Verik wanders in cautiously, wondering if he should preemptively call for Abadar's blessings. The door opens into a small home of just two rooms - really, one medium-sized room divided in two parts. The cooking area stands to the side of the closer room. He tentatively walks to the small table, finding a few vegetables - curled and desiccated, as if left out for a few weeks - partially cut up and a poorly-made knife placed down neatly next to them. Nothing looks out of place at all, and Verik feels a bit like a voyeur as if the subsistence farmers and fishers that live here might come back at any moment and ask him what he is doing in their house.
Verik checks the next room, slowly and carefully peeking around the divider. The room has a few beds, up on bunks to save room. A small dresser of clothes sits next to one of the beds. He opens one of the drawers carefully, as if expecting something to pop out of it and startle him. A few shabby sets of utilitarian clothes sit undisturbed inside the dresser. He spies a small shrine to Erastil, barely more than a few poorly-carved idols, in the corner of the room. He goes over to pick one up, looking at it curiously.
"There's nothing here," says Berrin's booming voice from behind him. Verik jumps, startled by his sudden arrival. He turns to Berrin, trying to keep his frayed nerves from showing. "We should head back and get the others. Maybe Jemini can make heads or tails of this. Tandlara would have an idea, I bet..." Berrin murmurs to himself as he exits the house and heads for Valnyr.
"I suppose you are right," answers Verik halfheartedly, his eyes looking back to the Erastil dedications. Abadar and Erastil both teach humanity the value of community, of hard work and toil, of the value of good works to better the whole. We differ on many things concerning how it should be done, but in that respect at least Jhod and I can find common to both faiths. Somewhere in all of that is an expectation that if you devote yourself to the cause fully, you shall somehow be rewarded for your efforts. Yet, history is rife with butchery of the innocent, slaughter of those who simply seek to toil and build a respectable life. Did these people prove unwholesome and unworthy of that blessing, or was it an expectation that would never be kept by the Makers?
Not expecting an answer to his question, Verik looks to the ceiling and asks forgiveness from the Master of the First Vault for such musings, then moves out of the home. He mounts Giles not long after Berrin is already underway with Valnyr at a walk, and soon catches up with him for the journey back to where they left Jemini and the others.
With the evening sun nearly down by the time they return back, Verik and Berrin spy out the figures of Jemini, Akiros and Nikolai by the fire, with Red Eyes and the other two nearby, watching intently. Verik dismounts and wearily reports their findings to the others. "All completely abandoned, and suddenly too, yet Berrin and I could find no signs of a fight there. Everyone gone, but no possessions taken nor left in a state of known turmoil. Perhaps for a fortnight it has stood empty this way. It is as if the lake rose up and took them away, leaving behind everything else intact." Verik mutters an incantation in Celestial and turns back to Giles to begin the process of unsaddling him and removing his saddlebags.
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Nodding slowly Elsir rubs his chin thoughtfully. These two seemed familiar, the young man especially so. Though different the face tugged at the memory of a vision that Elsir could barely remember. Sighing to himself, the elf sat upon a small stool in the corner of the room. This was so different then what he had expected. In the past he had looked at his visions as they hung before him, watching them through a window. Occasionally he could force the divination to follow a particular path, but this was unlike anything he had considered possible. All of this raised so many questions. If he died here in this vision what happened to his corporeal body that sat upon the lake of the Tuskwater? Was he at this very moment sitting in that place while interacting in this one? He knew that identities could exist independently upon very different lines of fate, but this was beyond comprehension. Regardless if he told the whole truth they would likely think him a liar and frankly that was the least of his concerns. The more dangerous consideration was how his actions might affect this future. Before he had only dabbled in tugging on the strings of his own timelines fate. This was totally different and he suspected far more complex.
Breathing out slowly, Elsir ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his friend Willas before shrugging. Looking up towards Maegar and Alaina, Elsir did his best to give a comforting smile. My name, The elf began slowly, considering what implication indentifying him might entail. Is Elsir Tel’ran and this is my companion Willas Gundersun. Gesturing towards the half-elf. And I am afraid we are terribly lost. How we came to be in this land was entirely accidental in nature, thanks in large part to a powerful surge of magic while Willas and I were conducting a divinatory ritual. Frowning again, this time deeper. Elsir reached into his brown haversack for canteen of water before offering it around the room. This is going to sound odd, but I’m not even sure what year it is. When I last heard of this land, the city was known of as Sanctuary in the Kingdom of New Haven. But I know nothing of this Dragonhall or this Dragon Lord that the guard spoke of. What we said to the guard was true enough. We are scholars who originally hailed from Absalom and we visited Sanctuary years before when Jemini Lebeda and her companions ruled the land. Shrugging again Elsir looks at Willas searchingly as if silently asking how much more his friend thinks he should divulge. What can you tell us about this place? What has happened in the last twenty years?
Maegar looks at Alaina momentarily, a clouded look on his face. His hand rests on the pommel of one of his blades, while Alaina holds onto the bow tightly. "Elsir Tel'ran is dead. He's been dead since I was an infant. My father told me the stories of their adventures before he... Before he died as well. Who are you really?"
Alaina snatches an arrow from her quiver and has it notched in a flash. Elsir looks at her surprised. Normally, his magical talents would give him a flash of insight to prepare himself - but the spell that brought and bound them here must be interfering with the normal, reflexive use. After all, for all he knows, one cannot predict the future while already there. She demands of Maegar with the arrow trained at Elsir, "I thought you said that the Dragon Lord wasn't smart enough to send decoys! The Lawbringer would tell us to kill them now and return without risking the whole."
Maegar grits his teeth and looks straight at Elsir. "Like I said, Elsir Tel'ran is dead. You're alive and kicking, though not for long if she has her way. Who are you?"
Nikolai spits out a bit of gristle from his dried jerkey. His eyes go immediately hard when Verik describes the abandoned town. He turns slightly to call to the wolves behind him.
Red Eyes, we go to this village. I want to know what your eyes and scent tell you. Might be one of our adversaries thought to strike deep.
He is on his feet and walking to the large horse as he talks, slapping his hands together, then rubbing them on his breeches.
He stands next to the horse, his scarred face flashing in the firelight. He looks at Jemini, Akiros, Berrin, and Verik. Who's riding out?
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Blinking slowly, with a shocked look on his face, Elsir considered glancing at Willas but decided that making any sudden movements at this junction might prove… unfortunate. Keeping his hands low where he could see them, Elsir looked into the point of the arrow. It seemed very sharp and the tip flickered in the dim light of the dusty room. Coughing slightly, Elsir regarded the man who seemed so confused and troubled. Instinctively Elsir knew it was he whom he had to convince. Frowning slightly Elsir half heartedly shrugged. In the past he had relied on others to handle face to face interaction; Elsir had preferred his research and books and the power of his magic.
