Sand Lotus... The old scholar retreats into his mind palace to turn up where in the wide world he might have heard that term before.
|
He doesnt seem to lie and his mouth movements do not make any sense to the old wizard.
He does however remember hearing of a slave in Isteroth who defied her masters, was arrested, overpowered her captors, was arrested again, fought her way through the fighting pits to become Grand Champion, fought her way free of the slave pens and disappeared into the desert sands to the north of her homeland. She resurfaced nearly a decade later, but has been mostly idle as far as the wizard knows.
...or perhaps not so idle.
Thaegrin puts a hand to his narrow chin. At length he shrugs. "Brilliant. Thank you, Ezkal. Now, can someone please get this corpse out of my room? Sergio, are you still with us?"
The body of Karthus seems to drag across the ground towards the door on its own, without anyone touching it. Wizard Variel raises his eyes to the Drolleye, and then Iskandarr. "It may be wise to burn the body, and while Sergio can carry it for you, he might need help with the fire..."
Karthus softly thumps as he is pulled limply over the threshold of the door. "I think that will be all," he says, lastly turning his eyes to the Halfblood. "Thank you."
"Oh, and Iskandarr, the preparations I asked of you this morning, I will need more for the morrow."
Thaegrin suggests that Iskandarr prepare more Scryings tomorrow.
As his associates dismiss themselves, he frowns at the bed. He doubted he would get any sleep tonight after that excitement.
Iskandarr nods his understanding. "I can accommodate that request,but do you have a moment?"
Thaegrin mutters something in his native tongue to the Halfblood.
"When Eonan sailed into port, I told this impostor-slave to make preparations for the five of us to set sail for Amerys in seven days. In truth, I intended us to depart tomorrow, and not by ship, but by cover of night."
Indicating that the spymaster may go, Thaegrin nods to the Beast-Man and lowers himself into the chair at his desk. He listens.
Facion nods at the wizards words and says to the others before they depart. "It would do well to meet back here tomorrow, I will have something to share with you all." He nods again and makes his way towards the door, only at the last second slipping off to the side as the door shuts.
Tholan pauses to look over the body to see if anything of value has been missed, then grabs the body under one arm, and slings it up over his shoulder with a quietly exhaled curse. "No reason for any ceremony for this one, is there? Easily enough burned to ash." He walks toward the doorway, then pauses, turning back to those in the room. "Does anyone need any mending or care? No serious injuries sustained I hope. And should I move my quarters close by in case of any further trouble?"
Once everyone has left, Iskandarr looks at the wizard "V prípade , že sú sledovaní , by ste chceli , aby som hovoriť Draconic alebo jednoducho napísať , čo som videl , znova?" after a pause to confirm, Iskandarr continues however the wizard deems fit.
"I went to scry vice Admiral Jonathan Trenton and what I saw was quite a grotesque sight. I saw a ship, swathed in blood and ichor, to the point where I could not tell you where the vice Admiral began and the lowliest deckhand ended. I know no animal could have wrought what I saw, but I have a hard time believing it was by physical strength, either."
After the others leave, Thaegrin makes no move for his writing equipment. His nod indicates that the Man of the Lake may speak. When he is finished, the old Feraweni frowns.
"Fascinating. Thank you. I will meditate on this, and speak with you tomorrow. Good night."
Seeing no objection, Tholan leaves the room, heading downstairs and toward the edge of town. Finding a spot reasonably clear as far as his clouded eyes can see, he stretches his shoulders and murmurs, "May this task be done quickly, and the ale be plentiful." He then digs a pit several feet deep, taking care to heap dirt on any nearby plants or flammables, then tosses the body in. After lining the edge of the pit with stone, he spits on the corpse. "May the flames consume your body, and our Lord in Iron consume your soul." Tholan stares into the flames for a minute, then turns away to let the flames die down and the pit cool, unslinging his blade from his shoulders and using the minute to let his blade dance in the light of the fire, then the embers, then finally the light of the moon.
Kicking the rocks onto the ash, Tholan jumps down and uses his increased weight and the covering of stones to crush the remaining bones to fragments, then climbs out and heaps dirt onto the stone.
Finally done, Tholan returns to town to find a large flagon of ale, then sleep.
