"The city's full of strong fighters - maybe some of the strongest. I've scrapped with 'em, in the arena, in the fight clubs, and out in the wilds. You've just gotta how to find 'em and how to motivate 'em."
"Underground inside the city, that's all we know. We all woke in different rooms but were taken here."
The halfling throws Bjorkus's arm away, spitting one last time. "There, rest. Get strength back."
Maybe I'll bleed to death while I sleep. That wouldn't be such a bad way to go.
"The pale man that performs the torture, he has a certain kinda magic. He can see your thoughts and f&+# with your memories. Remember what's happened here - what's real. That's the only way you can fight it."
"Four Tooth is strong and he's tasted the blood of Ares the Honorable. If he tries his magic on you, remember that. His tricks are fake, like smoke and shadows - they're nothin' against a strong heart", the bull explains in an effort to impart some confidence on the halfing. "You got it Four Tooth?"
"What kinda magic could you summon if you had to?" he asks from the other two.
The halfling stops, then gives a sharp toothed grin at Bjorkus. "Yes! Ares' blood in me! Make Four Tooth strong!" The human looks in disbelief at the exchange while the strix just shakes her head.
The strix holds up a hand, and with a word makes it shimmer slightly. "My magic is destructive and I still have many spells left, but I need to touch my target." Her hand crackles with electricity. "My name is Sylpha by the way."
The human looks up. "I'm Jamie. I have many spells left as well, but most of mine are healing, and also I no longer have my divine focus."
"Good to meet ya Sylpha", the bull replies with a nod. "And you too Jamie."
"Both of you save your magic as long as you can. What's Korada's symbol look like?"
"Get to work."
"Your invitation is much appreciated - especially to a garden so wonderful. It must be a rare treasure in a place so arid." Extravagant and wasteful more like. "Such surroundings beckon relaxation; I would be pleased to meditate with you."
Dalton follows the posture, placing himself a comfortable distance - yet not too far - away from Seiman.
~The Garden~
The group sits for half an hour in silence. Then the trickling of water (the first change in the environment) gathers the attention of those gathered. Seimah is magically lifting a thin stream of water from the fountain, his posture and movements delicate and caring as if he was carrying a newborn babe. He slowly brings the water around Dalton, spiraling it around him in strands that make up a framework for a half-sphere that covers Dalton. "Watch the flow of the water." His voice no longer stutters as he constantly flows the water around Dalton. "Look into it and reflect. Go back, remember the times when your father was spoken of. Go back and think about the truth behind the words..."
Dalton does as he's bid, the water shell around him mesmerizing. He sure has honed his art down to an enviable level of precision.
Lindale, she thinks. ”If you’re just a messenger, what do the other people matter? Oh, unless it’s like a secret. But he’s not going to attack me or you right?” With his foot, Gerriot brushes away the lines in the sand he made.
He shrugs. "Don't know, but I was told to not let anybody else see. No, he's always been nice to me."
The wizard's thoughts turned inwards, taking him back to his youth.
*******
"Mother, what does that word mean?"
"It's rough water, Dalton. How many times I have to tell you, there are different words for different types of water? Look at the main word and go from there." She was obviously frustrated with her son's questions on the surface, but she answered them anyway while scrubbing the nobles' clothes. Dalton had been tasked with trashing some old traders' correspondences, and he often got sidetracked by the messages on some of his tasks' documents.
"Elvish is hard. How much did he teach you?"
"Enough for me to be able to tell our masters you'd rather be on stable duty again in two tongues. Get rid of that junk!"
Yet she always answered his questions best she could. They both worked hard, and such instances occurred often enough for the mageling to get a good idea of how things worked. Combined with the lessons he'd receive from the philanthropic scholar, they formed the basis of his understanding of the finer language.
Though it would take years to learn well.
And so it was years later the man was fluent, though his mother was middle-aged at that point. She was still sharp of mind though. From time to time, he'd inquire of her a detail or three about his missing sire, but she was just as good at deflecting them now as she was then.
