[co-written with Captain Awesome and almostinsane]
The card game between the Tharonians and Felidins continued in the opposite corner. A few candles and lanterns combed the darkness that bathed the tavern. Every so often a newcomer would open the door and the outside light would wash all of the shadows away. The orcs and dwarves continued in drunken stupor trying to out drink each other, but neither group succeeded. Their faces marked with merriment and carelessness.
Danairia rejoined the party from what appeared to be a confrontation outside. The door swung shut behind her with its creak. Her face looked like a wreck, then again when was it ever not? Huo wondered if she always needed to get into a fight before she could do anything else. He was quite annoyed, but felt it pointless to voice his vexation. Did something happen between her and the barkeep and waitress? Considering that neither of the two returned. Something happened.
"What took yo-...nevermind, I'm not even going to bother," Huo shook his head and relaxed his posture when he saw that the elven guardswoman had done the same.
Caspian took the moment to unstrap the Dragoneater's sword from his back. He had no desire to carry their weight if they were going to invade his thoughts. A burden, though off his shoulders, remained in his mind. When he set the sword aside, part of the fabric covering peeled open revealing part of an ebon steel blade with hard etchings.
Antius eyed the blade, a curious look on his face. So many mysteries had fallen into his lap. He could not wait to unravel them all.
Once everyone of their group had gathered, Princess Anundhel began in an earnest and clear tone, "I'm sure you've all met Maevra already, she is a guard of my household," she gestured to her guardswoman, an imposing brown haired warrior with a stormy scowl.
"Wonder how anyone could have ever guessed that," Danairia said, in a sarcastic undertone.
"You must forgive her for being forward. She is sworn to protect me with her life. No small task, I posit," the Princess looked to Danairia, who blinks through the duration of a shrug.
"The circumstances of how our meeting came to be, 'tis extraordinary," The Princess paused to reflect, "Where did you all come from?"
"Dessor," Caspian replied, "Specifically, Opynonias, but that's just us."
She nodded, believing that the circumstances of one's origin did not determine their destiny.
The Princess returned to her main point, "Far to the west of here, lies a realm known as Alheras, of which my father is lord. I have lived there all my life. We elves prefer seclusion within our forests. Rarely do any of us leave except for diplomatic and economic matters," her eyes touched briefly on Danairia before leaving.
The Tlamani bit her lip, noticeably annoyed at something as Anundhel continued on.
"A plague, perhaps arcane in nature, we know not for certain, has poured forth into our homeland. We call it the Red Wind, for it bears no heralds of its coming. Those that the plague touches are afflicted with red growths upon their skin. The growths spread across their bodies, while their minds descend into madness. They become savage, and lose their identity to the disease. Eventually they wither and die..."
Lir stifled a gasp. Huo maintained a glare with grimness. Danairia, sensing that she will be there for a fair amount of time, sighed as she pulled out one of the chairs of the table beside her and brought it around, sitting down with her arms resting upon the backrest. Antius, meanwhile, stroked his chin, an intrigued look upon his face.
The Princess spoke, ill at ease as could be seen, "Thus far we have failed to contain its spread through our realm. Our most complex remedies, capable of curing any ailments that would leave any man or beast bedstricken, useless before its onslaught. Our most potent healing magicks rendered ineffective. We can only slay them before the disease spreads. The destruction of elfkind was never more apparent."
"Even the Tlamani are threatened," Maevra mentioned.
Despite their offputting first impressions, they could at least share some common ground. They were elves after all, descendants of the first. Regardless of their names and cultures, they were the same. This was Maevra's way of extending a possible olive branch.
Caspian glanced at the Drunkard of Kes. Her expression was the same as it has been the entire time they had been listening, though she seemed to sit just a little lower in her chair than the last time he looked at her. There was also an erie quiet about the Tlamani.
Lir's thoughts began to circle and wander. Was the Red Wind somehow connected to the things she saw in the Academy? She cursed herself for not staying long enough to find out. It would have helped their present situation.
Antius's mind raced through the spiraling possibilities. He was no healer. His magic was brute force if he had to admit it. He would be no help in devising a cure but then, neither would the others.
Huo knew it was no mere exaggeration. It was the truth, cold and hard. He saw it in her eyes. She had the same impassioned look that people with their back against a corner often had. The Princess retrieved a small brown leather-bound tome tucked away within her coat. She continued speaking as she began to flip through the ink-touched pages.
"I have sought to find a cure through the alchemical arts, but such a path is...rarely tread by my people, much less by a Princess of a realm dwindling by the weeks. Yet, it is the path untread that often makes a difference, does it not?"