Briefly, Elsir considered what he might do or say that would convince the man of the truth of his words. On the other hand, how might the man react if Elsir continued his tale? Remaining quiet for a moment longer, Elsir closed his eyes and took a deep breath out, calming himself and he hoped the situation. Opening his amber eyes slowly the elf looked past the arrow to the troubled woman beyond. Then he glanced back to the man. There are spells that I posses that might allow me to share one of my past memories with you, but I doubt you would allow that, yes? Nodding as the young man shook his head, Elsir shrugged. I thought as much. From what little I have seen of this land, I too would be hesitant to allow someone unknown and potentially a threat to cast a spell on me. Terrible things can be done with mind magic. Rubbing his nose on thought, Elsir looked back up at the man. I could also assure you that I Elsir Tel’ran, but I doubt my word would suffice. Grimly nodding again, the man glanced at the woman, Alaina who held the bow with a tight grip, the tension on the string palatable. But you said that your father had spoken of Elsir before, yes? Watching carefully, Elsir studied the man’s face. Perhaps.. perhaps there was a story? Something secret from Elsir’s past that he told your father? Something rare and precious that would not be common knowledge? And perhaps your father told that story to you? If so, ask me a question that only you, your father and Elsir would have known, but please the more distant the better. As I said before, I remember nothing of what has happened in the last twenty years.
Maegar intently stares at Elsir as Alaina keeps the bowstring taut. His eyes wander upwards as he thinks up a question that might satisfy him. "My father told me that Elsir had a locket on him at all times and that he was never, ever without it. Apparently, he didn't talk about it much, but it was precious to him. He told my dad why, on the day that I was born. If you're him, you would know what's so special about the locket." He spares a glance at Alaina, whose arm begins to subtly shake with the tension.
"Me. I will join. In fact, I don't think there is much point in sending a separate group - we should all go, and then move on based on our decision on what we find there. If our past experiences are any indication, the centaurs and trolls may prove a lesser task to what we need to accomplish now."
Something stirs in the furthest recesses of the shadows. Elsir Tel'ran is dimly aware that there may be more eyes on him than are obvious in the room.
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Nodding carefully, Elsir lowers his hand that was just a moment before rubbing his nose. Internally he wonders how good of a friend Maegar’s father must have been for Elsir to share this memory with him. Reaching down into the neck of his robe, the elf delicately withdrew a mitral and silver locket that had been inset with an oval chrome tourmaline. Reverently slipping the chain from around his neck, Elsir carefully undid the latch. Inset into the locket was a small permanent image on the left hand side that had been worked carefully with magic. It showed a human woman with sun kissed red hair that seemed to blow in an unknown breeze. Her eyes matched the color of the deep green gem that had been inset into the locket. It hurt Elsir even now to see her. She was so beautiful and perfect in that moment. It had pained him more than any words could describe to watch her grow old as he remained young and hale. On the right side of the locket showed a face, Elsir’s face. Somehow the face seemed colder and more rational. It had been crafted before he had become one of the forlorn.
Sadly smiling, Elsir held the locket up for Maegar and Alaina to see. This belonged to my wife Ashandra, whom I first met when I was just a young pathfinder aspirant. I.. Elsir paused, collecting himself while shaking his head. I gave this locket to her on her thirtieth birthday. Glancing at it mournfully Elsir hung his head sighed. I don’t know what I told your father. But if I showed it to him on the day of your birth I suppose that I would have told him to treasure each moment with you. I would have told him that time is the one foe that none of us can escape. I think I would have told him that each moment is precious and to not squander them. Giving a final sorrowful glance at his wife Ashandra, Elsir closed the locket that had begun to tarnish and respectfully placed it back around his neck. I might have told him of the pain that I felt as I watched the years go by and my love, my Tal’esh’roth wasted away growing older and weaker while I was helpless to intercede. And… Elsir murmured somberly I may have told him that it was fate that were supposed to be together. It was a true vision, and that I have never stopped loving her.
Hunched over in the process of releasing the girth strap to his saddle on Giles, Verik looks incredulously at Nikolai first, then to Jemini, then back to Nikolai. He realizes his mouth is open to speak, and abruptly closes it. Both Verik and Giles nearly snort at the same time as the girth strap is re-tightened. He retrieves an apple from his pack and angrily takes a bite out of it just before hoisting himself back into the saddle.
"Shall we have some light at least, or perhaps instead you all want to sneak up on the village we just came from, throwing a shoe or breaking a horse's leg in the darkness?"
Jemini smirks back at cleric, "And here I thought you'd welcome the prospect of spending the night on a real bed surrounded by proper civilized walls."
He looks at her as if she started talking fluent kobold, now fully up and centered on the saddle. "You did hear what I said, right? How everyone's gone as if they vanished? Dinner left where prepared, children's toys about, that sort of thing?" It's hard to see Verik with the dusk nearly gone now, but she thinks he gives a visible shudder in his armor. "Unless we can explain it proper, I'm not sleeping in one of those homes of these poor folk, not with a proper blessing and consecration of the grounds."
He casts upon the top of his open-faced helm, casting illumination across the rest of the group walking in front of him, though the wolves are well ahead of the horses and not within his radius.
Jemini nods, a more serious expression returning to her face. "Yes I heard, and understood. That is why we're going there now. Not in the morning. I refuse to believe that place itself ate them so I'm not worried about sleeping there. Until we know more, our quickest bet of finding anything will be to have it find us."
The great steed grunts under the weight of Nikolai as the big warrior mounts up. She is right. We are in the company of excellent trackers, and the village is too close to lands I may tame for the sake of my pack, and my future plans. It is an opportunity for our future neighbors to learn to trust us, Here Nikolai looks directly to Red Eyes, and all who work with us to keep these free lands.
The barbarian reigns up next to Verik as the priest tightens his saddle once more.
Now I know why you clergy are called men of the cloth. Men of steel are not so afraid of danger. He nudges his mount with his spurs and trots in the direction of the village.
Come, Red Eyes. Let us learn to fight together!
There is a place in the old swamp. In that place is a terrible building, the entrance to which can only be gained by navigating a deranged series of traps. Many who seek it die before finding it. It is a place of glory and light. It is entirely possible that it is also a place of hope. In the building is a room and in the room is a man. The man is a place in the old swamp and in his head is a terrible structure, the entrance to which can only be gained by navigating an insane series of traps, etc. Currently, the man is waiting for two of his soldiers. He is fighting a war, is he not? He remembers something about a war.
0201
They are one minute late. I will give them precisely fourteen more minutes before I send Extractors. I have warned them and I have Warned them and they are aware of the need for punctuality we cannot waste one second any more than we can waste one life the timetable is fixed and we all must pay for the sins of the one it is for my sins we have come to this my Clockwork Kingdom my House of Gears and Traps my Tiny Sanctuary hahahahahaa that was a waste I have wasted forty-two seconds on this line of thought I will give them precisely thirteen minutes and eighteen -- SEVENTEEN -- seconds now before I send Extractors. The Extractors will be awake and they will be ready estimated time of arrival is FIFTEEN minutes putting total MINIMUM waste at thirty minutes potential MAXIMUM waste at sixty minutes depending on what they encounter perhaps I should go I could aid and I should know, I cannot trust any of them, I cannot have others be my eyes I must be my own eyes though they lead me to darkness hahahahahahaaa that was another waste I have wasted
0202
twenty-one more seconds on this line of thought I will be punished I will do Exercises over the Broken Gears to know Penance and to know Pain every single second is pain in ev-.
