Mortimer sits leaning against the inside wall of a tower in a city on the Maelstrom, and slowly draws a stone along the blade of his scythe. It did nothing, he just liked the rhythmic motion.
Occasionally, his eyes would glow a soft silver and he would study Agamemnons sleeping form, before returning his attention to his scythe
"I should kill you, brother" he whispers softly to himself.
A few minutes pass.
"Balthazar allows me to see the evil in people, you see. And you are almost as evil as people get"
*Scrape, scrape, scrape*
"You tell people that it is okay to follow their hearts, that emotions and passions and needs are more important than rules. This is why bandits and barbarians and Kruin exist. They don't respect the rules, and they feel like its okay to do as they please"
*Scrape, scrape*
"Balthazar has taught me that lies are wrong. Lies are little seeds of evil. So if I killed you, I would have to admit it to the others, when they asked. Besides, I like you."
*Scraaaaaape*
"They probably wouldn't like me if they learned you died by my hand, would they?"
*tap, tap*
"Balthazar has taught me to use whatever tools I need to, in my fight against evil. I need you, and I need our friends to fight against Orcus. Using evil to fight evil is smart. Tabitha thinks so anyway."
*scrape, scrape scrape*
"Being a Hellknight is hard Aggy. There is so much thinking."
*Scrape, scrape*
"I want Unicorky"
In the Maelstrom
Agamemnon closed his eyes, trying to suppress the feeling of nausea that blinking around in the Maelstrom was causing him. After a moment he opened his eyes. There was Mortimer, standing on a hill, leaning on his great scythe for support as he was surrounded by yeth hounds and unicorns.
"Hey!" he called out. "Don't worry! I'm here to save you!"
Mortimer turned and watched as Agamemnon powered across the uneven ground towards him. "I don't need saving," he said in even tones.
"Not you," the priest muttered as he ran breathlessly past him. "Hey!" he yelled to the unicorns. "Run! Before this monster tries to turn you into jerky!" The unicorns just stared at him mutely. "I'll try to hold him back!"
"Very funny, elf."
"Go on without me, blessed creatures of light! I will make this sacrifice, for the forces ... of GOOD!"
The burly orc grabbed his less orcish companion by the arm, cutting short his theatrics, and dragged him towards the ruins of a guard tower, nodding an awkward apology to the unicorns as they left.
~~~~~
Agamemnon gave up on the fire they had built in the base of the abandoned guard tower in which they were taking shelter for what passed for the night around here. The fire was periodically putting out waves of heat, no heat or actually making the room colder. Cooking was impossible, though since Agamemnon only had trail rations with him it didn't really matter.
Mortimer was sitting on a fallen chunk of masonry unnecessarily sharpening his scythe with a smooth rock that Agamemnon was sure hadn't existed until Mortimer had willed it into being.
For all its chaos and instability the Malestrom - or at least this small patch of it - was incredibly boring. Everything was the same mass of dark, turbulent purple cloud with no visible horizon, no stars, no sun or moon, no differentiation between sky and ground, and no variation in any direction. Even the tumbledown cityscape on whose outskirts they found themselves was composed of a stone which, when cracked, was the same purple-black mass of confused nothing inside.
The priest looked out through a gap in the wall that was either intentionally or unintentionally a window. The yeth hounds were violent, wanting to fight, but they didn't really seem to care who they fought, they weren't organised and they didn't have a plan so the marginally more orderly unicorns were having no real trouble keeping them at bay. Every so often the fight would move out of hearing and Agamemnon would think they had gone, only for sounds of battle to start up again on the opposite side of the tower a half hour later.
"I'm bored too," Mortimer said suddenly, fed up with Agamemnon's pacing. "I'm going to go and fight some dogs. Do you want to come?"
Agamemnon shook his head. "Thank you for your kind offer, but no. I need to spend some time in contemplation and rest if we want to teleport out of here in the morning." He settled back down by the wall, pulling out a history book to read, this one about the great dragon slayers of the ages. "You have fun though. Make sure you don't wander far."
"Yes mum," Mortimer grumbled before striding out the door.
"You don't want to get lost and end up stuck here, do you?" he called out the door after his departing comrade.
"Don't care," the orc called back over his shoulder as he vanished into the indistinct mist.
"Fine," said Agamemnon, settling in as comfortably as he could. "Good. Now hopefully I can get some peace and quiet, free from disturbances."
It was at this point that a yeth hound leaped out of the shadows and bit his face.
~~~~~
Agamemnon leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "I am exhausted."
At least thirty dogs lay dead outside the tower, with several more littering the area inside. Mortimer was already picking up the corpses and tossing them out the windows, his scythe held firmly in one hand.
"You are not much of a combatant."
"Hey now Mr Criticism! I can take care of myself!"
Mortimer just looked at him.
"Well ... I can heal myself, after I'm bitten on the face by a yeth hound. That is a useful skill to have"
Mortimer continued looking at him.
"You're not much of a diplomat, if we're being frank in our personal assessments of each other, but you don't hear me faulting you for that. I may not be quite up to your level just yet, but fighting has never really been my focus."
Mortimer made a noise that might have been a laugh. "You are not much of an orc."
"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?"
The orc slapped Agamemnon on the shoulder, nearly knocking the already-winded cleric over. "Thank you for coming here to get me. Sleep. I will guard the door."
Agamemnon was too tired to come up with a witty response so he lay down next to a pile of rubble that hadn't been there fifteen minutes ago and went to sleep.
~~~~~
"Look, I can only apologise."
"It's fine."
"I'm not used to blinking around like this."
"I know. It's fine."
"With a bit of practice my accuracy should improve. It's just that coming out of a dimension as confusing as the Maelstrom I -"
Mortimer held up a hand to silence Agamemnon, stepped out of the latrine, scraped what he could off his shoes and made his way to Castle Calaelan.
"Thank you for choosing Aggy Air! We hope to enjoy your custom again!" Agamemnon called after him once he felt the orc was a safe distance away.
Mortimer didn't even turn around, he just made an obscene gesture over his shoulder and kept walking.
"Hey!" he called out. "Don't worry! I'm here to save you!"
Mortimer turned and watched as Agamemnon powered across the uneven ground towards him. "I don't need saving," he said in even tones.
"Not you," the priest muttered as he ran breathlessly past him. "Hey!" he yelled to the unicorns. "Run! Before this monster tries to turn you into jerky!" The unicorns just stared at him mutely. "I'll try to hold him back!"
"Very funny, elf."
"Go on without me, blessed creatures of light! I will make this sacrifice, for the forces ... of GOOD!"
The burly orc grabbed his less orcish companion by the arm, cutting short his theatrics, and dragged him towards the ruins of a guard tower, nodding an awkward apology to the unicorns as they left.
~~~~~
Agamemnon gave up on the fire they had built in the base of the abandoned guard tower in which they were taking shelter for what passed for the night around here. The fire was periodically putting out waves of heat, no heat or actually making the room colder. Cooking was impossible, though since Agamemnon only had trail rations with him it didn't really matter.
Mortimer was sitting on a fallen chunk of masonry unnecessarily sharpening his scythe with a smooth rock that Agamemnon was sure hadn't existed until Mortimer had willed it into being.
For all its chaos and instability the Malestrom - or at least this small patch of it - was incredibly boring. Everything was the same mass of dark, turbulent purple cloud with no visible horizon, no stars, no sun or moon, no differentiation between sky and ground, and no variation in any direction. Even the tumbledown cityscape on whose outskirts they found themselves was composed of a stone which, when cracked, was the same purple-black mass of confused nothing inside.