"Preaching to the choir," Jolloc jabbed a pinky in his ear.
"It pains me that I had to part from my realm, but I felt 'twas my only recourse. Though unpracticed, I consider myself a novice in the, traditionally dwarven, field of study. I have done my best to learn of medicines, both foreign and domestic to my land. I have spent some time gathering texts from world traveling dwarven alchemists, human apothecaries, and physicians of various other races. Which brings us here," Anundhel marked a page within the tome.
All sorts of markings and notes in both common and elvish lined, scribbled, and carved themselves on the goatskin pages of the leatherbound tome. The notations seemed a gibberish of sorts perhaps understandable to the princess alone as an informal shorthand for her studies.
"Fascinating," Antius murmured, resisting the urge to trail his hand along the text.
"Sylas Nimroas, or Sylas 'the Blessed,' as he was apt to go by, was a dwarf adventurer, warrior, and alchemist. He started writing a manuscript for a memoir of sorts, detailing both his studies and his journeys throughout the world titled 'The Wanderings of Sylas the Blessed.'"
"'The Blessed' eh? This Sylas guy sounds bit vain if you ask me," Jolloc the half-orc warrior wiped his nose, a response to which Maevra rolled her eyes and groaned.
"He's actually not that full of himself," Danairia added. Noticing a clear shift in attention from Anundhel to the overly-brash Tlamani-the Princess herself among the people staring at her-Danairia looks around at everybody, taken aback.
"What-I'm not allowed to read?!"
Bertholdt simply spoke what everyone was thinking, "Well, uh...I don't think some of us would o' expected you to be the type t' read..."
"I somehow doubted that she could," Antius murmured to Lir.
Danairia glared at the Muscum she has quickly grown to flat-out despise, "I will roast you alive."
Caspian could not help but wonder about the topic as well. He never had the chance to hire someone to teach him how to read, yet here stood analcoholic mercenary who claimed to have read an entire tome on the adventures of a Dwarvish alchemist.
Danairia, noticing curious eyes still on her, sighed.
"This isn't one of those far-fetched tales of some legendary wandering blade-for-hire. Jobs aren't always going to have action so I needed something to do while I sat around waiting for the day to be over. I often read to pass the time. Three flasks can only get you through so many shuffles before 'Cornered Hearts' gets boring."
Caspian stood in amazement for the second time in less than a minute.
"You have Three flasks on you?! Why would-?"
He stopped himself, having already known the answer to possibly the least thought-out question anyone has ever asked 'The Drunkard of Kes'.
"Because two wasn't enough," she replied, speaking as if it were completely normal as she pulled her cloak back over her shoulder from it's hanging position, first placed there to relieve her of some of the desert heat, and produces a flask from a pocket hidden on the inside. From the pouch on the small of her back she pulled two more. One of the flasks was empty while the other two seemed to have liquid swish around in them.
Her curiosity satisfied, the princess continued, "Silas never finished the manuscript because he perished..."
Jolloc cleared his throat at the mention of the writer's death.
"Any idea why?" Caspian the blacksmith asked, intrigued.
Anundhel shook her head, "Old age? I speculate though, for I've read nothing of the matter. One section of interest to my cause concerns artifacts that, when combined together, may hold the key to immortality. Or at the very least rid my people of this deadly affliction. The ingredients are..."
"Are you saying that your theory is based off of what a dwarf has written?" Lir asked, her eyes narrowed with her increasing skepticism.
"I will admit that I never expected dwarves to be so eloquent with the written word, nor so knowledgeable in refining substances. However, Sylas's book offers me something to work with. For a dwarf, he's quite worldly, a trait that is often sorely lacking..."
"That's near ludicr-" Lir's sarcasm caught Maevra's glare, "...The dwarf...might have some merits."
Bertholdt the muscum shook his head at Jolloc, "First you then her, I'd say you both need to get out more often."
Anundhel wandered through her notes, "The first ingredient comes from a section devoted to this land of the deserts, Syakh. Within that, he spoke of a spring known as the Well of Regrets, a fountain of immortality."
"Immortality? What truth is there in his account? I mean quantifiable truth. I've read a few stories and theories on immortality. Most of it is myth, like the Constellations. You can't seriously believe..." Lir said.
"Let her finish," Bertholdt commanded.
"Quantifiable?" Anundhel paused to think before she shifted her eyes to the red haired girl, "Is magic quantifiable, mage? Do we not believe in magic? It is something that is seldom appreciated and often taken for granted."
