Setting
Default Location for The Gala-Dor Expedition
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Zoltia is a part of 
The Gala-Dor Expedition.
12 Characters Here
Esther Alfsson [81] Journeyman Alchemist, Healer, Saboteur
Serena L'aporte [80] "Calm as the ocean, wild as the seas."
Ashera Vallenai [79] A young and reckless archer with a sense for danger...
Dreador [43] The deadly, mysterious assassin... and unwilling choresmaster of the expedition.
Maria Solaster [42] A weirdo in a cleric uniform.
Orcimedes Lavatrina [36] Green is the mightiest flavor.
Hilgur Black-Mane [33] Businessman. Warrior. Amateur Harmonicist.
AnaĂŻs Botrel [22] academic and record keeper
Iz'Hana Daudol [15] A wandering Ranger, always eager for the next hunt.
Henri Le Chevalier [8] Knight by name, Knight by nature
Start Character Here »
Hilgur's steps came to a stop. He looked up, one brow raised, towards the woman who called for him. Her pale, narrow features and clean robes screamed 'noble', which stood in great contrast to her ...unpretentious⊠speech.
"Aye, lass. That I did!" The dwarf reached up to snatch her falling hand, and shook it quite vigorously. "Hilgur's the name. Hilgur Black-Mane."
The dwarf stepped back with a sigh, his right hand reaching to stroke his beard. "Ha! That egghead's more stubborn than a Jellico mule..." His cheeks raised over squinting eyes, failing to stifle his laughter. "...And twice as ugly! Hohohohoho!"
The dwarf cleared his throat, his grip unfaltering around the drow's chain. "So, what can I help you with?" He raised his other eyebrow, hoping against hope. "...Don't suppose you came to finance my grand quest?" Hilgur scoffed, his eyes drawn to her book holsters. "Maybe ya be the one human scholar interested in dwarf history?"
"Aye, lass. That I did!" The dwarf reached up to snatch her falling hand, and shook it quite vigorously. "Hilgur's the name. Hilgur Black-Mane."
The dwarf stepped back with a sigh, his right hand reaching to stroke his beard. "Ha! That egghead's more stubborn than a Jellico mule..." His cheeks raised over squinting eyes, failing to stifle his laughter. "...And twice as ugly! Hohohohoho!"
The dwarf cleared his throat, his grip unfaltering around the drow's chain. "So, what can I help you with?" He raised his other eyebrow, hoping against hope. "...Don't suppose you came to finance my grand quest?" Hilgur scoffed, his eyes drawn to her book holsters. "Maybe ya be the one human scholar interested in dwarf history?"
Setting
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Esther held off a worrying look as she caught the bottle with her right hand. She merely looked at it, shaking lightly and hearing a heavy sloshing not unlike the sludge of the sewer. "Ugh. You'd think they'd know better than to take something so revolting," she commented lightheartedly amidst her revulsion. The Hatchets were, unfortunately, far too gone to consider saving. Their state of half-mindless savagery put them as less than beasts; the most she could do was try and find some levity in a murky atmosphere.
She carefully placed the ale bottle on her belt, thinking of what could be done with witchpowder. Almost any mixture had some intrinsic value if it was distilled or reconstructed with some specific chemicals removed. Perhaps this could become a painkiller. Or maybe she could turn it into a caustic explosive.
...Then she remembered the cloud burst when Lio opened the bottle and decided some things just shouldn't be.
---
The red-haired alchemist held her tongue down the rest of the sewer, aptly aware she'd either attract unwanted attention and/or draw the ire of her companions. The mask across her face grew uncomfortably damp and the sweat on her brow poured like raindrops. The narrower passageways had her walking single-file with the walls too close for her liking. For all the decadence that was Arc en Lume, at least it had clean air.
And she actually missed the surface the moment the giant THING came charging for them.
She pushed herself in front of Lio and slammed the metal door down under a rush of adrenaline. Just as quickly, she took out a vial of light blue liquid and threw it at the door. The glass shattered on the detritus below while a layer of permafrost covered the door. "Well, that's pleasant," she said with a painful groan; her ears still ringed in pain. "I doubt the door will hold long, so-"
*SLAM*
The metal door creaked and a part of the ice layer cracked off.
"Anyone have a plan?"
She carefully placed the ale bottle on her belt, thinking of what could be done with witchpowder. Almost any mixture had some intrinsic value if it was distilled or reconstructed with some specific chemicals removed. Perhaps this could become a painkiller. Or maybe she could turn it into a caustic explosive.
