Current Quests
Justice For Courbefy: Find justice for the victims of the corrupt mayor of Courbefy. Use…
Chosen Of Knowledge: Escort Hugh on his journey to becoming a fully awakened iron…
Wine tour: Vineyard wants you to try the different wines in the Megève area.
Chosen Of Hero: Enter the chosen of hero into a tournament to gain notoriety.
Honour Guard Or Under Guard: Either have a conversation with Lady Geller or successf…
“You know, I have a map ability?” asked Dave. It was just after sunrise on the third day of his coerced, willing abduction. Sauveterre had finished the early morning training with the Charcoal Knights and taken Dave aside to give him a drink.
“Eh?” grunted Sauveterre in reply to Dave’s unexpected question.
They both sipped their drinks. Sauveterre had called it an ‘angry peach’. It was hot, alcoholic and tasted mostly like peach cider with a mixture of other spiced additives that Dave couldn’t identify. It was nice, though.
“So, I know that’s Oullins,” said Dave gesturing with his mug towards buildings on the horizon. “I just wonder why you said it’d be a few days to get here when it only took two. Wait, was it so that I’d still be planning my escape when I arrived? That’s pretty cunning.”
“Ugh, no,” confessed Sauveterre, grinning sheepishly at the ground. “It’s just - we’ve actually never had such a fast vehicle before? And, all the roads are pretty clear in winter. So we just thought it’d take longer.”
“Oh,” said Dave.
“But I like the idea!” said Sauveterre, brightly. “I’ll definitely overestimate the travel time on our next… Err, you know.”
They both sipped their drinks.
“You could call it an enforced surprise holiday?” said Dave.
“I’d prefer ‘arrest’,” said Sauveterre. “But whatever.”
“Does Lady Geller have the authority to arrest people?” said Dave.
“Well, I don’t think she’ll be punished for it so, I guess?” said Sauveterre with a wince.
“I appreciate the gesture of giving me a drink before you hand me over,” said Dave, holding the mug under his chin with both hands, feeling the comfortable warmth of the drink through his fingers and smelling the pleasant aroma.
Sauveterre nodded.
“It didn’t seem right, sending someone to their death without giving them a last drink,” she said.
“You think I’m going to die?” asked Dave.
“It’s a possibility,” said Sauveterre hesitantly. “Definitely going to be unpleasant so we figured it was only right to give you a drink, you know?”
They both watched as the sun briefly came out from behind the clouds and was swiftly swallowed again by the hungry, winter sky.
“You have a map ability and didn’t try to escape?” asked Sauveterre.
“Would you have caught me?”
“Yep.”
“If you failed to, would Lady Geller just send someone else to find me?”
“Yep.”
“There you go.”
They sipped in silence for another few moments.
“I’m curious if you did it,” said Sauveterre.
I did not kill Ross Geller.
“But I’m better off not knowing,” Sauveterre finished.
Dave felt like his practice was paying off.
“It was good of you all to let me study in the wagon,” said Dave, finishing his drink, “And, filling me in with some information about my confluence.”
“Oh, no problem,” said Sauveterre, also draining her drink. “You paid us back for sure with that tip about Michaud’s healing mechanics. We can gear her up properly now.”
They both appreciated the overcast countryside as best they could for a few moments.
“Well, umm…” said Sauveterre with a pointed look towards the hovercraft.
Dave nodded and walked back to the hovercraft with the outward appearance of calm and slipped into a mantra.
I am Dave Booker. I come from Ahitereriria. I work as an apothecary advisor. I met Ross Geller in the woods. I did not kill Ross Geller.
“Two days to Oullins?” asked Sam.
“Yes and no,” said Johan, who’d just been to visit the skipper of the land crawler. “I’m told we’ll arrive tomorrow morning. We’ve made good time though, haven’t we? The kindness of strangers astounds me.”
