If you ask someone where a story begins, you will get one of two answers. Taleweavers and bards will inevitably pull you into an extensive philosophical discussion from which you will be lucky to get out alive before starving to death. They will tell you that due to cause and effect inherently being traceable back through Infinity to some unknown point when all of existence began, every story technically begins at the same place, but since a story is a small part of reality, the beginning of any narrative is a grueling task to choose, inherently based on how you choose to tell the tale.
Famous Dwarven Tale Smith, Bogrik Steel handle, is known for starting his yarns firmly in the present and working backwards towards the instigating event. At the other end of the spectrum is Novicious Clemp, a Gnomish bard, who would begin narratives in the distant past, leading listeners through huge events in history, jumping from cause to effect, leading the story to a point where it would slow and follow a more traditional pace before shooting off again, into a theorized future.
In the middle, the works of most ballad crafters, play writes, and entertainers sat comfortably, starting in the middle of events and moving forward, with brief interludes of past actions when needed for context.
The merits and issues with any of these styles and many more have been discussed, written upon, debated, and fought over for several centuries by those who take the craft seriously. The current consensus is that there is no true or simple answer to such a complex question.
The other answer you will get, from anybody who does not tell stories for a living, is a simple and obvious 'at the beginning'.
Our beginning begins with understanding whom our story is about: a street magician, a bookkeeper, a handful of wizard students, a werewolf, some pirates turned explorers, twin sisters, a dwarf with an odd addiction, a burnt-out thief, a sword for hire, an 11-year-old Paladin of nothing, a local folk hero, a dog in a hat, a man with a curse, the woman trying to break that curse, and a group that calls themselves The Emerald Order, which is whom we will begin with.
They are a merry band of five who have for one reason or another, allied themselves together as adventurers registered under the laws of the land. We begin in the middle of one such adventure, close to what they would think of as an end, but in reality, a beginning all its own.
PART I : PLOT HOOKED
THE EMERALD ORDER
It wasn't agreed upon to call themselves The Emerald Order; other names they went by included, but were not limited to: The Jade Crusade, The Finders of the Lost Fang, The Company of the Crimson Lamp, The Victorious Five, and Eryl Beldin's Travelling Questonauts for Hire. Eryl wasn't sure why nobody else liked that last one. The group could all agree on one thing though; it was time for a relaxing stay in Maydale, where they would turn their recently acquired treasures into cold hard coin.
It was just around sunset when the group arrived at the western gate, their two-horse cart carrying loot and goodies from the past month's adventuring. The ruins of Brewold Tower to the Southwest had yielded far more than they had expected. Instead of a few goblins or ghouls, the team had found an entire group of cultists, bent on summoning some evil spirit from the Neverside. They fell to blade and fire like anything else, but the rewards that the ruined tower gave up, held beyond a hidden door, felt like an unfair level of reward. Unfair, but not refused, obviously.
The air was already chill and smelled of the sea. It was uncommon for early evenings to be this cold only a few days into autumn, but the summer had been unusually hot, and the quickly falling temperature was a welcome change. It, of course, was a sign of a long, hard winter but that was a worry for another day.
"Let's go over it one more time, everybody." came a voice with the unusual mix of being both lithe and booming. Vinda Eselbress sat wrapped up in a blanket in the back of the ragged, open air cart, and spoke above the noise of the wheels bumping along the dirt road towards the gate. She was a tall, thin elf woman of only 143 years, and under her short blonde hair, fair skin, and feminine frame, there were hidden rock-hard muscles and more battle experience than any human could conceivably get in a lifetime. "We say we have iron for the blacksmith so we can store the cart in the merchant's lot. Belvar bribes the guards to keep a close eye on it, and Pestus convinces the customs official to not look too hard. Sound off."
Belvar spoke first from behind the cart, his deep, gravelly timbre penetrating the relatively calm night air. "I will happily tip the vigilant watchmen for a job well done in advance for keeping our goods safe." He smiled, convincing himself that he was not about to bribe law enforcement. His bright white teeth shone out in the dusk, contrasted by just over seven feet of very dark purple skin. Belvar had always been willing to walk the line between what the law deemed right and wrong, and truly believed that if you could see it as being good, it would be counted as good. The intent mattered almost more than the deed to him as well as, he believed, to his God of healing and generosity, Artak. Although he was a dark elf, he had been raised by a very devout human couple and become a cleric as a teen. He was more generous and giving of himself than most people thought his race could possibly be.
Pestus mumbled grumpily from underneath his wool blanket and shifted around. The small gnome was still half asleep, his dirty black cap over his eyes, his body wedged between a box of art pieces and a bag stuffed with dirty clothes, half of which were stained with blood. He spoke up after a gentle kick to the foot from Vinda. "Ehhhnn.” he groaned, “I'll make sure the lookie-loo don’t look too hard. I'll uh.. tip him in advance or whatever." A stubby little hand peeked out from underneath the blanket and pulled it tighter around Pestus’s small frame.
