Greyton thinks for a moment. Atash's proposal seems fair to him. "Deal, first right of refusal and a two day waiting period before you can sell to anyone else. I'll take it." He does not offer to shake the tiny ratfolk's hand.
"My two children." Greyton stuffed his pipe back in a pocket. The old sailor waited for several moments while a raggedy dwarf in grey robes walked by, a mean glare in his eyes. He was headed towards the Bear and the Baby. "There's Manuel, one of my sons." He held a hand up to his shoulder, about five foot two. "He's a short lad, in his late teens or early twenties, I can hardly remember. Manuel has fiery red hair like his mother's...now she's a sight I could hardly forget." He smiled wistfully.
"And Gwendolyn, my dearest daughter." The old man's voice changed, taking on a more tender tone. "She is half-elven, with thin girlish features. She has bright eyes green as lush jungle leaves, with pale blonde hair." He made sure you were listening. "You watch careful for her, lest her mother come after me with elven magic."
"Never should have lost track of her," he muttered to himself grimly.
Looks like I wasn't super clear, my bad. The Voriparae attack anyone who walks close to it when it detects their proximity, shooting a cloud of spores at them. However, if they are holding an open flame such as a torch, it will not attack them. Hopefully that's more clear. You can ask another question since this information was intended to be conveyed earlier.
The Whispering Riders are a band of mercenaries from lands to the east who have been hired to take part in a raid against the orcs once the ground firms. Like most large groups of armed people, they are violent and dangerous at the best of times. Willing to fight not for land, glory, or family, but purely for profit, they are scorned by many and feared by all. It is known that they have been hired by Autokratorian officials, and that the raid on the orc hold won't take place for several more weeks at least.
The Whispering Riders are currently camped out near Limbyen, feeding on hay and awaiting orders. There are always stragglers around such camps, and it is completely plausible that Greyton's children were among the camp followers and got kidnapped or otherwise found themselves unable to leave.
”It seems we have a deal then” - Razaniel nodded at the man - ”Can you lend us any personal item that will identify us as messengers from their father? Or will that make things worse?” - he added.
”None of my business, but did you grow apart for any particular reason? Something they will hold against you, and consequently against us for speaking in your name?” - the half-orc pressed on.
Having successfully briefed you on each of the major regions of the castle, talk once again turned to food. A hard toffee was brought out and shared around the table along with a few different types of nuts. Standing to leave, Benedicta the Steward tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I really should be getting home now. The stars will have long been kindled." She was graceful as she moved to leave.
"If there's nothing else you would hear of, I'll take my leave as well," said Aftonio.
"Why did we grow apart?" Greyton's face was casual and blank at first, but quickly softened. He frowned. "Her mother loved me truly, for a time. Things were good, some years." He shook his head. "But the sea never stopped calling anyone's heart just because they found someone to warm their bed." His words were quick and cutting, moreso for him than for you. "And what was I to do? Abandon my salty goddess?" He shook his head again, vigorously. "I was gone at Gwen's fifth day of birth, gone when her first spark of magic blossomed, and gone when her mother left." His head drooped and he glared at the freezing mud between his boots. "And her life was harder and more dangerous than mine, as I hear is common for wizards. Gwen always blamed me for not being worth more of her mother's love." He withdrew a small locket from inside his coat and handed it to you. "Take this, she will know it's mine, trifle that it is."
Karti raises his arms above his head and stretches. He inadvertently yawns when his muscles manage to relax and he then nods at Aftonio. "I honestly think we've done all we could for tonight. From smoothing the waters to exchanging truths, we've accomplished much." He then fell silent. More words would come if only the ale and fatigue hadn't laid claim to them.
Another yawn passes on by and covers his mouth with a hand. He pushes his chair back and gets up, ready to bring the night to an end.
