Agath proves extremely impressed with Farrukh's bizarre understanding of dungeon ecology. "Fascinating. We have much to discuss, I see. You want information on fighting techniques? I can introduce you to some." As he leads Farrukh inside, Agath gestures to the klar, still rather battered from the fight with the barbed devil. "You favor a shield-based style, I see? That's a good way to protect yourself. You know, if you can't do magic, I mean." To demonstrate, he waves an arm. One of the towering shelves spins out of the way, allowing him and Farrukh deeper into the maze of tomes and scrolls.
"Yeah, it's saved my life more times than I can count. But I clearly need some new tricks. Been fighting things that can just ignore my shield or slip around it. Fiends, mostly, hitting me with Fear and nausea and the like. And spikes. My Planes knowledge is too limited to figure a way around that. I should probably brush up on that too while I'm here."
"Well, good to know. Boccob isn't the worst god to go worshipping."
Astraden scrutinizes the interesting patrons in the bar. She makes mental notes of their distinguishing characteristics, and after a few conversations gets a feel for their personalities. Though originally just a spectator, she gets roped into playing a few turns of dragonchess when one of the players needs to use the water closet. The rules seem much more stringent than those she used as a kid, and the absent player returns to find a sheepish Astraden who explains their now vastly inferior position.
"Ah, ghouls are nasty. Wonder if they were bold enough to take that tower because of what's going on with this Age, or if they would've done it anyways." The priestess takes a swallow of her stout. "So you were working for orcs? Or just someone who didn't like ghouls so close?"
"Well, we have some spells that can help with things like that, but..." The cleric shrugs. "There are also older arts that could help. You might benefit from studying the ancient masters. You could learn much from Belksin the Bold, the mighty warlord who led the charge in the Hateful Wars." He pauses. "On the orc side. Thousands of dwarf and gnome children were slaughtered by his forces who boldly snuck past the frontline defenders to target defenseless villages. You may not want to learn too much from him. Then, further back, there's Cauldron, after whom both the city and the popular dish reportedly get their names. A mighty warrior of the dual-shield style, and a famous improvised weapon fighter. You might learn something from her stories. Then, of course, there are the Warders..."
"TWO shields?" Farrukh says, mind opening to possibilities. He quickly shakes his head.
"My group would probably laugh at me."
"So what's this about Warders then?"
"Well, good to know. Boccob isn't the worst god to go worshipping."
Astraden scrutinizes the interesting patrons in the bar. She makes mental notes of their distinguishing characteristics, and after a few conversations gets a feel for their personalities. Though originally just a spectator, she gets roped into playing a few turns of dragonchess when one of the players needs to use the water closet. The rules seem much more stringent than those she used as a kid, and the absent player returns to find a sheepish Astraden who explains their now vastly inferior position.
"Ah, ghouls are nasty. Wonder if they were bold enough to take that tower because of what's going on with this Age, or if they would've done it anyways." The priestess takes a swallow of her stout. "So you were working for orcs? Or just someone who didn't like ghouls so close?"
"Orcs, yeah. They're okay, if you don't mind the odd baby getting eaten. Which we did. But ghouls are everybody's enemy. Choose your battles, y'know?"
Astraden ends up in a conversation with a very greedy trader who reminds her of a more easily-offended Balabar Smenk. Named Kelloran Blint, she seems delighted with Manzorian's hands-off style of governance and unabashedly eager to take advantage of it. Her exact words are, "I've broken four trading laws so far and it's not even been a week. This town is the friggin' bomb."
"TWO shields?" Farrukh says, mind opening to possibilities. He quickly shakes his head.
"My group would probably laugh at me."
"So what's this about Warders then?"
"A potent fighting style pioneered by a group of humans. These humans acquired the seeds of their technique after training alongside the dwarven defenders. Their training their ended when..." Agath grimaces. "...Well, let's just say that the dwarven defenders have a very staunchly moral code. These humans did not. And I say that because they literally laid the groundwork for the Empire of Iuz. Mostly by accident, but still.
"But their fighting style really was very unique. It required a certain clarity of mind, as well as a certain..." He rubs his chin. "A certain...Their style focused on the premise that the best offense and defense was keeping those around you alive, rather than solely focusing on your own survival. They controlled battlefields this way. I don't actually know how it's executed, unfortunately. All we have are accounts of what it looked like. Bear in mind Iuz killed them all when he broke free."
"Nice job Red!" Tanith calls out in praise when Carina sticks the landing. "Now try the next one higher!"
