Okoteck nods to Nirri. "Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you, Nirri, though first," he turns to Amka, "I was thinking it had been a while since I'd talked to you, Amka. How are you adapting to life here in Fiskurvellir?"
Once he's gotten her answer, he returns his attention to Nirri. "I was wondering if you, or rather Ístra, know the spell for a simple light? If so, I was hoping Ístra would be willing to teach it to Hyggiandi, if he is amenable?"
He looks to his familiar for confirmation. "I would, of course, be willing to pay for the materials for doing so this time, and for your time."
********************
Once their other business is done, Okoteck lingers for a moment by Irila. "Might I speak with you privately for a moment?" he asks her.
********************
"We are new, as is quite obvious," he replies to the tavernkeep. "I cannot speak for my companions, but for my own part I'd like advice on the town before impairing my memory."
He croaks his raven laugh. "We'd be grateful if you could direct us to a glassblower, to be specific."
The Saruqi huntress smiles, petting her dog Laika, though the shadow of a heavy heart flickers on her face for a brief moment before she answers. "I fish. I hunt. I tell stories to Jårstul, and Nirri teaches me the ways of the witches. I survive."
Nirri arches an eyebrow. "Why, certainly, O mighty wizard." Her barely hidden playful smile takes the sting out of her words. "Come, Ístra!" she chirps, and her dormouse familiar once again clambers out of her pockets.
The crone nods, unsurprised, and beckons the magus into a small side room.
"Those such as you always seek knowledge, even when it might best be left alone." She tosses this admonition over her shoulder as she turns the satchel inside out and, with a swipe of a ritual dagger retrieved from deep within her robes, opens the hidden pocket and pulls out its contents.
A dark leather book with a goat's head embossed on the cover thunks heavily onto the table. After a moment, the goat carving's eyes begin glowing, as if the book is awakening to the presence of a new magician here to plumb its secrets.
The crone grimaces, as if beset by an evil stench. "The dark knowledge within this book has destroyed lives and kingdoms. What exactly is it that you seek?"
The Saruqi huntress smiles, petting her dog Laika, though the shadow of a heavy heart flickers on her face for a brief moment before she answers. "I fish. I hunt. I tell stories to Jårstul, and Nirri teaches me the ways of the witches. I survive."
"Survival is a start, but not an end," Okoteck comments. "But I am no wise old bird to advise how to heal that which cannot be healed. I will simply say that I am glad you survive."
Nirri arches an eyebrow. "Why, certainly, O mighty wizard." Her barely hidden playful smile takes the sting out of her words. "Come, Ístra!" she chirps, and her dormouse familiar once again clambers out of her pockets.
Okoteck gives Nirri and Ístra a playful bow. "Allow this mighty wizard to learn from your... hmm... witchly wiles?"
He cocks his head to one side. "No, as much as the alliteration has an attraction to it, I don't think that's quite right..."
"What I seek is clues as to what the Tuluruq hope to accomplish. The summoning of the tuunbaq seems to me only a step in a plan, a plan we are currently entirely in the dark on. If there is a terrible evil beneath this place, and they seek to unleash it, that book might detail how... and in knowing how, we would know how to stop it. If nothing else, it seems likely to me it would contain information on tuunbaq, information that might reveal weaknesses that will be important if we are someday to banish it."
He pauses, then sighs. "But I do recognize there is danger. Even setting aside the possibility of enchantments woven into it, such a book as this is likely written to encourage believing as its author or authors did, and so may well contain falsehood mingled with truth, falsehoods that could make relying on any information we gain from it dangerous besides any attempts in the writing to twist the reader's perspective on life."
"That is why I am asking you, rather than trying to sneak a look at the book in the middle of the night while we were traveling with it or the like. I know my own curiosity, and for all that I disagree that it was curiosity alone that led to my species's current state, I would be a poor student of history if I did not account for the risks a hunger for knowledge brings. And so I am asking you, can you seek answers to these questions within this book, or do you judge it too dangerous even to do this?"
