As abhorrent as the idea of sailing is to him, Khalbar's desire to find his family is even more consuming. He prods Rhanloi along incessantly, until at last the half-elf is finally ready to depart.
The man is an eerily silent opponent, and gives out no cry of victory nor satisfaction when his knife digs into Pick's flesh, but he also is clearly not focusing entirely on Pick. As Killian draws his sword and approaches the assailant, he easily dodges out of the way of Killian's flat-of-the-blade attack. Killian mumbles an apology to Pick and to somebody named "Eye Oh Mead Eh" as he misses.
The remainder of the day is spent re-supplying with food, ammunition, spare underclothes, and more, and Khalbar waits patiently as Rhanloi runs around town, manic, doing all of that. Then the pair of them head down to the Sandpoint docks to look for passage. They meet, upon arrival, a man called Belven Valdemar - Sandpoint's newest noble (after Ameiko), as his father died in the goblin attack. He is incredibly grateful to the goblinslayers for their instrumental role in keeping the town safe, and he offers passage to Magnimar on one of his fastest ships, and offers to write up a letter of recommendation for the portmaster in Magnimar to try and get the pair on their way to Geb more quickly.
Obviously, the pair accept (as who could ask for a better deal) and on the very next morning, they board one of Belven's ships, a trade vessel called Tidecatcher. The captain, a cheerful halfling called Thoros, greets the pair and shows them to the room they are to share for the two-day journey overseas.
Thus begins Rhanloi and Khalbar's epic journey, in a small trade ship on the way to Magnimar. As ships go, it's relatively comfortable, but Khalbar is inconsolable with the fact that they are already traveling upon the Big Salt. It helps immensely that the land is always in sight aboards the Tidecatcher, but the rocking of the boat and the creaking of the boards underneath are far from a comfort.
He also experimented with his magic, finding interesting uses for some of his spells. Like the first night when he cast dancing lights off the side to amuse the sailors, or prestidigitation during dinner to make the bread and vegetables turn funny colors or float around the table. He also found more serious uses, like casting floating disk under a sailor working at the top of the mast to keep him from falling; or when he cast magic missiles at a giant fish to get their dinner!
He continued to check on Khalbar, but knew that any implied weakness would be more disastrous than just leaving the big man alone. Rhanloi did try to convince him that it was better up on the deck, where you could see the sun and the sky and feel the breeze against your skin and taste the salt air on your tongue. Yes, the half-elf was quite enjoying himself on this first leg of their journey. His spirits were high and his sails were full!
Khalbar was green around the gills. Bad enough to be on a wooden toy tossed about on the waves like this with no hope in sight of getting back on the land, but the constant motion and rocking was making him seasick as well.
He spent nearly all the day leaned over the gunwales hurling into the sea, and the nights tossing and turning sleeplessly. After a few days, he began to seriously think that he was in the furnace of hell itself. More than once, he asked to be dropped off on land, planning to find a horse and ride across Avistan, meeting the ship at Neb instead.
His only respite was the sight of land, however distant, and the hope, however small, of seeing fair Alia and little baby Harm again. This thought kept him going even when all seemed lost.
Working with the tall human, Pick tries a bruising fist to the underside of the razor-man's jaw.
This one is quiet, he thinks. He approves of this. It takes him mentally back.... home.
...apparently, the thoughts of home distract him, for he does not strike as accurately as he had moments before.
They don't even have to wait as long as they might have thought, as Shalelu enters the tavern just a few hours later, plonking down a few coins on the bar and asking for some crappy ale that the 'Dragon has on tap.
Rhanloi and Khalbar are free to stay aboard the ship for the night, or they can, the Captain is sure, find easy and cheap lodging in the city. Whichever they like.
Unfortunately, the topsider continues to prove himself just as useless as he'd ever been. The corporal curses chastely, saying "Oh, drat!"
The assassin, meanwhile, draws in on himself and casts a spell. Red and black energy crackles around his hand, and, still silent, the assassin lunges forward to try and touch Pick with it.
Pick is taken aback by the strange attack that the man employs, and the man manages to lay a hand over Pick's heart. The negative energy disrupts Pick's life force, and he feels weakness fall onto his bones and pain course through his muscles.