...Then she remembered the cloud burst when Lio opened the bottle and decided some things just shouldn't be.
---
The red-haired alchemist held her tongue down the rest of the sewer, aptly aware she'd either attract unwanted attention and/or draw the ire of her companions. The mask across her face grew uncomfortably damp and the sweat on her brow poured like raindrops. The narrower passageways had her walking single-file with the walls too close for her liking. For all the decadence that was Arc en Lume, at least it had clean air.
And she actually missed the surface the moment the giant THING came charging for them.
She pushed herself in front of Lio and slammed the metal door down under a rush of adrenaline. Just as quickly, she took out a vial of light blue liquid and threw it at the door. The glass shattered on the detritus below while a layer of permafrost covered the door. "Well, that's pleasant," she said with a painful groan; her ears still ringed in pain. "I doubt the door will hold long, so-"
*SLAM*
The metal door creaked and a part of the ice layer cracked off.
"Anyone have a plan?"
âYou do know how to laugh, right?â Okay, Blondie was officially beginning to force a complete re-evaluation of Elves and their⊠odd behaviour. Not that certain knowledge was privy to her in the first place, but damned if there wasn't something creepy about the formality of it all. The way she carried herself, might as well have friends in high places here in Arc en Lume after all.
Serena flicked her attention from the Elf to the priestess, a single brow curling upward at the mention of jail time and the subsequent deflation of just having a laugh at the expense of threatening some strangers. âFlame worshipper with humour, huh? That's news to me.â The one anomaly, or did this one think you broke ice with a deadpan? The pirate managed a giggle. Good enough for her, she guessed. âYou could be lying, though. Disarming us by pretending and then arresting us for the sake of it.â
Maybe she was simply accustomed to taking the worst case scenario and bracing for it. Serena didn't want to end up tossed in a dungeon for fun, though. Such a murky environment was only marginally better than her current one, although this had the upside of not being chained to the wall.
âHey, better keep some of that.â Serena ogled the bag of witch powder with great interest. She wasn't a junky, obviously, but⊠âWorth a fortune if you know the right people.â She flashed Raven a knowing smirk.
The group soon resumed their navigation through the sewers with a new addition in tow, and Wilthro as the everlasting nightlight. âLucky he never runs out of power, huh?â The little pirate said jokingly for want of clearing the awkward silence. Deeper they went, acquiring muck and grime along the way, and Serena was inclined to agree with Blondie's desire to take a nice long bath after all this was done.
âBloody hell!â A deafening growl gave way to several sharp nails digging deep into Serena's flesh, and the pirate would've winced if she didn't already shriek at the looming monstrosity that lurked behind the door. Wilthro let out a frantic screech, clapping his wings and dragging Serena's shoulder with him. Something the pirate didn't appreciate at the worst of times. âGAH! Wilthro, you're hurting me!â
While Raven was quick to temporarily close the entrance between them and the next threat, Serena had managed to calm the poor owl somewhat. Alright, that wasn't a normal thing to see in the sewers. Magic waste or otherwise. âThink you could arm wrestle that thing?â She glanced over at the monk. âI'll bet in your favour if that helps.â
Otherwise, turning around and legging it, praying it couldn't keep up was the next best thing.
There was the flame priestess, of course. But somehow enduring another fiery blaze (and probably being in the middle of it this time around) wasnât exactly top priority. Or⊠âAlright Blondie. How about an Elven touch for a change. Don't you breathe magic up there?â
Anaïs pulled her hand against her stomach when Hilgur released it, rubbing her fingers together in an attempt to will away to intense desire to wash her hands. "I don't know about the one human scholar," she said with a slight titter. "Gala-Dor's just⊠I mean, we get claims like that at least once every couple of- we just aren't really afforded the budget to go chasing after every groundless rumor, and the nobility isn't exactly the most academically minded, so..."
AnaĂŻs's voice trailed off again, and she cleared her throat to try and get herself back on track. "An-anyway, rather than funding, I was actually hoping to, um." Her eyes lingered on the "necklace" for the briefest of moments, tracing its length from Hilgur's hand to the drow woman's throat. "Sign on."
AnaĂŻs's voice trailed off again, and she cleared her throat to try and get herself back on track. "An-anyway, rather than funding, I was actually hoping to, um." Her eyes lingered on the "necklace" for the briefest of moments, tracing its length from Hilgur's hand to the drow woman's throat. "Sign on."
