”If you tell me to push one more time, I’ll get out of this bed to push you straight out of the window! Arrrghhh!” Aylene Myrdal’s voice carries from the birthing room they’ve set up in the castle. Berrin has ensured that several of Verik’s younger clerics are present in addition to the midwife, but she kicked him out of the room early in the process. Twelve hours of labor have passed, weighing heavily upon Newhaven’s general. His friends have come and gone, checking on him and Aylene. Berrin sits outside of the room on a bench that has become progressively more uncomfortable through the night and into the morning.
His mother emerges from the door, wiping the sweat from her brow. ”Did I ever tell you how hard it was to give birth to you? The midwife had never seen such a large baby.”
”Yes, mum, only a thousand times,” Berrin answers, soured by the anxiety of waiting. ”I thought this was about my child, not me.”
”Well, this kid is a tougher one. If it’s a boy, he’ll be bigger than you when he grows up.” Berrin’s mother stands behind him and rubs his shoulders for a moment, knowing how stressful this situation is for him. It is a surprisingly maternal gesture, one that melts away some of the stress that he has amassed over the last several hours.
Berrin smiles briefly at the thought. ”It’s tough waiting for your first-born.” A flash of memory, of Esmerelda, crosses his mind before he stamps it out. After several false alarms regarding her becoming pregnant, they were quite pleased to discover that she was truly pregnant several months ago. The pregnancy was difficult at points, as all pregnancies are, but it was the waiting that was most terrible. Even with Elsir's calm explanations about the immutability of time and Jemini's persistent optimism, the months were fraught with worry in a way that he never felt as a carefree mercenary or a warrior.
A wailing cry pierces the silence of his thoughts. It is not a woman’s cry, nor one of pain or sorrow. It is the joyful cry of a newly-born child. Berrin leaps to his feet and nearly takes the door off its hinges as he rushes into the room. Aylene lays back, a pained smile on her face. Exhausted, she looks at her husband. ”Boy or girl?” The midwife, cleaning the child with a towel, finishes and hands the baby to Berrin. Berrin looks at his wife with joy in the presence of the miracle of new life, unable to speak. He places his son in Aylene’s arms. ”A boy! My father will be so pleased. Maegar Myrdal… It has a nice ring. Has he arrived yet? We sent word days ago.”
Elsir Tel'ran sits quietly in meditation in the top floor of the Harborage House. It is not technically a Pathfinder Lodge, as it has not been approved by the Decemvirate yet, but it is one for all practical purposes. He had ensured that meditation chambers be constructed as they built the center of learning and wisdom. His parrot and familiar stands by quietly, neither squawking nor speaking as he meditates on the events of the day. For weeks, he has known that Maegar Myrdal - the young man that he met decades in the future, two years ago - would be born. He knows that a difficult conversation is ahead of him regarding his wife's locket, a conversation that he has been dreading because of the difficult feelings that it evokes.
Elsir opens his mind to the possibilities of the future. Already, so much has changed. Their mere presence in the future and ability to return as a warning brought immediate changes to the timelines, and a ripple effect afterwards. He sought to minimize and guide those effects, to bring them to a more predictable fashion, but the world is a complex place and time is the most complex force in that world. He weighs the multitude of variables in his mind, looking for the patterns to appear, when Willas Gunderson bursts into the meditation chamber, clearly unaware of the finer points of meditation. "Elsir! Elsir! They've arrived!"
Kargath Thunderstrike follows the excitable bard, dwarven legs carrying him slowly up the stairs. "You fool, let him meditate! It can wait!"
The dwarf begins pulling the half-elf out of the room, but Willas resists. "Elsir, they've approved us! We're published!" He holds out a bound book in his hand, showing it to Elsir. The glimmering script of its cover is easily readable from across the room. Pathfinder Chronicles, Volume 210 stands out on the cover. "Well, I'm published. They gave me the primary authorship credit - though I was clear in my submission that we were to be considered co-authors - and left you as a contributor. They censored it fairly heavily, as you might imagine, don't give away too much of the future, but published we are! They gave us the third billing, behind yet another of Varian Jeggare's stories. We go through time, and they give the prize spot to him again for some run-of-the-mill investigation into werewolves in Ustalav? Everyone knows that there are werewolves in Ustalav! If they were fair to you, we would have been first and they would have brought you back to Absalom to present it to you in person rather than ship it to us. But you know what this means, don't you? We've got a Chronicle of our own - one in which we are published, no less. Harborage House is an official Pathfinder Lodge!"
Verik Jarrow sits alone in his study, gazing at the open door instead of the ledgers in front of him. He had strongly wanted to meet his visitor in the main foyer to escort her to the Chamber Wing personally, but he worried that it would be improper. In the past two years of peace and prosperity, the Bank of Abadar has grown immensely. Now a sprawling compound with over a hundred employees, the Bank is the primary source of lending in the city. With the piers jutting into the Tuskwater, ships can access the River Kingdoms and Brevoy easily through the navigable rivers. The reasonable port fee further greases the wheels of commerce, as shipping in or out of Sanctuary is cheaper and easier than any land port. The merchants who stop in the city purchase many of their needed transportation from local merchants - and the Bank of Abadar facilitates the necessary payments and lending, making a tidy profit in the process. The grounds are constantly buzzing with businessmen and entrepreneurs looking to take out loans, and the Bank barely has enough clerks to deal with the influx; Verik suspects that he may have to call up some of the potential applicants in the coming year. There is a long list of potential applicants to be vetted for integrity and judgment, as the starting wages are competitive and the jobs are coveted for their stability.
Despite the advances of the bank, his personal study is far from opulent - much like the bank grounds in general. Even with as much gold flowing through the local coffers, life in the River Kingdoms remains a spartan affair. He must make a strong impression on the bank's clients, however, and has made some concessions to that business practicality. His study wraps dark wood imported from Lord Medyved's forests to the north, dotted by fine tapestries commissioned from a local weaver. The tapestries show the scales of justice and other illustrations of Abadar's blessings; Berrin had managed to commission a tapestry of Verik falling in the tatzylwyrm den and include it in the order, giving him a surprise when he began to hang them up. It now sits unused in storage, though Berrin claims he regrets nothing. Verik's desk, made of thick mahogany, sits in the middle of the room with nicely upholstered chairs for visitors and a grand chair for himself. While clearly fine quality, there remains a frugality befitting a man of the cloth.
Verik perks up when he hears footsteps - one a unique gait he has come to know well - approaching. The head of the Keysworn guards, Bertram Dakkone, leads his visitor through the marbled hallway that leads from the foyer to his office. Verik nervously rearranges things on his desk, taking out a quill and replacing it before straightening the ledger. Bertram arrives and announces the visitor in his clear voice. "Banker Jarrow, I present Aleza Bellavieu for formal business with the Bank." He offers a hand to the Galtan businesswoman, demonstrating that she may enter his office. It is a ritual that the three of them have been through a dozen times or more, but the ritual is important. Bertram closes the door as Verik stands to shake Aleza's hand formally, leaving the two alone.
"You have the ledgers of my account?" asks Aleza. Her Galtan accent remains, as she has no wish to change it to fit in more. "May I see it?" She sits in the chair, crossing her legs neatly. Despite having a prosthetic leg in place of the one she lost to the hag Ghorreaneaux, she manages to make it seem quite natural. Verik had asked her if she planned on re-growing it through magical means; she said that the expenses did not justify it as long as she had a business to grow.
Verik nods and hands it to her over the top of the desk. "As you can see, I have personally maintained the records of your loan. You requested a loan of 20,000 gold pieces. It was a significant sum, but the Bank felt that your business plan was sound. Clearly, it must be sound, of course... And you passed the magical requirements we put in place, not that there was any chance that you wouldn't..." Verik babbles a tiny bit, letting old habits return. "Do you agree to the contents of the ledger?"
Aleza looks over the columns and cells, ensuring that everything is in its proper place. Her eyes follow along, sparkling with intelligence and understanding of the arcane financial matters. Verik watches her intently, admiring (in a purely platonic sense, he reminds himself) her beauty. Far from the bloody mess that she seemed in their first meeting, she is now one of the most eligible ladies of the city and a trendsetter in fashion. Many young noblemen, especially those who came from wealth from Galt, have asked for her hand in marriage, but she has turned each of them down. Verik sours when he thinks of them, not trusting their motives or their intent. Many of the young noblewomen follow her lead in fashions, to the point that Jemini had joked at dinner a few months ago that she would not be surprised if some of them might start sawing off one leg in the name of fashion. She wears a fine green dress, somehow making her brown eyes stand out even more; its hem falls far below the knee, as she prefers, but accentuates her figure nicely - ample bosom and all. Verik keeps his eyes squarely on hers until she looks up. "Yes, it is in order. I have deposited the final credit of gold, including the interest, into my account. With this final payment, the loan is settled - three years in advance." She smiles, pleased with herself. "Now that I don't owe the bank money anymore, I want you to take me out for a night on the town. It's the least you can do for your favorite client, is it not?"
That evening Jemini lays down on her bed and smiles. A small shine of wetness glosses over her eyes and she absentmindedly brushes it away. The visit to the Scales had turned out far more meaningful and moving than she had imagined only hours beforehand. "Kimreka..." she whispers.
On the next occasion when Jemini crossed the market she happened upon a fresh produce stand, with fruits, vegetables and tubers grouped and piled in generous amounts. One of the bright yellow lemons draw her attention, she picks it up and smiles, her mouth curled slightly at the thought of the sourness. The bright yellow midday sun... she thinks to herself, ah... but this... this is the warmth and nurture of the sun that brings warmth to the day after a long night. The deep warm color of the oranges she surveys now is accompanied by a rich citric scent. It's easy to see what they would prefer these over the noon lemons. hmmmm... these are at their peak now... as sweet and rich as they are likely to get - tomorrow already they'll start diminishing. And there are probably too many to sell all today. "I'll take them all."
A crate with a good three dozen oranges rests on Jemini's shoulder as she makes her way through the rest of the market - it looks a bit random, but over time Jemini's feet take her close to the ward inhabited by the kobolds. After two alleys off the main road things quickly quieten down; most people avoid the proximity of the Scales if they can help it (other than children at least, who seem to love the muck in spite of what their mothers may tell them).
Looking around left and right to make sure nobody is obviously around, Jemini speaks up clearly: "Eyes! I think you might be around, if you are, can you make sure this gift will find its way to the Sootscale tribe?" Jemini places the crate on the ground, "Thank you, Eyes," she adds as she moves on. By the time she reaches the corner she barely hears two taps, and when she looks back she sees an empty alley - nobody around, and no crate.
"Borodin, welcome!" Jemini beckons the man to have a seat opposite her. Other than Jemini's voice the room was quiet, unnaturally so. Jemini had tasked Verik with ensuring that it would be so.
Jemini smiled, her eyes held the warmth they usually held, but Borodin could sense that a lot was on her mind; this was no idle chit chat. His suspicions were confirmed almost immediately as Jemini continued. "Before you get too comfortable -" Borodin shot almost straight up from the seat, but Jemini's suppressed laugh and pointing hand begged him to sit down again, properly this time, "...comfortable... in your new position as the head of intelligence, I'd like for you to be aware of a special assignment."
"No doubt you are aware that your new position as spymaster is not an idle one. You've not been chosen haphazardly, nor for that matter for your obvious qualifications. You are - as Elsir might put it - a unique living artifact. Something, or rather someone, that should not be now as it were. But here you are, and by Elsir's estimates you are here to stay. Welcome again I might add."
"While getting up to speed with the files and knowledge left by your predecessor, Halorouth, you'll become quite well acquainted with yourself. You'll see that Little Borodin is doing rather well; I felt it was important to ensure that we know what is happening in his life and that he and his family have little to overly worry about. Of course, we cannot be sure that if by some accident Little Borodin dies or loses an arm or something - that you, Borodin, don't suffer as a consequence as well. That is why the position of Spymaster includes responsibilities of ensuring that Little Borodin is doing well. You may want to become your own friendly uncle, though I'll leave that up to you - and you probably should not get too close with yourself."
"Alas, that concludes the easy-going part of this meeting. There is more to your position as spymaster. More than even the previous spymaster had to deal with. I hope you're ready for it, as this will be quite the responsibility and literally nobody here exists - other than you - that can shoulder that burden."
"Elsir sometimes describes the... hmmm... the time you come from as The Darkest Timeline. It is impressive to hear him say it, you can hear the capital letters, perhaps an inflection of his elven tongue. I've spent a fair bit of time with both Verik and Elsir in discussion on what The Darkest Timeline means, and I've come to the conclusion that Taisper, or The Cog as you know him, formed a crucial part in the resolution of The Darkest Timeline. Your position as spymaster is in part carried by your familiarity with The Cog. Taisper is... well... I guess you know: both a genius and a very troubled man."
"I believe that Taisper may form an important part of any timeline. Not necessarily as The Cog, but as one of the key figures around which destiny folds itself when it tells the story of the Stolen Lands. Taisper now is like an egg: an uncertainty with promise to give birth to a wonderful creature of great importance, or if found in the wrong conditions, cracked and bringing forth a foul-smelling abomination."
"I find it telling that even in The Darkest Timeline Taisper, The Cog, remained a powerful force against Choral; albeit twisted beyond recognition. I hope to ensure that he can become a force of good that will help us triumph over the coming of Choral the Conqueror. And for that I need a mother hen that can ensure a warm and nurturing environment for the egg to hatch healthily. And that, Borodin, that is where you come in."
Abruptly Jemini stands up, her smile warm and her eyes looking at Borodin with hope. She taps him strongly on the shoulder to wake him up from the confusion of thoughts in his mind. As she leaves the room he hears her speak, but cannot distinguish if she says "Good luck" or "Cluck cluck".
Borodin, eyes wide, takes a deep breath.
|
The room had been peaceful, serene even. Now the moment of stillness had been broken by the tromping of boots, the bellowing of Kargath and the triumphant exultations of Willas. Sitting in his mediation chamber on the top floor of the Harborage House, Elsir Tel’ran frowned at the thought of the conversation with Berrin that lay ahead of him. The locket, his wife’s locket hung heavy around his neck. Elsir sighed. Knowing the conversation lay ahead of him had made the decision to continue on his path no less easy to endure. As the day had approached the wizard had considered simply not having his future’s past conversation with Berrin. Yet if he had not, would Elsir have survived The Darkest Timeline? Would Maegar Myrdal have instead killed him in that tunnel in the minutes after his accidental arrival? Troubling, Elsir was not sure.
Elsir, did you hear what I said? We’re published! Willas cried again. We can claim the Harborage House as an official lodge, the Decemvirate be dammed!
