Wegrel was somewhat regretting his mission to chase Rogo down. It had all started with the daring robbery of Nargon’s mine, where he’d worked as a guard. Rogo, a slave, had stolen a great and powerful onyx almost effortlessly and then used it to buy the freedom of the rest of the slaves. Wegrel had chased him down, doubting his ability to actually survive as a master thief once his luck ran out.
He’d been slightly wrong of course. Rogo had no trouble when his luck ran out, he just turned to merciless evil. He’d killed and tortured and seemed to have no qualms about doing anything to get what he wanted. Worse still, all the old slaves that he’d taken with him seemed to think he could do no wrong. They’d gone along with all his dark ideas and were turning into a right batch of horrific criminals.
That was until they’d met the real criminals of course. Salara and his gang who ruled most of the Undercity as well as the mysterious Black Spider. A gang that few people had ever seen and was known only for the grisly corpses marked by their symbol that they left around the borders of their territory whenever anyone was foolish enough to enter it. They were important though, for they issued contracts. Contracts that people tended to uphold because when they didn’t they died no matter what excessive security precautions they’d taken. The web of the spider it was called. So far Wegrel had managed to stay out of it.
Rogo, it seemed, wasn’t quite as skillful as some of these people. Sure, he’d found the Undercity when he’d pulled a job for Salara but when the city had fallen to riots and looting he’d seen his opportunity to break free and rule the city himself. That hadn’t gone well.
Their little operation was confined to the edges of the Undercity. The part beneath the dock. It was damp here, and everything leaked, making the whole place stink like the sea. They did have access to the port though and so controlled most of the smuggling from the sea. This didn’t seem to bother Salara much unfortunately as he was sitting on almost all the wealth in the city itself and had plenty of trade by land. Not to mention his main advantage, which was legions of hardened criminals that knew far more about combat than any of Rogo’s original band. Of course he’d picked up a few newcomers like Wegrel who knew quite a bit more but they were still outmatched. There weren’t many newcomers unfortunately, for who wanted to follow a man who was being hunted by the Minstrel.
Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows as well as having many other dramatic names was a man Wegrel, unfortunately, knew very well. They’d chased Rogo together into this city and along the way Wegrel had learned just what sort of man he really was. Not, insane, not really. And not even really evil, at least not intentionally. He just had absolutely no concern for any life that wasn’t his own. Not to mention his shadows. The little fell spirit things that he summoned sometimes. They were almost completely intangible Wegrel had come to learn. Just little puffs of smoke really, that flitted about. Except for their weapons. Those were just as sharp and deadly as any real steel. Wegrel had left him as soon as possible. Making sure to point him in all the wrong directions before disappearing into the Undercity by dredging up some old contacts he still had from his mercenary days. He’d found Rogo quickly and tried to warn him but Rogo already knew. True to form, Jencer was killing and torturing anyone he could find in pursuit of his goal and so his name had spread. Even to the depths of the Undercity he was known about and he was feared.
The Black Spider were terrifying but they mostly kept to themselves. The rioters and looters in the streets terrified Wegrel since they were unpredictable and random. But none were as terrifying as the Minstrel. A man with seemingly unlimited magical power, hunting down, specifically this little group of criminals that he’d for some reason decided to join. He’d told himself he could help the misguided escaped slaves who Rogo had corrupted. He’d told himself he could save some of them from the Minstrel. But so far he hadn’t managed it. So far all he’d done was to get himself the worst jobs of the whole bunch. It seemed escaped slaves didn’t trust one of their original captors. The fact that he’d been travelling with the Minstrel likely didn’t help.
So he just stood guard on one of the most secure passages in the Undercity, watching for hours on end one boring unchanging corridor. The water dripping slowly and painfully loudly through the ceiling. Then the pirates arrived.
There were loads of them, carrying huge boxes and crates and bantering and arguing with each other and with the mercenaries that worked for Rogo. Walking brazenly through them all was a tall Nosk man with a short black beard, a long leather coat and an ornate sword strapped to his hip. This was a man who wasn’t living with the impending doom of the Minstrel lurking at the back of his mind. This was a man who didn’t seem to have much at the back of his mind. Or, Wegrel liked to imagine, much at the front of his mind either. Surely someone that brazen couldn’t actually be that intelligent. Although, he supposed, Rogo was sometimes that brazen. He once again regretted his newfound career path.
The pirates all walked off down the corridor and Wegrel watched them go. They were a loud and noisy bunch and with their bickering and carrying on they were very distracting. A lesser guard might have, in fact, been distracted. No doubt most of the undisciplined street urchins that passed for guards around here would have completely missed anything else that had been in the corridor. But Wegrel wasn’t an undisciplined street urchin. He saw everything that was in the corridor. Including the all too familiar shadow flitting along behind.
