Zilyana Irithyl Part 2

Zilyana felt pressure on her face and realized she was laying face down on the table in her cabin.  Whatever poison the treacherous Forcythe had used hadn’t finished her off, but it was making her limbs feel as though they were made of dead eels.  Struggling to her desk, she fumbled and finally managed to press the three pieces of carved wood that opened one of the secret drawers.

She grabbed one of the antidote potions she kept there for just such an emergency and downed it.  The alchemical mixture cleared her head immediately.  Plucking her hat from where it had fallen, Zilyana closed her eyes and incanted a spell.  The rest of the world seemed to slow down and she invoked another spell, vanishing from where she stood and appearing on the deck of her ship.

It was a scene of chaos; at least a dozen men were bleeding on the deck, a mad struggle between her crew and a bunch of people in dock worker’s garb.  Worse yet, an entire god rotting platoon of soldiers was moving down the deck at speed with weapons at the ready.  Moving with speed that made the others seem to stand still, Zilyana sprinted down the deck hacking through the thick hemp ropes that kept them secured to the dock.

“CAST OFF YA CRACKBRAINED RATS!” She shouted and her crew rallied at the sight of her.  A flight of arrows streaked from the approaching soldiers and swept the deck.  Zilyana wove through them easily to hack the last of the mooring ropes free and planted her feet on the deck.  Raising her blades, she wove them in intricate patterns, scribing runes in the air and shouting words of Power.  The water between the pier and her ship obeyed her commands and rose in a massive wave, heeling Wavebreaker over and moving him away from the pier.

“Prepare to lower sail, get to your positions and keep your damn heads down!  We’re running!”  She yelled, “Lindrix, take the helm I have to focus!”  Without looking to see if her First Mate had obeyed, Zilyana bent her will to force the water to create a wave that swept the smaller craft out of the way as it shoved Wavebreaker out of the harbor against the wind.

Cries of anger came from the dockside as her ship surged away from the shore, gathering speed as it went.  Wiping sweat from her brow, Zilyana gritted her teeth and looked ahead.  A warship, King’s Ransom was raising its anchor.  Shit.

Letting go of the force that kept pushing Wavebreaker forward, she pointed and gestured at the water on the opposite side of the Ransom and a vortex of swirling waters began to form behind it.  The enemy ship spun lazily, turning away from them and foundering in the water.  As their enemies were swept out of the way, the force of the whirlpool shot Wavebreaker out of the harbor into open sea.

With a grimace of effort, Zilyana hurled a wave back toward shore, knowing it would swamp the smaller boats and founder the larger.  With any luck it might even sink a few of those bastards who had come to arrest them.  Releasing the spell that gave her power over water, she focused on a more familiar friend and called upon Nordji, the North Wind to send them on their way.  A private gale, just for them sprang up before her outstretched palm, filling Wavebreaker’s sails and sending them speeding from the city and their enemies.

“Another one?”  Zilyana rubbed her arm over her pained, red eyes.  When had she slept last?

“Aye Captain.”  Lindrix said, lowering his spyglass.  “We ain’t gonna be able to dock here either and if we don’t get out of here fast they will likely catch us.”

Gritting her teeth, she reached out for the power once again.  Pain flashed behind her eyes but she forced the winds to her will again and sent Wavebreaker back out to sea.

“We can’t keep doing this.”  She said, “I can’t keep doing this.  Lindrix, I have to rest.  The instant we lose that sail you need to take over the helm.”

“Of course.”  He said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.  “We’ll be fine for a time.  You’re the only one who hasn’t rested.  Go on, we can handle this.”

“Come rouse me in an hour.”  She said, and stumbled to her cabin.

It had been many decades ago that she had discovered her brother’s strangeness.  Her beloved grandmother, seven centuries old had died, old age claiming her at last.  Zilyana had wept for days, inconsolable in the grief of losing the first person in her family who had discovered her magical gifts and nurtured them into a thing of deadly grace and beauty.

She had thought that Korikk shared her affection for the ancient woman, but he had been more interested in finding out if she had anything interesting in her personal effects than anything else.  He hadn’t even wanted to attend her Final Rest ceremony.  This hurt almost as much as her grandmother dying.

“Why doesn’t he care momma?”  She had asked, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder.  “He should care.  Grandma was wonderful and I will miss her.  Why doesn’t he feel sad?”

“You know how when you were very little your hair did not grow like the other children’s at first?”  Verrona had said, smoothing her hand over Zilyana’s back.  “It just took longer for your hair to begin to grow.  Korikk is the same way, but for him it’s his emotions that are taking longer to grow in.”

This explanation had mollified her for years.  She had waited for her older brother to understand things that she had felt for as long as she could remember.  Gradually it seemed to happen.  Korikk cried when their pets died.  He laughed at jokes and went through several phases of romantic entanglements with different girls, being suitably morose when the relationships ended.

Zilyana thought at first that her brother’s emotions had finally started to develop just as Verrona had promised, but after a few years she became certain that he was perpetrating a carefully concocted lie.  He was always sad for the same number of hours after each setback.  He laughed for the same number of seconds and always started laughing after everyone else had begun.

“Mother, I am worried about Korikk.” She had said, approaching Verrona in her study where she knew they wouldn’t be disturbed.  “It’s like he is just pretending.  Like he is simply imitating the feelings we all take for granted.”

Verrona sat quietly for a few moments, then quietly walked to the door and closed it.  The air tightened around them for a moment and Zilyana realized that this room wasn’t just private; it was magically warded against any kind of eavesdropping.  Elves were folk whose emotions ran deep, and the thought that someone could be an elf and not feel was frightening.

“It must be hard for him.” Verrona finally said.  Zilyana blinked; she hadn’t thought of it from that perspective before.  “He knows we all feel things; joy, sadness, love, hatred… and yet he stands in the stream of Elven emotion as still as a stone.  It all flows around him, gradually wearing him down and he doesn’t understand it.”

“Oh.”  Zilyana said, “I never thought of it.  Not like that anyway.  I just see him looking at a situation and instead of reacting emotionally to it it’s like he calculates what the expected response is.”  She shivered, “I saw him in a fight last week.  He was just going through motions, he could have been punching a practice pell.  It was like he was a monster, and he only stopped when he noticed that others expected it.  I think he would have beaten that boy to death.”

“There is that.”  Verrona agreed, the picture of calm.  “He is a monster sweetheart, but he is our monster.  Our family has come through dark times before you two were born.  I fear we have some dark times ahead.  There are many monsters in this world, I think it would behoove us to have one of our own.”

Zilyana stared at her mother in shock, and Verrona continued.  “Zil I need you to help him.  He needs coaching if he is to blend in and you know that he isn’t completely without feelings.  They’re just subdued in him.  He needs our love and understanding as well as our coaching or else we will just be ‘a’ monster instead of ‘our’ monster.”

“I understand mother.”  Zilyana said, her mouth dry.

After what seemed like moments, Zilyana jerked awake to the sounds of combat.  As she leaped to her feet, she could see that the day had passed and the moon had risen.  That bastard Lindrix had let her rest too long, but she should have known better.  He always tried to look out for her health and wellbeing, claiming it was his job as First Mate.

She had to grudgingly admit that feeling fully rested and magically recharged would be undeniably helpful in the fight though.  Bursting from her cabin she saw they were flanked by two ships.  Snarling in anger, she leveled a sword at one and sent a blast of flame towards it.  To her shock, an answering weave of power dissolved her lance of fire into motes of light.  Shit.  They had a mage too and he was good.

Their arcane duel made the air hum with power as they employed elemental forces and sheer waves of destruction against one another.  Spells that would have burned either of them to cinders or frozen them solid were deflected and countered.  An arrow from the other ship slammed into her shoulder and Zilyana’s concentration wavered for just an instant.

That instant was all her opponent needed.  He leveled a staff a pace long with arcane symbols on it and bolt of dark energy lanced out towards her chest.  Zilyana was roughly shoved aside and a cry of anguish came from her mouth as she saw Lindrix falling to the deck with half his torso missing.  It was just gone.

With a scream of fury and sorrow, she flung her will into the depths of the ocean.  A wall of water fully twenty feet high rose between their ships, nearly capsizing the enemy vessel.  After it washed over the deck, she directed it to fill the hold.  Again and again she threw wave after wave and shouts of panic began to sound as the ship started to sink lower in the water.

The second ship broke away, its crew fearful of similar treatment.  Zilyana did not stop until the ship that had carried the enemy wizard had sunk beneath the waves.  Turning to the remains of her crew she set her jaw in a hard line.

“Make for open sea.  I know Wavebreaker is a coastal vessel, and so do they.”

“Captain, this is madness!  We can’t possibly survive so long at sea!”  One of her crew protested.  Others nodded in agreement.

“The next time which one of you will throw yourself in front of the death spell?”  She asked, bitter tears streaming down her cheeks, “I wouldn’t ask it of any of you, but I know there are some who would.  Next time they might bring several mages.  We have a hold with food, medical supplies and a few other assorted things that should see us through the voyage.  That combined with my magic will see us through.  My life on it.”

She saw their attitudes chance when they remembered that they had never unloaded their cargo.  More than a few started to laugh and joke about her luck and a few more began to sing a chanty when they remembered the substantial shipment of rum that was also on board.  Zilyana stood rooted to the spot for a moment, amazed at the trust her crew had in her.

‘Our chances are maybe one in a hundred.  If we’re lucky.’ She thought to herself, ‘But they’re better than if we keep losing men to enemy ships. A war of attrition is one we will lose, and quickly.’  Wondering idly if Norjdi was going to eventually stop responding to her demands, she once again summoned will, words and gesture that filled Wavebreaker’s sails and sent the ship on the course she had chosen.