The wizened old crone breathes once, stiffly, through her flaring nostrils before replying. "The book's powers are few. It is nearly indestructible, and glows in the presence of one who could wield it, but it has no need of enchantment to bend the minds of those who read its pages; power does that all on its own."
After a moment's thought, her stern gaze softens. "Perhaps I was too quick to judge. The wounds dealt to this land by proud men are deep and lasting, but perhaps you are made of different stuff. Your people lack the hot blood of the titans that boils the brains of many of our great men."
She points at the book, whose glow has faded away, leaving the dark sockets of the goat's head staring ominously into the void. "Peruse as you will."
A dizzying array of spells and rituals confront you, though only a scant few seem even remotely within your abilities. After studying them, you determine that the rituals pertain to the summoning of extraplanar beings, the creation of undead, and the opening of gateways to fell realities, though precise details elude you at this juncture. At the very back of the book is what seems an entire chapter dedicated to various methods of achieving undeath by transplanting one's soul into various inanimate objects while the spirit remains in the corpse, as well as various esoteric details of how to alter or manipulate the object and its enchantments and thereby change its relationship to the ritualist.
The names of dark powers and principalities are scattered throughout the book—Nenzigarn, Belzecharian, Yoldaro, Ehur-Shu-Dur, Ubienlna'a, Szumulzabi, Arranichar—but there is no mention of the tuunbaq or anything like it.
Most of the spells are too complicated for you to even begin deciphering, largely involving manipulation of void energy, but four seem within your abilities, if you could identify them. The Thalian notation defeats you twice, but you identify the other two spells: enfeeble and grim tendrils.
"A glassblower, eh?" The dwarf ponders a moment. "A fancy business like that will be up in the Keep proper." He snaps his fingers. "Zelli will know. She'll be dropping in any minute, all you need to do is pull up a chair."
He gives an ingratiating smile at the party. "And if you're not in the mood for a hard drink, I have apple cider, as well as fresh lamb and fried potato skins, hot off the pan!"
As you take a seat to wait for this Zelli character, you overhear a middle-aged woman of moderate means at the next table chatting with her friend.
"It's been hard getting a loan lately. Keeping my shop open has been a struggle."
"The gnomes're stingy with financin' lately; they've had a hard time gettin' diamonds in to back up new loans."
"You don't say?"
"Word is, a bandit named Orris Drakecatcher an' his men've set up shop in Draketooth Hold an' chargin' a toll on the water route 'tween here 'n' Kronsreach. The diamond shipments from the mines there're either gettin' hit or forc'd to travel overlan' 'n' face troll attacks."
"Why hasn't the jarl done anything?"
"Draketooth Hold is built into the cliffs overlookin' the sea, 'n' the overlan' approach is through rough hills and woods, so gettin' near to the place is difficult. Furthermore, Drakecatcher s'ppos'dly earn'd his name from the fire-breathin' pet drake he's tamed which roosts in the cliffs, and nobody wants to tussle with the thing. There's rumors, too, that some sort of devil-man is holed up there and working dark magic."
"All things considered, it's a huge task gettin' rid o'em , and I reckon the jarl won't do nuthin' 'bout it less'n things get much worse and they start sinking ships."
At that moment, a goblin woman saunters into the bar. The barkeep waves her over and says, "Zelli, how're you doin'? I told these folks here to wait for you." He nods in your direction. Zelli turns, takes in the sight of the party with a widening look of shock on her face, then whirls around and dashes back out into the street.
He gives an ingratiating smile at the party. "And if you're not in the mood for a hard drink, I have apple cider, as well as fresh lamb and fried potato skins, hot off the pan!"
Jade's stomach gives a mighty rumble after days of trail rations. "I'm famished. How much for all 3?" Jade asks.
---
Zelli turns, takes in the sight of the party with a widening look of shock on her face, then whirls around and dashes back out into the street.
Jade watches amusedly as the goblin flees, then looks at her companions. "Let me guess, bad breakup? Or does she owe one of you money?"