The Minstrel’s shadows weren’t actually invisible. Some people believed that they were always there and he just made them visible when he wanted to be intimidating but Wegrel knew that wasn’t the case. Unlike most people, he’d seen the shadows from up close and lived and he knew something of how they worked. They seemed to come from something the Minstrel hid under his clothes beneath his neck, and they went back there afterward. Wegrel wasn’t sure what it was but he hoped it was some sort of weakness that could perhaps be exploited. Maybe the Minstrel wasn’t all powerful after all.
Jencer the Minstrel, Man of a Thousand Shadows, Fell Scarred Magi, Binder of Auriomauch, Master of Death itself, snored softly in an alley. It was rather a nice alley he’d thought. Very warm and with a nice pile of ash and dust to sleep on. Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to sleep very well despite it due to the thunderstorm that had briefly raged overhead. Luckily it had subsided and he was just drifting off to sleep again when one of his spirits shook him awake. It was the unimportant farmer from the unimportant village.
“Wh- wh- what?” he stuttered intelligently, displaying his complete grasp of the situation.
“I have found the Undercity,” the farmer said proudly. Then his face deflated a little bit. “But I was followed,” he pointed behind him and Jencer leapt awkwardly to his feet in alarm. “Must I kill him?” the farmer asked sadly as the two of them looked across at Wegrel who was stalking toward them.
“Ah!” Jencer shouted, the great quantities of alcohol in his body doing nothing to diminish his incredible intelligence. ‘You! We- Wi- Winstonson!”
Wegrel frowned. “Jencer,” he replied. “You’ve been making a bit of a name for yourself in your hunt.”
“Hunt... hunt... what hunt?” Jencer muttered to himself with great wisdom. “Oh yes! Rogo! Where is he! No wait.” He turned to the spiritual farmer who was still floating beside him. “Where is he?”
“Rogo?” the farmer asked quietly.
“Yes, Rogo.”
“Well. I didn’t actually see Rogo, but I know how to get to the Undercity.”
“Hmmm, good enough,” Jencer replied, immediately developing a masterful plan to find Rogo. “My hunt is almost finished! I have located my quarry and... and... nothing shall stop me now!”
“I see.”
“Actually nothing shall stop me... well... ever... Right from the start nothing could have stopped me. Especially now! But also... then!” Jencer clarified for those who were less intelligent than him.
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“Right,” Wegrel didn’t seem impressed, which was ridiculous as Jencer was the most impressive thing he’d likely ever seen. “How about a deal,” Wegrel said and Jencer narrowed his incredibly impressive eyes into what was undoubtedly an incredibly impressive stare.
“A deal?”
“Yes. A bet if you will. A game.”
“A game?” Jencer liked the sound of this. He loved games, particularly those he won, which was all of them. His strategy was to kill anyone who might be beating him.
“If you win the game you get to kill Rogo and go home without a care in the world. But if he wins the game you leave and never come back. You let him carry on being alive and he will trouble you and yours no more. Either way, you win.”
Foolish man, of course Jencer would win either way. He’d make sure of that. “Three games,” he said abruptly. “I want to win three times.”
“Three games,” Wegrel said, slightly surprised. He took out a piece of paper and a quill and wrote something down on it.
“But if I win, even one game, then I win the whole thing,” Jencer said as some voice in the back of his mind niggled him about something.
Wegrel paused in his writing. “Are you sure becau-”
“Yes,” the Master of Death itself commanded. He wasn’t going to be disobeyed by some lowly town guard. He wasn’t even the guard of a real town, just the bottom of one.
Wegrel nodded and strode forward, offering the piece of paper. “Stamp some blood here then. From a finger.” He pointed at a spot on the paper underneath the various writing and scribbling he’d been doing.
His mind cloudy and drowsy, Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows, absolutely and totally read the whole thing. Completely in control of his situation and not at all confused he pricked his finger and placed it in the required spot.
Wegrel nodded curtly at him and then strode off. “Rogo will meet you in that tavern you like to frequent tomorrow morning. You’d best be there.”
He disappeared off down some street and Jencer watched him go. He’d been gone for a few minutes before everything caught up with the Minstrel and he started to panic.
Bara the sorceress of the sea looked sadly at her long lost love. He was completely stoned out of his mind by whatever poison it was that Mangon had filled him with. It was so painful seeing him staring up at her sightlessly with such empty eyes. She easily led him out of the ship and onto the dock and tried not to look at him or the fat ugly merchant or the pirate who was still lying on the deck or anything really. She could only think about the fear. The fear of what Mangon had told her in his letter. That he would kill Sengrid if she let anything happen to him or his ship. She didn’t trust this merchant, she didn’t trust this poisoner he had told her about, she didn’t trust humans in general, but she trusted Mangon’s threat, and she knew this would be all that he needed to fulfill it.
Of course once he had she could hunt him down and either ruin his life or end it but she didn’t want to do that. As hateful and terrible as Mangon was she didn’t want to kill anyone. She just wanted to live happily with Sengrid in their house by the sea. She could be free to swim beneath the waves and he could be free to work on his garden. Unbothered by evil pirates and terrible poisons.
So she was doing this anyway, because some part of her still believed in that dream. Some very small part of her.
