heads, and otherwise causing havoc and mayhem.
The plague-infested tribesmen had been promised nirvana by their leader. The hag was persuasive, controlling their minds, telling them magnificent lies. Her entire intention was to deplete Tharashk’s arrows and to test their defenses. Maybe even actually get close to one of the Defenders of Blood Crescent and infect the place.
They didn’t even get within decent longbow range. The warforged who had been hiding was destroying them. He moved faster than them, bounding forward and back, striking with impunity. The few times someone managed a swipe at him, he easily avoided it, as if he anticipated the strike before it was made.
It took five minutes, maybe six, and then entire group lay dead or dying. Orphan stood among them, looking them over.
He supposed he should have pity. Maybe when he got back to civilization. For now, if it came from the Wastes, especially if it worked for one of the fiends, he had none.
He waited another few minutes, his head turning, trying to spot the hag. Something in him wanted another fight.
He saw nothing but the Wastes.
Finally he turned, jogging back faster than a horse could run. Delegado met him at the gate.
“Feeling better?” the half-orc asked him.
“No,” Orphan said. “You?”
“Nope,” Delegado said. He stepped back, and a half-orc adept stepped forward to paint Orphan’s bloody hands and feet with a disease-purging laminate. “But a whole lot of other people are feeling better.”
Orphan was puzzled, but once the adept was done, the warforged stepped through the narrow entryway into the courtyard of the main compound of Blood Crescent. There he saw a mass of orcs, humans, half-orcs, and even gnolls.
And when they saw him, they let forth a tremendous cheer, hooting and yelling words in orcish.
“They’re calling you ‘Dancing Orphan,’” Delegado said, clapping his arm around the shoulder of the stunned warforged.
“Um, thank you,” Orphan said to them. “Thank you, but, wow, I was glad to help.”
“Say ‘Deh’g’nad,’” Delegado instructed.
“Deg – nahd,” Orphan said, stumbling over the word. Several of the orcs laughed.
“I’ve got to teach you more orcish,” Delegado chuckled. He hollered something and the Tharashk warriors ran forward to carry Orphan around on their shoulders.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Chapter 8 - Part 5
Iron Orphan found himself feeling oddly relaxed. The Tharashk outpost was bristling with weapons and soldiers, and Foallus was watching him like a hawk – albeit a hawk with a pleasant demeanor, but this was nothing compared to the tense stress that he had been under since he’d entered the Wastes so many weeks earlier.
Ois was anything but. She still wore the human woman guise, marked with the scar that never left, no matter what form she took, but she kept her eyes on the floor, and her fingers clasped and unclasped around her sword hilt. The Tharashk soldiers considered her the lesser threat, however. The ones passing by stared at the warforged and whispered to one another.
“I’m not sure what you mean about lattices,” Foallus said. Orphan had taken him for a wizard, but apparently Delegado’s cousin’s spells were inborn things, not from study. Orphan’s headband gave him a greater understanding of Foallus’ magic than Foallus had.
Of course Foallus could summon bolts of lightning that could fry demons, and Orphan could not. Foallus was a doer, not an understander. It was a very orc-like trait, the warforged decided.
“Structures of magic, waiting to be tapped,” Orphan explained. “Sometimes magic is there, just waiting to be ordered. And sometimes it’s already ordered, but it needs shaping.”
“But you aren’t a spellcaster,” Foallus asked, curious.
“Hm, no,” Orphan said. He tipped his head, trying to get the entire conversation that was going on behind Baruk’s door.
“He’s a monk,” Ois said suddenly.
Orphan turned to stare at her in shock. Foallus reacted first however, with a suaveness that belied the orc side of his family. “My Lady, may I ask who you are, to be plucked from the Wastes by one of our best hunters, and his warforged…monk?”
“I’m someone who found something,” Ois said. “I found what I was looking for, and I wish I hadn’t. So I don’t think I fit in here, do I?” Her eyes were rimmed red.
Orphan was shocked by the raw emotion in Ois’ voice. Even for what she had been through, she seemed so despondent, very different from the confident paladin.