Zilyana Irithyl Part 1

Had a character die in a fairly high level Dungeons and Dragons game, so I’m back to the drawing board.  That’s what happens when your party sells you out to dark, demonic forces to save their own bacon!  Good news is, I get to write another back story.  I hope you enjoy.

Zilyana barked orders even though they weren’t necessary.  Her sailors knew their jobs and they were good at it.  They wouldn’t be working for her if they weren’t good.  The shipment of medical supplies she had … liberated … from its rightful owners needed to be delivered to this minor settlement.  The outbreak of pox here might be fatal if the cure and vaccine weren’t given after the outbreak that had happened in the last month.  She realized that this was the year anniversary of her splitting from the life of a normal merchant and slipping into the Privateering business.

Some people called her a Pirate, but Deep Sashelas frowned on piracy.  She kissed the pendant of a dolphin riding a cresting wave that hung around her neck.  Not pirates, she and her crew were freedom fighters.  The noble elite had been withdrawing from the public eye before they made this decision.  Punishments, even for minor infractions, had been harsh.  The common folk had begun to feel the effects of the ambivalence of the wealthy and powerful who were oathsworn to protect and provide for them.

It was when she heard a group of Lords speaking casually about ‘redistributing’ a shipment of food and supplies that was destined for an outer Holding that was suffering from drought that threatened to become a famine to an area that would pay handsomely for it instead of taking it as their due that Zilyana had made her decision.  That night, she sat with the crew she trusted and they made a blood pact.  They would undermine the oathbreakers by any and all means necessary.

They passed the light house and she tipped her tricorn hat to the Harbormaster.  She had known Forcythe for years and they had always had an amicable relationship.  He had a fondness for Klandran rum, and she had a contact who knew how to obtain the illegal rum laced with narcotic spices from the desert.  Her ship Wavebreaker rolled slightly as her crew furled the sails.  The bow wave rebounded off the wharf and she spun the wheel with the practice of decades, bringing him to gently nudge the pier.

“Every time I see you do that I just can’t believe you’re a girl.”  Forcythe said with a villainous grin.  It was a long standing joke between them.

“If you didn’t have children with that same ugly nose, I wouldn’t believe you’re a man.”  She retorted, tipping her hat at a jaunty angle.  “Coming onboard for the inspection?”

“You know the drill better than I do.”  He responded and clomped down the gangplank and she led him to her cabin.  Pouring them each a measure of rum they sat and chatted about the trip for a few minutes.  She almost thought she caught him slipping something into her wooden mug when she had turned to take her ship’s manifest from her desk, but she trusted him.  After all, they had been doing business for years and the bribes and drink she provided would be difficult to replace.

She sat again, feeling a tad unsteady.  This wasn’t unusual, with the ship tightly moored to the pier and barely rocking in the swell it took a bit of time to adjust to the lack of motion.  Forcythe looked over the manifest, nodding and smiling.  The list of legitimate goods was lengthy and would make for good trading in the city.  As Harbormaster he would be granted five percent of the value of the cargo for the honor of having him inspect and clear said cargo.  Zilyana frowned at him, his face was shifting or maybe it was just her eyes playing tricks on her.

“You rich whelps.”  He muttered, “You think we’ll do anything for money.  Does it demean you to lower yourself to being a merchant because you’ve got noble family?  Yeah, I know all about your supposed lineage.”

Forcythe spat to one side, the glob of phlegm splattering onto the polished wood floor.  “Elves.  Dealing with you for the last ten years, I know when something’s not right.  I’m gonna just stroll below and check your cargo.”

Zilyana knew she should get up and follow him, that she should stop him, but her mind was hazy.  She found herself dreaming of decades past.

“You must be taught to control that temper Zil.”  Her grandmother chided, “You will do someone grave injury elsewise.”

“I am NOT angry!”  She shouted stamping her foot.  Several delicately carved wooden figures fell off nearby shelves.  “Korikk won’t stop calling me Zilly and I HATE it!”

“Darling, I want you to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

“I don’t wanna breathe slowly, I want him to STOP!”  All the candles in the room went out.  Zilyana blinked.  “Grandma, why did you put out the candles?”

A perfect sphere of light illuminated the room, her grandmother’s crystal pendant glowing with the brilliance of the desert sun.  “That was you child.  The temper of a child of power like yourself is a dangerous thing.  You must leash it.  You must bind it to your will.  If you do not, you will hurt people and possibly yourself.”

Zilyana shivered.  “What if I do?  Won’t magic give me the power to hurt people too?”

“It will.”  Her grandmother replied softly, “But if you control it you will have the choice of whether or not to hurt people.  Do nothing and that choice will be denied you.  It is not only violence child, the dance is subtle and wonderful, full of beauty and life.  I know you will come to love it.”

She stood on the deck of Wavebreaker next to her older brother.  Korikk had mellowed out over the years, at least as far as his treatment of her was concerned, and she had realized that his teasing was his way of showing affection.  That affection did not run very deep into his character however; she was suspicious as to why he had requested that she be his first mate.

Being here was a dream come true though.  She had always loved the sea and her family’s holdings included stake in a shipping company.  Now, her brother was designated to be captain of the ship and she was going to sea for the first time.  Zilyana had spent years training, first with the sword and then adding her strange arcane gifts into the martial discipline.  The result was a dizzying mixture of sword and wizardry that was as deadly as it was beautiful.

She idly patted the tiger carved hilt of the scimitar thrush through her sash.  It was the only artifact her grandmother had passed on to her specifically when she had died and therefore was Zilyana’s only keepsake from her.  The secret of the sword’s ability to split into a pair of identical blades was another reason she treasured it.

“You’ve studied boats right?”  Korikk asked, breaking her reverie.

“Well, yes.  Of course Captain.”  She said, although internally she wondered if he was testing her somehow.  Boats?  This was a ship, only the least knowledgeable land bound fool would call it a boat.

“Good.  I hate these damn things Zilly and I don’t have any interest in learning.  Your job is to use that old magic trick of yours to tell me what in the hells I’m supposed to be doing.”

She bristled at her hated childhood nickname, but nobody else was within earshot.  Either he was truly using it as a term of endearment or else he was smart enough to know she’d skin him by inches if he used it around other people.  Maybe both.

“You still remember that do you?”  She had always been able to send messages into other’s minds.  It was a bit of the Wild that all Elves had, although their gifts varied.  Her parents said she had nearly driven them mad with her silent crying; she had learned to mind speak long before she had learned to vocalize.

“I never forget anything that could be useful.” Korikk said, not seeming to notice or care that he had more or less just called her a fancy tool.  “Now get on it.”

“What’s in it for me?  If I let you make an ass of yourself, maybe they’ll give me command of Wavebreaker and I won’t have to put up with your foolishness.”

“Do this for me for a year and then I’ll come clean.” He said, “I’ll tell mother and father that you have really been running the show.  If you do well by me, they won’t have a choice but to give you command because I’ll tell the crew too.”

Zilyana’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it.  “You’ll what?”

“I know you have always loved the sea.”  He said, “I hate it.  I hate the salt, I hate the stink of dead fish and unwashed sailors, I hate the spray, I hate the sunburn and most of all I hate the boredom.  It’ll be a perfect victory.  I’ll get to shove a thumb in father’s pompous eye with all his claims that captaincy is a man’s job and a woman would just get in the way and I’ll get out of this dreadfully boring task at the same time.”

“Deal.”  She said, holding out her hand for him to shake.  “We might want to make it two or three years though.  I don’t know how good I’ll be at it in the beginning.”

“You’d better learn fast little sister.  I think I’ll hurl myself off a cliff if I’m forced to do this for more than a year.”

The Effects of Ghost Ale

As the others converse with the Djinn at the top of the tower, Ioz stares in wonder at the marvelous brew before him.  He has heard of Ghost Ale before, but has never tasted it.  Licking his lips, he unstoppers the flask and takes a delicate sniff.  The nose is rich and earthy with a hint of flowers.  Brightstar flowers unless he missed his guess and he was rarely wrong when it came to alcohol.

‘What wonders might this reveal?  I’ve oft pondered my heritage as I never knew my family.’  He thinks to himself.  Unable to resist, he takes a deep drink.  Images flicker before his vision and he finds himself sitting around a low stone table.  Six forms appear, sitting in chairs identical to his.  Although he hasn’t ever seen them before he instinctively knows them to be blood relations.

“I am your grandfather twice removed.  I am Storgar Wyrmslayer of the Caverstorm Clan.”  One of the figures said with an inclination of its head.

“I am your grandmother twice removed.  I am Brenlena Greatblade of the Deepdelver Clan.”

“I am your grandfather.  I am Durrak Diamondthrone of the Caverstorm Clan.”

“I am your grandmother.  I am Belladin Herbweaver.”  Ioz started at this, for this person was a human, not a Dwarf.

“I am your mother.  I am Noranna Bitterbrew.”  A sweet voice that hovered between the rich registers of a Dwarf and the sweet timbre of a human said.  “Oh my dear little gemstone what have they done to you?”

“I am your father.  I am Chara the Hammer of the Brightforge clan.”  A gruff and rumbling Dwarven voice said.  “You bear the marks of power, the sigils of pain and the scars of battle.  You do your ancestors proud, or at least you begin to my son.”

“I – I am unworthy of any praise.”  Ioz said, “Anything I have accomplished has been by accident.  Any accolades you give me are not earned but are mere happenstance.”

“And yet you have been chosen by The Lady of the Lost Ones.”  His great grandfather said, leaning forward to give him a bushy eyebrow.  “Don’t you think perhaps she might know better than you?”

“Don’t be so hasty to trust the Gods.”  Durrak said, his voice severe and morbid, “The do not care for you in particular, only their games and their own power struggle.  What they want from you may not be in your best interests.  They might even be lying to you about what you are doing or why they want you to do it.”

“I don’t really even know what I’m doing or why though.”  Ioz said, a bit chagrined.  “I honestly thought I was going to have more time to figure that out.  Wait, gods lie?  Wait, that kobold was a god?”