Mouth quirking up in the briefest of smiles Elsir incline his head, both as indication that he had recognized Willias’s words and implying there was more to the subject then the acquisition of a Pathfinder Volume. As he lowered his head however, Elsir’s eyes came to rest of the silver bowl that lay on green velvet pillow at his feet. The bowl, or rather its past, present and future came with mixed feelings. In his past, Elsir had crafted the bowl as part of his early training. It was through this same bowl that Elsir had been able to tap into the surging possibilities two years prior that had led Willas and Elsir to becoming thrown into a dark future. After returning to the present.. or his present, Elsir had accompanied the founders into a ruined Elven fortress where the group had confronted a powerful hag, Ghorraneaux. It was after her death that Elsir had found two scrolls of power. A scroll of scrying and a second of sending. Following the hag’s death and the routing of the Troll-King’s army on the banks of the Gudrin River, Elsir had turned to other matters, but he had not forgotten the power present in those scrolls.
The next two years had been a flurry of action, even to one as accustomed to the twisting and twining of the streams of time as one as resolved as Elsir. The Harborage House had expanded from the simple library it had started as, expanding along the banks of the Tuskwater into a fully fledged center of learning in the city. Following Jhod Kavken’s resignation as the nation’s magister and his assumption of leadership in the new town of White Hart, Elsir, upon the request of the other founders had accepted the nomination and responsibilities inherent with the new position. In truth, while it had been a possibility that Elsir had expected, it like several other occurrences over the last few years were ones that the wizard had chosen to tolerate rather than fight against.
Sighing to himself, Elsir pinched his nose. The assumption of his role as the nation’s head of learning and scholarship carried with it no amount of headaches. Chuckling to himself, Elsir shook his head. If Verik had truly hated the onerous druid, he would have let him remain the nation’s magister. Of course that ship as they said had already sailed. Within weeks the handful of requests for tutelage from the cities patrons had quadrupled in length with more coming in each day. Jhod had been many things, but a teacher he was not. Outside of the subjects of animal husbandry and farming, the scholarship program, or rather what served as such was woefully inadequate for the budding nation that was New Haven. Schools for basic learning had to be established in each of the towns. Mathematics, reading, writing, general history and geography… education would not be limited by those that could afford it. All children would know how to read a book and write their letters. Nothing less would be acceptable. However, trying to explain to farmers why their children would be unable to help come harvest carried with it another set of problems, and that had only been the issues with basic education.
Thoughts wandering like the wind through a valley, the Magister’s memories turned the first attempts at higher learning in Sanctuary. Immediately apparent to Elsir had been the issue with tutelage for those in the city seeking higher learning. Outside of Brevoy there were no nearby cities with any sort of systematic advanced education, with the exception of nobles importing scholars at great expense for the individual tutelage of their wards. And so it was at the request of the other Founders that Elsir had turned the Harborage House into an academy of sorts, but again that brought with it a share of problems. The first had been finding competent educators. Elsir had deemed, and rightly so that an academy must have specialists that were experts in their appropriate field. Advanced mathematics including geometry, trigonometry, number theory and probability as well as liner and abstract algebra were musts, but mathematics was only the beginning. There were the was the noble subjects of history and philosophy, as well the physical science’s of geology, astronomy and more. And one could not forget the clamoring requests for magical theory. Indeed, despite the staggering criteria for entrance that particular subject, Elsir had been nearly overwhelmed by the amount of individuals who believed they could one day learn the true arts.
It had taken six months and no small amount of research and cajoling, but in the summer of 4712, Elsir had opened to doors of the Harborage House to the first class of new students, one hundred and twenty six in all, seven of which Elsir had determined could meet his rigorous criteria for apprenticeship in the field of magical theory and application.
The continuing growth and development of education within the nation of New Haven had only been one of the considerable concerns of Elsir over the past two years. With the Harborage House complete and its function as a de-facto Pathfinder Lodge already infamous in the Inner-Sea among outcast field-agents of the Society, the first of several disgraced or questionable pathfinders arrived. The first and thankfully the most reliable had been Kargath “Thunderstrike”. Hard drinking and boisterous the red-haired dwarf had been a companion of Elsir into his failed expedition into the Mwagani Expanse and the wizard had quickly put the often drunk pugilist to work handling lodge security. Over the next six months three other agents had come and gone and while Elsir had hoped that Lyton Jens would arrive, unfortunately the man never did, and of the other agents to visit the Harborage House, Elsir had suspected that all three had held ties and loyalties to Venture-Captain Istivil Bosk of Daggermark's Dryblade House. At times the veiled threats and political posturing between the Decemvirate, Venture-Captain Bosk and Archivist-turned-Agent Elsir made the wizard want to tear out his hair in frustration.
If the growth of the Lodge and the supervising of educational growth in New Haven had not been enough, Elsir also had to focus on his own studies and research with what limited time he still had. As promised, Elsir had continued his personal tutelage of Sune Okinos who had thus far proven to be an apt assistant and pupil. No, all was well as far as the wizard was concerned on personal fronts. But he was still troubled. As the saying went; with great power cam great responsibility, and for once Elsir was unsure about the appropriate use of such power. In the last six months the wizard had had a breakthrough. After years of study brought on by focusing on the inherent magical theory penned in the hag Ghorraneaux’s scroll of scrying the wizard had unlocked the secrets of the fourth circle of magical application and with that came the ability to far-see upon others. The ethics for surveillance were questionable to the wizard. No longer was the wizard ruminating on the potential impact of far-flung actions that might impact the future. No, now the wizard had at his fingertips the ability at a single moment to spy on enemies of the state, suspected dissidents or anyone else that Elsir choose to focus his magic upon. Thus-far Verik and the council had imposed no laws to prevent unwanted far-seeing. Elsir had been sure to quietly check, but again it was a situation that the wizard suspected was only allowed because thus far it had not been considered applicable. Legally he knew he was not in violation of any laws. That said the wizard knew that the use of such a spell violated personal boundaries without notice or permission. There was also the issue that lay within the assumed level of trust between him and others. For instance how would Borodin have reacted had he known that the wizard frequently watched the man’s younger-self and had placed several plans in motion to protect the child and thus protect the man he would become? Likely Borodin would have found the situation a violation of trust between the wizard and the magus. This was only one example of such power at the wizard’s fingertips and one that had to be carefully judged and used. Sadly it was not the only use of magic that concerned the wizard, thinking back to Sune.. but that was an issue to be dealt with in another time.
And so it was that on the 24 Lamashan in 4712AR that Elsir Tel’ran, Magister of New Haven and head of the Harborage House Pathfinder Lodge and Academy found himself rising to meet his friend and companion Willas Gunderson while placing a smile on his face. It is one year before his prophesized death at the hands of the lich Vordekai. Elsir knows this and has marked the year. Preparations have been made and research done. The wizard only prays that the actions he has set in motion over the last two years will be enough. Reaching up to his throat, the wizard’s delicate fingers brush against his wife’s necklace.
Come Willas, Elsir said quietly, gazing at his friend. His voice sounded sad. This should have been a moment of triumph, but Elsir knew or at least suspected the terrible events that would follow in the months ahead. He knew that this had been a calm before the storm. We are going to the Castle.. the next act begins and we have a role to play in it.
The Banker of Sanctuary attempts to clear his throat before replying but ends up getting choked up for a brief moment. To his dismay it sounds to him as if his office has suddenly taken on the acoustics of the main worship hall, emphasizing every imperfect sound he makes. He quickly extracts an embroidered kerchief from a pocket in his cassock-style vestments and covers his mouth before one more embarrassing cough. ”Excuse me Madame. Lovely like the plague I am…why is it hot at this time of day all of a sudden? He resists the urge to wipe his perspiring brow and puts the kerchief back in his pocket.
”Yes, forgive me Madame Bellavieu…ahh yes well as you stated the final tallies of deposit are to be verified here shortly by my Vaultmaster, Ignacius Lago. Which I am certain will be in order…of course they will be! So ahhh I see no reason why I cannot stamp the ledger has finalized and approved. And closed. Let us see here…” Verik smiles awkwardly and moves her ledger-of-account closer on the desk to where he can make the final notations of documentation. He pushes up both sleeves of his formal vestments and dips a fine feather quill into a small vial of ink nearby, signing the front and last pages of the ledger with his name in a flourish. With an abrupt sense of chivalry he hastily stands and comes around his desk to turn the ledger around to Aleza and place the quill so that she doesn’t have to reach to get it. ”There now, if you would care to sign underneath my name I shall get have this stamped and add in today’s deposit tally sheet later on so you are not kept waiting…hmm now where did my stamp get moved to…stamp…stamp…ummm…” Verik scans his desk three times and then the nearby end-tables and shelf in his office. No stamp. Of course no stamp – why should anything be where it should be in my own Bank I wonder? Instead he picks up a small decorative silver hand bell and rings it several times, calling for one of his clerks to attend to him.
”Yes, Revered Banker?” A young man of sixteen or seventeen comes out of the closed doors of the library and scriptorium out in the hallway and bows with practiced politeness; he is one of Verik’s Junior Clerks recently given his keys from examinations taken in the summer. Lukas was his name.
”Ahh yes, Lukas. Please fetch for me my stamp so that I may authorize and finalize this ledger here for Madame Bellavieu.”
The young man blinks twice, not comprehending. ”Revered Banker, sir?”
”You know lad, a stamp. Stamp.” Verik makes a downward motion of his fist striking the open palm of his other hand. ”I am not sure why my stamp has been moved, but I need one immediately.”
”Y-yes sir,” answers Lukas with such hesitancy that it seems he still doesn’t understand the request. He pauses as if unsure to go down the hallway to the main worship hall or back to the scriptorium, then retreats hastily back through the scriptorium doors and closes them.
Verik sighs audibly in frustration. What is so difficult about fetching my stamp? Things hadn’t been nearly as organized after Junior Banker Thomas Quiss left to permanently reside at the fledgling Bank in Olegsgrav. Not that his two Senior Bankers – Anya and Eben – were not competent or capable in their duties, not at all. It’s just that he truly needed three Senior Bankers and not two. None of his Clerks were trusted enough or seasoned enough to be elevated to the senior position, not yet anyway. As it was, he had given keys to a entire host of Junior Clerks that were barely of age, compounding the issue.
”It will just be a moment longer I assure you Madame…yes any time now…ahem what were we discussing again?”
Nikolai stands in the tower on the northeast corner of Dragonswatch. From this vantage point, he can see out far to the east. Danger might come to Newhaven from any direction, but it is the northeast that he is most wary of. Somewhere, deep within the mountains, he knows that Choral is waiting and watching. Nikolai has felt the dragon's eyes on him as of late, unable to do much about it. He has considered asking Elsir to help him, but he has felt the wyrm's magical power up close and knows that the elf is a candle compared to a volcano. He gazes towards Restov as well, considering what may become of the Free City and the ambitions of its murderous mayor. The city sits well over a hundred miles away and outside his sight, but he keeps his eyes in that direction. He moves his gaze to due west, where mountains nestle Varnhold. He is thankful that Baron Varn is a loyal ally, giving him one less border to worry about defending.
His thoughts slide to the north, to Brevoy. The nation is closer than ever to tearing itself apart, simply needing a spark to burn battle lines across the land. He reflects on the Dragonscale Throne and the weakling currently sitting atop it. Noleski Surtova is entirely unable to keep the bickering houses from breaking apart, while Poul Orlovsky covets the throne enough to start a war at the slightest provocation. The next generation is hardly any better, with the exception of Ivahn Medyved and Jemini's family. All of this while Choral waits in the distance... He wants to spit in anger, seeing how badly the regent is mishandling the situation.
His thoughts are interrupted by the morning drills inside the city. The garrison of the fort houses five hundred infrantrymen and a hundred knights, but they are just a tenth of the population. Their families live under the protection of the tall wooden walls. He has taken it upon himself to protect them all personally. When bandits were preying upon the trade lanes to the north, Nikolai led out the cavalry to put a stop to it and had their leader hanged in the city square. When trolls were spotted near the river to the south, Nikolai put them to the sword. He knows that his legend has grown, and that his men remain loyal to him. He has spent so much time at Dragonswatch that he may as well have moved there from Sanctuary. While it pains him to be away from Jemini, and he even misses the camaraderie felt with the rest of his mates, this is the place that he needs to be right now.
The sounds of men performing their drills - the clanging of wood and steel, the movement of boots, the sound of hooves riding outside the walls - brings a smile to his features. This is what he had looked for when he wore the mantle of the Stag Lord, though he didn't know how to find it at the time. The footsteps of the drilling soldiers are joined by footsteps coming up the wooden stairs of the watchtower. The lookout - a man with a hawk nose and the best eyes of all his soldiers - isn't set to be relieved for another several hours, so Nikolai suspects that the footsteps are for him. His lieutenants know where to find him most mornings. Jonn Jellicoe, the commander in charge of the infantry, clears his throat as an introduction. Jellicoe is the highest ranking member of the military's chain of command in the fort, but Nikolai's status as founder grants him de facto control of the forces.
"There have been some reports of people going missing near the dance hall," he begins quickly. His not waiting on polite niceties is one of the reasons they get along. "One a few days ago, then two in the last week. Last night, it was four. All of them are civilians, local trappers and merchants passing through. There may be more, but there might be no one to report them missing. Either way, it's more of your expertise to investigate than mine." He makes it clear what he means: there are dangerous creatures out here on the frontier, far from civilized lands, and one of them may be preying on the townspeople.
Borodin sits alone, poring over the notes passed to him over the last several days from his sources. He meticulously checks and re-checks the codes, ensuring that he is using the proper key for each note. Most are innocuous tidbits of information about local petty criminals. He sets those aside to pass along to Akiros, as if the man doesn't have enough to deal with at home with young twins, an infant, and a wife already pregnant again. He stops as he reads one of the missives, checking over it to ensure its accuracy; the note says that Fort Serenko, the fortification that watches over the Shrike River that separates Brevoy and Newhaven, has been vacated by Restov's forces. He pens a quick letter of coded instruction to assign to one of his better spies in Restov to determine why, but he suspects that the increasing tensions between Rostland and Issia are to blame. His spies are not as well-placed in the courts of New Stetven and the other cities of Brevoy, but he knows full well that the rival factions are positioning themselves for conflict. Whether that conflict will be political or military is something that his spies do not know.
With idle thought, he glances at the window. Morning arrived a while ago, yet he did not notice. His role as Spymaster is a demanding one, so much that he frequently has to go without sleep to fulfill his duties. Still, the demands placed on him and his body are nothing compared to what the Cog required of him. He yawns and stretches his neck, waiting for feeling to return. Outside, he hears the hubbub of the castle in the morning. He knows that he is safe in his hidden room, tucked away in a forgotten corner behind one of the bookshelves. Galen Laviil added the hidden room to the library at his request, masterfully and discreetly hiding away enough space for him to work but not so much that it would be missed. Fitting, he supposes, for an exile like himself - able to blend in, but never able to truly be part of the whole.
