"Sacredos believes that the souls are trapped in the blade by some magic you invented. Some spell you may have been commissioned to develop. They are being tortured in the blade some how. The three bodies of the clerics of Sacredo's order have arrived today. If I don't miss my bet there are more than just the three clerics souls affected. Even if we cannot restore them to their bodies, we need to make sure that the souls are free to return to their patrons. I will be very interested in how this all plays out."
"And I agree with Fir'umil, his presence here is no accident, I have seen too much confluence alongside this discordia to believe it just a fluke of fate."
"Now, there is the small matter of Master Tabir's appearance." Fir'umil gripped his staff and looked from Tabir to Karthan then back again. "The simulacrum still walks the halls of the Arcanamirium. All though it is under control, there is the matter of conducting Master Tabir to the Hall of Geros."
Tabir stuck out his chin and nodded his head with firm satisfaction. "So, Alaric kept his word..."
"Yes, Master."
"Of course he did! I've got his number right here..." He promptly reached down and grabbed his crotch thru his robes.
Fir'umil cleared his throat and turned to Karthan. "Yes, well, be that as it may, cousin, I wonder if Master may avail himself the use of your new token?" He gestured to the ring on the ranger's finger.
" . . . I see."
"Master Tabir, i think it would benefit us all if you would barrow this ring and change your appearance. Your fame could be a hinderance to us moving freely and with little fanfare. If you would."
The Grey took the ring between thumb and forefinger and sniffed at it. His nose wrinkled and he held it at arm’s length like a napkin soiled with dog fodder. ”What in the seven hells have you been doing with this? It smells like it was smuggled through an Osirion Customs checkpoint in a vampire’s...”
”Master, it once belonged to a Dhampir that Karthan bested in combat.” Fir’umil interrupted.
Looking dubious, the old wizard flipped the ring in the air and caught it on his open palm. ”That explains the smell...” he cast a wary, challenging eye towards Fir and Karthan. ”Dead you say?”
”Yes, master.”
”Hmph...” Not entirely convinced, he slipped the ring on his finger anyway and cast a bit of concentration as to whom he wanted to impersonate. After his deliberations, his form altered and shimmered until standing in their midst was a strikingly handsome man. If they hadn’t been just staring Tair, they’d have missed the resemblance, but it seemed that the wizard had used the ring to turn back the hands of time until he appeared as a 20 year old version of himself. ”There, that should do it...”
Tabir wagged his now properly groomed eyebrows towards Zandra and grinned. ”See, dear, if I were only 160 years younger...” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth then stood up straight as the lift’s doors opened for the group onto the main atrium of the Arcanamirium.
The dramatic increase in scale and open spaces caught Tabir off guard. Instantly, he shrunk in posture and bunched himself closely to Thorendel. A hand reached out and rested on the warm fur of the mighty tiger as the group stepped out of the lift. ”Oh good gracious me...I think I pissed myself...”
Fir’umil looked wide-eyed at the old man now in disguise.
”Only a squirt,” Tabir responded defensively. ”Come now, I’m 175 years old, what do you expect?” he waved his hand to get them moving. ”Lead the way Feedmill, I’ve not got all day!”
But despite his bravado, his hand still rested upon Thorendel’s fur.
His staff thumping along the marble tiles, Fir’umil sighed and led the way. Their path was clear of distractions, people or otherwise, the elven wizard’s choice of the Hall of Geros had that very fact in mind when he selected it. The hallways leading to it did not cross major foot-traffic arteries.
They wove their way through the halls until they arrived at a set of 15 foot double wooden doors, inlaid with polished brass and copper and the visage of a wizened dwarf over the tympanum. Fir’umil stepped to the right door and pushed it open easily on well balanced, oiled hinges. Inside, the room and walls were fashioned in rough cut stone with, several rugs and tapestries to provide warmth and break up the echoes. There was a dark oak banquet table with seating for 26, high backed chairs surrounded it with extra chairs and stands along the wall for additional seating. All around the room were sconces holding everburning torches, candled chandeliers ran in a 4 set row down the length of the table.
At the far end of the table, adjacent to the head seat was Sacerdos e’Niihl. Seated across from him was one of the largest humans the siblings had ever seen. A dark-skinned man, eyes and jaw marking his heritage as Mwangi. He wore heavy plate lacquered in a dull black, an earthbreaker warhammer leaned to the table, close to his hand. Standing to the side and against the wall, face blank and hands clasped in front of him, was what had to be the simulacrum, for its visage was that of Tabir the Grey’s.
”Imposter!!” the real Tabir shrieked in outrage. The glamour vanished as he tore the ring from his finger and tossed the magical item over his shoulder.
Karthan, reflexes as sharp as ever, caught it easily and slipped it back on his own hand.
The only difference now was their attire. The simulacrum wore robes of green and brown as opposed to Tabir’s deep reds. The giant of a man stood from the table slowly, leaving behind his earthbreaker to cross the room and stand before the real Tabir. He towered over all in the room, standing a full 7’. His head was shaved, allowing for all to see a swirl of tattoos in place of hair. When he spoke, the deepness of his voice resonated in the stone of the room.
”Altabiric,” he greeted.
”Alaric.” Tabir responded. The wizard had to crane his back and neck to look around the man’s formidable fram. ”I see you’ve kept your end of the bargain.”