"Ooooo," came Eryl's excitable voice from the driver's seat. "What if you gave him a bit of the loot? Like, one of those little figurines. Tell him it's a gift, but now that he knows what we have, if anything goes missing, we'll have to suspect it was him!" Eryl sounded as if he was birthing the idea as it came up his throat. His long thin arm swept through the air to nobody in particular. "And he doesn't want a bunch of hung-over adventurers pissed off at him. Then we have another set of eyes keeping our stuff safe!" You could hear the smile on his face widening as he realized how good an idea it was. Eryl ran his fingers through his shockingly white hair as he chuckled to himself.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," replied the gnome before he began to snore a gentle, tiny snore. Pestus had gone through the roughest time in Brewold Tower of the bunch, and nobody minded his extra rest. On top of a nasty gash to his right arm which had only just healed enough to not need a sling and being mind-controlled briefly by a cultist warlock, Pestus was the recipient of every racial slur he had ever heard and then some new ones. Not only were the cultists evil and cruel, but they were as Pestus stated, 'racist sacks of fish dicks.'
Bridgette sat next to Eryl on the wooden driver's bench, reading a small, leather bound journal by the light of a stone she had cast a spell on to illuminate. She had taken the blood spattered journal from a cultist during the looting, and hadn't heard a word anybody had said for at least the last 4 miles, she was so engrossed in its contents. The change in ambient noise, although, snapped her back to reality.
The relaxing noise of chirp bugs and lake frogs in the distance was gone, replaced by the sounds of a busy road now that they had passed through the tall wood and iron gates into Maydale. Horses and carts surrounded them, people walking interspersed throughout the slow traffic. Voices came in waves from all around. Bridgettes soft, golden brown eyes focused on her surroundings. Eryl took note of her return to clarity.
"You alright, Beehive?" Eryl asked. Bridgette nodded and gave him her most genuine smile, making her eyes squint. Her left hand reached out and squeezed his right. Both hands had a small tattoo on the inner wrist, symbolizing their marriage in the Elven culture, under which they were wed almost 4 years ago. It was a rare ceremony, two humans married in such a way. A gift from an Elven Hierophant for saving their town. Her gaze swept to the town they were slowly progressing through. Eryl’s gaze remained on his wife.
She was shorter than him by almost a full foot. It wasn't what had attracted him to her originally, but instead her willingness to laugh out loud at the most inappropriate jokes, her mastery of the arcane arts, and the willingness to use any means necessary to achieve a goal. It didn't take long for him to fall in love with each and every part of her though, from her mess of shoulder length black hair to her soft, tan skin, down to her dainty toes. Her body, as he had often said, was just icing on the cake that was her soul. He was, as many people often told him, a sap farm.
The roads were wide and clean. Shops on either side of the main road near the gate were still bustling. Street lamps were lit and cast a pleasant yellow glow to the area. Maydale was a safe town, with almost no crime to speak of compared to similarly sized cities. This was attributed to their well-lit nights, well patrolled days, friendly attitude, and hosting dozens of groups of heavily armed visitors at any time. To steal from Maydale was to steal from the adventurers within. If crime did happen, it was usually between adventuring parties, and was incredibly rare, as justice could be dealt by the offended party legally.
Not far from the gate, between a tailor shop and a cobbler, was the path towards the Merchant's Lot. It was a large sheltered place for carriage or cart parking overnight so that late arrivals could safely leave goods outside and not have to unload their carts in the dark. People carrying goods for craftsmen or merchants were treated very well in Maydale. The horses would be taken care of and the cart would be placed under a simple roof to protect it from the weather. If the group weren’t able to convince the guards they belonged there, they would have to either unload the cart into their inn rooms and sleep with one eye open, or park the cart somewhere unguarded, and assign guard rotation. ‘Just because a place is safe, doesn't mean bad luck never visits.’ Pestus liked to say.
"Alright," came the stern, but small voice again. "Let's move, people." Vinda stood while the cart plodded along the path to the lot where two guards stood. She picked up her bag, big enough to hold two of herself, and just as heavy and hopped off the moving cart. She slung her pack of armor and weapons over her shoulder with a clatter and called back to Eryl. "I'll find us a table and rooms!"
Eryl waved his acknowledgment and elbowed Bridgette gently. "Go with her and make sure she stays under her limit, okay?" From his sharp angled features, and slightly pointed ears, many believed him to have elf blood. His usually pale skin added to this belief, but unlike elves, he tanned in the summer. It would fade soon, he knew. It was the first week of Windblown, the first of the two autumn months.
Bridgette stretched up to kiss Eryl on the cheek and climbed off the cart seat as it stopped at the lot gate. She pulled her dusty red cloak closed against a brief chill and by the time she had walked to the back of the cart, Belvar was already holding her bag out with a big, friendly, Belvar grin. His skin had always reminded her of the sky just before the sun was gone, and she thought his teeth were as bright as Evett, the smaller of the two moons. Because of this, she had taken to calling him a night elf long ago.