“Don’t judge everything based on Durrak.”  Noranna said, “He is still angry at Moradin for what he did to us, even though those actions may well have saved the world.”

“Beware of the warnings given by any Oracle.”  Said Storgar, “Even when they prophecy your success they rarely encompass all that should be taken into account.  Follow your own instincts.”

Ioz barked a laugh, “My instincts tend to tell me to drink whatever I can and pummel things into submission afterword.  While that’s gotten me this far, I think the stakes have been raised slightly now don’t you?  Besides, it was my instincts that got my friends killed.”

“No.”  Belladin said in calm reproof.  “You did not kill them.  You were but a child, how could you be expected to defend them and yourself?  Your memory is judging you harshly for things beyond your control.”

“I could have-“ Ioz began.

“The fault of the killing rests solely with the killer.”  His father said in his basso rumble, “You tried, fought with everything you had and failed.  We all fail, but do not allow your failure to mold who you are.  Instead you must grow from your failures, and I can see that you have grown from them.”

“You have the tools you need.”  His mother said in a voice that brought back dim memories of warm arms circling protectively about him.  “Now you must gain the understanding of who is convincing you to employ them and to what end.  Your companions seem trustworthy enough, however simple talk of a balancing act and the promise of a good fight shouldn’t be sufficient for you to risk yourself thus.  None of us realizes how precious life is until it has slipped through our fingers.”

“You’re a good lad.”  Brenlena said, speaking for the first time since introducing herself.  “Don’t allow your pride to interfere with your duty.  My pride was my undoing, led the destruction of our ancestral home and was nearly the undoing of the world.”

“Small chance of that.”  Ioz muttered.

“Fare well.  Our time grows short.”  They said in unison, “Find your Purpose, complete your Quest.”

“Wait… I feel like I should be asking something more.”  Ioz protested, not sure what he wanted to say, but wishing the encounter to continue just a few moments longer.

“You have forged yourself into a weapon child, just as your destiny dictated you would.”  Chara said, “Remember that you are meant for more than destruction.  We will speak again; this I promise you.”

The last sensation was his mother’s arms holding him in a warm embrace.  Then Ioz was unceremoniously deposited back into reality once more, surrounded by his companions on the Seventh Floor of the Tower of Mineral.  The sparkling blue words on his forearms twinkled mockingly at him; their runic for “Purpose” and “Quest” an ironic reminder.  What had possessed him to attempt to assimilate that thrice cursed weapon crystal?

With a sigh, Ioz took a large drink from his mug, thankful that at least one thing was constant.  His cup was ever full.

Id Om Zagod (Stone Crushing Fist)

Id Om Zagod sat in the Wandering Wyvern Inn, watching the adventurers come and go.  The fat, chisel pointed Dao with its long double grip handle sticking intimidatingly out from over his shoulder.  He glared at the patrons, a massive pewter tankard in one hand and a tiny crystal shot glass in the other.  Setting the empty shot glass down, the Dwarf carefully poured a measure of the thick brown liquor from the stoneware jug on the bar next to him.  A small drop spilled on the bar and began to eat its way through the oak, sizzling and burning.

“Hey little guy, what’re ya drinkin?”  A tall and massively musclebound human sat down next to him, the impact of sitting knocking the bottle off the bar.  Ioz, as his friends would have called him if he’d had any, moved as fast as a striking snake, catching the bottle a finger’s breadth from the floor.

“Did you just call me… little?”  He asked, his voice gravely and deadly quiet.

“Oh come now, I don’t mean nothin by it.  Pour me one a whatever that is.”  The human slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to shift him a finger on his stool.

“Fenris, leave Zagod alone!  By the Mother Goddess, that crazy gobshite is drinking Purple Hippogriff!”  Another human had noticed his friend and had intervened at perhaps the worst possible moment.  “If he don’t kill ya th drink will!”

“This is th Stone Crushin Fist everyone’s been on about?”  Fenris asked incredulously, “Canne be him, he’s got a bloody sword don’t he?”

A fist the size and shape of a summer ham smashed into Fenris’s cheek, even as Ioz drained his tankard.  The huge human staggered back, drawing his sword and swinging it in the same motion but Ioz stumbled three steps to the left, then three to the right seeming to accidentally stumble out of the way.  Fenris was only barely able to stop his stroke before the blade struck his friend.

“You little-“  Fenris began, but Ioz had woven his way back into range, draining his shot glass as he came.  Fist, elbow, forearm, knee and foot struck in rapid succession hitting solar plexus, collar bone, temple, nose and then chin as the Dwarf unleashed unarmed fury upon his would be opponent.

“Nobody calls me little.  Nobody spills my drink.  Nobody doubts my fists.”  Ioz sat back on his stool as though nothing had happened.  The human on the floor was groaning and holding his broken nose with one hand and his stomach with the other.  Calmly, he reached out and poured himself another shot of the muddy brown liquor.  Purple hippogriff.  It ain’t purple and it ain’t a hippogriff.

“Very easily managed.” An accented voice said in common.  “I can see that your reputation is very well deserved.”  The second human had retreated, hand on the hilt of the Greatsword over his shoulder and a diminutive figure in a blue robe with the cowl pulled low over its face had stepped forward.  It extended a gloved hand.

Ioz did not take it, instead tossing a pair of silver coins to the Minotaur behind the bar who refilled his mug with frothing ale without comment.  The Dwarf took a long drink and sighed in satisfaction.  Reaching into a belt pouch, he took out a long stemmed pipe and a pouch of tac.  With careful deliberation he packed the bowl full and lit it with a practiced stroke of flint and steel.

Finally, after blowing a perfect smoke ring he turned to the figure where it stood patiently waiting.  “What you want Kobold?”

The human guard flinched and took a step backward, but the cloaked figure didn’t so much as twitch.  “I am offering you something.  An opportunity.  The Mother Goddess has brought all us forgotten here for a reason and I believe yours goes beyond carousing and fist fights.”

Ioz grunted. “Naw.  That’s pretty much all I’m good for.”

“Very well.  Then I challenge you to a fight.  The stakes are-“  The figure broke off as Ioz drained his tankard and took a pull directly from the bottle before leaping at her, his arms spread wide.  She easily slid to one side, tapping his foot with hers as she did so.  Her touch was just enough to spin him around, a motion which he turned into a vicious roundhouse that had the power to sunder a stone wall.

She leaned backward and slapped his heel as it flashed past her face, causing his motion to carry dangerously close to the bar.  Only by pulling his foot in and spinning twice in a circle did Ioz avoid kicking his bottle from the bartop.

“That ain’t right.”  He rumbled, unleashing a mad blur of punches, kicks and other less gentlemanly strikes.  The small figure glided out of reach every time and as was her wont, tapped him in just the right spot to put him off balance, this time sending him crashing into a table laden with food and drink.

Ioz rolled easily to his feet, ignoring the bits of broken pottery jammed into his flesh and the pottery, coming to his feet with an un-spilled tankard from the table which he promptly poured down his throat.  This time when he approached, he wove in an unsteady rhythm, feet crossing over themselves in an unintelligible tangle of stuttering steps.  His upper body wove in a nearly impossible sinuous weaving motion.  Instead of fists, his hands cramped into uncomfortable looking claws, knuckles splayed at wild angles.  A wide, unsteady grin was plastered across his face.

“Now we shtart to shee jusht how good ya be lassh.”  Ioz slurred, and stumbled forward three quick steps.  His foot came down hard where hers had been a moment before and he stumbled into her, his elbow smacking into her temple with force that should have been impossible from that angle.  She neatly turned a sideways cartwheel, turning most of the force of his blow into motion and lashed out with a foot as she did.  The motion flipped her hood back and he could see that her scaled skin was the white of driven snow.

Ioz wobbled back a half step and evaded her strike entirely before weaving back into the fray his arms, elbows and knees a blur of fluid, yet somehow erratic motion.  She retreated, awkwardly countering his blows, ducking and blocking.  Finally, she fetched up against the bar and in the blink of an eye was holding a pair of nunchaku.  Weapons in hand, she launched a furious counterattack.  Steel flashed as she battered at him, attempting to wrap the chains of her weapons around his arms or legs and settling for striking ferocious blows instead.

As he passed the bar, Ioz snagged a bottle at random and downed it before rolling backward out of reach and coming to his feet with his massive Dao in both hands.  The weapon whistled out, the wickedly polished edge shining in the light coming through the tavern’s window as he used it to block his opponent’s deadly assault.

He stepped back, grounding the chisel tip of the sword and bowing slightly from the waist.  “You are good.”  He said without rancor or the slurring speech and slumped back into his seat at the bar which just happened to be where he had retreated.  “You forced me to draw steel… What do you want?”

She stepped forward and poured a shot for each of them.  He raised a bushy eyebrow skeptically but downed his while she did the same.  Impressed, Ioz waited patiently.

“You’ve seen exactly what happens when you cannot maintain balance.  You are defeated, and by a mere Kobold.”  She said the last with irony in her tone.  “That is why I wish you to assist in a little project.  I can promise many strong opponents and a few staunch allies as well as the chance to do something a bit more… meaningful with your existence.”

Her eyes took in the now empty bar, the destroyed tables and crockery and she raised an ironic eyebrow.  “If you don’t have something more pressing in your schedule?”

The doors slammed open and the city watch tramped in.  Ten of them.  Even though he had never resisted, they sent more every time.  They circled him warily and the guard captain came forward with a pair of manacles.

“Zagod.”  He said with a frown on his face, “Don’t tell me that this tiny person over here somehow forced you to destroy the bar.”

Ioz saw that the Kobold had flipped her hood up again.  He looked at the guard captain and snorted in derision, “You know I don’t judge folk because of their size Darious.  You also should know I don’t resist arrest when I’ve broken the city’s laws.”

