As it turned out, only three demi-humans were brave enough to join their leader. Their names were Zorn, Nuk and Throk, and they volunteered for their communion with something like religious fervor in their eyes. All three looked to be stout warriors. They had wiry muscles, scarred bodies and battle hardened faces.
Redmane made it quick.
And when he Spawned them anew, he gave their Corpus right back to them.
As for the rest, Vang called them all a bunch of chicken-shits and they were on their way.
“Reckon you scrap a lot,” said Vang, after he’d donned his equipment again and the four of them walked down the mountain trail.
Redmane nodded. “Quite a lot.”
The four demi-humans grinned amongst each other.
“Do you know anything about a man named Dobrogost,” said Redmane.
"Aye. Dwells in a hut down by the village. Keeps apart, he does. Folk shun him. Like him less now, I reckon."
Redmane’s eyebrow rose. “They like him less now?”
“Yeah… Now they’ve gone all gilly,” said Vang, and then he put his hands up to his neck to pantomime flapping gills, which made Zorn, Nuk and Throk chortle.
“I see,” said Redmane. “Show me the way to his home.”
Vang led the way, navigating the rocky terrain that sloped down from the mountain trail. The path was uneven, filled with stones and scattered boulders, to include the ones from the earlier rockslide up above. They moved carefully, stepping over large rocks and squeezing through narrow gaps between them, leaving the main path behind to navigate a tight natural maze between the jagged rocks.
Redmane imagined this was not a comfortable walk home from the fish market. Dobrogost must have had some other means of getting there and back.
The maze suddenly opened out into a small circular canyon, with a hut standing at its center. The home was constructed from rough stones that matched the surrounding terrain, with a thatched roof and a single door crafted from dark wood and weathered by the elements. Beside the door was one small window, covered by a simple cloth.
A few patches of resilient grass poked through the rocky soil. Near the entrance, a row of small clay pots contained oddly shaped plants that seemed to twitch occasionally. Above them hung a wind chime made of mismatched, metallic objects, each piece clinking softly in the breeze, filling the air with a strange melody.
“Hail Dobrogost,” said Redmane, loud enough for the occupant to hear.
The five of them stood there a moment, awaiting an answer.
A gnarled hand swept aside the cloth in front of the window, a pair of eyes peered out of it briefly, and then it fell back into place. In a moment the door creaked open, and a wizened old man stepped out to greet them, squinting against the light of the sun.
Warlock Dobrogost
Human (Gnosis User)
Level 112
Dobrogost stood with a stoop, his face weathered and deeply wrinkled. But his ice blue eyes peered out from beneath his unkempt hair with a gleam that suggested a sharp mind. He wore a plain brown robe that hung loosely on his meager frame, secured to his waist by a simple length of rope, and around his neck dangled an assortment of amulets and charms.
“Hail, Lord of Hunger,” said Dobrogost, in a dry tone. “I suspected I would see you coming this way soon.”
Redmane’s eyes widened slightly.
“I’m—“
“Here to eliminate me, I presume, by order of the Numantian System,” said Dobrogost.
Redmane stared.
Dobrogost tutted and turned to go back inside his house. “Come in. I’ll put some tea on.”
Redmane looked at Vang and his cohorts. “You wait out here.”
Vang grunted and folded his arms. The other three plopped down into seats on nearby rocks, as Redmane followed the old man into his home.
The main room of Dobrogost’s hut served as both living area and workspace. A large table dominated the center, cluttered with scrolls, books, and various instruments Redmane did not recognize. Shelves lined the walls, filled with more books and jars containing pickled specimens and strange substances. A small hearth in one corner provided warmth, and a few bearskin rugs lay about on a stone floor worn smooth by years of use.
The Warlock fetched his kettle and filled it with water, hung it above the fire. “You’re making your way to the Seal of the Sphinx, I presume.”
Redmane closed the door behind him, nodded. “Yes.”
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“I’ve felt her stirring, of late. I believe she’s expecting you.”
Redmane’s eyebrows rose.
Dobrogost watched his reaction. Smirked. “You look surprised.”
“I didn’t expect anyone to know what I was doing,” said Redmane. “Nor did I expect a foe to cooperate.”
The old man chuckled dryly. “Yes, I’d expect the System to make me its enemy. I did not expect a God to be the one to come and do its bidding, I must say I’m flattered.”
It felt strange, being called a god.
Technically correct, he supposed. He felt strong, to be sure. But there was a difference between strong and divine.
Dobrogost watched him, looking amused. “Have a seat please. Don’t just stand there in my doorway, you make an old man nervous.”
Redmane nodded and had a seat at the Warlock’s table. “If you knew the System marked you, why would you stay?”
“Would there be any safe place in this land to go to? Anywhere to hide?” Dobrogost shook his head. “Numantia has cast its net across our world already, there can be no secrets from them any longer.”
“I must admit, I know not why the System chose me. Some Imbued I’ve met seem unsettled by it.”
A grin spread across Dobrogost’s wrinkled face. “Intriguing. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of it though.”
Redmane tilted his head like a curious wolf.
The kettle began to whistle, and Dobrogost removed it from the heat and poured its contents into two earthenware cups. He sweetened the tea with a dollop of honey, cleared off some space on his cluttered table, and had a seat across from Redmane with the cups in hand.