Everybody had been wary of Belvar when he had asked to join the group on their quests. Dark elves were usually, but not always, spiteful and conniving. Being raised in a culture that values racial purity and hate of anything different tends to breed not very nice people. But Belvar had been rescued as a child from a terrible fire that had taken every relative he had at a very young age. His sweetness and warmth quickly dissolved any bias the group had felt towards him. He had earned more than his keep these last three years.
"Arise, tallest of the tall. It is time to earn your ale." Belvar called to Pestus in his booming, joyful voice with a single pound of his armored fist at the back of the cart. Pestus smiled despite himself at the moniker.
"Don't you ever have a bad day?" Pestus asked, standing up, blanket wrapped around his fancy yet thin clothes to shield him from the cooling night air.
"Only when my friends do." came the answer, followed by a hearty laugh from deep in Belvar's belly that gave the approaching lot guards pause.
Vinda and Bridgette arrived at The Full Purse together. The elf may have had a longer stride and much more muscle, but Bridgette wasn't carrying a full set of armor and quickly caught up to the party's fighter. The Purse, as it was usually called, hadn’t changed a bit since their last visit. The bar was just full enough. It was loud, but not annoyingly so, the kind of loud that felt welcoming and almost begged you to add to the conversation. It was also filled with a thousand scents and smokes. The smells mingled together in an opera of aromatic information to the well-informed. Taking a deep breath in through their noses, the women could tell that duck was the meat of the night from the deliciously greasy smell of meat and spice. A hint of Underleaf burning meant that Old Riven was most likely sitting in his corner, smoking his pipe and thinking wizard thoughts.
Bridgette caught whiffs of a more magical nature. She could detect the lingering but faint aroma of a spell of eternal flame, most likely what kept the fireplace roaring. Other scents, only detectable by those of arcane learning, wafted around lightly in the air. The Purse was never home to dangerous or malicious scents or sounds. Bridgette couldn't even imagine what would have to transpire for a real battle involving harmful spells to take place here. The Purse was neutral, common ground to everyone and woe be unto those who try to shatter this peaceful locale.
In Vinda's head, the smell of pine from the fireplace danced around the heady scent of man sweat and the road dust she had brought to the scent buffet. She marched up to the bar, Bridgette following behind through the crowd, with a massive, uncontrollable smile on her smooth, pale face and cleared her long thin throat. And then, out from the mouth of a woman who would appear to weigh no more than a teenage boy, came a booming voice that turned the heads of those near her.
"I need three rooms and a man to share mine with!" Vinda shouted, although it sounded more like an impossibly large man had spoken in a stern voice over the din of the building. A couple cheers went up from those who recognized the voice or men willing to volunteer. The bartender, a stocky man with hair combed over his rapidly balding top, chuckled and approached. Bridgette giggled silently, always finding humor in Vinda's 'war voice'.
Vinda had been a soldier for decades in the Elven armies. Moving from banner to banner, teaching others and leading charges, she was nearly a war hero. There had only been two real wars the Elven armies participated in in the last 100 years, and Vinda barely saw any action in either. She was capable and skilled, there is no doubt, but her chance to shine never came. Growing bored of waiting for a war nobody wanted, she left the Elven lands and traveled South-East across the Boolean Ocean to the Continent of Huryon, where she found a new family with which she could finally shine. Her tall, thin frame and light, airy voice betrayed the muscles of coiled steel and leadership skills. Vinda found she liked people getting the wrong idea about her.
“Back this way again, are you?” asked the bartender in a thick accent.
“We always return to The Purse, Ralan.” Vinda grinned wickedly. “Now, give me the keys and point me to the sailors.”
By the time the men of the crew had finished greasing palms and making veiled threats to protect their well-earned booty, Vinda had found a strapping young couple of men to drink with at a table near the fireplace and Bridgette had retired to her and Eryl’s room to bury her nose back in the journal.
"Well, lads," Eryl said, clapping Belvar on the shoulder as the three men stood just inside the entryway. "We've earned a bit of rest. So let's get totally black-out drunk and regret it tomorrow."
"Hear, hear!" Pestus cheered, throwing his good arm in the air.
"I think it would be wise if I were to skip the regretting and move onto prayer, Eryl. Perhaps with luck, I will fall asleep before my legs realize that it is time to be sore from the day’s walk." Belvar chuckled.
"Suit yourself, big guy. Could you find Vin for us and grab the keys from her before she slips away, first?" Eryl flashed a grin, and hurried off to the bar behind Pestus who was dashing through a loose crowd of legs to get to an empty bar stool. Pestus stood at a solid 2 inches over 3 feet, and looked more like a human child from behind albeit with longer, pointier ears. From the front, however, you couldn’t mistake him for anything but an adult, with his deeply creased worry lines, stubble covered chin, and full dark mustache.
"Boys, I think tonight is going to start a long and happy friendship between all three of us." Vinda said in a slightly louder version of her normal speaking voice. She had one arm around each of the men, and was easily a hair taller than the bigger of the two. The one to her right was a young man who had come to find work and get enough money to start something or other that Vinda wasn’t paying attention to. The man on her left had a thick dark beard, a scar over his right cheek, and a tattoo on his arm of a sea monster crushing a ship, and that was all Vinda needed to know about him.