Maria slowly lowered her mace with a frown.
"Well. I was going to beat the shit out of it. I guess now the plan is that we wait about ten seconds first."
Admittedly, the best plan of attack would probably be to put some distance between themselves and the door, and then bombard the thing as soon as it popped out; the combination of the owl's disorienting light, whatever chemical bombs the alchemist had on hand, the elf's bow and arrow, and her own motes of flame would likely be more than enough to give them opportunity for a clean finishing blow. Not that she felt like saying any of this out loud, of course.
After all, what's a battle without the thrill?
"Well. I was going to beat the shit out of it. I guess now the plan is that we wait about ten seconds first."
Admittedly, the best plan of attack would probably be to put some distance between themselves and the door, and then bombard the thing as soon as it popped out; the combination of the owl's disorienting light, whatever chemical bombs the alchemist had on hand, the elf's bow and arrow, and her own motes of flame would likely be more than enough to give them opportunity for a clean finishing blow. Not that she felt like saying any of this out loud, of course.
After all, what's a battle without the thrill?
As much of a relief as it was to see the priestess comparatively well, Ashera felt just a little put off at the thought of being tossed in jail on a whim. âThen... we shall do our best not to impede you,â the elf replied before whispering to Serena, âPerhaps it's best we play it safe and not draw her ire.â
A cursory picking over the fallen bandits revealed very little. Ashera herself abstained from the looting, not even willing to consider touching such... filthy creatures. Lio, however, recovered a bag stuffed with a certain grey dust, tossing it to Esther. Ashera knew enough from her studies to recognise the substance from its name. âW-witchpowder? As if I weren't already glad enough of these masks...â She knew the stuff to be potent and dangerous in equal measure. No better person to keep hold of it than the trained alchemist.
With their rummaging concluded and another new face among their number, the group set off, deeper into the sewers. It seemed that the further they went, the more dank and decrepit everything was, and the more Ashera longed to be out of these wretched tunnels as soon as possible. Wilthro's eye-beams blazed a trail through the darkness all the while. Ashera fervently wished to ask the bird's owner just how long that light could last, and perhaps a hundred other things about him... but alas, this was neither the time nor the place.
As if to drive that point home, inevitably the next door they opened happened to have something unpleasant waiting for them on the other side. And big. Very, very big. Having sensed a vague, impending peril ahead in advance, Ashera had the foresight to have positioned herself near the rear of the group, bow in hand. But thankfully Esther had the initiative to seal the door with some frost-based concoction. That should buy them... maybe some time.
While the layer of ice splintered and groaned, Ashera's attention was quickly grabbed by Serena asking if she had anything useful to contribute to their predicament. At least, she was pretty sure that's what the pirate had said.
âYou know... I may just have the thing.â Without further ado, the elf retrieved an arrow from her quiver â this one tipped with a crystal, faintly glowing from within. Yes... this one should do nicely. âIf I could trouble you all to give me a clear shot?â she called out to the others. âWhen the door gives way, I shall provide you with an opening.â
Once Ashera had the line of sight she needed, she notched the arrow and drew back the bowstring. Her attention was focused on the frozen door, on the very instant that the monster would break through. As the appointed moment drew near, she began to whisper something in Elvish under her breath, causing the crystal arrowhead to glow brighter. Just before the door was opened, Ashera released the bowstring. Her arrow sailed through the door like a small comet, and detonated on impact with its target.
A cursory picking over the fallen bandits revealed very little. Ashera herself abstained from the looting, not even willing to consider touching such... filthy creatures. Lio, however, recovered a bag stuffed with a certain grey dust, tossing it to Esther. Ashera knew enough from her studies to recognise the substance from its name. âW-witchpowder? As if I weren't already glad enough of these masks...â She knew the stuff to be potent and dangerous in equal measure. No better person to keep hold of it than the trained alchemist.
With their rummaging concluded and another new face among their number, the group set off, deeper into the sewers. It seemed that the further they went, the more dank and decrepit everything was, and the more Ashera longed to be out of these wretched tunnels as soon as possible. Wilthro's eye-beams blazed a trail through the darkness all the while. Ashera fervently wished to ask the bird's owner just how long that light could last, and perhaps a hundred other things about him... but alas, this was neither the time nor the place.