The door to Baruk’s office opened, and Delegado emerged, laughing at something the Tharashk commander had said. “Hey Orphan,” Delegado called out. “Let’s you and me show these fellows how to wipe out some fiend-worshippers, eh?”
Ois was anything but. She still wore the human woman guise, marked with the scar that never left, no matter what form she took, but she kept her eyes on the floor, and her fingers clasped and unclasped around her sword hilt. The Tharashk soldiers considered her the lesser threat, however. The ones passing by stared at the warforged and whispered to one another.
“I’m not sure what you mean about lattices,” Foallus said. Orphan had taken him for a wizard, but apparently Delegado’s cousin’s spells were inborn things, not from study. Orphan’s headband gave him a greater understanding of Foallus’ magic than Foallus had.
Of course Foallus could summon bolts of lightning that could fry demons, and Orphan could not. Foallus was a doer, not an understander. It was a very orc-like trait, the warforged decided.
“Structures of magic, waiting to be tapped,” Orphan explained. “Sometimes magic is there, just waiting to be ordered. And sometimes it’s already ordered, but it needs shaping.”
“But you aren’t a spellcaster,” Foallus asked, curious.
“Hm, no,” Orphan said. He tipped his head, trying to get the entire conversation that was going on behind Baruk’s door.
“He’s a monk,” Ois said suddenly.
Orphan turned to stare at her in shock. Foallus reacted first however, with a suaveness that belied the orc side of his family. “My Lady, may I ask who you are, to be plucked from the Wastes by one of our best hunters, and his warforged…monk?”
“I’m someone who found something,” Ois said. “I found what I was looking for, and I wish I hadn’t. So I don’t think I fit in here, do I?” Her eyes were rimmed red.
Orphan was shocked by the raw emotion in Ois’ voice. Even for what she had been through, she seemed so despondent, very different from the confident paladin.
The door to Baruk’s office opened, and Delegado emerged, laughing at something the Tharashk commander had said. “Hey Orphan,” Delegado called out. “Let’s you and me show these fellows how to wipe out some fiend-worshippers, eh?”
Friday, March 13, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 4
Delegado knew he was in for trouble when he sat down across the battered desk from Baruk. The steely-eyed half-orc looked unpleasant, tough, rigid…but not surprised.
“You’re going to Yrlag,” the commander of Blood Crescent said bluntly.
Delegado pursed his lips, and then sighed. There weren’t too many people who could speak to him that way…and they were all high-ranking members of his House. This is why I stay away from the Marches. “You want to tell me why these are your first words to me?” Delegado asked. “You want to tell me that, Baruk? Or did my sister not give you permission?”
The green skin of the other half-orc didn’t flush, and his eyes didn’t twitch. “Tatyanna doesn’t give me orders, Longbow,” Baruk said, using an old childhood nickname of Del’s. “I answer to the Triumvirate. Thought you knew that.”
Del ground his tusks. “Thought you knew Tatyanna is the one who called me Longbow because she didn’t me to have my sword.” He was trying to hold in his temper but not succeeding. “My father’s sword. My father who I found, a prisoner in the Wastes.”
“I’m not responsible for Bartemain getting taken!” Baruk snapped, finally showing some emotion.
“Didn’t show well on you though, did it?” Del noted. “And the thanks I get is what – being treated like a naughty child who can’t go an play?” His voice was rising.
“Keep it down, we’re not putting on a show for your friends down the hallway,” snorted Baruk. “I’m boss here, and I can’t let these thugs see me weak before you, got it?”
“You think they don’t know?” Del said. Baruk had kept Ois and Orphan out of this little sit-down, but as sure as an ogre slept in his own waste, the warforged could hear every word. “I’m sponsoring the warforged into our House, by the way.”
“Like I give a sh’pash?” Baruk asked. “My job is keeping the profit moving out of here. My job does not allow for you to come here and argue with me. I have Khyber shards and narstones to harvest. I have crews to keep in line. I have a ledger sheet that has to justify the cost here. I’ve got no time for your emotions. The Triumvirate says that you go to Yrlag, so you go to Yrlag. Your pet warforged want to go somewhere else, or that lady you picked up – who the Medani sensors identify as a changeling, if you didn’t know – I don’t care. They came get on the Lyrandar supply ship that’s coming tonight and continue on to wherever it’s heading.” Baruk exhaled slowly, then inhaled even more slowly. “But you are going to Yrlag.”