Belvar strode up to the table and sat across from the trio, setting his sack down gently by his chair.
"Good evening, Vinda. I am here to collect the room keys for the rest of us." His smile was bright and genuine. Without knowing him, though, you might have found it threatening or scary.
"Oh!" Vinda paused and blinked a slow, tipsy blink. "Right! Keys." She easily pushed the men away with her elbows and pulled a key from her pocket. "This one is yours, Bridgey's already in hers. She's in 13, you're in 15 with Pestus, and we’ll be demolishing 14." She closed her eyes and beamed a drunken, self-satisfied smile.
"A thousand thanks, and may I make a request of the gentlemen?" Belvar started to stand, eyeing the two suitors. "I will be in the room next to you. Please, keep the noise down enough for me to rest. Enjoy your night." He flashed a toothy smile and walked off with his bag towards the stairs.
"Was that..? That was a dark elf, wasn't it?" said the inventor. Or was he an alchemist? It didn’t matter. He was the younger one with a mop of curly red hair, perfect for pulling on.
"Mmmmmmmmhm!" was Vinda's reply and she pulled them both back towards her bosom with strong arms around their necks. "But, let's talk about me, instead."
"I can't get over how much better it is over here in the East." Pestus finally said after a long pause following his first pull of dark brown ale. "They give people my size the same mug as people your size. It's astounding that they won't do it back home."
"Well, friend," Eryl started, leaning forward in his bar stool, elbows on the smooth, worn wood, "it all comes down to money over there. Why give out more product than you have to for the same price? It's clever. Shrewd and oppressive, yes. Wrong, yes. But, clever. The real shock isn't that they do it, it's that they get away with it. I keep saying, the people need-"
"Need to rise up, yes. I know, Eryl. I've heard the changing winds or whatever you call it. I have. But I don't think it'll happen in our lives." Pestus took a long pull, sensing the conversation might go someplace less than joyous if the subject wasn't cut short.
"Bah!" Eryl dismissed the subject as well with the wave of his hand and downed the small vial of high potency grog he had ordered. It was a greenish sort of gray color and smelled like somebody had spritzed a mass grave with a single lemon wedge. It tasted like somebody had died on a mountain of mint that was also on fire. But, it got the job done quickly. In a few minutes Eryl would feel as happy and fluid as if he had chugged a half dozen mugs of ale. He slapped the bar and let out a loud breath.
Something caught Eryl's eye and he smiled at his own brilliance. "I believe I hear my wife calling me." he said in a blatantly mischievous way, and left his seat to Pestus's confusion. "You may have my seat, miss!" Eryl said a little too loudly to somebody. Another gnome climbed up into Eryl's bar stool, thanked him, and smiled politely at Pestus before looking for the barman.
Gods above, she is gorgeous. Pestus thought, his jaw hanging open. I have forgotten how to speak! Oh Gods! Strike me down now before I totally ruin this conversation.
"Excuse me." Pestus's voice seemed to come out all on its own. "May I buy you whatever drink you want, please, for you to drink with me?"
"Oh?" the woman turned her head and looked wide-eyed into Pestus's very soul it seemed.
"It's just so rare that I see another gnome this far from the homeland. Please, I insist." He had gotten control of his thought process, but only barely. Her eyes were like shiny saucers, deep and full of the most heavenly honey. Her ears were longer than most gnome's and he couldn’t wait to be comfortable enough with her to tell her how much he loved long ears on a lady.
"Of course!" Her gaze softened and the smile on her face brought her whole being into focus for him. Pestus was weak at the knees. He returned the smile, and it touched every part of his face.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Halfway up the stairs, Eryl realized that he did not know what room he was in, or where the key was. The mint avalanche in his belly told him to keep going up the stairs now, while he could. Luckily, he spotted Belvar leaving a room. Eryl strode towards his friend with a happily drunk lean to his walk.
"Friend!" Eryl said a bit too loudly. He cringed his whole body and shushed himself. Belvar smiled back and waved. He was out of his armor, wearing only his travel clothes. It was such a rare sight to see Belvar without chain mail or at the least, his holy tabard.
"Eryl. I believe Bridgette has fallen asleep. Either that, or she has given herself over to that book again and shut out all other things. She did not answer her door when I knocked." Belvar pointed to the door with a gilded 13 carved into it.
"Ah." Eryl whispered, now overcompensating. "Let us check." The door was unlocked. Bridgette was in fact, totally engrossed in the small journal once more. She sat on the bed with her legs crossed under her, wearing only a sheer white night dress. She didn't respond to hearing the door open.
Eryl nodded to Belvar that everything was alright and gave a positive thumbs up, closing the door behind him with a whispered, "Have a good night, Belvar. Don't let Vinda keep the whole floor awake."
Belvar chuckled and shook his head saying, "I will do my best, my friend." and headed back downstairs.