As if to drive that point home, inevitably the next door they opened happened to have something unpleasant waiting for them on the other side. And big. Very, very big. Having sensed a vague, impending peril ahead in advance, Ashera had the foresight to have positioned herself near the rear of the group, bow in hand. But thankfully Esther had the initiative to seal the door with some frost-based concoction. That should buy them... maybe some time.
While the layer of ice splintered and groaned, Ashera's attention was quickly grabbed by Serena asking if she had anything useful to contribute to their predicament. At least, she was pretty sure that's what the pirate had said.
âYou know... I may just have the thing.â Without further ado, the elf retrieved an arrow from her quiver â this one tipped with a crystal, faintly glowing from within. Yes... this one should do nicely. âIf I could trouble you all to give me a clear shot?â she called out to the others. âWhen the door gives way, I shall provide you with an opening.â
Once Ashera had the line of sight she needed, she notched the arrow and drew back the bowstring. Her attention was focused on the frozen door, on the very instant that the monster would break through. As the appointed moment drew near, she began to whisper something in Elvish under her breath, causing the crystal arrowhead to glow brighter. Just before the door was opened, Ashera released the bowstring. Her arrow sailed through the door like a small comet, and detonated on impact with its target.
A cough leapt from the lips, parched and dry. Wrists and ankles hurt from their chafing constraints, of which clanked and jangled in the nearly silent air. The eyes were pressed shut, the face angled towards the ground as the lips parted.
A small song, empty and meaningless to any who weren't there during childhood, danced out from the mouth. It was a nonsense language, and it stayed relatively in tune with the rhythm the singer had kept to.
His voice was melancholy as he sang, the cuffs and shackles that held his wrists and ankles captive were shaken to follow the tempo.
Cl-clink clink, cl-clink clink, clink clink clink clank!
"'O lo saralfah! Ceis ta zufreird, 'o lo ad'hordah, clack tomst tsustat shu. Eest ta-" The song cutoff with a bang and a shout, a voice that sounded so equally tired and yet seemingly excited at the prospect of speech.
"Oh for the love of the Church would you please, SHUT. UP! Don't make me come over there Darkie! Yer in enough trouble as is, what with the thievery 'n all! Don't give me an'ther reason to wallop you thrice again!"
It echoed from the end of a hallway, a seemingly human voice perhaps, though considering they did not step into the hall, it was impossible to know for sure.
Iz'Hana raised his head, rolling his eyes and blowing his hair from over his left eye. He had taken to sitting on air, as it were, and though his arms were stretched upwards, he pulled himself into a standing position once again. His clothing and armor were gone, his mask as well, along with ... Practically everything he owned. The shackles at his ankles and wrists chafed horribly, and the constant inability to get comfortable was infurating.
"What a fuckin' pain."
The statement was whispered, mostly to himself. He gazed again around his cell. Four walls, three of which were stone work, and the other was simple iron bars. No privacy. No chance to hide anything. Rough.
Iz'Hana knew at most that he was in a hall that housed at least twelve other cells like his, with one of the other cells directly across from his. He only just glanced at it before returning to staring at the ground in front of him.
He shouted, abruptly, with a tone that seemed to border on indignation were it not for the wording. "Sir! I simply must ask again, when shall I be released?! I have done no crime, no theft was committed by my hands!"
There was a pause, some brief- faint- conversation, before the voice at the end of the hall shouted in return. "Whenever we say, quit askin'! The answer ain't gonna change in the three days you've been in there! Jusâ keep yerself content anâ maybe youâll get someone to vouch for ya. Maybe! Hah!â A laugh, belly deep and cruel. Then the sound of footsteps fading away.
IzâHana wondered for a brief moment, how exactly it was that no one had escaped from this jail. The guard or guards, if one could call them that, were startlingly relaxed, and practically begging for a proficient enough criminal to break out.
IzâHana⊠was NOT that criminal. Most certainly not. His list of skills definitely did NOT cover how to pick locks, or how to slip past guards in an urban environment.
So instead, he was jailed in a cell, away from his gear, and most importantly: away from anyone else. Alone. Utterly.
Well, mostly alone, the guard was still there- but! All the same. Alone.
IzâHana hummed himself a small tune, trying to keep himself as quiet as he could possibly be.
And he waited. Waited for⊠Something. Anything.
Lio gave the group a flat look with burning red eyes. "You sorted?" He snapped, sniffed, then shook his head. "...Sorry. Here, let me get it."