The rain aboveground had turned to freezing sleet. Moonlight sparkled on the ice that rimed the world. Aftonio glanced back at you once more as she walked out into the night. "I only hope you're as bold up there as you say you will be." Far on the other side of the village you were in, Bain Ironhand still sat awake, grinding his teeth and sharpening his axe/
"Come," said Zenais, when everyone else was gone. "There are things that I should tell you which are only for the ears of us spellcasters." She looked Karti up and down. "Yes, those little potions you make qualify you, there's no doubt in my mind. And your own small magics, Torvi, will grow and blossom if you let them." She folder her arms sagely. "Oh, but you are tired. How careless of me not to see sooner. Perhaps we can chat in the morning, hmm?"
Little potions?! Karti's eyes grow wide as ale pitchers while words wrestle with one another in an effort to make it to his tongue to defend his honor. He swallows them down and gives her a gentle nod. "Tomorrow it is. We all can use some time and sleep to let tonight's dust settle."
"We all have choices - they are ours only, for it is we who have to live with the decisions we made" - Razaniel nodded with a grunt - "But there is one thing I have learned with time - in spite whatever others may say, all wounds can be healed if tended properly"
He took the locket - "Do not worry, we will find your children"
"Mhmm." Atash gives a low squeak in response to Raz's words. He did not agree. But it did not serve anyone's purpose to voice that. He nods to Raz's final words. "Yes...agreed."
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"In the morning then!"
"I'm not hiring you to heal my broken families, just to keep my children out of harm's way." Greyton's voice was steadier now. "And if you can, be discreet about it." The old sailor gave a long stare to the ratfolk before moving back the way you had come.
As you reentered the tavern, you heard angry words being exchanged. While you were gone, the three Autokratorian soldiers who had been idling at a table had begun to harass Greyton's two lackeys. "Gimble, Tom," Greyton barked at them.
"Aye, captain?"
"I see that the two sides are mismatched. Go round up a few more of their soldier friends, make things fair, eh?" He laughed boisterously. His two lackeys grinned at the soldiers.
"What about an arm wrestle then, eh?" Asked Gimble.
Banter continued between the soldiers and the sailors as a small crowd gathered round. All hint of the rough and raw man you had witnessed outside was gone, Greyton smoothly and bawdily maneuvered around the room, obviously comfortable as he began to take bets.
--------
Zenais took little notice of Karti's wide eyed moment of indignity, herself now well watered with wine. She bade you off to bed and stayed up half the night, pacing and fretting.
Your dreams were filled with smoke and fire, armored dwarves trudging through claustrophobic tunnels and scaling the wooden fortifications of a small camp. You fought alongside them, watched as they bled and killed beside you, until all the invaders were fleeing or scattered on the ground before you. "Come now," they whispered to you when the camp was routed, "let us return to cold sleep under stone." You looked at their faces then and saw that they were cold and dead, long bony fingers already clasping at you and dragging you down, down beneath the ground.
In the morning, Zenais served a warm cake that tasted strongly of maple syrup. "I have two more things to tell you, which no one else need hear of. Both concern magic." She took only a small slice for herself. "The first is about the Sky-Forge, the special place where powerful weapons and armor were forged. In days now elder, I suppose." She sighed heavily. "The parts required to operate it are probably not all together with it. The dead do not forge new weapons, nor create anything new under the sky." She made a holy sign with her hands to ward away undeath.
She went on for some time about the various implements needed to make the forge operational. There was one large parcel of various small levers, gears, and other tools which would probably be near her personal chambers at Bald Man's Crown. There were also five large orbs of refined drownstone used in the Sky-Forge's main apparatus, which could be anywhere in the castle. The Sky-Forge would be operational with just one such orb, but would not be fully functional until all five had been recovered. Once you had the parcel of tools and at least one drownstone orb, Zenais was willing to follow you into the castle along with a few friends and attempt to restart the Sky-Forge.