Del looked at him. They stared at each other for over a minute.
Del broke first. “So, you gonna tell me why?”
“Null contract,” Baruk said.
“What?” Delegado said, blinking.
“Null contract, you heard of it?” Baruk asked.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Delegado said.
“Null contract is when somebody pays for an agent of a dragonmarked house to not do anything,” Baruk explained. “It’s mostly used when someone wants a Thuranni contract killer to stay out of the game for a bit, or a Phiarlan agent, or someone. The price is very high. The last I heard of it, some ten years back Karrnath paid Jorasco’s best healer to stay out of Mror for six months. They were trying to send the dwarves a message.”
“Who paid for my null contract, and for how long?” Del asked.
“You have a greater dragonmark now, don’t you?” Baruk asked.
“You’re not answering my question.”
“You think I know the answer.”
“I think you know more than you’re telling.”
Baruk finally cracked a smile. “I always do.”
Delegado leaned back and put his dirty, booted feet atop Baruk’s desk. It was hard as stone. Word in the House was it was carved out of a demon’s bones or something. It sure wasn’t wood. “Don’t play Phiarlan with me, commander. We’re the people born from nature’s strength, not snippety woodfey. Tell me what you know.”
“Breland,” Baruk said. “I’m not supposed to know, but I do. Breland paid for a sixty-day null contract on you at a greater dragonmark rate. When you were supposed to be dead. Not one diviner could find you. And Breland drops a ton of cash on a null contract, stating that if you showed up, you were to be kept within a hundred miles of the Shadow Marches. The null contract is paid through and including the first of Ollarune.”
Delegado blinked. “Are you – are you kidding me? What the Mabar for?”
“I was hoping that you could tell me,” Baruk said. “Now if you weren’t dead, how come nobody could find you?”
“I was outside of time,” Delegado explained.
Now Baruk blinked. “What?”
“I don’t understand it either,” Delegado sighed. “I came here on a ship captained by a fiend who isn’t evil, drives something called the Crimson Ship. He got us off the beach when we thought we were dead. A half-daelkyr screwed around with the Crimson Ship and shot us forward a month or so.”
Baruk rubbed his eyes. “I got less than half of that. And what I got tells me the fiends want you, and I get enough attacks on this outpost as it is. You are definitely on the next ship to Yrlag.”
“Medani,” Delegado said.
“What?”
“Medani. Who else would Breland listen to and drop a bundle like that?”
Baruk snickered. “Yeah, that was my first thought. Second was the Dark Lanterns. Ahh, f’test it.” The other half-orc reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle and two cups. “Gnoll whiskey. Usually it’s horrible, this time it came out okay.” He poured a cup and handed it to Delegado.
Del took the cup, understanding that with this, Baruk was telling him the business was over, and that he wasn’t trying to treat Del like one of his soldiers. “So, while I’m waiting on the next boat that’s bound to Yrlag, what do you let the fellows do for fun here?”
“We expect a small horde of come Carrion Tribe folk to swarm attack us in a few hours,” Baruk said. “A local hag is testing our defenses with her dumber worshippers. Your warforged any good?”
Delegado smiled. “You want a wager?”
“You’re going to Yrlag,” the commander of Blood Crescent said bluntly.
Delegado pursed his lips, and then sighed. There weren’t too many people who could speak to him that way…and they were all high-ranking members of his House. This is why I stay away from the Marches. “You want to tell me why these are your first words to me?” Delegado asked. “You want to tell me that, Baruk? Or did my sister not give you permission?”
The green skin of the other half-orc didn’t flush, and his eyes didn’t twitch. “Tatyanna doesn’t give me orders, Longbow,” Baruk said, using an old childhood nickname of Del’s. “I answer to the Triumvirate. Thought you knew that.”