"Say, Gorrim. Do you know a craftsman in town that knows his way around dragonhide? We killed a big black one a bit before coming up here."
Gorrim frowns. "DRAGONHIDE? Killing a dragon is all well and good, 'Creedson', but you should know wearing their hide is STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. It is ONE of the," her voice somehow gets louder,
In the All-Seeing Eye, the patrons look up as they hear someone yelling really loudly.
"Did I just hear someone yelling about the rule of accordion monarchs?" Cymria asks.
"Bards," snorts Kelloran. "I swear, we're lucky they don't have more going on between their ears, or they'd rule the whole damn world."
"Oh I know", Tanith says entirely seriously. "But I get the feeling the Brawler would approve of me dressing in his image. They have called me Kordson after all."
Recalling the battle, the big man grins. "Did I mention I wrestled the beast to the ground before my friends and I killed it?"
Gorrim doesn't smile. She seems to be taking this very seriously. "WRESTLED A DRAGON TO DEATH? You think yourself...a son of Kord?"
She considers this, brow furrowed. "The Brawler does take many mates, male and female. Tales are told of his dalliances with humans, elves, giants...had you been his own direct bastard, he would have appeared before you when you were seventeen and granted you a quest. But perhaps." She looks up sharply. "Tanith Creed. Warrior of Kord. I must know: What do you know of your mother and father?"
"Not enough", Tanith admits with a bit of shame. "She was a sweet woman but Diamond Lake wasn't a place for sweet women. She fought hard to keep us both fed. Sometimes she's get work as a seamstress but most of her coin came from selling her body. She died from sickness when I was just a pup. I don't remember her talking about my father much. Growing up I always assumed he was one of the miners around town but I'd always hoped..."
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"Have you noticed anything SPECIAL about yourself?" Gorrim demands. "Aside from your STRENGTH, which is of course TYPICAL OF A PROPER KORDIAN LIFESTYLE." She flexes for emphasis. "ALONG WITH SHORTER LIFE EXPECTANCY AND A SLIGHTLY HIGHER RATE OF CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME FROM TOO MANY ." She punches a rock for emphasis. She also dies slightly earlier than the average life expectancy for an elf woman would indicate for emphasis, but that will take time.
Tearing one of the smaller boughs loose, Tanith hands it to Gorrim.
"Hit me. Don't hold back", he offers.
Gorrim doesn't hold back. She kneecaps Tanith but good.
"Wow!" she remarks. "You held up QUITE WELL! I probably should have gone for the chest and not the knee, I suppose."
Immediately, the Kordian swings again.
This time, his abs deflect the branch, entirely absorbing the powerful blow.
She makes no particular offer to heal him as she casts the bough aside. "IMPRESSIVE! I've never seen anything like it, Tanith! Maybe there IS something about you.
"I'll have to have WORDS with the BIG MAN, of course." She thumps her chest. "Let's see if he MANS UP to sharing blood! Come back tomorrow."
"Thanks Gorrim", Tanith says as he hobbles towards the exit and gestures for Carina to join him. "I'll be back tomorrow morning."
"TWO shields?" Farrukh says, mind opening to possibilities. He quickly shakes his head.
"My group would probably laugh at me."
"So what's this about Warders then?"
"A potent fighting style pioneered by a group of humans. These humans acquired the seeds of their technique after training alongside the dwarven defenders. Their training their ended when..." Agath grimaces. "...Well, let's just say that the dwarven defenders have a very staunchly moral code. These humans did not. And I say that because they literally laid the groundwork for the Empire of Iuz. Mostly by accident, but still.
"But their fighting style really was very unique. It required a certain clarity of mind, as well as a certain..." He rubs his chin. "A certain...Their style focused on the premise that the best offense and defense was keeping those around you alive, rather than solely focusing on your own survival. They controlled battlefields this way. I don't actually know how it's executed, unfortunately. All we have are accounts of what it looked like. Bear in mind Iuz killed them all when he broke free."
"That sounds...pretty great. My companions haven't been as lucky as me. Four of them died, though we brought two back."
"Though I am noticing a trend with the better fighting styles being used by the less scrupulous people."
"...Not that I've ever been accused of having too many scruples, mind you, but you'd think releasing a tyrannical demigod would be a step far."
"Heh . . . actually, ghouls're not always our enemy. The necromancer I mentioned earlier, in one of the wind duke cairns, ended up 'helping' us fight a spider. I feel like that's going to come back to bite us, though. Can't trust the undead, especially in the quests we've been on." Astraden's expression takes a downward cast when she discusses the ghoul.
