~Thorben~
As they walked through the market square, Thorben couldn’t help but gawk. The market at Steelmond was nothing like this. Dwarves valued practicality above all. The market revolved around needs. It was common to see various crops that couldn’t be grown easily in the mountains. Shoppers could purchase several other items such as tools, weapons, living necessities and various crafting materials such as leather, ores, precious metals.
The market of Andovale was extravagant by dwarfish standards. Hawker’s cries peddling their wares were damn near deafening. The smell of various spices was borderline overwhelming, and the sheer volume of luxuries available was simply staggering.
“Soap, get your soap here! You’ll have skin softer than a baby’s ass! Lavender, patchouli, sandalwood, and peppermint scented! All made using premium goat’s milk.” Shouted a fairly stout woman with red hair.
“Jewelry! Show the love of your life how much they mean! Gold! Silver! Rings, necklaces, precious gems galore!”
“Spices! Get your spices! Set your cooking apart from all others! Makes your man’s mom’s cooking taste like dirt! Imported from all over Baherune!”
It was an all out assault on the senses. “Remind me not to shop after a night of drinking,” Thorben heard his brother say, but felt no pity for the pounding in his head.
“Remind me not to go shopping ever!” Said Thorben, rushing to get through the market. “We’re almost there. It should be just through this alley on the right.”
As they entered the Serene Healing Apothecary, they paused as a wave of potent aromas which permeated the air hit their nostrils. Braided cloves of garlic hung from the rafters, intermixed with bunches of various herbs drying. Glass jars lined numerous shelves on every wall, meticulously labeled. An older woman with gray hair was bent over a workstation in the middle of the shop.
“Come in or go away, either way close my door,” the elder woman barked. The boy closed the door and made their way to the counter in front of the workstation. “If you’ve come for a love tincture, or some other ridiculous myth like that, you might as well turn right back around. You need to acknowledge that women don’t like you and you should just head to the tavern. Just because you can not get the cow doesn’t mean you can’t pay for the milk.” She turned to face them. Her eyes narrowed. “I have nothing that will make you grow, or look less… like that.” she waved her arms in Tanrin’s direction.
Oh jeez, bigotry and prejudice everywhere you go! Thorben thought. He discreetly motioned for Tanrin to remain silent. Tanrin’s jaw firmed as he clenched his teeth, but he adhered to Thorben’s unspoken wish. Pointedly ignoring her comment, he began examining the bottles on the wall.
“Good morning ma’am.” Thorben started. His parents had always said that you were better off using honey than pouring vinegar on the fire, or something like that anyway.
“Sophia Livingstone,” the apothecary interrupted curtly.
“My apologies, Mrs. Livingstone. We are here seeking information, nothing more. We heard you were the local expert on the mystic arts.” Thorben said, trying to smooth things over.
“Did I say Mrs. Livingstone? Or Ms. Livingstone? I said my name is Sophia Livingstone. Use it and quit trying to sweet talk me. It won’t work. Information has a cost just like my other items. Ask your questions and quit wasting my time. I’ll decide the value of an answer. At which point you can pay or leave. And I still don’t sell love tinctures.” Sophia quipped.
“That sounds like a fair proposition,” Thorben responded calmly. She is really testing my patience. Would a little civility kill her?
“It is what it is. What do you want to know?” Sophia asked. She turned back to her workstation and began aggressively grinding some herb or another with her mortar and pestle.
“We are looking for any information regarding sudden onset of spell casting in high-stress situations with no prior training, and visual hallucinations that may be related to said onset.” Thorben stated.
She turned around quickly and slammed her pestle onto the table with a loud bang. “Get out! I don’t have time for this nonsense. Spontaneous spell casting, as if a thing existed.” Sophia said. Her brows furrowed as her voice took on more of an edge. “I’m not sure who sent you to harass me, but if you are going to ask asinine questions with no grounding in the basics of magic principles, then you can go ask the gong farmers.”
Somewhat taken aback by the increased vehemence in her voice, Thorben put his hands up placatingly. “Please, hear us out.”