The tall Mwangi warrior only nodded once.
”Very well...” Tabir reached into the bag of holding at his side, hand fishing around until it clasped something roughly the sizes of a mouse. The item he withdrew, however, was worth a lot more than a little rodent. The torchlight in the room fairly gleamed off the facets of a priceless diamond. Tabir held the diamond in his palm so Alaric could see it clearly. ”And your side?”
Alaric’s eyes rested on the diamond, his grim face not changing a jot. But one of his massive hands went to the side, palm up as if waiting for something to drop from the ceiling. ”Izklīdināt”
The simulacrum who’d remained stock still and silent the entire time turned an ashen grey from head to toe, clothes included, until it resembled a stone sculpture. Then beginning from the top, an unseen wind broke the statue into dust that swirled about and spiraled until it was a small ephemeral grey shape in Alaric’s palm. As the wind settled, the small shape of a statue remained. After a moment, that disappeared in flash of light.
”And for your part?” Alaric spoke. The surface of the man’s skin shimmered, darkening in slow waves until it matched the coloring of his lacquered armor. His massive arms melted into four rather than two muscled appendages. Lastly, an eye-like pattern of colors and swirls appeared on its torso.
Tabir handed the diamond to the creature before him and bowed. ”Jūsu vēlēšanās ir piešķirts goda kolēģi”
Alaric bowed in return and took the gem. His form deepened to a blackness only the night could know, but within the formless void there was an immensity of order and good that even caused the Inquisitor held his breath in awe. The void form in front of them held out his hand and the earthbreaker flew to it in answer.
Then suddenly, his form grew in size and potency, doubling and doubling...and just as suddenly, the creature known as Alaric was gone.
Tabir, for his part, merely wiped a wistful tear from his eye and turned to the table where Sacerdos stared agape at what had transpired. ”Close your mouth, servant of Ragathiel, lest all the words you wish to speak escape out of order, never to be heard from again.”
___________________________________________________
And so amid the most wondrous thing short of his conversion to Ragathiel’s servitude...perhaps exceeding it, all things being equal...Sacerdos stood and greeted the venerable wizard. Apparently, Alaric and the simulacrum had arrived together, the simulacrum doing all the talking in a rather bland and professorial tone. The giant of a man had explained to Sacerdos that all questions would have to await the arrival of Fir’umil and his cousins.
”In hindsight, I guess that makes sense considering it wasn’t you...” Sacerdos concluded.
”Well of course it wasn’t. No one could possibly be that boring!” Tabir responded sharply, his mind having wandered away and back several times while Sacerdos had described his time waiting in the Hall of Geros. The wizard promptly fished inside his bag of holding and produced a tome bound in what looked like bear-skin, fur and all. He tossed the book up on the tale where it thumped to a rest. ”Around the middle...Widdy and I attempted binding a mage’s soul into either a weapon or a bit of armor...” He clapped his hands together and one of the high-backed chairs across from Sacerdos moved of its own accord to make room for Tabir to sit. The archmage’s face was the picture of nostalgia. ”Oh but we were close...so close, but the war-leader who’d requested it couldn’t wait for us to finish our work! Called away to the Worldwound or some such nonsense.” He paused and twirled a conspiratorial finger towards Karthan and Zandra. ”It ceased to amaze me the depths and depravities people will go to for power when all they really need is some patience!”
”Why would a knight want such monstrous ability?” Sacerdos asked with incredulity.
”Not just a knight, but a Paladin of Iomedae and his Warmage. It was the latter that really drove for the ability.” Tabir’s enthusiasm was obvious, his personality and tone lightening when discussing the workings of magic. ”Widdy and I hypothesized that if a magic user were wounded too severely in battle, perhaps that mage’s soul could still contribute to the war effort!” He rolled his hands about like a driving wind. ”You know, until the mage’s body recovered fully...”
Tabir sat back against his chair, having perched on the very edge of it during his description. ”Alas, our first few trials were utter failures. I theorized that it had to do with the soul’s willingness to part from the body at a subconscious level. Never mind the will, it was the subconscious mind that kept them from allowing a bonding to inanimate objects.” Then he frowned in consternation. ”But it sounds like your little bastard cultists had none of Widdy and I’s reservations when it came to experimentation. And it sounds like their goals were different...they sought service to this Andibutterfuku or something...”
”Andirifkhu...” Fir’umil corrected.
Tabir stabbed the stink eye at the younger wizard and returned his attention back to Sacerdos. ”Where are their bodies? I must examine them in my lab.”
”It will take a bit of time to arrange your lab as you had left it, Master...”
”No!!” Tabir thundered, slamming his hand down on the table. ”Why can’t you upstart hedge wizards leave things alone? If I had died, it wouldn’t matter! LEAVE MY THINGS ALONE!!!”
Fir’umil seemed at a loss. But he regained his composure and pressed on. ”Would you feel up to visiting the ship when it arrives, Master? We can review their condition on the ship.”
”I hate boats, too many diseases and more often than not there’s a rat or something there to gnaw at what good food you have available...no thank you!”
”Perhaps looking at the weapon at the center of this mess would be appropriate?” Sacerdos offered, pulling the cloth wrapped kukri from his satchel and placing it on the table between them.
”What is that? A dead rat?” Tabir’s hands flew from the table and disappeared into the sleeves of his robes.