Del ground his tusks. “Thought you knew Tatyanna is the one who called me Longbow because she didn’t me to have my sword.” He was trying to hold in his temper but not succeeding. “My father’s sword. My father who I found, a prisoner in the Wastes.”
“I’m not responsible for Bartemain getting taken!” Baruk snapped, finally showing some emotion.
“Didn’t show well on you though, did it?” Del noted. “And the thanks I get is what – being treated like a naughty child who can’t go an play?” His voice was rising.
“Keep it down, we’re not putting on a show for your friends down the hallway,” snorted Baruk. “I’m boss here, and I can’t let these thugs see me weak before you, got it?”
“You think they don’t know?” Del said. Baruk had kept Ois and Orphan out of this little sit-down, but as sure as an ogre slept in his own waste, the warforged could hear every word. “I’m sponsoring the warforged into our House, by the way.”
“Like I give a sh’pash?” Baruk asked. “My job is keeping the profit moving out of here. My job does not allow for you to come here and argue with me. I have Khyber shards and narstones to harvest. I have crews to keep in line. I have a ledger sheet that has to justify the cost here. I’ve got no time for your emotions. The Triumvirate says that you go to Yrlag, so you go to Yrlag. Your pet warforged want to go somewhere else, or that lady you picked up – who the Medani sensors identify as a changeling, if you didn’t know – I don’t care. They came get on the Lyrandar supply ship that’s coming tonight and continue on to wherever it’s heading.” Baruk exhaled slowly, then inhaled even more slowly. “But you are going to Yrlag.”
Del looked at him. They stared at each other for over a minute.
Del broke first. “So, you gonna tell me why?”
“Null contract,” Baruk said.
“What?” Delegado said, blinking.
“Null contract, you heard of it?” Baruk asked.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Delegado said.
“Null contract is when somebody pays for an agent of a dragonmarked house to not do anything,” Baruk explained. “It’s mostly used when someone wants a Thuranni contract killer to stay out of the game for a bit, or a Phiarlan agent, or someone. The price is very high. The last I heard of it, some ten years back Karrnath paid Jorasco’s best healer to stay out of Mror for six months. They were trying to send the dwarves a message.”
“Who paid for my null contract, and for how long?” Del asked.
“You have a greater dragonmark now, don’t you?” Baruk asked.
“You’re not answering my question.”
“You think I know the answer.”
“I think you know more than you’re telling.”
Baruk finally cracked a smile. “I always do.”
Delegado leaned back and put his dirty, booted feet atop Baruk’s desk. It was hard as stone. Word in the House was it was carved out of a demon’s bones or something. It sure wasn’t wood. “Don’t play Phiarlan with me, commander. We’re the people born from nature’s strength, not snippety woodfey. Tell me what you know.”
“Breland,” Baruk said. “I’m not supposed to know, but I do. Breland paid for a sixty-day null contract on you at a greater dragonmark rate. When you were supposed to be dead. Not one diviner could find you. And Breland drops a ton of cash on a null contract, stating that if you showed up, you were to be kept within a hundred miles of the Shadow Marches. The null contract is paid through and including the first of Ollarune.”
Delegado blinked. “Are you – are you kidding me? What the Mabar for?”
“I was hoping that you could tell me,” Baruk said. “Now if you weren’t dead, how come nobody could find you?”
“I was outside of time,” Delegado explained.
Now Baruk blinked. “What?”
“I don’t understand it either,” Delegado sighed. “I came here on a ship captained by a fiend who isn’t evil, drives something called the Crimson Ship. He got us off the beach when we thought we were dead. A half-daelkyr screwed around with the Crimson Ship and shot us forward a month or so.”
Baruk rubbed his eyes. “I got less than half of that. And what I got tells me the fiends want you, and I get enough attacks on this outpost as it is. You are definitely on the next ship to Yrlag.”
“Medani,” Delegado said.
“What?”
“Medani. Who else would Breland listen to and drop a bundle like that?”
Baruk snickered. “Yeah, that was my first thought. Second was the Dark Lanterns. Ahh, f’test it.” The other half-orc reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle and two cups. “Gnoll whiskey. Usually it’s horrible, this time it came out okay.” He poured a cup and handed it to Delegado.