"Nope, haven't seen him." Berrin replies half-consciously to the half-heard question, staring mesmerized at the child swaddled in Aylene's arms with a soft smile on his lips. 'A boy... Maegar Myrdal... My son..' Sitting down on the bed, next to Aylene, Berrin leans in strokes the stubble of hair on his head, black as his own, and traces his his temple and jawline with one finger. The boy, first, moves away from the finger, disturbed as he samples his first meal, but then calms down as Berrin mutters to him. "Big boy aren't you? Just like your daddy, and your gran-daddy I bet. On your mothers side anyway, my daddy was a mouse of a man according to my mother, guess I got my size from her, but your a big boy. And you'll grow up big and strong too, Elsir and Borodin told me, though I don't reckon I should be telling you too much about those two, or the future neither. But your here now, yes you are, and you're safe as can be Maegar. Maegar, you like that? You're grandad will, oh yes, he'll be proud of you I bet. He'll have to be. You're his as well I reckon, he's even louder than daddy, you'll love him just like he'll love you."
Looking up Berrin meets Aylene's eyes and looks into a mirror, exhausted, smiling and serene. Leaning forward Berrin places a long kiss on her forehead and then shifts his weight, moving to a position on the bed sitting next to her he places one arm around her and they lean their heads together with a soft sigh. "He'll be here any moment I'm sure, don't you worry love."
Borodin pages through the notes, looking for one he has been waiting for. He grimaces when he sees that it is not among the piles. While it is frowned upon to spy on allies, his spy in Varnhold does good work and shares pertinent information with Baron Varn. The informant is a local innkeeper, the owner of the Waterhorse Inn. She keeps her ear to the ground and passes information along to Borodin, who passes information along to Varn in turn. Maegar Varn hasn't asked about the source of the information, but tacitly gives the arrangement his blessing. The innkeeper missed her check-in two weeks ago, which was unlike her. Borodin already sent one of his messengers to check on her, but hasn't heard anything from the messenger either. As far as he can tell, the bandits have been quelled by Nikolai and his Dragonswatch garrison, so the lines of communication should be intact and clear. Even the centaurs have stuck to their truce with Varn, content with the agreed-upon borders.
He stands and stretches, preparing to sneak out his of his secret office. Perhaps Elsir will be able to supply some answers. The wizard had used his divination spells to assist him at times, though Borodin tries not to rely upon the ability to scry on others. Still, it will be far faster to figure out what has happened through magic than through the mundane process of securing another messenger to travel to their neighbor and ally. With one final glance - mentally cataloging each item's location so that he will know if anything was tampered with - at his office, Borodin pulls on the handle of the hidden door and slides back into the castle without being noticed.
Jemini sits next to the sleeping form of her friend, the elf Tandlara. "She looks so peaceful," she remarks. Tandlara breathes almost imperceptibly, still in a coma. She knows from Nikolai that her spirit is elsewhere, and her body remains in their care. Early in the summer, she had Tandlara moved from Castle Sanctuary to the newly-built hospital on the south side of the city. "I wanted to thank you again for the care and compassion you've shown her. She will return to us eventually, just as you and I did, and we must be ready."
"It is my pleasure, my lady." Doctor Atago, returned to life and named as the head of the hospital, bows to her. It seems like he might be smiling, but tengu features - namely, the beak - make telling when one smiles a difficult prospect. He has been doing a fantastic job since his installation, and the hospital supplies more charitable care than ever. Even with Verik bending the rules of Abadar by establishing a "public investment" fund that they have used to pay for healing at the Bank and the other churches, the demand for medical care in a city of more than seventeen-thousand is huge. "She has not so much as stirred since she came into my care, but I trust your optimism on the matter. She --"
The elven woman sits up with a jerk. If not for Jemini's preternatural reflexes, Tandlara would have hit her. Still, it is quite jarring. "Vordekai! Vordekai! Vordekai!" Her eyes seem unfocused as she grips Jemini's arm tightly. "The eye of the cyclops falls upon you! Look down, down, down! Life to death go so many, yet they do not rest!" With that said, Tandlara softly falls backwards into her stupor, leaving Atago and Jemini in stunned silence.
”It will just be a moment longer I assure you Madame…yes any time now…ahem what were we discussing again?”
Aleza seems bemused by Verik's flustered attempts to finish the transaction. "I enjoy your company, Verik, and I'd like to enjoy it more often." She leans on the syllables of the last few words, letting her accent add a suggestive flair. "I have waited until I am no longer in the bank's debt, as you represent the bank and you would like to avoid a conflict of interest. With the signature on the ledger, I will have this debt no longer, and I will be free to be pursued. Life is short. Why should I not seek out what it is that I want, express my own desires? You cannot expect me to hide behind fluttering eyelashes and wait for you to overcome propriety."
Lukas arrives with the stamp, nearly tripping over himself as he cannot keep his young eyes off Aleza. For her part, she has leaned forward as she speaks, though Verik's many years of training allows him to maintain a desperate eye contact. The young clerk hands Verik the stamp and leaves, trying to make his glances at the beautiful woman in the Banker's office as inconspicuous as possible. She maintains eye contact with Verik as she takes the ledger and the quill, signing it with an equal flourish and handing it back to be stamped. "Well? What time and where will you take me?"
Verik takes the proffered account ledger from Aleza, doing his utmost to keep the ordered routines running through his mind and not thinking about how shaky his hands feel, keeping eye contact with her face and not to the rest of her. He hasn’t felt this awkward in his own Banker’s office since Aylene Varn years ago, and that was his old office in his old Bank. What is wrong with me? Fool! I know what’s wrong with me! This has been a possibility from the start. Don’t deny it! I know it has... Outwardly, Verik keeps his face locked in a rigid smile with his eyes wide, managing only a nod and an ”Umm…um hmm.”, and then hastily returns back to his side of the desk and takes his seat, placing the ledger in front of him. Feeling weak in the knees, the return to his chair gives him a modicum of stability that he desperately needs, even as he fumbles for words.
As usual in cases like these, the Banker’s first words are blathering. ”Well…ahh yes well of course I should not think you should be kept waiting on…ahh certain matters of mutual understanding with eyelashes fluttering and all that which you said…though I am a man of principled propriety as I should be…” He maneuvers the book to the last page and prepares some specialized silvered thick ink in a low flat bowl that is used for these purposes, continuing to talk in stream of consciousness. ”…not that going to dinner is by any means inappropriate – certainly not – as we have dined in proximity together before on many an occasion for business discussions or on formal events…beyond Sanctuary even as you well know…as partners in business and friendly acquaintances often do and upon those past occasions it would be absolutely no different to me if you…ahh…if you were not a woman but…a…ahhhh…”
Verik’s ramblings come to a strangled ending as he realizes he’s about to verbally impale himself. His hand pauses on the metal seal of his office as it takes in the ink in the bowl, his mouth struggling for words that do not come out. He is only moments away now from utterly ruining the offer from one of the most desirable women of Sanctuary, a woman that he respects and admires more than anyone aside from Jemini. A woman that he counts now in these past two years as a rare and true friend to him. If he continues to handle this so badly, he may lose the friendship that has been built up over the past two years, and that would strike him to the heart in ways he can’t really explain. So he puts up both hands to her in supplication before she can give a response to his idiocy, takes a noticeably deep breath, and starts again.
”Aleza, I apologize. You deserve a truthful explanation for my…well whatever it is that I’m doing right now. You deserve the truth from me, and as well you should! So before you say anything else I would like for you to hear my reasons for reticence, upon which if you then decide to stay with your stated desire for my company this evening, I shall gratefully accept…and if not then I can accept that too. So, truth then.”
He takes another steadying breath in front of her, finding some comfort that he can at least stop pretending or posturing. His voice is quieter when he next speaks. ”I am afraid, Aleza. I am afraid all the time. I admit I am a foolish man as well,” says Verik as he continues, ”and prideful too, though I am far from what my many detractors paint me out to be. They may call me coward or a weakling in battle, but my true fear is that everything I have helped to build here shall crumble to ruin and ash. They try to paint me a fool – that I am too obtuse to understand what is important here – but I understand all too well that a Banker who is more experienced, or more powerful…or smarter than I may avert the catastrophe where I cannot. Yet all I can do is to strive and toil away at the purpose, stay to the course I have set on the charts, and have faith in the Master.”
Verik sighs and frowns. ”It is lonely though, and I have lost many so-called “friends” and once-allies over it.” How true that was to him. Men like Jhod Kavken, who once showed him healing and herb-lore and worked with him in friendly banter as the first houses of Sanctuary went up. More recently, men like Zander Whitestag, whose unabashed support and obsession with the Milani zealots severed any shared vision or camaraderie they once had. Then there was the Boyar Berrin Myrdal, transforming into the model of a Brevian sycophant to Verik’s dismay, taking every opportunity to snub him within Council and mock him outside of it. Verik could coolly cut the losses of Jhod and Zander in his mind, but the fresh injuries of Berrin’s actions still burned hot within him – just that morning Verik had cleared his entire day’s schedule and arrived before dawn with several of his female Clerks to support Aylene’s labor, only to be tossed out by Berrin like some Varisian beggar with his hat in his hand.
He shakes off the unpleasant morning memory and continues. ”I do have many business acquaintances and political allies, but few in my book that I hold both the kinship and implicit trust in to call my friends.” Also very true. Bertram and Eben inside the Bank he could call friend, though as their Banker there were boundaries on the friendship that he just had to accept. Of the Founders, perhaps now only Elsir Tel’ran and surprisingly Borodin Loginov remain true. Differences of opinion aside, Verik knows they are not seeking to personally injure him, to take matters to malicious extremes. They share a love of knowledge in their respective areas, and above all knew what they were all fighting for. As for the others? Colleagues and allies, but not ones that he shares interests with outside of the Founders Council. Akiros keeps himself guarded to all except Elsbeth. Perhaps Oleg Leveton would be, but he is too far away most of the time to really know. Perhaps Jemini … but as with most things concerning Jemini Lebeda she is in her own category that defies categorization.
Yet beyond the Founders, there was one whom he could count on. ”You have been one that I consider a true friend to me, Aleza Bellavieu. These past two years, even with the loans and the business agreements, there are few that I would trust in speaking my mind to. I have full confidence in your abilities – I marvel at them in point of fact! So smart and savvy you are, so full of will and determination that you would not be overcome, that you came up from the horrors of what you endured and not only survived it, but began anew and showed everyone what you could achieve!” Verik laughs then, remembering some memory in his mind. ”Most of these pig-faced, narrow-minded Brevians couldn’t comprehend it, but I knew differently! I have witnessed your rise from the beginning, and it has been marvelous to behold and be a small part of. It has been an honor, Aleza Bellavieu. An honor to call you friend and rely on your worthy thoughts and insights these past two years. It has been a great comfort for me. Even when we happened to disagree in our views, the debates were always entertaining and enjoyable.”
And now to the heart of it… Verik pauses a moment to breathe again and collect himself, to look into Aleza’s eyes. ”And now I am afraid again, and a fool to boot. I fear that changing the parameters of our friendship could tip the scales and ruin it. I am afraid you will discover what a fool of a man I really am.” Verik chuckles ruefully. ”My so-called friends were right to mock me on my experience with women. Do you know how many romances I have engaged in?” He holds up two fingers. ”Two. The first was the year after I became a Clerk. A child’s love I know now, the infatuation mutually over with by the time I was selected to go abroad from Absalom. The second? A romance in my mind only, a love unrequited with a dead woman that I once saw her spirit and thought myself connected to her alone, a fanciful dream of desire for a solid year until she returned and the dream ended. Beyond foolish. Preposterous.” He shrugs. ”What do I know of women? Nearly nothing. I fear I will make a great many mistakes. I am afraid to risk it. We Abadarians are taught that all things which have value, have a price that is set for it. Yet if there is something in my mind that is nearly priceless, it would be the friendship we have.”
”Still, if there is one thing that coming to the Stolen Lands has taught me, it is that I must change. I must adapt and face my fears. Here then.” Verik takes the seal and presses it firmly upon the final page, stamping the ledger with the Seal of the Banker and completing the transaction. ”All done.” He smiles at Aleza. ”Well, I am more of myself again at least! I am at your service, and if you'd like I will put my mind to a plan straightaway for this very evening.”
Aleza listens to Verik's explanation of his feelings regarding romance. She smiles at him when he finishes his speech, an electric excitement going through him as she does. "I have always appreciated your forthcoming nature, Verik. Allow me to be forthright with you as well. Many will ask, 'why him?'" She smiles at his confused look. "There are many suitors after my hand. Many are handsome young men of noble birth, but I have rejected each on thus far. Why? How many of them saved me? I speak not only of saving me from being killed and eaten by trolls and hags - but also a saving of spirit. When you rescued me, I was broken. I fled Galt with nearly nothing, hoping just to survive the chaos that has engulfed my homeland. When I was a captive, I nearly gave up hope altogether. Being rescued saved my body, but your friendship and guidance rescued my soul. I would not be where I am today without you - and I am not speaking of the loan. You are the sort of man who others should strive to be. That is why I am forward."
She stands, steady despite her prosthetic leg. "I look forward to tonight. Despite my being forward on this matter, I am still a woman and enjoy surprises. I will be ready at six hours for a night to remember. I leave it to you to decide our , but I warn you that the secret to wooing a woman can't be found in any manual." She smiles broadly and genuinely as she exits, a smile shared by the dumbfounded Banker.
Borodin makes his way out of Castle Sanctuary and on towards the new Pathfinder’s Lodge. He hoped he could time his approach while Kargath was busy with his morning exercises. If he got lucky the dwarf might be nursing a hangover from too much hard drinking. If dwarves had hangovers that is.
He wasn’t sure what to make of the rough and tumble dwarf. It always seemed like he was challenging Borodin at every opportunity. He didn’t have much exposure to dwarves so he decided he would just reserve judgment and see how things played out.
He took the front steps of the Lodge two at a time and slipped through the front door quietly. No sign of the dwarf. Hmf. I guess I got lucky.
Borodin skirts the perimeter of the first floor library and makes his way upstairs to a sitting room outside Elsir’s study. He kneels down on the carpet and starts to meditate. Waiting on his friend and Magister.
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Stole set and staff in hand, Elsir finished gathering the last of his things before heading towards the castle. The morning hour was growing late and it would be nearly mid-day soon. The wizard knew that Sune would be tending to her duties in the library below while Jarosh would be working with Master Suel on some new concoction. Elsir rubbed his nose while collecting his thoughts. Tamari was back in White Hart this week visiting her uncle while Willard was in Dragonswatch, collecting a set of drawings from the recently located remains of a large dragon discovered back in Rova and Tagger was more likely than not spending the day near the docks using what he called "practical application of magical theory". The elf sighed. Instinctively, Elsir knew that the man was split in his wants and needs. He saw magic as a tool, like a sword or a mace, to be wielded and commanded, but that was all. That was simply not the right mindset to have, but that was the problem with having a handful of older apprentices that were already self-trained, previously taught or set in their way.
Setting himself in the present and placing his thoughts in order, the elf nodded to Kargath and Willas. Very well, let’s head to the castle.