Ioz turned to the hooded form, “I accept your offer.”  He said, inclining his head.  He paused, noting that its shoulders shook with silent laughter.  Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “What is so damn funny?”

“They call you Zagod.”  She choked out, “They are literally calling you ‘fist’ or ‘punch’ and they don’t even understand it!”

“Punishment for a bar fight is payment of damages and a night in the lockup.”  He said, keeping his face straight.  “So you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

“You’re going to actually go with him?  You’re actually going to spend a night in jail?” She sounded skeptical, “Why?”

Ioz shrugged.  “It’s the law.  Part of following the law is acknowledging when you break it and serving the time required.  I’m bad at following the law but I try and atone for those failings by serving my sentences without causing trouble.”

“There is much more to you than it would seem Ioz.”  She said, using the name he had chosen.  The name he had taken for himself.  The name that had no hidden meaning.  “I will ensure someone is there to collect you upon your release.”

With that rather cryptic and unsettling statement, she turned and left.  They all watched her for a minute before Ioz sighed.  “Can I finish my drink before we go at least?”

“We’d be here all night, I know better than that.” Darious said.

Ioz sighed again, deeper this time.  “Damn.”

Sitting in the cell that smelled of vomit, sweat and piss, Ioz admitted that he’d had better accommodations.  Still, it was his own lack of self-control that had led him to this place.  Again.  He leaned back and let the memories of old pain wash over him.

He had been too weak to protect anyone.  Too small to defend those who he cared for.  Too stupid to notice until it was too late.  He had relied on his weapons, hadn’t trained his body to the fullest extent possible, hadn’t honed himself to a razor’s edge… and his friends had paid dearly for it.

After his failure, he had simply walked away from his life or what was left of it.  He had left everything behind and just walked until he could no longer put one foot in front of the other.  Until nothing mattered and it felt like death would be a comfort, a balm, a welcome release from the suffering of continuing to live.  And then he had run.

When The Mother Goddess, Landria Mother of the Lost, Keeper of the Forsaken, Finder of Things that Shone in Darkness found him, she wept at his despair.  She took some of his pain into herself.  She offered something other than the endless darkness that he wanted to give in to.  She gave him the escape he craved without demanding the end of his existence.  It had been a temptation too sweet to resist.  He had regretted it for every day thereafter.

Once he had accepted her salvation, Ioz had discovered that he was no longer able to forsake his own life.  He couldn’t change who he was when the very stones of this place demanded that he live.  That he serve the Mother’s purpose.  That he follow this land’s Laws and obey his set destiny.  He wept bitter tears as he saw the treachery of Landria’s forgiveness.

So he tempered himself in the forge of pain and strengthened himself on the anvil of despair.  He had years, decades, centuries to live.  Without the release of suicide, he simply tried to die by fighting the strongest person he could find in every place he traveled.  Over the years, decades, centuries, he had come to a simple conclusion.  He was the strongest, or else the Mother would not allow him to perish in such a trivial fashion.

Dorda.  Randar.  Shrav.  Terkin.  His friends who had been murdered because he hadn’t been able to fight without a weapon stood always over his shoulder.  Always reminding him of his debt to them.  Constantly exhorting him to greater effort.  And now, this Kobold… a person who hadn’t even had enough respect for him to grace him with her name… now she held the strings of his fate in her clawed, white hands.  She held them and he was too much of a coward to deny it.

Or perhaps this was his chance to redeem himself.  Closing his eyes, Ioz allowed sleep to claim him.  Tomorrow, the true testing would begin.  A test of balance that was sure to strain him to his utmost limits, or so he hoped.  Perhaps it would even break him.  That thought was the first comfort he had felt since Landria, the Mother of the Lost had claimed him.  The jailers found him sleeping with a smile on their nightly rounds and shuddered at the sight.

Starvale Adventures: A Prelude to Darkness – Chapter 26

Ylivia looks sternly down upon you, Rowan, her face becoming more serious now. “By what God or Gods would you make such a sacred oath, bard?” She looks you up and down. “I see no sign, no trinket or band which would denote your faith, your magic comes from yon lyre upon thine back,” she points an elegant finger toward Rowan’s prized possession. “Your ilk and kin oft find no love in a God’s work, they find the prayer a chore and yearn for the open road.” Her eyes focus upon Rowan’s. “Would you forswear your life as you know it?”

Rowan squares her shoulders and looks back at the stern faced elf. “You are right, that my magic comes to me through my music, but my music is also the pulse of the land. The pulse of the world, the pulse of the sky and water. Music is the voice of all the gods, and is universal in its power.

“I do not swear to any single god. I honor all gods who value good in the world. All gods who would add to the joy and freedom and safety of the beings here. I honor all beings who have a good heart, who seek to protect the innocent, and who fight evil in all its forms. If I can help you, and this is good enough, then I will be honored to join you. If it is not. If I must choose a single god, or a single path, then perhaps you are right.”

She looks Ylivia clearly in the eyes. “All I know is that if you will have me, my heart and soul will be with the Order, and I will use all the strength of my music and my power to aid its cause against evil, wherever, and however, it should do harm.”

Ylivia holds your gaze and says, “Faith is the greatest weapon against evil; faith in one’s god, one’s friends, and one’s self.  Battling evil is an extraordinary task that requires extraordinary strength and bravery. Punishing an evil act is just. Punishing an evil thought is not. If you would swear by these tenants then go, find Zern Xerkstil, the Hammer of Impiltur, He will induct you into our order, by my recommendation.”

As the other two speak, Sebastian, Lanaver and Tallisk look around the room, attempting to garner any additional information they can before departing.  They realize the cavern and ancient halls are fragile and worn, the obelisks are probably all that holds this structure from collapse. and even those are frail and old. However, Sebastian did disable their magic, for now.

“Thank you.” Rowan says calmly. “With the magic disabled, if we tie ropes to the obelisks, perhaps with our combined strength we can pull them down from outside?”

Tallisk uses the mental and physical conditioning that has been beaten into her for so many years and forces her breathing to return to normal.  As always, she is finding it difficult to return to the normal world after the thrill of combat. The intoxicating effects of the adrenaline wore off and the horror of blood and death returned. She had done it. Again.

The feelings, the urges to fight and kill never seemed to go away. In spite of her best intentions, what her Master had told her was coming true. She was a killer, and nothing she could do would change it now.  The darkness would eventually swallow her just as Kizarvexius had predicted, but at least she had found some decent folk to accompany until her fall should occur.

“Cn we get otta here?” She asks, her voice sounding pleading and hoarse. She took a deep drag on her cigar and exhales twin streams of smoke from her nostrils. “I need a drink ye ken?”

Between them, Rowan and Sebastian loop ropes around one of the obelisks, letting out enough slack that they have a short way to go to get out of the the cavern.  Meanwhile, Lanaver and Hajima gather up weapons and armor from their fallen enemies, rolling it into a couple of bundles for easy transportation.  Tallisk seems to be uncomfortable with the looting of the dead, but doesn’t make an issue of it, instead following Ylivia and Villonah as they make their way to the exit.

When they reach the end of the rope, they all line up as though they were kids playing tug of war and with a few hard pulls tear down the obelisk.  With a rumble of falling rock, the cavern begins to collapse.

“I didn’t think it’d work quite that well!”  Lanaver yells with a madcap grin as they all run for the exit.

“The magic of the Obelisks must have been supporting the cavern.”  Sebastian says, as they make it out just ahead of a plume of dust and spattering of gravel.  “Job well done!”

“I thank you for my life.”  Villonah says, “We will be in touch Rowan Wildpiper, after you have met with Zern.  Fare thee well.”

“May yer cup be ever full.”  Tallisk says, gripping each of the other women firmly by the forearm.  “An stop by th Kettle ta leave us a note if ya need us.  I dinne take kindly ta them what tortures younguns.”

Rowan sighs in relief and says, “Let us go home, my friends. It’s been a long night.”

They cautiously make their way back into the city and quickly go to Madame Freia’s. Rillo was pacing about the hearth, wringing his hands in worry.  A bowl of stew and a flagon of mead sit untouched on the mantelpiece.

Rowan rushes to his side. “She is safe.”

He jumps, not noticing her until she spoke, “How? Where is she? What of her?”

“It’s a very long story, sir, and your daughter is far more than she seems.” Rowan smiles gently at him. You can be proud of her, sir.”

Rillo’s brow furrows, “How do I know she lives?”

Rowan smiles, “Do the words ‘When windfalls way has wound the woods and willows weep their weary wails, I’ll whisk away your worries’ woe with Western winds to fill your sails.’ hold meaning for you sir?”

“Of course!” He says as tears fill his eyes. “Oh thank you!  Please, I would hear the story.”

“Buy me a drink and I’ll spin ya a tale what’ll turn yer hair as red as mine sure an I will.”  Tallisk says with an easy smile.

Rillo hands over the promised gold and buys everyone a round of drinks.  Tallisk regales him with a dramatized retelling of Villonah’s rescue, glossing over the near deaths of Tuskor and Hajima.  With surprising skill she spins it into a grand adventure instead of the bitter fight to the death in a dank, dimly lit cellar smelling of torture and death.

Rowan picks up on her story and begins playing a counterpoint to Tallisk’s telling on her cittern.  By the end, a small group of patrons has gathered around and is listening.  Most of them applaud and a few even toss coins on the table.

Rillo smiles as he turns to go. “Tis great to have goodly folk like yourselves to help the commoners with their plights. Thank ye, once more.” He says, and contentedly strolls out of Madame Freia’s and off to home, whistling a merry tune.

“That was a goodly telling.”  Rowan says, giving Tallisk the full beam of her brilliant smile.  “I had no idea you had such a gift.”

“Eh?  Well…”  Tallisk sighs, “I used ta tell me rats tales ye ken?  Back in th day.”