"All too often, we mages believe that we know all that there is to know about magic, but once every generation, we are reminded of how little we truly know about our craft or the world. We label and organize, but we only scratch the surface. This could be our chance to discover something that could change the world forever," Antius noted, his eyes gleaming in barely concealed excitement.
"But how is it that a dwarf who studies an art that can barely turn stone into gold know the key to immortality?" Lir inquired, hand cupped over her mouth.
She chose to drop the matter and let her finish. The princess had called her 'mage,' as if she knew. Lir recognized the princess to be rather sharp. Lir recognized the princess to be well-learned compare to the so-called 'nobility' she had known.
"The theory is based on what I've managed to scrape together from knowledge of ancient practices throughout many cultures. Your people," Anundhel glanced at Huo, "...for example, believe that immortality comes from a life of devoted to meditating as a means of self-reflection, fasting as a means of purgation, praying as a means of connecting to the gods..."
At the mention of his people, Huo averted her gaze. He knew nothing of his 'people,' to call them his people. Dhaxi called him an Osu, but the meaning of Osu seemed lost on his mind where it was found in his features. The only thing he remembered about being Osu was his old name, Tiexin, but he rarely called himself that. He remembered Penth, and Kurthal, other D'homani slavers like Dhaxi. For most of his life, he had never been Osu.
Jolloc leaned back against a wall and scratched his chin, "If this 'fountain' offered immortality, then he should have taken a drink from it, then he would never have died at all. That makes no sense."
"Flawless logic," Lir said with sarcasm.
"Someone killed him," Maevra said matter-of-factly without even so much as batting an eye.
"But even then..." the orc did not catch Lir's sarcasm.
Bertholdt cleared his throat and explained, "From what I know, immortality doesn't prevent you from death, it just prolongs your lifespan. You can still take an arrow to the knee and bleed to death. What you're thinking of is invincibility."
The Princess nodded, "Precisely, my adorable friend."
The muscum bristled at that remark.
Anundhel scanned the page with her finger until it landed upon the notes she had written, "'Tis written, 'He who drinks from it shall cease to age a day, nor shall blemishes and wrinkles make his skin their prey, and cherished shall he and his breath be among the fae...' and so on, saith the dwarf. Bertholdt, tell them."
The muscum took his turn at lecturing, "Syakhi tales speak of an ancient culture known as the Zengid Empire, whose streets we have all walked at least once before entering this tavern. The borders of the empire spanned across the desert, a culture of lizardmen. Maybe they're the ancestors to the Tharonians," the mouse nodded at the lizards in the other corner of the establishment, "The Zengi worshipped their kings as the sons of the gods, demigods if you will..."
"Like Ciranthas, you should know of him, yes...?" Maevra pointed the question to Danairia.
"The lord of slumbers?" She laughs. "Hell, I pray to him pretty hard whenever I can," the Drunkard jokingly replies in the flowing speech of her native tongue before switching back to the Common language. "I don't know too much about him other than he's closed off in Yhavann. I never had the pleasure of learning too much about him."
"A ritual often performed was a rite of ascension," the Muscum continued, "whereby the emperor, once having acquired the approval of the gods, could ascend to godhood, quite literally. Apotheosis. The ritual was always performed the same, with magic, of course. Now whether or not they actually ascended or simply died trying is..." Bertholdt offered his hands in the air to reflect the idea that it was up for speculation.
Lir shook her head, "Because rarely do gods ever walk and talk with us...or at the very least make mention of successful ascension. You know how they are...pompous bast-.."
"I wouldn't say that if I were you," Caspian's uneasy eyes darted to Lir.
He still cared for superstition.
"Irreverent much? I think I like you 'Red,'" Jolloc nodded his head in approval.
"Don't call me 'Red,' and I'm already taken," Lir had acknowledged a possible relationship to simply stave off the orc's advances. Antius blinked, his attention stolen from the elven princess' explanation for a moment.
"The souless lit-match says she's taken. R~ight," snickers Danairia, not buying it for a millisecond.
"Guys, I'm taken too. Fun fact, I'm quite submissive-it turns out."
The orc's mouth dropped. He would have carved that in the stone under 'bullshit.'
The blacksmith's eyes shot wide open and he loosed a loud snorting noise at the last revelation, before he slapped his mouth shut and glanced around.
Maevra pressed her lips tight, stifling back laughter as her mouth twisted into a light smile at the wise-crack.
Antius rolled his eyes, amused despite himself at his friends' (did he dare call them that?) antics. He nodded sagely at Danairia's words.