Once ashore, he will look for a modest, but not cheap, inn. One with a decent minstrel playing and a common room full of honest-looking, hard-working folk from the town. He will arrange for a meal and a room they can share.
Pick doesn't quite scream at the pain, but only because of a lifetime of rigid training not to do so. He whines, deep in his throat, shuddering at the terrible sensation. It's like his very life is ripping away.
Again he strikes, even as pain throbs through every muscle. Though part of him wants only to kill, he thinks that if the silent one is taken alive.... then he can suffer longer. Good goal.
"...if the silent one is taken alive.... then he can suffer longer. Good goal."
Kyra joins in with Ameiko's laughter. "I'm lad I was, too. No telling what might have happened otherwise." She shakes her head, before smiling. "As it is, I have much to do. Rest up, sister. I shall see you again soon"
As Kyra leaves, her distaste for the girl being replaced by a newfound plan for her campaign, a guard approaches to tell her of Khalbar's departure, taking the wind entirely from her sails, as it were. She nods to the guard, feeling somewhat numb, but taking some small pleasure in knowing that he didn't leave with A'letta.
The urge to destroy something came over Kyra, and she looked around the small town for something worthy of her fists, stopping and letting out a sigh as she saw how much destruction had already been done. Resigning herself to the way things were, she instead found a building that had been damaged and set to work spending her energy and frustration on repairing it.
Khalbar literally leaps off the ship and falls to his knees on the ground, giving thanks to once again be on solid earth. Casting a baleful glance back at the ship, he moves on with Rhanloi in search of an inn, a meal, and a bed.
He looks about the booming city with unhidden awe. "I have never seen so many people in one place, Rhanloi. There are not his many people in all the Plains of Storval, despite the distance of the place. How do they all live here?"
What saved the barbarian in the end was shopping. While walking along the streets and discussing the broader points of the marvels of modern sewage construction techniques, Rhanloi stopped mid-sentence in the middle of the sidewalk. He was staring at a simple-looking bookstore across the street. In his head, the lights grew brighter on the bay window and sign, and he could hear the angel chorus singing...he had stumbled upon the famed Flourish and Blotts Bookstore, known throughout the land for the unique and extensive collection of tomes, scrolls, books and writings on all things magical and extraordinary. Rhanloi finally closes his mouth, blinks once or twice, and says absently to Khalbar, "But I'm sure you've heard enough from me and would rather just get some rest after our arduous journey. I will be in that store for a while - see you back at the inn for the evening meal? Good, good..." He walks away, not hearing anything Khalbar said, or if he said anything at all.
The masked man scowls underneath his mask at Pick's magical resistance and lashes out at the duergar with his razor again.
Unfortunately, the man isn't strong enough to pierce Pick's chain shirt with his knife, so the blade goes raking over Pick's armored protection. At the same time, Killian murmurs a prayer behind the masked man and swings again at him, still trying to strike with the flat of his blade.
Still, though, the useless Guardsman misses the agile masked man yet again with his sword.
This time, his blow is true.
As Rhanloi marches off entranced by the magical bookstore, Khalbar stomps around Magnimar looking for an open space where he can see the horizon instead of this infernal mass of people and buildings.
Failing to find a good place, he returns to his rented room and awaits the return of the scholarly mage.
Killian huffs as the man falls, and the aura of divine energy around him fades. "I'm...sorry I didn't do more." he says, looking at Pick apologetically. "If you'll let me, I can alleviate some of your wounds. I have to touch you, though."
The next day, Captain Thoros greets the pair of them at the docks with a wide smile and a rolled-up piece of paper. "This," he says, shaking the rolled-up scroll, "Is a copy of your passage orders onto the Storm's Mistress, the ship that will be taking you to Nex. It was the longest-distance ship I was able to find, and it was only going out there at the bequest of the local Golemworks. The ship will be headed to the city of Quantium to procure several large magical ingredients and the recently-constructed body of a golem. I've procured a room for the two of you onboard." He consults a compass momentarily (for no evident reason, almost by nervous habit) before saying, "Now, I know that isn't exactly where you're headed, but it's as close as you're going to get by ship. Without getting onboard a body-slaver, you aren't getting to Geb itself, and no one sails into the Mana Wastes to get to the Grand Duchy of Alkenstar."
Rhanloi will replenish any magical reagents and spell components here while the supplies are available, and then report to the Storm's Mistress early the next morning.