*********
After a moment's thought, her stern gaze softens. "Perhaps I was too quick to judge. The wounds dealt to this land by proud men are deep and lasting, but perhaps you are made of different stuff. Your people lack the hot blood of the titans that boils the brains of many of our great men."
Okoteck croaks a harsh laugh. "It is mere practicality, no sign of greater virtue, that tempers my curiosity. My mind is my greatest treasure, and so I guard it jealously, including against my own worst impulses. I have studied enough of history to know the path those who follow the darker side of power leads only to destruction of self and others, and how would I learn then?"
He shakes his head slightly. "I would not trust myself alone with this book. But knowing you are aware of me reading it, it should be safe enough to peruse for answers to our immediate dangers."
That said, he skims through the book of dark magic. A couple of times a subject catches his interest, but with difficulty he stops himself from delving deeper into it, seeking answers about the tuunbaq or whatever might be drapped beneath Thalis if the legends Amka related are true.
Okoteck sighs when he reaches the end. "All manner of fell spirits the book describes, but none like the tuunbaq, and no mention of a great evil sealed upon Thalis," he says, shutting the book. "Though if we find ourselves facing other evil spirits or undead, it might be worth a look again to understand their strengths and weaknesses."
"There are, at least, a few spells that draw upon the principles of Void without, so far as I can ascertain, any spiritual or moral entanglements, given their simplicity. One or two might be useful to me... when we are not anticipating fighting the living dead. If we had more time, and I a supply of appropriate inks, I would transcribe them as preparation for facing living foes, but given the source and the hour, perhaps it is best I do not."
Okoteck's gaze goes to Kork. "Kork, you would not happen to have recognized that goblin, would you? You seem the most likely to be familiar to her."
Kork is jovial as the group sits down. "After long trip, proper cooking do good to our tummies." he pats his own belly. "Kork will also have lamb and hard drink with cider chaser. Or other home cooked food." he looks at the tavernkeeper. "Dealer's choice?"
Once the air clears out, Kork perks his ears as he overhears the two gossips going at it.
And then thr goblin woman appears, for Kork to tilt his head in her direction before she disappears. He is lost in thought until Okoteck addresses him.
"Nah." he waves his hand dismissively. "Kork not know. But pretty sure not born here. Likely drink juice in past."
He waves Skøtnir over and raises an index finger to his chin as he taps it a few times. "Question. When and how the punk gobbo woman arrive? Alone here?"
The dwarf thinks for a moment.
"She showed up about two years ago. Just wandered into town one day with her elfling friend, Kirianara. The aiuvarin is from the forests west of here, but Zelli says she's from a faraway land nobody's ever heard of, called Glisten or Glamour or some such thing."
As he fetches a repast for the party, he continues rambling over his shoulder.
"They're a hard-working duo, and Zelli has a sharp mind and a keen people sense. She knows everybody worth knowing in the world of tradesmen. Speaks perfect Dwarven, and passable Jotun. Says she's a goblin, but doesn't look or act like any I've heard of. She lives aboveground, for one."
"There's a glassblower up in the Keep for sure," offers the woman at the next table. "A gnome named Lacan Marquano. Third building on the right when you get past the main gate."
Jaym'row wants to be useful, so when the goblin Zelli runs out, Jaym'row says, "Excuse me while I see if I can convince her to return."
She tries to follow Zelli, not in an aggressive "I'm chasing you down" kind of way, but keeping her in sight.
If she can keep her in sight, Jaym'row tries to sense what motivates her flight.
Whichever is more applicable.
Okoteck taps a talon to his beak thoughtfully as he begins thinking aloud. "A Glimmer goblin here? And one that arrived in company with a local elf? How curious... and what is more curious, she think she has reason to avoid us. If none of us are personally acquainted with her, is it because we are obviously not from Thalis ourselves, or has she acquired information about us in particular that makes her wish to avoid us?"
He pauses. His own suspicious mind puts together a number of increasingly unlikely possibilities involving connections between Zelli and any number of the antagonistic forces they've already met, but there is too little information to even guess at the correctness of any such ideas.