”It is the weapon these cultists of Andirifku used. It is my understanding that their souls...”
Tabir cut him off, his tone changing yet again to one of wonderment. ”Fascinating...” He drew the weapon from the cloth and began inspecting it. He turned it over in his hands, Zandra and Fir’umil feeling in their bones the level of magic he was using to review its power. ”So they bypassed the mental framework, no care to cognitive cohesion...only the emotion...the real guts of their essence...quite lovely if you think about it...the sheer horror of their audacity notwithstanding...”
Across the table from him, it was clear Sacerdos’ discomfort was growing by the second. It looked as though the Inquisitor was about to say something not terribly appropriate...his hands were pressed firmly on the table top, his chair scooting along the stone floor.
The dramatic increase in scale and open spaces caught Tabir off guard. Instantly, he shrunk in posture and bunched himself closely to Thorendel. A hand reached out and rested on the warm fur of the mighty tiger as the group stepped out of the lift. ”Oh good gracious me...I think I pissed myself...”
Yes you most certainly did . . . And you could do a better job of wiping next time too, but hey let's be honest, none of you apes exactly smell like roses . . . Well I guess Zandra does. It's mixed in there with lilac, sandalwood, muir, secret of the desert and her own scent which marks her as a prime mate. Thor looked at the Mage who had changed himself to look more suitable of a mate for his mistress."Nope, you are trying too hard and falling to far short of your target. You are well past your prime . . . That eyebrow display doesn't seem to be making her more receptive to your mount. If she doesn't like blood she certainly isn't going to go for your scat and urine musk . . . I should know I marked her pillow once. I guess she didn't appreciate me deeming her worthy of my approval.
Fir’umil looked wide-eyed at the old man now in disguise.
”Only a squirt!",Tabir responded defensively. ”Come now, I’m 175 years old, what do you expect?” he waved his hand to get them moving. ”Lead the way Feedmill, I’ve not got all day!”
But despite his bravado, his hand still rested upon Thorendel’s fur.
Hey! you are getting pretty familiar aren't you? Ah well whatever, if you might give me wings someday I can deal with it.
They wove their way through the halls until they arrived at a set of 15 foot double wooden doors, inlaid with polished brass and copper and the visage of a wizened dwarf over the tympanum. Fir’umil stepped to the right door and pushed it open easily on well balanced, oiled hinges. Inside, the room and walls were fashioned in rough cut stone with, several rugs and tapestries to provide warmth and break up the echoes. There was a dark oak banquet table with seating for 26, high backed chairs surrounded it with extra chairs and stands along the wall for additional seating. All around the room were sconces holding everburning torches, candled chandeliers ran in a 4 set row down the length of the table.
At the far end of the table, adjacent to the head seat was Sacerdos e’Niihl. Seated across from him was one of the largest humans the siblings had ever seen. A dark-skinned man, eyes and jaw marking his heritage as Mwangi. He wore heavy plate lacquered in a dull black, an earthbreaker warhammer leaned to the table, close to his hand. Standing to the side and against the wall, face blank and hands clasped in front of him, was what had to be the simulacrum, for its visage was that of Tabir the Grey’s.
”Imposter!!” the real Tabir shrieked in outrage. The glamour vanished as he tore the ring from his finger and tossed the magical item over his shoulder.
Karthan, reflexes as sharp as ever, caught it easily and slipped it back on his own hand.
"Thank you very much. This is going to prove to be both difficult and trying. I don't see how we are supposed contain him or fix his mind. This is like a few rocks pretending to be a damn in the middle of a swollen river. I hope Beleg has some answers or suggestions at least."
The only difference now was their attire. The simulacrum wore robes of green and brown as opposed to Tabir’s deep reds. The giant of a man stood from the table slowly, leaving behind his earthbreaker to cross the room and stand before the real Tabir. He towered over all in the room, standing a full 7’. His head was shaved, allowing for all to see a swirl of tattoos in place of hair. When he spoke, the deepness of his voice resonated in the stone of the room.
”Altabiric", he greeted.
”Alaric.” Tabir responded. The wizard had to crane his back and neck to look around the man’s formidable fram. ”I see you’ve kept your end of the bargain.”
The tall Mwangi warrior only nodded once.
”Very well...” Tabir reached into the bag of holding at his side, hand fishing around until it clasped something roughly the sizes of a mouse. The item he withdrew, however, was worth a lot more than a little rodent. The torchlight in the room fairly gleamed off the facets of a priceless diamond. Tabir held the diamond in his palm so Alaric could see it clearly. ”And your side?”
Zandra gasped inwardly Wish was the most potent spell a caster could ever hope wield. The diamond alone was worth a small ship. That gem could have healed Tabirs mind. . . One of those could have brought Lau back to life, two of them could bring back any person, even one whose body had been utterly destroyed. Zandra knew that Fir'umil would realize that as well. . .
Alaric’s eyes rested on the diamond, his grim face not changing a jot. But one of his massive hands went to the side, palm up as if waiting for something to drop from the ceiling. ”Izklīdināt”
The simulacrum who’d remained stock still and silent the entire time turned an ashen grey from head to toe, clothes included, until it resembled a stone sculpture. Then beginning from the top, an unseen wind broke the statue into dust that swirled about and spiraled until it was a small ephemeral grey shape in Alaric’s palm. As the wind settled, the small shape of a statue remained. After a moment, that disappeared in flash of light.