Del took the cup, understanding that with this, Baruk was telling him the business was over, and that he wasn’t trying to treat Del like one of his soldiers. “So, while I’m waiting on the next boat that’s bound to Yrlag, what do you let the fellows do for fun here?”
“We expect a small horde of come Carrion Tribe folk to swarm attack us in a few hours,” Baruk said. “A local hag is testing our defenses with her dumber worshippers. Your warforged any good?”
Delegado smiled. “You want a wager?”
Monday, March 9, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 3
The approach to the docks was unheralded, to say the least. The Captain had taken the staff that Oalian had given to Thomas, and conjured up a fog so thick that it was nearly solid. Orphan considered this the least of the staff’s powers, but he also understood that the Captain wasn’t quite as good at manipulating magical devices as Thomas had been – the fiend’s command of the Crimson Ship notwithstanding.
And so they disembarked. Delegado and Feather first, the half-orc stepping carefully down the plank, their bags on his back and the body of Bartemain in his arms. Ois followed him by several feet. Her armor’s glamer was currently disguising itself as simple mail, and she presented the face of a simple human woman. Gone from the casual eye was any indicia of the Silver Flame.
Iron Orphan thought that Ois’ disguise would merit hiding the Flame insignia, but he suspected something deeper was at play.
The warforged came last. He didn’t descend the gangplank, but instead chose to jump and tumble, though he could scarcely see the dock. It was a fun challenge, but what was more fun was telling the Captain that he would be back one day. The Captain’s response was to snort and throw Oalian’s staff at the monk.
A fine quarterstaff, Orphan thought to himself, whistling it through the air as he moved to stand next to Delegado. “I hear people ahead,” he whispered to the half-orc.
“Yep,” Delegado said.
The trio stood in silence for a moment, and felt rather than saw the Crimson Ship slip away in the fog. Then a breeze stirred, and the fog moved. It was a minute, maybe two, and the fog suddenly vanished.
Many sets of eyes blinked at the sudden morning light, what little came through the thick clouds. The Crimson Ship was gone, and to the casual observer, the warforged, the half-orc, and the ‘human’ woman had appeared with the fog.
Of course the observers were not exactly casual. The dock was nestled in between two high walls, with iron-reinforced firing positions, and many were the longbows, crossbows, and other weapons pointed their way. At first casual scan, Orphan saw thirty armed individuals, mostly human and orc, but not a few gnoll, and even an ogre ready to toss down a barrel with a lit fuse sticking out of it.
None of them were particularly friendly.
“Czharr’kann!” bellowed Delegado. Orphan had picked up enough orc to know that Delegado was demanding their attention. “I am Delegado of the United House! I have been to the far ends of Khorvaire, and I have found many things!”
Here he paused, and raised his burden high above his head.
“I have found what you in Blood Crescent have lost!” the half-orc bellowed. “I have found the body of my father, Bartemain!”
There was a stir, and the double iron doors at the other end of the docks opened wide. Full-blooded orcs with long, curved blades came out, then stood to the side as a majestic human male with striking features, salt-and-pepper hair, and a flowing ermine cape strode forward. A raven rode his shoulder and appeared to whisper briefly into his ear. The man wore no armor and carried no visible weapon, but Orphan saw flashes of light at his fingertips and knew that this man carried magical power.
And his features looked somewhat familiar.
“Cousin?” asked the man in the cape. “Can it be?”
“It can, Foallus, and it is,” Delegado said. “I bear the body of your uncle, my father, retrieved from the fiends. Now take my companions and I to Baruk, he needs the tale first.”
And so they disembarked. Delegado and Feather first, the half-orc stepping carefully down the plank, their bags on his back and the body of Bartemain in his arms. Ois followed him by several feet. Her armor’s glamer was currently disguising itself as simple mail, and she presented the face of a simple human woman. Gone from the casual eye was any indicia of the Silver Flame.
Iron Orphan thought that Ois’ disguise would merit hiding the Flame insignia, but he suspected something deeper was at play.