"Duly noted. I'd take advantage of that, but alas, I am taken too," he noted before smiling over at Lir and, perhaps feeling a little bold turned and kissed her cheek smiling a little shyly, a rarity in the normally self-assured mage. Nonetheless he wrapped an arm around Lir's waist and cocked his head at Jolloc, as if in challenge.
Danairia squinted, still finding a hard time believing with evidence present right in front of her.
"Eh~em," the Muscum interjected with an obvious gesture substituting the act of actually clearing his throat.
"As I was saying, another facet was that the rituals were almost always performed out in the desert. The Empire eventually fell, but that's about as much history as I know," Bertholdt nodded.
Anundhel picked up where he left on, "Thank you Bertholdt. One particular account, I can not remember its source, spoke of the very last ascension ritual ever performed. Some believe it led to the fall of the Zengi. A civil war broke out and destroyed their empire from within because...the ritual failed miserably."
"These things happen," Antius noted.
"Tragic really..." the half orc shook his head in a mocking manner.
"Oh shut it." Bertholdt clammored.
The Princess continued, "It failed, because a betrayer, whom was a great friend and counselor to the emperor, interrupted the channeling of the spell. The resulting backlash led to an efflux of chaotic energies. Since the Zengi channeled the ritual near an oasis, traces of the magic tainted the spring's waters. Thereby granting it the powers of immortality it has now."
"Well...shit." Jolloc murmured scratching his head, "Wait, so then where are we supposed to find this immortal spring of -?"
"Well of Regrets..." Maevra corrected her half-orc friend with quickness.
Jolloc replied, "I don't know whether to be offended or saddened that you think I need to be corrected..."
Maevra smiled smugly as Bertholdt replied, "I'm just plain saddened."
Anundhel continued past their brief exchange, "The Well of Regrets is considered by the locals to be mythical.
"Mythical?" Caspian gulped, but immediately zipped his lips when he became conscious of how out of place he was.
"Quite," Anundhel pressed her lips as she glanced at the blacksmith, she knew that would most certainly discourage any band of mercenaries.
Even with all the silvers she had prepared for the journey, it seemed none were greedy enough to venture into an uncharted land. The possibility of never returning to such a large reward seemed what sages called a vicious cycle of un-ideal circumstances known as quandary twenty-two, so aptly labeled by Sylas Nimroas as Anundhel had read.
"...It might not exist. Your reluctance is not without merit. However, perchance that it exists, supposedly a number of guards, traps, and spirits stand watch over the magical waters."
"'Might not exist?' And there are guards?" Huo scowled.
"Perhaps the existence of the guards discouraged any who attempted to venture a drink. Thus the spring itself eventually fell into the oblivion of myth, never to be touched again," Anundhel offered.
Huo nodded to accept her answer, but his acceptance was far from wholehearted.
Danairia seemed to better accept the report, as she seemed somewhat waivered.
"Spirits? Uh-uh bad juju there. I ain't a priest and I'm not about to become no exorcist."
Caspian squinted at the Tlamani.
"You really need to tell me about some of the past adventures you've been on..."
"You mentioned 'ingredients'," Huo continued, "What are the others?"
The Princess replied, "The second is the heart of a black drake named Vormyceres. The dragon roosted inside a large cavern of the Icathonian mountains and guarded a vast treasure hoard. That is, until a dwarf adventurer led a band of brothers, cousins, and friends into the caverns. They wandered through the dark depths of the mountain and found the deposit, along with it, Vormyceres himself. They slew the beast after a hard fought battle."
"Dwarves and dragons...they never mixed well, if I'm going to be honest," Jolloc said.
"Your honesty was never worth much," Bertholdt snorted.
Danairia shrugged at the mention of Dwarves and dragons.
“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”
Maevra began, "Yeah, well, those dwarves colonized the caverns using the gold they found. They propped themselves up as a new realm, but that began twenty years ago."
"Twenty...?" Lir took a moment to gather herself.
"Wait, so is the heart also...?" Caspian began.
"The heart is real. Has not decayed since. Some believe that Vormyceres consumed a star, which binded with his heart," Anundhel enunciated.
"Fuckin' hardcore..." Danairia said, thinking aloud.
"Which gives us hope that the Well might exist as well," the princess paused, "That...was poor phrasing."
"And the third artifact?" Jolloc reminded her.
"A special leaf from Yparil, the Tree of Life."
"FUCK!" Danairia interrupted in a loud outburst. Everyone, along with a handful of patrons from the rest of The White Sphinx turned to look at her again.
"You'll find out," she sighed, resting her forehead on one of her hands while waving toward Anundhel. "Jus-..Just tell 'em..."