”And for your part?” Alaric spoke. The surface of the man’s skin shimmered, darkening in slow waves until it matched the coloring of his lacquered armor. His massive arms melted into four rather than two muscled appendages. Lastly, an eye-like pattern of colors and swirls appeared on its torso.
Tabir handed the diamond to the creature before him and bowed. ”Jūsu vēlēšanās ir piešķirts goda kolēģi”
Alaric bowed in return and took the gem. His form deepened to a blackness only the night could know, but within the formless void there was an immensity of order and good that even caused the Inquisitor held his breath in awe. The void form in front of them held out his hand and the earthbreaker flew to it in answer.
Then suddenly, his form grew in size and potency, doubling and doubling...and just as suddenly, the creature known as Alaric was gone.
Wow, what the heck was that and what the hell just happened there? Well, it looks like Zandra and ol'Fir are taking it all in stride. I can play poker face too then. Yeap, nothing to see here just people disintegrating and turning into four armed giants and then vaporizing into thin air.
"Who are you calling past his prime, Thorendel? Be mindful, I can just as easily give you flippers instead of paws...besides, my furry friend, your bondmate is the daughter of one of my most favorite friends. I seek to amuse her as I once amused her mother." Tabir sent.
"Flippers? Surely you must jest. Those simply would not do. And your primate mating rituals are your own business, I should put them from my mind . . . Gross." Thor sent back.
Karthan watched the exchange about the Kukri. Across the table from him, it was clear Sacerdos’ discomfort was growing by the second. It looked as though the Inquisitor was about to say something not terribly appropriate...his hands were pressed firmly on the table top, his chair scooting along the stone floor. Sacredos would have no idea about Tabirs state of mind or peculiar aliment.
"I am guessing that given time you can learn the secrets of this item, but will you be able to restore their souls to their bodies before they expire Master Tabir?"
"Yes, I can see that the pattern is fascinating, but we should remember to be respectful of the life forces trapped within and be mindful that there are those present that are intimately involved and invested in getting them safely repatriated.'"
Fir’umil stared in wonder. He was truly speechless. Master Beleg had warned him of Tabir’s capabilities...but this? This was astounding! The creature before him, he tried to recall in his studies the like... ...but was unable to call it to mind.
What in the vastness of the firmament was transpiring here? What had he gotten himself into thinking he could be caretaker over what had to be among the most powerful magical beings the elf had encountered?
What’s worse, there was Tabir’s all but tenuous hold on sanity. If given the ability to commit his spells during a day’s worth of studies, would the Grey seek vengeance upon those who’d incarcerated him? What would Fir’umil be able to do to stop him?
”Fascinating,” the Grey pronounced, looking over the kukri. ”So they bypassed the mental framework, no care to cognitive cohesion...only the emotion...the real guts of their essence...quite lovely if you think about it...the sheer horror of their audacity notwithstanding...”
He thought on what it was the kukri was doing based on notes left behind by Tabir and the Inquisitor’s description of events. Fir’umil put aside as many of his questions as he could and focused on those two things. He looked to the bearskin bound book Tabir had placed on the table and he felt his fingers flexing and desiring to look upon its contents. Fir considered what Tabir was saying...by circumventing the subconscious mind...focusing the ritual’s energies not on the will but on that subconscious mind...
Karthan spoke up. ”I’m guessing that given time, you can learn the secrets of this item But will you be able to restore their souls to their bodies before they expire, Master Tabir?”
Fir picked up on something in his cousin’s tone, following the ranger’s gaze to Sacerdos. The Inquisitor was gripping at the edge of the table, looking prepare to stand, jawline a study in tension.
”Yes, I can see that the pattern is fascinating,” Zandra added. ”...but we should remember to be respectful of the life forces trapped within and be mindful that there are those present that are intimately involved and invested in getting them safely repatriated.”
It was a good tactic, one that was necessary. Sacerdos was not aware of Tabir’s...mental state. Fir’umil gestured in the air and drew forth the bearskin-bound tome, the heavy book sliding across the wooden surface to his outstretched hand. As he’d hoped, Sacerdos’ eyes cooled as he watched the book move. ”This is our focus, Master Tabir. To better understand the evil nature of this cult’s work and to restore Sacerdos’ clergymen. If I might add, your expertise and wisdom is central to our investigation.”
He opened the book and was once more astounded. The notes and diagrams varied from page to page, in some cases a solid stream of thought and in others just myriads of observations and details that few right over Fir’umil’s ability to understand. But as Tabir had indicated, towards the middle of the tome were notes regarding an attempt to help a Paladin from the north by the name of Gunthar Steelback and his warmage...no name for that one.
Fir’umil looked up from the book. ”Perhaps we should return to the Temple of Iomedae. We have people from the Harbormaster’s office to deal with and sort out transfer of Sacerdos’ clergy.” He held up the book and emphasized with a look to Karthan and Zandra. ”There is much we can learn from these initial notes along with Master Tabir’s wisdom in putting the information into context.”
”No ships!” Tabir slammed a hand down upon the tabletop. ”I won’t be exposed to those disease bearing horror shows!” The ancient wizard stood suddenly, the high-backed chair in which he’d been sitting crashing over. ”I will be in my lab beginning my research. I expect the bodies to be delivered there toot sweet!”