The warforged came last. He didn’t descend the gangplank, but instead chose to jump and tumble, though he could scarcely see the dock. It was a fun challenge, but what was more fun was telling the Captain that he would be back one day. The Captain’s response was to snort and throw Oalian’s staff at the monk.
A fine quarterstaff, Orphan thought to himself, whistling it through the air as he moved to stand next to Delegado. “I hear people ahead,” he whispered to the half-orc.
“Yep,” Delegado said.
The trio stood in silence for a moment, and felt rather than saw the Crimson Ship slip away in the fog. Then a breeze stirred, and the fog moved. It was a minute, maybe two, and the fog suddenly vanished.
Many sets of eyes blinked at the sudden morning light, what little came through the thick clouds. The Crimson Ship was gone, and to the casual observer, the warforged, the half-orc, and the ‘human’ woman had appeared with the fog.
Of course the observers were not exactly casual. The dock was nestled in between two high walls, with iron-reinforced firing positions, and many were the longbows, crossbows, and other weapons pointed their way. At first casual scan, Orphan saw thirty armed individuals, mostly human and orc, but not a few gnoll, and even an ogre ready to toss down a barrel with a lit fuse sticking out of it.
None of them were particularly friendly.
“Czharr’kann!” bellowed Delegado. Orphan had picked up enough orc to know that Delegado was demanding their attention. “I am Delegado of the United House! I have been to the far ends of Khorvaire, and I have found many things!”
Here he paused, and raised his burden high above his head.
“I have found what you in Blood Crescent have lost!” the half-orc bellowed. “I have found the body of my father, Bartemain!”
There was a stir, and the double iron doors at the other end of the docks opened wide. Full-blooded orcs with long, curved blades came out, then stood to the side as a majestic human male with striking features, salt-and-pepper hair, and a flowing ermine cape strode forward. A raven rode his shoulder and appeared to whisper briefly into his ear. The man wore no armor and carried no visible weapon, but Orphan saw flashes of light at his fingertips and knew that this man carried magical power.
And his features looked somewhat familiar.
“Cousin?” asked the man in the cape. “Can it be?”
“It can, Foallus, and it is,” Delegado said. “I bear the body of your uncle, my father, retrieved from the fiends. Now take my companions and I to Baruk, he needs the tale first.”
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 2
About two hours before the Crimson Ship came into the narrow docks of Blood Crescent, Delegado had come to visit with him.
“Can you even see anything in here?” the half-orc asked, letting Feather flit off of his shoulder to find a crate to perch on.
“A little, there is some ambient light,” the warforged told him. He could tell that Delegado was looking to get his head involved in something other than a changeling paladin.
A changeling paladin who was a rape victim.
“My mother’s people can see in the dark,” Delegado said. “So can gnolls. There may be others at Blood Crescent, there’ll certainly be my father’s people. Might be some warforged. Figured I’d best get you briefed on what we’re walking into.”
“Might be your people, but it’s still the Wastes, so you want me to be as prepared as possible,” Orphan stated. “I’m listening for every detail.”
“Good man,” Delegado said. “Alright, the gnolls are hired mercs from Droaam, we have the choice of muscle since we’re the broker. The gnolls are archers, we’ve been training them to hunt the fiends. Given the enemies we’ve made in the past month – or months – or whatever the Khyber happened when we went out of time – I plan to pick up on some of that training myself.”
“Walled compound, compound longbows almost as strong as yours, range beating numbers?” the warforged monk guessed.
“Right.” Delegado flashed a grin when he was quoted, but aside from that he was all business. Orphan knew why. The half-orc hated the fact that Thomas had forced Delegado’s forgiveness before the end. And Delegado hated knowing that Ois knew about that. And Delegado had to blame something for the wall that grew between him and the woman he loved, so he blamed himself.
Orphan never would understand the complex motivations that roiled from gender interaction.
At least he could engage Delegado now, get his mind off of it. “And given that different fiends have different weaknesses, this damage reduction, multiple archers on each presented target is the best way to go.”
“Right again,” Delegado stated. “That headband of yours got more to tell on that?”