Astraden talks amiably with Kelloran, though she has a feeling the merchant's ideals are a little contradictory to her own. "So what kind of laws are we talking here? Making weights regular? No price battles? Or like, don't mark up food prices?"
"If you have to choose between dead and alive, always choose alive. At least, that's my philosophy." Cymria shrugs.
Kelloran rolls her eyes. "Eh, trade law stuff. Don't bring this there, don't bring that here. Stuff a normal guard force would watch for."
"Gotcha. Y'know, I noticed that myself. Was looking to unload a certain morally distasteful item, and near immediately found a buyer here," Astraden recounts. She leans forward. "Where were you before this week? I imagine there's a story behind your moving shop."
The priestess snags Rodrigo as he comes in, or goes out. "We've been working together for what, a few weeks? Time we had a drink together." She orders a clear wine for the frilly aasimar, though she fully knows he's used to stronger stuff, and bids him sit down. Indicating the woman beside her, she says, "This is Kelloran . . . Blint, was it? And Kelloran, this is my associate Rodrigo Dantares. He's part egret," she says, indicating the wings. "And you already know Cymria."
While they wait for Rodrigo's drink, Astraden fidgets with a couple figurines she picked up from the dragonchess game. "Speaking of your heritage, how'd your family get the 'good' genes, anyways? Immaculate archon-y conception, or something a bit more natural?"
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"Moving shop?" Ms. Blint shakes her head. "I'm a trader, not some stuffy shopkeep. We travel around a lot. Last week, I was hanging around in Redhand. Biiig waste of time."
Tanith drops by the shrine once again, while Carina is off working on one of her alchemy things.
"I got NINE questions," Gorrim announces. "FIVE of them were about you.
"First, I asked the BIG MAN whether you were his SON. He said:
"Second, I was FILLED WITH RAGE, so I asked the BIG MAN if you were a LIAR. AND HE SAID:
"Third, I was filled with many CONFUSING THOUGHTS! So I asked the BIG MAN if you bore his blood." She leans forward. "AND HE SAID:
"So fourth, I asked if you were his grandson. AND HE SAID:
"And fifth, I asked the BIG MAN if I should KILL YOU for seeking to wear dragonhide." She cocks her head. "And you know what he said?
"He said: "
During the week, Carina will inquire about getting a platinum holy symbol of Olidammara, as well as a bottle of fine wine.
"Oh, alright then. I must confess my prior interactions with traders have been decidedly . . . non-conversational." Astraden shrugs. "Though I mean, we didn't always kill them."
"But Redhand? What's that like?" she asks the woman.
The next day, Astraden wakes with an unpleasant headache (swiftly cured by one of Olidammara's blessings). She pulls out the scrying mirror and chants over it while eating a cold ham and cheese breakfast roll. "C'mon Spiny, where are you . . ."
Whether the spell succeeds or not, she eventually pulls out the inks and parchments she bought and begins work on a scroll. Apart from a short lunch break, she spends the rest of the daylight doodling on the page, slowly filling it with prayers and jokes. After praying to reconnect with Olidammara, she heads down to drink and game with the inn's patrons, then returns to bed. This becomes something of a routine over the following seven days.
On the sixth day, Astraden visits Pattlewarrick, toting another big sack of money. She receives her new headband, then shows the gnome her brooch. "I got this from an Erythnulian, though I don't think it has any evil magic on it. Right now all it does is deflect force missiles. I was wondering, could you also make it toughen my skin?"
"That's a lot to take in", Tanith says with a glance skyward. "And a lot to live up to. So my father was a demigod? Who the Hell was he..."
"Does that mean you're going to help me find a leatherworker?"
The priestess snags Rodrigo as he comes in, or goes out. "We've been working together for what, a few weeks? Time we had a drink together." She orders a clear wine for the frilly aasimar, though she fully knows he's used to stronger stuff, and bids him sit down. Indicating the woman beside her, she says, "This is Kelloran . . . Blint, was it? And Kelloran, this is my associate Rodrigo Dantares. He's part egret," she says, indicating the wings. "And you already know Cymria."
While they wait for Rodrigo's drink, Astraden fidgets with a couple figurines she picked up from the dragonchess game. "Speaking of your heritage, how'd your family get the 'good' genes, anyways? Immaculate archon-y conception, or something a bit more natural?"