The wizard turned to leave, Fir’umil laying the bearskin book down on the table and standing to intercept him. But Tabir came up short, eyes going wide then narrowing in anger.
”You...” he said darkly.
”Yes...old man. It is I.” The now all too familiar voice caused all eyes to turn towards the door to the Hall. There, standing wrapped in his dark, forest green robes with their embroidered sigils and elvish words was Master Beleg Cuathon. Apollos, his psuedodragon sat balanced and at his ease upon the top of Beleg’s staff.
Fir’umil stood slowly from the table, grasping his staff in the process.
Tabir’s wand sprung from within his sleeve, the end of it beginning to glow faintly red. ”I told you...the next time I saw you I’d turn you into a dwarf, eh?”
”You’re welcome to try, Altabiric.” Beleg remained unmoved. Even Apollos seemed unperturbed.
”Their little trick betrayed them, eh? Now I’m out, and now you’ll be a dwarf for eternity!” Tabir waved his wand abruptly and uttered a word in that strange dialect he’d been using earlier... ”Tani ju jeni një xhuxh!” A brilliant flash of red burst from his wand...
Fir’umil used his staff, spinning it upwards to catch Tabir under the arm and divert his aim...
...but the flash of red light was just that...a flash of red light. ”Well done, boy.” Tabir looked at Fir’umil and shook his head with approval.
Beleg stepped forward, Apollos taking to the air and landing on Tabir’s shoulder to provide a prodigious amount of kisses from his long, forked tongue.
”Off, off, you demon beast of the 3rd hell!” Tabir waved his want at the familiar until it flew upwards and then landed on Fir’umil’s shoulder.
Beleg greeted all in the room. ”If it will help, I can see to it that Master Tabir’s quarters and labs are prepared. During that time, you all may attend to any business or research needed.”
Fir'umil looked to his cousins, curious of how they wished to proceed. He leaned against the table clearly out of his element for the moment. All he could think to do was rest a hand on the book. Wherever they were going, he would bring it along for study and reference.
"Sacredos, there are matters that must be discussed. Please give us your patience until we can speak freely. Let us go and see how we could transport your clerics here or to some neutral ground, perhaps to the temple where their bodies might be further tended to."
"Yes, lets take the book. Fir'umil can read up on its contents. We can meet with Olivia, she is bound to have something to add to this discussion and has an idea of what the temple can provide. . . . The temple has proven penetratable. Perhaps we should consider bringing them here. This might be the hardest place to infiltrate in all of Absalom."
Soaring over the trees and dropping down like clawed death from above on a herd of unsuspecting antelope. . .
Beleg grinned. ”A good plan. It will give Master Altabiric and myself time to be reacquainted.”
”Steal more of my ideas is more like it, you pointy-eared pirate!” Tabir tossed his accusation with an absent wave of his wand. The gesture earned a blast of energy lancing into the stone wall high above Beleg’s head.
Apollos in response lit from Fir’umil’s shoulder and swooped passed Tabir, catching the ancient wizard’s wands in one of his foreclaws. The creature expertly dodged the old man’s grasping, gnarled hands as he dropped the wand in Beleg’s casually outstretched hand.
”Tut, tut, tut, my old friend. Is that how we are to treat one another?”
”Fifteen years, Beleg!” Tabir clutched at his red robes, drawing them close as though a draft were suddenly upon him. ”You and the rest, you left me to rot in there! No visits, just those 4 walls and that lovely shower system!”
”It couldn’t be helped, my friend.” Beleg said soothingly, stepping forward as Apollos circled high overhead through the rafters. The elven archmage rested a gentle hand upon Tabir’s shoulder. ”It was a nasty time, my friend. We did what we could do to spare your life.”
Tabir’s agitation seemed to smooth for the moment as he nodded, eyes looking to the right as he recalled his memories. Then he squeezed them shut with sadness. ”Oh Ella, my dearly gifted Ella…” The anguish was plain in his voice.
”I’m so sorry, Altabiric.” Tabir allowed the elf to rest an arm of support across his shoulders. ”You’ve been gone too long, my friend. But we have time, we have time. We can start with your lab, then get you working once more.”
Beleg nodded to the others that he had the situation well in hand. He gestured with a hand toward the heavy doors and they opened of their own accord. Apollos swooped down from the rafters and through the opening like a preceding vanguard, emitting a series of chirps and whistles that the hallways outside were clear.
”Yes, well…” He wiped away the tears that had formed and nodded. ”...I suppose work would be best.” In a quick look over his shoulder, he called to Sacerdos. ”Fear not, my inquisitive fellow, I’ll tempt the solution forth. Just bring them to my lab and I’ll be ready.”
The two archmages departed the room, the heavy doors staying open behind them.
Sacerdos stared after the departing wizards and gritted his teeth. "I am to trust the fate of my brethren to him?"
He stood from the table, adjusting Knighteye on his hip and allowing his grey and red cloak to drape over the hilt. "Perhaps I was mistaken. There is no doubting the old man's power, but I sense he barely clings to his sanity." He thought for a moment and then shook his head. "Perhaps there is a path Lord Ragathiel showed me along my way to this point that I missed. I have a hard time believing that His will led me to this man."