“Magical fields that hold back tissue rupturing, instant rebuild from previously auto-saved information at the cellular level,” Orphan stated. “Pure metals of certain types break up the field. With some it is silver, with some cold iron, with some byeshk. Sometimes a magical or theological source of energy is needed as well. Sometimes there’s a kinetic structure along with the magical fields that requires that the penetrating trauma be blunt, piercing, or slicing. Sometimes – ”
“Okay,” snorted the half-orc. “Right. Anyway, when one of the damn things is charging the wall, you can’t worry about what’s what and figure out which one. So multiple squads with multiple arrows. Last I heard we had an artificer, were going to get more, some more soldiers and some family spell throwers.”
“We going to stay there a bit?” Orphan asked. “Run security?”
“We’ll have to wait until the next outgoing vessel that’s headed back to the Marshes,” Delegado told him. “Preferably not Yrlag, even though it’s the closest port.”
Orphan was confused. “Why not? Isn’t that a Tharashk outpost?”
Delegado sighed. “Yeah, it is. And the city administrator is my oldest half-sister.”
“The one who said you shouldn’t keep the sword.”
“Yeah.” Delegado threw a glance back down the hallway to his cabin, where his father’s body was stored. “But I have to stay with my father’s body, have to get it to the druids so that they can – undo whatever those Keeper’s whores in the Wastes did. And I don’t want her in charge of that.”
“Her father too, no?” Orphan figured he ought to tread lightly here, but he wasn’t sure why.
The half-orc nodded. “Tatyanna never did like to share.”
Orphan realized what the conversation was about. “If word comes from her to bring you and your father’s body to Yrlag, you want to jump another ship, is that it?”
The half-orc blinked. “Well…maybe. Or maybe just you, I have to answer to –” He stopped, frowning. Been too long since I had to answer to someone. When I’m in the Marches I have to. But you could carry my father’s body, jump to another ship, head the way I tell you.”
“I don’t know the Marches, Delegado,” Orphan pointed out. “I would be utterly lost. And besides, I think that the prophecy indicates that we are supposed to stay together.”
Delegado’s expression hardened. “Tell that to Ois, then,” he said, rising and storming out.
Feather stayed behind, and Orphan and the bird looked at each other in silence.
“Can you even see anything in here?” the half-orc asked, letting Feather flit off of his shoulder to find a crate to perch on.
“A little, there is some ambient light,” the warforged told him. He could tell that Delegado was looking to get his head involved in something other than a changeling paladin.
A changeling paladin who was a rape victim.
“My mother’s people can see in the dark,” Delegado said. “So can gnolls. There may be others at Blood Crescent, there’ll certainly be my father’s people. Might be some warforged. Figured I’d best get you briefed on what we’re walking into.”
“Might be your people, but it’s still the Wastes, so you want me to be as prepared as possible,” Orphan stated. “I’m listening for every detail.”
“Good man,” Delegado said. “Alright, the gnolls are hired mercs from Droaam, we have the choice of muscle since we’re the broker. The gnolls are archers, we’ve been training them to hunt the fiends. Given the enemies we’ve made in the past month – or months – or whatever the Khyber happened when we went out of time – I plan to pick up on some of that training myself.”
“Walled compound, compound longbows almost as strong as yours, range beating numbers?” the warforged monk guessed.
“Right.” Delegado flashed a grin when he was quoted, but aside from that he was all business. Orphan knew why. The half-orc hated the fact that Thomas had forced Delegado’s forgiveness before the end. And Delegado hated knowing that Ois knew about that. And Delegado had to blame something for the wall that grew between him and the woman he loved, so he blamed himself.
Orphan never would understand the complex motivations that roiled from gender interaction.
At least he could engage Delegado now, get his mind off of it. “And given that different fiends have different weaknesses, this damage reduction, multiple archers on each presented target is the best way to go.”
“Right again,” Delegado stated. “That headband of yours got more to tell on that?”
