“Neddiken, quit pacing,” Aruunis snapped. The two elves were alone, save for the druid’s eagle. “I am trying to construct a potion, if you don’t mind.” The druid was hunched over a worktable, eyeing a vial that was slowly ceasing its bubbling.
“I wondered how you were financing this,” the pudgy elf noted as he forced himself to take a seat in a chair covered with bearskins. “Couldn’t figure out why Vadalis was so hospitable. You get a little loft, you see people, you get contacts…”
“Stop yammering,” Aruunis told him. Neddiken stopped yammering.
After a few minutes, the druid was done, and he carefully stoppered the potion that he had created. Anyone drinking it would gain the power to talk to animals, and do so for a longer duration than most nature spellcasters would be capable of.
As always, he felt a bit tired when was done. He own life energy went into keeping the spell locked into the swirling liquid. “Done then.” He stood and stretched before turning to regard his pudgy guest. “Any word from downstairs?”
“That Medani psychopath is in the courtyard,” Neddiken said, checking a scrying mirror. The mirror was a fixture to the room, although the wary Aruunis always kept it draped in a lead-lined blanket when he wasn’t actually using it. “Your instructions about keeping his kinsman away is slowing things down, like you figured.”
“Yes,” Aruunis said. “And I’m glad I did. I don’t want you here when he comes in.” The druid took some gloves from his belt and put them on carefully. The gloves appeared to be leather, but were soft, and a fine stitching covered them, showing the shapes of rearing forest animals. “Of course if you had come when you were supposed to, I wouldn’t have been involved in my potion work, and you’d be gone by now.” He sighed. “Tell me your instructions.”
Neddiken visibly stifled a sigh. “I take the berth in the Brelish ship that you arranged, and head to Wroat. Once there I check in with the herbalist professor that you know, and he’ll set me up with a key to a Kundarak vault that will hold new identity papers for me and some money.”
“Yes, originally intended for me,” Aruunis said. “But I don’t need that particular back up plan anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “But you forgot something. You didn’t tell me your other instructions.”
“Wherever I stop, I mention the strange warforged with no armor plates,” the pudgy elf said hurriedly. “A warforged that fought in Merylsward and is friends with Pienna. I say that I saw him here, with House Vadalis in Varna.”
“Correct,” Aruunis said.
“Now, um, don’t get me wrong,” Neddiken said. “I’m going to do just what you said, honest. I’m just curious why. You know, so I can do it right.”
“You’re another thread I spin,” Aruunis said. “Leave it at that.”
Neddiken raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “I merely chatter, good druid. I usually trance at this hour, and that plus the early morning cold makes me jittery.”
Aruunis harrumphed, and then checked the scrying mirror. “You’d better go,” he told the other elf, finally handing him the passage papers. “He’s on his way up.”
For an overweight elf, Meddiken moved very fast to avoid being in the same room with Parnain.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Chapter 9 - Part 1
BY OATH EMPOWERED
Varna, in the Eldeen Reaches, the 4th of Vult, 993 Y.K., very early morning, about four hours before dawn
Beads of perspiration formed on the human male’s forehead, despite the late autumn chill in the courtyard. “Only one of you comes in,” the man said. His eyes darted left and right, noting the crossbowmen on the parapets and the pikemen on either side. Most were human, as was he, but more than one was a shifter employee of House Vadalis.
And they cared not for the two demanding entrance.
“Hey, one of your guests wants to see us, captain,” sneered the younger one, a half-elf with bright red hair that peeked out under a steel cap. “We got the word, you let us both in the courtyard, so what’s your problem?”
“I’m the night commander, not a captain,” said the sweating human male. He felt every one of his forty-six year, even as the sweat dripped into a thick gray mustache. “Bu that's okay, my House, unlike yours, doesn’t get so hung up on rank.” His voice hardened. It wasn’t the red-haired pup that made everyone on edge (whether they had shape-changing abilities or not). “But like your House, we in Vadalis take our orders seriously. Especially on night watch. Only one of you enters the building. I assume it’s Parnain.”
His eyes darted to the blonde half-elf with the cold eyes who stood to the right of and in front of the red-haired one. Parnain was everything the legends told of, and more. Since coming to Varna he was rumored to have killed over twenty people.
By Oalian’s root, what were the city fathers thinking allowing this madman free reign? The night commander wondered to himself.