He grunts warily when Killy An speaks, then looks up at him squint-eyed.
Hmmmm. This one asks before touching. If he must be touched, this is the best way: to be asked first. On the other hand, if he accepts this healing, does he have a debt to Killy An too? He just cleared his debt to Spear-Woman! How many debts can one acquire in one lifetime?
...on the other hand, the top-sider was useless in battle. And failed to see the creepers. So perhaps, this is the top-sider's way of making atonement. Yess... yes, Pick's mind can work with that. This allows for healing, and no debt.
He nods at Killy An, and then, because top-siders are dumb, he says it in words for him too. "Yes, touch to heal."
Pick holds warily still for the touch-healing. "Your.... Ihm-a-day... gives you healing touch?" he grunts out, brows working. Killy An is the third or fourth person now that he has met with healing touch! There is quite a lot of healing in the surface world, it seems. Maybe that is why they are so free with it.
"This one--" he pokes the cultist in the ribs with a toe, "still living. Did not kill. Maybe... you ask questions. But probably, no answers."
If the enemy can be that silent during the battle, probably nothing Killy An can do can make him talk, Pick thinks. There were very good talkers among the People: they had many ways of coaxing noise when it was needed. Hot needles, and the cage with the rat, and the little wires to go under the fingernails... Pick had been too lowly to learn their ways, alas. Anyway, he doubts Killy An is as good as the People, at such arts.
|
Acquiescing to Pick's permission, Killian reaches out with a hand to touch the duergar on the shoulder, his hand glowing with positive energy. He keeps the hand on Pick for a few moments and Pick's woulds slowly close, and some of his stolen life-force is returned. "Yes, it is Iomedae that grants me my power. In exchange for my devotion to her cause of good."
"Yes. I've gotta get this guy back to my captain...Should we...i dunno, carry him back to the barracks? Or should I go back myself and bring a few guards to help us out with this?"
Knowing there is no other way, Khalbar grumblingly gets aboard the next ship which will take an even longer route. Even that passage will not get him to the land of the living dead where is family is said to be held.
The ways of the wider world are baffling to the simple man from the Burning Steppes, but he trusts Rhanloi and if the wizard says this is what must be done, Khalbar is going to do it.
He sighs deeply as he boards the next ship, steeling himself to not be afraid and to try to enjoy it as much as he can.
Seeing his friend, Rhanloi pulls out a strange, twisty root and hands it to Khalbar. "Ginger. Chew a little piece of it if your stomach starts to feel queasy and it will help! Cheer up, my big friend! If you help out on deck, it makes the time pass more quickly, will keep your strength up, and you might just enjoy yourself..." he says with a smile and a reassuring pat on the back.
Pick shivers, wondering how blasphemous a thought it might be to think that the Sleeper... the Sleeper might not be able to reach here.
No, that is madness. The Sleeper is very big. Very... very... big. The Sleeper is big in the way that the salt-water is big: too vast to be understood. Too big for words. Only in the knowing can you understand, and when understanding, the rest of the world is changed.
He rocks back and forth on his heels. If Killy An or any of the other topsiders-- Hammer, Spear Woman, the drow-cousin, the big warrior, the little talking one with the bird-- if any of them were to know the Sleeper, then their surface minds, so full of daylight and noise, would break. This is a truth. They are not strong enough for it. You must be born to the Sleeper, to survive it.
What can he do, so far away from the People? He is a traitor now. They would use his bones for tools, to make sure he served the Sleeping, if he ever returned. Outcast. Believer, still, but what does this matter when your god is very far away?
Killy An's words are very intrusive into his Serious Thoughts. Pick grunts. He bends down to the unconscious human, hooks his arms around the crook of his legs and the back of his neck, and uppp they go with the body weight spread across his own shoulders.
(Surface-dwellers are also weak. Children of the People can carry much stone, or even slaves, many miles, through the deep tunnels.)
"Check that one is dead. And for what is useful. We go."
The human's legs are a little unwieldy because they are long, but the weight is not an issue. Pick thinks as he trudges along, relishing the lack of pain in his body. The healing magic is powerful. If he could make the healing happen, then he would never again be as he was that time in the caves, when he was very hurt and each breath was fire in his lungs; when he stayed for long hours unable to move, dizzy and sick and holding the blood of his body inside himself with his own hands...