The priest looked out through a gap in the wall that was either intentionally or unintentionally a window. The yeth hounds were violent, wanting to fight, but they didn't really seem to care who they fought, they weren't organised and they didn't have a plan so the marginally more orderly unicorns were having no real trouble keeping them at bay. Every so often the fight would move out of hearing and Agamemnon would think they had gone, only for sounds of battle to start up again on the opposite side of the tower a half hour later.
"I'm bored too," Mortimer said suddenly, fed up with Agamemnon's pacing. "I'm going to go and fight some dogs. Do you want to come?"
Agamemnon shook his head. "Thank you for your kind offer, but no. I need to spend some time in contemplation and rest if we want to teleport out of here in the morning." He settled back down by the wall, pulling out a history book to read, this one about the great dragon slayers of the ages. "You have fun though. Make sure you don't wander far."
"Yes mum," Mortimer grumbled before striding out the door.
"You don't want to get lost and end up stuck here, do you?" he called out the door after his departing comrade.
"Don't care," the orc called back over his shoulder as he vanished into the indistinct mist.
"Fine," said Agamemnon, settling in as comfortably as he could. "Good. Now hopefully I can get some peace and quiet, free from disturbances."
It was at this point that a yeth hound leaped out of the shadows and bit his face.
~~~~~
Agamemnon leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "I am exhausted."
At least thirty dogs lay dead outside the tower, with several more littering the area inside. Mortimer was already picking up the corpses and tossing them out the windows, his scythe held firmly in one hand.
"You are not much of a combatant."
"Hey now Mr Criticism! I can take care of myself!"
Mortimer just looked at him.
"Well ... I can heal myself, after I'm bitten on the face by a yeth hound. That is a useful skill to have"
Mortimer continued looking at him.
"You're not much of a diplomat, if we're being frank in our personal assessments of each other, but you don't hear me faulting you for that. I may not be quite up to your level just yet, but fighting has never really been my focus."
Mortimer made a noise that might have been a laugh. "You are not much of an orc."
"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?"
The orc slapped Agamemnon on the shoulder, nearly knocking the already-winded cleric over. "Thank you for coming here to get me. Sleep. I will guard the door."
Agamemnon was too tired to come up with a witty response so he lay down next to a pile of rubble that hadn't been there fifteen minutes ago and went to sleep.
~~~~~
"Look, I can only apologise."
"It's fine."
"I'm not used to blinking around like this."
"I know. It's fine."
"With a bit of practice my accuracy should improve. It's just that coming out of a dimension as confusing as the Maelstrom I -"
Mortimer held up a hand to silence Agamemnon, stepped out of the latrine, scraped what he could off his shoes and made his way to Castle Calaelan.
"Thank you for choosing Aggy Air! We hope to enjoy your custom again!" Agamemnon called after him once he felt the orc was a safe distance away.
Mortimer didn't even turn around, he just made an obscene gesture over his shoulder and kept walking.
The Beak Sleep
Feels like weeks I’ve been stuck in this hole, gods am I parched, I haven’t been dry this long since, well, my entire memory. I alternate between fitful naps in the dirt and a crystal-clear focus on every scrap of sound that makes its way through my rotting prison walls, desperate for a hint of what’s happening outside. I can’t tell if it’s day or night when I’m suddenly awoken, the distinctive sound of Common like music to my ears, even when I can tell who it’s from: the dame that set me up is back.
“What do you want? Why do you keep sending dying animals into town?” I hear, I guess she got the message the tree was shouting about before I got thrown in here.
“Shiiiiinnyyyyy”. I really wish that tree could grow a new vocabulary.
There’s a moment of silence that my mind fills with hand gestures and an annoyed smirk.
“You can’t have that. It’s a holy relic of Hel.”
“Hellllllllll? Mmmyyyy Shiiiinnnyyy!”
A few more moments of quiet, I can hear rustling nearby too, sounds like someone has backup at the ready.
“You want.. oh great. Really? Now I need to preach to the thing?” Her tone is probably lost on both the tree-thing and the deaf girl.
“Screw it, I’m just going to kill it. BOYS!” A sudden shout and the quiet rustle near my confines becomes the sound of action. I hear fighting outside, and make ready to jump on any opportunity that fortune throws my way. There’s a heavy crash against the side of the tree followed by the scraping of vines and branches against armor, but my eye has already been drawn to the tiny sliver of light showing through the now-askance door blocking my path to freedom. It’s not quite big enough for me to squeeze through but I wedge myself with my back against the wall and my claws pushing against the door, thinking it can’t help to help good fortune find me. Another loud thud and the door shifts, maybe I’m going to make it out after all. I take a peek outside to see the talkative one gutting an oozy panther while the deaf one is fending off a questing tree branch and twisting her hands into some spellcasting gestures. I make a break for it, forcing my way through the hole and taking to the air like a fish to water. Looking over my shoulder I see a human and an elf I don’t recognise grappling with assorted rotting plants and animals. As I make it to the treeline I hear a shout, cut short as the whole area falls into unnatural silence.
“Shiiiiinnyyyyy”. I really wish that tree could grow a new vocabulary.
There’s a moment of silence that my mind fills with hand gestures and an annoyed smirk.
“You can’t have that. It’s a holy relic of Hel.”
“Hellllllllll? Mmmyyyy Shiiiinnnyyy!”
A few more moments of quiet, I can hear rustling nearby too, sounds like someone has backup at the ready.
“You want.. oh great. Really? Now I need to preach to the thing?” Her tone is probably lost on both the tree-thing and the deaf girl.
“Screw it, I’m just going to kill it. BOYS!” A sudden shout and the quiet rustle near my confines becomes the sound of action. I hear fighting outside, and make ready to jump on any opportunity that fortune throws my way. There’s a heavy crash against the side of the tree followed by the scraping of vines and branches against armor, but my eye has already been drawn to the tiny sliver of light showing through the now-askance door blocking my path to freedom. It’s not quite big enough for me to squeeze through but I wedge myself with my back against the wall and my claws pushing against the door, thinking it can’t help to help good fortune find me. Another loud thud and the door shifts, maybe I’m going to make it out after all. I take a peek outside to see the talkative one gutting an oozy panther while the deaf one is fending off a questing tree branch and twisting her hands into some spellcasting gestures. I make a break for it, forcing my way through the hole and taking to the air like a fish to water. Looking over my shoulder I see a human and an elf I don’t recognise grappling with assorted rotting plants and animals. As I make it to the treeline I hear a shout, cut short as the whole area falls into unnatural silence.