“Rats?”  Rowan looks confused, but the other woman is already wandering off towards the bar.

Tallisk feels lost at sea with the talk of factions and gods. Her life was more simple, focusing only on the immediate needs and desires if the moment. To think that she has been caught up in something like this is daunting, but how can she escape it? Did she want to escape it?

The excitement, the companionship, the feeling of making a difference, albeit a small one. These things are gradually becoming her need and desire. Sipping at the thick ale and nibbling at a bit of bread, she tries to come to terms with the way the winds of life are taking her.

“You canne dip yer foot in th same stream twice.” She mutters. Only now do those words her Master used to say reveal their true meaning to her.

Starvale Adventures: A Prelude to Darkness – Chapter 25

Rowan levels her hand crossbow, taking a careful bead on the Grick’s head.  As it raises itself from biting at the comatose form of Tuskor, she squeezes the trigger and the bolt flashes out to catch the monster in the throat.  It falls, choking on its own black blood to thrash weakly on the floor.

Lanaver moves in with bravado, blades moving in tandem.  “Give up already, would ya?  We got you cornered and there’s no escape.”

“Take me if you can you bastard!”  Is his defiant reply.

Lanaver leaps to the attack with a flurry of stabs and feints, leading with his dagger before stabbing his rapier beneath the sergeant’s buckler, wounding him in the thigh.

Sebastian bends over Tuskor, applying a field medical kit to staunch the considerable bleeding and disinfect the disease ridden bites from the still twitching Grick. Sebastian looks up from his bloody work to meet the sergeant’s eye. “Vengeance has come upon your head, surrender or die!”

“To the Nine Hells with you, whoreson!” Spits the sergeant, hefting his shield once more and advancing on Sebastian. He makes a series of slashing cuts with his heavy broadsword and Sebastian’s arcane shield appears, deflecting the first but exploding into a shower of arcane sparks as the second slams through it and slashes him across the chest. “If I’m for the nine hells, I’m taking you peons with me!”

Tallisk strikes out at the sergeant with a wild blow from the side but he deflects the staff with his shield, smashing her weapon away hard enough that she stumbles backward, falling to catch herself awkwardly.  Even as she falls, her skirt flies in a fan shape as her slipper clad foot strikes out, narrowly missing the man’s chin.

Tuskor places his fingers on the earth, seeming to draw strength from it before rising to his feet. He pulls his tusk staff from his back whilst muttering his ancient words. As his staff begins to crack and splinter and become entwined with red veins so too does his face begin to become covered in red pulsating markings. He charges past Sebastian at the sergeant bringing the staff crashing towards the side of the man’s head with a mighty roar.

Tuskor’s mammoth staff crushes the sergeant’s nose knocking him down. His head splits open on the floor of the guard house and blood spills out into the dirty stone grooves. Rowan quickly moves to Villonah and frees her from the cage trying to calm her down. Once the Gnome girl realizes she’s safe, she swoons, her terror having been the only thing keeping her conscious.

A noise causes them to stop and look back where they came from.  An Elf stands before the door into the tunnel. She has an arrow drawn back to her ear, and trained on Rowan.

“Put the gnome down and leave. You will not take her anywhere and torture her more. There may be more of you, but some of you will not survive the fight if you try to take her.”

“Have ya no eyes in yer head fair Elf lass?” Tallisk says in a deceptively light tone, “We been doin a bit of rescuin sure an we have, an yer a bit late ta th party, though you’re much more welcome than this scum thenow.”

Rowan looks up in surprise. “We’ve just saved her from certain death, and are taking her back to her father. Join us if you will, but there will be no harm to her this night.”

Tallisk takes a pair of cigars from her belt pouch, lights then with a flick of flint and steel and passes one to Hajima. Blowing a perfect smoke ring, she grins at the elf. “If ya don’t believe us, just ask the gnome lass. If she is still… together enough to answer I’m certain she’ll tell ya of our good deeds.”

Lanaver looks at the Elf and speaks in the native tongue the Elves.  “Sister, I can promise you two things; we are leaving this forsaken place, my comrades and I, and the girl is coming with us. You can lower your weapon and leave too but if you keep pointing that thing at us I can’t guarantee your safety.  Just now we find ourselves a bit unwilling to trust strangers who threaten us.”

“Very well, I am satisfied.” she says, lowering her bow and loosening the string. “Let me take a look at her then we must be away. If only there was some way to destroy this fell place.” she spits.

“Oh… Well you should have said so in the first place,” Lanaver grins sheepishly.

“Forgive me, I did not think to find goodly folk here in this evil place.”  The Elf says, “My name is Ylivia, I’m a member of the Order of the Gauntlet and we’ve been fighting against the tyranny of the Starshield Guard.  We have been battling them for nearly a year now.”

“The reason they took me isn’t because I broke any laws.”  Villonah says weakly, “I stole a map purported to lead to the lair of a White Dragon in the mountains of the North.  I gave them a fake map, keeping the original in my boot.  We will use this to bring down the corrupt Guards and restore order to Starvale.”

Ylivia looks at them, offering a pouch of gold with a serious look of gratitude. “You have done a great service to the order and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for courageously rescuing my friend, Villonah.”

Sebastian’s brow furrows, “Would it be possible for us to have a copy of that map?”  He asks, “It could prove a vital asset in our own investigations of the Cult of the Dragon.  I would have a care as well, it seems that many folks are hunting for artifacts that are draconic in nature, The Silencers among them.  Simply possessing that map could lead to further trouble, especially if corrupt members of the Starshield Guard know that you have it.”

“I would willingly make a copy of the map for any member of the Order of the Gauntlet.”  Ylivia says, “However I cannot give such to an outsider without first consulting the people in my organization.  For now, I must see that it reaches my superior’s hands, I cannot transcribe it here and I would flee with Villonah,”

Lanaver purses his lips thoughtfully, “Villonah, your father is very worried about you. If you’ll not come back home with us, can you give us something to prove that you live and are away from these vile filth?”

The gnome pulls back her linen shift, showing a tattoo of a safflower on her upper right thigh and sings, “When windfalls way has wound the woods and willows weep their weary wails, I’ll whisk away your worries’ woe with Western winds to fill your sails.” Her smile is one of grief, but a small shimmer of a smile shines through. “He will know,” she says, staring out the tunnel.

Rowan steps forward, at first speaking hesitantly, but her voice strengthening as she finds her resolve. “I have studied the various factions and had not, until this moment, chosen one. I find myself approving of your methods.” She says, “Villonah’s capture and treatment made me pity her at first, but I find her courage and resolve to be a true inspiration. I will join your Order, and vow to aid in all ways that I can, if you will have me. Then, you may give me a copy of the map so that I and my friends may aid if needed.”

Starvale Adventures: A Prelude to Darkness – Chapter 24

Thanks to its stone camouflage, the Grick that was hiding in the southeast corner of the room has made its way around the rubble strewn about the dark room and, hanging from a stone wall, lashes out at Lanaver, who is attempting to free its dinner.

As Rowan stumbles away from the hideous creature the two nearest obelisks begin to glow and faintly hum before a pulse of magic energy is emitted into the room. Meanwhile, Hajima and Tallisk simultaneously hear the issuing forth of low wolf growl from within the southern room followed by excited barking and slavering.

The Grick surprises Rowan and Lanaver and writhes toward them. It attacks Lanaver, tentacles lashing out to strike him with terrible force, dragging him close as its beak snaps at the air in front of his face.

Rowan lets out a yelp and cringes away from the monster, diving behind a pile of rubble in a desperate attempt to put something between her and the tentacled horror.  She weaves magic and song together even as she rolls to a stop, unleashing a spell at the Grick, but feels the monster resist the effect.

Lanaver draws his rapier and stabs at the Grick’s snapping beak, the tip of his blade skittering off the hard bone with its serrated edges before biting deep into the soft flesh next to where the tentacles connect to its face.

Tuskor shouts a spell and the now familiar worms writhe up from the floor, wrapping tightly around the Grick and holding it in place.

Sebastian enters, casting a spell to ward Rowan from harm. “We have company from the other room and it sounds like they have a wolf!”

The Grick thrashes against its bonds, partially breaking free as it snaps and bites at Rowan, but the monster is unable to get close enough for its beak or tentacles to find purchase on her flesh.

Four guards bust out of the guard room yelling, “What’s going on in here? Which of you bastards wants a day in the funhouse?!”  They see Hajima standing there with a loaded crossbow. “Well well well, what have we got here? Get out here you lazy bastards we got a break in!”

The first of them levels a heavy crossbow at Hajima and curses as his bowstring snaps and the weapon misfires. A guard wielding a halberd moves around to flank Hajima and strikes him while his attention is on the man with the crossbow. The third guard is wielding a spear and shield, he moves out near the prisoners and hurls his spear at Tallisk.

Tallisk sways sideways at the last second as though drunk, the spear misses her narrowly burying into the wooden door frame she is standing near. The guard with the booming voice who is obviously their leader swings a broadsword at Hajima which misses. He then moves back into the room and unleashes the wolf.

Tallisk moves languidly to one side and back, almost falling but catching herself on the spear with her right, using it to pull herself back up to her feet. She stumbles a few steps forward, leaning heavily on her staff and seems to trip, flinging her left hand forward and causing her staff to glance off the guard’s shield.

He stumbles backward and she reels drunkenly forward, bringing her right foot down hard on the man’s instep. “Oh! Shorry.” She slurs, “I jusht wandered in from the shtreet…”

The scurrying of clawed feet on stone heralds the arrival of the trained wolf as it round the corner out of the guard room. It bares its teeth at Tallisk as she harries its master and attempts to bite her leg but she stumbles to one side and its teeth snap closed on the open air.

“Nish doggy, good puppy.”  Tallisk says, her voice warbling a drunken croon.