Sam gave him a mysterious smile and didn’t say anything about Johan’s unique, racial aura power that made him feel like the solution to all of one’s problems. Even so, the sheer luck of first encountering those stone haulers to Champel was good but then it became apparent that Johan just attracted people. While he was being neighbourly and helping the stone haulers unload the slabs, word got around that he was heading on towards Oullins, the wagonmaster put in a good word for him and within the hour, Johan was offered a bit of spare space in an overland crawler to Oullins for him and his team.
“It’s really lucky!” was all Sam said to Johan about his ‘luck’. “I just hope we are in time.”
“Don’t worry!” said Johan with his winning smile. “Even if the nobles of the city defy their nature and treat Dave villainously, it will be like Hugh said; he’ll be kept in the city prison. Or the Adventure Society prison, if the people of Justice think he constitutes a risk, but I agree with Hugh. So long as he doesn’t resist, they are unlikely to collar him in the Adventure Society dungeons.”
“Alright, bye bye!” said Sam, once again smiling at Johan and leaving to collect the morning’s food scraps with her familiar Slimy.
Johan was, as usual, puzzled by her choice of smiling so brightly. The topic didn’t seem to warrant it but he figured she must have taken his word and stopped worrying. He turned his attention to Hugh. Johan had discovered a trick while training earlier for getting Hugh to actually engage in combat.
In his natural state, Hugh was hesitant to hurt anybody, even the villains of this world who ought to be fought in honourable combat and banished from the lands however, he was open to disarming pretty much anybody, even by force and so Johan had attempted to give him a technical lesson on disarms. That’d lasted for about two minutes before being confronted with Hugh’s lack of training and the fact that his skin was the finest armour and his hands were as though blessed clubs. So, the training became Hugh slapping at the hilts of incoming blows. Johan felt there was a certain loss of the artistry, the beauty, of combat as he knew it but, as Miss Greenwood said, an easy win is a beautiful thing all by itself.
“Ho! Hugh,” called Johan, walking over to Friar Abberton, feeling awkward. He wasn’t yet used to being on first name basis with so estimable a person. “What goes, my good friar?”
Hugh was holding onto a plank from a shipping crate he’d gotten from somewhere and he was staring at it very intently.
“Oh! Johan. Yes, Johan, my good man,” said Hugh. “I’ve been reflecting somewhat about the other night and, well, I’ve been experimenting.” His fingers tightened on the plank. “Do you remember the night I had my little, not so little, episode?”
“I remember well the night a good man’s soul laid bare, yes,” said Johan.
Hugh blushed and kicked awkwardly at the snowy grass.
“There is no shame, good friar,” added Johan, clapping Hugh on the shoulder. “For the best of heroes have shed tears in tender moments of revelation. Think upon Roland and Oliver.”
“Oh! Your comparison is too kind,” said Hugh. “But, perhaps timely. Ah, it’s the sound of breaking wood. Splintering wood. You see? Romilly, from the caravan, he had this notion that the noise of it summoned a fighting spirit into me.” He raised the piece of wood. “Marchal over there can make targets out of the snow. I was wondering if you could help me with…” Hugh trailed off, waving the piece of wood, not wanting to say it.
“Of course, my friend,” said Johan, his aura of absolute confidence wrapping around the situation. He accepted the plank of wood and called across the early morning to Marchal, a dark-skinned man who had an ice and cold heavy power set. “Marchal? Marchal, yes! Five targets, Marchal! Hugh wants to try something!”
Marchal grinned, flipped some of his long, black, plaited hair over his back and manipulated five practice targets of hard-packed snow into existence.
“By all means,” said Marchal, bowing and gesturing at the targets.
“Alright, alright,” said Hugh, stomping his feet and clapping his hands energetically in an effort to psyche himself up. “Enemies. They’re enemies. They’re going to - to burn a library!” Hugh nodded at Johan.
Johan grasped the plank in both hands, snapping and twisting it to maximise the splintering noise. A cloud passed over Hugh’s expression.
