Marmaladas, the 18th of Lost Speed, 4E 201
Kharla saw Ti’lief skulking behind a large bush as she and the others descended from the Wind District.
“What is this sneak thief doing!” said Eilgird.
“He’s with us,” Kharla explained. “Ti’lief, what’s wrong?”
The Khapiit looked at Kharla, fear in his amber eyes. “Has she gone?”
“Who?” Kharla asked.
“The Rudeguard child.”
Kharal looked around. “Can’t see her.”
Ti’lief stepped tentatively out from behind the bush. “This one was giving this house a good cleaning when the husband and wife came back unexpectedly. Ti’lief had to hide. His poor ears had to endure a long argument about some old rusty sword, although this one did find out it was a stolen item and so has added it to his little book, yes. Anyway, before this one could slip away their daughter came in and found Ti’lief’s hiding place. She said something about not being scared of this one just because Ti’lief was her elder, then threatened to tell her parents about Ti’lief unless this one…” He trailed off and gave Kharla an awkward look. “Well, unless this one pretended to be her house cat. It was so embarrassing. This one had to drink milk out of a saucer on the floor, walk around on all fours, wear this little collar, and play with a ball of wool. Ti’lief couldn’t stand it anymore and took his chances and fled out a window. She screamed the house down when this one left. It was like one of those Daughtr.”
Eilgird put her hands on her hips. “Were you trespassing, sneak thief?”
The Khapiit stood a little taller and stared into the faceless visor of the guard. “Ti’lief is no thief. This one is an anti-thief.”
“An anti-thief? I have heard everything now. I should haul you off to the dungeon, Cat!”
“Ti’lief,” the Dark Elf began, “is a sort of cleaner who prefers to work in secret. He cleans and tidies homes for free and leaves little gifts for the occupants.”
“Ah,” began Eilgird, folding her arms. “We’ve had reports of people claiming their houses have been cleaned and reorganized in an unforgivably ordered manner. One poor chap couldn’t find his Sweet Roll until he worked out everything had been stored alphabetically in his pantry. Another young woman spent the afternoon swapping all the pictures around after they’d been rehung based on size, with the biggest one at the top in the bedroom and the smallest one on the wall by the front door.”
“It’s hard to please everyone,” Ti’lief admitted.
Eilgird sighed. “Trespass is still trespass. You need to pay five gold pieces or it’s off to the dungeon with you.”
“Here,” Draloth said, handing five coins to the guard. He turned to the Khapiit. “That came out of your share of the loot from Teak Halls. Here’s the rest.” The merchant handed Ti’lief the bag of coins he’d taken the gold from.
“Have you seen Mell?” Kharla asked the Cat.
“No, but she’s not in any of the bushes. That this one does know.”
“Maybe she’s still in there,” Draloth said, indicating toward the building sat between the trader and the Mannered Bear. The sign outside read ‘Orcadia’s Crouton — Purveyor of Fine Soups & Potions’.
The five of them entered the store and found Mell and another woman on the floor sorting out hundreds of little white packets.
The Breton looked up. “Oh, hello!” She turned to the other woman and introduced all of them to her, except for Eilgird of course, whom Kharla had to introduce.
After Mell introduced the woman as the owner of the store, she shook her head lamentably. “Someone broke into Orcadia’s store last night and rearranged all her packets by expiry date,”—Ti’lief looked up innocently and feigned an interest in the intricately designed knitwear products that hung from the ceiling—“We’re putting them back in order. Did you know that you can buy dried potions here as well as soups? You just add water. Simple idea. No more smashed potion bottles, and they’re a lot easier to carry. I came in to buy something to perk me up, but Orcadia said I might be suffering from more than just depression so we decided to look through all the possible remedies and that’s when she spotted what had happened.” She stood up. “But now I think about it, it is beginning to drag a bit.”
Mell said goodbye to Orcadia, stuffing the packets she’d purchased into the pouches about her belt, and the six of them, led eagerly by Ti’lief, exited the shop.