The early morning sunlight feels good on my feathers as I shoot the breeze over the forest, entertaining myself with thoughts of the mutually assured destruction I hope I left behind. If a tree howls in the forest and no one can hear it, did it really die? There’s a clearing up ahead, and wouldn’t you know it I see the dizzy druid resting against a tree, talking to her critters, not a care in the world. I’m making my way down to the clearing when a thought starts bothering me, why isn’t Drusilla moving? She looks injured. I quickly flick back up into the sky as I notice the “forest critter” in front of her isn’t of the fluffy, friendly variety but the plague-carrying undead variety. I circle around, scanning the trees around the clearing, but this time Nutsy doesn’t have his squirrel army to defend him from aerial assault, nor has he noticed me yet. I reach into my beltpouch, pull out a jar of Holy Water and line up for a bombing run, hoping he doesn’t take this moment to look up. Maybe it’s the lack of whiskey in my system but what I think is a perfectly timed shot sails straight past the wretched zombie and smashes on a rock outcropping, the precious fluid running down into the puddle below, the tepid remains of an overnight shower. I pull up short and drop to the ground between him and the druid just as he turns around in confusion, too slowly. I take the chance to flex my magical hand and bodily pick the miserable creature up, pushing him towards the puddle that I inadvertently blessed. He’s screaming the leaves right off the trees as his tail touches the water,immediately puffing into flames. I need to keep concentrating or this won’t end well for me. Just when I think the vocal assault couldn’t get any louder, the partially-submerged thing kicks it up a notch or five. He struggles against the invisible force that’s pushing him down, but when it comes to force of will this bird will not be found wanting. I feel him staring at me, those dead eyes throwing hate at me, almost overwhelming me but I grit my beak and get it done. There’s nothing left but a steaming puddle, air above hazy with brown smoke and the occasional bit of fur drifting away in the soft forest breeze. Of all the death I’ve had to deal with in this line of work, this one is probably going to haunt my dreams the longest.
I’m already thinking about the sweet oblivion waiting at the bottom of my whiskey glass when I hear a noise behind me. The druid is shifting and there’s a small deer creeping out of the foliage towards her. I eyeball it, keeping a keen eye out for any sign of disease or general ill health, if this foal so much as sneezes I’m going to tear its head off. Thankfully it appears clean, putting its head under Drusilla’s questing hand, helping her rise to her feet and steady herself.
“Aah, thank you Lavitha, such a helpful darling you are.” She mutters, catching her breath.
“So what’s the story here lady? I already killed that damn squirrel once.” I’m none too happy with what’s happened to me since last I seen her.
“Ah, Matey! It appears there is some foul forces at work in my forest. Something brought back Nutsy, but in a very evil way.
“She gazes off into the distance. “I fear the corruption is spreading still…”
“Do you mean that ghastly tree monster? I think some fortuitous circumstance might have helped us here. I just escaped a band of outlaws that were attempting to destroy it.”
I’m midway through my mental quest for the silver lining when another squirrel, clean this time, comes down from the nearest tree and rests on Drusilla’s shoulder, chittering up a storm.
“Oh? Oh dear.. Oh no. That’s not good at all.” This one-sided despair starts to get on my nerves so I interject.
“What is it, Druid?”
“This dear thing has brought terrible news. Those outlaws you saw appear to have made peace with this ‘Ghoultree’ and.. what?” More obnoxious chittering and just like that, I’m back in the mood to kill squirrels. “They are preaching to the tree about the Goddess Hel, the Lady of death and decay.”
“Well I guess that answers the question of what I was to do with the rest of my day…” I mutter to myself, already planning who needs to be alerted: The Orc, The Big Bird and obviously the Captain, assuming they are back by now, otherwise it’ll have to be the Ogre and the Dwarf, not that they are much use.
She snaps her focus back to me, “I fear this is even worse than I thought, you have to make haste to the -”
But I’m already in the air.
“Town, yeah, I’m on my way! We’ll be in touch!”
A bird’s work is never done and I still owe the Dwarf, who’s going to pay me now?!
A Friend Who's Dressed in Leather
“...Well, this ain’t good.”
“Not gonna lie, Hanabi. This ain’t good at all.”
“I hate not bein’ able to see. It’s all darkness and noise.”
“And the air. It’s all so-”
“Dead? Dead but crawlin’.”
“Yeah. Like the last great fart left in the gut o’ a floater or somethin’ equally vile. I don’t think this place has
had even a whisper o’ fresh air this entire Age.”
…
…
...
“...Do you think we’re gonna make it out?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. Most o’ us have been dead once or twice. But we ain’t ever been lost before.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sorry?”
“Death. I haven’t uh, died before.”
“I don’t remember the first time all too well. But that second time? With the lava? Yeah I don’t recommend it. But you don’t feel a thin’ once you hit the Line o’ the Dead. Except loss I suppose.”
“I’m scared. I’m not… I’m not good enough for this!”
“Don’t say that-”
“No. It’s easy to rely on a swift blade in the back when all you’re up against is some high-falootin’ Aberdeenian cryin’ about his lost tiara. But… I hit one o’ those gugs square in its ugly face and I think maybe it coughed a little?”
“I didn’t ask you to join us for ability to shoot thins, Hanabi. That was well, that was my job at the time.”
“And thins have changed since then. If we get out o’ this alive, I’m going to train. Hard. I’ll ask Jaq or someone how to properly use a bow. This lovely piece of claptrap I got right now is some kind o’ drunk noble- pretty, slow and more useful when traded away for gold.”
“Good. Plans. Plans are what I like to hear. We can bust outta this mess alive with plans.”
…
…
...
…
“Also, Pezzack…
“Shades.”
“Why do you always insist on- nevermind. I just wanted you to know. In case I… don’t make it out, permanently. Declarin’ your faith to a god whilst you’re still alive feels a lot like revealin’ your hand way too early in the game but… I want to follow Thyr. Or Bofred. Whichever one is alive enough to be grantin’ you your magic. It ain't every day that any god, alive or dead, pays attention to a bird.”
“Thyr, Bofred and I have an agreement- we’ll all do whatever we can to bring the greatest good to the greatest number o’ people out there. Right now that mostly means givin’ Orcus and his fan club hell to pay.”
“Then I’ll serve that.”
An unusual delivery.
It's early on the morning of the 209th day. The sun is only just beginning to lighten the sky, and has not yet appeared on the horizon. 2 shadowy figures can be seen on the dock, the fog off the river concealing all but their outlines. One appears to be a woman, likely human. Her companion towers over her, his vast size and bulk at odds with his careful movements and calm voice. Anyone observing the figures would see that they were clearly waiting on the boat that had just drifted into view.
"The others will not approve" Talisa's hissing draconic words drifting into the mist.
"The others do not, cannot understand. This is too important. We must know, we must understand, if we are to undo the damage."
"The mayor will be upset.."
A look that could almost be described as a hollow smile crossed the ogre's face. "I am less concerned about our mayor, than I am his orc. But never the less, we must act, and face what comes when it does."
...............................
Considering the quantity of cargo, the ship was unloaded remarkably quickly. It almost looked as if the crew were afraid of the crates. The captain had barely re-boarded after receiving payment when the anchor was raised and the ship was heading back down river, moving a good deal faster than it had earlier that morning.
Talisa rose, excitement playing across her face. "I thought they were mundane. Did you enchant them?"
"No. They must already be reacting to the instability. Curious. We shall have to take this into account. Have the golems load the wagon, I will summon the horses. We must must begin assembly at once."
Lannis looked down at the sunlight reflecting off the hundreds of copper and iron gears and tubes, arcane runes etched into them. "Soon, soon we shall know."
The Snarl of the Bird
So here I am in the rafters again, the sweet clouds of tobacco smoke surrounding me, three claws of Haku’s finest at my side and a sullen feeling that the damn dwarf is going to come collecting today. Normally I don’t have a problem ignoring my debts, but the paladin beat me fair and square, and he was just so damn nice about it, must have been the new cask of firewater we cracked open last night. But booze tastes different during the day, and it’s only as smooth as your worries will let it be.
I’m eyeballing the patrons, someone here’s gotta have some coin I can beg, borrow or steal, when the door opens and two dames waltz in. I peg them immediately, but I always find it best to observe before making a move. They sit down at a table and I notice something funny, neither of them are speaking but there’s a lot of hand-waving. My guess is deafness, which gets confirmed as soon as Haku comes to the table and only one of them is talking, the other’s silent but a hand gesture gets her a drink too. Haku doesn’t blink but then he’s a professional, never asks questions and makes everyone feel comfortable. When he’s back at the bar he catches my eye, what does the old turkey want? I stub out my cigarette and swoop down, keeping one eye on the ladies.