0203-0210
(pushups)
0211
The man is somewhat old. Tattered and infected bandages cover his eyes and wrap around his head, like a blindfold. He has many small cuts and scars most of the time. He was likely handsome, once. There is a place in the city now where the House was the HOUSE it was WAS and now NINE buildings north-northeast from there is a building with 12 of HIS secret troops they are all just men and the compound will be fast the nerves will go first and then they will rot alive they will know pain which is every second simultaneously the garrison by the lake must
0212
be terminated the timbers have been sawed slowly out and dry wood placed deep in its center by wildshapers and a wildcaster will use FIRE she will use FIRE and they will all BURN in the purifying light and heat and in the From somewhere in the near distance there is the sound of a large metal trap slamming shut on something and a hideous shriek of pain. The shriek drops off to pleas for help, then gasps as the poison does its quick work. The man who was once Taisper Stozs gives no indication he heard any of this. He is waiting for two of his soldiers.
Verik's stony-faced stare follows Nikolai until he disappears into the darkness ahead of them with his pack. Only then does Verik speak, taking on a petulant and almost childish tone with a look of utter disgust for Jemini to see. "Men of steel are not afraid of danger Verik, you men of the cloth are so weak and puny compared to me Verik, my lack of tactics and ability to get myself butchered on every foe we come across is so manly Verik, I won't rest until my manhood is larger than the horse I'm riding on Verik..." He finally trails off as he has no other retorts in his head.
The cleric steals a glance at Jemini then, turns his head to face forward once more, and then back to her after considering something. "I see you were making a joke earlier, and I failed to pick up on it. Again." He sighs and waves his hand in the darkness ahead of them. "It's all his fault you know. Humor escapes me when that one all running around like some eager boy at Taxfest looking for treats, only in this case he's excited because he might be able to go kill something tonight."
"Don't beat yourself up about it, I think he knows that you like having your leg pulled more than bashful gratitude. Without you he wouldn't be able to move around so effortlessly right now - the Howl was only just short of bringing him to Pharasma's second judgment." Jemini glances Verik over, "Besides, where - miracle of miracles - Nikolai has developed tact and a certain smoothness of speech, in the same time you've shed a bit of girth and what bulk remains is sturdier and surer than before. It seems age will distill all around me into fine wines. I imagine twenty years from now you'll both make a great presence at any occasion."
Akiros hears Berrin and Verik returning before he sees and them, and something, perhaps a touch of his divine gift, perhaps something he senses that Kydal picks up, warns him that all is not well. So, when Nikolai and Jemini declare their intention to investigate the village now, Akiros is already remounted and tightening all his gear, ready to depart.
He waits for the others though, allowing Nikolai to move off ahead with his new second in command. Smiling despite himself at the interaction between Verik, Nikolai and Jemini and the banker's irritated mimicry he, in a rare moment of mirth, chuckles "I think the two of you enjoy your jibes and insults more than either of you would care to admit, Verik. Perhaps you even need each other. For you, Nikolai represents the warrior you have always wished yourself to be, but have always believed you are not. For Nikolai, he sees in you the discipline, dedication and good heartedness he has always denied in himself, but secretly bemoaned the absence of. Why, one could almost say the two of you were made for each other, banker! I predict you shall both end as the very best of friends. And I must say, you do make quite a compelling couple!" And turning his God's clouded eyes on Verik, he winks.
Continuing his quiet mirth, the Oracle clicks Kydal's reins and begins to move off after the new Wolf Lord.
Arrival at the eerie village does not bring forth a tentacled monster from the deep, nor a siren's call, nor any of a thousand possibilities as to what happened to them. Red Eyes and the others sniff out a faint trail, though he warns that it is weeks old. Asking Nikolai how far he wants them to follow it, they set out to determine its terminus.
With the wolves gone, the five humans settle down in one of the homes. Berrin takes the first watch, patrolling on horseback and humming (a bit loudly) to himself. Verik somewhat guiltily uses the cooking tools and his spices to make a dinner better than they'd had for a few days. He takes two gold pieces, along with five silver pieces, and carefully lays them next to the shrine to Erastil. It was the value of a night's stay at an inn for the five of them - no more and no less, as prescribed by Abadar for fair treatment as an uninvited guest.
The night does not offer restful sleep. Only Jemini seems immune from the nightmares that plague the rest of them. Each sees something different, but all of them see a darkness coming.
Maegar motions at Alaina to lower her bow. With another beat of pointing it at Elsir, she smoothly lowers the power and returns the arrow to the quiver. "Well, I'm not sure how to explain it. The Lawgiver... Well, that's what we," he motions to himself and Alaina, "Call him, but he prefers to refer to himself as the Cog. He'll be excited to see you, then. He hasn't gone by the name in a while, but he was called Taisper Stozs before the war. He leads us in resistance against the Dragon Lord. To answer your previous question, it is 4733 AR. I am Maegar Myrdal, and my father Berrin spoke well of you. He was the General of Newhaven, though he died before the Conquerer's return. Come now, I wasn't being fully forthcoming earlier. We're moving out now. We have a deadline to meet, and the Cog doesn't like when things don't go to plan. But, Abadar's will is Abadar's will..."
He walks to the back wall and whispers a phrase in skillfully-wrought Celestial. A second hidden door, warded with magic upon magic to hide its presence and to hide the measures taken to hide it, quietly melts away from the carved stone to reveal an unhewn passageway beyond. Berrin steps in, having to bend over slightly to avoid hitting his head on the top of the tunnel. "Let's move."
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Breathing a sigh of relief Elsir watched as Alaina lowered her bow. Nodding to Willas, Elsir followed behind Maegar into the rough hewn passaged beyond. Twenty three years.. He said at last, his voice barely a whisper. Shaking his head in disbelief he almost struck his head on a stone jutting from the tunnel. Looking back at the trailing form of Willas and Alaina, Elsir followed along. I understand there is a deadline to meet, but can we speak as we go or is it not safe? There is so much I have to ask you. So much I need to know. Frowning, his face cloaked in shadows, Elsir bit down on his lip. Did he dare ask how he died? During the confluence that had lead him to this place he had seen himself die more times than he had ever considered possible. Would it matter to know how he had died? Would it make a difference in the principal time-stream? Elsir wasn't sure. He knew he had been taken to this place for a reason. He had to know what had caused all of this. Once he knew more he might be able to postulate how to prevent it from happening in the present. Or with a bleak thought, he considered a different and far more sobering possibility.. he might be stuck here forever.
Following along behind the Berrin Myrdal's son, Elsir cursed to himself. He had touched lines of fate before, even begun to experiment with the altering of his own future for the most beneficial of outcomes. Internally he had known that for each bright future there must have been an opposite. A dark and sad place, full of misery and desolation. Scholars referred to such crux moments, as Aevum; distinct moments of important time that were noteworthy. They were the crucial instances when something important was supposed to happen and had not. Vague and alluring references had pointed toward such manipulation of Aveum to alter the time-stream by the ancient civilizations of Thassilon, Azlant and Ghol-Gan. The "Threads of Fate" had made references to powerful wizards who were able to manipulate and control time called Chronothurges. The mystery of these men and women had been lost. But now, Elsir wondered. How had he reached this point? Was it fate? Probability? The Gods? Elsir did not know and he was terribly scared.