Taking in the sight of the tavern area from the stairs, Belvar could see Vinda had ditched the red-headed young man for a different one. Brown hair, this time, and expensive clothes. Pestus was at the bar with a gnome lady, talking excitedly. He thought of Eryl and Bridgette, happy together in their room. He sighed contentedly for his friends. The tiniest wisp of sadness and lonesomeness blew by him, but was quickly gone. He had his friends. He was there for them, they were here for him, and that was all he needed.
Belvar spent the next hour chatting up strangers and doing his best to make new friends and contacts. Being a tall, imposing dark elf made conversation rough to start, but his infinite patience and wealth of charm turned most, if not all, into believers that dark elves can be just as friendly and valued as any other person.
After Vinda retired upstairs, half carried by her attending man toys, Pestus caught Belvar's eye and signaled with a nod to the woman and a look upstairs that he wished to bed the lass. Belvar grinned and nodded his agreement. He would simply sleep with the cart. He felt safer just thinking about it. He trusted the guards and the customs official, but Belvar always trusted his own senses most.
In room 13, Eryl had gotten undressed down to his long pants and jumped on the soft wool filled bed. "My love.." he cooed at Bridgette. She blinked rapidly and shook her head to clear the cobwebs of being pulled into the book. She glanced at him and smiled, looking his body up and down with pleasure. She had always been attracted to thin, toned men. His frame was small and stretched out, but over his bones were hard, if small, muscles. He wasn't as ripped and chiseled as a statues form, but his was well defined. His body was like iron wrapped in velvet. Smooth skin over solid mass. Her smile grew to a loving grin she could not control.
"What’s even in that book, honey pie?" he half mumbled, the drink quickly burning away his focus on reality. Bridgette expertly waved her hands and articulated her fingers, conjuring illusionary images between them. The images gave off a weak light, and told the story she had been reading in the journal. Details were hard to show, but Eryl knew her well enough to infer things from her pictures.
This is the only way she was able to communicate now: with her magic and talent for illusion spells. Her voice had been stolen by a witch a little over a year ago, in the second half of summer, the Turn of Fire. Unknown to the group at the time, the voice would be lost forever, instead of returned, when the witch was killed. The witch was very much killed, and with an excessive level of gusto. When Bridgette's voice did not return, Eryl made sure the witch's soul would never know peace.
The images played out in three dimensions, but with limited color, above her hands. Bridgette was capable of lifelike images, but so much motion and fast action was easier if only a few colors weren't drab and muddled. The story played out slowly, Eryl having to drunkenly guess their meanings until Bridgette nodded and moved on. The images went thusly:
Four dark figures walking through a vibrant red and orange forest. It was fall.
The figures find a small spring of water, bubbling up out of a pile of rocks.
The figures drink from the spring and are filled with a vibrant burst of color.
The figures become happy, but the colors fade. They drink again.
The burst of color isn't as strong as before. It fades faster.
They drink and drink, desperate to feel whatever it was the color represented.
Once the color doesn't come at all, one of the figures kicks the rock pile over.
A ghostly purple hand, all sharp lines and angles, comes out of the rocks.
The hand grabs the one who kicked the pile and crushes him to dust.
The other figures run. The trees turn white. Then green. Two seasons had passed.
The three figures talk to each other. Images of what they are saying play above them.
A sword above one. He thinks they should fight.
A boat above another. He thinks they should sail away and run.
The last image is of 3 men bowing before the hand. They all agree. They will try to appease it.
The hand comes for the figures and they kneel, then bow, then pray, arms out, heads down.
The hand stops and begins to caress the figures. They are filled with a sick purple light.
The three figures are shown talking to other dark figures. They, in turn, become purple.
An image of the continent of Huryon, rough but recognizable, showed a purple mass in the West.
The small purple cloud moved over the land, growing in size slowly until it stopped near the center of the land mass. This is where the Lagrange Mountains were.
The cloud stayed still but spread tendrils out and grew quickly. Small bits came off the larger cloud and spread out to the corners of the land.
The image came down and zoomed in on one of the small separated bits. It drifted East towards where the ruined tower of Brewold was. Once it reached the shape of the tower, the images faded away.
"So.. Those cultists were just a small splinter from a larger group? In the damn mountains?" Eryl asked, starting to sober up already. "Lagrange doesn't have a lot to offer, though. How'd they get bigger in a mess of rocks and monsters?" He thought of the answer as soon as he had finished asking. Bridgette frowned, knowing that he would figure the obvious out. "They recruit monsters? Orcs and goblins? What else? Does it say?"
Bridgette shook her head and looked down at the journal beside her. She shrugged and returned her gaze to his eyes. Her story had frightened him. She smiled softly and leaned forward, kissing him on the forehead. Her lips stayed against his skin, her love for him seeping into his mind. Once Eryl got his arms around her soft middle, he pushed the cults and monsters out of his mind easily.
The lot guards recognized Belvar immediately with a nod. He met no resistance going to his own cart, unpacking a bedroll and making himself comfortable in the small space not occupied by crates and sacks full of cultist loot. He whispered to himself a prayer.