Thaegrin rises from his bed. His body felt rested, and his mind seemed somewhat clear. The events of the night before turn over in his head as he dresses and packs for the day. It reminds him of another nocturnal visitor -one he tasked to begin a drug trade in a port city to the south. A known resistance to the Emperor’s seizure of power. He idly wonders whatever happened to that pawn of the Silver Tabby.
His wonderings are short-lived as he sits down and pulls open his spellbook. It was imperative that he record the discovery he made last night. Long narrow fingers stop at a chapter with simpler incantations, and the arcane scholar jots down in his personal shorthand, along the margins of the chapter heading, just how exactly he was able to quicken the casting time of these easily-learned spells. Easily-learned, slowly mastered. He pauses when he is done, and contemplates the day ahead. Hopefully, a peaceful one. A day of travel, trade, and gathering of information. I would like to pass through the Ached Isles unnoticed…
Afterwards, he spends the next hour reviewing the incantations for which he anticipates a need.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Iron incarnate, it spins and weaves through battle leaving seeping stillness in the midst of chaos. The holes cut in lines don't fill, they remain gaping, crimson, soldiers shying away from the fallen. Utter destruction, the mass of blade and plate moves unchecked through lines of steel and flesh and life, and leaves only torn steel and broken flesh in its wake. The few blades which rise to meet it, or fall to strike at it, find no purchase in flesh or blood. The arms tear from the bodies which wield them, and soon there is only silence.
Tholan wakes with a song of war in his heart, his pulse beating the steady metronome's hammer of war. "A day to seek out the beginnings to new battles," he hums out in a low rumble. He find a seat in the room, and begins tending to his blade, cleaning and preparing it for the next battle. Power thrums beneath his fingers as he hones the blade, and the magic drained from the day before slowly flows back into his being. Blade tended and magic renewed, he looks to his armor and gear. This second set of armor... It served me well, but I can only wear one at a time. With a sigh, he resolves to sell it when possible, then stows and packs his equipment.
Prepared for the day ahead, Tholan leaves his room, and finds himself meat and bread and another flagon of ale to welcome the day. Pack secure and belly full, Tholan moves to the wizard's quarters.
Awakening in his room, Ezkal preps his gear, cleaning his blades, and stowing his various equipment upon his body. He wanders to the market to look for a set of quick lock manacles after gorging himself on breakfast.
|
|
Morning arrives without further incident.
Ezkal finds his manacles and is last to arrive at the wizard's room where a nonplussed slave is reporting that the man in charge of overseeing the company's preparation to make sail has vanished.
"How should we proceed master?" The bewildered man asks Thaegrin.
Iskandarr rises early in his quarters with a stretch and a yawn. Leaving the confines of civilization, he finds a peaceful place to sit and quiet himself in nature, to allow his soul to become renewed in the life and essence of the forest.
Having fed his soul, he made his way back to civilization and finds a suitable breakfast, then heads to Thaegrin's room.
"This is an island. Are you certain he is not hiding somewhere, shirking his duties? Was all manner of watercraft was counted and recorded? I hope we do not find ourselves one short." The court wizard indicates to the colleagues approaching his abode. "I have guests. Find a suitable replacement for the overseer. Appoint yourself, if you believe yourself up to the task. If the original overseer is discovered, clasp him in irons and use the replacement anyway. I am sorry I cannot be more helpful, but there is much to do today."
"Now go, please," he commands flatly. "There are many preparations for our respective roles. Do not disturb our meeting until the following day."
Now free of the simple distraction, Thaegrin is silent as the others enter his chamber. He trusts that they will take seating if it is desired. The wizard offers nothing to them, indeed, he is scarcely in the room. Event after event replays in his mind, recalling exact wordings of conversations past, as motes of light in space. His concentration splits and scours his library of knowledge for any connection, no matter how bizarre. Each connection draws a line, in his mind, to a memory, until a tangled web of information slowly forms. With a practiced breath to relax the tension building his neck, the scholar releases the third concentrator, into the scholastic arms of philosophy and logic. Thaegrin tasks the effort with charting the points and lines. The Inevitable Cartographer. A sequence is sought in the mapping, a formula by which to predict which cog will turn next, in the world that loosely follows the orders of nature and man.