“We didn’t mean to disrupt your watch, night commander,” Parnain spoke. His words shocked. Until that point he’d been letting the other one talk for him. The man’s hands rested on his belt, next to the hilts of his weapons. His tone was without passion, a man reciting formulas of civility by rote. “I understand that those without elven blood get tired.” His eyes suddenly swiveled to the pikeman on the night commander’s left. That man gave a start and took a half-step back. “But, you have to understand that it’s my job to be suspicious when things are out of order. Do you always limit early-morning guests to only one?” He blue eyes stabbed the human with their glare.
“No,” the man answered simply. He’d heard that the half-elf known as Parnain could smell lies. “But we limit people we consider dangerous to the House to only one.”
Parnain made a brief smile, the barest wrinkling of the corners of his mouth. “Well, I am dangerous.” He turned his head to his red-haired accomplice. “Stay here. Don’t kill anyone.”
“Fine,” the younger half-elf sighed.
Parnain stepped forward, as if unaware that there were nearly half a dozen steel-tipped crossbow bolts pointed at him. “Now, you’ve a gatekeeper in there who said he wanted to see me. And I’m running out of changeling spies and saboteurs to kill. So stop wasting my time.”
Anger began to grow in the night commander’s breast. “You watch how you talk to me,” he finally bristled. “I’m not scared of you.”
Parnain leaned in, and the shutters behind his eyes gave way briefly, letting the human see unfettered rage, if only for a moment. “Yes you are,” he said.
A long silence followed as they stared at each other.
“This way,” the night commander said, averting his gaze as he gestured at the men to open the doors.
The night commander led the half-elf into the building, and six armed men waited within to escort them both.
Varna, in the Eldeen Reaches, the 4th of Vult, 993 Y.K., very early morning, about four hours before dawn
Beads of perspiration formed on the human male’s forehead, despite the late autumn chill in the courtyard. “Only one of you comes in,” the man said. His eyes darted left and right, noting the crossbowmen on the parapets and the pikemen on either side. Most were human, as was he, but more than one was a shifter employee of House Vadalis.
And they cared not for the two demanding entrance.
“Hey, one of your guests wants to see us, captain,” sneered the younger one, a half-elf with bright red hair that peeked out under a steel cap. “We got the word, you let us both in the courtyard, so what’s your problem?”
“I’m the night commander, not a captain,” said the sweating human male. He felt every one of his forty-six year, even as the sweat dripped into a thick gray mustache. “Bu that's okay, my House, unlike yours, doesn’t get so hung up on rank.” His voice hardened. It wasn’t the red-haired pup that made everyone on edge (whether they had shape-changing abilities or not). “But like your House, we in Vadalis take our orders seriously. Especially on night watch. Only one of you enters the building. I assume it’s Parnain.”
His eyes darted to the blonde half-elf with the cold eyes who stood to the right of and in front of the red-haired one. Parnain was everything the legends told of, and more. Since coming to Varna he was rumored to have killed over twenty people.
By Oalian’s root, what were the city fathers thinking allowing this madman free reign? The night commander wondered to himself.
“We didn’t mean to disrupt your watch, night commander,” Parnain spoke. His words shocked. Until that point he’d been letting the other one talk for him. The man’s hands rested on his belt, next to the hilts of his weapons. His tone was without passion, a man reciting formulas of civility by rote. “I understand that those without elven blood get tired.” His eyes suddenly swiveled to the pikeman on the night commander’s left. That man gave a start and took a half-step back. “But, you have to understand that it’s my job to be suspicious when things are out of order. Do you always limit early-morning guests to only one?” He blue eyes stabbed the human with their glare.
“No,” the man answered simply. He’d heard that the half-elf known as Parnain could smell lies. “But we limit people we consider dangerous to the House to only one.”
Parnain made a brief smile, the barest wrinkling of the corners of his mouth. “Well, I am dangerous.” He turned his head to his red-haired accomplice. “Stay here. Don’t kill anyone.”
“Fine,” the younger half-elf sighed.
Parnain stepped forward, as if unaware that there were nearly half a dozen steel-tipped crossbow bolts pointed at him. “Now, you’ve a gatekeeper in there who said he wanted to see me. And I’m running out of changeling spies and saboteurs to kill. So stop wasting my time.”
Anger began to grow in the night commander’s breast. “You watch how you talk to me,” he finally bristled. “I’m not scared of you.”
Parnain leaned in, and the shutters behind his eyes gave way briefly, letting the human see unfettered rage, if only for a moment. “Yes you are,” he said.
A long silence followed as they stared at each other.
“This way,” the night commander said, averting his gaze as he gestured at the men to open the doors.