"Someone foresaw, fifteen years ago, that the three of us elves would be here to release him on this day. He is the most powerful Mage in two generations of the grey elves collective memories. It is by no mere chance that you are here. Master Beleg is a most powerful wizard himself and with his guidance I believe that Tabir may be kept on task. It is believed that our three coming might hold the key to healing his mind. Perhaps the act of restoring your three clerics to their bodies will be a part of that recovery."
"We only just released him minutes ago. I believe we should reserve judgement. Shall we go to see the your clerics mortal vessels?"
"Indeed, it is premature to judge the outcome of this endeavor. Fir'umil has this book to start working with, and I am sure given time he can grasp its secrets even if it may be currently outside of his knowledge. Is there anything that you will need for that cousin that we could prepare or obtain for you?"
Fir’umil was drumming his fingers along the surface of the book, thinking on Sacerdos’ words. Perhaps they were putting too much faith in the addled mind of an ancient wizard. But there was too much knowledge locked away behind those eyes to just move on to a different lifeline. This situation with the Ragathielan clerics, as Zandra had put it, may play a part in putting back together what Tabir had lost...but it no doubt tied closely to the events of the Pattern.
The elven wizard shook his head as he came to a conclusion. Broken mind or no, Fir’umil was not willing to put aside so potent a weapon as Tabir the Grey.
”...anything that you will need for that cousin that we could prepare or obtain for you?” Karthan was looking to the book in Fir’s hands.
Instinctively, the wizard clutched the tome a bit tighter but forced himself to relax. ”I’ll require more time to study the content before I can answer that question, I’m afraid. But I’ll endeavour to digest as much information as possible in transit.”
The Inquisitor folded his arms across his chest and considered the elves’ words. He closed his eyes and prayed. Lord, give me the insight I desire to see your will done. Allow me the clarity of vision to see the battlefield and to recognize the weapons you’ve placed before me. Instill in me the confidence I cannot manifest to proceed down this path. Or place your mighty hand before my feet and correct my steps.
After a moment, he felt a peaceful grimness settle the twisting storms that had formed in his abdomen. ”Very well. Let us return to the temple, meet with these Harbormasters, then gain access to my brethren. I am in agreement with Karthan that this may be the safest place to bring them.” Sacerdos turned his gaze to Zandra. ”I will set aside my sense of doubt and follow this path. Who am I to doubt the ability of so great a wizard? Who am I to doubt the will of my Lord?”
The group of five departed the Arcanamirium with more questions (in varying amounts) than when they’d arrived a few hours before. The sun over Absalom had crossed its zenith and darted behind a thick swell of clouds being cast from the west. Similar to when the elves had arrived in the City at the Center of the World, there seemed to be a sense of rain in the near future. In fact, some of the denizens and hawkers lining the streets were gearing up their respective establishments for the change in weather.
They traveled in relative quiet, each person in the carriage coming to terms with their encounter at the Arcanamirium. Fir’umil in particular mumbled to himself as he read through Tabir’s book, taking time out to copy information from that book into his own. At one point he offered something of what he’d learned.
”It seems that in his notes, he refers to spells meant to lull the subconscious to a more pliable state...then another person, someone calling himself ‘Widdy’ adds that there were some alchemical concoctions that could solve the riddle.” He closed the book on his finger and explained. ”What they ran into when they were trying to solve this Paladin’s problem, was how it’s not so much the active will but the subconscious will that prevents a being’s essence from transitioning from their live body into an inanimate object. The body is still alive, so the being’s essence or soul sees no reason to leave…”
”Why is this kukri different?” Sacerdos asked, hand patting the satchel carrying the weapon.
Fir’umil looked somewhat troubled, and as he continued, he spoke slower with a touch of his rasp. ”It would seem that the cultists who stole and used some of these theories did not have the...uh...reservations that Master Tabir and this Widdy possessed. Instead of seeking to bypass the subconscious will, they simply crushed it.” The wizard sat back a bit in the carriage seat, realizing he’d slowly been leaning forward as he’d described the situation. Letting the book close completely, he withdrew his tincture and soothed his throat. ”What concerns me, is that if these sordid individuals destroyed the subconscious will in your clerics...then what is left behind when they are returned to their bodies? How will this impact their personalities or behavior upon waking? From what I’ve read here so far, the subconscious will is what acts as our compass, moral or otherwise.”
”You believe there is a chance to return their souls?” Sacerdos inquired. Behind his warrior’s eyes it was clear he weighed the wizard’s words carefully.
”If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past few days,” Fir’umil began, looking directly to Karthan. ”...there is always a road back.”
The light within the carriage dimmed significantly as the clouds overhead built. Fir reached into his pouch and drew forth a single coin. It was drilled through with two holes, allowing two leather strings to be attached. The wizard, with practiced fingers, attached the coin to the palm of his hand, then cast a minor spell to create light. With the luminous item in hand, he went back to reading.
_____________________________________________
They arrived at the Temple of Iomedae to find a guard station established at the gates. In fact, there were archers walking the crenelated walls surrounding the compound. The day’s earlier activities had definitely left an impression. After seeing the group arrive, a guardsmen armed with rounded shield, longsword at him and a longspear in hand inspected the carriage and nodded quick recognition to its occupants.
”Open the gates!” he called out, knuckling his brow to Sacerdos and the others as they passed.
