The jobs board was inside the tavern portion of the Society House. It was split into three sections. On the left side was a list of bounties for common monsters like gnolls, goblins, spirit beasts, and the like. The center was for legal headhunter bounties and wanted posters. The right side was for private requests from whoever would pay. Escort this merchant to a distant city, collect pearls from the giant clams in the lake, and find a lost dog. They examined the board, and Wali was surprised to see only three wanted posters. Two murderers and one rapist. Each was too vague to try to collect the criminal in question. The commissioned requests were more interesting. As they perused the boards, they could feel the eyes of some of the patrons on them.
A tall, broad-shouldered but lanky man dressed in armor pieced together from a mix of plates and leathers stood up from a nearby table. He was tanned and scarred, hair shaved into a red-blond mohawk. Beady eyes, a crooked nose, and several missing teeth, they smelled him coming before he tapped Wali on the shoulder. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, savage? Go home to your plains and ghosts.” He snarled, breath stinking of cheap beer and cheaper pipeweed. “Why don’t you give me that fine spear of yours so I don’t kill you?” Heads turned at this, as did Wali and Yacob. The man behind the bar was about to interject when Wali shook his head.
Wali smiled at the man, “You want a spear?” He said congenially. “Here you go.” He offered the spear to the man. Gale howled in fury at this betrayal of trust.
The man snatched the spear’s shaft out of Wali’s hand, then his eyes rolled back, and his body stiffened. A snap and a pop and smoke rolled off of him. He dropped to the floor, twitching and shaking. The stench worsened as he loosed his bowels. Wali stepped over and reclaimed Gale. “Perhaps, friend, you should have a clue of just who or what you are dealing with when you go demanding things from strangers.” Yacob laughed and stepped over the twitching man. Other patrons in the tavern began to laugh uproariously at the man’s plight. The barman pointed at two of the man’s friends, and they walked over to scoop up the man on the floor. The barman approached with a mop and bucket for the two guys with a stern look.
An older man waved Wali and Yacob over with a smile. “That’s the funniest shit I’ve seen in a while. Don’t take Staevan’s attitude as the norm around here. That guy’s the worst sort. Trying to rough up a couple of kids.” He shook his head, “I’m Reg, by the way. Have a seat. The first round is on me.” He was dressed in a thick black robe with a large silver medallion. The medallion was engraved with a jawless skull centered in a golden sun.
Trickster whispered in the back of Wali’s head. “He’s a priest of Demise, the god of the moment of death. He was worshipped as Charon on your world and is known to carry the dead to the afterlife. One of the good guys. Abhors the undead and is responsible for death rites for those without a church here. Do not lie to him. He’ll be able to sense any falsehoods. Demise is very popular in this city for obvious reasons.”
The boys took a seat, and the barman carried over a trio of glasses brimming with a thick dark ale. “Thank you, sir.” Said Yacob as he pulled a glass over to drink.
“Aye, a few bits are worth the laugh alone. Seeing Staevan get his comeuppance from boys will be hilarious for a very long time.” Reg replied, smiling and taking a drink. Wali tasted his ale. It was dark, bitter, and slightly sweet, reminding him of some of the craft porters he had back on Earth. It was a fine beer and cold too. “Are you two looking for work? Just get here to Belge and need a little coin?” Reg asked earnestly.
Wali remained quiet as Yacob asked, “How’d you know?”
“Two kids, one a Colri, one dressed in hand-me-down armor that hasn’t been in style in decades staring at the job board as if there was anything good on there? It’s a safe assumption. The magic spear is a bit different, but all sorts come into this place.” Reg replied with a smile. He turned to Wali, “You have a collection of spirits walking with you, revealing you as a true Colri, not some fake from the frontier.” He tapped his eye and medallion with a wink, “Spirit sight.” He said conspiratorially.
Yacob looked at Wali, who shrugged, “Yeah, that’s basically true, I’m Yacob from Bramble, a frontier town, and this is Wali.”
“Nice to meet you, Yacob and Wali. Just how much danger are you willing to take on for coin? I have a job and could use a couple of strong backs. Smart, strong backs, that is. None of these other louts will help me anymore.” Reg indicated the other four patrons of the tavern.
“What’s the job?” Wali asked. The other patrons were older men, scarred and brutal looking. They didn’t look like the meek sort, just tired, if anything. That raised Wali’s suspicion level.
“Well, my church has a mission to go and cleanse the Death taint from the lands near the walls. I need some folks to guard my back against wandering undead or Imperial folks in the area. You get paid a gold per day plus any bounty for kills from the Hunter’s Society. I need an hour for each ritual I am able to cast. Are you interested?” Reg asked.
“You don’t know us, you don’t know our capabilities, and yet you would trust us to this mission?” Wali asked.
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“Anyone who walks with four totems has my trust. I’ve only known a few Colri in my long years, and all of them have been more trustworthy than my own family.” Reg said.
Yacob looked at Wali with a shrug, “I’m willing if you are?”
Wali also shrugged, “Sounds like a good plan. We have three more days till your bracer is ready, so might as well.” He replied to Yacob. They turned back to Reg, and Wali asked him, “When do we start?”
Reg smiled largely. “Meet me here two hours before dawn.”