Moving towards the door, the rough and tattooed hand of Kargath reached forward opening the iron reinforced oak door. Elsir nodded in thanks before stopping short while his mouth curled up in a wry smile. Borodin.. Elsir said softly, fixing his gaze on the quiet man who lay kneeling on the carpet in the Magister’s antechamber. Standing still, Elsir focused himself and conducted a quick calculation. There’s still enough time remaining before I have to set my conversation with Berrin in motion.
Inclining his head gracefully, the wizard motioned for his friend to rise. We are headed to the Castle, you of course are welcome to join us, but I can delay my departure for a moment if your visit is urgent? Forestalling an argument with Kargath, the wizard raised his hand. Kargath my friend, I know what you are going to say, but no amount of guards or wards would have prevented our friend from reaching my sanctum if he wished it. Bless her memory but Borodin is nearly as silent as Nicoleta was. Smiling sadly at the memory of the second woman that he might have loved Elsir continued. But that does not mean that your concern is not warranted, especially with what the future holds.
Scowling at Elsir, Kargath narrowed his eyes. Are ye a mind reader now, elf? The dwarf rumbled, while he placed one massive hand inside of the other one and pushed down on his knuckles causing them to *Crack*
Smiling faintly, Elsir shook his head. The dwarf’s question was as much a statement as it was a threat. The magister did not mind. After what the pair had been through, Elsir would have expected no less. No my friend, I would not violate your thoughts without your approval. Laughing softly to himself, the wizard shrugged. You’ve only mentioned increasing our security three times in the last week. Nodding again, this time more forcefully, the elf glanced at the door. I’ll speak to the Banker about establishing a series of wards in the more sensitive areas of the Harborage House and you can hire a few men you trust to provide security, is that acceptable? Gruffly, Kargath nodded. Excellent,
Turning back to Borodin, Elsir inclined his head. So Borodin, what is it you wished to speak to me about? More assistance in your new role, hrm? The elf said, his eyes twinkling with keen interest.
Verik’s wondrous smile continues on well past the point that Aleza disappears from view past the central walkway between the pews of the main worship hall, keeping his composure as the lawful Banker of Sanctuary. It is only after she is gone that he rises up from his desk…
…and dances a very un-Verik-like jig in his office.
”YESsss!” is all the Banker utters as he capers about, though the word is one of heartfelt joy. Junior Clerks Matas and Samson pass by in the hallway from the dining area to the library and scriptorium doors, each looking curiously alarmed as they notice him in his office but say nothing aloud to interrupt him. It is only when Senior Clerk Eben Whitestag comes down the hallway from the worship hall does Verik take notice, Eben’s cough and smile pulling Verik out of his celebrations.
”I heard that Madame Bellavieu was just here to see you, Banker. So…matters are well in hand with the loan then I take it?”
Verik knows “Old” Eben is being coy with him, but his jubilant mood is not deterred. He walks over to Eben and gives him a friendly clasp on the shoulder. ”The loan is repaid yes yes, but Eben she said to me…well she…I have a formal and personal dinner engagement with her! Tonight! Ha! What do you think of that?”
Eben beams his usual smile. ”Wonderful news! I always knew she had an eye for you Verik, and she’s a fine match for you in many regards.” Nearly none of the Abadarians ever called Verik by his first name, even in private, but Eben was one of the few that could. ”So, stepping out for the evening eh? Have you sorted out the details then?”
”Ahh…no. No I haven’t, and she made it clear she expected a good showing on my part. I dare not disappoint! Hmm…” Verik’s beaming grin dampens somewhat as he returns to his desk and starts to ponder how exactly to impress her. ”Eben, would you stay a moment? I’d appreciate your perspective on this issue.”
”Oh I’d be happy to, your Reverence.” Eben closes the doors to the office and takes a seat. ”I have nothing pressing – actually I came to inform you of word sent by Junior Clerks Alise, Emilija and Marta from the Castle. Concerning the Myrdal child. You wanted progress reports they said in the message.”
”Oh. I did, yes.” Verik’s face darkens considerably as he looks off at a shelf of books nearby. ”What is the news?”
”Apparently a great deal of loud and angry shouting by Aylene, but no problems with the labor. Almost any time now, they say.”
”Hmm.” Verik takes the news stonily, the sting of the pre-dawn encounter hours before raising his temper now. ”Let me guess that Berrin has already sent for the Caydenites to attend him! ‘First Freeman Aledrinker Tosshead Whatshisname’ or whatever they call him – isn’t he the fifth…no sixth…to lead their so-called “Heroes Hall” over there? Yet Berrin boots me out – me! – but mark my words Eben he’ll have the baby doused over the head with a tankard of ale before nightfall and call it a blessing! Pathetic!”
”Oh, I don’t think he meant to drive you off completely. Just nerves and fears, my Banker - he’s about to become a father after all.”
”You weren’t there Eben. You didn’t see how he treated me, like something to be hauled off to the dumps.”
”I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Anyway, your Reverence…tonight’s plans? You don’t have much time.”
”Yes yes, quite right you are.” Verik orders his mind to stop dwelling on the rifts that have developed between he and Berrin, and focuses on the joyous new puzzle to be resolved. ”Hmmmm…where should I begin?”
”Well,” muses Eben. ”A gift to start – flowers would be nice I should think. Transportation. Dinner, possibly a performance or some other entertainment.”
”Do we still have some of the fall roses in bloom?”
”I believe so, but I’ll ask the Initiates and go check the greenhouses for you.”
”Thank you Eben. Now let’s see…” Verik purses his lips and taps his fingers on the desk in thought. A fine Mercadi’s carriage to pick her up in, that one is easily handled. A performance? No idea…let’s solve dinner then. I should be able to get a private room at The Golden Wheel from Mersten even at this hour, but that’s rather expected isn’t it?
”Eben, I was thinking The Golden Wheel for tonight, but…”
”But you own part of it,” finishes Eben on Verik’s sentence.
”Precisely. I should do something with less predictability, shouldn’t I?”
”Well if you want ‘unpredictable’ you can always take her to The Nymph’s Fruit.”
Verik scowls in disgust at Eben before he continues pondering. Sanctuary’s main district now sported a number of very good inns and taverns in the area between the Brevian Manses borough and the Havener’s brewery locale, though only three of them were considered fine enough for the very well-to-do or highborn. One was The Golden Wheel, a high-quality inn and dining establishment by Master Mersten that catered to the best of the city, which Verik happened to have a quarter-stake ownership interest in. Its rival was Veils and Mists, a posh but Brevian-themed inn that catered to the whims of visiting Brevian nobility and visiting merchants, owned by an equally irritating Brevian high merchant fathead with Surtovan connections – Verik wondered if Archbanker Vinodragov had a hand in financially backing the man in order to get a preferred place to reside in should he ever visit. Going there would surely give the Veils and Mists plenty of grist to malign The Golden Wheel, so that was out. The third dining hall Verik didn’t know directly, as it recently changed hands from a stuffy full-course Old Taldor dining hall that had failed – it was now called Eternal Sun or something of the like, focusing on “exotic” Keleshite and Vudrani dishes from the south. Verik heard that the place wasn’t doing well either and most likely served mutton with overpriced spices to make the affair seem exotic to the ignorant, along with “authentic” dances of questionable taste. After a moment he shrugs his shoulders and sighs.
”I suppose it must be The Golden Wheel then,” Verik says disappointedly in himself.
”That’s not bad, Verik. If anything, talk to Mersten and see if his chefs know a Galtan dish or two and that will be thoughtful.”
”I suppose so – I’m overthinking this I think.” Verik nods and turns his thoughts to a pre-dinner performance. ”Any idea on what is showing at the Sphere and Rose this week? Jamus Marquett may know.”
Eben shakes his head and answers apprehensively, ”Jamus told me the other day they are closed down for the rest of this month, preparing for a return of The Founder’s Founding on the First of Neth.”
”Oh not that drivel again are they? COGS!” Verik raises his voice and nearly slaps his hand on the desk, shaking his head in disbelief. The Founder’s Founding was a wildly popular but lengthy dramatic play debuted earlier in the spring, with a large cast and three full acts plus an epilogue scene. Verik and the rest of the active Founders – except Nikolai per Jemini’s orders - had to attend on opening night as a gesture of support to the theatre and the Shelynites, a night that the Banker didn’t live down for weeks afterwards. It “loosely” covered the time of the original Founders in Spring 4708, from their first meeting at Oleg’s Trading Post to the Battle of Stagfall, with the epilogue scene showing Jemini's legendary return one year later on the battle’s anniversary. Endorsed by Jemini and supposedly researched with accounts from the Founders themselves, the play’s three lead characters lay in tragic-but-uplifting martyr Jemini, heroic and enigmatic Berrin, and the narrator’s point-of-view as “told” by Tandlara. The Taisper and Zander characters had minor speaking roles but performed a great deal of the fighting sequences along with the dashing Berrin character. Verik’s portrayal, of course, was that of comic relief – it included completely embellished, bumbling actions of his encounters with the tatzylwyrms, the cursed bear, the bugbears and an outright falsified scene of him getting slimed on by boggards. The worst was the full-stage Battle of Stagfall itself in the third act – though it did portray his rescuing of Jhod Kavken on the battle line after the priest fell from a blow to the head, it did so by showing Verik stumbling into a bandit at the end of the line and knocking an entire row of bandits down like bowl pins in a game of Taldan lawn skittles. It didn’t help that the actors who played even minor roles were all more spry and handsome than his own: Kesten and tragic Captain Walthon, Corwin as the “brash latecomer”, Jhod as the “fatherly guiding mentor”, Akiros Ismort as the “noble second” and Oleg Leveton as the “stalwart unbending citizen”. Only Nikolai was portrayed as a fearsome stag-headed muscle man, his face never revealed to the audience as the Stag Lord. Of course, Verik refused to meet the portly actor that played himself. The only saving grace was that the murderous account of Orlivanch and Taisper’s role in his execution had been changed and the event mostly downplayed.
Somewhere during the horrid and sleep-depriving Desnan Ritual of Stardust during the summer solstice festival, The Founders Founding had its final performance at the Sphere and Rose theatre. Verik hoped he would be rid of it forever, but apparently not. Most likely they were going to add songs to the scenes now - Verik could just see "Verik" singing out his battle charge before the falsehood where his morningstar 'bounces' off the bugbear's chest and knocks himself out flat on the ground.
Eben snaps Verik out of his sour reverie on the play. ”Why don’t you go talk to High Priestess Shandara and ask her to get a few of the bards together for an impromptu private performance in one of the theatre’s smaller chambers? She’s been much warmer to you since all the work to design and raise the All Faiths Cathedral. You know how Shelynites are if you confided in her what you are trying to do.”
”I suppose she would at that,” replies Verik. Eben was right about that on both counts. Though she often sided her Conclave votes with the faction of Cayden Cailean, Desna, Calistria and Milani, Shandara of Shelyn has been much less cool to Verik since the springtime. Perhaps she knew bards who were acquainted with Galtan poetry and songs. ”So the carriage and roses, a private performance at the Sphere and Rose, then dinner at The Golden Wheel, and then…” He lets his voice trail off, deep in thought until he snaps his fingers at the obvious solution. ”…and then I take her to the Park of Lanterns for a late evening stroll. The weather is good and the park is beautiful at night near the water.”
Eben grimaces a moment and delicately answers,” You want to take Madame Bellavieu on a walk along the unpaved trails of the park?”
”Ahhh…no. Cogs!” He raps his knuckles on his forehead and looks to his Senior Clerk with an expression of distress. ”I am going to ruin this entire enterprise aren’t I?”
”No no Verik, you’re doing just fine. You’re just out of practice is all.”
”I never was in practice.”
”Give it twenty years and you’ll know all the tricks, I promise you.” Eben gives Verik a reassuring smile.
”Hmm.” The Banker taps his fingers on his desk, struggling for something that will be memorable to the ravishing and intelligent woman. No walks in the park – idiot! – and trying to arrange horses at that late hour would be equally foolish and dangerous. The paths are too narrow for carriages. No park then…a pity though as the enchanted lights in the stained-glass lanterns are a sight to behold next to the water…the water…that’s it!
Verik snaps his fingers and abruptly stands up from his desk. ”I have it my friend! I need to make arrangements straightaway though at the piers for the late hour of it.”
”Very good, your Reverence. Don’t forget as well Master Mersten and High Priestess Shandara while you’re out – I’ll take care of the roses and send a runner to Mercadi’s for your carriage. Don’t worry about matters here – Anya will be back after the midday bells from the All Saints and your schedule is already cleared this day, so might as well make the most of it.”
”Thank you as always Eben,” says Verik as he moves to sheathe the Twins upon his wide key-laden belt, donning his white cloak before he moves to the doors of his office. ”I cannot help but think I am being selfish in this, but ’life is short’ as a dear friend recently stated to me. I go out then to make the most of it!”
Senior Clerk Eben bows in response, a sly smile upon his face as he watches the Banker of Sanctuary walk down the columned hallway with vigor and a spring in his step.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Borodin could hear the three men approaching. The whisper quiet footfalls of Elsir are followed by the loud plodding stomps of Kargath’s armored feet. Just a step behind, he could make out Willas’s distinctive boots scraping the stone steps of the tower.
Borodin finishes his hours long meditation and opens his eyes as the three open the door to the antechamber.
”So Borodin, what is it you wished to speak to me about? More assistance in your new role, hrm?” The elf said, his eyes twinkling with keen interest.
The newly minted spymaster rises to his feet, smiling at his friend. ”What are friends for, if not to lend aid to another?” He gives Willas a nod and glances to Kargath, who obviously is not happy to see him.
”Normally I would request that we speak in private. But since I trust Willas and you vouch for your dwarf friend there, I will just come out with it.”
”I have lost contact with one of my informants in Varnhold and the messenger sent to check on her has not reported in. I wouldn’t normally bother you with something as mundane as this but I have a suspicion that this could be very important. If you have time today, I would ask that you scry her location and perhaps that of my messenger as well.”
”I can walk with you to the castle, as I think Jemini should know of it as well.”
It was not even a minute into Verik getting into the thick of his preparations - What robe would be most presentable? A robe at all? Perhaps something a hint more martial would show off training - when a message arrives urging him to leave at once to be present at an emergency summit. The hall is open when he arrives; Elsir, and Doctor Atago of all people, and the culprit Jemini are already in attendance. Verik stops abruptly as he sees the tears that strain Jemini's face. "Wha- w- hat is going on?"
Jemini, clearly befuddled by something, bursts out in somewhat incoherent joy: "Tandlara! She moved! She spoke! We're in big trouble! I'm so happy!"
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Casting a knowing glance towards Willas, Elsir nods in acceptance of the request. As it so happens, I have not prepared all of my spells for today and I see no issue with your request. I should be able to farsee both your informant as well as your messenger. Turning to Kargath, the wizard frowns in thought. I'll need to stop at the tower to gather a few items and then Borodin, Willas and I will head to the Castle. Kargath, please gather Sune and have her meet me at the Castle.