“Get out! I’ll not be made the fool!” Sophia yelled, her wrinkled face darkening even further in anger.
Tanrin yelled, “Listen, you bigoted old hag! I am hungover and in no mood to deal with you! Personally, I don’t give a shit what you believe! Or that you hate dwarfs! My brother needs that information. That’s all I care about! Pull your head out of your ass, and name your price!” He turned back to the shelves, fists clenched so tightly that Thorben heard his brother’s knuckles pop.
Thorben and Sophia looked at him, then at each other in shocked silence. Without offering a reply, Sophia wordlessly turned back to her workstation, picked up her pestle and began rhythmically grinding whatever was in her mortar. A few moments passed as the soft sound of grinding permeated the room. The muffled sound of hawkers competing for their attention. Thorben’s impatience won, and he decided it was time to try elsewhere. “Thanks for your time,” Thorben said and began heading to the door. “Let’s go brother, we will look for answers in Eleytol.”
Tanrin looked like he wanted to say more, but turned and walked to the door. As they opened it to step outside, Sophia’s voice stopped them cold. “My price is for a delivery to be made.” They turned in unison to look back at her. “Come back in and let’s talk.”
“Such a drama,” Tanrin said to Thorben. Shaking his head, they closed the door again.
“Have you heard of trialium?” Thorben and Tanrin shook their heads. “It’s a very rare substance used for enchanting. After a long search, I recently acquired some for a client in Eleytol, but the roads are too dangerous for me to deliver. I know little about the mystic arts, but have an old friend that is an Enchanter in Eleytol. He has access to the Grand Library. I will pay you in gold, and a provide a letter that should gain you access to the library, if you deliver the package. What do you say?”
Before he could say anything, words filled his vision.
* Quest Available! Amateur Postman: Sophia Livingstone needs Trialium delivered to an Enchanter in Eleytol. Reward: Experience and Information. Will you accept this quest?
The beginnings of an even worse headache crept into Thorben’s head. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave it off. What is going on? Just like last time, the words stayed in his line of sight, no matter what. Sophia stared at him as if she could do nothing until he responded. Seeing as how he needed the information, he said, “Yes, we can do that.”
* Quest accepted! Objectives: Obtain Trialium from Sophia and deliver it to Eleytol.
His head ache grew from slight to somewhat manageable.
~Mia~
Darkness was safe, more than that it was home. If you respected its secrets, it provided all you would need. The shadow stalked its unwitting victims, waiting, anticipating, preparing.
The young men entered The Bouncing Melons and walked up the stairs. They must have accommodations here. I must be patient and wait for a better time to strike. They told the apothecary that they would leave in two days. Plenty of time to plan.
The shadow slunk back, disappearing into a nearby alley.
~Thorben~
“We need to get horses and supplies for the journey,” Thorben said. It had been a bit of a circular conversation, but he had finally gotten Tanrin to see that this was an easy way to earn gold. They were going to head to Eleytol, regardless. This way they could ride horses, not walk the entire journey, and gain access to the Great Library. Thorben thought it was a straightforward decision. Tanrin grumbled about spending ale funds on chores, but had relented after a bit of persuading.
They would rest up tomorrow and finish getting supplies in the afternoon. Harold had taken some coin, and told them he would get the horses and tack ready for them. Then head out the following day. Thorben lay on his cot and pondered Sophia’s only bit of advice. After agreeing to the job, she had told Thorben, “Spell casting is dangerous for even those properly trained. Self-trained mages don’t last long and risk their very soul in the endeavor. There is a reason the number of true spell casters is so small, masters usually only take 2-3 apprentices during their lifetimes. Some of those don’t survive the process. With no training or trainer, I wouldn’t call the tragic outcome a risk, but a certainty.”
“Shall we go down for dinner?” Thorben asked, needing a bit of distraction from his thoughts.
“Sure, maybe even a tankard or two,” Tanrin said.