"Those two are looking to hire a finder, but I don't like their auras. They smell of decay." Always to the point, this bird.
"What's their story?" I'm curious, it's one of my flaws.
"All I know is they paid gold for their drinks instead of silver." Haku states, before turning to the taps.
I take some time to try and get their measure, mulling over what he said, wondering how an overgrown chicken can smell auras. The quiet one looks uneasy, like there's a fire ant somewhere in those robes, her anxiety plays across her face. The talker just looks bored, but her casual demeanour is betrayed by the keen eye that is observing the room, assessing every person and entryway.
I wait for their drinks to arrive before I make my way over and perch on the back of an unused chair, careful to stay out of arm's reach of the pair. I light another cigarette and puff out a stream of smoke before looking the talker in the eye.
"Big Bird tells me you dolls are looking for some help." I state, guardedly. No surprise shows on their faces, but a flash of a smile from the mute one and we have ourselves a dialogue.
"My colleague and I are after something that we lost near the forest, a scroll case. We believe it was broken but not destroyed. "She states in a husky tone. "It is a divine object with a lot of sentimental worth to us, and we are prepared to offer 500 gold for it's retrieval."
I eyeball the silent partner a moment before turning back to the talker. "What did you say your names were?"
"500 gold and no questions asked." She's a tough one to get a read on, but 500 gold is 500 gold and I'm a bird in need.
"No questions huh... Well I'll need to know where you 'lost' it, and how long ago that was."
"A few miles up the road towards the coast, and it was some months ago. The road section has been staked out for searching as we were attempting to find it ourselves. We shall be staying here for the next day or so, the innkeeper will know which room."
"Well that's about all the information I need. Now there's just the matter of my retainer..." I manage to keep the hopeful tone out of my voice, and I've never heard of a face harder to read than mine.
The door to the tavern opens and in walks the dwarf, already hailing Haku for a stout one. My new employers have already stood up and are walking towards the stairs, leaving 20 gold pieces on the table. Hardly my usual rates, but it'll cover expenses.
Before I've even had the chance to open my pouch, the paladin has sat down opposite me and palmed 19 of them.
"Ah good timing, Matey. Ahm sure ah'll be seein' tha rest by nightfall?"
I glare at him briefly before snatching the lonely coin from the table and flying back up to my rafter. I never trust a client normally, but these two definitely ruffled my feathers the wrong way. The light winks off the only gold I own, a lighthouse beacon warning me to stay away.
Still, I'd better close this case quickly or, sure as Dwerfater's hammer, I'll be turned over to the guard by the cheerful bastard.
The sun is hanging low in the sky by the time I find the place and predictably, there's not a sign of whatever went down, just another dirt road on the side of another hill in Mosswood. Seeing telltale signs of a mudslide leading away, I circle round to take a closer look. A short way into the dim forest and I come across a meandering river, its banks soft and damp. It's possible any lost items might have ended up here and it's the best lead I have. Did the sun already set, or is it just getting darker in here? I make my way down the river, keeping my eyes out for anything metallic, listening to the soothing sounds of nature, plus a couple of twig snaps and what might have been a howl. A fetid pool by the side of the river, reeking of decay. I sense movement, a flick of my wings and I’m up in the branches. There’s a few minutes of silence before a panther, patches of fur missing and skin which could only be described as rotting, slinks out from the underbrush and stalks towards the pool of water, into which it promptly vomits a reddish-brown liquid. The rank odor of disease wafts up to my vantage point, I see no threat here and time’s getting on, this bird needs to deliver.
A glint of metal, deep inside a festering tree hollow, attracts my eye and I perch on a nearby tree to get the lay of the land. There’s another twig-snap and a rustle in the bushes nearby, another sick panther? I give it a few more minutes before I descend to the mud-covered metal that’s caught my attention. I peer into the hollow and it looks pretty solidly wedged in the mud, a creeper wrapped around it too, just makes my life harder. Pulling out some rope from my pouch, I snip the vine with my beak, did I just hear another howl? Working quickly now I tie the rope to the vine, and pull it up over the nearest branch. Using myself as the pulley counterweight, I pull the rope down with all my strength and heave the object out of its dirt prison. A quick inspection tells me it’s my payday, the scroll case is shattered, but recognisable, and covered in writing that I’m unfamiliar with.
While I’m peering at the engraved scribbles I hear yet another rustle, but it’s been a false alarm every time, so I don’t even look up until the net is descending upon me. The loud one from the tavern is here and she’s got a wicked grin on her twisted face. I make a move for my pouch but she snatches up the net with me in it and tosses the whole affair into the river. I struggle, but the net is dragging me down into the putrid water, light fading away. With my last breath I use my Mage Hand to tear the net away and push myself to the surface. I’m still near the tree hollow, but there’s no sign of the double-crossing dame or the scroll case. Haku’ll never let me live this down, but first I need to get back there.
The foul water is dripping from my colourful plumage, I must be quite a sight, not that anyone’s around to appreciate it. Another howl, close this time, and the nearby vines start thrashing. I try to take to the air but one’s already got my claw, then another and I’m being held down like a chicken waiting for the axe. What looks like a deformed tree trunk comes out of the shadows and with it’s one sickly-thin branch points to where I found the case. The howl is mournful, laced with anger, and what must pass for its eyes are boring into me, looking for answers.
“The human female took it! She’s gone back to town!” This doesn’t seem like the time to be holding my cards close to my chest.
“Hooollllyyyyy”. The thing’s voice squelches like a dozen wet rats being pressed by a millstone. “Mmmyyyy Hooollyyyyy”.
“You worship that thing? They mentioned it was divine. Maybe you can contact them and work something out! Want me to carry a message for you?” Anything to get me out of here, this thing stinks and the constricting vines are making me worry about my wings.
“Meeesssaaaaage”, shouts the tree-monster, and from the corner of my eye I see the sickly panther creep forward out of the cover.
But that’s all I see, as the vines whip up a frenzy again and I’m propelled into the very hollow that I had so recently excavated. A crash, darkness falls, as something sturdy drops in front of the exit. The vines withdraw and I flex my wings, grateful for the pain that tells me I can still fly, if only I can find a way out of this mess.
Outside, I hear the muffled scream again, “Meeesssaaaage!” but this time It’s joined by the howls and roars of several other creatures.
Gods I hope they don’t destroy my tavern.
The Maltese Parrot
Another bitter morning sun shakes me out of my restless slumber. Did I dream, or was it just an after-image of the last scumbag I put down? I ruffle the cigarette ash out of my feathers and hop onto the bar for a nip of the morning brew. Haku is looking at me like the Ghast of Solstice Past. He doesn't know where I go at night and I ain't squawkin'.
A quick bath at the stables, the water tepid and foul, and I am back up in the rafters where I do my best thinking.
A quick bath at the stables, the water tepid and foul, and I am back up in the rafters where I do my best thinking.
Yesterday’s summons from Drusilla to look into a mysterious rabbit death had left me stumped. Definitely not natural causes, since when did nature stuff rotten acorns into a corpse? The carcass was cold by the time I got to it, already crawling with the 6-legged demolition crew. I managed to save a few fibres but they could be the hair of any brown beast, maybe the Ogre could identify them but I didn’t think I needed to call him in just yet.