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” growled Hugh, barely legible, and punched the head off the target he was immediately in front of which sprayed snow as it came apart. He smashed through the body with his shoulder as he charged the next target dropping into a tackle that ended with him slapping heavily down onto what packed snow remained of the torso on the ground. While he was on the ground he kicked out the bottom of the third target which made it topple over. He stomped on it as he stood up. The last two targets were destroyed as he shifted into earth form and blasted them with gravel, one narrow stream of scratching, ripping stones from each palm. Still in earth form, he stomped over to Johan and collapsed onto the golden-haired farmboy for support.
“Uff! That’s it, Friar - Hugh - That’s it, my friend,” said Johan, patting Hugh on a rocky, earthy back. “It seems you’ve found a fighting spirit to summon within yourself.”
“I don’t want it,” whispered Hugh. “It’s made of the dead.”
The land crawler was moving soon after that. Johan was sat in the cargo section atop a crate with Sam and Hugh in similar situations close by. He was reviewing the steps that Hugh was going to do once they arrived in Oullins. He’d talked to lots of people in Champel, which was a great thing, for he liked to talk with people. His dad had always encouraged understanding others because, his father had always said, we can’t live peacefully before the gods if we’re arguing with each other.
He’d met an iron ranker in the Champel warehouse facility who’d told Johan that with the kind of vehicle Dave had been taken in, at this time of year with this weather, it would reach Oullins on the morn of the third day of travel, which was today. This land crawler that Johan was in would arrive in Oullins on the overmorrow. Two days behind Dave.
They’d made good time. Johan was proud of himself for having talked his way into shortening a trip that could have easily been a week or more by foot. It was like his dad said, the world is full of people ready to help if you ask. His father would then add with a wink; especially if you don’t ask for much.
Johan repeated the steps to himself, even though he had no understanding of them, it seemed to him that legal proceedings and the way of that kind of thing was a subject to take seriously. For, what could be more important than making the laws of the land just and good? He felt a great swell of pride for those people who had that noble task. The burden of that responsibility must weigh heavily upon them.
The steps were, he read from a piece of paper; Step one: Once Dave is charged, file a bounty form on the Adventure Society contract claiming his capture as Hugh’s doing. Step two: Hugh can claim Dave’s property with a reapportionment form as team leader. Step three: Make sure Dave’s prisoner details list him as an administrative auxiliary to an adventuring team. Step four: claim/buy him as an indentured servant from whoever has him.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
They were pretty sure that Dave would be charged by the time they arrived in Oullins so half of step one would get completed without them. The rest, Johan was pretty dumbfounded by it all but it sounded very official. Bounty form, he figured, must be something to do with monsters. Why Dave was being treated as a monster he couldn’t imagine. He asked Hugh what ‘reapportionment’ meant and he’d said it meant taking all the pieces of something and giving them all out again. He wasn’t sure what that meaning… meant so he’d been too self conscious to ask what ‘auxiliary’ and ‘indentured’ meant. Still, Hugh seemed confident with the forms and Johan sure was going to study as best he could to help out the good friar.
“Isn’t this illegal? I’m pretty sure it’s illegal,” said Dave as the Charcoal Knights handed him over to Lady Geller’s majordomo.
“You’ve been summoned before a member of the nobility, Mister Booker,” said the majordomo. “It should be an honour for you to meet your betters.”
“A compulsory honour, huh? Lovely. I’m not one of her subjects, if it matters.”
The majordomo turned and led Dave, with the assistance of two guards, down a long entrance hall. The walls were adorned with luxurious wallpaper in shades of burgundy and gold, patterned in a style reminiscent of Damask wallpaper. The colours complemented the dark mahogany woodwork that framed the tall windows which were, themselves, draped in a matching burgundy velvet, their edges embroidered with intricate golden patterns that caught the light.
“You are in Baron Franchet’s city and he thinks highly of the Gellers,” continued the majordomo without introducing themselves. “So, he’s skipped the formalities of normal legal processing and allowed you to be brought immediately before Lady Geller.”
“Even so, I don’t think we should skip the formalities,” said Dave.
“Nobody cares,” groaned one of the two guards escorting Dave. The majordomo immediately gave her a withering look.
