The pyromancer made his way back to his chosen railcar, hands stuffed in the pockets of his new jacket. No more purple for me. His hand gripped a passport gifted to him by the man from earlier that 'fell' off of the train. He had to find a new seat once he got back in the railcar, but he noticed an empty spot in the far corner of the car that would give him a better view of the Ivory Maw as they made their approach. Since the last time he checked, they had made it out of the industrial territories of the Human cities where Railsource had jurisdiction. They had reached a savannah in their meandering away from the coast where Railsource resided.
After taking his seat and looking around, Fahlnem could tell from the dirty windows on the train that his next stop at the Ivory Maw would be an unsightly one. He had been to pirate coves and slums before, but this place, nestled into the sands on the borderlands of a savannah, literally looked like a trash can with teeth. To the pyromancer's surprise, the Ivory Maw was genuinely a colossal mouth full of teeth that seemed to gape open a doorway to another world on the surface of the region. Fahlnem guessed that the Maw was a remnant of a hopefully extinct species of sandworms. I remember Varik talking about wanting to hunt one all the time. The ecosystem of scum and cutthroats living within the crevasse held open by the Maw made their living off of parasitic relationships with other individuals such as themselves. That is to say, parasitic in the sense of murder and theft, in that order.
Fahlnem stepped off of the train, following the masses as they were directed towards the checkpoint within the Maw. Preemptively, he reached down for a handful of sand and ran it through his hair. Should be easier to pass for a refugee or wandering adventurer if every part of his outfit matched. He pressed a finger to his lower lip, slowly drawing it around the edges as if spreading beeswax to moisten his lips. Instead, he was evaporating some of the moisture in his lips by heating up his finger, so as to force the effect of dry and chapped lips. He didn't really think the chapped lips would make a difference in his act, but he was incredibly dedicated to his craft as an actor.
A sandstone staircase haphazardly led downward into the realm of the Maw, with dirty huts carved into the soft walls of clay and packed sand. Arched bones lacing the ceiling kept the sand from crashing down and suffocating the group as they stepped onto a landing with the checkpoint. From there, they could see over a rope railing into the pit of the Maw- most of the abodes were the same as the literal holes-in-the-walls that littered the stairway before the checkpoint, but mildly more lavish. Some huts and bars hung over the crevasse, utilizing the ancient framework of the sandworm's remains as a foundation for their scummy architecture.
"Next."
"Passport or passport-substitute, please."
Fahlnem mindlessly flowed with the movement of the crowd, surveying the objective beauty in what the outcasts had created in the Maw. While he doubted the existence of any reputable bookkeeping establishments there, he longed for a quiet corner for him to study in. The old-fashioned method isn't too bad, I guess. Just gonna hate talking to the people here.
"Next."
It was Fahlnem's turn. He stepped up to the Lilac Rite checking passports, a forced smile kindly plastered across his face. Fahlnem's face, no the Rite's. As far as Fahlnem could tell, this was the first female Rite he had come across. Either that or this is one busty little man. Not that it mattered anyway.
"Passport or passport-substitute, please."
Fahlnem handed over his acquired passport and went through. He was glad that they only cared about how much each passport costs, and so the only thing making the passports unique were cute little white and purple stamps with pointy ears on the edges. They weren't for identification, anyway. They're like train passes.
Now that Fahlnem had made it into the Maw, he had to find his equipment. Forgo had mentioned that some of it had been sent to the Maw, and the rest to the third human city. He contemplated the risk of taking the whole joint by storm, starting with the checkpoint. Alternatively, he could ask around and try to find an ally.
The pyromancer sourly settled on the latter, relegating his lustful desire for a badass entrance for when he scavenged for the other half of his gear. He made a mental note, however, that he wouldn't have much time. He was positive that Forgo knew where to find Fahlnem, and he didn't want to fight Forgo quite yet. Not without a guarantee that he had an advantage over his adversary's own power level.
Fahlnem made his way past the checkpoint, deeper into the scum city. Let's find a bar to get sloshed at and ask too many questions.
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King Wulfic left for Eldham not long after being notified of Fahlnem's appearance there. While they awaited the King's arrival, Fahlnem was subjected to a meager forty lashings on his back, at the hand of the court executioner of Eldham, who wore an executioner's hood. The very same individual was also the court torturer, and the court torturer was the court punishment-dealer.
"It'll be easier this way, pal. You can get the pain out of the way and shed the blood 'n tears now while we wait for King Wulfic, ey?"
"Shut it. Come back when your executioner's cowl or whatever it's called is the Queen's panties."
Queen Lana watched Fahlnem's punishment enacted with a hand covering the disgust on her mouth. Princess Sinace stood next to her, proudly and pretentiously. Thankfully, Fahlnem couldn't see either of them; he was facing the gate of the Keep while strapped to the lashing pole, so he could only see the little ones gathering to watch and listen as the former owner of the Fiery Wench got whipped like a sex slave.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
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"Lishen, I jus' wanna know where da contraband is shtored." Fahlnem begged.
"I literally cannot tell you where that is."