After explaining how the Sky-Forge would work, Zenais's talk turned to the death ritual that had sundered the dwarves from Pyrsa castle. "By the time things came to that, there were few spellcasters left." She sighed, suddenly weary. "I was one, and so I was involved in the early stages of the process, blasphemous though it was." She curled a hand into a fist, clenching and unclenching it. "Because there were so few magic users, ordinary clergy were charged with constructing shrines to channel the demonic power which was to be accessed. Actually, I have no proof whether demons were contacted or if the source of the magic that fueled the ritual was on the material plane." She shook her head. You were alone, and she was speaking candidly, but it was clearly difficult for her to talk about these things.
"In any case, there were six such shrines constructed. I expect they are distributed around the six regions of the castle, though there may not be one in the mushroom farms." She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I am not an expert in such things, but I can make an educated guess that smashing them and pouring holy water on the wreckage would weaken the influence of the undead in the area, perhaps even drive them off entirely." She looked to Torvi. "Perhaps you know some holy spell of consecration which would also be helpful in the matter." Reclining, Zenais looked you both over.
Karti feels the need to pen all of this down, but with Zenais' emotional state as is he decides against it. Instead, he imprints keywords from her tale into his memory and uses mnemonic devices to help him remember the rest. That way he can pen it down once he's alone.
"I thank you for your candor, Zenais. I've long studied the undead and how the living can deal with them, so hopefully once I get to see such a shrine in person my knowledge can aid Torvi in dealing with them."
Torvi shakes her head, "I fear that I have no such spells gifted to me. My spells are weak, but useful. We shall need to load up on holy water though."
"There might be other ways to resolve this. The destruction of such a shrine followed by the recital of a prayer you'd normally hear at the end of a service, for example, or a make-shift sermon, that might work to give the undead a form of closure. Although we tend to associate the undead with the death of all things living, like our emotions, many of them seem intrinsically linked to their past lives through ... eh, how to phrase this ... base-level emotions? I'm sure you get what I'm going at. It might be worth looking into, just so we have a possible non-magical alternative on hand. Just in case."
Razaniel looks for an ‘out of the way’ table where he and Atash can sit quietly, while looking over the ‘festivities’ - ”What do you make of the man Atash? Does it sound like genuine concern to you? Sorrow?” - he asks his companion, looking for a serving man or woman to get them something to drink - ”And what about these Whispering Riders? Ever heard of them?”
Atash absentmindedly follows Razaniel, not minding the table's location. He ponders Razaniel's question briefly. He sounds like he's going to pay for pretty minimal work and that's mostly what I care about. He doesn't say that, knowing Razaniel at best wouldn't like him not answering the question. He ponders it a bit further. "He seemed...genuine. Regretful."
However his second question was one where Atash had more directly knowledge. "Hired by...Autokratorians...to raid the orcs...Simple thugs...care about coin..." Atash quietly chuckles at the irony there. "Last I heard...near-" He stops himself dead in his tracks, glancing around. "The area...shouldn't be too hard...to find."
Torvi nods, "Well, if it is praying and singing that can fix this, then I'm your dwarf!"
Zenais smiled. "I am glad that you are one who will be on this journey, Torvi." She was done eating, and sipped at a jug of water idly. "I trust that you will figure things out once you see the shrines, as you suggest." She nodded at Karti.
While people turned their chairs and craned their necks to get a glimpse of the two grunts who squared off, your serving boy returned to see if you wanted anything else. "It's strange to me," he mentioned to you as he was leaving, "you two are the most well armed here, yet you seem to care the least about the prospect of violence."
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"It's strange to me," he mentioned to you as he was leaving, "you two are the most well armed here, yet you seem to care the least about the prospect of violence."
Atash chitters in amusement. "Those with little power...like to flaunt it...those with much power...like to reserve it."
Glad to know that at least someone has her trust, Karti offers her a somewhat nonplussed smile as a parting gift. Every tutor has their favorite pupil, I do suppose, and what chances are there that you remind these dwarves of their younger selves? Ha! None, of course, is the honest answer to that. "I bid you a good day, Zenais, and once again, I thank you for your time."