He slid one across the table and said, “You want to ask me how, I gather. We’ll do so by reason. The System operates by reason, and even though it possesses more information than you and I, we can trust that it functions on unfaltering principles. All we must do then, is identify which of those principles necessitate your involvement.”
Redmane slowly nodded. “I think I follow.”
“Good. So let me inquire about you then. Share with me your fears and resentments, your aspirations, the principles you would follow.”
Redmane stared at the steaming cup of tea in front of him. He considered the question in silence for a time. His mind went in many directions. Trying to collect what he had learned since attaining his freedom, to recall what he’d seen and experienced and put forth a summary.
“I fear neither death nor pain, men nor monsters. Not with the strength that dwells in this frame. But that was not always so. I suppose the one thing I have left to fear is a return to helplessness.
“I resent cruelty for cruelty’s sake. And the callous, who turn away from the suffering of the weak.
“I aspire to lordship and dominion. Perhaps a vestige of what I was acts within me, the desires of a King of old.
“I would let justice and fidelity be my principles. I would see a realm ruled by a fair but mighty hand. A kingdom purged of greed, abuse, ignorance and want.
He wasn’t sure why he was being so honest with a stranger.
Perhaps it was a ruse, and Dobrogost was preparing a trap of some kind. But if that were the case, he saw no sign of it. The old man held his earthenware cup in both hands, smiling across the table at him. He had a small sip and set it down.
“There we have it,” he said.
Redmane’s eyebrow rose. “Have what.”
“You,” he said. “The essence of you. And so if we were to begin with the assumption that the System operates on unfaltering principles, and it chose you to become a part of it, then it values those principles for some purpose of its own.”
“It values my principles, and wants you dead,” said Redmane.
Dobrogost chuckled darkly. “Aye. I didn’t want to join their hive, I don’t care how shiny the queen is. I expected they would send someone to deal with me in time. And here you are.”
“You seem unbothered.”
“When you get to be as old as I am, you resign yourself to these things.”
Redmane frowned thoughtfully. His gaze centered on the tendril of steam rising from his teacup for another few moments. Then his gaze shifted to Dobrogost.
“You resign yourself to death, because you are at the end of your days. I beg your indulgence then, to answer a question of mine, since I’ve answered yours without complaint.”
Dobrogost’s eyebrows rose, and his icy eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ohho. Well I suppose I ought to. Fair is fair.”
Redmane fixed him with a steady stare.
“What would you do if you weren’t at the end of your days?”
The old man’s eyes softened. He gazed at a point beyond Redmane’s shoulder, as if he could actually see it.
“I’d find a way to wreck that System, or else wrest control of it from the hands of those gilded degenerates beyond our stars.”
Redmane grinned. “A worthy goal. If your conviction is true, I’d help you see it done.”
Dobrogost’s brows furrowed. “Eh?”
Redmane was about to explain, but a System notification broke his train of thought.
Helmold Brecht has left your Faction
----------------------------------------
He had waited all he could.
There would be no set of circumstances as favorable as these.
Redmane was gone, as was the Coterie. Flora busied herself with an ever-growing list of tasks. It would be now or never.
And so he sent a final missive to Gull’s Glut, and Beroh Keep, and Port Luck. He waited until the darkest hours of night, to release young Aric Morholt from his cage and smuggle him out of the castle. The Magister faced a few tense questions at the gatehouse to the now massive ‘Castle Redmane,’ but since they had no instructions to detain him, or indeed, any reason to suspect him of foul play, they let him and his horse drawn cart out of the castle without a fuss, not knowing that an important prisoner hid in the hay.
Only after he was well clear of those gates could Helmold breathe a sigh of relief.
But he wasn’t out of danger yet.
Through the night, Helmold rode from the castle to the town of Barograd, and then down the southron road to the edge of the Zone marking off its piece of the map.
It was there he would rendezvous with his rescuers.
In the small hours of the morning they awaited him by the riverbank, astride warhorses. The man in the lead was the largest, nearly a head taller than the rest and broad shouldered, barrel chested. The man doffed his hood, revealing blond hair, green eyes and an anvil-chinned countenance.
—
Aerin Morholt
Class: Warrior
Archetype: Champion
Faction: Defenders of Volos
Level: 97
—
Aric rose from the hay, saw his cousin, frowned and looked away.
Aerin Morholt regarded Helmold sternly. “You have the gratitude of House Morholt, Magister.”
Helmold smiled and inclined his head. “My only lament is that it took so long.”
“No matter. Aric is safe because of you. Now we work to reclaim our home.”
Mention of that made Helmold realize he was still in the beast’s Faction. He swiftly fixed the mistake, before anyone thought to look for him on the map.
Do you wish to leave your Faction?
Yes/No
Helmold Brecht has left Faction [House Redmane]
He breathed another sigh of relief.
And then he produced a scroll case, held it out to Aerin. “On that topic, my lord… I’m afraid your father failed to explain a few things to you. Things he had forgotten in his dotage, if he ever knew them at all. Our foe is a terror on such a scale that all of Volos is in jeopardy.”
Aerin accepted the scroll case, looked at it. “So you’ve said.”
Helmold smiled. And for once there was some steel in his gaze.
“Fortunately, there exists a solution. The weapon which vanquished him the last time.”