The night commander led the half-elf into the building, and six armed men waited within to escort them both.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 19
“We’re bringing in record hauls,” Baruk told Orphan and Delegado. “The temporary vacuum left by the hag’s demise has made finding and gathering easier.”
“So why aren’t we doing that?” Delegado asked. It was maybe two hours after the ceremony, and the druid was guarding Bartemain’s body in a storage chamber. Delegado, Baruk, a young, mustachioed half-orc named Grullik, a gnoll wearing a suit of armor, and a gnome who had barely had time to introduce himself as Nebly, were all in a council room on the top floor of the tallest building. “What the Khyber are we doing here, making tea, is that it?”
Orphan noted that Delegado was in an exceptionally foul mood. The ceremony had made the half-orc angrier, not calmer.
Baruk tossed a disk onto the middle of the table. “Nebly, you first.”
The gnome took the metal and examined it closely, first with his eyes, and then fumbling for a small lens on a stick that magnified the image. “An unusual alloy,” the gnome said. “Some brass, but also some tin, and then something I can’t tell at all. Definitely aged, you can tell from where the acid damaged it. Part of a fight of some kind, a power struggle here in the Wastes.”
“Feh, I figured that out already,” Grullik muttered. It seemed to Orphan that Grullik was acting irritated because Delegado was acting irritated. The younger half-orc seemed to be in awe of the famous bounty hunter.
“It’s an unholy symbol,” the gnome said. “There’s some magic left, not much. This was used to command undead.” Nably slid the disk down the table to Orphan. “Commander Baruk says that this warforged can help with knowledge of magical and religious matters?”
Orphan picked up the disk and studied it. “This is an evil bound by law, rules and axioms,” he said. “I can tell from the patterns on the edge. It’s old. An old cult. Worshipping undeath, not just commanding it.”
“Blood of Vol?” asked Baruk.
“Something older,” Orphan said. “Maybe demons that worshipped undeath?”
“Why would an immortal being care about undead?” asked Grullik.
“They can’t die of old age, but they can die,” Delegado said. “And if their zombies or skeletons or whatever are stronger than the run of the mill stuff, it’s a potent army.”
“Then why they no use it now?” asked the gnoll. Orphan turned, and was surprised to find that the gnoll had come up with a good point. “Why fiends not use corpse of fiends now?”
Nebly tapped his lips with his fingers. “It is believed by some that they consume each other, but perhaps, just perhaps, you see, there are rumors that many fiends worshipped slain ones, expecting them to return.”
“Under the Wastes are many corpses of great fiends slain by the dragons, long ago,” Orphan said. “If the lesser fiends worship them, they wouldn’t like someone animating the bodies as undead.”
“Not really possible, anyway,” Nebly said. “You would need a store of expensive gems to contain the magic, the more powerful undead, the more gems to channel the necromancy…” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.
“So,” boomed the gnoll, tightening the straps on his armor. “We go find the hidden gems now?”
Baruk grinned. “You bored, Del? You wanna sit here until the eastbound ship comes?”
“Orphan, what do you say?” Delegado asked.
“I say bring Foallus,” the warforged said. “And maybe a dozen others. In case they’re any moving corpses out there.”
“Oh, I’d like to come too!” Nebly said. “I have a journal I’m writing, it would make wonderful notations, really.”
Delegado and Grullik snorted at the same time.
“So why aren’t we doing that?” Delegado asked. It was maybe two hours after the ceremony, and the druid was guarding Bartemain’s body in a storage chamber. Delegado, Baruk, a young, mustachioed half-orc named Grullik, a gnoll wearing a suit of armor, and a gnome who had barely had time to introduce himself as Nebly, were all in a council room on the top floor of the tallest building. “What the Khyber are we doing here, making tea, is that it?”
Orphan noted that Delegado was in an exceptionally foul mood. The ceremony had made the half-orc angrier, not calmer.
Baruk tossed a disk onto the middle of the table. “Nebly, you first.”
The gnome took the metal and examined it closely, first with his eyes, and then fumbling for a small lens on a stick that magnified the image. “An unusual alloy,” the gnome said. “Some brass, but also some tin, and then something I can’t tell at all. Definitely aged, you can tell from where the acid damaged it. Part of a fight of some kind, a power struggle here in the Wastes.”
“Feh, I figured that out already,” Grullik muttered. It seemed to Orphan that Grullik was acting irritated because Delegado was acting irritated. The younger half-orc seemed to be in awe of the famous bounty hunter.
“It’s an unholy symbol,” the gnome said. “There’s some magic left, not much. This was used to command undead.” Nably slid the disk down the table to Orphan. “Commander Baruk says that this warforged can help with knowledge of magical and religious matters?”