Inside the gates, near the stable area, a group of squires - notably not bearing the white and orange and silver tabards of Iomedae - were seeing to a team of 8 horses. Behind the team was a heavily lacquered carriage of rich accoutrement and bearing. Chaplain Lord Liberios himself along with Olivia Duneheim were greeting a cadre of 2 men and one woman of varying races. All were dressed in the fineries of the business elite, sashes colored in the golden yellows and rich greens of Absalom. On the sashes were symbols of the anchor, the chain and the crane and a muscled forearm.
”It appears the contingent of the Harbormaster has arrived.” Hindre offered. He waved over some of the Iomedae squires who were standing about to give him a hand with Caleb’s carriage. ”The forearm on their sashes means they are members of Second Harbormaster Ptarnex Dexarion inner council.” There was a bit of weight to the old man’s voice the elves had not experienced before. ”Be mindful, Dexarion doesn’t suffer fools...so I’ll wager these emissaries are anything but.”
Hindre returned his attention to the squires and herded them along in dealing with the carriage, leaving behind the group.
Chaplain Lord Liberios noted their arrival and signaled them over.
Up close, the Second Harbormaster’s emissaries were clearer to see. At their head was a dwarf dressed in a regal red captain’s coat with gold and platinum buttons and black turndown boots. He kept a black hat under his arm as he waited. By his demeanor and stance, he appeared to be the leader of the group.
Flanking him to his right was the lone female amongst the visitors. She was dressed in soft browns and greens with inlayed thread-of-gold stitching intricate designs up and down her pants, shirt and coat. The flow of the designs could be mistaken for nothing else but ocean symbology. At her hip was a basket-hilt rapier which was as much a part of her as her long, lustrous, jet-black hair. She wore a hat with a brim long enough to keep the sun out of her eyes, but not broad enough to cover the staggering beauty of her face. Along one ear, she had many ring piercings, each one an intricate carving of a sea creature when you view them up close.
On the dwarf’s left, a whip-thin human dressed in black pants and overcoat with a white ruffled shirt and a black cravat. He carried a finely carved piece of book-sized wood in the crook of his left arm, an inkwell affixed to it where he dabbed a quill and wrote notes.
”Ah, this is Sacerdos e’Niihl, the man you seek.” Liberios offered in a measured tone. He didn’t seem to display a fondness for the dwarf, only tolerance poured out from a small cup respect. ”The others are Karthan Dawnsetter, his sister Zandra Dawnsetter and their cousin, Fir’umil Osseus.”
Liberios gestured to the emissaries, starting with the dwarf. ”This is Captain Russbeck Stoneanchor…”
The dwarf smoothed a gloved hand through his well manicured and oiled beard and moustaches. ”Pleasure,” he acknowledged. His eyes remained a bit on Sacerdos, clearly taking the measure of the half-elf.
”Captain Stoneanchor’s second, Windsinger Onura Limnestti…”
The woman nodded, a hand brushing from her right clavicle to the exposed skin of her neck. She bore a smirk of a secret knowledge as her eyes rested upon Karthan, drinking him in like a shark sizing up an unsuspecting dolphin. ”Hmm, scrumptious, I’m sure.” Onura’s voice was like silk drawn just gently enough across a sword edge to not cut the fabric.
Liberios cleared his throat and introduced the last one. ”And this is Coor Definne, the Captain’s record keeper.”
Coors simply nodded, not breaking his hand stroke as he continued writing.
”Well, if you all would follow me, we can retire to the meeting hall and begin discussions.” Liberios swept a hand towards the rear entrance of the temple and began walking, Olivia striding just behind and to his left.
The emissaries, led by Russbeck followed...all except Onura who casually glided upon her high-heeled turndown boots to slip a hand under Karthan’s arm to press close to him as they walked. She leaned in for his ear and whispered with a smile. ”ఎలా వరల్డ్ సెంటర్ సిటీ, చెక్క కఠోరమైన మీరు కనుగొనేందుకు లేదు?” Her breath smelled of sweet berries and her hair of the gentle ocean breeze.
A prickle of lightning shot up Karthan's leg and set jitters in his stomach. He was exceedingly aware of the woman on his arm who had just made herself so physically familiar and confidently comfortable with so causal and exhilarating contact. Trying to look her in the single eye he could see looking coyly at him from under the tricorn hat, and not at her prominent prow, his mind searched for some sort of intelligible response.
Her shirt isn't buttoned and I think if she was a ship I could see all the way down to her bilge. Those boots are f%@~ing hot! Say something you dip s&%$. Look ar how she moves, like a swords woman---oh god, should have worn a stiffer codpiece, dont think stiff you idiot! this woman is dangerous, remember that. Why the hell am I worried if Olivia is seeing this? And what is Liberos going to say about it? Zandra is right here too, okay that is better. Are you kidding me? Now I have to walk?!
willpower
Tabir's 240 year old age spotted wrinkly ass and saggy twig berries! . . . Ick!
Karthan's mind finally dropped into gear and he touched two fingers to his brow, tilted his head and bowed slightly at his waist formally accepting Onura's request for a lady's walking escort.
"I have found it to be a place of many wonders and complexities, I do not know how the city finds me, for I am not entirely sure it even knows I have arrived."
"Well it appears my brother is either blushing at the proximity of an attractive woman or his cheeks have suddenly become sunburned."