Scowling, Kargath eyes the elf. I'm not your bloody messenger, Elsir. Kargath huffs.
No, no you’re not. Elsir states softly, nodding at the tattooed dwarf. You’re my friend, and I tell you this as a friend. The days ahead are going to be very dangerous, that much I know. Sighing, Elsir rubbed his nose. He could feel a headache starting to form. Perhaps they have already grown so while I was busy putting contingencies in place. So, no Kargath, I asked you to gather Sune, not as a messenger, but as a protector.
Eyeing the wizard quizzically, Kargath squared his shoulders. Always speaking in riddles… Ah very well den. I'll go gather the librarian. But I don't like all this talk of ominous futures and contingent-whatever’s.
Standing in the central hall of Castle Sanctuary, Elsir clasped his hands together. Each of his index fingers were pointed forming a steeple while the rest of his fingers were intertwined. The room had gone silent after Jemini's announcement.
Vordekai. Elsir said, spitting the word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. To Elsir's left was his apprentice Sune, who wisely remained silent as she studied the founders through her almond shaped eyes. To Elsir's right was Borodin while behind him was Willas and Kargath. Around the room either standing or sitting were the other founders, all looking at Elsir with questioning eyes.
Vordekai, Elsir stated again. Your sure? Elsir asked Lady Lebeda, before he shook head. No, of course you are. Sighing to himself, Elsir tapped his cane against the stone floor rymthiclly in an odd but repeating pattern. Looking up at Doctor Atago and Jemini, Elsir frowned. I reached out to a contact of mine in Hymbria. Her name is Shandrah El'var, she's a herbalist of some note. I explained Tandlara's condition to the best of my ability, hoping that the Elders would have any suggestions on how best to help her. Unfortunately, Shandrah told me that after discussing it with the other Elven healers they thought that her condition might be self imposed. The only theory they could assume was that spirit was needed somewhere else. Frowning in thought, Elsir cocked his head to the right and glanced up as if looking for a hidden pattern in the walls stonework.
Even now she is watching over us. Elsir said at last. That is the only explanation that fits. Grimacing, Elsir stopped. There was no more time. The hourglass had been tipped and the cascade had started.
Looking at each of the Founders, Elsir sighed. They are not going to like what they hear next. The magister thought pensively. How much can I tell them about the plans I have put into motion? The fail-safe’s I have enacted should the outcome not come as planned?
I think it is time for me to tell you what I know and what I have spent the last two years doing. Elsir said quietly, drawing the eyes of each of the founders. First off, I have to provide you a frame of reference. Today is the 24 Lamashan 4712 AR, consider this moment a fixed point in time, a “waypoint” if you will. As you all know, two years ago, Willas and I traveled forward in time to 4733 AR, twenty one years into the future. During that trip, I encountered three truths relayed to me the man that was once known as Taisper Stosz. Each was associated with a year and each lead to the Darkest Timeline.
At this point the hall had gone silent. Elsir had been notoriously reclusive about what he had learned in the future, afraid perhaps that too much information relayed too soon would impact the present timeline in an unrecoverable area. The first of the three references draws near friends, and I am afraid.
I am afraid because in the year 4713 AR, I will be killed.
Abruptly the room erupted in questions and indrawn breaths. Elsir raised his hand while calling for silence. The streams of probability are drawing closer towards an event horizon that I have been fighting to divert. I will tell you some of what I have done and some of what I know. For the rest you must trust me. Smiling sadly, the wizard shrugged. After all, my life depends on the outcome of the next year. Turning back towards the others, Elsir gives a decisive nod. I know my killers name. It is Vordekai. I also know the creature is immeasurably old and unbelievably powerful in nature. It is foul and corrupted beyond scope, un-living yet immortal thanks to its power over necromancy. Taking a deep breath in, Elsir shuttered reflexively before continuing. In the last two years I have spent every day scrying the people and places of our nation, I have summoned ageless creatures and cast my divination far and wide in an effort divert the future. Make no mistake, this is not and exaggeration. I have used every iota of my power to attempt to locate the creature or identify some weakness, but thus far my attempts have proved almost entirely futile.
Hand clinching in frustration, Elsir shook his head. There is of course any number of reasons why my spells could have failed. There are both items of power as well as spells that can block such divinations. Regardless, Elsir paused, frowning. My efforts to locate the creature have been ineffective… but my research has not.
Turning back to the founder, the magister pointed out of the great-hall window towards the general direction of Varnhold. As I have implied, the last two years have not been entirely wasted. For instance I know that Vordekai was the leader of a nation empire of cyclopes called Koloran Empire that existed over ten thousand years ago. The Koloran empire's lands and power stretched across all Iobaria until the Earthfall destroyed their cities. Dor-Klaggends History of Tar Taargadth also makes mention of the Dwarven peoples battles against the Koloran empire, and while it does not specifically mention Vordekai, it does say that the Koloran empires armies were limitless in number and ”life-blighted”. Motioning toward Verik, Elsir inclines his head. Much of this, Verik is already aware of and I suspect is the reason why he initially sought out additional information on the Tar Taargadth nation.
Lips pursing in thought, Elsir frowns thinking back to a council meeting in the month of Pharast. With that information at hand, I turned my focus to the recovered ruins on Candlemere Island back in Pharast of this year. Gesturing towards Jemini, Elsir motioned to the room. You may remember that there was some discussion that same month for the counsel to use treasury funds to rebuild the tower located on the island. This discussion jogged my memory and led me back to the ruins to research the runes that Verik had previously transcribed. Shaking his head sadly, Elsir frowned. In hindsight I am glad that I did. During my research at the tower, I found that there had previously been a dark-ward that had been overlaid into the tower. It had served as a focal point if you will, but it was only part of a larger ritualistic arcane engine.
Pointing toward Verik, Jemini and the other founders who had first encountered the tower, Elsir cast his hand out. Each of you reported nightmares the night you slept on the tower. Indeed, that was no surprise considering the content of the tower itself and what it had been imbued with…
:: Forlorn stands an abandoned and ruined tower upon a lonely island. Sleeping within are figured that toss and turn as shadowy horrors approach their dreams, yet are the shadows somehow pushed back by a radiant key that sheds a pure and golden light, throwing darts of luminescent glory at the umbral fiends.::
What was not considered was the reason why there was a lingering effect that remained on the tower for over ten thousand years. Nor was considered was the potential effects of dispelling the enchantments present. The room remained quiet and Elsir in frustration ran a hand through his hair. I’m not sure if it was a prison or something else entirely, but when the tower was cleansed and the necromantic power that was still present was disrupted, something took notice, and I believe that something was Vordekai.
So… Elsir said quietly as all of the founders eyes were focused on him. That is what I know. I suspect much, much, more and I have put plans in place should I not be able to change the future. Regardless… this knowledge that I withheld would not have changed our response to it. Vordekai’s eye’s fell upon us from the moment that the magic sustaining Candlemere Island failed. I had hoped to have something of substance to bring to you all first rather than an ancient legend of an undead horror. But I have failed and I only have faintest visions of what is in-store for us.
But even those visions scare me more then I can describe. Villages will disappear. The dead will rise again and a crimson eye will fall upon us.
Verik walks a circuitous route south around the southern side of the Sanctuary Town Hall complex, his “minders” of one Keysworn and one Junior Clerk in tow behind him. He has just completed his requests at a reliable boat owner at the piers, and is on his way to make arrangements at the Sphere and Rose and then The Golden Wheel. Though he left the Bank in a hurry and did not ask for them, Verik did not get more than the first block corner outside before Keysworn Karl “Archer” Mersen and Junior Clerk Ethen Hoefurrow caught up to him . Not that he minds too much, though it was not that long ago where he could travel throughout Sanctuary and not need an entourage; that era of the small town of Sanctuary had disappeared along with his old habits of praying down by the lake without being disturbed. A small price to pay for progress, but it was a simpler time back then. It is for similar reasons that he skirts around the manicured grounds and courtyards around the town hall – he would be waylaid by countless magistrates, town officials, merchants and passersby to where he would never get his errands done.
Thinking about what he is going to say to Shandara of Shelyn at the Sphere and Rose, the sounds of urgent travel on one of the main boulevards to Sanctuary Castle causes Verik to halt and look to his east; he cannot see the street but the sounds of clip-clopping hooves from a team of horses at full trot combined with shouts to “make way” by guardsmen suggests an urgent arrival to the castle from the south, one with authority and purpose.
”Could be the Dragonlord Rogarvia coming in from Dragonswatch,” says Karl speculatively.
I do hate it when they all call him that… Verik has his mouth pursed in a frown, but then shakes his head and answers, ”No, he’d come in by way of the Watchgate on the northern wall, and besides he doesn’t use carriages or wagons.” It was definitely the sound of a carriage by the way the wheels sounded, probably one of his own Mercadi’s carriages.
”Coming from the south,” says a concerned Ethen, ”perhaps a Sarenrae healer or physicians from the hospital?”
”Perhaps, Ethen.” Verik knows his first and longtime former Initiate well enough to interpret what is left unspoken – a problem with the Myrdal baby in labor. He looks towards the castle and contemplates his choices, but then shakes his head. ”If it is that, there is little I can do that those in attendance cannot do better than I. Let us proceed on our original course.”
Verik eventually gets past the municipal ward of the city, having to stop for only two impromptu conversations with acquaintances; he gets across the busy thoroughfare and within sight of the theater before a small contingent of guardsmen from the castle approach the trio. All bow in a respectful manner to Verik, with their leader stepping forward to relay his orders. ”High Cleric Jarrow, we are glad to have found you - you have been summoned with all haste to an emergency session of the Founder’s Council by First Founder Jemini Lebeda. If you come with us we will provide you escort.”
Cogs and it was going so well too…what is she up to? Verik audibly sighs in irritation and has to collect himself before replying. ”Very well bannerman. A quick moment if you please.” Verik turns to the pair accompanying him and asks for Ethen to speak to the owner of The Golden Wheel about private dining room arrangements, gives him some golden coins for securement and then sends them off. If whatever this is drags on I shall never get a performance set, but there’s nothing to be done about it I suppose. I swear that if this is to get us all in a room to see the newborn caterwaul and offer up its first bowel movement then I shall throw a right tantrum of my own… ”Lead the way, bannerman.”
********************************************
Verik stops abruptly as he sees the tears that strain Jemini’s face. ”Wha…w-what is going on?”
Jemini, clearly befuddled by something, bursts out in somewhat incoherent joy. ”Tandlara! She moved! She spoke! We’re in big trouble! I’m so happy!”
Verik looks at her with his eyes wide and mouth agape, starting and stopping several times to utter a reply to her. In that moment he steps forward and with a choked laugh he gives Jemini a hug. It is a hug amongst true friends and comrades, a throwback to a time before Stagfall and Sanctuary, politics and misgivings. The emotional walls are gone for that instant, and even as the Banker remembers himself and where he is in relation to all those around him in the Founder’s Hall, he cannot help but show emotion as he hastily brushes his cheek and collects his voice.
”Wonderful! That’s wonderful Jemini, truly it is! Over three years now it’s been by my count! What did she say? Did she recognize you? I…wait we’re in trouble you said? Why are we…in trouble…that’s why you called an emergency formal Council session aside from her awakening then, isn’t it? Well still, that is tremendous news – we must tell Jhod – after everything I still vowed I would tell him if anything changed in her condition. Then again, perhaps it would be better coming from you…”
"What good news!" Svetlana Leveton's voice interrupts the meeting as Verik trails off. She sets down her daughter, who promptly runs into the arms of her namesake for a huge hug. "Is Tandlara still awake? I've missed her so!" With Oleg coming in the front door of the hall behind her, Svetlana rushes to the others to hug most of them in turn. It's been a few months since she last made the trip to Sanctuary, with Oleg passing along her messages as she travels the length of Newhaven discussing the needs of the common people.
Disappointed by the answer that Tandlara still slumbers, she quickly begins unpacking her gifts to the others. "Is the baby born yet? I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Aylene with her pregnant glow. What a beautiful woman! She makes Berrin so happy, and the baby will just build on that." She brings out small items that she must have bought from the traveling merchants who come through Olegsgrav. Each of them is specially-selected for the receiver: for Jemini, she gives an icon of Sarenrae of clear Qadiran style; for Verik, she brings a perfectly-weighted scale enchanted with a minor magic that lightly glows when the sides are in accordance; for Elsir, an elven copy of The Final March upon Gallowspire, a tome detailing the last days of the Shining Crusade. She has a cask of Bokken's ale for Berrin to help him through the days ahead.
Oleg shakes hands with Verik first, then the others. "Good to see you all again. What sort of trouble is the nation facing?" Serious as ever, Oleg gets down to business immediately.
Rising his head from Aylene's Berrin sees that both she and the baby are fast asleep and the room was completely quiet. 'How long have I been in this position?' He had no idea, but judging from the stiffness in his shoulder it had been some time. Detaching himself gently from Aylene he places her head on the pillow and kisses her on the cheek, noticing his own cheeks hurt in the process. He must have been smiling he whole time. Looking down at the new-born Maegar Berrin gently detaches him from him mothers arms, sushing him as he does, keeping him calm, so she can get a decent rest. Besides, Berrin needed to display the child.
Walking through the castle halls with a swaddle of cloth held gingerly in his arms and a smile plastered on his face he makes his way to the founders hall, looking for his friends.
Entering the hall quietly he notes the fuss and bustle, the worried faces and the seriousness of the atmosphere.
Standing there, disheveled from a nigh without sleep and then sleeping in his clothes, with the swaddled baby in his arms and a wide smile on his face he clears his throat to get attention. Beaming with pride he meets each of his friends eyes and asks innocently, "So.. What's the big fuss?"
Borodin walks over to Berrin to get a glimpse of the child. He makes different faces at his old friend, thinking this is quite possibly the strangest thing he’s ever experienced. ”Hey buddy. I never thought I would see you in this position.” he says conspiratorially at the cooing Maegar.
He looks up at Berrin with a smile and responds in a nonchalant manner. ”Oh not much. Tandlara awoke for a few seconds, Elsir might die in a year, oh and there’s an evil undead leader of cyclopes that threatens to kill us all.”
The Dragonlord nods to Jellicoe while he still speaks. The commander falls in behind as Nikolai crosses to a heavy table of dark red wood.
Nikolai slips into the comfortable routine easily. As Jellicoe says his peace, the big man straps a fine dagger to either thigh and pulls a gleaming metal shirt from its stand. He pulls it over his head without regard for the expensive shirt he wears. The chain links make no sound as they slide over his shoulders and fall to hug his hips.
"Their names, Jonn. Have you collected their names? Also, what were there occupations?"
The commander dutifully gives the Founder all he knows. Nikolai nods in appreciation.