"What's it matter? He's not like he's coming back. 'sides, we're not under the family anymore, and I don't look as I did then. Wouldn't even recognize me!"
Though he was frustrated with her parrying, Dalton turned his annoyance into a productive passion for learning the arcane. Subtle uses here and there provided him an edge on his work; orders came easily for crafting from his shop, and the wizard was happy to oblige. Once business had picked-up, his mother's deflections had turned more to dampening.
"So you're saying if he did return, you wouldn't speak with him? Wouldn't want to know what he'd been doing all this time?"
"Sometimes it's better not to wonder about such things. You'd understand if you cared about one of those lasses you chase about for more than a month."
What doesn't she want to say?
It was clear to Dalton there was some part of his heritage his mother did not want to reveal to him, but he couldn't tell what.
*******
Maybe she's right. Perhaps it is better that way.
The memory loses focus, as if Dalton is lost in thought and not paying attention to his surroundings. His peripherals dim and the presence of Seimah fills his mind. What doesn't she want to say you ask. Let us find out. Suddenly Dalton's view shoots forward as if he just lunged at his mother, going into the back of her head...
Tired back, short temper, heavier chest. Dalton looks around the same memory but after a moment realizes he's seeing it from his mother's point of view, her feelings and thoughts included. I wish he would just leave it alone. Her feelings of annoyance wash over him, but there is also a spike of fear. If only he could know his father, he was such a good man. Her thoughts turn away from Dalton's father...
Seimah's face appears in Dalton as he is suddenly in a white void. We need to go back further, when you were only a babe. The memories of infants are brittle and easily lost, but we must find the pieces and put them together. You must go back, piece together what has been lost...
Gerriot nods. ”Oh, he knows you? Nothing to worry about then,” he says in farewell. The boy leaves the area and returns to Rilka’s original observation point.
Rilka ends the spell and returns to normal. She watches the boy for about five minutes longer before returning to the house.
Once inside, she informs the others, ”The boy has a message for Lindale. Not mentioned by name but description. From what he said, they’ve met before, so he’d probably recognize an impostor. He was told to only give it to Lindale.“
Gabriel watches the water with surprise and curiosity for a time. The magic required to do such a thing was far beyond Gabe's experience with the stuff. His own abilities were blessed from above, requiring not thought or calculation but willpower and resolve. He didn't think when he used magic, he felt. And when he saw another, one like Dalton, do something so impossibly amazing it always drew his attention. He couldn't help but wonder -what- the older elf was doing but he dare not interrupt, not out of fear it might harm Datlon, but out worry that he might ruin his friends chance to learn something. Gabriel didn't know his own father, and had stopped asking about him at a young age, but he hadn't always been so accepting of the fact. Gabriel took a slow breath and then bow's his head, praying once more, this time for more then his gods guidance.
Rilka believes the boy was telling her the truth.
Confusion. Fear. Dalton's mind is simple, it only colors basic emotions and wants and need, but there is the seed of understanding there. Seimah's voice drifts down. We cannot experience this via the mind of a toddler. Dalton looks up, seeing a very young version of his mother, perhaps around twenty. She is in tears, the horrible aching tears of a lost loved one. Standing a few feet across the room is a young looking elf. He has layered dark hair that falls loosely to his shoulders, flashy but stylish clothes on, and the most curious violet eyes. However he looks both in grieving and furious as he throws a vase across the room, shattering it against the far wall.
"Damn him! I'll burn him so badly his bones will crack!" Wendellia chokes back her tears for a moment. "And will that bring out firstborn son back? Revenge?" The elf looks at her for a moment, gritting his teeth. "No, but it will make me feel damn good." Wendellia bursts into tears and the elf softens, going to comfort her. Suddenly he gets a grim look on his face. "I have to leave." She looks up at him in shock, but he continues. "He's only trying to get to me, if I leave you and Dalton will be safe." She shakes her head, grabbing his shirt and begging him not to go, but he stands. "I...I'm sorry. Until he is brought down, this is the way it will have to be..." He turns and walks to the door.