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"You are welcome, Karti." Zenais nodded her head. "Walk always with my blessing," she bade you as you departed.
Aftonio was staying with a kindly family of fishers three quarters of a mile upriver from the village. You saw a few dwarves working at their forges - there were many in your village - or tending to small gardens beside their homes. As the woods rose around you, you saw buckets hanging from their spiles, collecting sap. Fresh syrup would be boiled soon, perhaps the last batch of the year.
Aftonio was outside when you arrived, drilling small holes in a log for mushrooms. "Have you come to see me?" She asked as you arrived.
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Karti raises a hand and closes his hand, symbolically catching Zenais' blessing.
---
The fresh air and the endless sky overhead work wonders for Karti's mood. He curiously observes the ways the locals go about their work, and it helps to put his mind into overdrive. To meet Aftonio here, amidst industrious dwarves working hard to make their tomorrow a good one, seems fitting. "Yes, but of course we have! I see you're busy earning your keep? My wife uses a mysterious mix of tree sap, grounded herbs, and treated water to prep the logs with when growing mushrooms. I suppose it's to maintain a more constant level of moistness for the shrooms to feed on? Wish I could share the recipe, but she insists that some secrets define who we are, and sharing it would diminish her. I think she might be playing a prank on me, in an attempt to drive me insane. Hrm ... anyway, hello!"
In truth, Rauda keeps it from Karti because she had promised her grandmother not to share it with any bearded dwarves. Dwarven superstition might frown upon the fact that one of the secret ingredients used in the mix is a couple of hairs from a dwarven beard! Karti would be okay with it, but a promise is a promise.
"Hmm, a constant level of moistness makes sense to me." Aftonio tapped at the log, then pressed her shoulder into the drill again. "Might also keep it from freezing, we had frost and rime this morning." She grunted with exertion, clearly not an old hand with a drill. "Truly I'm no expert, I'd never even heard of growing in an ordinary log, but as you say, I must earn my keep." She shrugged and wiped sweat from her brow, little flecks of soft damp wood sticking to her forehead.
"As for secrets, they define only those who keep them." She shrugged.
"It's strange to me," he mentioned to you as he was leaving, "you two are the most well armed here, yet you seem to care the least about the prospect of violence."Atash chitters in amusement. "Those with little power...like to flaunt it...those with much power...like to reserve it."
Razaniel chuckled at his companions’ words - ”Or perhaps our weapons give us some sort of sense of security, real or imaginary” - he smiled to the man - ”Or it is all a facade, though admittedly I am not very good at putting up a show” - he added - ”Last but not least, it helps to know where the nearest exit is” - the half-ord finished with a wink, and flipped him a coin - ”This is for you - I liked the fact you addressed us, in spite of our weaponry”
The server caught Razaniel's coin. "One from each of you." The precious metal flashed in firelight as he slipped it into a pocket. "My mother always said your type were big tippers." He was delighted.
The server caught Razaniel's coin. "One from each of you." The precious metal flashed in firelight as he slipped it into a pocket. "My mother always said your type were big tippers." He was delighted.
Razaniel nodded, and added - "Soon we will most likely be retiring - what rooms do you have for rent?"
Karti rubs his hands together forcefully as he tries to order his thoughts. Aftonio had spoken of possible entrances to the castle, but the details had grown hazy thanks to the amount of alcohol that was served. "To immediately get to the meat of the matter, you mentioned a possible third entrance to Pyrsa, Aftonio, one deep down below the castle proper. The skeptic in me is yelling 'you fool!', but hey, I'm a dwarf - yes, shocking, I know, and how could I possibly resist a tale about tunnels and caverns so deep down below, that it makes even us dwarves blush?"
Blowing the whole thing out of proportions and kissing the edges of the story with the brush of ridicule is Karti's attempt at getting Aftonio to talk. That, and the reasonable part of himself doesn't want to consider the idea they might have to score a couple of water-breathing potions and go for what might be the wildest and most dangerous swim ever undertaken by any dwarf, ever.