Refocusing on his surroundings, Okoteck gives the helpful woman at the other table a grateful nod. "That is good to know, thank you."
He turns his head towards the tavernkeeper. "She is likely from Glimmer. It is a town of goblins in the lands we hail from, where many of the inhabitants are different from the stereotypical goblin, as you have noted with Zelli."
A note of humor touches Okoteck's eyes as he turns his gaze to Kork. "Our friend here is not from Glimmer, but rather is different from other goblins in his own way."
The catfolk tries to remain inconspicuous, but the goblin and her companion get the drop on her.
"What do you want?" inquires the aiuvarin, calmly but with her hand near the pommel of her weapon.
She smiles, her whole demeanor becoming warm and friendly in an instant. "I was concerned you might have come all the way from Glimmer to fetch me back. But if that's not the case, perhaps I can help. Let's meet up with your companions and we can talk."
The goblin woman and her partner accompany Jaym'row back to the tavern, where she introduces herself with friendly smiles and glad-handing all around. Her elf-blooded associate smiles tightly and stays quiet unless spoken to.
"Hiya, I'm Zelli, and if you're looking to buy, sell, or trade, I can either find what you're looking for or else know someone who can."
She slips into Eredori Common and adds, "I was an executor at the Glimmer company. I wanted their fancy smart-makin' juice, and agreed to a work contract to pay off the cost. I was on assignment in Omrinth, hunting down a lead on a promising new invention, when the wizard's fancy doohickey blew up on us. For a second I thought I was dead, but it turned out I wound up in the forests west of here."
She nods at Kirianara. "That's how I met her."
She then casts her gaze over her surroundings and adds (reverting to Jotun), "It's been a strange few years, but I reckon I've settled in fairly well."
She regards each party member in turn, then asks, "So what's your story?"
Jaym'row introduces Zelli and Kirianara to each of her friends and lets Obotek or Syper tell the story.
Okoteck bobs his head in a polite nod as Jaym'row introduces him. "As you've likely guessed, we do also hail from southern shores. We came here with some others on an exploratory expedition, but now what remains of our ship lies on the ocean floor, and we ourselves are settling in for a much longer stay. We ran into considerable misfortune, but were lucky enough to be able to enter Graenirvellir to escape it for now."
"We had actually come here in search of a glassblower for a very particularly made lens," he continues. "We understand that there is one in the Keep."
He pauses, then adds, "I myself am also curious about the frœthleikr hus, but that is mere curiosity, not need."
The goblin's face twitches slightly at the revelation of the ship's destruction, but she doesn't immediately address it.
"There's a glassblower up in the Keep, for sure. Name's Lacan Marquano, and he's a real artisan. His apprentice makes windowpanes for the burghers, so Marquano can focus on spectacles, stained-glass windows, spyglasses, and the like."
She shifts in her seat and takes a sip of cider.
"As to Aldinngenga's little magic school, that's over by the river, on the very edge of the reputable neighborhood. He's an older Röskarí gentleman who pays for his endless tinkerings by teaching rich children basic prestidigitation. He's led the quiet life for a long time, but when he was young, tales tell he knew how to throw a fireball or two, and served the jarl's father in the war with Thegnheim."
She leans in and asks casually, "You wouldn't have anything to do with the other crop of outlanders that pulled into town a few weeks ago asking about shipbuilders, would you?" You know from her expression that she is expecting a yes.
"Yeah, that was probably Captain Ferrino. He and the rest of our surviving crew headed up here to look into getting a new ship," Jade says, tucking into her lamb and potato skins. Between bites, she says, "Hey Okoteck, could your magic rock lead us to the captain? While we're here we might as well report on what we've been up to and find out what he and the crew will be doing in the meantime."
"I was scarcely going to mention it in the open, but yes," Okoteck replies to Jade.
"Mention what?" asks a familiar voice.
You turn and behold the ship's gunner striding confidently through the door toward the table, with the ebony-skinned navigator striding in behind him with an enigmatic smile on her face.