Maegar whispers the answer as the four swiftly track across the long, lightless tunnel. "I shouldn't. The Cog will have answers for you, but I'm sure that he wouldn't want me telling you everything. He can be rather cagey. Just keep on moving. We're going to be late for our return as it is." They trek onwards, making their way through the darkness with only periodic lighting. With nothing but fatigue and time to determine the distance, Elsir can tell that they've gone several miles at least. Finally, the tunnel juts upwards. With Maegar in the lead and Alaina in the back, they exit the tunnel into the moonlight of a swamp. The entrance to the tunnel is ably camouflaged by a rock grotto, likely with as much magical protection as on the other side.
In silence, they continue onwards. Now that he can see the stars, he can see that they are traveling north through the dense swamp. Thick underbrush intermingles with brackish, stagnant water. Insects buzz around them constantly, and larger threats lurk farther away in the moonlight. They have been moving constantly for an hour, at least, long enough for Elsir's body to be quite sore and tired. Maegar and Alaina both seem to be moving with no hindrance through the trees, though Alaina clearly has her eye on the pair of Pathfinders from behind. Even if Maegar was interested in answering questions, the route requires too much dexterity and concentration to get through the giant sheets of moss and over many fallen trees. The proceed in grim silence.
After some time, Maegar holds up his hand. "When we get in, do exactly as I do. Exactly. Failure will get you killed. Again." He walks forward and moves aside a heavy sheet of shrubbery, revealing a shabby wooden doorway. Hidden in the overgrown vegetation, Elsir can see now, is a small cabin built in the side of a small hill. It is falling apart and decrepit, clearly having been uninhabited for decades. Maegar enters first, holding the door open for them. The interior of the cabin is split into two rooms, vacant except for a few discarded barrels. The stagnant air smells of sweat, blood, moss, and rot. The smell clings to the walls, and to Elsir's nose. Maegar pulls aside a rotted board along the wall, revealing a small tunnel. "Okay, crawl." He wriggles through the tunnel, barely able to fit his large, lanky frame in through the hole in the dirt.
Elsir follows suit and crawls forward several yards until it opens into a larger tunnel held in place by wooden braces. The others emerge from the hole, and Maegar leads them onwards. The tunnel opens into several more, each branch part of a massive mine-like maze. As he walks along with a [i]light-infused key held up for illumination, Elsir sees a few telltale signs of people falling victim to traps - a scrap of cloth or armor, glints of metal lodged in the dirt. They continue along the winding path through the maze, with Maegar presenting his key every so often to bypass some trap or another. He has them duck low, jump over certain areas, and repeat phrases in Celestial as they follow him.[/i]
Finally, they emerge through the maze into a large, well-built underground village. Elsir can see that the village has enough food to sustain it, likely through magical sunlight to feed the vegetables in the fields. Armed men and women - even a few children - march through the village in orderly, purposeful fashion. Smiths work on arms and armor, while tanners and artisans work their trade as well. He counts the people, looks over the simple houses, and estimates that a hundred people call this dark place home. In the center of the village, a wooden structure with the symbol of Abadar stands watch over the rest. It looks like a combined church and town hall, with a clocktower that reads 2:14. Maegar opens the door and beckons them to come in. He announces them, "Sir, Alaina and I have returned. I apologize for our lack of punctual return, and accept your Reckoning. While out on patrol, we rescued these two men from the Dragon Lord's guards. They have no Marks. What's more, this one claims to be Elsir Tel'ran, and knows information that my father told me about him. I suppose you would be a better judge than I on the matter."
A man steps out of the shadows. His dark blond hair is streaked with gray, and a number of bandages cover up most of his face. Even though they can't see his eyes, they know that he is watching them, studying them. The moments drag on for a long while as he deliberates in his own mind. Above them, the gears of the clock tower make a quiet hum as they work together in unison. The minute hand moves with a sharp click as he continues watching and weighing them.
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Tick.. Tick.. Tick.. The clock behind the clocked wrapped man continued to slowly trudge on. Elsir blinked slowly and the blood from his face became pale. He had seen this man before. He was younger then, but he could recall with crystal clarity the man who stood before him.
::A Man opens a parcel and clutches at his eyes as his face is burned and blistered by the contents within. The box falls to the ground and a single eye rolls out. A woman and child wander along a cold lonely road, the same man as before trails behind them with rags wrapped around his eyes. He follows behind them carrying a gnarled wooden staff. Hate, hotter than a bonfire burns within the child's heart.::
As the man studied him, so too did Elsir study the man. The grey was to be expected. The traps as well. This one was fond of such mechanical devices if his vision had held true. What had happened to that young boy in the vision? Had his hate grown from that fateful day when Taisper had blinded his father? Had he seeked revenge for the act? Elsir didn't know. Perhaps he had. Or perhaps he had died. A thousand possible outcomes could have arose from the situation.
Elsir recalled a second vision where he had seen that same man. It had followed a year after the first.
::A large bastard sword with the pommel in the shape of two snarling wolf heads made of silver, with black forked tongues made of onyx hanging in darkness. Around it swirls effervescent shapes that howl in terror as they are slowly drawn ever closer to the blade. Fighting over the pommel are two men. One, young and handsome with fair hair clutches at the sword in one hand while the other hand grip a stone eye. The second man draped in black and silver mist is also grabbing at the sword while in his other hand he grips a black rose. Standing between the two and watching silently is a stocky and muscular figure whose face is hidden behind the sword.::
Had the sword gone on to play some deeper role? Had it ended up tainting the young man? Elsir had seen Taisper fighting another over the blade. And then there was the third man in the shadows who was stocky and muscular, who had that been? Someone of importance no doubt. There were so many things that Elsir was unsure of, and that worried the normally scholarly mage. When exactly had this timeline separated from the one that he had come from? Had it been at the moment when he departed from the shores of the Tuskwater or before? Even knowing this might make a difference in determining what detractors and impactors had led towards this future.
"Calm yourself" Elsir thought, remaining still. If this man did know a future persona of Elsir then he would have remembered the elfs legendary patience. It was he who controlled himself, who acted rather then reacted. This man, this Cog.. Taisper would speak in time.
"i can hear your heart" the Cog whispers, though it is not clear to whom this cryptic statement is being addressed.
He is stripped to the waist and covered in hundreds of tiny cuts, and blood is trickling freely down his chest and arms. Without moving, he addresses Maegar and Alaina. "we are alone here. in this place we are the lone perfection of His great clockwork that is society. by the Grace of the Master do we continue His good work. if a clock is fourteen minutes off, you correct it. thus you will be corrected. you will each do fourteen days in the mire pits farming stirge venom, for as those days will stretch out before you, so have these minutes stretched for me. go.
as the two young freedom fighters file glumly out, The Cog speaks to Elsir and Willas; "i can hear your heart." he says again, and he becomes sheathed in a golden glow that is almost painful to gaze upon, so strong is his faith as he calls upon the powers Abadar has granted him, powers that let him know men's minds and motivations better than they may know themselves. "tell me who you are, and why you are here, and do not lie to me because i will know."