Ignorant to those that enter the room, the old Feraweni stands stock still, staring fiercely at a plain wall. The back of a nearby chair is under a white-knuckled grip. The intensity of his facial expression toward a mundane wall seems a little odd, but then again, wizards are an odd folk.
|
|
Whoever RR is, is clearly toying with you. He or his agents brutally destroy Jathus Rudianos and Vice-Admiral Trinton yet sends an incompetent, single assassin to take out a powerful wizard?
This play by the King of Erenon...it is PERFECTLY timed. The country's economy takes hits from multiple places at once and he comes along to unite the factions and increase revenue streams.
The Rudianos house is collapsing and yet growing more powerful?
Amerys is growing bolder and the war with the northmen is coming to a close. Is it an alliance, a refocus, a change in target?
And how about that dragon from out of time? None of its kind seen in centuries and one just crosses your path then disappears?
Damn this character, 'R.R.'... The first thing one needs to manipulate another is to understand their values, and here I know nothing. Save that he or she or they consider my confoundment worth their effort. Thaegrin's frown deepens, probing further. What if their plaything was taken away from them?
The court wizard broods over the politics of Erenon. In his last visit to Veir, in Jathus' company, he had hoped for an opportunity to display his wisdom to the new king, solely to be recruited into His Majesty's direct service. Though I doubt I would feel any more powerful than I do now, nor given so long a leash...
His mouth twists unpleasantly. The Drolleye's impatience for parley cut Thaegrin's negotiations short with the Umbral Dragon, but affixing blame solves little in this case. He still felt the pang of lost resources, having to give up a fortune in arcane writings to avoid becoming a forgotten afterthought in some far-flung edge of the jungle. What could it mean? Why did it choose to arrive in that place and time? What does the dragon's goals have to do with our own?
It occurs to the scholar that he intends to follow the elusive Halfblood through the Shadow Plane for a brief time.
Tholan grunts and looks around the room. "I haven't shed blood in hours. What do we think? Do we have a next stop in our tour of violence?" He grins and pats the hilt of his blade. "I'm sure someone out there in the big wide world deserves to die. Or at least wouldn't be missed too much."
Iskandarr chuckles, "I suppose how much one is missed is relative." he gives a shrug. "I wouldn't miss them too much."
The wizard harrumphs in disapproval. "Our next endeavor will require some measure of subterfuge. Subtlety. We will need to designate a time and place for your destructive talents. Our first stop will be the Iched Island, where I hope our stay will go unnoticed."
He looks around, unable to see the Halfblood but hopeful that he was there in the office, somewhere. "I believe it was the spymaster who requested this meeting..."
At that moment Facion slips quietly through the door and says. "I had matters to... Attend to." Drawing forth his cloak of shadow paths, Anga secures it around his shoulders and feels it's familiar weight not only on his body, but also his mind.
Making sure his weapons were clear and loose in their scabbards the spymaster turns back to his companions. "I assume that your presence indicates you're ready to depart?" Not waiting for a response he continues. "I would remind you, that lest you wish to stay behind, do not let go." His clear, gray eyes scans over each individual before quickly drawing the blinds and pinching out the few candles in the room. Grabbing Variel and the Drolleye by the shoulders he waits until everyone is physically connected, and then steps into darkness.
Iskandarr places his hand on the shoulders of Thaegrin and Ezkal and nods his ready.
Thaegrin flinches, wishing for a more covert entry to the Material Plane. Perhaps the Halfblood does not have such minute control over where we arrive...
Still, there is much to do. He says to the Thelkonlanders, "Sell the spoils from the island; the fighting kit we no longer need. I will find you this evening." He turns to issue an order to the spymaster, but thinks better of it. The Halfblood will show himself when he is ready. "Do not leave town," he adds to the hairy brothers, "I have my own business to attend to. Tonight I will look for you in the loudest tavern."
He takes a step to leave, and nearly bumps into the man-beast. For one so big, he is surprisingly quiet. "Follow them, or come with me," he mutters to Iskandarr. "I care not."