Is there a god that would take Pick, traitor though he is? Even surface-gods see deep. They would say, you are a traitor to your people! You cannot be devoted to me! and he would have only ash to answer, because it is true.
No. He must still serve the Sleeper. It is all he knows. His mind is not made for other gods.
Perhaps it is worship, he thinks, to end the noise of creatures like goblins. Yes. Maybe.
Hrmn. He must think on this. He thinks on it all the way back to Killy An's captain.
The journey, of course, isn't nearly as bad as he could have thought a week ago, as the Storm's Mistress is fast. Faster than any ship either of the pair of them could have thought before. It's captained by a powerful druid, who makes the wind bend to her beck and call so that the winds are always at the ship's back, and any near her feel the effects of the storm lessen. She is able to drive away massive seafaring predators with bolts of lightning and whirlwinds of ice, and and makes the vessel thrive when it otherwise would founder. One week into the journey, the ship makes its first stop, at a city called "Nisroch". Here, arches and buttresses adorn nearly every building, and the entire city sits in a pallid slate-gray, quiet and subdued. The captain forbids Rhanloi and Khalbar from exiting the ship here, and she makes the only deals herself, and quickly. Within a day, they are off again.
A week and a half later, one of the most remarkable sights either of them have seen comes into view. With the Inner Sea falling behind them, and the canyon of the Hespereth Strait looming in front, the Arch of Aroden is in clear view. Though much of the center of it has fallen into the ocean, hundreds of feet of gleaming white stone still stand, and it is under this arch that the Storm's Mistress sails.
Two weeks later, the ship makes its second stop - in the massive metropolis of Absolom, a city of a hundred thousand that rests upon the Isle of Kortos. Again, Rhanloi and Khalbar are restricted to the deck of the ship but for short breaks, but this time it is for fear of getting lost or mugged and killed, not for...other, darker reasons, as last time. Again, the ship is going within a day.
The third and last leg of the journey is the least eventful. No massive krakens leap out of the ocean to capsize the vessel, there are no stops, and no massively monumental sights greet the crew as they sail. It is a month after they leave Absalom that they finally come to Quantium. Sailing around a large and (reportedly) uninhabited island and into a smaller river, the Storm's Mistress comes into port, finally in the nation of Nex. The captain thanks them for their presence, warns them of the dangers of the nation of Geb, and departs with a bow. No pun intended, again.
The city of Quantium is a wonder, truly. Though it is significantly smaller than the other city of Absalom, is it much grander. Hanging gardens adorn large hillsides here, floating towers of ivory hover above massive, glittering palaces and two gigantic golems, both over twenty-five feet tall, circle the city slowly and deliberately. Large ruts have been carved into the paving by their passage, though the green and red golems continue to slowly stride.
The city is overflowing with magic, and huge, pillared libraries are around every corner. The economy is booming, and the markets are overflowing with gold and with goods, and shouting, busy people.
Already, she is cleaning up her table-spot and bringing her empty bowl back to the bar. She motions for Flibble and Ameiko to follow her and she ascends the stairs to the room she's renting out, entering it and beginning to belt on equipment. Quickly, she folds things up into tiny bundles and shoves them into a backback, slinging that onto her back alongside an unstrung bow (though the string is on her belt) and belting on a short-sword.
"Sooner is better than later, just so we don't lose track of the...tracks. No pun intended."
The remainder of Kyra's day is occupied lifting heavy bits of wood, and hammering them onto a house, and sawing off burned portions, or carrying large panes of glass from the Glassworks to the wrecked house she'd volunteered to help repair. The owner, a young woman whose husband had died during the goblin attack, thanks Kyra non-stop and compliments her on her massive muscles throughout the day. Eventually, though, the sun begins to set and the day is set to end. Kyra retires, knowing gthat the very next day is the kick-off for the mayoral race against Scarnetti.
The next day, a pair of podiums are set up in the square in front of the Cathedral, Sandpoint's spiritual center. Coincidentally, the primary religion (that of Desna) is, in part, a faith of luck. Thus, the opening ceremony of the race is mostly about good fortune and the journey of life that has led each of the two contenders to this point.
He leads the way back to the Arvensoar, meeting curious glances with stern glares and occasionally stopping to hoist the slipping assassin higher on his shoulders.