He gripped the door handle and pulled, the ice cracking against his strength - then it flung open, and he ducked out the way with it, and Ashera's bowstring sprang back as the arrow flew through the doorway.
Though Dreador looked still, beneath her hood, her eyes were darting about in sync with her rush of thoughts. She followed the twitch of Anais's fingers, the hand on her chain, the woman's glances at it. Her chin lifted, just enough to raise her sky-blue eyes to meet hers with a wary expression. She lifted a dark, slender finger and wound the silver chain around it. And tugged.
He gripped the door handle and pulled, the ice cracking against his strength - then it flung open, and he ducked out the way with it, and Ashera's bowstring sprang back as the arrow flew through the doorway.
Though Dreador looked still, beneath her hood, her eyes were darting about in sync with her rush of thoughts. She followed the twitch of Anais's fingers, the hand on her chain, the woman's glances at it. Her chin lifted, just enough to raise her sky-blue eyes to meet hers with a wary expression. She lifted a dark, slender finger and wound the silver chain around it. And tugged.
"LAUGSHAT FRUM, ISG URDAN LAT, ZA SHARA MADURZ!" A booming baritone commanded from the other side of the door. "LAUGSHAT FRUM, ISG URDAN LAT, ZA SHARA MADURZ!" It repeated, this time to the rhythmic slapping of enormous hands on flesh.
The door was flung open, allowing the light to splash inside, silhouetting the enormous figure undulating over the groaning form of a Red Hatchet bandit. They were splayed out in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle etched in chalk on the grimy sewer floor. "FRUM BARASH!!!" It screamed, as it lifted a chunk of some kind of crystal and crushed it forcefully into the bandit's back.
"IZUB DUSH MADURZ LAT ZA BOLVAG!!!" it bellowed, hoisting the man up in front of him at the crescendo. There was a notable pause as the arrow struck the man, exploding brilliantly and showering the entire room with viscera. The figure held it's oaken arms aloft for a long moment before his shoulders slumped, and his massive hands thudded slack to the ground.
"Frum kul nurz..." it muttered. "Ah! Frum kul nurz!" it spluttered, more urgently as it scrambled to its feet. It locked crazed eyes with the elf for a long moment before suddenly lunging towards the door. Charging into the light was the massive 8 foot tall figure of a bloodsoaked orc. "FRUM KUL NURZ!" he screamed at them, grabbing the door and slamming it, nearly ripping it clean off its hinges. The force reverberated through the sewer, splintering the stone frame.
After a few moments, hurried scribbling and muttering could be heard faintly from the other side.
The door was flung open, allowing the light to splash inside, silhouetting the enormous figure undulating over the groaning form of a Red Hatchet bandit. They were splayed out in the middle of what appeared to be a magic circle etched in chalk on the grimy sewer floor. "FRUM BARASH!!!" It screamed, as it lifted a chunk of some kind of crystal and crushed it forcefully into the bandit's back.
"IZUB DUSH MADURZ LAT ZA BOLVAG!!!" it bellowed, hoisting the man up in front of him at the crescendo. There was a notable pause as the arrow struck the man, exploding brilliantly and showering the entire room with viscera. The figure held it's oaken arms aloft for a long moment before his shoulders slumped, and his massive hands thudded slack to the ground.
"Frum kul nurz..." it muttered. "Ah! Frum kul nurz!" it spluttered, more urgently as it scrambled to its feet. It locked crazed eyes with the elf for a long moment before suddenly lunging towards the door. Charging into the light was the massive 8 foot tall figure of a bloodsoaked orc. "FRUM KUL NURZ!" he screamed at them, grabbing the door and slamming it, nearly ripping it clean off its hinges. The force reverberated through the sewer, splintering the stone frame.
After a few moments, hurried scribbling and muttering could be heard faintly from the other side.
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While she had... something resembling a plan of action, Esther kept it down and merely pulled out a vial of sickly-clear liquid. Oil, and extremely flammable oil at that. While igniting sewers wasn't her preferred strategy, a large, bulky target was perfect for Maria's flames. A dash of oil would make it stick all the better. And no doubt it'd charge quickly to ram and/or tear the group apart.
So the alchemist braced for the worst, besides the sweat and humidity getting to her head, and unsheathed her dagger in her right hand, oil in the left. She waited, watched Lio open the door, then Ashera's arrow, that flew across the room and detonated with an explosive, crushing, damn near blinding flash that inevitably-
*SLAM*
-made the creature shut the door with a force great enough that it nearly shook Esther off her feet.