On the way back to town I had paid a visit to the Mad Badger, gods rest his soul, but he wasn’t talking. Some creative beakwork later and the 3-pawed bastard spilled the beans. Turns out some local bigshot calling himself Nutsy ordered the hit. He might have given me more but that’s when the sky fell on us, flashing shades of brown and grey hitting us from every side. I got a clear look at the one I gutted before making my escape, a damn squirrel!
Customers are coming in, the noise rising up like foul dust in the summer. Time to pay the dizzy druid another visit with what I’ve learned, see if I can shake loose any more info from that leafy head of hers. I make quick time to the forest, yellows dappled across the once verdant green, the autumn cancer. Funny, I didn’t think of it like this only last year, but then a lot of things have changed since then.
“Turns out our rabbit-killer is a squirrel by the name of Nutsy.” I keep a close eye on her face and see the flicker of self-doubt, she knows something.
“Oh no... oh no… Why would he do such a thing?” She shook her head and I waited for her to continue. “Nutsy was one of my forest friends. I blessed him after I had such success with you. I was hoping for a companion to help me watch over the forest.” I grimace at the reminder of my origins, that strange awakening of self awareness still haunts me to this day. "He's such a good little thing..." She's mumbling to herself.
“So when did he start murdering bunnies?”, I don’t have all day and the dame needs to remember who she’s talking to.
“At first it was fine, he wasn't as smart as you, but he loved to spend his days beside me tending the forest’s needs. But then he started disappearing, at first only for a few hours here and there. Then it was days at a time, and then one day he just vanished. I had hoped he met a lady squirrel friend and found happiness elsewhere.” She sounded uncertain, like she wanted to convince herself more than me.
“When did you last see Nutsy?”
“A week ago. When I moved on from the Oaks, I thought maybe he had stayed there to live with the other squirrels.” She said.
“Well that’s where I’ll start looking. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Do try to bring him back, I’m sure it was just a mistake…” She trailed off, the saddest glimmer of hope fading in her eyes as I flew away.
The sun is burning down overhead, my shadow, a dark clone of my form, plays across the canopy as it flashes past below. I make good time to the Oak copse the druid mentioned. Gnarled, moss growing across their boughs like the creeping plague, I hate trees. I spot a sturdy-looking branch and rest lightly. I Open my beltpouch, a gift from that darling Talisa, and put a nice dry cigarette into my beak. A quick flash from my handy everburning matchstick and I’m sucking down my first pleasant breath since entering this damned, damp, miserable place. Shadows in the corner of my eye, but the underbrush is quiet, too quiet.
*THOCK*
...
First I notice the pain, lancing through the back of my head. Then I open my eyes and notice the dark, it’s not daylight anymore. The muted rustle of leaves tells me that I’m not outside either. I’m on my back and the bastards have tied up my wings, just how smart is this squirrel? I lay still for a few minutes to get my bearings. The scent of sap and moss tells me I’m in a tree, probably a hollowed tree trunk. I can’t hear any vermin nearby so they must think I’m down for the count. I figure now is as good a time as any for my get-out-of-jail-free card. I Mage Hand the vines off my wings with a wiggle of my claw and push myself upright, bloody handy little talent, if I do say so myself.
Sneaking to the entrance I can see firelight, the impish flicker of orange across the boughs nearby. A loud voice starts up just as I peer out but it's not directed at me, rather the host of forest creatures below my vantage point. I spy what must be Nutsy and he's hollering himself hoarse about Hell, or is it Hel, and some growing pestilence in the forest. I briefly hope it's just a mad sermon, but the glint in his beady little eye tells me he's swallowed his own line. I hear him mention sacrifices to the tree lord, what tree lord? If there was any doubt left in my mind it drains away when he instructs his pack to gut the prisoner (me!) and fill me with the acorns they had gathered. Taking my cue, I hop out to the nearest branch and take off. None of the vermin are looking up and the darkness gives me all the cover I need to do a quick scouting loop and plan my approach. A flash of colour from the darkness is all they see, and I'm gone. I spit out the beakful of fur and throat, giving the forest back it's own before I return to town.
A quick splash in the castle bath, it wouldn't do to turn up in front of Haku covered in blood for the second day in a row. He might start asking questions, and I'm not prepared to answer them just yet. A silent nightcap or three and it's back to the rafters to sleep away the headache, who the hell throws an acorn anyhow? A tree lord, desecrated corpses and more, there'll be no respite from the visions tonight after what I heard and saw.
The Frog of Diplomacy
The late afternoon sun shone through the
trees of the glade, casting a dappled pattern across the babbling brook by
which two badgers wrestled playfully. It
was the kind of place that could easily make you believe fairies lived in the
world, a belief helped along significantly by the small winged woman sitting on
a rock with her feet in the water.
However looking slightly to her left made
it seem like the idea that there was anything good in the world must be a
terrible terrible trick as that was where the fey creature’s companion
sat. While the woman’s blue eyes were
completely at odds with the rest of her dark toned features that wasn’t the
disturbing part, they seemed somehow a reasonable part of her compared to the
rest. The disturbing part started
slightly lower down, with the column of runes snaking up her neck that surely
said something terrible if you could make them out and finished with the
hideously out of proportion and discoloured right arm and section of midriff
that were exposed to the world in the heat the way something so wrong never
should be.
If for some reason an onlooker still wanted
to pay attention to this scene after noticing who was there they would have
observed what seemed like a long, meaningless conversation start to move into
the realms of seriousness.
“I only started workin wiv them lot to make
some gold after I got here from mah island.” the abomination was saying “But
a’ve gotten a whole heap a gold now and ah think there’s more important work ta
do now. Seems like Orcus is gonna try to
do summin skanky to this world, an I think us folk are the best people to stop
it all given how we know the dungeon and wa his minions a up to an shit. That’s why they wanna set up a little empire
with an army an shit, so we can take over Rappan Athuk and stop Orcus doing
whatever he wans ta do.”
“Empires are awesome. I’m a princess, I should know.” Said Erika,
helpfully.
“Prollum is, I ain’t got nothing to
contribute to their empire.” Kruin
continued. “I mean, there’s heaps o
stuff I can do, but they don wan me ta do it.
I’m really good at magic and at fighting, but they said Lanniss is da
boss of magic and Mortima is da boss of the fighting people. Even though they are both really stupid about
being bosses. Mortma makes his people
walk up and down in straight lines all day and thinks they gonna learn to fight
by doin that, what does he know?
“Anyway, only role left that I could do
that they don wan dun in a stupid way is diplomat. I thought diplomacy were a type of weapon til
that discussion happened, but they mean someone who’s good at talkin to people
and making them come onto our team. I’m
heaps good at that, I know all bout tricks and promises, but Shades don think
I’d be a good diplomat.”
“Maybe there’s more to it than just tricks
and promises by themselves.” Put in Erika, this time actually helpfully. “You look at them like they’re two different
things, but I think the art of diplomacy comes from combining the two.”
“But if summins a trick its not a promise –
how can it be both?” Kruin asked.
“Few things in life are just one thing or
another.” The fey creature continued in a voice so tinkly you could easily miss
the wise content if you weren’t used to it.
“Think about it like this. The
land and the water seem like two very different places – lizards live on one
and fish live in another and if you put either in the wrong place it dies
quickly.
“But then you have frogs, which are
basically half lizard and half fish and can live in both places. Diplomacy isn’t about fish and lizards, it’s
about frogs.”
“How dat work?”