"Send word to Sanctuary in case such things have happened elsewhere. And set the watches to look for figures in cloaks or disguise. No one leaves without their face being seen and their business being logged."
The giant turns and walks to the hearth, the fire blazing brightly in the room. He stands before it a moment before pulling the cloak of red dragonscales from the mantle. It fits his shoulders and upper arms firmly, the lacquered red dragon snout covering his right shoulder like an ornate pauldron.
"We've been allowed to prosper in both coin and peace, Jonn. Any who accost the people of Newhaven from the shadows must be shown the light."
Jellicoe arches an eyebrow, unused to hearing the Dragonlord speak in vague terms. "The light, my lord?"
Nikolai smiles as he reaches into the fireplace, the muscles in his hands already bathing in the familiar heat of Dragonsbreath.
"Well...I can hardly go looking for them without a torch, Commander."
Into the open quiet (only mutely interrupted by Berrin and Borodin) left by Elsir's illuminations, Jemini finally speaks: "It seems that our time of quiet is well and truly over for the foreseeable future. Before any other considerations - and I expect I know your answer, Elsir - I think I speak for all of us if I extend to you an invitation of absence, perhaps a study leave to research abroad. Perhaps at the Grand Lodge in Absalom? I cannot claim to understand the workings of destiny and time, but mayhaps that is one way to greatly increase the odds of your survival."
"At this point we can merely conjecture at the source and its intentions. Elsir, you say that Vordekai is not explicitly mentioned in the annals and research - do they instead call out any one other specific entity as power in the Koloran empire? Perhaps 'Vordekai' is an assumed name or title that was acquired in the last days of the cyclopean empire. Or perhaps a name in a language we're not familiar with and a different term is used in the histories."
"Given the nature of dark necromancy, a creature corrupted but powerful beyond measure, it begs the question what it was doing until recently. It must have spent the last... 10 000 years with a purpose of sort. Was it hiding? Biding its time? Was it perhaps trapped? How much of what happened in the world was it aware of? Could it still be mentally living in a time of a great cyclops empire? If so, would it seek to restore 'order' as it understands it to be?"
"Allow me to add one final thought to the discussion, before I hand over the word to the next speaker: Tandlara's words were few, but included: The eye of the cyclops falls upon you! Look down, down, down! Life to death go so many, yet they do not rest! - there are two things important here, I think. Firstly the warning that many die but do not rest. I suggest that, as far as possible, we do not mobilize our armies to combat this threat - to avoid unnecessarily strengthening the forces of Vordekai."
"Secondly, I think Tandlara may have offered us some advice with the words to look down, down, down. Perhaps the one we seek is hidden deep underground. If nothing else, perhaps Elsir can turn his divination not to find Vordekai directly, but try to find hidden areas deep underneath the surface. If we can pinpoint the nearby centers of power of the Koloran empire, Elsir could focus his search on those areas."
"Underground? Well that's disconcerting," says Verik with a customary frown upon his face. He looks down at his feet as if imagining skeletal hands reaching up from a well-concealed cavern below the castle and shudders.
The High Cleric of Newhaven shakes off the unpleasant notion and continues. "I do not doubt what Tandlara said to you, First Founder. Nor do I doubt our esteemed Magister's words of warning and what he has tried to forestall with the knowledge of the...ahh...othertime." Verik pauses a moment in reflection. Though I wonder what else my very cousin has told you that you continue to hide for our supposed greater good, though that is for a later time...when was it last that I saw Taisper? Too long, but no matter... "That being said, where to start? May I remind the Council that besides the elven ruins on the edge of the Hooktongue Slough we have uncovered ancient ruins outside of both Olegsgrav and Dragonswatch from the Taldan Exploration era, and our farmsteads cover wide swaths of the Kamelands, deep into the Narlmarches and down to the Downs of the two lakes. Remember that these giant beasts are...well...giant and I think we would have had reports of additional towers or massive barrow mounds for tombs and the like."
Svetlana bursts out a squeal of excitement as Berrin walks in with young Maegar. "Oh, he's perfect!" She rushes up to see him up close, clearly resisting the urge to snatch him from Berrin's arms to rock him herself. "How is Aylene?"
"Tired," laughs Berrin. "He's big and strong - just like his father!" He leans down to let Jemini Leveton take a look at the newborn. She smiles broadly and jumps up with excitement, like a tiny version of her mother.
Svetlana laughs with mirth and joy. It is good to have her happy presence back, even amid the uncertainty of a cyclopean tyrant intent on crushing their nation. "It is a ray of good news and good hope for us. Whatever threatens Newhaven is no match for the power of new life."
"Very true Svetlana. It is a hallmark of what makes a civilization thrive, the vitality and eagerness of its youth often propels us forward. That little Jemini here shall have a strong role to play in the future of Newhaven I have little doubt."
He muses briefly on the notion of little Jemini and the newborn son one day holding positions of authority in a Newhaven that celebrates its fiftieth founding-day. It's a pleasantly glorious thought, though the realities of the Council bring him back to a more dour frame of mind. "Ahem. Back to the issue at hand - if the Council agrees I can disseminate this information to the All Faiths Conclave and its leaders in an emergency closed session. It's possible one of the faith leaders may have come across something with their own people."
"Before you start, I have something to add which may be of some importance. I pray that it is nothing, but in light of what Elsir has described, I fear it may be dire."
"I have recently lost contact with my primary informant in Varnhold. A messenger was dispatched to investigate but he has not reported in either. Elsir agreed to try to farsee them to determine their location and status this afternoon."
"Perhaps you could ask if there are any other unexplained disappearances of others in Newhaven?"
"Wait, Varnhold?" Berrin interjects into the discussion., his face growing somber. "We've been expecting Meager out of Varnhold for the past day, has Maegar arrived? Aylene has been asking for him, has nobody seen him yet? We need to send riders to meet him, send word to Dragonswarch, scry him too.." Berrin looks from council member too council member with worry written all over his face as he unconsciously tightens his grip on young Maegar.
"And what about Nikolai? Could you do one of those sending whatever's you did on me when you warned us about Hydra Bridge when the trolls invaded?" he directs at Elsir, locking his gaze on the magister.
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Smiling faintly, Elsir ran his fingers along the well-worn spine of the tome Svetlana had given him. The archivist in him made the elf want to examine the tome closer. And the title; The Final March upon Gallowspire a reminder from another time that a nation had been threatened by the rise of a undead horror. Was it coincidence? Elsir thought, tapping a finger along the edge of the book. The wizard shook his head. Since his journey into the future, the wizard had begun to doubt the concept of coincidences.
Where are my manners. Elsir said quietly, lowering his head slightly. You are both thoughtful and kind Svetlana, thank you.
Sighing to himself, the wizard squared his shoulders before nodding at Oleg and then turning back towards Jemini. The response to your first question is one Lady Lebeda is one that I have considered at length. After all if I was not here then what alternate outcome would unfold? Frowning, the wizard spread out his hand. As I have stated before, I believe that the future is not fixed and that there are multiple timelines. If I leave here, at this moment we can assume that our timeline will branch its course. That said, herein lies the question. Did the Elsir who’s death lead up to the Darkest Timeline know about his future death at the hands of Vordekai? Elsir shook his head. I don’t believe that he did. In fact. Elsir raised his index finger as if emphasizing a point. I believe that the moment that the moment that Borodin, Willas and I returned from our alternate timeline, we experienced a significant divergence from our previous Branch Point and we may have already diverted the Darkest Timeline from occuring.
Frowning in thought, Elsir shrugged. This is one possibility and it is what I believe is most likely. We are better prepared now for what the future holds then our other selves. Also I know that in at least some futures, I survive my encounter with Vordekai, as statically it is nearly impossible following the many-worlds interpretation of time that I do not.
Glancing down at his empty hands, Elsir grimaced and wished for a moment it had held a cup of hot tea. Over the last two years the wizard had come to enjoy his evening discussions with Verik on the principles of Dweomercraft and magical theory. The conversations had allowed the elf moments of relaxation. At those times he was only a man, not a magister of New Haven, or a Pathfinder.. just a man. Elsir sighed. There were of course other possibilities. Time had a way of trying to emphasize the strongest probabilities. As Elsir’s prophesized death approached, the effort that was needed to divert it grew substantially. Hopefully he was right and the knowledge he had learned about his death would be enough to prevent it. Hopefully…
Regardless.. Elsir finished with a wave of his cane. If Vordekai is a lich, and I suspect that he is. Then you will need a wizard when the time comes to face him. Inclining his head towards Jemini, Elsir shrugs. I hope that answers your first question. As to your second, let me clarify. To my knowledge, Vordekai is specifically named in two separate locations. The first time the name Vordekai was identified was in the runes I transcribed from Verik who first located them during your visit to the ruined tower on Lake Candlemere. The runes stated that the tower's purpose was as an outpost known as Hask-Ukrakana for an empire of cyclopes called Koloran. According to the runes, the empire's lands and power stretched across Iobaria all the to Pitax's present location until the Earthfall. Koloran split into many tribes as a shadow of its former self until a cyclops wizard named Vordekai reunited the remaining clans. His armies were endless and rose after being killed, but his rule was short-lived. Vordekai first enslaved the centaurs, then pushed into the mountains and warred with the dwarves of Tar Taargadth. The dwarven empire defeated Vordekai and drove his armies from their lands. Vordekai's demise was the last gasp of the cyclopean empire. The runes also concluded with a warning: many of Vordekai's foul rituals occurred in towers such as this, which bound the limits of his empire, and their taint lingered in them.
Taking a deep breath, Elsir inclined his head. Dor-Klaggends History of Tar Taargadth validated many events referenced in the Candlemere Ruins, though it did not mention Vordekai’s name. The second mention of Vordekai was referenced during my journey. So.. Elsir said quietly, I believe my theory is correct.
Turning towards Verik, Elsir nodded in agreement. Numerous ruins have been located throughout our area and there are still wide swaths of land that would have once belonged to the Koloran Empire. Something relatively unknown outside of the arcane community is that lead can prevent the usage of scrying from occurring. If we interpret Tandlara correctly and Vordekai’s location is in one such theorized location, it might explain why my scrying thus far has been unsuccessful. Now on the topic of scrying.. Elsir stated, fixing his gaze towards Berrin Myrdal who gazed at the wizard with questioning eyes. What you’re asking for is possible. As it so happened, Borodin interrupted my morning meditation and I did not yet have a chance to prepare my incantations for the day.
Frowning in consideration, Elsir conducted a series of mental calculations. Regardless of being able to make contact with the target or not, each invocation will take me nearly an hour of preparation and it’s not something that can be rushed. I will attempt to farsee Maegar first, followed by Borodin’s contact in Varnhold, followed finally by Nikolai. Reaching into his small leather satchel that hung at his side, Elsir withdrew a his polished silver bowl before stretching his back out and then kneeling on the floor. Looking towards Borodin, the elf waved the man over. I need you to have a picture of your informant ready within an hour. Also have the others remain a quiet as possible. This spell is not without difficulty and I need to maintain my focus.
Elsir felt the cold stone of the castle floor below his knees. He has spent the last hour kneeling before the bowl focusing his will upon the blurry reflection of his otherself that waivered in the concave bowl. He had gathered his power together focusing on his quarry. Finally the moment was correct. Breaking his focus, Elsir locked eyes with his reflection. Maegar Varn… Maegar Varn… Elsir cried out his voice echoing with power. He felt the spell.
Searching...
Seeking...
And then... Nothing...
Elsir looked up. The spell had failed. Berrin looked at the wizard, his eyes questioning. Elsir shook his head silently before turning back to the floor. Elsir wanted to reassure his friend, but he had two more lengthy spells to cast and the magister knew he needed to work quickly. There were others who could speak to the man. Jemini was particularly talented with words, able to use them as effectively as Elsir could magic. Focus! Elsir thought, turning back to the bowl and begging to gather his power again.
othing! Elsir croaked, clutching at this temple. Just a hazy flash of red as the spell failed. Shaking his head in frustration, Elsir looked at Borodin. I’m sorry… I wish I could tell you something definitive. Something is clearly blocking my spell, but I don’t know what it is. Gritting his teeth in frustration and worry, Elsir rubs his aching knees with a tired hand before kneeling back onto the stone floor. Nikolai and Dragonswatch needed to be warned. Breathing out sharply through his nose, Elsir tried to clear his thoughts. He found it increasingly more difficult.
::"Send word to Sanctuary in case such things have happened elsewhere. And set the watches to look for figures in cloaks or disguise. No one leaves without their face being seen and their business being logged."
The giant turned and walked to the hearth, the fire blazed brightly in the room. He stood before it for a moment before pulling the cloak of red dragonscales from the mantle. It fit his shoulders and upper arms firmly, the lacquered red dragon snout covering his right shoulder like an ornate pauldron.
"We've been allowed to prosper in both coin and peace, Jonn. Any who accost the people of Newhaven from the shadows must be shown the light."
The soldier next to him arched an eyebrow. "The light, my lord?"
Nikolai smiled as he reached into the fireplace, the muscles in his hands already bathing in the familiar heat of Dragonsbreath.
"Well...I can hardly go looking for them without a torch, Commander."::
Locking his farseeing firmly in place Elsir wants to shout out a cry of exuberant joy. Instead the tired wizard barely manages to stand. Looking down into his silver bowl the wizard is able to make out the image of Nikolai talking to another man. The wizard is only able to make out the end of the conversation, but it appears that something important seems to be happening in Dragonswatch. For once the spell appears strong and the wizard quickly weaves into farseeing a spell of farspeaking that allows for whispered messages.
::Nikolai, this is Elsir. Don’t be alarmed. The founders are gathered at Castle Sanctuary, we are watching you right now. Contact has been lost with Maegar Varn as well as the rest of Varnhold. Preliminary information indicates a possible undead threat. This spell allows for an hour of speech. The founders are standing by for your reply.::
John Jellico is in mid-sentence when Nikolai interrupts him.
"Hold. Word from the elf in Sanctuary. No word from Varnhold. Undead?"
Nikolai grimaces as he sheaths the giant blade. "Dispatch a rider to each Varnhold watchtower. If any have fallen, they must all know. Also..send Red Eyes. Tell him I want the scent of things, but not to engage. I'll investigate this threat in the streets. Get the watch moving."
The oversized man steps through the door of his quarters, lowering his head to avoid the seven-foot frame. Before he takes to the stairs, he looks back at the commander.
"Those monster hunter braggarts that settled here a few months back. Have them waiting for me when I return."
Nikolai skips three stairs at a time. Fortunately he had some hand in the design of the place. Though he was no engineer and the builders insisted on keeping a standard size for doors and ceilings, he had managed to prevail on them to widen the step. "Shod boots are broader," he'd said. "A garrison off warriors will take these steps in a hurry."
As he descends the stair and heads out into the night, it occurs to Nikolai that he doesn't fully understand Elsir's spell. I suppose I'll have to watch my tongue for the hour, he thinks to himself.