It honestly terrifies him.
"The underground waters? I don't think you any kind of fool, Karti. You are a brave one, and I know that in the final days there was much talk of the king abandoning us through some secret escape tunnell. Hmm..." Aftonio thought for a long moment. "Where did I first hear of the waters underground? I know it was before I came to the castle, when I was still living in the lowlands." A chill wind stirred the trees around you. "Ah, I remember. It was my great aunt Augustine, one afternoon when we were eating river fish, you know the kind with three huge eyes, and I was wondering where they came from. She told me that the waters of the mountain were older than any dwarf, and that things had lived in them when the world was young." The air was beginning to be filled with a thin mist, barely noticeable, which could be ignored for a time, but threatened to soak you eventually.
"If you are really determined to explore the possibility, you could try diving into the Ormonas river where it springs out of the Skirling Pass."
Karti reaches for his namesake and as one would do with chewing tobacco, puts the treated Karti root between the molars in the back. The pungent taste immediately comes knocking, and the dwarf pulls a funny face as it kicks in. "The reason I entertain the notion of an aquatic approach is that for starters, it hasn't been tried yet, and two, most dwarves are not exactly accomplished swimmers. I expect there to be the least prepared resistance in the way of traps and undead, although, sure, we must prepare for the possibility of there being carnivorous subterraneous aquatic wildlife."
It's only then that he notices the encroaching mist. He scans their surroundings before returning to the conversation. "I guess you won't have to worry about those shrooms getting their nourishment for today. Heh. So, the Ormonas river where it springs out of the Skirling Pass you say. I'll pen that down, and see if it might be worth exploring. Sadly, I do not know, or I should say 'own', any alchemical formulas that would let me prepare potions that would let us breathe underwater and or improve our swimming. Hopefully, that won't prove to be too much of an obstacle."
Torvi shakes her head, "your point about 'most dwarves not being accomplished swimmers' is exactly my concern. I am a terrible swimmer, and I am even worse at breathing water!"
"Does your wife make such potions, Karti? If not, perhaps you could buy some on the lake." Aftonio gestured downriver. "Or find one who can prepare such magic and pay to copy it. And there might be some waiting in the nether reaches of the castle. If our ancestors knew about these caverns, I am certain they would have the supplies needed to explore them."
You were shown upstairs to a small room at the end of a long hall. There were two musty straw mattresses, and a pair of small round windows with leaded glass. The walls were made of stone, solid, with more carvings on them. You got a closer look at them, they depicted a lone dwarf with a longeaxe surrounded by giants with jagged faces.
Razaniel observed the carving for a few moments - "I like this one" - he commented to Atash - "I wonder who that dwarf is"
He then made sure the door was securely locked, and prepared to sleep.
"Karti, I have prayed on this a lot, and I believe that the unlikeliest path, is the one we should consider first. I propose that we try this water route."
Based on a symbol carved onto the body of the dwarf in the carving, you could identify him as Bain, great nephew of Nain. This was a different Bain from the Bain Ironhand who lived today. Born without the power of enchanting, Bain had sought glory in the Frostlands after the Frost Giants of Yore had been smitten.
But not every tale ends in glory.
Aftonio's eyes lit up. "A bold decision, Torvi. If you were to capture the castle first, that might cause others to start eyeing your prize. Perhaps by clearing the nether reaches first, you would secure an exit route for yourselves should things turn sour."
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"Indeed. No reason to open the front doors, until we're ready to defend the whole thing."
The sun shone bright on a crystalline morning. Thin sheets of ice had covered every surface the rain had touched the night before. Light reflected and scattered, as though the ground itself were made of glass. Your breakfast of barley, beans and eggs had been uninterrupted, the inn's other travelers having no reason to wake early.