“The baron doesn’t care about the Carta Populi?” said Dave, dryly. “Sounds like he ought to make an announcement about that.”
“Why don’t you go and inform the Remore representative, Travers?” said the majordomo to the loudmouth guard with a smile full of spite. “With all due haste?” She turned the smile on Dave. “If she even deigns to attend.”
Travers saluted with her fist to her chest and began walking in the other direction. Dave tried to control any outward signs of relief that swept through him after hearing that a Remore representative would be present. Although he didn’t like the majordomo’s cruel smile. Claiming Remore citizenship had been a scheme cooked up between him and Hugh and it’d made sense.
The Remores were famously sympathetic to outworlders, almost treating them like lucky talismans, so they’d likely go along with it and such citizenship gave Dave certain legal protections as well. The Carta Populi, the document that governed how people were treated in these lands, stated that any person of a foreign lord (or equivalent) found on a baron’s land without permission were to be held until their own lord (or, most likely, a representative) was notified. At which point, Dave supposed the representatives of the two lords decided what they wanted to do with the unfortunate bugger.
Dave rather did feel like quite the unfortunate bugger as he was marched towards some rather nicely made doors in this mansion. He’d been hoping that he’d be held in lockup for a few days, a Remore representative notified and Dave would be hauled in front of the representative instead of Lady Geller. As the majordomo opened the doors, Dave took a moment to reflect that the answer to life’s multiple choice question of who’d be there was about to be ‘all of the above’.
“A Mister David Booker, Lady Geller,” announced the majordomo, dramatically opening the doors. Dave couldn’t help but note that the door’s setting and design somewhat lent themselves to dramatic openings and Dave passed into what his map informed him was the sitting room.
“Thank you, Daniau. That will be all,” said Lady Geller, waving her hand. Daniau, evidently the majordomo, retreated.
Lady Tiffany Geller was a striking figure with the refined beauty of silver rank and impeccable fashion sense. Her long, honey-blonde hair was pulled back in intricate braids interwoven with delicate ribbons, a practical yet elegant style that her noble status could afford to maintain. Her features were marked by strong cheekbones and a regal bearing that commanded attention and her eyes, a piercing shade of blue, flashed with an undercurrent of cunning. She wore her hands gloved and a dark, tailored winter coat suggested she’d recently been outside. She gave off the very air of a woman of wealth and sophistication.
The sitting room itself was subtly opulent. Dave guessed that such subtle displays were some kind of test of worthiness among rich people. He quickly used Epistemology to check the value of the curtains. Enough to make an honest man blush, really. No doubt made of some kind of magical silk. Especially notable was a large chandelier hanging, spread across the ceiling. Not only did its carved crystal drops catch and refract light, it generated light from within itself as well as radiated heat like a gentle summer morning. The soft, golden glow made the sitting room feel inviting and cosy. Or, would have if it weren’t for the situation.
Dave was not invited to sit.
“Why are you here?” asked Lady Geller, removing her gloves, her posture stiff as she stared straight ahead.
“Ah, well if I’m intruding I’ll just leave,” said Dave politely and began backing out of the room.
“Stay where you are,” said Lady Geller, her presence suffocating Dave. Aura Phantasm blunted the direct part of the soul attack but Dave felt he’d have surely been brought to his knees, weeping with the onslaught of Lady Geller’s power without it.
“Please stop torturing me,” said Dave in gasps. “It’s impolite.”
“How dare you speak to me so?” said Lady Geller, taken aback. Thankfully, she also let slip her aura pressure. “In my house?”
Dave used Stop and Think to give the time for the mental trauma to slide off him.
“Apologies,” said Dave, still shuddering throughout his body, “Please resume torturing me at your convenience. Is that what you think I’m here for?” Lady Geller’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. “Or, have you forgotten that line of inquiry?” Dave had only remembered it himself because he’d glanced at his chat log but fuck this woman.
“You’re right, where are my manners?” said Lady Geller. Dave refrained as hard as he could from saying ‘on a battlefield’. He watched as Geller rose and plastered a smile with no warmth on her face. “Tiffany Geller, Lady of Oullins,” Geller gave a slight curtsy.