He grabs the handle, then stops and looks back. "Dalton has the blood of the high elves in him, one day he will learn to use magic, either through his own power or through studies. I will make sure a teacher is sent to him. I am close friends with the Kellons, I'll get them to do it as a favor to me." He leaves, shutting the door behind him with an air of finality.
~~~
Dalton is brought back to the present with a rush. His ears pop, his eyes are unfocused, and he is short of breath. Seimah slowly pulls the water away, returning it to the fountain. The entire time he has a look of surprise and respect on his face. "You...have the blood of...high elves in you...that line...is all but gone..." He takes a seat, legs shaking from his efforts. "I...will do some research...into this fellow...his appearance...should narrow the search down...rather quickly...Do you have...any questions?"
Dalton took a minute to absorb the memories - he didn't want them to vanish from thought like the vistas from a dream.
They were in danger...
After a spell, the transmutor sat up, the most nervous he'd been in a long while. "The line be damned for now, there was someone hunting them - us - ... my brother?" The word was weird on his lips. And it was unsure if his elder sibling was alive or dead. "I ..." Dalton began a request but then thought better of it considering his audience. He regained some of his composure before continuing. "Yes. No offense, sir, but as one ages, his priorities shift. Right now, I can give a strix's s~$+ about slaves or arenas; I must know my roots, know who is threatening what is left of my family. You say you would do research? That is also my goal, and I will use my gold and contacts to do it." He appraised the man quickly. "It seems you are well-situated here, but I am not of this land. Clues would be more plentiful back in my realm. You are welcome to come - on my coin ... and I could learn a thing or two from you if his claims are true; I know your talent is."
An exit strategy so truthful it shines. Though Dalton was at his most earnest, his worry was also certainly apparent. Whatever this "high elf" line was, it was rare enough for this wealthy man to show shock and interest. Given the reaction his father had, that awe was likely of ill origin, not to be trifled with.
But I always was stubborn. That's one thing that hasn't changed with age.
The old elf sits, scrutinizing Dalton's reaction. "There seems to be...a great deal of mystery...in your youth...Yes you are right...I am well situated...here in Akropash...But I have...powerful magic...we could stay...in contact from...any distance...I must admit...I am too curious...about the noble blood line...to let this opportunity...walk away..." He stands slowly, then moves over to Dalton and gives a short bow as well as a fancy twist of his hand. "That...is an ancient...way to show respect...to a high elf...I wish you luck...on all your endeavors...I will be in touch..." He bids Gabriel farewell as well, then claims he is tired and intends to retire for the night, trudging off slowly with his grandson.
Dalton stands, returning the gesture. "You are kind, but recall I am only half-worthy, if at all." Allowing himself a rare grin in this land, he nods to the offer of contact and waves the pair goodnight. "I will keep my ears open, good Seiman."
Our mission must be swift now.
The wizard returned to their abode, anxious to be finished with this process. During the trip, he nudged Gabriel. "Things are coming to a head now. Let us retrieve our friend soon."
Toramin searches for the ever present Yix.
"I wanted to thank you for you advice yesterday morning. It was quite helpful. On another matter, would you be willing to hold onto a spell book for an indeterminate amount of time and yield it to its original owner once certain criterion have been met? Oh, and tonight my socks are periwinkle."
Yix is present, sitting at the bar talking to a tiefling who seems upset, but he puts the conversation on hold to briefly speak to Toramin.
"A spellbook you say? Whose and why, and what are the criterion?" He laughs loudly at the socks 'fact'. "Oh my stout friend, I think I'll let you slip on this one simply for the satire of my business. Providing that holding onto this book will not put me into harm's way, so I will still need to know a little information about it."
"Pardon my interruption, sir." Toramin was nothing if not polite. No reason to offend strangers.
When Yix starts asking for specifics, Toramin is momentarily stumped.
"His name? What was his name? I can never remember the names of unpleasant people. Tamek? Tolev? I knew I should have written this down."
Toramin snaps his fingers as inspiration strikes.