Hajima shifts about and strikes out at the guard with the halberd, taking him in the chest with his rapier. The guard spits a curse, “You’ll pay dearly for that, scum.”

Rowan ducks her head out from behind the stones she is hiding behind and hisses a sibilant and angry song towards the Grick. The monster reels in mental agony from the bard’s spell, and Rowan ducks back behind the stones, noting that her magic has more of an effect on the Grick than her allies’ non-magical weapons do.

Rowan shouts at the top of her lungs, “Use magic if you have it!!!”

“Why’d we give that tooth back!?”  Lanaver growls, leaving the cage and drawing a dagger into his off hand. He dashes behind Rowan and past Tuskor, building momentum as he nears Tallisk. He engages the wolf harassing the monk with both blades driving toward what he hopes are vital organs.  The wolf yelps and slumps down to the stone floor.

Sebastian hurls a ray of frost at the Grick. Screams erupt from its beak as its reptilian form is blasted with ice. Sebastian stands tall next to Rowan, knowing that should his blade ward fail his healing art should keep his Halfling companion alive.

Tuskor grimaces at the death of the wolf, hating to see any woodland creature brought low thus. As the last breath leaves the dying wolf Tuskor places his tusk staff onto his back. His eyes roll up into his head leaving them pupil-less and a transformation begins. The staff begins to melt into Tuskor’s back and the end lingers like a tail.

Suddenly with a crunch Tuskor’s knees snap backwards and he falls to his hands, or rather the paws that sit where he hands should be. His already massive grey man grows longer, encompassing his entire body and with a scream of rage his face thrusts outwards becoming lupine in shape. The scream turns into a howl and left where Tuskor once stood is a mighty grey wolf.

Racing to the still entangled Grick, Tuskor snarls and lunges, trying to sink his new teeth into the monster. In spite of its restraints, the thing’s hide resists the wolf’s attempt to savage it.

The Grick busts free of its entanglement with a strong effort. It moves up to menace Sebastian, tentacles writhing and mouth snapping with hunger.

The guard sergeant emerges and swings his bastard sword at Hajima. He roars in anger when the other deftly blocks the blow on a leather bracer and prompts his companions to fight harder.  “Come on you worthless cowards, kill these bastards!”

The guard with the halberd swings it at Hajima, taking advantage of the opening his leader had made.  The blow strikes deep his side, sliding beneath the arm that is still raised, blocking the bastard sword blow.

Another guard fires his crossbow at Tallisk.  The girl twitches her head sideways and the bolt grazes her ear, slicing a few locks of her bright red hair as it flashes past.

“HEY!”  Tallisk shouts, “Watch th hair ya shithead!”  She spins and smashes the halberd wielding guard in the gut with her staff and then brings her knee up into his nose with a sickening crunch when he doubles over in pain.  The man falls, twitching to the ground and she prods him with a toe.

“Ah… are ya OK laddie?”  She asks, but she’s not putting much of an effort into her usual deception.  The satisfied smile on her lips doesn’t help matters.

Hajima holds his side, gasping in pain “Medic!”  He throws a grateful look at Tallisk whose attack has allowed him to retreat from the thick of the battle.

Sebastian calls out “By Clangedins’ beard this things breath smells like the nine hells! I’m coming Hajima, hold on!”  Sebastian hears the cry for help from Hajima, but the Grick blocks his way.

Rowan plays a rill on her flute and lights begin to flash in front of the monster’s face, but although it shies away from the dancing lights it is too hungry to stop be distracted from its intended meal.  As it continues to attack Sebastian and Tuskor, Rowan finds some rubble to hide behind.

Lanaver backs away from the guards, blood flowing liberally from his wounds and shouts to Sebastian, “Doc, ya better patch me up quick!  Seems like there’s more a this red stuff outside me than in!”

Tuskor, still in wolf form, savages the Grick with his jaws, growling in defiance and rage.  Sebastian tosses Lanaver a healing potion then proceeds to blast the Grick with another burst of frosty magic and it screeches loudly in anguish. Even as it thrashes in its death throes, it rears up and tentacle attacks Tuskor, ripping into the Druid’s wolf hide.

The guard sergeant swings his broadsword at Hajima who desperately parries the attack with his rapier.  The crossbowman drops his crossbow and advances on Hajima, drawing an axe and swinging it at him in a series of wide strikes. Somehow Hajima parries and dodges the attacks, backing up until he runs into the wall; safe from injury for now but surrounded by enemies.

His breath comes in short gasps, and he uses his martial discipline to force his body to stop bleeding through sheer force of will.  “You can’t kill me that easily you bastards.”  He grates between clenched teeth.

Rowan pulls out her hand crossbow, seeking to put an end to the wounded Grick, but her shot goes wide, clattering against the stone wall.

Lanaver moves toward the axe man with renewed vigor, flanking him. He circles around toward Hajima, vying for an advantage and supporting his comrade.  There! He spies an opening in the man’s defenses and leaps to the attack.

“Die you bastard!”  Lanaver cries, leaping forward and stabbing his dagger deep into axe man’s back.  The guard falls to his knees, dropping his gore splattered axe. Lanaver grasps the man by the throat and with a single efficient movement, slashes the man’s throat from ear to ear.

Sebastian draws Hajima back from the attacking enemies, using the hole in the action that Lanaver’s brutal slaying of the axe wielding guard created.  He quickly slaps field bandages on his wounds.  “Damn damn damn!”  He curses, unable to contain his worry for his friend and for their situation.

Tuskor relentlessly pursues the Grick, his claws scraping against the cold stone floor as he attempts once again to bring the foul creature down. The wolf whines in consternation as the Grick eludes his lupine form, weakly sliding away from his snapping jaws.

The monster turns on him and manages to latch onto him with a tentacle, dragging him forward and sinking its beak into his flank.  The effort causes it to shudder, leaking foul smelling ichor but in a show of terrible, unnatural stamina it continues to fight.  With a yelp Tuskor is knocked out of his wolf form and lies unmoving face down on the ground.

The sergeant moves in on Hajima as Sebastian is attempting to patch him up. He grins an evil grin, stabbing the prone man in the gut.  He twists his blade as he removes it, leaving Hajima gasping in pain and bleeding profusely.

Spurred on by his leader’s brutal attack, the other guard swings his axe, cutting into Lanaver’s side.  The crunch of splintering ribs and Lanaver’s cry of pain are overshadowed by the guard’s shout of triumph.

Tallisk watches in horror as her new friends endure grievous wounds in defense of her and their young charge. Summoning the inner strength and power her Master had drilled into her over long hours of practice, she springs into action. Her quarterstaff becomes a humming blur of motion, the iron bands on either end causing it to whistle as it tears through the air to strike the axe man on the back of the head with the rebound, she brings an elbow into his face.

The man falls and Tallisk appears to stumble over him, treading heavily on his neck in the process.  “Ohmygosh, are ya ok?”  She asks, her voice dripping with false sincerity.  She stumbles toward the Sergeant, at the last minute swinging a shin in a low arc that connects with considerable force on the back of his knees.

Sebastian stares in amazement, they had seen Tallisk fight before, but never like this.  That sudden, deadly explosion of attacks banished any doubts he had about her abilities.  No matter her soft and plump appearance, she had obviously made the dealing physical violence one of her life’s greatest passions.

Starvale Adventures: A Prelude to Darkness – Chapter 23

This room contains eight cells, five currently occupied by prisoners who start begging to be released as they enter. A door to the east is barred from this side, and there is also a door on the south wall. A stone chair is bolted to the floor in the room’s center, and interrogation instruments hang from the walls.

“Shhh” Rowan says, while using her hands in a pushing motion to try to get them to be quiet. She looks around for keys to the cells.

Sebastian also implores them to be quiet.  “If you alert the guards we can’t help any of you.  Hold your tongues and we’ll get you out as quickly as we can.

“Ohhh akushla, my heart bleeds fer ya.” Tallisk murmurs, looking at the nearest, “Are there guards? Do they come often? By the Hag’s teeth I ain’t leavin here without all of ya.”

Rowan is calmly and quietly continuing to reassure the prisoners, she also asks quietly, “Villonah, are you here?” While peering into the cells and trying to open the doors.

The prisoners quiet down for the moment, their cries stifled to sobs and whimpers.  After a brief inspection, they see that female gnome is not among them. Of the five prisoners here, four are in terrible condition from starvation and dehydration. They can walk on their own, but they are in no condition to fight.  Two only have one ear.  The last prisoner appears mad, having been driven insane by his long confinement and exposure.

Rowan continues trying to open the doors while saying quietly. “Where is the gnome girl? Where did they take her?”

“Promise to free us and I will tell you.” One of the prisoners with a missing ear says.

Rowan’s face is full of pity and fear as she notices the madness in the eyes of the murderous soul in the fifth cell. She turns to her friends. “I think the honest guards must deal with this one. Freeing him would be a mistake.” She turns her still sad face too, “What have you done that you are here? None deserve this hidden place, but …” and she trails off, not quite sure how to proceed.

“We’ll find her with or without you,” Lanaver sneers, recognizing the missing ears as a sign of membership in The Silencers.  “But no one is leaving until we do, and I’m going nowhere with that barmy sod,” He points at the homicidal prisoner.

Tallisk is shocked at the expression of disdain from Lanaver. How could he not feel compassion for these poor lost souls? Remembering their mission, she concentrates in the task at hand with effort.  Seeing that Rowan has the discussions in hand and unable to continue to stare at prisoners she is unable to free, Tallisk turns to look at the other doors. Since Lanaver is at one, she heads to the other, listening.

Sebastian is sure the madman is truly unbalanced and likely dangerous, loosing him on the city would put innocent blood on their hands.  “Free all but the one that is mad. We will come back for him.”

Lanaver hears the sound of murmured human speech and the rolling of bone dice.  He tries to find a place to peek through the door to the other side, but the door fits the frame well and there is no keyhole on this side.