The barbarian lies awake for a full turn of the glass before sleep finally takes him. He was learning civility, learning the games of kings and courts. Some things he learned slower than others. But no matter the changes in him, the nightmares remained.
Of late, the dreams grew stranger. He couldn't say they were less dark, but they seemed deeper, as if a message were hidden inside. He didn't believe much in signs and dreams, but the change terrified him. Nikolai was afraid of nothing - not dragons, not judgmental priests, not fire or worgs or blades or blood. He feared nothing save that he might fail Jemini and his own destiny. He feared not being good enough.
So he tossed as the night's dream began.
Faces. The dream had never been like this before. Faces floating, lingering, then fading. His thoughts and emotions ran free with each.
Taisper.
Self-loathing. Mighty. Awkward.
Berrin.
Joyous. Valiant. Weary.
Choral.
Pain. Mockery. Pain.
The Stag lurches in his bed - in the stranger's bed, the man whose house he slept in. More faces leered.
Verik.
Noble. Arrogant. Soft.
Hulgurka.
Monstrous. Scorched. Slain.
Akiros.
Broken. Blind. Healed. Vigilant.
As the faces of his friends and enemies floated by, Nikolai could sense the dread. One face would not stand for his true feelings. It was also the one face he could not lie to. What would it reveal? Nothing. It's just a stupid dream.
Jemini.
Warrior. Angel. Love.
He turned his head, never opening his eyes. Her face smiled at him. Her cheeks high with mirth. Her lips red as sin. Her eyes afire with his reflection.
Embrace. Passion. Trust.
Nikolai stirred, it was only a dream, he knew. She wouldn't. He was unworthy. She was grace.
She traces my scars. She kisses my brow. Her face nears mine...
Nikolai's body jerked. He was dreaming, but it's as if an invisible force grappled his shoulder and turned him. Hard.
A hand clenches my arm and neck and pulls. I spin away, to face...myself. He is massive. More muscular. Longer scars. That beard grown long again, like a savage. His hands have claws. He looks at me, and plunges his balled fist into my gut. Nausea. Pain. The room spins.
He speaks. It is Choral's voice that I hear. You are a fool to try for her. She would not have you if I threatened to tear down House Lebeda, stone by stone. She would give her life for you. She would do anything for her goddess, her people. But she will never love you. How could she?
I am on my knees. My more barbaric self seethes with anger. I look to Jemini. For approval. For that loving face. But instead I see the truth. She is crawling away. Her robe is torn. Her fingers are stretched and red, as if fighting off some beast. And I know the beast is me. She wasn't giving herself to me. She was fighting me. And I only saw what I wanted.
The barbarian stands over me. He glares at me. She is judging me. Where did I go wrong? Now he hits me again. He beats me. His anger is powerful. Jemini stands. She wears her armor now, but the pauldron is torn where her robe was. There are claw marks on her bare shoulder. Mine.
Barbarian Nikolai beats me while Jemini looks on. She pities me, but she is also angry. How could I? He hits me again and again, and the world fades. Jemini has set her jaw. She is letting him kill me.
Nikolai wakes up sweating. His sheets are wet and his muscles ache with exertion. When he palms his stinging eyes he notices his claws are out.
The former Staglord lays back and whimpers softly, afraid to sleep.
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The golden glow that surrounds the man who calls himself The Cog causes Elsir's eyes to water. It is so beautiful, so bright. The elven wizard has to force himself from taking a step back. The cavern around them while lit paled in comparison to radiance that streamed up from around the scarred and bleeding man. Blinking away tears, Elsir took a deep breath in. Would the man believe him? What Elsir was about to reveal sounded more like lunacy then the truth. The wizard did not know the power that the man had at his beck and call. The people here seemed to revere him, to follow his orders unquestioningly. He was about to take a terrible risk.
Looking back towards Willas, Elsir sighed. The truth as the old moniker went, had set him free once before it might do the same here. Or it might fail terribly.
Pausing and collecting his thoughts, Elsir reached out to the Aether to touch upon the probabilities, searching and seeking for the immediate outcomes for how the man might perceive his words. To his astonishment and dread there was He could sense nothing about the future. Not even the smallest iota or inkling was he able to touch. To a wizard such as Elsir, who had used his foretelling throughout much of his adult life, he suddenly felt blinded. Had his journey into this darkened future robbed him of his ability to see the future, or had he exhausted his finite ability to call upon such visions thanks to the confluence of possibility he had experienced earlier that day? Once again Elsir was unsure.
Or perhaps, in this future all possibilities only have one outcome.. He whispered fearfully. Breathing out slowly, Elsir calmed himself. The sheer lack of knowledge frightened him. But he would not allow it to control him. Taking a final deep breath, Elsir gestured back towards his companion that had been swept along with him into this place. Finally after a short pause he turned and addressed the scarred man. My name. Elsir said staring at the man. Is Elsir Than'droth Tel'ran. My companion is Willas Gunderson. I am told it is 4733AR and in this time-line I am dead, but.. I am not from this time or place. Linearly, four hours ago, and.. Glancing up at the clock, Elsir did a quick calculation. Twelve minutes, I stood on the banks of the Tuskwater in what was 25th of Gozran, in the year 4710AR. Gesturing around him and then back towards the clock, Elsir frowns. I know what I say must sound as fantastical as it is preposterous. But every word is true. If you knew my alter self then you must know that I have studied divination and chronothurgy for much of my life. In my time-stream I had just arrived at New Haven and Jemini Lebeda ruled the land. They had fought the battle for Dragonshead on the 15th of Sarenith, 4709 and won the battle, and then later the General of Newhaven Berrin Myrdal, on the 16th Gozran in 4710 married Aylene Varn and formed House Myrdal. Raising his hands questioningly, Elsir gazed at the man. Did all of this happen before?
As to how I came here, it is as much a question to you as I. My associate and I. Elsir gestures back to Willas. Had just finished deciding to open the Harborage House... which I must assumed happened, because I saw the burnt ruins of, by the way. Regardless, Elsir shrugged. I led Willas and myself through a linked ritual. One where I might be able to peer into the future and see possible outcomes. During this ritual there was an unprecedented surge of possibility.. I.. saw things that no man should ever see. When the vision faded I found the pair of us within this place, fixed at this time. Metaphysically, I don't know if I am real or a ghostly shade that is able to interact with this time-stream. Its possible that even now my body may still be at rest along the shore of the Tuskwater, or I may have fled from that time-line completely. I just don't know. What has happened to us is.. unprecedented. At least.. at least for a wizard such as myself. Perhaps Nex or Geb or one of the fabled Runelords might have been able to conduct such a ritual purposefully, but not I.
Dawn brings no answers as to what caused the villagers to disappear, nor any answers from a tormented sleep. The worgs have yet to return, ranging far in response to their pack master's command. Their tracking skill gives Nikolai no pause, as they will be able to follow them and catch up with news of their discoveries. As the bleary-eyed and tired group collects its belongings, they eat a quiet breakfast together and feed the horses before heading out to the east. Another day's ride will put them on the centaur's doorstep. If they push themselves, they could actually arrive by nightfall - though tired and sore is no way to start a negotiation.