“Magical fields that hold back tissue rupturing, instant rebuild from previously auto-saved information at the cellular level,” Orphan stated. “Pure metals of certain types break up the field. With some it is silver, with some cold iron, with some byeshk. Sometimes a magical or theological source of energy is needed as well. Sometimes there’s a kinetic structure along with the magical fields that requires that the penetrating trauma be blunt, piercing, or slicing. Sometimes – ”
“Okay,” snorted the half-orc. “Right. Anyway, when one of the damn things is charging the wall, you can’t worry about what’s what and figure out which one. So multiple squads with multiple arrows. Last I heard we had an artificer, were going to get more, some more soldiers and some family spell throwers.”
“We going to stay there a bit?” Orphan asked. “Run security?”
“We’ll have to wait until the next outgoing vessel that’s headed back to the Marshes,” Delegado told him. “Preferably not Yrlag, even though it’s the closest port.”
Orphan was confused. “Why not? Isn’t that a Tharashk outpost?”
Delegado sighed. “Yeah, it is. And the city administrator is my oldest half-sister.”
“The one who said you shouldn’t keep the sword.”
“Yeah.” Delegado threw a glance back down the hallway to his cabin, where his father’s body was stored. “But I have to stay with my father’s body, have to get it to the druids so that they can – undo whatever those Keeper’s whores in the Wastes did. And I don’t want her in charge of that.”
“Her father too, no?” Orphan figured he ought to tread lightly here, but he wasn’t sure why.
The half-orc nodded. “Tatyanna never did like to share.”
Orphan realized what the conversation was about. “If word comes from her to bring you and your father’s body to Yrlag, you want to jump another ship, is that it?”
The half-orc blinked. “Well…maybe. Or maybe just you, I have to answer to –” He stopped, frowning. Been too long since I had to answer to someone. When I’m in the Marches I have to. But you could carry my father’s body, jump to another ship, head the way I tell you.”
“I don’t know the Marches, Delegado,” Orphan pointed out. “I would be utterly lost. And besides, I think that the prophecy indicates that we are supposed to stay together.”
Delegado’s expression hardened. “Tell that to Ois, then,” he said, rising and storming out.
Feather stayed behind, and Orphan and the bird looked at each other in silence.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 1
HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS BROKEN
Dawn on the 13th of Zarantyr, the first wall of Blood Crescent
“Feh!” snorted the orc, squinting at the rising sun. “Dancing Orphan, you coming up here?” A blur and a soft thump, and the warforged was standing next to him.
“Get below, Mechan,” Iron Orphan said, flexing his arms. Like Mechan, Orphan spoke in orc, a language that he had learned rapidly. “Your strong axe and sharp eyes served Tharashk well this night.”
“Mechan rests his eyes from the hard light,” the orc said. “But you call, hard light or no, Mechan comes!” The orc spat over the wall onto the hard ground of the Wastes. “Don’t want to give those gnolls the glory.”
“Feh!” Orphan said, doing a passable imitation of an orc snort. “What glory can a gnoll find?”
“Heh, ‘find’!” laughed the orc. He high-fived the warforged, and Orphan managed not to stagger backwards.
As the orc went below, the warforged flexed and watched the sunrise. The colors slowly came alive on the ground, and he considered the turn of events that had brought him to this place.
Dawn on the 13th of Zarantyr, the first wall of Blood Crescent
“Feh!” snorted the orc, squinting at the rising sun. “Dancing Orphan, you coming up here?” A blur and a soft thump, and the warforged was standing next to him.
“Get below, Mechan,” Iron Orphan said, flexing his arms. Like Mechan, Orphan spoke in orc, a language that he had learned rapidly. “Your strong axe and sharp eyes served Tharashk well this night.”
“Mechan rests his eyes from the hard light,” the orc said. “But you call, hard light or no, Mechan comes!” The orc spat over the wall onto the hard ground of the Wastes. “Don’t want to give those gnolls the glory.”
“Feh!” Orphan said, doing a passable imitation of an orc snort. “What glory can a gnoll find?”
“Heh, ‘find’!” laughed the orc. He high-fived the warforged, and Orphan managed not to stagger backwards.
As the orc went below, the warforged flexed and watched the sunrise. The colors slowly came alive on the ground, and he considered the turn of events that had brought him to this place.
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