“Dave Booker of the Sunshine Coast,” said Dave, extending his left leg and bowing slightly with his shaking right arm across his waist.
“And, I am Madeleine Brisset, representing Remore Academy interests,” said Brisset, marching through the door, into the room and bowing, exuding polite formality all the while. She was a silver ranker, a tall, black woman with beads in her hair, loose, bright clothing with disjointed patterns and a regal bearing. “Your messenger must have hurt their foot, Geller, for I found them sitting down in that break room off the main hall. Fortunately, I was feeling peckish and bumped into them in time for me to be here.”
Lady Geller glared pure hatred at Brisset, who deigned not to notice, before gathering herself.
“Well, now that you are here, we can begin the formalities,” said Lady Geller.
“Thank you,” said Brisset, deliberately shifting her bright yellow winter shawl across her bare shoulders with exaggerated casualness. Dave could feel the invisible war of wills taking place in front of him. “Booker is a subject of a Remore bubble city and I am here to take legal custody of him.”
“Booker is wanted for interrogation,” replied Lady Geller, her eyes turning hurt and cold as she spoke. “Regarding the death of my son.”
“If he is accused of a crime,” said Brisset, still regal despite the ongoing clash of wills. “I insist that he be processed by the legal authorities of Oullins. Not the mother of the deceased.” Lady Geller blanched at ‘deceased’. “To prevent preju-”
“Well, the legal authorities brought him here so take it up with the baron,” snapped Lady Geller, her presence savagely spiking at Brisset who winced.
“I shall do just that,” said Brisset with a bow and a clenched jaw.
Dave used Stop And Think to double check something he’d read yesterday about the city ordinances concerning responsibility and handover of prisoners.
“Then, Madam Brisset,” said Dave, feeling weak and small next to the silver rankers but pushing through. “You need not worry. Lady Geller is henceforth responsible for my safety until tomorrow noon.” They both looked at Dave who turned to Lady Geller. “If I am in your custody for interrogation, as per the authority of the baron then, according to Oullins civil ordinances, that makes you an acting civil authority and thus, responsible for my safety.”
Dave used Pauper’s Paper Production and Scribbler’s Instant Image to make a copy of the relevant ordinances page and handed it to Brisset. Lady Geller glared daggers which stripped Dave of any sense of comfort or dignity but he continued nonetheless. Brisset took the page from Dave’s hand and glanced at it for a second before handing it to Lady Geller.
“That does seem to be a legal interpretation I can agree to,” said Brisset, her demeanour more cool than before the aura spiking. “You are responsible for the health and safety of this Remore subject until you release him into my custody or the custody of another legal authority. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Lady Geller, biting off the word. “Now, leave. I would like to interrogate this peasant of yours.”
“Not a peasant,” said Brisset airily and turned to Dave. “Well, that’s settled. When you’re done I’ll take you to the baron and get all of this sorted out. As I’m sure you know, the Remore family takes the safety of their charges very seriously.” Brisset ended with an arch look at Lady Geller, removing all doubt that the words were not meant for Dave alone. “I’ll be just outside. See you soon.”
“Thank you, Brisset,” said Dave. “See you soon.”
Brisset stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
The silence was heavy with Lady Geller’s domineering presence. Dave focused on his breathing and let the feeling wash through him. He took a note from Frank Herbert. I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Lady Geller spiked at Dave’s aura with her own, hitting his Aura Phantasm. She exhaled sharply in frustration and violently wrapped Dave’s being in her presence. Dave stopped breathing in fear and his body shuddered hard.
“Why are you here?” asked Lady Geller with a cruel smile. She relaxed her aura constriction enough for Dave to resume breathing.
“To - to answer your questions,” choked out Dave. His chest was heaving and a cold sweat had broken out all over his body. “Interrogation, yeah?”
“You peasant,” spat Lady Geller, looking down her nose at Dave. “Where were you on the day my son was murdered?”
“In the forests north-east of Megève,” said Dave. Which was true.