“What happened to ‘never again, as long as I live’?” Thorben asked. If he could have sounded any more saintly, he might have ascended on the spot.
“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for you, brother. I can tell you need one, and no one likes to drink alone.” Tanrin said, fake concern oozing from his words.
Thorben shook his head and laughed. As they reached the base of the stairs, they noticed a familiar face sitting at the bar. “Wilson!”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Do you have the evening off? Or did you finally reach your limit on terrible wall wisecracks and go AWOL?” Tanrin joked as he gripped Wilson’s forearm in greeting.
“Ha! Seems I can’t escape them, even here at The Bouncing Melons,” Wilson responded with a smirk.
“Care to join us for dinner and a round?” Thorben asked.
“Sounds great!” Wilson said.
After a good meal of cured thurti, goat cheese, pickled beets, and a half loaf of fresh wheat bread, they fell into an enjoyable time of swapping lies. Tankards of ale appeared and disappeared, as if by magic. Wilson seemed to take particular pleasure in the misadventures of Tanrin.
Wilson caught his breath after an embellished retelling of the time Tanrin and Thorben dared to call their mother the dreaded word ‘old.’ That day’s training session had lasted 12 hours. They had so many welt stripes from the training blades, they appeared more hurtu than human. They had made a point to always mention how lovely their mother looked each morning ever since.
“You boys sound like you were quite a handful! If anything, you prematurely aged your poor mother. I dare say you deserved those hurtu stripes she gave you.” Wilson said, slapping the table with the flat of his hand while laughing.
“I suppose we were, and if gray hair is an accurate judge of things, we did.” Smiled Thorben with fondness. “Though she is still the fiercest warrior in Steelmond.”
“I imagine so. I’ve never met a member of the War Hammers, but have heard stories. If even a sliver of them are true, then your mother must be a force to be reckoned with.” Wilson said, laughing and struggling to sip his ale without spitting it out. “So, you’re leaving the day after the morrow?” Wilson asked, regaining his composure.
“Yes, we are going to make our way towards Eleytol. See a bit of the world.” Thorben said, nursing his ale.
“Ah, the adventures of the youth. It is an amazing city! You could wander the streets for moons and not see everything! Tens of thousands of citizens live inside the walls. It’s quite the sight.” Wilson said.
Tanrin’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “A different pub every night!” He said. His demeanor was that of a reverent follower of a god.
“Haha, I’m sure you will discover them all my young friend.” Wilson chuckled. His face went serious. “Be careful on the roads. Travel is dangerous. Bandits rule the countryside. Merchants and traders typically pay bribes or spend a fortune on mercenaries.” Wilson warned. “From the stories you’ve just told, it sounds as if you can handle yourselves, but you are still only two people.”
“We will. Thank you for the warning, friend. Though that reminds me, I meant to ask you about a comment you made when we met you at the wall. You said something about their not being many knights around anymore. What’d you mean by that?” Thorben responded. Tanrin dipped his head in acknowledgment and thanks as they awaited Wilson’s answer.
“When I was a boy, my pops would tell tales of the knights that patrolled Baherune. I even remember seeing one pass through town when I was slightly taller than knee high on a grasshopper. Boy, was it a sight!” He said. The shine of his crimson armor was awe-inspiring. I remember little more than that, but the vision of him riding in that armor is one that I still treasure. Part of why I became a guard was a childish, misplaced notion it would be a stepping stone to knighthood. Something happened and nobody knows what, but the knights seemed to fade from existence. “
“Care to regale us with one of your pop’s stories?” Tanrin asked with genuine interest. Stories of heroes had always intrigued him. He spent more than one night as a kid around their hearth at home, listening to tales from their parents.
“I am no bard or minstrel, but I will tell it the way my pops did,” Wilson declared. After a brief swig of ale, Wilson seemed to sink into thought for a moment. Then, with a resolute nod, he began.