Orphan picked up the disk and studied it. “This is an evil bound by law, rules and axioms,” he said. “I can tell from the patterns on the edge. It’s old. An old cult. Worshipping undeath, not just commanding it.”
“Blood of Vol?” asked Baruk.
“Something older,” Orphan said. “Maybe demons that worshipped undeath?”
“Why would an immortal being care about undead?” asked Grullik.
“They can’t die of old age, but they can die,” Delegado said. “And if their zombies or skeletons or whatever are stronger than the run of the mill stuff, it’s a potent army.”
“Then why they no use it now?” asked the gnoll. Orphan turned, and was surprised to find that the gnoll had come up with a good point. “Why fiends not use corpse of fiends now?”
Nebly tapped his lips with his fingers. “It is believed by some that they consume each other, but perhaps, just perhaps, you see, there are rumors that many fiends worshipped slain ones, expecting them to return.”
“Under the Wastes are many corpses of great fiends slain by the dragons, long ago,” Orphan said. “If the lesser fiends worship them, they wouldn’t like someone animating the bodies as undead.”
“Not really possible, anyway,” Nebly said. “You would need a store of expensive gems to contain the magic, the more powerful undead, the more gems to channel the necromancy…” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.
“So,” boomed the gnoll, tightening the straps on his armor. “We go find the hidden gems now?”
Baruk grinned. “You bored, Del? You wanna sit here until the eastbound ship comes?”
“Orphan, what do you say?” Delegado asked.
“I say bring Foallus,” the warforged said. “And maybe a dozen others. In case they’re any moving corpses out there.”
“Oh, I’d like to come too!” Nebly said. “I have a journal I’m writing, it would make wonderful notations, really.”
Delegado and Grullik snorted at the same time.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 18
The blessing ceremony was fairly straightforward, and Orphan found that the simplicity was beautiful, and he could tell that the rest of the compound was moved as well.
And it was the rest of the compound. Everyone who wasn’t actually standing guard on the walls came. Orphan had wondered several weeks ago if Delegado had been boasting about his father’s importance to House Tharashk. If anything, the half-orc bounty hunter had understated things.
The druid stated that he would not try to give a complete rendering of Bartemain’s life, that would have to wait for a ceremony in Yrlag. But he did say more than Delegado had ever had the inclination to tell. Not that the half-orc wasn’t proud of his father, far from it, but it hurt Delegado to talk about his father while his body was not ‘returned to nature,’ as the druid put it.
Regardless, what he heard painted an even broader picture of Bartemain. Adventurer, explorer, businessman, husband, father, grandfather, and general pillar of the United House.
And what he didn’t hear said more. No mention of Gatekeeper faith, Sovereigns, or any general druidic following. Orphan had gathered that Bartemain had been skeptical of religion, if not out rightly cynical.
Orphan found himself wondering if the torturers of Ashtakala had reinforced Bartemain’s religious skepticism or had made the man turn to some form of faith in the end.
Near the end of the eulogy the druid mentioned those who had avenged Bartemain. The whole assemblage had turned and bowed their heads in respect to Delegado and Orphan.
A single tear rolled down Delegado’s cheek at that point.
“Who can give affirmation that Bartemain was the best of our House?” asked the druid. He was a half-orc, and he made his voice boom across the compound.
The reply was thunderous, as orc, human, half-orc, and even gnoll, raised their fists in the air and howled with all they could summon in their lungs.
And it was the rest of the compound. Everyone who wasn’t actually standing guard on the walls came. Orphan had wondered several weeks ago if Delegado had been boasting about his father’s importance to House Tharashk. If anything, the half-orc bounty hunter had understated things.
The druid stated that he would not try to give a complete rendering of Bartemain’s life, that would have to wait for a ceremony in Yrlag. But he did say more than Delegado had ever had the inclination to tell. Not that the half-orc wasn’t proud of his father, far from it, but it hurt Delegado to talk about his father while his body was not ‘returned to nature,’ as the druid put it.
Regardless, what he heard painted an even broader picture of Bartemain. Adventurer, explorer, businessman, husband, father, grandfather, and general pillar of the United House.
And what he didn’t hear said more. No mention of Gatekeeper faith, Sovereigns, or any general druidic following. Orphan had gathered that Bartemain had been skeptical of religion, if not out rightly cynical.
Orphan found himself wondering if the torturers of Ashtakala had reinforced Bartemain’s religious skepticism or had made the man turn to some form of faith in the end.