You saw fields and pastures all along the edge of the lake as you followed the road out of Limbyen, most still barren. But there were farmers at work, and flocks grazing on sweet damp grass. Soon these gave way to empty forest. The road was trod often enough, though you saw no others. By midmorning, the sun had raised a fog, and you felt yourselves growing hot.
About two miles along the river road, you passed by the small town of Zeithos. In days now gone by, before the Dwarves of Pyrsa castle had been Sundered, there had been a village on the North side of the Ormonas river. It had been abandoned, the bones of a few houses and halls still standing silent and ghostly. Best to sleep far from the dead, the dwarves who now lived just South of the river would sometimes say.
Another mile and a half along the road and you began to see more signs of use in the woods to either side of you. Here and there were small hunting paths that led off the road, and many tall maple trees had holes bored into them. You passed a few old mounds of stone with dwarven runes carved into them showing the distances to Limbyen and Idalium, and one old statue of a mossbearded dwarf.
The village of Akron was larger than Zeithos. Like Zeithos it had been relocated to South of the Ormonas river, though there were no abandoned structures still standing from before the Sundering. Only a large clearing where sheep grazed and Bain Ironhand sat on a stone wall, watching you silently as you crossed another bridge over the river. You knew to go to Zenais's home, and she sent you on after Karti and Torvi, who had just left to visit a traveler.
You turned and followed a road that ran along the Southern side of the Ormonas for a half mile. The dwarves of this village, you couldn't help but notice, did not seem to have much farmland. They kept bees and drew sap from trees, they hunted and grew mushrooms in gardens of compost and rotting logs, and even herded large flocks. But farming was evidently beneath them.
It was not long before you caught up with your two comrades, who stood outside a fishing house talking to a dwarf you didn't know.
Torvi spotted the oddly matched pair coming up the road, and it took a moment before their faces registered. "Hail Atash! Hail Razaniel!" She smiled at the two, as she knew many of the younger races viewed smiling as appropriate in a greeting between friends. She clapped Karti on the back and pointed at the approaching pair, indicating she felt that Karti too should evidence a smile.
Karti fumbled into a smile after Torvi gave him a firm pat on the back. He straightened his clothes and ran a hand down his beard to make sure it looks pristine before greeting Atash and Razaniel. "Well hello there! It almost started to feel like we'd never meet!"
Atash bundled himself up tightly against the cold. One good breeze would rip through his entire diminutive frame. As the farmers vanished behind them and the sun warmed Atash he relaxed, taking off some layers. The heat he did not mind.
Atash quietly noted the dwarven architecture around.
As they came up on their companions Atash's teeth showed in a lopsided smile. "Hello...Torvi...and Karti...I am glad...you made it as well...tell me...did your own..." He pauses to consider his choice of words. "Affair...did it go well?"
Seeing the smile returned from Atash, Torvi privately congratulated herself for being familiar with the social norms of the shorter lived races. "Our initial affairs are somewhat concluded with our people, and we are now off to see about righting some great historical wrongs."
"My name is Aftonio, good to meet you,"[b] says the dwarf who had been speaking with Torvi and Karti. [b]Torvi here was just telling me that you might try the water route." She filled you in on the details briefly. "What say you to trying that entrance?"
"Well met my friends, and to you Aftonio" - Razaniel nodded at the dwarves - "It is good to see you again. What is this I hear about great historical wrongs and water routes?"
"Ah yes...there are some things...we can all get...from this excursion..." Atash's mount fusses and he scratches at her ear. "Afronio...what are...are alternate options?..other than the...front door of course."
Torvi quits her smiling, believing it has fulfilled its purpose for now.
She turns to ask a question herself, "Razaniel, how old are you?"
She turns to Karti to ask, "How did that poem go we learned as kids for figuring ages? Was it: Those of half orc blood shall be counted as two years for ten years, four for the next five, six for fifteen, and thence four all the way to the grave?" She ponders and asks, "Was there a verse for Atash's folk?"