"I thought you said you elves didn't sunburn?"
<sigh>"Yes for all intents and purposes we don't"
"Then why would you suggest that then? <sniff> Your brother is getting ready to mate with this female I can smell his---"
"THOR, That is quite enough I don't need you sending images of---"
"Very well. <sniff> She is in heat I can smell that---"
"Okay, wow, too much information, just stop that what you are thinking---"
"You hominids are so funny about mating. Notice I said homi-nids, not homo-nids, for to switch that discussion to that mating practice would be to take this conversation to even more bewilderment on my part. I still don't see how your young learn to mate since you hide it from them---"
"Alright, this mental connection is done for a while ok? *snip*"
. . . Fine . . . So uptight these primates even after nature has made their mating season 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year and double down on weekends and they think of mating about half of their waking hours, they still cannot seem to have a mature conversation about it. . . Hummm, maybe it is just female competitiveness for the species . . . Oh look, we are going inside, good I am famished, look at my coat, it is marvelous isn't it, I had plenty of time in the coach to prep.
"I have found it to be a place of many wonders and complexities, I do not know how the city finds me, for I am not entirely sure it even knows I have arrived." Responded Karthan, showing a surprising amount of poise in the presence of Windsinger Onura.
One of her hands found its way into the small of Karthan's back, slipping between the join of the armor and the top of his breeches. She smiled to one side of her mouth and cooed. "ఫార్మాలిటీలు, Karthan న నిలబడటానికి లేదు. నేను మీరు మొదటి సహచరుడు చేయలేరు ... వెంటనే నా ఓడ మీరు ఉంటుంది, కానీ నేను సరిపోయేందుకు ఉంటుంది మీరు ఒక స్థానం వెదుక్కోవచ్చు ఖచ్చితంగా అనుకుంటున్నాను." She gave his back a gentle pinch and withdrew her hand to stay upon his arm.
Zandras face was like a tarot card dealer, but underneath her face was splitting open in a grim and she struggled not to let her belly erupt in laughter over her brother's soft edged plight.
"I am so going to kill you Zandra."
Always speaking in riddles.
Onura grinned in satisfaction. They weren't "city" elves, that was for sure, but they weren't fresh from the forest either, which was better. She slipped away from Karthan,, disengaging contact as she walked.
"Your brother is made of stern stuff, Sister Zandra. I do enjoy the cut of his timbers." Onura spoke slyly, dropping in next to the druidess. "How is your cat?" She asked Zandra. "Is he manageable aboard ship?"
"Thorendel isn't completely fond of sea travel, but he manages just fine. From your question I gather hat events will soon see us see abound. For Magnimar per chance?"
"Magnimar?" She shook her head, the row of earrings in her right ear tinkling softly. "No, not aboard my ship. She won't be bound for Varisia for several months thanks to my responsibilities here."
Ahead of them, Liberios was setting a brisk, soldier's pace for the doors to the temple, Captain Stoneanchor and his Coor Definne stepping to in order to keep up. The half-elf Inquisitor was chatting with the paladin next, leaving the elves to bring up the rear. "You'll find out soon enough, but the Harbormasters will not allow the Lydia's Wake to dock. The merfolk made that perfectly clear."
With a graceful but absentminded flourish, Onura brushed at some lint upon the sleeve of her coat. "Since they cannot dock, and there has been a special request by your Chaplain Lord here, I volunteered to take the Inquisitor...and I'd assume all of you aboard my vessel to tie up to Lydia's Wake and board her. Acquiring cargo is the goal I've been told."
Fir'umil looked up from Tabir's book, having been expertly walking and reading, so he could focus more on the conversation.
"Why do the Harbor Masters object to the Lydia's Wake coming to dock? Some political entanglement I presume."
To direct brother, sometimes to stay quiet is to remain seen as intelligent and or in the know to those weighing you.
We just got here! I am not keen on going back aboard ship this soon!
Zandra replied, Patience my friend, I think this will be a short journey of limited scope, I have a feeling more shall be revealed to us shortly.
She spared a predatory smile for the ranger. "The Harbormasters object because the merfolk object, my succulent scallop." Onura winked at him, her dark eyes a blend of ocean depths and violet. "The merfolk objected because Lydia's Wake arrived two days ago adrift on the currents west of our little Isle of Kortos."
Ahead of them, Liberios had begun ascending the steps.
"They weighed her anchor and kept her from drifting into the rocks. From what they know, the crew is either dead or abandoned ships." Onura waved a few fingers towards the dwarf now ascending the steps of the temple. "Captain Stoneanchor's office was contacted. The merfolk were intent upon burning the ship and sending her to the bottom. They have certain...suspicions when it comes to derelict ships. The temple here had a standing request of notification for the Lydia's Wake, sooo..."
Another grin for Karthan, deep blue and violet eyes already promising. "...that's how I find myself trudging upon the cobblestones of Absalom instead of the warm wooden decks of my ship. Captain's none to pleased I volunteered for the salvage, but I'm yearning for the sea..." A second wink to Karthan. "...and Stoneanchor knows I'll not be denied my desires."
"A sound policy when thinking of the plagues this ship could carry, but I am willing to guess the ship is vacant for other reasons."
"Sometimes suppression of ones desire makes the fruit of it seem all the sweeter."
What is this? tales of ribaldry or something?