No sooner had they stepped out of Orcadia’s Crouton than a dirty-looking man whose face reminded Kharla of a dried bean approached them. “I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver—your hands only. Let’s see here…ah, an invitation to High Healthspa. Moving up in the world, eh?”
He thrust a piece of paper into Thral’s hand. “Important deliveries to make! No time for chatting!” And he dashed off.
Thral looked at the letter and then handed it to Kharla. “Words!”
Kharla read the letter.
“What does it say?” asked Draloth.
Kharla handed the missive to the Dark Elf. “It’s some kind of entry ticket, like the ones we used to have at Master and Madame Jambaree’s Carnival of Wonders.”
“Yes,” said Draloth. “For ‘the Dragonbore plus five’ it says. ‘Entry to the Academy of High Healthspa and complementary wellness retreat — includes discount on all beard-grooming services’. Very interesting.” The merchant stroked his chin. Always wondered what it must be like to have a beard.”
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Dark Elves, in case you did not know, cannot grow beards. Or mustaches. Actually, any facial hair at all. This has allowed our race to focus on hair care and, even if I do say so myself, we boast some of the finest hairstylists in all Tamarind. Indeed, so splendid are some of the haircuts among the more wealthy of our kind that we often take to wearing caps so that other races cannot copy the magnificent designs of our dressers of hair.
“What’s all this about?” Ti’lief asked. “And do they groom Khapiit fur too?”
Kharla filled in the Cat, Mell and Eilgird on what Baldgoof had said about the Greatbeards and the Dragonbore.
Mell clasped her hands together after Kharla had finished. “I’ve always wanted to go to High Healthspa! It’s said they have the most relaxing hot baths, and a wide range of scented soaps, up there away from the noise of the world. I think it would do wonders for my depression.”
“How big is this High Healthspa?” asked the Khapiit.
“I hear it is very big, like a large stone-built temple, and very old,” Eilgird answered.
“Oh good, this one thinks he would like to take on such a challenge. It must be in great need of a good clean.”
“If you say so,” Eilgird replied.
Kharla looked up at the sky and then to the great mountain. “Well, it’s getting late. I say we leave first thing in the morning. Now, there’s just the matter of where to sleep tonight.”
“Oh,” Eilgird perked up. “Why not the Mannered Bear?”
“Um, that’s erm—”
“Full!” Draloth interrupted. “Completely full.”
“I see,” said Eilgird. “Well, there’s an empty house we’ve been trying to sell off to someone with low standards for quite a while now. I happen to have a copy of the key. We check it now and again to make sure no unwanted guests have taken up residence — Skreevers, squatters, scrumpy addicts, vampires, that sort of thing. I guess we could use it.”
The old house, sat right next to the smithy near the entrance of the city, was indeed bare. Unfurnished was an understatement. Cobwebs filled the rooms, though thankfully they were the creations of house spiders, not the larger Frostboot variety.
Kharla went out to buy bedrolls and food for everyone, and when she got back Draloth and Bessie were inside. She briefly wondered how the Dark Elf managed to get the cow through the front door but then decided she didn’t want to know. “I thought you had a place at the Drunken Hitman?”
“I did until the owner met Bessie, or should I say until he smelled Bessie? Said her stench was wafting in through the doors and windows and putting off his customers from their drinks. He wouldn’t see reason, even when I offered to buy some clothes pegs. You can never reason with a Wood Elf.”
After they got the fire going, had a good meal, and found out what Eilgird looked like after she took off her helmet (yes, long blonde hair), they all bedded down for the night in their bedrolls. Kharla, all tucked up in her warm new bedroll at the bottom of the stairs, drifted off to sleep to the sound of Bessie eating a small bale of hay in the small room in which she’d been secured at the back of the house.
“You almost killed me!” came the voice into Kharla’s dream and she woke up. Was that Draloth’s voice?