“The same forest as my son, then?” said Lady Geller, tightening her aura around Dave leaving him shuddering again. “And the Builder cult. Tell me about them!”
“They’re a religious cult that venerates The Builder, an astral being who -”
Lady Geller attempted to spike Dave’s soul with her aura again and missed, this time hissing through her teeth and washing his sence of self with undisguised hostility making Dave involuntarily jump and all the hairs on his body stand on end. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. Dave focused on his breathing.
“Tell me if you’re a member of the Builder cult!” commanded Lady Geller.
“I am not,” said Dave, facing the fear Lady Geller forced on him and letting it pass over and through him. “In fact, they tried to kill me as soon as I arrived in this land so I’m rather against them.” Lady Geller’s face soured at Dave’s honesty.
“As for your son,” continued Dave, “I did meet him in the forest but he was in a mood. He frightened me and I ran away.”
“In a mood?” inquired Lady Geller dangerously.
“A bad one,” said Dave.
“And what do you mean by that?” said Lady Geller, biting off the words.
“I’m meaning to avoid saying to a dead man’s mother that I found him violent and bad company.”
Lady Geller’s soul spike missed again and Dave was once more washed with hostility that he endured. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. Dave’s violent trembling bordering on muscle spasms came under control.
“Why were you in the forest for so long, then?” asked Lady Geller, changing tack and increasing the pressure of her silver ranked presence.
“I had to avoid the Builder cult and made my way to Megève over several days,” said Dave through cold sweat and gritted teeth. With Sam via Courbefy. He added in the privacy of his own skull. He hoped.
“Then why are they trying to kill you?” said Lady Geller, maintaining the pressure on Dave’s soul.
“I was brought there from the Sunshine Coast,” said Dave, falling back into his meditation practice. “A town in what you call Ahitereriria. Surely you know that the church of Knowledge was -?” Lady Geller gave a curt nod. “Well, I was summoned in by accident.”
“And why you? What are you?” Lady Geller’s tone was seething. Her aura added abrasiveness to its constriction.
“No reason, it was an accident! I’m Dave Booker. I’m an apothecary advisor!” which is as close as this world gets to biostatistician, thought Dave, hanging onto his mind as best he could.
“That’s not a real job,” said Lady Geller.
“It’s the best summary I can give for you,” wheezed Dave desperately. “You want me to explain statistical analysis? Is that why I’m here?”
Lady Geller idly spiked Dave’s aura, hit the phantasm, then she grunted audibly and did the equivalent of holding him down and spiking him properly. It was a migraine along with nausea and the worst of a bad acid trip in one, painful moment. Dave fell to a knee, feeling tears come from his eyes.
“TELL ME WHY MY SON DIED!” shouted Lady Geller.
“Because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time!” said Dave with a quavering voice, selecting truths, wiping his nose with his sleeve and getting to his feet. “Builder cult and purity church working together? Raiding a monastery? All in the same patch of woods? With your son there? Do the maths on the situation!”
Lady Geller’s aura pressure receded for a moment and returned like a wave.
“Did you help kill my son?” asked Lady Geller through clenched teeth.
I did not kill Ross Geller.
“I did not kill Ross Geller,” said Dave on automatic. The shadows killed him.
“What aren’t you saying?” shouted Lady Geller with a sneer curling her lip. “I can tell you hated my son. Don’t think you can hide it rolling off of you. What do you know about his death?”
“Lady,” said Dave, as assertively as he could manage. “I think everyone hated your son. He wasn’t nice!”
“WHAT AREN’T YOU SAYING!?” screamed Lady Geller, squeezing Dave’s soul almost to the point of rendering him unconscious with pain, nausea and uncontrollable spasms. “WHAT ARE YOU HIDING FROM ME?”
“Hiding?” asked Dave, leaving against a chair for support. “I’m desperately trying not to tell a grieving mother that her son was a fuckhead and everyone’s glad he’s gone!”
Dave had the barest impression of Lady Geller’s arm moving-
-Snap!-
Dave was gone.