He feels silly looking up to the sky to respond, but speaks aloud without breaking stride.
"Good to hear from you. Riders sent out to Varnhold. Worgs as well. I am looking for missing merchants on our own streets. Tell me more.
Berrin stands throughout Elsir's explanations and the ensuing discussions, shifting from foot to foot, holding the swaddled Maegar. His face goes through a variety of facial expressions as Vordekai, lichdom, branch points and the various points of history are brought up and discussed, feeling out of place and more than a little worried, glancing down at the sleeping new-born more than once, Berrin adds little to the conversation.
When the discussion winds down and Elsir seems to be making ready to ready his spells Berrin sees his opportunity to depart the hall, walking up the steps deep in thought to check on Aylene.
Making his way to their chambers Berrin finds his mother sitting in a chair sleeping, the nursemaids long gone and all tools and evidence of a new birth gone. The sheets have been removed, the windows opened and a fire is roaring. The room is quiet, almost serene when Berrin enters hesitantly.
Going to the bed Berrin find it empty, looking through the drapes Berrin sees Aylene standing by the window, a blanket draped over her shoulders, looking out over Sanctuary and Lake Candlemere. Looking over to Berrin their eyes meet and she smiles softly.
Stepping over Berrin is hesitant to meet her eye. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asks, making his way to her side and handing over the young Maegar.
"I needed some fresh air." she replies, looking at her husband suspiciously. "Come, help me to bed."
Giving her an arm to lean on Berrin guides Aylene to the bed and helps her get comfortable, tucking the covers in and making sure she has the best position possible. Going over to the window he closes it.
"Maegar?" Aylene asks softly and Berrin's shoulders bunch up along with a sinking feeling in his gut. Walking over to the door, still not meeting Aylene's eye, he opens it and sticks his head through and waves a passing servant. "Send for a squire please." Getting a confirmation he sighs and steels himself to face his wife.
Turning back to the room Berrin stops mid-stride as he sees that Aylene is crying softly in bed with the baby in her arms. The strong woman of steel, the brazen cavalier who led the charge against the trolls at Hydra Bridge, lays in her bed with tears in her eyes and looks at her husband.
Rushing over to her side Berrin takes her in his arms and tries to soothe her. "No, no. Please, don't cry. Please Aylene." Sobbing soflty for a moment Aylene takes a deep breath and raises herself out of her husbands embrace, staring him directly in the eye. "Where is my father, Berrin? Whet's going on?" she asks firmly.
Sighing, Berrin does his best to explain. "I took Maegar out to the council, to brag I guess, but the council was is session. Seems Tandlara woke briefly, warning of impending trouble, Vordekai, a lich by Elsir's reckoning is rising, or has risen, and Borodin has lost contact with his contacts in Varnhold and, no, no word from Maegar. When I left Elsir was going to prepare a casting of some spell to scry on them and check in with Nikolai at Dragonswatch."
Looking up to meet his wifes eyes Berrin finds only grim determination on her face, husband and wife stare at each other for a moment with no words spoken between them, a look interrupted by a knock on the door and a muffled "Squire, sir." from the other side of the door.
Feeling that no words were needed Berrin squeezed Aylene's hand and gave her a brief smile before standing up. "Enter!" he commands the squire, noticing his mother had woken up sometimes during his and Aylene's discussion, wearing a somber expression on her face, as he moves over to change into his white, padded generals uniform, the under layer for his armor that the squire had been summoned to help Berrin don.
'Find my father, Berrin.' Staring mesmerized as Elsir works with Aylene's parting words echoing in his mind, now fully dressed, armed and armored, Berrin's brow furrowed at the strangeness off it all, his hackles standing on end and feeling the palpable traces of magics in the air, a familiar sensation as Berrin had taken lessons from bards during the last two years at Aylene's behest, as well as from historians and various other tutors in so called 'lordly behavior'. Most had been received with little thanks from Berrin but one bard in particular, Orrin Falconan, a Taldan man in his early 30's, had perked Berrin's interest with his ability to change water into wine, an act that had sparked Berrin's curiosity and earned the man quite some credit and leeway when it came to less interesting subject matters such as politics and family connections.
But now Elsir was chanting Maegar's name repeatedly, assuming that the spell was reaching some sort of climax as the crescendo of his voice rose Berrin found himself holding his breath and leaning forward, starring open mouthed at the elf work.
When it was apparent that no results would be forthcoming Berrin sags and turns from the room. Meeting Verik by the door he mutters "Aylene will want to know." to his old friend, making his way to bring his wife the news.
Fortunately Aylene had been fast asleep when Berrin had snuck into the room, recieving a cold stare from his mother, warning him not to wake her unless the news was good, Berrin slunk back the way he came; out the door and back to where Elsir was performing his magics.
Standing through another failed scrying Berrin was pacing, wearing down the rug, by the third. Frustrated at the lack of results, Berrin nearly jumps when Elsir indicates that contact has been made and starts addressing the silver bowl as Nikolai, hearing Nikolais voice after some moments Berrin steps up and peers at the bowl. Seeing nothing he arches an eyebrow at Elsir, receiving a signal that they can converse with him Berrin hesitantly replies.
"Umm.. Nik? Hi, it's Berrin. Eeh.. Tandlara woke up, briefly, and warned about a threat from 'below'. She mentioned Vordekai, a lich from ancient times by Elsir's reckoning. Do you need help? We can be there the day after tomorrow, maybe sooner."
Verik spends the first hour of Elsir’s efforts to scry Lord Varn in various discussions with select Founders. He privately discusses with Jemini the exact details of Tandlara’s momentary awakening to the best of her recollection, sharing her view that it at least means there is hope for their elven comrade’s return. He chats with Oleg on the preparations for winter in Olegsgrav and the disposition of the treasury after the final year’s tax collection, as well as other matters of business and trade in the two cities. Verik thanks Svetlana for the tremendous scales and announces that they will have a prominent place in his Banker’s office; he encourages her to ask of him some request or service which in her estimation would be of commensurate value for her gift to him.
Verik inquires of Borodin as to the “reliability” of his connections to Varnhold and if their failure to communicate to the spymaster really is meaningful or not. Naturally the conversation turns to the usual “mind your own business” banter, though it is not this to-and-fro which turns the Banker’s mood increasingly agitated as the hour wears on. He has just enough time to salvage something of a conversation with the Shelynites for an impromptu performance for Aleza tonight, though it would have to be minor in scope and not what he originally had in mind to impress her. Surely there is a plausible explanation for Lord Varn’s delay, one which Elsir would reveal to them all shortly. Surely this dreadful business with hidden cyclops ruins and cursed leaders - who may or may not happen to be in an undead torpor for thousands of years - are not renewing their efforts at this very hour! Surely it was merely a matter of coincidence, and Elsir’s scrying spell would reveal the necessary clues for them to act accordingly with ample time. He moves near the doors to the Hall, ready to leave for arrangements at the theatre as soon as confirmation with Varn is established and the Founders can all breathe easier.
Yet Elsir’s scrying to Meagar Varn fails, and Berrin moves to the doors in dejection to tell his wife that her father is nowhere to be found. ”Aylene will want to know,” mutters Berrin as he looks at Verik with genuine sorrow. For that moment the perceived slights and various issues between the men evaporates as fog before the midday. Verik nods, not knowing how to counsel him. He takes in a deep breath and peers around the Hall, wondering if this moment marks a turn in Newhaven history. ”Bring me ink, parchment and sealing wax,” he commands to a liveried young man in by the doors, and walks towards his familiar place at the Founder’s Table to begin scribing letters.
Dear Loudmouth Fathead of the Everbloom who won’t give your proper name…I write this on the faintest of hopes that you can actually listen to reason and do something useful for the Realm of Newhaven beyond your usual bluster and naysaying… The thought in Verik’s mind thankfully does not commit itself to parchment, and the High Cleric huffs as he places the quill aside before ink mars the sheet. Beside him are several completed and sealed scrolls to leaders of the various established faiths, though he had several more still to write. Writing to Second Sword Glavin Taborr of Iomedae, or High Sexton Lena of the Fates for Pharasma (this month’s rotating representative of the trio that heads the temple in Sanctuary), or even Ascended Brother Keveran of Irori were straightforward and collegial. By comparison, the letter to Patriarch Jhod Kavken was difficult and uncomfortable to write, though Verik would keep his promises to Jhod concerning any changes with Tandlara. Others were uncomfortable and problematic, such as the irritating “First Seeker of Just Revolution” who would not give his name to Verik since he arrived to preach in Milani’s name, or “Superb Brewmaster Hobnob” of Cayden Cailean to which Verik knew perfectly well was not the man’s real name, the ranking leader of their Heroes’ Hall changing (along with the honorific title used) every few months anyway. Verik sighs and deliberately puts aside the troublesome Milani and Caydenite letters for last, deciding to write Shandara of Shelyn’s letter instead. After all, she was his best chance to convey the concerns of the Founders to the always-absent Desnans as she was on good terms with them – apparently there was a leading male called “The Dreamtender” and a ranking female called “The Starsong” in the River Kingdoms, though he knows precious little else and thinks there might be a third based on his own personal encounters. Hopefully, Shandara would see it through to them.
”My Dearest Ravishing Shandara, High Priestess of the Eternal Rose…”
Verik pauses and blushes as he carefully puts the quill to ink for a fresh application. With the Shelynites, the all-too-intimate greeting not only was appropriate but expected, as was a lovely flourish to his handwriting that normally he did not have time for. One more aspect he had learned in his time as High Cleric of these many faiths that called Newhaven their home now. He has absolutely no idea how he is going to get through writing to the “Succulent Mistress of the Silken Cords Evelyn” of Calistria, but it is better not to think about it too much.
As he is about to continue the letter to Shandara of Shelyn in the best handwriting he can manage, Elsir stirs from his trance and shakes his head to Borodin – it is clear the second attempt has just failed, boding ill for the state of affairs in Varnhold. Verik takes a deep breath and goes back to getting the letters completed, even as Elsir starts the ritual a third time to try and scry Nikolai.
The eleven letters to the known faith leaders have been completed and just sent for delivery by liveried messengers of Castle Sanctuary. Verik paces nervously around areas of the Founder’s Hall, waiting for Elsir to see if he has any success in contacting Nikolai. Some of the other Founders have left for a time, though Berrin is now back in full armor as if he’s going to leap on Valnyr and charge down from the courtyard gates. Verik wrinkles his face and puts his mind back to other thoughts. Late in the afternoon now, but still time for me to get back and change before seeing Aleza…hopefully the carriage is waiting by the time I get back to the Bank or there’s no recovery…Eben will have seen it through for me however…drat I don’t know what I have that’s suitable that has been laundered recently in my wardrobes…doesn’t matter I suppose at this point…fine way to make a suitable impression if I look the scraggly weed to her rose…
His thoughts are interrupted by the stirring of a clearly fatigued Elsir now in magical contact with Nikolai, hearing the Magister’s words of warning, followed surprisingly by hearing Nikolai’s familiar voice in turn as a whisper to him. Verik walks briskly over to where the other Founders gather, just in time to hear Berrin’s vocal reply of assistance, bringing the Banker up short in alarmed surprise.
”Wait…what?” Verik turns to Berrin incredulously. ”Going to…why on earth do we need to rush on to Dragonswatch when he has got six companies of soldiers at his beck and call to look for a few errant stragglers? If you second the authorization that is! I’ve got…I can’t just up and leave the city to go on a wild hare chase…wait can Nikolai hear me right now?”
Nikolai Rogarvia tightens his lips as he walks. Despite their adventures and the magical power of his friends, this business of talking to the air and hearing them from Sanctuary unsettled him. Nikolai didn't eschew magic. There was no question that his red-scaled cloak or the great blade Dragonsbreath bore great power. But sending words on the wind felt like fantasy.
He listens as he clears the stair, pushes wide the great doors of the garrison, and stepps into the cool autumn air. Nodding to those who acknowledged him on the street, he mutters into the spell that carries his report.
"Contact me again in the early morning. I'll sort out this missing persons nonsense and tell you if there's any word from Varn. And tell Verik there's no rush to get here until then. Otherwise he might have to fight something."
The Dragonlord grips the pommel of his flaming blade and, with broad smile, runs for the alleys of Dragonswatch.
When Jemini feels confident that she won't interrupt Elsir's tenuous hold on the magic between Nikolai and them, she adds: "Nikolai! Tandlara's warning suggested that many would die, but not rest. Be careful about committing anybody you don't trust to return swiftly. It is devastating enough to have our people die - but to have them fight unquiet remnants of their friends and neighbors... that is intolerable. We need to know what is going on fast and react with precision thereafter." Still in hearing of Nikolai, but to Verik she adds: "I agree with you that we should not send even more soldiers - but I suspect that several of us present here right now will need to go personally. If word reaches us that Varnhold is in trouble, we'll have to worry about Aylene heading out immediately as well, even though she needs rest and peace of mind right now."
Trailing off Nikolai can still make out, "Choral the Conqueror, the Winter Queen, and now some dis-entimed cyclopean lich. Elsir! Would Vordekai possibly be beholden to either of those? Choral or the Winter Queen? Could there be strings directing him in the dark?"
Elsir ponders the question for a moment before answering Jemini's query. "It is far from impossible. Our enemies may conspire against us, or it may be a coincidence. Based on the inherent extremes of the Winter and Summer fey, it is unlikely that the Summer King would broker an alliance with an undead creature. They may be cruel and capricious creatures, but the summerlings are infused with life. Thus, I doubt that Choral and Vordekai are allies - though they may not be enemies. If Vordekai is vassal to either of the fey regents, it would be Nyrissa."
Verik's face clouds with doubt at Jemini's words. "I hadn't thought about that part with Aylene. She would do something foolish to herself in the manner you describe where it concerns her father I suppose."
As Jemini's words of warning echo in his ears, carried upon the wind by the elf's magic, Nikolai sets himself to the task of finding the source of the disappearances. Jonn Jellicoe follows along with him, somewhat confused by hearing only Nikolai's side of the conversation. Nikolai doesn't mind bringing him along, as he knows that the soldier is capable of defending himself. He takes pride in his influence on the frontier army that protects the nation's north and east borders. With his mentoring and tutelage, they are a force that cannot be ignored by enemies of the state - even as those enemies vastly outnumber them. Many of the veterans of the battle against Hargulka, like Jellicoe, joined what may be the first line of defense against northern aggression.
Nikolai heads immediately for the so-called dance hall, the source of these mysterious disappearances. The building would likely offender Verik's propriety should he visit Dragonswatch, but men at arms have an expectation of such places. Gambling, drinking, singing, carousing, women of questionable morals - all can be found at the dance hall tucked in the northwest corner of the town, near rows of houses where the locals live. He passes through the main avenue of the fortress town, which runs between the infantry garrison and the smithy that supplies the men. A few of the soldiers salute, a few wave, but most go about their business. He passes the monument - a simple painted relief depicting several soldiers surrounding Hargulka's two-headed lieutenant, along with the inscribed names of those who died in the battle - and crosses the empty field that separates the dance hall from the graveyard. So far, only a few unlucky souls dead from illness or accident - and a few executed bandits - populate the graveyard; though any graveyard in a military fortress has a chance to fill up quite quickly.