They follow along the banks of Silverstep Lake, enjoying its idyllic beauty even while darkly wondering what happened to the abandoned village and wondering if the Lake's reputation for predators had anything to do with that. Off to the south, they see the Tors of Levenies - a towering mountain range that thrusts skyward as if created by a terrible upheaval. From their vantage point, they can see the west-facing cliffs and crags, along with the mesas and hills that lead up from the east. The range may be many miles away, but they dominate the land's features unmistakably.
The terrain remains grassy plains as they continue onwards, though hills and rocky outcroppings become more common as they cross closer to the rugged lands south of Varnhold. Mid-day brings a brief rest and respite, though the spring sun does not drain as much energy as its summer counterpart. Hours more pass as they ride through the elevating land, leaving Lake Silverstep behind them. It shimmers behind them in the now-setting sun, beautiful and wild and mysterious.
Just as they begin consideration of where to step down, a trembling begins in the ground beneath them. They look at one another, wondering if it is a minor earthquake or the portent for any number of hostile creatures - elementals, centaurs, trolls, or the like. Their question is answered when a band of centaurs comes thundering from the crest of the next hill, streaming around rocky outcroppings and riding towards them. They number ten warriors in total, all outfitted with the light chain or leather armor of scouts and skirmishers. One of the centaurs - a young maiden whose equine half is a rich chestnut and whose human features would be quite pretty, with wild and long black hair kept in braids - speaks to them in the Sylvan in a demanding tone that robs the language of its natural beauty. "Du er adgang forbudt på landområdene til kentaurer, tobeinte inntrengere! Itifiser dere!"
Keeping the reigns tight on Giles and patting his neck briefly, Verik swallows hard and looks at the number of horsemen in front of them and the bold manner of their apparent leader. His training has already ticked him through a quick checklist of readiness and placement of shield, warhammer and prayers available, so he concentrates on trying to understand the intent of this first exchange. So these are the barbarian horsemen...centaurs...that we must entreat with. Not what I expected, I thought they'd be more horse and less, she's actually quite fetching if you exclude the...Cogs!
"Ahhhh..." answers Verik loudly as he raises a hand in open gesture of no threat, making no motion to step forward. He then taps on his breastplate where is heart is, moves it to his lips and then points towards them in a manner that he hopes will not be taken rudely, then makes swirling gestures with his fingers as if to say "magic!" and then back to his lips, etc. He makes this rather absurd series of gestures three times, involuntarily adding, "Pray...uhhh...speak words of you...uhhh...magic to hear...you?"
Nikolai rolls his eyes as Verik's hesitation. The big man shows his empty palms to the centuars and dismounts slowly. Once sure footed, he grasps Dragonsbreath by the pommel and shoves it into the ground, its endless flames rolling up the massive blade.
Nikolai leaves the sword in the ground and walks forward, stepping in front of Verik with an annoyed look.
I am Nikolai. We come offering treaty with the humans of Newhaven. We will use magic to understand you if you approve. I would speak with your elders in peace.
With his hands spread wide, Nikolai continues to advance slowly until he is between the humans and centaurs. His great height allows him to look the centaur lass in the eyes. He lets them look at him for a few minutes.
As I say, we talk of peace. But we are free men and women. We go where we will, and we oppose the foul Troll King.
The centaur warband's leader gives Verik a bemused look that he might swear was coming from Jemini herself. She keeps the blade on her waist (or at least where her waist would be, if she were human) in its sheath when she speaks. "We understand Taldane, human." Her voice is somehow both lilting (likely influenced by her native Sylvan) and guttural, as the words don't roll off the tongue easily. It must not be a language that the centaurs have much practice in. "No magic required. I am Erdija of Rashkala Tribe of Nomen Clan. You are trespass on our land. How do your people feel if we simply ride as we wish into your land? You, Nikolai, do you lead? Are you chieftain? You want meet with our chieftain, Korak Kaag?"
There is a pause, then the glow surrounding The Cog fades back to a dull halation. "I do not know anything about chronomancy, but I know you are not lying." he says. "You say you came by accident, but now that you are here, will you aid in our struggle? Have you brought knowledge of the past here into the future so we may best the evil that devours our kingdom?"
We are leaders among free people, Erdija of Rashkala tribe. I come to speak to Korak Kaag about friendship and borders, and the safety of our tribes in the dark times to come.
Erdija spits out a laugh, seemingly giving his honeyed words little stock. "You are not first humans to trespass on our lands. If we ride onto your lands, your riders take us to you? Or your riders attack us, like other humans trespassing? What you say? One side of mouth says you go where you will, other side says you want friendship and borders. Which one you want?"
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Rubbing his nose in thought, Elsir sighs. I am not sure that I can answer that. Not because I don’t wish to but because I am unsure if the knowledge I have brought with me into the past would be of any use in this time stream. Looking around the forlorn cavern with its neat and organized rows and quietly ticking clock, Elsir begins to understand that this was a man who has tried to create order from chaos. It was something that the wizard could respect and he supposed he needed to explain the situation in a way that The Cog might better understand. Eyes settling on the clock, Elsir pointed as if in explanation. Let us use that clock as an example. Everything in this world has an action and a reaction. And as our actions expand outward they follow a path based on all of the things that have come before. Time in its most perfect form is a series of outcomes that are created by the impacts of previous events. This time, this place is a result of something that happened in the past. If I could somehow learn what caused this time-stream to break away from the present that I came from, the possibility exists that I might be able to fix the “mechanism” that created this. It would be a world where there was no Dragon Lord and Dragonhall did not exist. Instead Sanctuary remained in its place and the faith of Abadar was strong. Shrugging Elsir looks back towards The Cog. The question is not if I will fight, but how I will. Glancing towards the direction that Maegar and Alaina departed in, Elsir sighed. Where I came from his father was alive and well, and I have seen futures where it is still so. In a flash of insight, Elsir realizes what he has to say next. It is as you said. If a clock is fourteen minutes off, you correct it. Cog.. This place is off. needs to be corrected.
Eyes tired from the long journey, Elsir takes a sip of water from his trusty weather beaten canteen. He was thirsty, so that must mean something right? Cog.. Taisper.. I need to know how it went wrong. If I can do that, If I can somehow identify the Aevum crux where my timeline started on its march towards this one, and then somehow I can get back to the time that was before, I might be able to stop this from happening. I might be able to reset the clock.
The Cog holds up his hand. "Taisper Stozs is dead." he says in a flat hiss. "He died with his family, as he should have. I am but a humble cog, spinning out the last of my days in service of the Master's divine plan from whose glorious and golden path I never should have deviated." He feels his way over to a chair, groping for its back with his right hand, though not clumsily. It is clear he knows this room well. Sitting, he lets out a slow sigh of relief. "I believe I understand you, and if I do, then this is a blessed turn of events. Truly the Master himself must have sent you to me, for only He would recognize the severe imperfections in this timeline, and the need for it to be destroyed such that others which more perfectly reflect his glory may flourish." A pause, then; "Tell me of this Aevum Crux, it sounds like the typical sort of baroque arcanist's machinations that might cause this sort of trouble..."