“Like this.” Said Erika, lifting from
amongst her things laid out on the bank a bulging sack that clinked as she
lifted it. “What if I said to you that
I’d give you everything in this bag if you went on a quest for me?” With those words she opened the bag to reveal
it overflowing with gold.
“Where you get all dat from?”
“That’s the interesting part isn’t it? Say you agree to it and finish the quest and
come to me expecting the gold. Then I
say – as per our agreement, here’s the contents of the bag.” And with that she upturned the bag, releasing
not the expected shower of gold coins but instead nothing more than a few dried
liver badger treats. “I promised to give
you what was in the bag, and I kept that promise, but I also tricked you about
what was in the bag in the first place, and that is the frog of diplomacy in
action.”
“Huh, I like your trick, stupid rhakshassa
did same kinda stuff. Those tricks could
really help when we have ta fight stuff.”
“And they’d also helped when you had to
talk to people and make them join your team.”
“Tha defly would be helpful. You wanna come live over at Dejune and help
us? What we’re doin is real important,
and I think you’d be good help. Also
make ta place more fun, place is kinda boring right now.”
“Certainly.
My people can all do tricks like that, but we also have an old book of
spells that do similar things which I used to read over when I was little,
littler, and I was really good at them.
Let me study up a bit and I’ll head over there when I can.”
“A like it.
You an me gonna be diplomat together and whole world will be on our team
an fight Orcus.”
And so the scene ended, with Dejune
blissfully unaware that despite having rejected the negotiating services of the
fish of lies and the lizard of promise it was soon to be home to frog of
diplomacy.
Reunion
Agamemnon was standing on top of one of the towers of Castle Calaelan, gesticulating madly in the direction of Shades who was a hundred metres away, standing on the far roof in a way which would be precarious for someone without strong talons and a feathery complexion keeping them balanced. The target of his somatic activity was a bundle of white feathers the size of a reasonably proportioned dwarf, ten foot down the slope of the roof, hunkering down against the wind and steadfastly refusing to respond to the signals he and Shades were trying to teach it.
When he'd gotten back from Tarren's Junction with Marle two days ago Agamemnon had been met by Kruin who'd immediately jammed a handful of white hair in his face.
"This is wolf hair!"
"Is it indeed?" Agamemnon said, backing up enough to exam the hair. It was a braid, about thirty centimetres long, pale white hair, delicately woven. He held out his hand and took the braid from Kruin, feeling it. There were little knots in it. He concentrated. It was elven knot writing. He smiled. "It's from Drusilla."
"Is it?" Kruin glared at him.
"Er ... I mean -"
"There is a bird," Kruin interrupted him, pointing at the tower, "up there. It is shitting on everything." And then she stormed off.
Agamemnon had mounted the stairs to the tower to find a young albino roc roosting there. He was beautiful. There was a slight mark on his breast that looked like an injury which had almost healed. Agamemnon knelt down and watched the bird watching him while he read the braid.
The gifts of the forest are available to you ai-uifhua.
Ai-uifhua. White bird.
"Thank you, Drusilla," he'd whispered and stayed with the bird for some time.
Now they were trying to train it, but the bird was obstinate, and Agamemnon was having to acknowledge the fact that neither he nor Shades was particularly skilled at handling animals.
"When taming griffons, dwarven skyguards feed them bread soaked in beer to mellow them out."
Agamemnon spun around to see Snooks had come up into the tower.
"My friend!" he yelled, gripping the dwarf by the shoulders, and then embracing him.
"Steady on Ags," said the paladin gruffly, "I don't remember you being this touchy-feely."
"I don't remember you being this old, greybeard" said the priest, stepping back. "How was the vacation?"
"Productive."
"Hah! Typical. Send a Dwerfatern on holiday and he gets work done."
"One man's rest is another's opportunity for self improvement, lad."
"Words of wisdom from the honoured elder."
"At least I didn't spend six months sitting up an elven tree wanking birds."
Agamemnon laughed. It was good to have Snooks back. He'd missed the dwarf, even before he'd learned of his death. He looked over and waved at Shades who made an attempt to get the bird to come inside then gave up and left it there, clambering off the roof himself. The two friends looked over Castle Calaelan and watched the bird pottering around now that it was no longer being prodded by its erstwhile trainers.
"I heard you were at the ceremony," said Snooks.
Agamemnon nodded. "I left. I figured you'd need a little time to get your shit together."
"Aye, I did at that."
"According to Myr you were with the Thaurisians?"
Snooks nodded. "You're going to want to talk about that, aren't you?"
"Well, you see," said Agamemnon, putting on his most educated voice, "it would help so immensely with my book, you see."
Snooks turned to look at the priest. "It's hell up there, it really is. We're holding our own, but it's a right mess. We're not even sure who we're fighting half the time. And the hosts of heaven aren't as coordinated as you'd expect."
"Thoross mentioned that the anima engine had punched holes through the walls between the planes," said Agamemnon somberly.
Snooks nodded. "It's disorienting at first. You get used to it, but it's only getting worse."
The bird had found a comfortable spot and was trying to peck a hole through the roofing. They watched it for a minute.
"There's a pub, in town," Agamemnon offered. "Why don't we have a drink to welcome each other home?"
"That sounds like a plan," said the dwarf as they made their way down the stairs from the tower. "Is it more reasonably priced than Bristleback's?"
"Much, and this one has a talking parrot."
"I've been waging divine war on the very planes of heaven. I'm not that impressed by a talking bird."
"But this one is intelligent!"
"Compared to that oversized feather duster of yours I bet it is."
When he'd gotten back from Tarren's Junction with Marle two days ago Agamemnon had been met by Kruin who'd immediately jammed a handful of white hair in his face.
"This is wolf hair!"
"Is it indeed?" Agamemnon said, backing up enough to exam the hair. It was a braid, about thirty centimetres long, pale white hair, delicately woven. He held out his hand and took the braid from Kruin, feeling it. There were little knots in it. He concentrated. It was elven knot writing. He smiled. "It's from Drusilla."
"Is it?" Kruin glared at him.
"Er ... I mean -"
"There is a bird," Kruin interrupted him, pointing at the tower, "up there. It is shitting on everything." And then she stormed off.
Agamemnon had mounted the stairs to the tower to find a young albino roc roosting there. He was beautiful. There was a slight mark on his breast that looked like an injury which had almost healed. Agamemnon knelt down and watched the bird watching him while he read the braid.
The gifts of the forest are available to you ai-uifhua.
Ai-uifhua. White bird.
"Thank you, Drusilla," he'd whispered and stayed with the bird for some time.
Now they were trying to train it, but the bird was obstinate, and Agamemnon was having to acknowledge the fact that neither he nor Shades was particularly skilled at handling animals.
"When taming griffons, dwarven skyguards feed them bread soaked in beer to mellow them out."
Agamemnon spun around to see Snooks had come up into the tower.
"My friend!" he yelled, gripping the dwarf by the shoulders, and then embracing him.
"Steady on Ags," said the paladin gruffly, "I don't remember you being this touchy-feely."
"I don't remember you being this old, greybeard" said the priest, stepping back. "How was the vacation?"
"Productive."
"Hah! Typical. Send a Dwerfatern on holiday and he gets work done."
"One man's rest is another's opportunity for self improvement, lad."
"Words of wisdom from the honoured elder."
"At least I didn't spend six months sitting up an elven tree wanking birds."
Agamemnon laughed. It was good to have Snooks back. He'd missed the dwarf, even before he'd learned of his death. He looked over and waved at Shades who made an attempt to get the bird to come inside then gave up and left it there, clambering off the roof himself. The two friends looked over Castle Calaelan and watched the bird pottering around now that it was no longer being prodded by its erstwhile trainers.