"Becaushe you won't? Or can't?" The pyromancer's face scrunched up in painful disappointment. If the bartender wasn't careful, it would turn into wrathful frustration and resentment.
The bartender sighed, pulling Fahlnem's shot glass away from him before he threw it, just like the other one that littered the far corner of the bar in pieces. "I don't have that information. Please, leave."
Fahlnem waved a hand dismissively and exited the bar, running a hand through his hair to pull the sweaty strands of hair from his forehead. He straightened his posture. "Alrighty. Next bar." He was aware of the uselessness behind his drunken act, but it was fun for him. Plus, it pulled attention away from his suspiciously-direct questions about the location of his equipment. An explosion drew him back out from his consciousness as he internally practiced his professional act. He paused. Sounded louder than the others I've heard since I got here. He glanced around for a source, noticing that it had occurred one or two levels below him in the Maw.
The next bar could wait. Fahlnem followed the sandstone staircase trailing down to the base of the crevasse, making his way to the next landing. He saw a pile of bodies burning in the midst of a ring of lustful individuals seeking justice of some sort. He knew the type. He tapped the shoulder of an individual that he hoped would be relatively friendly compared to the creeps he had encountered so far. "Hey, uh..." The woman glanced back to Fahlnem and made eye contact with insightful eyes that had striated lines of green surrounding the epicenter. He almost blushed before she smiled toothily, which ended up being very un-toothily. That's way less teeth than I was expecting.
"Yes?" She inquired.
"What's with the procession?"
"They're all Rites or Spears that were dumped down here."
"Who killed them? That's a significant amount of bodies to just.. have."
"They were all positioned at the checkpoint at some point, I think? For the past month or so, the Bluntears have been clearing it out and throwing the bodies down here. Someone found some gunpowder and lit the pile for a show."
"Bluntears? Is that a gang or something?" Fahlnem arched a brow.
"Sort of, yeah. It's a rebellion. Only Humans." She rubbed her ear, pointing it out to Fahlnem. "Blunt. As opposed to-"
Fahlnem made a face, rubbing his own Elven ears. "Pointy. I get it now, thanks."
The woman nodded in affirmation and returned her attention to the pile. Wooden spikes latched onto scraps of purple cloth blowing in the upward breeze that emanated from the bottom of the Maw like the rancid breath of a direwolf.
As associated with burning flesh as Fahlnem was, that experience wasn't sincerely desirable. He silently made his way back to the upper levels to ask more questions in bars.
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"Stop getting in trouble. If you weren't training with Argus, I wouldn't have bailed you out this time." Wulfic scolded Fahlnem, but it meant little to the Elf. He was laying on his stomach with fresh bandages on his back. He knew they were going to scar, and it wounded his opulent Elven soul. Burns were one thing. He didn't really mind the burns he had. And he was blessed with minimal stretch marks, although those didn't bother him either. He actually preferred them on some women. But scars? On his gorgeous back? More of a crime than him stealing back into Eldham, in his opinion.
Ciron wasn't waiting for him when he got back to King's Watch. Kali was stealing food from his kitchen, however, and Blueboy was waiting across the street so that he could also get fed.
It was casserole night. But he wanted to warn Argus first.
"I tried my best to nip it in the bud, but... I'm still not really strong enough. I'm sorry."
Argus disregarded Fahlnem's gripes, pressing his thumb against the Fire apprentice's forehead and rejuvenating his mana. "If Ciron comes for me, you are close-by. Fandral has also decided to start teaching here in King's Watch, so we will not be alone." Argus gestured to another Elf standing nearby. Fandral was a Nature mage who wore white robes with emerald-colored lace to match his eyes. Fahlnem didn't like him as much.
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Fahlnem lamented internally that the bars in the Maw only had rum. The last one he visited had wine, but he was sure that it wouldn't live up to the vintage he indulged himself with at Ianann.
He had ditched his drunken act.
"Tell me about the Bluntears."
The bartender shrugged in feigned ignorance. "They're pretty quiet, aside from keeping the checkpoints from amassing too many Rites or Spears at once. Killed two of the pointy-eared fuckers the other day."
"Do you know where they took the bodies?"
The bartender shrugged again, and pulled out a rag to clean a mug that was already pristine.
Fahlnem set a few Markes on the counter, but he didn't order anything. The bartender raised a brow.
"Have any weird items passed through the Maw recently? Magical, maybe?"
The bartender hesitated, shrugging once more uncaringly. "Yeah. Anything past the checkpoint gets lynched and taken, so the Rites have started keepin' the shit in the checkpoint. Should still be there, if you're staging a heist." The bartender glanced down at the Markes, grinning softly.
Fahlnem dropped another handful in front of the man, and he swiped the whole pile into his bartender apron before leaning closer.
"Couple'a Bluntears were here yesterday. Heard 'em talkin' that they were gonna take the checkpoint before the next Spears were sent in."
Fuck. Should have ransacked the place when I got here. "Thanks. I'll spread the word that you got good drinks." Fahlnem stood up and took his leave. His plan was to get to the checkpoint before anything happened. Not about to tussle with a rebellion over MY belongings.