Nikolai's face visibly tightens, but he waits a second before answering. I want friendship because a war is coming and the enemy is courting your people. Do you want to share borders with humans who value freedom, or do you want to become subjects of the Troll King who tells lies and eats the corpses of both our kind?
Verik leans over slightly to Jemini next to him, with a hand covering his mouth and whispers, "Well I see this is turning out pretty much how I thought it would go. One counter to his claim in the negotiation and he's already lost his temper!"
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Elsir breathe a sigh of relief. This one seemed to understand. It was a daunting thing that Elsir had suggested. If he in fact managed to divert the course of future events then this timeline would no longer exist. The people here would cease to exist. Time as they would know it would end. It was a small condolence that they would never knew they existed at all, but Elsir would know. Or, perhaps quizzically he would not. Would his memories of this place remain or with the dispersal of this thread cause him to also lose the knowledge of the events he had undertaken. one remember that which no longer ceased to exist? The concept bothered him, and despite the wizards vast intellect he was unsure of the outcome. But action warranted. From the moment Elsir came here he had felt the temporal resonance of this time-line and he knew that the likelihood of this stream becoming the dominate future was more, rather than less likely.
Normally in a situation like this, Elsir would have used some minor magic to expound upon the point. Perhaps a silent image that he could manipulate as a visual representation of what he was explaining. But in the case of Taisper, or Cog rather this would have be useless. It would seem that his words had to suffice.
Sitting down in a stool next to the blind man, Elsir motioned for Willas to join him. What he was about to explain was conjecture and theory at best. It was something he had heard of before, but never truly encountered. Frowning, Elsir clicked his tongue in thought. I first read of an Aevum Crux in a book titled “The Thread of Fate”. It was a treatise that dealt more with foretelling and divination by ancient civilizations rather than chronomancy, but the two intertwined as divination naturally leads into the manipulation of future events. As far as I know there are only three copies still in existent and each is only fragmentary at best. Regardless, the tome in question made reference to both Aevum and motes of time. A mote of time is a tiny split-second of time that exists during a moment of unimportance, while useful they represent small decisions that played no significant impact on a time stream. Aevum on the other hand is in its purest form is a single moment of vast importance. An Aevum Crux is the moment that something hugely important was supposed to occur and did not. In symbolic terms it is the moment when the clock was supposed to tick forward and instead stopped, or ticked backwards, or jumped ahead. Shrugging, Elsir sighed. It is a poor comparison, but it is rather apt. At some point between when I left the shores of the Tuskwater on the 25th of Gozran in 4710AR and now, something was supposed to happen, or possibly, did not happen. Because of that single moment, this timeline became diverted and this… place was the result.
Taking another sip from the canteen Elsir hands it to Willas. Briefly he considered addressing Taisper by his true name, but the previous reference to his past life had angered the man, and Elsir doubted that he would gain any answers by provoking the man. It was not needed, nor was it kind. Cog.. can you think of a moment where everything seemed to fall apart? It could have been something that seemed small at the moment, but everything after that started to cascade?
Jemini, also dismounted, steps into the foreground. Not an easy thing to do, the hulking presence of the former Staglord gives pause even to a centaur. Still... sometimes a softer touch is required, and sometimes that softer touch needs to be pushed through a bit more forcefully. Bless my tongue, oh Sarenrae, guidance.
"Greetings Erdija of the Rashkala. Allow me to apologise for our trespass; we harbor no ill intentions. I am Jemini of Lebeda, chosen to lead the nation of New Haven. Where my companion Nikolai holds sway in battle, I hold sway in peace - please forgive his temper, sometimes it rides him untamed like a young buck." Jemini pauses, to give room for new thoughts, then continues, "Although our nation is still very young, it already has a storied history of troubled times. We have bought ourselves a short respite and now act in the hope of overcoming future trials. We wish to strengthen ourselves by strengthening our neighbors, we seek allies and hope to find friends. If meeting your chieftain will accomplish this, then please guide us and grant us an audience."
"I can." The quiet reply comes so swiftly it was almost as if The Cog had been waiting for the question, or one much like it. "There are three things: the first is the death of Berrin while fighting Nyrissa in 4725. The second, and possibly most obvious, is when our erstwhile Stag Lord, Nikolai, went against all he was supposed to have become and threw his lot in with Choral the Conqueror. The third, and perhaps most immediately relevant to you, master Elsir...is your death in 4713 while fighting the lich, Vordekai."
this is also my chance, this is also when i can tell him to turn me aside from my foolish path, from my Mistake. but can i trust him i most likely cannot. i should send someone else back with him. i should ensure my own future. oh ilyana i am so sorry i knew i was wrong. i love you. but i was so wrong. by the master's perfect Hand I must be steered from my greatest happiness.
the Cog makes a small, strangled cough, but his face is dry.
Erdija and the rest of the centaurs seem taken aback by Nikolai's words. His size and tone put her on the defensive, though it seems to have effectively shaken her into respecting his strength and ferocity. When Jemini steps in, she turns her attention to the woman who names herself leader. "You are not of Varnhold? The Nomen and the Varns are no friends. They trespass on our lands, settle as they please. You are chieftain of New Haven, and you are mare? This pleases me. In Rashkala tribe, only stallion allowed as chieftain. One day, after Korak Kaag rides into Never-ending Plains, I wish to be chieftain." The other centaur that follow her warband nod at the young woman's ambition, seemingly fine with her desire to upend their tradition. "In Nomen tradition, you wish to enter summit with chieftain, you offer gift to host for safe ride. What you bring?"
"I bring this..." With a swirl Jemini unclasps her cloak and swings it around to the front, folding it over her arm to produce a more manageable package while still be able to showcase the fine craftsmanship. "This cloak has been vested with power: whoever wears it is better warded against ill fortune, be it in the form of magic or mundane tests such as disease and poison. It is fit to protect the leader of New Haven - I hope it can also see to the safety of future allies and friends."
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I... see. Elsir says finally, his voice dry, clearly the topic of one’s own death held a small amount of morbid curiosity to the elf. I seems as if you have thought about his topic at length. Taking another slow sip from his canteen, Elsir clears his throat and then hands the battered canteen to the Cog. He had had that canteen with him through his trip into the heart of the expanse. Like him it had become a bit rougher over time, but it still served its purpose well. Forgive me, but some of these events while seeming familiar are also unknown to me. I would like to ask some questions, perhaps place them in reference to vision I had had. First this Nyrissa, She is the one that is known as the Winter Queen? During this time do you recall glade with a patch of brambles in the center? It would have had red blooms that seemed to drink in light? I think it corresponds somehow. Also, and this may sound odd, but do you remember a black bastard sword with a pommel in the shape of two snarling wolfs heads? I feel as if I had seen you wrestling with someone over it. Worse I felt at the time that its story was not yet complete. Do you know of what I speak? Did it play a larger role in the events to come?