"Oh, Gods above and Gods Below, Gods within and without, I thank you for another day with my friends. My family. You have blessed me in this world, and I shall sing of your glory for all time for it. Please watch over all of us as we fall, screaming like children, towards inevitability. Good night, Gods. May you rest as well as babes in the arms of mothers."
He barely registered how much money he was going to sleep next to. He couldn't even begin to try. The raw coinage was little, but within the ruins of the tower, there had been jewels and golden statuettes. Art pieces varied from woven tapestries to small paintings. Oddities and treasures abound after the cultists were dealt with.
It was as if the old tower sighed relief from being purged of such evil and opened itself to reward them. While cleaning up the dead, blessing them extra hard for their sins, and freeing them of any worldly goods they would no longer need, Belvar had found an odd key on what had earlier seemed to be an empty shelf. When he picked the key up it had started to glow. He immediately took this as a positive sign from his God, Artak. He was, after all, the God of gifts.
Moving the key would increase or decrease the glow, and it took Belvar only a few moments to find where the key glowed brightest. It was by the inner wall, near a funny shaped crack between two stones. The key fit perfectly and a section of the wall to the left of the crack lowered into the floor with a loud grinding sound. The noise had attracted the others, and all together they carefully explored the hidden passage. It had led them down flights of stairs to what seemed to be a private collection of art and magical items. Cobwebs grew thick, and dust had settled decades ago. It was agreed after some discussion that nobody would miss these things, but they were to be carefully checked before being touched. You only pick a cursed item up once before you learn your lesson.
Some things were left behind by choice. Powerful items that fought against being touched or looked at. Some things were left behind after a heated argument. Magic stones that could not be identified, a book that seemed to breathe, and a statue of a cat made of blood marble. There was only one thing left behind due to simple logistics, and that was the rug. The entire floor, which was two hallways and six rooms, had a rug made to fit the exact shape of the floor's layout. There was absolutely no way to take it, but upon close inspection it was agreed that a hand sized piece of something that high quality would fetch as much as any of the room's goodies would, although cutting it would render it worthless.
Belvar drifted off to sleep, his mind gently pulled towards the short, wide locked box behind the driving seat. He could see it clearly in his mind. It was a squat rectangle, as wide as the cart would allow, with two locks, equally distance from each other and the edges. A boring looking, dark wooden thing, with dull iron along the edges. He knew that only Pestus could open it, and that which lock had to be unlocked first depended upon many things, such as the phases of the moons, time of day, and the weather. This box, which Pestus had claimed would be well worth his share of the group's loot alone, called to Belvar with gentle whispers.
'Belvar..' it cooed. 'Belvar.. I am so scared and alone. Please check on me. I am not certain I am safe here.'
Belvar blinked his eyes open and the wispy voice ceased. He heard only distant voices from the street and frog song coming from a puddle somewhere nearby. He strained for a moment to hear anything else. Nothing. He didn't even recall what it was he had heard. His eyes closed again and he relaxed, wondering if he had heard a voice in his ears, or in his mind. Deciding it was a dream, he drifted off. Nothing in the box could possibly talk to him anyway, he would have thought, had somebody suggested it. The entire inside of the box had been coated with an Anti-Magic lacquer. Very pricey, but well worth it while transporting what could be dangerous goods, or in one unforgettable case, magical creatures.
Back at the tavern, in room 13, Eryl and Bridgette huddled together, naked under a thick, knit blanket. Bridgette had her ear pressed to Eryls chest, listening to the relaxing sound of his heart beating against his ribs. It was precisely where her head went if they hugged standing up. Eryl’s tall thin frame perfectly fit her shorter, thicker body. She let out an almost silent sigh. Nothing but the sound of air blandly being expelled came out, but by the big, dumb grin that had been on her face when she rested on his chest, Eryl knew he did well.
Eryl's long, musician's fingers played in his wife’s pitch black hair. It curled just right, and framed her face in the most beautiful way, he thought. She had gotten it cut and styled this way in a luxurious salon in Gerihym last Snowfall, and she had used her magic to keep it from growing ever since. Ah, Gerihym. Eryl thought idly, his mind darting around from one mental connection to another. We really should revisit there someday when we have the money. Money. We should be rolling in money late tomorrow. We have so much to sell. Sell. Merchants. I wonder how Romand and his wife are. Maybe we should give them one of the golden plates as a gift for their kindness. Kindness. Bridgette is ever so kind. I love Bridgette so much. Gods, if I weren't married to her already, I'd ask her to wed right- Eryls train of thought derailed into oblivion as soon as he heard a knock at his door. It was lower on the door than one would expect.
“Pestus? Is that you?” Eryl called.
“Yeah. Are you decent in there? I have a favor to ask.”, came a quiet reply from behind the door.
Bridgette sat up a little to look at the door, and then Eryl. Eryl whimpered and frowned, knowing he should put something on and answer the door.
A moment later, the door opened, and a half dressed Pestus met a half dressed Eryl and a Bridgette, wrapped up in blankets, sitting in bed. Bridgette waved and grinned. Eryl stood back to let the gnome in, and tried to put on a happy face.