Rodrigo nods to the two others. "Pleasure." Rodrigo downs his wine much more quickly than the others, and orders another glass. "To be honest Astraden, I have no idea. I was raised by my aunt, both my parents died before I can remember. She never told me what happened to them, except for some lie about a carriage accident. I've never been much for researching my heritage, so I didn't push it. I still can't believe that I'm like...a hero...now. How did you get into this?"
"Oh, alright then. I must confess my prior interactions with traders have been decidedly . . . non-conversational." Astraden shrugs. "Though I mean, we didn't always kill them."
"But Redhand? What's that like?" she asks the woman.
"Reeeal drag. Big prejudice against Iuzians. They've jumped on the Scourge of Battle bandwagon and embraced it wholeheartedly. You know how it is—wretched rats in cages rattling the chains, or whatever. Despite all their rage, though, they still have some interesting culture."
The mirror shimmers, then fades into an image: Spiny, journeying along the borders of a vast body of water. The dinosaur is drenched, but seems otherwise well. As a small flock of sparrows flies in and out of the scryfield, Astraden realizes that Spiny has grown nearly three feet in length since she last saw him.
On the sixth day, Astraden visits Pattlewarrick, toting another big sack of money. She receives her new headband, then shows the gnome her brooch. "I got this from an Erythnulian, though I don't think it has any evil magic on it. Right now all it does is deflect force missiles. I was wondering, could you also make it toughen my skin?"
"Abjuration on abjuration? Sure. The shielding is a pretty irregular effect—no big magics buzzing around you except when a magic missile gets cast. Makes an overlap less painful." The gnome examines the brooch. "I'll see that it is done."
"All it 'MEANS' is that one of your parents was a child of Kord." Gorrim shrugs. "The Big Man didn't want to get in your way, so I won't, but you can find a leatherworker yourself. Still feels like blasphemy to me."
Rodrigo nods to the two others. "Pleasure." Rodrigo downs his wine much more quickly than the others, and orders another glass. "To be honest Astraden, I have no idea. I was raised by my aunt, both my parents died before I can remember. She never told me what happened to them, except for some lie about a carriage accident. I've never been much for researching my heritage, so I didn't push it. I still can't believe that I'm like...a hero...now. How did you get into this?"
"Okay. Thanks for contacting the Big Man on my behalf. I'll see you tomorrow morning", Tanith offers before departing to look for a leatherworker on his own.
Farrukh, ignored by the librarian, gets to work reading up on Warders, Fiends and other Outsiders, and anything else that seems interesting and useful.
Wandering the city in search of leatherworkers, Tanith spots Farrukh entering the unwelcome library. Curious what the slayer's up to and oblivious to the librarian's unwarranted discrimination, the big man loudly counts out the entrance fee and seeks Farrukh out.
Along the way he knocks over an especially flimsy free-standing bookshelf.
"What are you lookin' at?" he asks when he finally locates the Ketite. "You've been holed up in here for the last two days."
"New fighting techniques. Way we've been getting torn up recently, I figured we needed an edge."
He looks up from a text describing the advanced "Shell Cyclone maneuver" of the Warders.
"I'm surprised you came in. Don't Kordians believe books steal your muscles or something? "
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"Yes", Tanith answers honestly. "But I thought you might be under a squid-face's control or something the way you've been spending time in here."
Picking up a tome with artwork depicting a spectacular battle on its cover, Tanith flips through the first few pages. "Find anything worthwhile?"
"A lot, actually. I've found quite a few things that should let me protect myself better, and you guys as well. Did you know a mirrored shield can deflect magic if you catch it right? I didn't."
"I plan to do a lot of practicing once I'm done here."
"You don't say..." Tanith mutters as he slowly becomes engrossed in his own book.
***
Sometime later, Tanith tracks down Astraden at the All-Seeing Eye where she's busy diligently working on her scrolls. Interrupting, he slides his poorly scrawled notes in front of her.
"Check it out!" the big Kordite says with excitement. "I found some very old prayers in those dumb books Farrukh's always looking at. Some of these have been forgotten for more than twenty years! A few even had the words and motions in the margins. I'm going to give it a shot tomorrow morning when I workout/pray. I read about a few others that looked useful. Would you mind coming to the library with me sometime to figure them out?"
Sometime the next morning, or early afternoon, at least, when Rodrigo has had the chance to sleep off whatever horrible hangover Astraden managed to inflict on him the night before, Eben tracks the aasimar down. "Hey, Rodrigo..." he says, smiling heartily. "So... that thing you said about being able to do long distance teleporting now? Have you given it a try yet? Because I was thinking a day trip to the Free City might be in order. I mean, Magepoint is nice enough, but it doesn't seem to have as much, shall we say, variety of entertainment, you know? I'd hate to think of you getting bored while everyone else is studying and working and stuff..."