Rubbing his nose in thought, Elsir sighs. How exactly did Berrin die? I once saw another vison that I believe is linked to the event. Normally I cannot speak of such things, but seeing as how I believe they have already come to pass perhaps you know more of it then I.
Raising his hands outward, Elsir begins to speak slowly with more of a monotone voice. :: broken house sits upon the edge of a cliff. The walls, windows and doors are misshapen and none fit together correctly. Behind the house and beyond the cliff is a sea of stars that stretches out beyond sight. A beautiful woman lies on the floor within the house, her dress made of leaves. A crow pecks at her face and she screams a thousand screams. The crow flies away as the woman sobs, blood running from the cavity where her eyes once were.::
Looking at the man, he waits to see a reaction.
As for my death, the name Vordekai, sounds vaguely cyclopedian in origin. What can you tell me of this lich? Also what were the events surrounding Nikolai’s betrayal? What year did in occur in and what cause the change?
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At first he just thought Jemini moved away from him because of his snide remark on Nikolai’s short-tempered attempt at diplomacy. As she spoke and flourished the cloak, Verik quickly realized what her intent was, his eyes going wide and his head shaking side-to-side in disbelief. He doesn’t cut Jemini short, but before Erdija can respond the Banker lets out a croaked shout of only two words. ”WAIT! THAT IS…”
His voice falters and he does not finish the sentence, the struggle of emotion clearly upon his face. MINE! That’s…mine? It’s not mine. It’s hers isn’t it? But I never intended that to happen. A jumble of images flash in his mind back when he crafted that cloak for her, his finest work up to that point. One memory stands out in particular.
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12th of Pharast, 4709, Fledgling Bank of Sanctuary…
”Truly excellent work, Revered Banker.”
Verik stands with his recently arrived protégé Thomas Quiss in the private sanctum, the small room holding four cloaks all carefully hung from wooden pegs upon the walls at various intervals. He marvels at his work from the past fortnight, toiling away on most nights as the snowy weather outside had not heralded the ending of winter yet. The sanctum had been given the proper lighting to illuminate the four cloaks that had by now all been newly enchanted. Verik was inspecting the hem of the white cloak with gold trim in the southern style that would become his own, looking for any imperfections in the enchantment aura. He smiled as there were none, but would not don it until he had given out two others to Taisper and Zander privately after the Stagfall dedications the following month. One would not be given out of course, and it was this cloak that his new Clerk was drawn to in his observations: A finely woven full-length and full-cowled cloak of Brevian white wool, woven with white brocaded satin on the back panel and elaborately embroidered with blue, white and grey silken thread in a scrollwork pattern down each edge, trimmed with white rabbit fur upon the cowl and neck, an elaborately embroidered Stag Insignia of Newhaven of brocaded satin on the upper back panel.
“Who receives this noble regalia, Revered Banker? It is of the northern style which I am not fond of, but otherwise it is quite remarkable. Lady Errisen perhaps? The decorative nature does not look well suited for Steward Myrdal’s disposition.”
”No no Thomas,” answers Verik mildly, “no Tandlara wouldn’t want something like that to impede her movements and draw that much attention.” True enough, and besides which they had crafted together two potent amulets in the deep of winter, one claimed by her and the other by Berrin. The cloaks, however, were of his doing alone. ”My good Clerk, this cloak is for the Lady Lebeda – Jemini Lebeda – upon her return to us in this life, which I know will come to pass, though I cannot say when for sure. I have beheld her spirit you know, and she will return to us when she has fulfilled her divine purpose in the afterlife that delays her. She will return back to me – to all of us certainly – and only then shall this cloak be bestowed upon the shoulders it was crafted for.” Verik smiles and patiently explains the prior year’s failed resurrection fiasco in more detail after they bow and pray at the altar. Before he shuts the door and snuffs out the light however, he steals one last look at what could only be described in his heart as a true labor of love. ”I know you will come back to me one day Jemini. This labor proves my commitment and devotion to you. Please return soon.” With that he closes the door quietly behind him.
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Verik blinks his eyes and sees both Jemini and Erdija’s reactions to his outburst, his hand involuntarily raised in a stopping motion before him. ”Ahhhh…by…ahh the customs of the Master this…” Gift! GIFT! With no value or respect offered in turn? Preposterous! Not a gift, not a trade, but what then? A bribe? Yes, that’s it. Despicable, but a bribe by these savages makes more sense, though I shall not say it! ”…this offering must be blessed and documented.” He looks skyward for a moment and closes his eyes. Forgive me Master for my emotional imperfections. I can no longer afford to play the part of the fool here. With her. Ever.
”Very well. This can help us all. So it is written.” He waves his hand and pronounces it with more glumness in his voice than he would ever wish. ”Please continue.”
"Enough." The Cog wearily holds up his hand, signalling for Elsir to stop. He places his hand back in his lap and hangs his head. I see why you have been sent here, Elsir and Willas of the past. I have been given one more chance. One final grasp at forgiveness, that I may again hope to be placed in the Vault, and exist in the golden light of the Master for all eternity. The ultimate sacrifice. I understand. It is good.
"I have told you all that is important. I have given you sufficient information to stop this calamity. These other things you ask...I am well-acquainted with the Pathfinders' thirst for knowledge, but in this case that thirst must go unslaked, for the good of us all. Please, step outside and wait. I will be out after I speak with some of my soldiers." The cog rings a small bell, and a child of no more than 12 steps in from a side room.
"Yes, Cog?" the boy asks
"Go to Borodin's hut. Tell him to pack. Tell him to come to me."
"Right away, sir."
I will send them back, the three of them. But I cannot trust this Elsir to do what needs doing. I can only trust myself. Borodin I can at least trust to deliver a message. He will not fail me.
"Well, there they go. Are you...are you sure you're going to stay?" Ilyana is looking out the window of her -- their -- house near the town center. She could see the founders as they made their way out of Newhaven towards some new adventure or other. She gazes at her husband, who is playing quietly with Nicholas Jr. on the floor. He turns to answer her and she sees he is ash-white and beads of sweat dot his head. She inhales sharply. Again. Oh goodness. In just a few quick steps, Ilyana strides over to where they are and scoops up her son.
"Time for you to study, Nicholas. You wouldn't want to disappoint Uncle Verik, now, would you?"
"But mama!" the boy protests "Exams aren't for another month, and Papa Taisper and I were playing blocks!"
Ilyana shushes him. "No argument from you. Do your Studies and we'll have more of that jerky Papa got us from Jhod with dinner."
"Okay!" Nicholas agrees quickly, scampering into his room.
After partially closing the door to her son's room, the former frontierswoman walks over to her husband and sits down on the floor next to him. Pulling a kerchief out of her apron pocket, she reaches up and dabs at his brow. "Another headache?" she asks softly.
Taisper nods and grimaces. "Yeh. Really bad one this time. I keep...I keep seeing sorta double. Like I'm seeing two versions of everything. There's...an elf I keep seeing before me. Right now my whole body hurts, like I've been doing pushups over broken glass or something. It's crazy." Can't tell her the "second version" of everything is a horrible and ruined place.
The inquisitor nods toward Nick's room. "You're just teaching him you can be bought, you know. Showing him that-"