“Sorry to intrude.” Pestus started. “I uh..”, he faltered. There was a pause, then Pestus rolled his eyes at himself. It was unlike him to be embarrassed easily. “I need a Roe-stone. If you can spare one.” Eryl let out a chuckle.
“Certainly. I wouldn’t want little Pestuses running around taking after their father." Eryl was reaching under his pillow as he talked. He pulled out from under it an egg sized stone, dirty gray in color. It was warm to the touch and had a swirly symbol carved into it as to look like it was just how the stone had been formed. This was a Roe-stone, named for Roe, Goddess of fertility of body and soil, and moderation. It was holy birth control, ground down to simplest terms.
"Still warm. All yours." Eryl tossed the stone to Pestus and stood with his hands on his hips, as if to say 'Yeah. We just got done with it. It was great. I'm the best.' The posturing was lost on Pestus, who was too busy leaving in an excited rush and spilling thank yous all the way across the hall. Eryl's face scrunched up in mock disappointment and he turned to Bridgette.
"I don't think he cared terribly about the state of it, do you?" Eryl asked, and then forgot about, as his wife, no longer under a blanket, retrieved another Roe-stone from her bag next to the bed and bit her lower lip.
"I ought to just marry you all over again." Eryl whispered in a happy, breathy sigh as he closed the door.
The morning came as it always did on the East Coast of Huryon. Suddenly and without warning from beyond the sea. One moment the sky would be a dusty grayish purple. The next moment, the sun would crest the horizon and the clear waters of the Blood Sea would reflect light into the sky, burning away the darkness.
Belvar could never sleep through the sunrise. He may have been raised among humans, but his eyes were that of a dark elf, and weren't made to handle such drastic changes in light. He startled awake as light poured in from the East. The roof above him, held up by wooden poles, kept the bright sky from burning his eyes, but the damage was done. His slumber was over, and although he was glad to be rid of his dreams, he wished he had gotten more rest.
All night Belvar had been tortured in his nightmares. The images were fading already, but the feeling of loss and loneliness persisted. He prayed quickly to take what he needed from this dream and use it wisely. Belvar believed dreams were gifts from the Gods and needed to be understood and used appropriately.
After a moment of reflection, Belvar smiled his smile and wandered off to find the horses and get the cart moving. It would be a long day of haggling and money making. This wasn't a thought that cheered Belvar up, but he knew it would make the others happy, which made Belvar satisfied. He was happiest helping others feel joy.
Vinda choked on her own spit and sputtered awake. Looking around the room was hard, but eventually she realized that she was upside down. She had fallen asleep with a foot on a small windowsill and one arm hanging off the bedside.. She hurt all over from such odd sleep, but it was nothing compared to the soreness between her legs. She smiled wide and recalled all the complex and physical acts of the night before. The men were gone. 'Good.' she thought. Goodbyes were hard, and get-the-hell-outs were even harder. She never wanted her lovers to leave, but if they were already gone, it was easier to just move on with her day.
A bit of naked stretching followed by a good rough wash at the basin was a nice way to start any day, although she thought to herself that she could use a real bath sooner rather than later. When haggling was the business of the day, she could either use her girlish figure and innocent voice to her advantage or suit up, armed to the teeth, and growl in the background as Pestus and Eryl did the talking. Alone, she'd have to leave her armor here, but everybody would be working together and so her role was the muscle in today's venture. Getting dressed would be the longest part of her routine this morning.
Clothes, padding, leather, armor, belts, buckles, sheathes, swords, quiver of arrows, a bow around her shoulder. Clasps and belts found their homes with immaculate precision without thought. She wasn't Vinda the elven man-eater anymore. She was Vinda the warrior. As if there were another version of herself inside her mind, when the armor went on, the warrior took over. No emotion, only duty. Death was not something you took lightly, even after years of bringing it to the world. Warrior Vinda could get any job done without falter. But it wasn't who she really was at her core. It was more of a mask that she wore over her broken heart and her lonely soul.
As she finished and gave a small jump to shimmy everything into place, she caught a glance of Belvar riding the cart up to the tavern doors through her window's curtains. She allowed herself a half smile and walked downstairs, empty sack over her shoulder.
The ground floor tavern was nearly empty. A few drunks slept at a table, a well-armed trio of adventurers sat at the bar, quietly discussing something, and Pestus stood on a chair, leaning out an open window. This caught Vinda as a tad odd and her curiosity won out in the internal struggle within her mind.
"Not enough air in here for you?" she asked, having strode up to the window and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"I can still sort of see her wagon, Vinda. If we weren't about to become filthy rich, I'd have left with her to join the caravan." Pestus wistfully sighed. Vinda smiled at the joke, but her face fell flat when Pestus looked up at her with all the conviction in the world. He had meant what he had said.
"You? Leave the Order?" Vinda was shocked right out of her warrior's mask.
"Company." Pestus corrected.
"Whatever. You'd really leave us for, what, just some woman who lets you under her skirt?"