They left the wharf and she followed Oron through the streets, leading Sengrid, glassy eyed, behind her. Oron’s guards and other companions rejoined them and flanked them on all sides. Not that she needed them. She could see scorch marks on two of the guards’ uniforms. Maybe she’d gotten a bit too close with that lightning.
They were attacked. Oron explained afterward that many people in this city were jealous of his success and were using the new lawless environment to mete out their anger. Bara wasn’t convinced that was why but she didn’t care. She easily drove off the hoards of rioters with some carefully placed lightning bolts and they continued on their way.
They reached what had once been a marketplace at the foot of several guildspires but had clearly been the victim of a great deal of looting and was now a ruin. Stalls and carts had been destroyed and all the wares long gone. Windows and doors were smashed and various bits of rubbish and debris lay strewn about, some of it blowing idly in the wind of her simmering storm.
They reached a fishmonger, which, despite the absolute carnage surrounding it, appeared completely unscathed. It looked almost as though it would open tomorrow morning like nothing had happened.
Oron knocked on the door to the back and they waited. A light went on inside and after some slow shuffling footsteps the door creaked open revealing an old woman with a lantern who peered out at them.
“Ah Oron, you’re still alive, pity. Who’ve you bought this time?” the woman muttered looking over them all. “Ah Percival, you’ve grown,” she tugged one of the guard’s cheeks much to his annoyance. “And Clarence, what happened to you?” she brushed off some of the scorch marks on his uniform. “Oh and who is this?!” she exclaimed, catching sight of Bara standing in the back. “A sorceress! My gods and angels.” She leant over to Oron and whispered to him. “I do hope you know what you’re doing.”
Oron tried to affect an air of confidence. He failed.
They went inside and sat around a table where Naya, for that was the old woman’s name, examined Sengrid.
“My gods and angels,” she muttered under her breath as she looked over him. They waited for her to tell them something but she just muttered it again.
Bara cleared her throat. “Can you help him?”
“He’s been poisoned with Eye of the Water Dragon. I didn’t even know you could make that poison this far from the Blue Isle. It must be infused with something. Lionsroot or witchwood or... something else...”
“Can you cure it?” Bara asked desperately. This woman seemed to know what she was talking about but she still wasn’t filling her with confidence.
“There is an antidote, I’ll have to make it though, that’ll take a few days. It looks like he’s been poisoned multiple times though, how is he still alive?”
“He’s fed the antidote,” Bara explained. “He’s a hostage, to keep me from destroying Mangon’s ship.”
A smirk grew out across Naya’s face. “Really? That’s bold, clever, but very bold. So the antidote might be on the ship?”
“Mangon will have the antidote and he’ll destroy it if I try to get it from him.”
“I see. How long has this been going on for?”
“Years.”
“Years!” Naya exclaimed. “That’s incredibly dangerous. His brain could very well be ruined. You should’ve brought him to me sooner.”
“Well I- Mangon would have killed him if-”
“That trick with the antidote would likely have worked but you are a sorceress. I don’t doubt you could have gotten him away unharmed if you’d wanted to. You just needed to find someone who could cure him. Someone like me.”
“Well I didn’t know about someone like you!”
“Did you look?”
Bara stopped short. She hadn’t. She’d given up almost immediately and sunken down to live beneath the sea. She’d never done well with people, those that didn’t try to kill her made her feel awkward for being a sorceress. But she still should have tried. She should have done something to help Sengrid.
“Well anyway the odds are in his favour. Part of what makes Eye of the Water Dragon so difficult to make is to do with how well it preserves everything. Most likely his brain and body are fine, if a little out of practise at... well... everything. If he’s been given the antidote and he’s been taking this for years his body should have built up something of an immunity to it. Not enough to save him but enough for me to make an antidote in time. You’re lucky this Mangon fellow didn’t use something really sinister like Dead Drop Violet, although I suppose that would’ve been tricky to get to work on a ship.”
“Can you not cure that?”
“Oh I can cure it but... let’s just say it has other problems. Anyway you all need to get out and let me work. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do something like this. Curing poisons is always the hard part.”
Bara walked idly back out onto the street. Her mind buzzing with all that had been said. A woman who could cure Sengrid. A woman who could save him and let them both finally escape from Mangon. Maybe things were actually going to work out. Maybe things were actually going to be okay.
Two riders crested a hill and looked down at Nargathrum, a city fallen into ruin. One of the riders wore a dark hood that obscured everything about him, his body, his face, his eyes. The other wore almost too little, despite what appeared to be a chilly morning he’d stripped down to just his pants and seemed to be still sweating anyway.
The man in the hood didn’t speak, he rarely did these days. Not that he had much to begin with. But the barely clothed man spoke. He wanted to do something to mark the occasion now that they were so close to their goal.
“We need a lot of water magic to cure you and down there, I’m told, is a sorceress who specialises in it. Come on,” the man said and Karnell and the Phoenix of Fort Sundrick rode into Nargathrum.