As Nikolai approaches the dancing hall, he spots a trio of familiar faces. The group is a semi-mercenary set of adventurers that Nikolai has found useful, if aggravating in their arrogance. The first that he notices is Gordenn Knacke, a half-orc warrior from Tymon who boasts of having won their annual gladiatorial tournament with his bare hands; Nikolai has seen that he is a talented boxer, aggressive and mean in hitting vulnerable spots. The second is a human woman with haunted eyes. Nikolai has never heard her speak, and he knows that she is deaf, but she commands the attention of anyone watching her hand gestures. She is a divine healer, like Verik without the sanctimony or religiousness. The third of the group is their leader, Lucain Demoro. The demon-blooded magus has been easy to deal with, despite his bravado; Nikolai need but challenge his prowess to get his cooperation. Nikolai has leaned on them a few times, mostly for minor problems in the hinterlands. Lucain bows to Nikolai as he and Jellicoe walk up. "We received your request for help. Our standard fee applies, but we are glad to offer our assistance."
Although Borodin isn’t as accomplished in arcane maters as Elsir, he is familiar with what it will take for the elf to scry on Lord Varn and the others. He knew he had time to visit his study but honestly, he was dead tired. Instead, he chose to sit down on the floor and continue to meditate until there was news.
Maegar Varn… Maegar Varn…Maegar Varn! Elsir cried out his voice echoing with power.
Borodin opened his eyes suddenly. He could feel the energies Elsir was manipulating. He could also feel the energy leave the room, as if sucked out the window like air to a tempest.
That is unfortunate, but perhaps Elsir’s magic wasn’t strong enough. He closed his eyes again.
Nothing! Elsir croaked, clutching at this temple. Just a hazy flash of red as the spell failed. Shaking his head in frustration, Elsir looked at Borodin. I’m sorry… I wish I could tell you something definitive. Something is clearly blocking my spell, but I don’t know what it is. Gritting his teeth in frustration and worry, Elsir rubs his aching knees with a tired hand before kneeling back onto the stone floor.
Borodin felt for his friend. Two hours of casting with no definite results. Well may be not exactly. I don’t like the sounds of that Elsir. If something is blocking your spell, then perhaps our fears are not unfounded. He looks up the stairs in the direction Berrin went. I hope we can find Maegar the Elder for Aylene’s sake, and Berrin’s.
He looks back to the elf, already concentrating on his next casting. Feeling better after two hours of rest, Borodin quietly steps out of the hall and ventures back to his study. During the next hour, he pens some letters and instructions to his second in command, as well as some missives to contacts throughout his spy network. After his work is complete, he writes another, more personal letter. Once finished, he rolls it up and puts it into a silver tube. He casts a simple cantrip which ignites a nearby candle. He seals the edges of the scroll tube with wax and cleans off the excess. He scribbles a name on another piece of parchment, rolls it around the tube and applies more wax, finishing it off with his signet ring.
With that task complete, Borodin picks up a mace that he had crafted earlier in the year and puts it into his haversack. He shoulders his pack and his bow and leaves his office for the main hall.
As he approaches the hall he can already hear Nikolai speaking through Elsir’s enchantments as well as Berrin’s insistence that they leave for Dragon’s Watch immediately. Borodin is silent for most of the ensuing conversation but gravitates towards Berrin. He looks at the General and asks When do we leave?
Turning on Verik when he objects to leaving for Dragonswatch Berrin eyes his old friend, regarding his reluctance as cowardly. "Then stay. I'm sure we can recruit another cleric willing to face the danger of undead." he tells the cleric coldly.
Berrin's face goes through a variety of expressions as the talk moves to Aylene doing something less than thought-through, nobody knew how headstrong she was as well as Berrin after two years of marriage. "She's in no condition to ride. She stays and that's final!" Adopting a stubborn expression he looks Jemini and Verik full in the face, a stubborn expression that soon turns pleading, "Right? I mean.." Berrin looks away, looking for words. "...she wouldn't, would she? By Cayden.."
Pondering how he'd bring the news to her Berrin turns away from the group and starts pacing again, muttering something to himself as he pictures an argument with his wife. Interrupted by Borodin's soft question he stops and looks up, meeting Verik's eye as he answers Borodin. "Tomorrow. We leave first light tomorrow. We need time to gather supplies, set affairs in order and make ready."
"We need to put the army on high alert, Jem." he addresses Jemini. "If worst comes to worst then we can't be caught with our breeches 'round our ankles. Seeing as we've lost contact with Varnhold we must assume that an army could possibly have been raised already so the army must be able to mobilize with no notice."
Waiting for Jemini's confirmation he waves over the squire. "Gather the captains in the war room, two hours!" he commands him, receiving an affirmative he looks dejectedly at his friends and makes his leave.
"I must talk to Aylene." he says by way of excusing himself and goes to find his mother. If he was to succeed in convincing Aylene, he would need allies.
Kesten Garess stands in front of the massive map of Brevoy, Newhaven, and the River Kingdoms. The diplomat runs the war council which began rather than waiting for the tardy Berrin. The captains of the armies join the Founders' Council in the circular, fortified room dug into the castle's foundation. The mural was painted using the maps created by Zander and the Wardens, supplemented by the detailed charts created by Narthropple's expeditions. Centered upon Sanctuary and Tuskwater Lake, it extends to the north and captures Brevoy (and its six squabbling houses) to the Lake of Mists and Veils. The map ends east of Varnhold, past the mountains that separate civilization from the vast Iobarian expanse. To the southwest, Mivon sits upon the confluence of the Sellen River on its path through Lake Hooktongue and the Shrike River; the republic's surrounding towns and settlements dot the map. Raston Selline, the consul (a position earned by his skill at Aldori dueling) of Mivon, has taken advantage of Hargulka's death to creep northwards. To the west, the menacing city of Pitax looms large and greedy. Kesten gestures to the hanging markers of the armies on the Mivon-Pitax border, almost a hundred miles through unclaimed terrain in the Narlmarches and Hooktongue Slough. "Fortunately, Pitax and Mivon have long been at odds. King Irovetti and Consul Selline despise one another, and neither of them are likely to be tempted if we reposition our forces to the east."
Akiros nods, his question answered. As a former citizen of Mivon, he has little trust for Pitax and its ambitious ruler. "If our armies are needed elsewhere, I will defend Sanctuary to my last breath. But I fear the greatest danger lies to the north, in Brevoy."
"Yes, Brevoy," Kesten answers. "It continues to stand on a knife's edge. My cousins tell me that Lord Howlan Garess has fallen gravely ill. Should he pass away of natural causes, leaving impossible a petition to the gods for his safe return, I suspect that the Regent will place a puppet as his heir by voiding Toval Golka's adoption. Many still disagree with his taking-in of the dwarf, and Lord Howlan has many relatives with equal claims waiting in the wings. Should Surtova select one loyal to him, it could dramatically destabilize the north. The Lebeda-Orlovsky-Medvyed alliance is all that keeps the peace between Rostland and Issia; a Surtovan lackey at the Lebeda back door will force someone's hand. Am I mistaken in my assessment, Lady Lebeda? Will your father assent to Issians on his north and east borders?"
Aylene stirs in her bed, exhausted from the birth. Little Maegar sleeps quietly in a tiny crib, swaddled in blankets to keep warm in the cold fall air. The fire crackles in the corner of the room, providing some extra warmth for Berrin's young family. He places his hand on his newborn son's chest, taking pride in the healthy breaths of air that the boy steadily takes in. He wishes that he could hang onto this perfect moment for as long as he could, but he knows that he must face the reality of the situation. His mother puts a steadying hand on his shoulder, a surprisingly maternal gesture.
Aylene opens her eyes, sitting up in the bed as she does so. She gestures for Berrin to hand her the baby. Berrin gently picks up Maegar and hands him to his wife, who brings him down to her breast. The baby starts to suckle as his instincts take over, feeding from her milk. Aylene smiles softly as she looks down lovingly at her new child, then back up to Berrin. "What's going on? I don't like that worried look you've got."
Sitting patiently by Aylene's bedside 'till she awoke Berrin knew in the back of his mind that the war council had probably gathered already. He knew, but he just didn't care. Berrin trusted that they would proceed just fine without him, Kesten, Akiros, Zander and the captains all knew their business and wouldn't need Berrin to guide things along. Luckily he had had plenty of time to talk to his mother, hopefully she'd support him in what needed to be done.
Enjoying the moment when Aylene woke up Berrin is taken aback by Aylene's accurate assessment of his mood, Berrin blinks and frowns at his wife, sitting up a little straighter. Eyeing her he realizes that he shouldn't be surprised, if anyone knew him it was her, and despite how well he tried to conceal his discomfort, she'd know.
Sighing he sags and looks away. 'Here goes.'
"It's Maegar, Aylene. Your father." he says by way of clarification. "We've lost all contact with Varnhold. Elsir's scrying produced nothing, not even a glimpse. It seemed to be blocked by something and I fear for the worst." Berrin trails off, glancing at his mother.
"We managed to contact Nikoali, at Dragonswatch." he continues. "There are reports of missing persons there, he just initiated investigations, and we're setting the ready state of the army to high and going out to investigate. We head out tomorrow at first light." Looking up at Aylene he sees that her features have hardened, a frown on her face.
"Please, Aylene.." Berrin is interrupted by Maegar giving a gurgle of protest which draws both their eyes to him, making Aylene catch her breath and force herself to relax and ease her grip on the child, helping him get comfortable again to no avail.
"Here, child. Let me show you." Berrin's mother says soflt, stepping forward and picking Maegar up from the confused Aylene's arms. Setting him up on one shoulder she bounces the baby softly and pats it on the back, producing a burp after a short while, calming Maegar considerably. Giving him back to his mother they can see the look of confusion on her face, as if she is on the brink of tears. "There's no trick to it, love." she soothes the new mother, sitting down besides her and stroking Maegar's head as he settles back down to suckle his mother. "It'll come as natural as breathing before you know it. Just let him finish one before you set him to the next, no matter what they would tell ya, it'll help you produce for 'im an' make sure he grows up big an' strong. The consistency of his feeding for first months of his life will determine much about his future."
Obviously calmed by the elder woman's presence she gives her a grateful look before turning her attention back to Berrin, her look turning into one of desperation.
Rushing forward Berrin is quick to embrace his wife, seeing the look of fear on her face and judging rightly that she is on the brink of tears. "No, no, sssh..." he mutters into her hair, stroking it as sobs come forth. "Sssh.. it will be alright. I'll find him, don't you worry, I'm sure it's alright.." Berrin mutters words he doesn't really believe on instinct, hoping to sooth his wife.
As the sobbing subsides Aylene gently pushes Berrin out of the embrace, which he reluctantly lets go off. Looking at her Berrin sees she has adopted a stubborn frown as she settles back onto the bed. "Muster the men Berrin, investigate the disappearances. Go, find my father." she says, staring forward unblinking.
Standing up hesitantly from the bed Berrin can't help but plead with her. "Please, Aylene..."
"Go." she interrupts him. "Go. Now." she commands.
Looking away dejectedly Berrin slowly makes his way to the door, stopping, thinking that he would try one last time he is interrupted by another "Go." before he can even turn to face her.
Sighing, Berrin leaves the chamber to make his way to the war council, he could only pray that his mother could hold some rein over her.
The Dragonlord nods briefly before he motions for the mercenaries to join him in stride.
"We have rumors here of folk being taken, mostly from the dance hall. Help me look into it. No bloodshed unless we're attacked. We take prisoners if we can."
He rounds the corner with the four soldiers in tow, the dance hall just ahead. Nikolai turns and walks backwards without losing stride. The deaf woman looks instantly at his face, searching for meaning in the shape of his words. Nikolai finds it impossible not to look directly at her—her gaze is intense, and he knows something of the horrors she might have faced to be stricken deaf and look as if she'd seen ghosts.
He turns his head to Lucain, to avoid the appearance of addressing her specifically.
"There may be undead. Servants of a lich caught up in our struggles. There may be related trouble in Varnhold. We search the hall for clues, but say nothing. We'll follow where that leads, but we don't go outside or below grounds alone."
Nikolai turns and adjusts the red-scaled scabbard that houses Dragonsbreath. He grasps the heavy double doors of the dance hall and pushes them open with ease.
Nikolai opens the doors to the carousing hall, letting the morning light stream into the place. Laughing and hooting emerge from the soldiers, merchants, and loose women inside. Prostitution is illegal in Newhaven, but Verik was forced to make an exception for worshipers of Calistria in the interest of religious tolerance. Many of the prostitutes attracted to the booming economy of Newhaven immediately converted to worship of the Unquenchable Fire, and the 'dancing hall' was technically blessed as a bona fide temple of the Savored Sting. Verik had grumbled about the exploitation of loopholes when he found out, but the manipulative Calistrian madame had convinced him to leave the situation as-is.
Nikolai strides past the gamblers trying over a game of Andoran poker, each hiding their hands from unscrupulous onlookers, and makes his way past the crowd watching a strange game in which a dart-thrower and a pair of wizards compete to hit their favored of three targets with the dart. Some people give him a worried glance - his size and weaponry are enough to give pause to anyone - but most are used to his presence in the town. A woman walks up to him, smiling with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Well, Nikolai. You've taken my invitation, then?" Evelyn Dinarda, a cleric of Calistria, looks over the giant man with a hungry eye. She is a beautiful woman blessed with an angel's blood and a devil's smile. Wearing a clinging dress that more than hints at her slim, tall figure, the blonde woman is the proprietor of the hall. "Or does something less enjoyable bring you here," she asks while nodding at the trio of mercenaries at his back.
There was a time when Nikolai's heart belonged to Jemini, and his eyes and mind obeyed. Though he still yearned for the paladin's companionship, the dire claims from the future moved the Dragonlord to take up residence at Dragonswatch while it was under construction, and to walk among the ranks to lift their spirits and remind them of the dangers Newhaven faced.
Absent his friends, Nikolai infrequently considered burying his affections for Jemini in a night of passion with the Calistrade woman before him. In his heart, though, he remembered seeking pleasure for the wrong reasons, and even in his most debauched days, Nikolai cared little for prostitutes. Though the indulgent nature of Evelyn's worship made her different from more common whores, his possessive nature still caused him to lose any desire past looking her over from a distance.
He looked her in the eyes now. Madame Dinarda possessed many fine features, among them look that could make his blood run hot if he'd let it.
He managed a forced smile. "You are always tempting, as is your calling, Evelyn. But I am here becuase it's been reported that some have gone missing. Are your acolytes accounted for?"