"Vinda." Pestus's voice was calm. He was, perhaps for the first time ever in Vindas presence, speaking from his heart in all seriousness. "She understood me. Somebody understood me. We spent all night talking. Most. Most of the night talking." His eyes returned to the window, lifting himself on his tippy-toes to try to see the speck in the distance that was her wagon. "She's perfect."
"Ah." Vinda quietly replied. She felt a pain deep inside of her heart. An aching for what once was. She repressed it and pushed it down deep with a cough. The rising lump in her throat kept her from speaking more.
Suddenly, Belvar's face was in front of Pestus', blocking the window with a hearty "Good morning, giant among men!" Pestus just about jumped out of his clothes.
"You big oaf!" Pestus half yelled, half laughed. "You're blocking my view!"
"What better view to behold than my beaming smile on such a glorious day?" Belvar asked, accompanied by the aforementioned beaming smile.
Vinda cleared her throat and answered, "A proper day of selling hard earned loot and lots of zeros at the tail end of our bank account before lunch?" The three of them laughed, the mood of the trio lifted by the prospect of the day's business. Their conversation had caught the attention of the three adventurers sitting at the bar. They were all turned in their stools, with varying degrees of interest.
The dwarf, copper skinned with reddish mud colored hair braided down his back, looked almost irritated at the disruption of his own conversation. His beard was so long that the end of it coiled up in his lap like some dirty, ragged cat. His axe, a massive two-handed affair, leaned against his stool, the head resting on the floor. It was curved wherever there could possibly be a straight line, and beautifully gilded in silver and gold decoration.
Next to the dwarf sat a well-dressed Elven gentleman. He wore his wheat colored hair back in a low ponytail, and his half smile hinted at a missing tooth just past what he would allow his lips to reveal. It was his clothes that drew the most attention, though. He wore a sleek outfit, made of dark, yet somehow shimmering, fabric. The white and purple accents, silver buttons, frilly shoulders, and high boots made him appear to be some kind of dashing pirate prince. The only thing that could complete the absurd look was a large brimmed hat with a feather in it, which rested on the bar next to his mug.
Next to the elf, sitting at the end of the bar, was a mysterious figure in a hooded robe. The figure's hands were in its opposite sleeve and the robe fell over its feet. There was nothing of the person to see or describe except for the color and design of the robe. It was some sort of heavy fabric, by the way it drooped over whomever's face it hid. A dull brown color that made your eye almost slip right by for fear of being bored to death, except for a thin double line of bright orange where a belt would be worn. The elf finally spoke and drew the attention of the laughing party.
"Excuse me. Fine sirs and madam?" his velvety voice called. Vinda perked up and smirked despite herself.
"Madam and sirs." Her response glided across the room with her body following. Pestus hopped off of the chair and waited a beat before tagging along. Belvar wasn't far behind once he finally came into the tavern. Halfway to the bar, she remembered how she must look and drew out her warrior self. "Something we can do for you?"
"I certainly hope so." The elfs thin hand extended, palm up with fingers together. It was an old elf way of greeting, a promise of no harm being intended. Some used the gesture casually, but for a stranger to offer it was meaningful. To break such a gestured promise, and bring harm during the following interaction was to sign your own death warrant, even so far from the Elven lands. Vinda put her hand, palm down, on his and lightly brushed her hand against his, towards herself. She noted how rough his hands felt compared to how soft they looked. This was not some dandy who never did hard labor. The promise was made.
"I am Captain Severin Crest and these are my friends," he started, gesturing to the others. "Kilmal Rusthammer and the quiet one is called P'yar." The dwarf grunted and squinted an eye at them. The hooded figure nodded in their direction. "We've come from an Eastlands expedition and I'm afraid I overheard you say something of selling loot. I hate to eavesdrop, but we are at a loss to find the proper and, shall we say, best way to sell our own hard earned loot."
"New to Maydale, eh?" Pestus asked before Vinda or Belvar could respond. He obviously wanted control of the conversation. "Well, I'm Pestus Rainsong, this beautiful thing wearing her weight in iron is Vinda Eselbress, and the dark, brooding, behemoth behind me.." Pestus turned to make sure Belvar was trying to look intimidating. Belvar looked like an excitable puppy, ever ready to make new friends, as he always did. Pestus inwardly sighed and returned his gaze back to Severin. "..is Belvar Luth’Gana. It is a pleasure to meet you, of course." Pestus finished the introductions with a wide grin and by pulling his pants up by the belt before bowing a bit.
"We'd be happy to help you around town to find a good place to offload your goods." Belvar added. "Perhaps you could join us in our own day of offloading. We are waiting for the last two of our group to awaken."
"Ach, I think a quick map would do us just fine." Kilmal growled, barely audibly.
"Come now, Mr. Rusthammer. They are offering their knowledge freely. It would be rude and unwise to decline.", the Captain said with an open smile, never taking his eyes off of Vinda's face. "And it is always nice to make new friends, don't you agree, Miss Eselbress?" In her head, Vinda was melting at his smile, his voice, and his bright, green-yellow eyes. Outwardly, she crossed her arms and gave a cheeky smirk.
"Whatever you say, Captain." she heard herself saying, and she meant it.