Pausing to hear any objections from his companions, Thaegrin Variel takes hobbled steps away from the group, keeping a slightly stooped posture as he goes. He is eager to blend into the marketplace crowds, an old man about his old business. He peruses the shops of fine garments, the hawkers of spell components, and vendors selling parchment and ink. All the while, the old Feraweni makes pleasant conversation and listens closely to those around him.
Iskandarr nods and steps in line with the wizard "A lovely day to go to market." he says with a half smile and hinted sarcasm.
|
|
Being technically a principality in name only, this island officially governs itself. About the only real taboos are buying and selling slaves and failing to haggle.
Rumors are circling that Amerys has taken Targ's isle and that slavery in the region has ended. Everyone eagerly awaits the Return of Vice-Admiral Trinton.
There is a woman leaning carelessly on a cart of half-bad onions. She does gives out few onions despite several people walking up to her for a friendly looking chat before walking away.
Ezkal turns toward Tholan. "Do you know how much to sell these for? I don't think I'd be able to drive a good bargain, perhaps you'd have a (droll)eye for these things?" he guffawed.
The old Feraweni takes an interest in the wares under a merchant's tent near the onion cart. He pokes idly at the Isterothi tea and hookah accouterments, pretending to be unfamiliar with their foreign design and function. He humbly asks the vendor to explain how they work, but pays barest attention to nod at appropriate times. In truth, Thaegrin's peripheral focus is on the street cart, the onion woman, and the surrounding area. He casually scans the buyers and sellers on this part of the street to see if this woman is being watched by anyone else, such as friendly muscle or incognito guards.
As people approach her, he turns over the ornate copper teapot in his hands and listens for any key words or phrases in the exchanges at the half-bad onion cart.
At length, he shakes his head at the merchant's asking price for the teapot. His counteroffer starts at one-quarter of the asking price, but the court wizard is careful to deliver the offer in a friendly and casual manner. He wears a smile of one who enjoys a good haggle.
|
|
Thaegrin's keens powers of observation reveal some sort of vagabond fast asleep under the onion cart, but beneath the moth-eaten rags he sees the glint of steel.
He also spots several people loitering in the too casual way that people loiter when they only want to appear to be loitering.
The customers leaving with onions seem to be the most extreme of the poor in the area. They give a penny or small bauble in exchange for their onions. The people who simply chat seem to be following a scripted format but the little man in the tent drones on so emphatically about his hookahs that Thaegrin simply can't make out the words.
The merchant smiles indulgently at Thaegrin's ridiculous offer and counters again with the original price.
The old wizard shows a mock scoff at the merchant's insistence, although he inwardly curses his old ears for failing him at a critical moment. And he couldn't just turn to the Man-Beast and ask him to eavesdrop, the other eavesdroppers would hear. Again, he regrets that he was unable to persuade Iskandarr's brother to teach him their secret language when he had the chance.
Nevertheless, he turns to the Man of the Forest anyway. "I've been meaning to try a new recipe, which specifically calls for old onions, soggy ginger, and really bad eggs." He nods to the fine salesman across the table. "This is going to take awhile. Would you mind grabbing those things for me? I will compensate. Just be careful in this place -keep an open eye and a sharp ear."
"I'm curious about the onions and the 'bad eggs' around them. Please pay attention to what you see and hear when you go get those ingredients. Be careful."
Turning back to the tent, watching the merchant's eyes carefully for any clue, after asking his companion to approach the onion cart.
But the scrutiny lasts just a moment as Thaegrin makes a sweeping gesture over the table of wares, including the ornate teapot, the exquisite hookah stand, several delicate teacups, and fine cutlery. He laments that all could be bought for the trader's outlandish price for the teapot. Surely, he implores, the little man must have a better teapot or lamp befitting of that price?
Anga stays long enough to hear the wizards words to their companions before stepping away quietly. Observing the populace around him the man of shadows ducks into an empty corner and quickly adopts a more conventional appearance.
Cloak of shadow walking safely stored in his pack, the Acherd Woman steps back into the busy street, draping her familiar cloak over her shoulders and pinning it shut. She quickly makes her way out into the city, seeking out the shadier elements.