“Sir Obadiah Ravenwood was a wealthy man by anyone’s standard, being the second son of the Baron of Ravenwood. It wasn’t a fault nor was it a blessing, as to him it simply was a resource he could use to help others. He had been well mannered and humble since his toddler years. As he grew, he was often seen slipping the servants extra coin, or other gifts that he thought would improve their lives. They couldn’t take a carriage through the city without Obadiah somehow getting the carriage to stop and doing something for someone of a lesser station. There was just something intrinsically good about him. This caused many a conflict with his father and older brother, who, because of their rank, viewed themselves as superior to those whom they ruled. They felt like the stronger the Baroney the better off the people would be, and that these minor acts of kindness simply ate up resources and encouraged laziness.”
“Baroness Ravenwood often indulged in various extravagances due to her privileged station. She left the rearing of her children to her trusted servants. Baron Ravenwood had never contradicted his wife’s desires and took it upon himself to correct this perceived weakness in his son. He loved his children in his own way and viewed his son’s demeanor as a detriment to the family. He sent messengers far and wide, seeking the best warriors in the land to train his wayward son. His eldest was already doing well in following his footsteps and had no need for additional tutoring. Obadiah, on the other hand, needed him to intervene.”
“Warriors from around Baherune answered the call. Obadiah trained in all manners of combat. His father was pleased, as his training was so intense that he simply couldn’t find time for his random acts of kindness. Weeks turned to months, months to years, and the pattern continued until he reached the age of maturity. During this time, his mother was pleased as he was less of a distraction, and the Baron saw Obadiah was coming around and would make an excellent first sword for his older brother. This would usher in a time of peace and prosperity through strength, or so the Baron thought. Obadiah had other plans.”
“You see, Obadiah was not only a superior warrior, but also a masterful tactician. He had always stayed true to himself, and had secretly vowed to return to helping the people. He had been building the foundation of his plans for years but told no one. One of his mother’s extravagances was festivals, particularly duels and tournaments. He’d learned at an early age that he could leverage this. He let his mother know that he shared her love for festivals and relished in the opportunity to test his combat prowess. Elated, his parents allowed, and eventually insisted, that he attend these festivals and compete. His fame spread throughout the Baroney, then the kingdom, and eventually to all of Baherune. He was the boy that could not be beat. After every victory, he would help his opponent up, give them some advice, and treat them to an ale or two. Not one of his opponents left a match in anger, nor harbor and ill intent. Obadiah didn’t let the fame go to his head, but used it to fuel his dream. Some might say it was his calling. He was going to find an order of warriors who would transcend kingdom lines, whose sole purpose was to serve the people. He never voiced this dream, but it drove him. Biding his time, he waited until it was his day of maturity.”
“On this day, the Baron organized a festival that could rival the King’s. Emissaries and contestants from every corner of Baherune were in attendance. Kingdoms paused all hostilities and came together to honor the warrior who had garnered their respect. Of course, when they finished, war would resume. However, for the time, there was peace. The festival was a grand event, enjoyed by all. Obadiah had, of course, made it into the final match, where he was to face a new opponent. A man who never revealed his face. Clothed in simple leather armor, the unknown warrior fought valiantly and almost won the match several times. Obadiah drew upon every martial skill he had ever studied to match the man’s skill. The match lasted well into the night. So much so that all the torches had to be replaced several times to allow both the audience and the fighters to see. As all things eventually do, the match ended. The masked man had goaded Obadiah into over extending himself and rushed his blow to seal the win. Obadiah had known his opponent’s intention and contorted his body so that the man’s blade missed his flesh by a hair’s width. In the same motion, he caught the stranger’s sword arm and hip tossed him to the ground, his blade instantly leveled at the man’s throat.”
“A hush fell over the crowd as the mysterious warrior yielded and Obadiah helped him to his feet. The two warriors talked amicably in the center of the arena and to this day, no one knows what they said. The mysterious man lowered his head and, with a wave of his hand, disappeared in a blinding flash of crimson light. As this happened, a crimson smoke encircled Obadiah, who knelt down as a blade made of ethereal red smoke touched each of his shoulders. A booming voice cried out, ‘Rise Sir Obadiah, the Frist Knight of Baherune. Arise and serve your people.’ As he stood, the mystical smoke coalesced into a magnificent set of crimson chain mail that seemed to be made of an unknown metallic substance that had a magical wispy mist floating under its surface. From that day forward, Sir Obadiah renounced his family’s titles and fortune, founded the Knights of Baherune, and traveled the land assisting with all that needed it.”