"Been a long three weeks," the dwarf observes with a smile on his face. "How've the natives been treatin' ye?"
"Wonderful people!" Syper replies. "How about you?"
Since Jaym'row has been playing the part of facilitator, she says, "Zelli, Kirianara, have you met Gunnar and Luwana?"
The dwarf chuckles pleasantly at Syper's response and nods. "We've gotten along so far."
Zelli grins from ear to ear and holds out a small green hand that momentarily vanishes into Gunnar's huge grip as they shake hands.
The dwarf grins and replies in Eredori Common. "No need for pleasantries, I know you came from the mainland." He makes an expansive gesture and continues in the party's impromptu code.
"We've settled into a flophouse near the river, but there's so much demand for skilled tradesmen we should be able to move up to better lodging within a month or so. Thorvaldur is working for the Brighthammers as a contract smith, and Elendriel is busily proving his worth to the Gungfår twins, who run a lot of the housing construction in this town."
The dwarf sighs as the positive facts exhaust themselves and his concerns bubble to the fore.
"There's nowhere in the jarl's realm with a shipyard big enough to build a craft that can cross the ocean and get us home, and building one from scratch will require significant capital. And then there's the question of the black powder." He takes a swig of cider. "While we still have a few kegs of it, we're reluctant to teach the locals to make more, since we have no idea what the fallout might be."
Zelli leans back in her seat, a train of thought barreling through her mind and leaving an awed expression in its wake. "If there were a ready supply of black powder, the coal mines west of town could double or triple their output. It would transform this whole region."
"And how long before the jarl got the idea in his head to take back this Thegnheim place we've been hearing about?" responds the gunner. "The captain hasn't made up his mind yet, and is holding off for now, at least until we know more."
He turns to the party. "Unless you have information that might sway his decision?"
"Gunnar!" Okoteck screeches when the dwarf arrives. "It is good to see you, and to know you and the rest of the surviving crew are well. We likely would have visited all of you in the morning--and likely still will."
When Gunnar asks his question, the tengu taps a talon agains the table in thought for a few moments. "I am strongly disinclined to withold knowledge simply because we think we know better," he begins. "In addition, just sharing the formula for gunpowder would scarcely mean the immediate production of cannon to use it. Sources of saltpeter and sulfur would need to be identified and exploited, or if already mined expanded to meet gunpowder's ravenous appetite for the substances; metals for the production of weapons would have to be produced or redirected from other uses; designs and casting techniques for gun and cannon would need to be tested and re-tested to create weapons that do not simply explode on their wielders. The formula for gunpowder was known for centuries before effective use of it in warfare occurred, though there is an argument to be made that access to spellcasters slowed its adoption."
"On the other talon, whether soon or late, there is no denying the truth that introducing gunpowder would eventually make us partially responsible for the deaths of many people." He pauses, then adds thoughtfully, "Unless, of course, whatever the Tuluruq are doing ends up unleashing the End of Days upon us all, in which case it would scarcely matter. Indeed, a well-armed Graenrvellir might be an essential ally in days to come, if there are world-ending evils coming."
Another pause. "For that matter, if the virloga do not return, I suspect that the existence of Graenrvellir will not remain a secret to southern powers forever. For all the strength of the wards on it, with the number of expeditions that will land on Thalis someone will, whether accidentally or purposefully, find a way in. Indeed, you could argue that some southerners already have. One could make an argument that it is only fair that they be armed to match the dangers to come."
Okoteck falls silent for a long moment, then sighs. "I do not have the wisdom to guess at all ends. But my preference is to share knowledge, not hoard it. Ignorance is not a defense, and in the end someone will discover the truth. We would only be moving up the timeline, so to speak."
Jaym'row has not the temperament to weigh in on the relative merits of sharing or withholding the formula for gunpowder.
She only has this to say, "Many are the stories about such decisions. Some are about some magic spell or whether or not to use some powerful artefact or ally with some reclusive yet powerful tribe or race. I could tell some of them when we have time if it will help. They end in different ways: sometimes for the better, sometimes worse for letting some magic or technology into the world."