"Yparil was among the very first saplings to grow, but while other trees were destroyed by war or plague or industry, Yparil remained untouched and is thought to be the oldest tree in existence. It is, coincidentally, located within the forested realm of Yhavann in elf lands. However, it is a highy protected and secretive realm that not even we elves have access to. The Forest Guardians do not discriminate against any who dare enter their land. You'd be surprised to know that even someone such as I would have difficulty entering the guarded forest." The Princess exhaled, "Immortality never did come freely."
"What's our plan then?" Huo asked.
"If I had to venture a guess, we'll have to grab a vial of the magic water," Lir answered, "Then we head to Icathon..."
"Precisely," Anundhel smiled at the mage.
"We're gonna go look for some water that might not even be real. To save some people that I have no care for in the world." Huo summarized, his tone frosted.
The fighter relied on his voice to carry his emotions and thoughts better than the theatrics of hand gestures. His only hand gestures formed fists meant more for breaking cheekbones.
"And this idea...you got from a book?" the fighter paused for his own sanity, "As much as I would like to help you, the dwarf's story doesn't inspire much confidence. All of these things about myth...you can give me something to punch, and I'll do it, but this...?"
The Princess was about to pull off one of her gloves, but Maevra stopped her.
"Well, now hold on, that's not even the worst part. The worst part is we're gonna need water along the way to find the water," Jolloc laughed for himself.
Maevra groaned.
The orc felt it always necessary to defuse any tense situation. He preferred talk over swords. Unless of course, the situation concerned himself and a fellow who had the bollocks to call him 'savage.'
"Now, hold on a moment," Danairia demanded, surprisingly of Huo.
"It may be a book largely made up of portions about adventures, but it isn't something you guys should out-right dismiss either. I'm no alchemist but the guy certainly knew what he was doing. Besides," Danairia said, lifting her hand to Anundhel, "she went as far as to leave home, forsake most her valuable priveleges as a Princess, and travel across the world to come to this conclusion. She could have gone back and possibly try her hand at using her influence to further her goal but she has yet to do so. If she had not so much faith in this theory of her's, then what the hell would she be doing here?"
Danairia rested her arms on the backrest of her chair.
"It takes serious balls to leave like she did when so few of us do. I know; I did it way before our precious flower here even THOUGHT of how cool it could be. You all don't even know."
Maevra glared at the mercenary as she insults her princess.
"'Your Royal Highness to YOU, Tlamani.-"
"-She isn't MY princess now, is she, yappy dog?" Danairia barks back.
"Why...do you talk like that?" Caspian had only taken notice of her odd phrases, strange references, and peculiar usage of language.
"You may call me Anundhel, or Princess if that so fits you. I am not one for formalities, I don't know any of you." Anundhel bowed her head, "But I may ask, were there any others who had the dream besides...?"
"Not that we know of..." Caspian shrugged.
Anundhel nodded, "To think that we elves once lived in peace, flourished, preferring a path of isolation over interaction. Such a path no longer seems prudent..." the last bit fading before melancholy and nostalgia.
Two worlds now brought together. Her face turned grim before the candlelight. All the features that were thought fair waned within moments to show a woman not quite sure of her path but willing to push forward regardless of the risk.
Anundhel glanced at Danairia and then at Huo, "You asked me earlier if I believed in fate?"
She gestured to Bertholdt to elaborate her point.
The muscum nodded fervently, "The Princess has generously hired me, I am Bertholdt," and he bowed "...and I will be your guide through this land called Syakh."
Jolloc stepped in, "I'm Jolloc, a half-orc, I'm your...muscle...for this journey."
"Spirits," Danairia interrupted, "What about the spirits? Who the hell did you get to fight spirits? I don't know any saints and I'm pretty sure most of them wouldn't like me anyway. If we encounter spirits like this, I don't care-I'm getting the hell outta there. Y'all can go ahead and get possessed-walkin' up walls and shit-if you want but I'm not about that kind of lifestyle."
"That's what the mages are for right?" Maevra glanced at Lir and Antius.
"Spirits are tricky, but they can die as easily as the living," Antius noted, trying to inject some optimism into the situation.
The Half-Orc motioned toward Sanvi with a shrug, "And along with that I've enlisted the services of Sanvi here. She's a cleric. Introduce yourself..."
"Joys of joys, another redhead. I feel fortunate," Antius laughed. This was where he belonged, he decided. The world was larger and he desired to see as much of it as possible while he was still young and his grimoire was still blank. Politics awaited him in the Empire, knives and all, but he was in no hurry to return. Let them chase after him. He would learn what he was ignorant of from their failed agents. Then, his family would have justice. He would make sure of that.