They chatted and planned a bit more, and the boys returned to the Black Dog.
The next morning, it was still full dark out, asshole early, and the buttcrack of dawn was still far away. A very sleepy black-furred dogkin had roused the boys. Not their landlord but one of his servants they had not met yet. The owner of the Black Dog Inn liked to keep up appearances. Outside it was misty and damp, clouds hid the sliver of moon, but dim magical lamps lit the streets. The pale yellowish lights hung like little beehives from building corners, creating pools of brightness on the cobblestones below.
Reg met them outside the Hunter’s Society House. He was dressed in heavy plate armor, black enameled with sequences of runes inscribed along every edge. He carried a large shield that had seen many fights, painted with the holy symbol of Demise. Reg wore the large medallion of his god also. He bore only a mace that looked as battle worn as the shield. Smiling broadly, he greeted Wali and Yacob. ”Are you gentlemen ready?”
“Yessir, lead the way,” Yacob said, shouldering a small leather backpack. Wali also carried one, small and light, with only a day’s worth of rations, water, and bandages. These had been commissioned and built while they had trained with Darron. The modern military assault pack inspired them. When bedrolls, clothing, and the extra weight of a complete traveler’s pack were not needed, but you still wanted to easily carry enough for a day’s excursion into the wilds, the assault pack was the answer.
“Come along then,” Reg said, turning toward the city wall and the Imperial Throne. As they walked, Reg explained a bit more. “We are going now as I can only do the ritual at dawn, high noon, and dusk. The points of natural change in a day are important. We should be able to get to the first site more than early enough to set up. My ritual covers a five-mile radius and takes a full hour to complete. During that time, I will need you to protect me. If the ritual circle gets broken, then the attempt is wasted. The biggest issue is that my ritual attracts every undead for miles around. Once complete, they will all fall apart as their driving force of Death aspected mana will be gone. Questions?”
Wali asked, “Can you simply set up a warding circle around your ritual site to keep the undead out?”
Reg shook his head, “Had a guy try that a few years ago; the ward disrupts the Death mana, and the ritual is worthless then.”
“Hrmm, I have an idea that may work. We’ll do it your way for the first one. Do you mind if we try an experiment for the others?” Wali asked as the Clever glyph in his soul triggered itself.
“If your idea causes my ritual to fail, I’ll cut your pay by a third for each failure. If it works and improves my success rate, I’ll double it. Sound fair?” Reg said firmly.
Wali nodded as he pondered. He would need to observe Reg’s ritual before it was a more solid plan. They walked through the town to the gates to the Imperial Throne. The gate itself was a multi-layered defense. The gateway was low, not even two meters, causing them to duck as they walked through. A magically reinforced portcullis was raised. It scraped against a ten-centimeter thick oak and iron door, which had to be unblocked, then another portcullis before the killing floor inside the gatehouse. On the far side was a slab of stone that slid upward on a cranking chain hoist. As they passed into the killing floor and before the slab was lowered, all of the defenses behind them were secured. It felt like a medieval airlock.
Out into the cleared area beyond the gate, Wali and Yacob felt something sick and insidious creep into them. The Death mana on the ground was far denser than either realized. Both of their mana stores reacted without either of them thinking. After a moment, they both began to circulate mana through their bodies, Wali reinforcing his Blood glyph and Yacob simply moving it through natural talent. Seeing them shiver, Reg said, “Yeah, it is a bit disturbing the first time down here. I have been out so often that I had forgotten what it is like for first-timers. Apologies.” His face had taken on a grim cast, and the medallion at his neck had begun to shine with a white glow. Wali checked and saw that the medallion was pulling in Death aspected mana and slowly purifying it before returning it to the area as light. The light it gave off was more than enough to see, and they made their way across the desolate place and into the woods beyond. They headed northwest for several miles. The only sound was their boots crunching on dried leaves and twigs. The very air felt heavy. After some time, they came to a clearing. None of them spoke, all of them very watchful. Wali’s totems refused to do anything but huddle in his core. The Death mana could easily corrupt the pure Spirit mana they were made up from.
In the center of a small clearing, Reg took a bag of coarse dark salt from his pack. He did not sprinkle the salt but poured it into a circle an arm’s length across. Predawn light had begun to show on the horizon, and he said to Wali and Yacob, “I will begin now.” He kneeled inside the circle and began to pray. Not quietly either, his voice gained a deep resonance that any professional operatic performer would be envious of. The words were a chanting song, and as his tone picked up volume, Wali and Yacob felt a stirring in the mana around them.
Yacob looked at Wali with some fear, disturbed by the feeling of the Death energy condensing around them. Wali said, “It’s okay; he’s drawing it in. The ritual is working.” The light given off by Reg’s medallion began to brighten as the mana the priest was drawing in was forced through the holy device. After a minute, it was brighter than the sun, casting stark shadows around them. A presence gathered in the area, and the hair on the boy’s necks raised as they both felt intensely like they were being watched from some unknown place. It was nothing Yacob or Wali had ever felt. Reg’s ritual had summoned the divine presence of Demise. The feeling grew in intensity as the light grew brighter. It went from being watched to having someone’s face a millimeter away from your skin, not quite touching you but there all the same.