"The people here should probably have input on gunpowder being unleashed into their society. Maybe we should ask Irila what she thinks," Jade muses. She finishes her last potato skin and sighs contentedly.
"In even asking, we've already committed to giving it to them if even a single one says yes," Okoteck states. "By the time we've explained its properties well enough for them to make an informed choice, we'll likely have explained enough for someone to try to make it even if we don't give the formula. Perhaps they would not succeed, but divinations exist..."
After a few moments' hesitation, Okoteck adds, "Not that it's a bad idea, but we must recognize that, as they say, you do not get the djinn back in its bottle. Once we speak of this, we have made a change, whether or not we actually go through with it."
After eyeing the goblin suspiciously for a few moments, Kork jumps into the conversation. "Kork firm believer in sharing knowledge. If orca people gone, nothing stop southerners from coming. Will come with boompowder, reduce locals, then do what they want. Give locals fighting chance."
"Mining happen either way. By locals or people from south. Not matter who mines." he shrugs. "Maybe too late to talk about this already?" he looks at Zelli again. "Most juiced gobbos good with this alchemy stuff."
"Not our problem anyway. Boompowder get here either way. Should look into dark spirit problem faster?" he looks around the party. "The big one."
And then looks at Gunnar and Luwana. "Quartermaster feel better?"
Zelli shrugs at Kork. ”I don’t know how to make the stuff, if you’re asking. I’m an… acquisitions specialist.” She glances at Gunnar. ”Do you know how to make guns?”
The dwarf tilts his head, then holds a hand out in acknowledgment of Okoteck’s points. ”As the birdman said, there’s a lot to it. The blacksmith and I, working together, could make a cannon, though it won’t be ratfolk quality. And obviously we know how to make rifles and pistols if given a chance.”
He purses his lips in thought. ”I’ll pass along your considerations to the captain.” Then, recalling Kork’s earlier query, he adds, ”And the quartermaster is doing perfectly fine. We had to sell some supplies, but most of what we could take from the camp is intact, and she’s managing the general fund the captain takes out of everyone’s pay. And the sailmaker’s fine too. He, er, she’s… adjusting.” Catching sight of Zelli’s quizzical look, he shrugs and replies, ”It’s a long story.”
After giving him an expectant stare that goes unfulfilled, she turns to the party and says, ”Well, my friend and I have to get going. The mercantile scene is abuzz with opportunities, and time is money. But when you meet Lacan, tell him we sent you and he’ll give you a good deal.”
Luwana and Gunnar chat with you as you all finish your meal, studiously absorbing your recounting of events.
”Well, these potato skins are a fine discovery, and I’ll be back here in future. At the moment, however, Luwana and I will have to get back to the others. Feel free to drop by in the evening after the workday is done; the captain would love an after-action report.” The dwarf hands you a piece of paper with the address of the flophouse, pays his tab, and walks out. Luwana bids you farewell with a cryptical smile.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
It's market day, so you simply follow the flow of traffic toward the keep. You pass through the upper-crust neighborhoods on the waterfront, cross the bridge over the Oxbane river, step under the arch of the gate set into the immense stone walls, and behold the interior of the bailey.
There is an ornate building to your left that appears to be a counting-house and a mangonel pressed up against the guardhouse to your right. Following the instructions given to you at the tavern, you traverse the cobbled streets, passing an alchemist’s shop and a small cottage with a fenced-in garden before arriving at your destination, a well-maintained shop with a wooden sign on the lintel marked Marquano’s Artisanal Glassworks, and a smaller sign in the window marked “OPEN”, a subtle indicator that anyone with the funds to shop here would likely be literate.
As you step into the glassblower’s shop, you note that the air is warm, dry and redolent of woodsmoke from the charcoal powering the bellows. You hear activity in the back and move toward it. As you stride past the shelves of glass knickknacks and piles of windowpanes that comprise Marquano’s ready merchandise, you hear a melodic female voice speaking in Jotun.