Perhaps the open streets weren't the best idea, though. Pick, when he looks up at the faces of passersby, can't help but think that they're being watched. He can't pin down any specific people in the crowd, for every time he tries to look, a group of people passes in front of his vision and he loses track of whomever he saw, but he can feel the eyes on his back.
As they go along, Pick is increasingly nervous. It is hard to be inconspicuous in the street with a body on your shoulders, even in nighttime. He trots after Killy An trying to communicate I'm with him, he has authority! by his mannerisms.
Yet... someone... is watching, he feels. Pick makes a quiet, half-conscious little whine of unease in his throat.
Maybe more of the black robes.
Maybe the People, come to deal with him.
Maybe the Sleeper himself, to punish him for all the noise he has made lately.
He does not say his misgivings to Killy An, though. Killy An would say: where are the watchers? and he has no answer for that.
Always suspcious of magic, Khalbar looks around Quantium in wonder and concern.
"This is magic city. Magic very powerful but very uncontrolled like wild stallion that needs breaking. Too many use that power for evil. This place make Khalbar nervous. How long before we go to undead land?"
They find a room in a moderate inn, paying in advance for three nights. They might need more, or less, but Khalbar deserves some rest from the arduous sea journey. That evening, after dinner, Rhanloi goes to one of the libraries to research the land of Geb and the Mana wastes. It would be quicker and safer to sail to Geb and avoid the mana wastes, but only slavers came by sea. It would also be safer to ride west around the wasteland, but the time required made this the second course of action. No - he and Khalbar would have to ride directly through the wastes - the direct route being fastest and least likely.
Within an hour, all three of them and Flibble's mini-roc mount are all on the other side of the destroyed bridge. Shalelu peers at the ground, scanning it for tracks.
She leans low when she spots something on the ground that Flibble or Ameiko can't quite make out. She points at it. "Here. A footprint-track." She looks up at the pair of other adventurers. "I should be able to follow them, now that I've got ahold of the first track, but it's possible he went more than a few miles. Are you sure you're ready to leave Sandpoint?"
Khalbar is glad when the mage suggests overland travel instead of ship-borne. As imposing as the Mana Wastes sounds, Khalbar wonders if Rhanloi has ever seen the Storval Plateau and the Burning Sands.
Feeling like he would be himself, if on horseback once again, he asks Rhanloi "We take horse to Geb, yes? What else we need for long journey?"
"I've never been much good with words," Kyra's voice carries to the gathered crowd. "Always felt that actions spoke louder. It's easy to make promises, but if no one believes you can back them up, they fall short. They become hollowed out."
"What happened was terrible, just terrible. Many lives were lost on our side. But I imagine many more would have been lost had we tried to simply throw gold at the goblin horde. They've been defeated by us, by our strength, by our resolve."
She shakes her head. "I won't make sweeping promises. I'll say only this. I saw many of you during the Goblin Raids. I stood at your sides in battle. And I'll stand at your sides now, while we rebuild our town to be even better than it was before."
Geb is a surprisingly verdant and beautiful nation populated almost entirely by undead. It's unlikely that, once you're in Geb, you'll be in danger from anything other than the local authorities.
Titus takes the stage right after Kyra, very pointedly not looking at her as he addresses the crowd. A big smile graces his bearded face as he begins his speech.
"My opponent has kept her speech short, so I will too. Wouldn't want to waste your time, after all. She says she wishes to re-build the town beter than it was before, but how can we do that? We have lost some of our most loved and respected citizens, lost from the town that was already the greatest town in Varisia. We should be honoring their memories and looking to the past for guidance. Elect me, and you'll have the Sandpoint that you remember, and the Sandpoint that you love so well."
The Sun Shaman merely nods at her as Kadok runs out of the tent, searching for a few more Shoanti to accompany them.
Not twenty minutes, Kadok and three other Shoanti, rippling muscles and tribal tattoos on full display, stand in front of A'letta at the edge of the village. "We are ready to pursue these creatures, shaman. Lead the way."
Soon enough, of course, a captain emerges from offices deeper in the tower. This officer, a medium-height but severe and muscular humanoid clad in half-plate armor, has strangely long ears and sharp eyes. She looks Killian and Pick over when they enter. "I see you've brought a few strays." she says, frowning.