Iskandarr nods, with a smile"Of course, I'm sure it'll be worth my time." he turns and approaches the woman selling onions with a casual demeanor. once he arrives at her shop. "Hello there, I would like to buy the onions, preferably ones that are a bit more ripened or older, please" he says with a gentle and casual tone.
|
|
Anga, now appearing as a very convincing female, strikes out and almost immediately walks into a very well appointed crystal shop. Delicate crystaline formations perch on expertly carved, exotic wood bases. Each one has a plaque that denotes its type and each also read: Price: Please inquire.
A sharp featured, keen eyed man stands at relaxed attention behind a central counter. He is dressed in simply but Anga's clever eyes can tell that the clothing is impeccably made of some of the best fabrics: the rich black dye alone betrays the modest suits true value. Anga also, catches the tale tell bulge of a secret pocket inside the man's jacket.
_____________
As Iskandarr saunters toward the cart, the salesman leans in to Thaegrin. "I can see you are a man made wise by travel. If you are looking for the truly exceptional, I invite you to my home for dinner this evening."
"I have more valuable, less legal stock. Would you like to see it?"
As the man-beast approaches the cart, the beggar slumbering underneath dissolves into racking coughs.
The old woman smiles at Iskandarr and raps her knuckles on the wheel well. "You seek old onions!" She says warmly. "You must be making Canh Chua Cá?" The vagabond stops coughing.
Canh Chua Cá is a sour fish stew that calls for spoiled onions that add the signature acrid flavor to the local delicacy.
The onion woman is really asking "Password of the day?"
He gives a chuckle. "'Making' is a generous term. 'Attempting' is a more accurate take. Luckily I'm getting three, for you see..." he glances to the left and to the right. "I am not a very good cook." he says with a playful smile.
Thaegrin makes an exaggerated gesture with his hands, a show of mild frustration. "Someone else has claimed my company this evening, or else it would be yours." He offers a flattering smile. "But if you have not taken tea yet..." Thin, ink-stained fingertips tap the ornate copper teapot. "Perhaps I could see firsthand the quality of your wares?"
|
|
The onion woman smiles at Iskandarrand bounces her finger on the side of her nose.
"Well if your clever enough to make the attempt, let me give you some pointers."
She turns toward the onion cart so her back is toward the market and motions Iskandarr to do the same. She draws a large knife as if from nowhere and begins to make a show of dicing the old onions in a specific way. Meanwhile he mouth moves and nothing about onions comes out.
"Ok, kid, what do you need?"
_____________
The man smiles appreciatively at Thaegrin's tact. "Tea sounds excellent. Please follow me."
The man disappears through a curtain separating the two "rooms" of his tiny tent. Once inside, he ensures the curtain is closed, then throws back a rug to reveal a door set into the stones of the street. He lifts the trapdoor and indicates Thaegrin should go first.
Tholan laughs a low raspy laugh and says with a grin, "I'm afraid I'm not as inquisitive as you, brother. But I should be able to strike a fair bargain if we learn how much they're worth." Tholan's grin doesn't falter, but he lowers his voice. "We may want to find somewhere discreet to sell these. Don't want to draw too much attention, though drawing attention is most of what I'm good at."
Quite literally underground. Hm.
"This isn't a matter of trust. We are both shrewd businessmen," Thaegrin remarks, extending a hand over the poorly lit hole in the ground. He eyes the ladder dubiously. "I think we both can agree on protecting our most valuable assets..."
Satisfied, he hobbles into position over the wooden rungs and descends. When his feet touch the floor, he turns and blinks into the dark, mindful to step away from the ladder in consideration of his host. His ears, nose, and eyes strain to pick up as much as possible. The back of his neck prickles as he tries to prepare his old body to avoid a hidden blade at the last moment.
|
|
The man smiles warmly, his teeth looking all the more yellow in the dim light. He nods.
Thaegrin's feet slap damp stone at the bottom of the ladder. He can now see the torch sputtering on an earthen wall extending deeper underground. There is a locked gate at the end of the hall reminiscent of a jail cell door.
The man slides down the ladder with practiced skill and leads the way to the gate. He produces a key from his pocket and unlocks the gate. "Please excuse the illusion. It is merely a security precaution. I am told it tickles when you pass through it."
The man steps through the open doorway and disappears.
Thaegrin now sees the doorway and lintel posts have the tell tale shimmer of things that do not actually exist.