"I heard you were at the ceremony," said Snooks.
Agamemnon nodded. "I left. I figured you'd need a little time to get your shit together."
"Aye, I did at that."
"According to Myr you were with the Thaurisians?"
Snooks nodded. "You're going to want to talk about that, aren't you?"
"Well, you see," said Agamemnon, putting on his most educated voice, "it would help so immensely with my book, you see."
Snooks turned to look at the priest. "It's hell up there, it really is. We're holding our own, but it's a right mess. We're not even sure who we're fighting half the time. And the hosts of heaven aren't as coordinated as you'd expect."
"Thoross mentioned that the anima engine had punched holes through the walls between the planes," said Agamemnon somberly.
Snooks nodded. "It's disorienting at first. You get used to it, but it's only getting worse."
The bird had found a comfortable spot and was trying to peck a hole through the roofing. They watched it for a minute.
"There's a pub, in town," Agamemnon offered. "Why don't we have a drink to welcome each other home?"
"That sounds like a plan," said the dwarf as they made their way down the stairs from the tower. "Is it more reasonably priced than Bristleback's?"
"Much, and this one has a talking parrot."
"I've been waging divine war on the very planes of heaven. I'm not that impressed by a talking bird."
"But this one is intelligent!"
"Compared to that oversized feather duster of yours I bet it is."
Marle
It was noon by the time Agamemnon stabled his horse at the siding inside the gate to Tarren's Junction. Shades and the others were still in Tsar with the newly-resurrected Snooks. He'd assisted at the ceremony, and though he'd wanted to stay and talk to his returned friend he knew the dwarf would need a little time to reorient himself - they could talk later. The important thing was he was back, and as near as Agamemnon could tell there were no issues with the return. So for now his focus was on making up for the time he'd lost in meditation with the elves. The long ride back had affording him time to decide how best to approach this situation. It was going to be a very delicate conversation, and he needed to be focused.
That brought him here, to the temple at Tarren's Junction. In his white feathered cloak and polished mithril breastplate he looked radiant when he swung open the brass-bound door to the complex, drawing many looks from the worshippers and the priests who were in the main prayer room. It was a calculated move. He needed to look impressive, and touched by the divine, so as to inspire confidence. Agamemnon made his way straight to the vestry. He walked purposefully and deliberately. An elderly priest, Martoth, made to block his way before recognising the half-orc.
"Father, can you direct me to Marle? I need to speak with her."
The priest looked surprised, but gave him the directions he needed, and passed him into the vestry. Agamemnon made his way directly through the courtyard where he knew she would be. He needed to get this right.
"Marle."
She was seated under a small tree, reading a text, and she started when he called her. She looked up and squinted to make him out against the luminance of the sun. He hoped he looked bright and commanding and holy.
"Agamemnon? I heard you went to the Dales!"
He sat down on a rock near her, smiling in a way he had seen kindly older priests do in other temples. "I did, but I've come back."
Agamemnon had thought long and hard about this conversation. Marle was young, not much more than twenty, but her spiritual power was strong, and her heart was pure - he'd learned in the time he spent in this temple convincing the priests to become more active in their combating of the evils of a resurgent Rappan Athuk. When the Great Downwards had cleared the Hospice - at great personal cost - Marle had felt hope, and had done everything she could to support him in her capacity as a cleric of Sarenrae. Agamemnon needed her clarity and her vigour, but more than anything he needed the strength of purpose that a follower of the god of compassion and patience and love would bring to his fledgeling order of devout warriors. Her divine strength would be as valuable as her own pure heart.
But he knew he needed to be careful. She was young, and she had a place here in Tarren's Junction. The prospect of joining such a dangerous venture as another Righteous March or even a permanent outpost in the deep darkness of the dungeons underneath Mosswood would be intimidating. Not everyone was cut out for a life of such risk, such danger. Agamemnon knew she would be a valuable member of the team he was building, but he needed to make sure she knew that as well. So he had to be very gentle and delicate in how be broached the subject, to be sure that she would hear him out and truly consider the proposition he was about to put to her.
He smiled at her again. "Marle, I -"
"I want to come with you!" she blurted out, taking Agamemnon off guard.
"I ... uh, what?"
"You're going back to your castle, aren't you? I want to go with you. I can help! I'm doing nothing here - nothing at all. They won't let me do anything. My god isn't important any more, they said, I'm too young, I'm too inexperienced they said, the people here just want peace and tranquility. I tried to talk to people, to the people of Tarren's, I tried to get them active, but they don't know what I'm talking about, they don't get it. I know, I know what's down there, I know what happened in the Hospice, your friend, the sorcerer, she died, and it was to save these people, and I don't want to sit here doing nothing while there is so much work to be done to vanquish that darkness in Rappan Athuk. You've got to take me with you, please, let me help!"
She finally stopped talking and sat staring at Agamemnon, her pale skin flushed red as she sucked in air trying to get her breath back.
"Uh ..." Agamemnon just looked at her, and started laughing.
Marle's face creased in anger. "You're not taking me seriously! I'm serious! I can help! Look, I can cast spells, I'm trained in field medicine, and in supporting soldiers, I was even going to join the town guard once but I want to come with you! You're making a difference, and I want -"
Agamemnon tried to stop laughing. "Marle, wait, listen," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes. "Marle, you wonderful, beautiful person. I came here today to ask you to come to Calaelan, to be my chaplain."
She stared at him. "You ... you did?"
He nodded. "I need you, Marle." He clapped her on the shoulder. "You are exactly the person we need. Any doubts I may have had about your joining us in our endeavour have been well and truly vanquished by your passion."
"So ... you'll take me?" Agamemnon had never seen anyone look so delighted.
"I would be honoured if you would agree to come with me. How soon can you leave?"
"Now! I mean ... um ... see, I'm already, sort of, packed. Like ... well, I was going to go to Calaelan to offer my services anyway ..."
Agamemnon stared at Marle and burst out laughing again.
That brought him here, to the temple at Tarren's Junction. In his white feathered cloak and polished mithril breastplate he looked radiant when he swung open the brass-bound door to the complex, drawing many looks from the worshippers and the priests who were in the main prayer room. It was a calculated move. He needed to look impressive, and touched by the divine, so as to inspire confidence. Agamemnon made his way straight to the vestry. He walked purposefully and deliberately. An elderly priest, Martoth, made to block his way before recognising the half-orc.
"Father, can you direct me to Marle? I need to speak with her."
The priest looked surprised, but gave him the directions he needed, and passed him into the vestry. Agamemnon made his way directly through the courtyard where he knew she would be. He needed to get this right.
"Marle."
She was seated under a small tree, reading a text, and she started when he called her. She looked up and squinted to make him out against the luminance of the sun. He hoped he looked bright and commanding and holy.
"Agamemnon? I heard you went to the Dales!"
He sat down on a rock near her, smiling in a way he had seen kindly older priests do in other temples. "I did, but I've come back."
Agamemnon had thought long and hard about this conversation. Marle was young, not much more than twenty, but her spiritual power was strong, and her heart was pure - he'd learned in the time he spent in this temple convincing the priests to become more active in their combating of the evils of a resurgent Rappan Athuk. When the Great Downwards had cleared the Hospice - at great personal cost - Marle had felt hope, and had done everything she could to support him in her capacity as a cleric of Sarenrae. Agamemnon needed her clarity and her vigour, but more than anything he needed the strength of purpose that a follower of the god of compassion and patience and love would bring to his fledgeling order of devout warriors. Her divine strength would be as valuable as her own pure heart.