The two men call out, thanking Sebastian, calling him a hero. The two Silencers are tight lipped. They take your help and leave immediately. After pointing to the eastern door saying, “She’s in the funhouse”. The mad man slams himself against the bars like a caged animal but is not overly loud for now.

At the man’s proclamation that the girl is behind her door, Tallisk struggles to lift the bar.

“Should have let those Silencers rot Sebastian… Remember they and theirs tried to kill us for that fake egg…”

Lanaver watches Tallisk at the eastern door.  “He’s probably lying you know…”

“Well, hopefully they will spread word that we are the heroes to all. Even Silencers don’t deserve torture. ”

Wondering what a Silencer is, Tallisk lifts the bar with straining muscles and leans it in the rack beside the door, grunting in a most unladylike fashion.  The chamber was once grand but is now in shambles. The walls have collapsed in and given way to earth. An obelisk stands in the middle of the room, covered in sigils. A cage has been erected in the middle of the room surrounded by a number of peculiar obelisks made of black stone. Within the cage, a young gnome woman dressed in a simple gray tunic sits on the floor with her back to the obelisk.

She rocks back and forth with her head in her hands, saying the same thing over and over in a mad whisper, “Can’t run away. Can’t run away.”

Tallisk looks at Rowan with a clear question on her face. This looks like magic. This looks out of her league.  “Villonah?” She says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Yer da asked us ta help ya out lass.  We’re here ta get ya otta this place.”

Rowan looks on with deep pity in her eyes. “Lanaver, is it safe?”  She begins to quietly sing a song of courage and strength. Her words and melody are tuned to encourage Villonah, and reassure her that she’ll be ok.

In spite of her magic and her songs reaching out, Villonah doesn’t seem to hear Rowan’s words, but instead continues rocking back and forth.  The same phrase coming out between her lips as though it’s a charm that could save her from death.

“It’s some kind of magic for sure but I’ll check for anything physical,” Lanaver says to Rowan in a hushed tone.

Sebastian can tell that the pillars contain some old enchantment magic.  This is an undercroft of the of Lyceum of The Black Lord though, so chances are the obelisk will not be pleasant. It is so old and worn it is hard to discern what it does.

“It’s OK, lass yer safe now.” Tallisk says, then glances at Rowan and mutters under her breath, “Ahh… it is safe innit?”

Hajima stands near the door to the guards. “Pending any warning of sinister magic from Rowan or Sebastian, maybe Lanaver can sneak in there, pick the lock on her cage, and bring her out. I’ll cover this door with Tallisk in case we have unwelcome visitors.” He then opens his wooden case and removes his massive crossbow, locking the arms into position and loading a deadly bolt.

“Good thinking you two.”  Lanaver says, “And I’ll happily unlock the girl’s cage just as soon as I know it’s okay for me to step past those obelisks.”

“Them things’r th problem?” Tallisk gestures at one of the obelisks, “Maybe I break em? Would that help? Ain’t no way we cn let th girl be subjected ta this fer another moment!  She’s just a girl…” Her voice to trails off, and she turns away for a moment.  “I ain’t gonna allow it.” The steel is back now, harder than before, but more brittle. “Get ‘er out or I will.”

“Lanaver, Tallisk is right. We must get her out of here.”  Rowan says, “Can you tell if there are pitfalls for us in this room? Can you tell if it’s safe?”

“Can’t run away, can’t run away.”  Villonah’s voice continues, hopeless and terror stricken.

Hajima looks back over from his position at the door to the guard room. “If we don’t have any clear reason to avoid that room, then we’re going to have to risk it. One of these guards is going to come out here any minute. We can’t delay much longer. Either Lanaver sneaks in, or Tallisk breaks in. Which is it?”

“Tyche bless me, I’ll do it!”  Lanaver says, slinking into the room.

Hajima nods at Lanaver, respecting him for his bravery. “Good luck, my friend. We’ll watch your back and be ready to jump in if there’s any sign of trouble.”

Rowan touches Lanaver’s arm as he passes and says, “I am right behind you my brother.” Her magic flows from her hand, giving him confidence and skill.  She lets him get a few steps in and then follows, looking around for danger.

Hajima keeps his ear close to the door to the guards, listening for any sign of approach, while also keeping an eye on the progress of Lanaver and Rowan into the obelisk chamber. “Sebastian, be ready to help them with your spells if they should fall prey to foul magic. Tallisk, be ready to help me with these guards if any kind of alarm goes off when they reach the cage.”

The wood elf takes a deep breath to steady himself before approaching the cage, muttering to himself under his breath.  “It’s just a lock… A lock on a cage… A cage surrounded by creepy pillars… Under the temple of an evil god… Who you hope is dead… It’s just a lock.”

Starvale Adventures: A Prelude to Darkness – Chapter 22

“The boy said this prison was located beneath the ruins of the Black Lord’s Lyceum.  It was, as you probably know, burned down years ago by that angry mob and since then has been rebuilt as, of all things, a shelter for the homeless.”  Rillo says, “The rumor is they’ve found some sort of secret chambers beneath it.  If my calculations of the subterranean caverns about are correct, I believe there’s an entrance just on the outskirts of town near the Stojanow river.

“I can’t rescue her myself, but, I can pay you!  I have some gold and I will throw in some trade goods also.  I am a skilled craftsman, even if I am not a warrior.”  He dissolves into tears again, “Or apparently much of a father.”

Rowan looks around at her friends, still recovering from her shock at Tallisk’s outburst and her emotional response to Rillo’s story.  “It sounds like your daughter is in way over her head. We will do our best for you.”

Sebastian looks curious at this proposition. He has a love of the law and aiding a law breaker goes against the grain of his moral fiber.  The brazen abuse of women and children, however, is a far worse offense to his sensibilities.  Showing no outward response to either Tallisk’s anger or Rowan’s concern, he merely nods in agreement to the red haired Halfling’s offer of assistance.

Rowan seems extremely troubled, and her usually sunny expression is now one of furrowed brows and downturned lips. “If this place truly exists, this goes far beyond the life of one troubled girl. This corruption is a blight on all of Starvale, when under disguise of law, a rogue group of guards can torture and kill without any to stop, or even know of them.” She looks at her friends, a look of determination on her face. “I will get my things.”

Hajima nods as Rowan leaves and also shares a look with Sebastian, his new faction-brother. “I agree with both of you in this matter. Although helping a troubled girl get out of jail who rightly put herself there in the first place is not as heroic as our previous missions, Rowan is right too. This is bigger than one girl. This is corruption at its worst and an abuse of power that cannot go unpunished. Our primary objective should be to shut this place down, especially since the authority of the Starshield Guard has now come into question. If we can retrieve the girl too, then we shall do so.”

Hajima turns to Lanaver. “Your idea is also sound. Doing some background checks on this situation through our new resources, before rushing in blindly, is necessary for formulating our strategy. I will go immediately to the Lords Alliance to see what we can learn from them.” With that, he goes upstairs to grab his things. As always, his long coat conceals his rapier, and the long wooden case is always at his side. He puts on his wide-brimmed hat with a parting nod and heads out the door.

“Honestly I could probably spring our little jail bird myself, but if I’m caught, well… You all always come through in a pinch.” Lanaver grins.

Tuskor has been listening intently from his table where he sits alone; staring at the small vase which holds a single wilting flower in the center of the table. Between trying to fathom why these town folk appear to enjoy displaying death on their dining areas and overhearing the gnome’s plight he finally has heard enough. He rises from his stool.

“The crimes of your daughter may warrant punishment, but not at the hands of such despicable sounding ne’er do wells”. He turns to Sebastian, “I have not been in the place, but have passed by that way on my crossings of the river. Though it does indeed lay in ruin; the remnants of the evil done there has left its mark on the land…and maybe the evil is still being done. We should leave immediately”

She goes upstairs and changes out of her performance clothing, donning her leather armor and strapping on her weapons and other things. She takes a deep breath and returns downstairs to the others, nimbly braiding her hair up and away from her face in a complicated braid.

Sebastian catches himself staring at Rowan as she returns downstairs. The passion in her eyes, the way the leather armor fits snug to her form or maybe it’s the red in her braids or the sweet melody of her voice. Whatever it is, Sebastian is distracted and purposefully redirects his mind to the task at hand.

Brother Keefe tells Hajima he does not know anything about this but says those within the Starshield Guard who are members of the Lord’s alliance would be thankful for the uncovering and destruction of this unlawful cohort.

“I agree, sir. The more we delay the more harm may come to her. Hopefully between Tuskor’s knowledge, and what this good gnome has told us, we can find the entrance and see what is going on.” She looks kindly at the gnome. “Hopefully we can bring her back to you, and perhaps this terrible experience will help her get back on the right track. If not, I will speak with her myself and see if I can’t help her understand that she is walking a dark road.” She softly pats him on the arm. “Try not to worry. My friends are very strong and courageous. We will do our best for you.”

He offers Hajima a bullseye lantern saying, the halls underneath the lyceum of the black lord are dark indeed, may this light guide you to life if it is your destiny or death, if it is your time.

“I dinne care what she done.” Tallisk takes a deep breath, steadying herself with visible effort. “Ain’t any child should be subjected ta th no so tender attention a th slenderman. Jest point me at ‘em it’ll be a pleasure dealin with ‘em sure.” She flexes her fingers, knuckles popping in a manner that doesn’t fit with her soft curves and plump physique at all.

“Slender man?”  Rowan asks, looking at her with innocent curiosity.  “What’s a slender man?”

Tallisk shudders, unconsciously touching her upper arms. “Never ya mind lil lass.  Some things ain’t comforting ta know an yer a mite tender fer this.”

“Oh I’m not as thin skinned as you might think.”  Rowan says softly, crossing her arms.