"Scourge of Battle? Is that some sort of religion?" Astraden asks Kelloran. "I'm not up on my geography."
She nods understandingly to Rodrigo. "Yeah, if you asked me who my grandparents were . . . I'd have no clue. It must have been strange not to know how your folks died, though. In Diamond Lake, when someone bites it it's pretty clear-cut - mining accidents, fights, and plague don't need someone to cover 'em up." The priestess sighs, leaning back. "Needed folks to be around, I guess. It started out as random chance - I was on the run from some bad folks, and ended up in the same place as the whole group was exploring. Then we fought some stuff together, and I tagged along for what was going on. But I think Olidammara played a role too. He's what prompted me to leave the bandits. I don't know if he did it consciously, but he started granting me powers, and I realized even if I died doing it I needed to escape."
Astraden whoops when she finally sees Spiny. She is a little alarmed by his size, but still - it's good to know he's okay. She relays this information to the others when she sees them. "I found Spiny! He's safe, but a lot bigger than before, like Anlathi said. I think he's by a lake or river somewhere - maybe the Nyr Dyv, or possibly the ocean."
Astraden pays Pattlewarrick for the enchantment, passing over the brooch and the gold. "See you in a few days!"
She welcomes Tanith's interruption, reading over his notes with a surprisingly practiced eye. ("Really, it's no worse than Abyssal.") "Huh, interesting. So say, if someone gets their neck slit, and one of us has prayed for this spell, we can stop them from dying outright?" She spends a little longer reading his notes. "Yeah, I'll try the library. From what Farrukh said, I bet I can get in for free."
Later that day, Astraden stands outside the library. She stares it down. She mutters encouragement to herself. And then she goes in.
The priestess' chainmail is bloodstained, and she's got greasy, lank hair. Her holy symbol is prominently displayed. She strides directly up to Agath and says, "I want to find a spell here. Where do I go for the spells?"
When Agath asks for the fee, she looks affronted. "What! I'm a legitimate researcher, and you want four hundred gold? You know, this is in pretty serious opposition to one of the more popular interpretations of Aasterinian, which says that knowledge should be free to the worthy. And I heard the inn was dedicated to Boccob - but this place isn't a narrow stair, it's a toll bridge! Really, the philosophical consequences of knowledge being made into a commodity are troubling . . ."
"Scourge of Battle? Is that some sort of religion?" Astraden asks Kelloran. "I'm not up on my geography."
"It's Hextor. They're big on Hextor over there."
She welcomes Tanith's interruption, reading over his notes with a surprisingly practiced eye. ("Really, it's no worse than Abyssal.") "Huh, interesting. So say, if someone gets their neck slit, and one of us has prayed for this spell, we can stop them from dying outright?" She spends a little longer reading his notes. "Yeah, I'll try the library. From what Farrukh said, I bet I can get in for free."
Agath starts covering his head after the second paragraph of philosophical complaints. "We didn't even ask for four hundred...just go in."
Surprised, Tanith follows Astraden inside.
"He didn't even charge you", he mutters loudly. "It's probably because you're a woman. Girls always get free stuff."
Tanith is directed by locals to a traveling stone giant by the name of Gloremiah who has temporarily set up shop in town. She spends some time poring over the hide, then nods. "I can work this. Two functioning cloaks can be made. Or a cloak and an armored kilt. For your size. Maybe some other stuff from wings and claws. Accessories will look pretty. Won't do much. Accessories and cloaks I can make. Two cloaks or a cloak and a kilt. Plus accessories. Something is strange about much of this hide. But it serves. I can work with this."
"Two cloaks and some smaller pieces would be good. How much do you want for the work? And how long does something like that take?"
"The other cloak's for a girl. Should I get her down here to be fitted?"
"Yes. I must fit her. If her neck is smaller. I charge three thousands. Eight hundreds. Three thousands and eight hundreds for a cloak. Seven thousands and six hundreds for two. Pay in gold pieces. Two hundreds for the accessories."
"Hrm. Could you throw in a few coin purses made from whatever scraps are left? That sounds like an awful lot. I brought you materials after all."
"Materials are accounted for. If I had to provide material, it would be five thousands each."
But Tanith eventually persuades Gloremiah to throw in the coin purses—six in total, created from the material of Ilthane's wing membrane.
"Alright. You've got a deal."