But he knew he needed to be careful. She was young, and she had a place here in Tarren's Junction. The prospect of joining such a dangerous venture as another Righteous March or even a permanent outpost in the deep darkness of the dungeons underneath Mosswood would be intimidating. Not everyone was cut out for a life of such risk, such danger. Agamemnon knew she would be a valuable member of the team he was building, but he needed to make sure she knew that as well. So he had to be very gentle and delicate in how be broached the subject, to be sure that she would hear him out and truly consider the proposition he was about to put to her.
He smiled at her again. "Marle, I -"
"I want to come with you!" she blurted out, taking Agamemnon off guard.
"I ... uh, what?"
"You're going back to your castle, aren't you? I want to go with you. I can help! I'm doing nothing here - nothing at all. They won't let me do anything. My god isn't important any more, they said, I'm too young, I'm too inexperienced they said, the people here just want peace and tranquility. I tried to talk to people, to the people of Tarren's, I tried to get them active, but they don't know what I'm talking about, they don't get it. I know, I know what's down there, I know what happened in the Hospice, your friend, the sorcerer, she died, and it was to save these people, and I don't want to sit here doing nothing while there is so much work to be done to vanquish that darkness in Rappan Athuk. You've got to take me with you, please, let me help!"
She finally stopped talking and sat staring at Agamemnon, her pale skin flushed red as she sucked in air trying to get her breath back.
"Uh ..." Agamemnon just looked at her, and started laughing.
Marle's face creased in anger. "You're not taking me seriously! I'm serious! I can help! Look, I can cast spells, I'm trained in field medicine, and in supporting soldiers, I was even going to join the town guard once but I want to come with you! You're making a difference, and I want -"
Agamemnon tried to stop laughing. "Marle, wait, listen," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes. "Marle, you wonderful, beautiful person. I came here today to ask you to come to Calaelan, to be my chaplain."
She stared at him. "You ... you did?"
He nodded. "I need you, Marle." He clapped her on the shoulder. "You are exactly the person we need. Any doubts I may have had about your joining us in our endeavour have been well and truly vanquished by your passion."
"So ... you'll take me?" Agamemnon had never seen anyone look so delighted.
"I would be honoured if you would agree to come with me. How soon can you leave?"
"Now! I mean ... um ... see, I'm already, sort of, packed. Like ... well, I was going to go to Calaelan to offer my services anyway ..."
Agamemnon stared at Marle and burst out laughing again.
Survival
Drusilla looked at her reflection in the still pond. She looked old - older than she was. She didn't normally notice, but she did today. It was her eyes - they looked tired. She sighed. She'd adapted. She didn't doubt she'd done the right thing, but she was the last of her order, the last remaining druid in this forest - what did that say about her? That she was better than the others? Wolves adapted and became dogs. Was that survival? Becoming something other than you are? The priest made a good point: better to die as what you are than to live as a hateful, corrupted creature. Drusilla had seen the mutated rats from down in the caverns, she'd seen dire wolves with poison dripping from their oversized fangs. Was that survival? Was it really? How could you claim to have survived if you had changed so much that you no longer retained your inner nature? All things would eventually pass, that was the way of the world. Was it human arrogance to think it better to die as you are than to survive as something less?
Ripples across the surface of the pond broke her reverie as one of the wolves came down to the edge to drink. The moonlight flickered in the disturbed water, bathing her face in the white reflected glare. She would keep on. She had survived, and she would continue to survive.
The wolves were on point, their ears pricked, when she heard a cry in the distance. Making their way stealthily up the brook they reached the clearing. This was where Drusilla had found the priest several days earlier. The cry came again, and she looked. There, on the boulder overlooking the water, stood a roc. It was a juvenile, barely as large as the wolves, and albino white, its feathers as pale as the moonlight, its beak and talons tinged pink. Rocs were not native to the Mosswood, but Drusilla remembered there was a fiendish crow resident in these parts for many years until the people at Calaelan drove him off. He'd been a threat to the wolves and the larger animals of the forest, but had found more sport further north where there were cattle, horses and other domesticated beasts. The druid moved closer, cautiously. This bird appeared to be a natural creature, there was nothing fiendish or magical about him. She watched it shuffle around, at which point she noticed the arrow jutting from its breast. It looked like it had been there for some time; the bird must have flown here and taken shelter in the forest as the last of its strength gave out and it could no longer fly, hoping the forest would provide sanctuary.
Drusilla brought her hands out and spoke gentle words, calming the creature as she approached it. The wolves sat in guard around the clearing, their eyes keenly hunting for any intruders. The roc was still agitated, so she channeled the tenderness of a wolf for her pups and let the radiance of nature wash over the bird until it settled, content that she was not a threat to it.
As she worked to extract the arrow and tend the wound she remembered Agamemnon. He had sat in this same spot, draped in a cloak of white feathers, hoping the forest would help him, just as the roc had hoped. He'd carried the mark of Darach-Albith - a birthmark in the shape of a bow - on his breast, just as this bird carried an arrow in its.
Drusilla thought.
When the roc was healed and settled down to rest she called silently to one of the wolves, who padded up to her.
"We will need an escort," she said to him. "The forest has a gift for the people in the castle. Can you arrange it?"
The wolf whined a yes and went to talk to the pack. Drusilla stared at her face in the pond and thought.
Ripples across the surface of the pond broke her reverie as one of the wolves came down to the edge to drink. The moonlight flickered in the disturbed water, bathing her face in the white reflected glare. She would keep on. She had survived, and she would continue to survive.
The wolves were on point, their ears pricked, when she heard a cry in the distance. Making their way stealthily up the brook they reached the clearing. This was where Drusilla had found the priest several days earlier. The cry came again, and she looked. There, on the boulder overlooking the water, stood a roc. It was a juvenile, barely as large as the wolves, and albino white, its feathers as pale as the moonlight, its beak and talons tinged pink. Rocs were not native to the Mosswood, but Drusilla remembered there was a fiendish crow resident in these parts for many years until the people at Calaelan drove him off. He'd been a threat to the wolves and the larger animals of the forest, but had found more sport further north where there were cattle, horses and other domesticated beasts. The druid moved closer, cautiously. This bird appeared to be a natural creature, there was nothing fiendish or magical about him. She watched it shuffle around, at which point she noticed the arrow jutting from its breast. It looked like it had been there for some time; the bird must have flown here and taken shelter in the forest as the last of its strength gave out and it could no longer fly, hoping the forest would provide sanctuary.
Drusilla brought her hands out and spoke gentle words, calming the creature as she approached it. The wolves sat in guard around the clearing, their eyes keenly hunting for any intruders. The roc was still agitated, so she channeled the tenderness of a wolf for her pups and let the radiance of nature wash over the bird until it settled, content that she was not a threat to it.
As she worked to extract the arrow and tend the wound she remembered Agamemnon. He had sat in this same spot, draped in a cloak of white feathers, hoping the forest would help him, just as the roc had hoped. He'd carried the mark of Darach-Albith - a birthmark in the shape of a bow - on his breast, just as this bird carried an arrow in its.
Drusilla thought.
When the roc was healed and settled down to rest she called silently to one of the wolves, who padded up to her.
"We will need an escort," she said to him. "The forest has a gift for the people in the castle. Can you arrange it?"
The wolf whined a yes and went to talk to the pack. Drusilla stared at her face in the pond and thought.
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