“Slenderman’s one what cuts answers otta anyone fer money.”  Tallisk says, her voice losing some of its charming lilt.  “Ain’t gotta be a man but usually is.  I’ve had a run in or two with ‘em.  Ended badly.”

Rowan’s face pales in horror and then her brow creases in sympathy.  “Oh Tallisk, I’m so sorry, I had no idea…”

“Ain’t nothin.”  Tallisk says, reflexively touching her biceps again.  She hefts her sturdy ash wood quarterstaff.  “Let’s go an get th girl.”

Face grim with determination, Rowan heads out into the night. “So, on to the caves to the secret entrance, then? Do you think we can find the entrance in the dark? I have no experience with secret doors.” She smiles briefly at her friends. “Between us all, though, I bet we can figure it out!”

“Remember friend, I can see in the dark and secret doors are a specialty of mine,” Lanaver says with a jaunty grin.

Rowan smiles widely at her friend and adopted brother. “Excellent!” Her stride takes on a perkier aspect as she fantasizes about rushing to the rescue of a young person in distress. “This will likely make an excellent song,” She whispers and quite unconsciously, she begins to softly hum to herself.

Hajima taps the wrapped package he now carries. “Once our silent friend moves on ahead to scout his way in the darkness, I will light this lantern. It will reveal only a small beam of light which should help us stay as hidden as we can.”

Sebastian who is quite dexterous attempts to move quickly yet quietly along with his friends.

Either unaware of the need for stealth or too angry to try, Tallisk strides purposefully out the door and down the street, her staff thumping on the cobblestones.

Lanaver glares at Tallisk and places his finger on his lips.  “Shhh!”

Tallisk glances around and seems to notice what she’s doing. Shaking her head in chagrin, she slips into a shadow and almost seems to meld with it.

Rillo leads them to the secret entrance, which is simply a stout door in the cliff face where the river emerges from under Starvale.  Beyond that door are the tunnels that lead to the secret chambers beneath the ruined Lyceum.

“I must leave you here.”  Rillo says, “I would only slow you down I fear.” The stonework around the door is well crafted, unlike the rudimentary tunnel.

Tallisk leans forward, trying the door and then carefully listening at the keyhole.  After a moment, she backs away and speaks in a low voice to her companions “Th door’s locked but I cn hear sommat inside. If ya canne pick th lock we’ll have ta force it.”

Rowan whistles softly to herself, summoning a magic light in the form of a wispy humanoid shape and have it drift near the lock so that others can examine it for traps and employ lock picks.

Tallisk jumps at the sudden appearance of a glowing ghost and only barely manages to keep a squeak of alarm from escaping her lips. Seeing Rowan’s look of concentration, she calms her thundering pulse, understanding that this is more of that mysterious arcana at work.

Sebastian suppresses a smirk when Tallisk jumps. He is confident of Lanaver and his way with locks. He will ready himself in case combat begins.

Rowan glances at Tallisk when she jumps and silently mouths ‘Sorry’ and shrugs her shoulders sheepishly. She’s gotten used to her friend’s easy acceptance of magical power, and realizes she’d best be more aware of the new woman. It wouldn’t do to startle her into giving us away. She gestures at the ghostly light, and then she smiles widely and directs the dancing light form in such a way that it makes a slow and graceful bow to Tallisk. She bows in concert with the form, attempting to make it clear that she controls the form. She smiles with delight at her little gesture, hoping her new acquaintance will enjoy, or at least relax around her magical power.

Hajima turns to Lanaver. “Can you open this lock without making any noise?”

Lanaver nods and reaches into his pack and produces his thieves’ tools.  “Give me just a tick.”  He whispers, coaxing the lock to open with a few deft movements.

With a grave expression on her face, Tallisk performs an elaborate courtly curtsy to the ghost, wondering at the powers she has become entwined with. Is this some spirit of light? A Prince long dead? A captured soul? Remembering that there are the lives and virtue of children at stake, she steels herself, hoping that they can sneak and out before anyone notices and then call the guards.

 

Starvale Adventures: A Prelude to Darkness – Chapter 21

A few days later as the sun finally sets in the west, everyone is settling down for one last beverage. Whittlee, one of Freia’s daughters, sees to the late-night crowd. Her startlingly white hair is pulled back in a tight braid. She expertly serves pots of tea, tankards of ale, flagons of wine, and other assorted mugs and cups to Rowan’s raucous playing.

The door to the Boiling Kettle opens, revealing a worried-looking gnome. He wears patchwork clothes and wrings a floppy hat nervously in his calloused hands. He peers around the room pensively, until his eyes focus on the table where Sebastian, Tallisk, Hajima and Tuskor are sitting. He quickly walks toward them, ignoring the stares and whispered jibes from some of the other patrons.

“Are you adventurers? My little girl is in terrible trouble. Will you hear my story? I can pay!”

Tallisk’s ears prick up at the magic word ‘pay’ and she turns from where she was trying to teach Blaizette how to make twin circles with juggling balls, an easy smile on her freckled face. “Come now fella me lad, pull up a chair an tell us a yer woes. Mayhap we can be a some small assistance.

“Whittlee cn you get this young gentleman a drink? One last one fer me also of ya’d be so kind.” Tallisk says with a wave and a grin.

“That’ll be on your tab I assume?” The Halfling maid asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Nay, tonight I can pay!” She says extravagantly, handing over a handful of copper coins from tips she got while juggling during Rowan’s performance, far more than the price of a couple of drinks but not nearly enough to cover her extensive tab.

Mollified, the white haired halfing maid makes her way to fetch the libations and Tallisk turns toward the gnome, lighting a cigar.  “Now then, boyo why don’t ya tell us what we cn do fer ya?”

It’s been a particularly long set, and Rowan begins to think that it’s time to wind things down. She sees the worried little gnome enter the tavern. Strange to see such a one arrive so late, and when she sees him look around and head to join her friends, a thrill of excitement and concern goes through her. She strums a few more bars and ends her song, gently putting her cittern away. Scattered groans of disappointment mingle with claps of appreciation.

Rowan bows extravagantly, “Thank you all, for an excellent night! For now, I need a little food and a little drink.” Smiles to herself at the friendly banter with the crowd. She truly does feel at home here. Still smiling, she grabs a seat at her friend’s table. “Greetings, gentle sir. You look like you can use our help.”

Sebastian is nursing his clay mug of hard liquor. He is seen writing down his impressions of the blue Dragon dagger.  He has also been working with a coil of knotted silk rope, practicing some kind of magic with it. It will uncoil itself and rise into the air. Once the length of is perpendicular to the floor it stops moving. However, when Sebastian tests how well it is anchored to its invisible tether it seems to continually pull free.  Instead of seeming to be frustrated it appears Sebastian is methodical in his approach and each time he tries he seems to take copious detail oriented notes.

Sebastian obviously missed the beginning of the Gnomes story speaks up. “Rowan, who’s this guy? A friend of yours? Can I buy you a drink my good sir. It appears you may need it.”

“Hi Sebastian,” Rowan smiles up at her friend. “Apparently this good gentle needs help for his daughter, but that’s all I know.” She turns back to the gnome, “How can we help you, then?”

Hajima sits back in his chair, enjoying the fine cigar and a pint of cool Dwarven ale. A week of guard duty and extra hours in the sparring ring and the shooting range with his fellow Lords Alliance brothers have left him stiff and sore. He feels good though. Better than he has in a long time.

He belongs somewhere again. He has friends that he can depend on when things get tough. And they depend on him. His life has meaning. His skills have a purpose. He smiles to himself and takes a long drag on the cigar again. He reminds himself find out where Tallisk gets these things.

His mind sharpens, fighting away the mildly narcotic fog of the cigar as he leans forward to address the gnome. “We will certainly help you. Just tell us what happened and where she is now. We’ll handle the rest.”

“I am Rillo.  Rillo Leadstopper.  It’s my daughter you see… Villonah.”  He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye with a rag that leaves a dark smear behind, “Her mother died last year and my little Villonah went wild with grief.  She ran off with that worthless Rak and has been running from the Starshield Guard ever since.

“Most of her crimes were just minor offenses.”  Rillo continues, “I paid her fines and she had to spend some time in jail, but last night she was taken!  The Starshield guard came to our home, clapped her in manacles and led her off without even bothering to charge her with a crime!

“I went to the castle to attempt to pay her fines and secure her release but they told me she wasn’t there.  I went to the lower street jail and they didn’t have a record of her either.”  He says, his voice rising as he recounts his tale.  “I called in every favor I had bribing guards and talking to cutpurses in seedy parts of town but nobody knew anything.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  “At my wits end, I was sitting on a curb in a not so good part of town when I was approached by a street urchin who told me he might have some information if I had some silver.  I gave him gold and he told me that there was a … secret prison.  A place where a small group of the Starshield Guards take prisoners for unsavory things.  Torture.  Rape.  Murder.  Things they don’t want their superiors to know about.”

Rillo’s voice breaks, “He told me that my daughter had stolen from them and had been taken there.  Please, I’ll give you everything I have just to get my little Villonah back.”

Tallisk leans forward, slapping a fist down hard on the table, her relaxed cheer evaporating like morning most. “Give me the location, if you have it or else the names of those who have provided you with this information.”

Suddenly realizing that she has broken character, she tosses her flaming hair back over her shoulder and pretends not to notice the dainty fist shaped dent in the table. She quickly slides a platter holding salt and spices over it, but not before it is obvious to anyone watching.

“Ah that is th more information ya give us th more likely it’ll be tha we cn help yer girl.  Ye ken?”  She says, her former rage only present in the flat jade of her eyes.  Taking a deep drag on her cigar, she visibly relaxes, or forces herself to seem more relaxed at any rate.

Looking guiltily around, she blushes, a slave to her complexion. “I dinne take th harmin’ a children light like.” She mumbles, looking down. Her hair tumbles over her face, but her green eyes still flash with anger behind the auburn curtain.