"Talev!" The dwarf then proceeds to give an exhaustive description of the elf -- eye color, hair, height, weight, and mannerism -- almost as if he were reading a description off of a page.
"In any case, he caused me some problems -- you know how troublesome raiders can be -- and I have been holding his spellbook as ransom. You may read it, allow people to copy spells from it, anything really as long as it is safe and in your possession. He may get the book back once my compatriots and myself have safely left Akropash. If that ever becomes impossible, you have my blessing to sell the spell book."
"Hmm." Yix examines the spellbook, leafing through it quickly and pausing around the end. "Judging by the highest powered magic this elf can cast I don't see him becoming a problem." He swivels in his chair and gives Toramin a handshake. "I believe the ability to allow others to copy spells from this will make this quite a profitable agreement. Now if you must excuse me, I have a friend who is going through some rough times with his better half."
"Good luck." The dwarf was not yet old enough for his sex drive to have kicked in and had nothing to offer the poor teifling.
Toramin glances around the Stone Circle for anything that might catch his interest, but will probably end up leaving -- too caught up in his own head to be properly aware of his surroundings.
Gabriel had watched the conversation with something akin to awe, and he smiled when the older elf seemed to gather information. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to his gods, especially Shelyn, and politely bowed to both the elf and the quarter-elf when they left. His mind was awhirl with questions he resisted asking, to give Dalton some privacy, but when the half-elf gave him a nudge he caused the usually quite balanced and sturdy Gabriel to stumble. He quickly catches back up to the man, his tail whirling about, and he nods. "If he hasn't found his own way home by now. All things considered there aren't many doors that seem to stay closed around that man."
Gabe spoke obliquely in case anyone was listening, mirroring Dalton's own words. He turns his attention to the half-elf as they walk and finally one thought rises to the surface. "What did the elf do? He gave the impression that you saw your father. Did you... do you think it was worth it to learn? It sounds like your royalty, but you already seem quite wealthy so I'm not sure how that would matter much."
Toramin sees a few conversations that might be interesting, but are most likely none f his business.
***
Bjorkus wakes some time later – how much time is impossible to tell. Hours maybe. Jamie and Four Tooth are sound asleep, the halfling snoring softly despite the chains around his limbs and freezing stone floor underneath him. Even though she’s just as haggard as everyone else, Sylpha is awake.
”You should get some rest too”, the bull rumbles as he flexes one forearm testing his powerless grip. ”You’re gunna need your strength for what’s comin’.”
He reflects back on the story she told that ended with her capture and maiming.
”Besides puttin' you in chains, what’d he do? What’d Targ do to make you wanna kill him?”
Rilka finds Lindale and leads him to her observation point so she can show the drow the boy waiting to meet him. ”He has a message for you. Told only to give it to you. From what he said, he knows you. Have you seen him before? Want any back-up if it’s a trap?”
~~~~~~~ Rilka feels uneasy at the Stone Circle. She does her best to hide it under a calm, patient demeanor, but she is anxious to meet these halfling abolitionists and to see if the two halflings she met last night are here.
Lindale looks out at the youth with a frown of unrecognition. "I've never seen him before. I'll go get this settled."
Lindale definitely knows this kid.
Lindale goes outside and talks to the kid. He's handed a letter which he scans quickly, then glances around and follows the kid into the city.
And doesn't return that day or contact the party in any way.
~~~
The same sharp toothed halfling Rilka met earlier is in an isolated corner, waving to her when he sees her.
”I’m sorry ‘bout your brother. Family’s important. I’ve never met ‘em but I’ve got lots of half-brothers out there.”
Hearing more about her brother’s profession, Bjorkus realizes how grim her situation truly was.
”When this does come to war, your brother’s gunna be on the wrong side. You think you can turn him around?”
His own anger and pain rising up again, the bull struggles to find comforting words. ”Is he a mage like you?”
”If… When we get outta here. That’ll be the first thing you need to do. Nobody’s gunna know your brother better than you. Nobody’s gunna know how to better how undo whatever Targ’s done to f~@~ with his head.”