“What happened to them?” Tanrin asked.
“Nobody knows. At least nobody in Andovale knows. I keep hoping that I’ll be on duty when one comes to town, but I fear that day will never come.”
“What of the armor? What effects did it have? Where did it come from?” Tanrin asked.
“No one knows. Some say that it held mystical properties that enhanced the warrior who wore it. Others say that it was just a really nice looking set of armor. Sir Obadiah died, and upon his death, it disappeared.” Wilson said.
“Who was the mysterious warrior?” Thorben asked.
“No one knows. Again, gossip is all that we have. Scholars have proposed everything from a god to a talented artificer. Next time you see a Knight, ask them for me.” Watson answered with a wink. “Well, I need to be off before the missus comes searching. Come by the Whispering Willow Shop, my wife owns it and will get you set up with all you will need for your journey. I’ll tell her you are coming. She won’t rob you blind then.” In a final long pull, he finished his ale and left the Inn.
Thorben and Tanrin finished their ales and headed to sleep. They knew the road would be long and wanted to enjoy a couple of good night’s sleep before then.
~Mia~
The shadow peered out the window, mentally preparing for the mission ahead. Others had tried and failed in the objective, success would be theirs. Shadow would one day be the best. This was their chance to prove it. The trillium would be the first of many successes.
“Mia, come get dinner!” Her Momma called out. Mia dashed out of her room, to her stool, and sat next to her mother. “Busy daydreaming again, my dear?”
“Yes, but it will only be a dream temporarily. I will make it happen. We will be better off, you’ll see.”
Mama sighed tiredly. “I hope you are right, my dear.” Mama was always tired nowadays. Ever since papa had died three years ago, she had been working longer hours just to make ends meet. Papa was a carpenter, who had suffered a tragic fall while working on a project. The healers could do nothing, and he never regained consciousness. He withered away, and they had buried him a few months after the fall.
They had made it by on savings for a while, but mama had been working longer hours as the savings dwindled. She was a weaver, and her back was becoming more stooped the more time she spent on the loom. Mia tried to help where she could, but she simply couldn’t make enough coin. The job options for a 17-year-old girl were limited. She would not resort to being a tavern wench. The thought of that fate made her clench her jaw in determination. “I will find a way.”
She’d tried a few different apprenticeships, but they never worked out for long. She had always been quick, witty, and sneaky. Since her father had passed, the hardship and caused her to become increasingly more flexible with her moral code. She turned to pilfering insignificant items here and there, which she would sell to merchants passing through. Mia always convinced her mom it was from some random minor job or another.
Her last mark was a member of the Eleytol thieves’ guild, that was passing through on guild business. She hadn’t known it when she tried to swipe his coin pouch. She had almost gotten it, but his hand darted down and grabbed her wrist. His grip was like a vise. She had closed her eyes and waited for him to call the guard. Only, he never did.
She’ll never forget the moments that followed. Mia glanced up into the calculating look of a master thief. “Impressive attempt, child. You almost had it, and it’s been years since I’ve been able to say that. Remember, ‘almost’ leads to a cell or a grave. Develop your craft. Once you score a job that you think is big enough to garner my attention, bring it and this token to the southern market in Eleytol. Hand the token to any street urchin, and I will find you. It’s not everyday someone nearly takes a master thief’s coin.” He released her hand, flipped her a strange coin, and continued on his way. In that moment, she vowed to become the best thief there was, and give her mom the life she deserved.
She needed to finish her note and get ready to slip out. Her mom would worry, but all would be forgiven when she returned to take her mother away to a life of ease. The trialium was the ticket to the salvation of her mother.