“Death would be too good for you!” came the older deeper voice she’d heard before coming from the Dark Elf’s room the night of the fire at the Mannered Bear.
Kharla pushed herself up. That voice really didn’t sound like Draloth’s. A Dark Elf, yes, but not the merchant’s voice.
“You need to stop interfering,” came Draloth’s voice.
“And what do you intend to do about it if I don’t, merchant?” came the older voice.
Kharla lit a torch from the embers of the fire pit and crept upstairs. Thral and the Cat slept in bedrolls on opposite sides of the floor, a regular snore emanating from the former and occasional whimper from the latter. Draloth had taken the little adjoining room. Kharla snuck up to the door.
“And who are these characters you’ve taken up with? You’ll never get anywhere by associating with these ne’er-do-wells, you know!”
Kharla, curiosity finally getting the better of her (not to mention being called a ne’er-do-well), opened the door.
In the small room, not two strides from her, stood the bluish apparition of a Dark Elf. A ghost. Her free hand went to her axe.
“Ah, the Orc!” the apparition said. It was more a sneer than a statement.
Kharla saw Draloth sitting on his bedroll. He looked shocked, as if she’d discovered some dark secret. Maybe she had. Or a Dark Elf secret, at least. “Ah, Kharla. This is Nyranfar.”
The apparition gave a lackluster flourish with his hand. “Nyranfar Incando, former Master of the Flame, of House Redolent of Marrowind.”
Kharla frowned. “Incando?”
“Yes, I have the very great dishonor of being the great-great-grandfather of this poor excuse for a Dark Elf.” Nyranfar pointed a long blue finger at Draloth.
“You’re dead,” Kharla said.
“Is that a threat?” the apparition asked, a spectral eyebrow raising under the skullcap he wore. “Oh, wait. No, I see what you mean.” His voice was thick with sarcasm. “My apologies, it is hard to imagine an Orc asking a question rather than making a threat. Yes, I am dead. And I’m also dead tired of this conversation. So I shall say goodnight.” And so saying he disappeared.
Draloth smiled awkwardly as Kharla stared at him. “It’s a long story.”
“I’d kind of like to know who I’m traveling with, living and dead.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.” Draloth sighed. “He’s my ancestral wrath.”
Kharla gave him a blank look.
“You see, we Dark Elves can summon an aspect of our ancestors’ power to protect us—an ancestral wrath, if you will, that’s directed at our enemies in time of need; normally in the form of fire. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.” Draloth ran a hand through his short well-groomed black hair. It was the first time Kharla had seen him without his cap. “But, well, Nyranfar’s wrath is more directed at me. I come from a line of very accomplished Dark Elves. Great sorcerers or holders of some great office of state, that sort of thing. Nyranfar has taken it as a personal affront to the good name of the family that I’ve chosen the merchant’s trade. He sabotaged my last business. Burned my store down to the ground.”
“So he started the fire in the Mannered Bear?”
Draloth lowered his head and sighed. “Yes, he’s become increasingly hotheaded. I think he may now feel that preserving the good name of the family is more important than preserving me.”
“Can you just not summon him?” Kharla asked.
“Well, in theory, he’s only supposed to appear when my life is threatened, but he seems to have inverted this and appears when my life can be threatened.”
“How can he start fires if he’s just a spirit?”
“In life, he was a powerful fire mage. It gives him the power to manipulate fire, though he cannot create it. It must be drawn from a nearby source. A candle, torch, that sort of thing. And there’s usually something like that around. I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill me, just warn me off.”
“Either way, I don’t want to go up in flames one night,” Kharla said. “We’ll take turns to keep watch from now on.”
“Oh, please, don’t tell the others. It’s highly embarrassing. And if it spreads I’ll never be allowed to set up business anywhere!”
Kharla looked down at the pitiful Dark Elf. “Well, we should set a watch anyway. It’s best practice. No need to tell anyone about this Nyranfar unless he becomes a problem.”
Down below, Bessie mooed.