Near the end of the eulogy the druid mentioned those who had avenged Bartemain. The whole assemblage had turned and bowed their heads in respect to Delegado and Orphan.
A single tear rolled down Delegado’s cheek at that point.
“Who can give affirmation that Bartemain was the best of our House?” asked the druid. He was a half-orc, and he made his voice boom across the compound.
The reply was thunderous, as orc, human, half-orc, and even gnoll, raised their fists in the air and howled with all they could summon in their lungs.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Chapter 8 – Part 17
“You’re a f’testing idiot,” Baruk said as he walked through the hallway to his office. Grullik jumped up from the rickety chair that he’d been sitting in. “Follow me.”
The young half-orc smoothed his long mustaches, adjusted the two battleaxes on his belt, one edged with silver, the other with cold iron, and followed his superior into Baruk’s office. “Commander,” Grullik said, closing the door behind them both as they entered the office. “I didn’t spend your time, I went on my off time, and I – ”
“Oh shut up,” Baruk said, dropping his weary bones into his chair. Grullik stood stiffly until Baruk waved for him to sit. “You’re one of out better trackers,” Baruk said. “Tenacious. You don’t give up. You’ve found some good deposits out in the wastelands.” Baruk paused to glare. “And you’re a seventeen year-old punk with no dragonmark that has no business leaving our compound without security backup.”
“Commander, Dancing Orphan killed the hag, and I’ve been asking you for months to check out the collapsed case that we found,” Grullik said, making his words in a rush. “I figured you’d be cool if I –”
“Oh shut up,” Baruk said. Grullik shut up immediately. “We have narstones and dragonshards to collect, not wild goose chases in collapsed sand pits.”
“Not totally collapsed,” Grullik said, pulling something out of his shirt and setting it carefully on the desk.
Baruk stared down at the worn stone disk. No, not stone, metal, and not a complete disk. It had been damaged, long ago. Its surface was pitted. But the metal had no rust. It felt warm to the touch, as if some magic yet held.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Not sure,” Grullik said. “But it was old, inside of a corpse’s hand. Or at least I think it was a corpse, pretty far gone.”
“Some people say dragons and fiends warred here millennia ago.” He caught Grullik’s befuddled blink. “That means thousands of years.”
“It was really old,” the younger half-orc said. “I think it’s a religious symbol. Maybe when the druid is done with the ceremony, we can ask him.”
Baruk pursed his lips. “Or we can ask Dancing Orphan,” he mused, thinking about what Delegado had said about the headband.
“So I did good?” Grullik asked.
“Don’t know yet,” Baruk told him. “Let’s go to the ceremony first.”
The young half-orc smoothed his long mustaches, adjusted the two battleaxes on his belt, one edged with silver, the other with cold iron, and followed his superior into Baruk’s office. “Commander,” Grullik said, closing the door behind them both as they entered the office. “I didn’t spend your time, I went on my off time, and I – ”
“Oh shut up,” Baruk said, dropping his weary bones into his chair. Grullik stood stiffly until Baruk waved for him to sit. “You’re one of out better trackers,” Baruk said. “Tenacious. You don’t give up. You’ve found some good deposits out in the wastelands.” Baruk paused to glare. “And you’re a seventeen year-old punk with no dragonmark that has no business leaving our compound without security backup.”
“Commander, Dancing Orphan killed the hag, and I’ve been asking you for months to check out the collapsed case that we found,” Grullik said, making his words in a rush. “I figured you’d be cool if I –”
“Oh shut up,” Baruk said. Grullik shut up immediately. “We have narstones and dragonshards to collect, not wild goose chases in collapsed sand pits.”
“Not totally collapsed,” Grullik said, pulling something out of his shirt and setting it carefully on the desk.
Baruk stared down at the worn stone disk. No, not stone, metal, and not a complete disk. It had been damaged, long ago. Its surface was pitted. But the metal had no rust. It felt warm to the touch, as if some magic yet held.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Not sure,” Grullik said. “But it was old, inside of a corpse’s hand. Or at least I think it was a corpse, pretty far gone.”
“Some people say dragons and fiends warred here millennia ago.” He caught Grullik’s befuddled blink. “That means thousands of years.”
“It was really old,” the younger half-orc said. “I think it’s a religious symbol. Maybe when the druid is done with the ceremony, we can ask him.”
Baruk pursed his lips. “Or we can ask Dancing Orphan,” he mused, thinking about what Delegado had said about the headband.
“So I did good?” Grullik asked.
“Don’t know yet,” Baruk told him. “Let’s go to the ceremony first.”
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