She was left quite stunned, slowly putting her oil vial and dagger away with naught but simple silence. Suddenly, she couldn't feel the sticky humidity of the sewer, nor the putrid smell her mask was blocking, and neither the waste that coursed around her boots. Her mind, fixated on one, strange question, was finally put to words. "Why is there an ORC in Arc en Lume?"
Was she expecting an answer? Of course not. Her mind almost considered the ol' Stormhold phrase of, "Fuck this," and seek funding for the exhibition from elsewhere. Fortunately, a cooler mind prevailed. "Well we aren't dead!" Her voice lightly shook, understandably more than concerned at the dilemma waiting on the other side. "So may I burn for eternity to suggest this, but maybe we should... converse with him?" No one in Stormhold would have approved of such an idea. They were the first line of defense against the orc warlords who tried to invade and conquering their land. The "proper" alchemist method to an orc threat was to drown it in fire, and more fire, and a lot of oil, maybe a little more fire, then encase it in ice, and maybe that will end it. But she didn't have the resources, nor the manpower, especially against something that treated Ashera's empowered arrow as a minor annoyance.
So the actual solution, Esther prayed, was to try and talk to it. "One of us surely speaks orcish, right?" No one had to point out that Esther... didn't.
So the alchemist braced for the worst, besides the sweat and humidity getting to her head, and unsheathed her dagger in her right hand, oil in the left. She waited, watched Lio open the door, then Ashera's arrow, that flew across the room and detonated with an explosive, crushing, damn near blinding flash that inevitably-
*SLAM*
-made the creature shut the door with a force great enough that it nearly shook Esther off her feet.
She was left quite stunned, slowly putting her oil vial and dagger away with naught but simple silence. Suddenly, she couldn't feel the sticky humidity of the sewer, nor the putrid smell her mask was blocking, and neither the waste that coursed around her boots. Her mind, fixated on one, strange question, was finally put to words. "Why is there an ORC in Arc en Lume?"
Was she expecting an answer? Of course not. Her mind almost considered the ol' Stormhold phrase of, "Fuck this," and seek funding for the exhibition from elsewhere. Fortunately, a cooler mind prevailed. "Well we aren't dead!" Her voice lightly shook, understandably more than concerned at the dilemma waiting on the other side. "So may I burn for eternity to suggest this, but maybe we should... converse with him?" No one in Stormhold would have approved of such an idea. They were the first line of defense against the orc warlords who tried to invade and conquering their land. The "proper" alchemist method to an orc threat was to drown it in fire, and more fire, and a lot of oil, maybe a little more fire, then encase it in ice, and maybe that will end it. But she didn't have the resources, nor the manpower, especially against something that treated Ashera's empowered arrow as a minor annoyance.
So the actual solution, Esther prayed, was to try and talk to it. "One of us surely speaks orcish, right?" No one had to point out that Esther... didn't.
"Orcish is pretty easy to understand. For example, if you beat them over the head that means 'start behaving'." Maria twirled her weapon in her hand, as if to soon demonstrate. "Might be a bit of a regional dialect though." She casually strolled up to the door and began rapping the head of her mace against its surface.
"Don't be shy, we just want to talk," she said, completely ignoring the fact that they just tried to kill them with an exploding arrow.
"Don't be shy, we just want to talk," she said, completely ignoring the fact that they just tried to kill them with an exploding arrow.
Serena braced herself for an epic struggle between man and beast, the sort of fight youâd hear in the bard songs of old. Three brave adventurers (and an annoying pirate) stood posed, ready to strike as Lio opened the door. Blondieâs arrow zoomed past and blinded the room in an explosion of light and viscera. The creature scowled and bellowed; arms as big as ship masts reaching towards the group.
⊠And then the door shut with a reverberating *clang!*
âWell, that was rude.â The pirate offered still struck with a mixture of fright and awe; eyes glancing from one group member to the other. Neither of them probably knew what the hell had just happened. First time she heard about it, anyway. Not that every Orc was prone to leaving doors open, certainly not the ones with some form of education. But an enraged Orc? Yeah, manners were lacking with those.
âMaybe heâs a tourist come to sniff some posh shit?â Serena flashed an uncertain grin and a light shrug of her shoulders. It had been a weird couple of days anyway, why not add a freakishly big Orc with a headache to the mix?
Now Raven, she had the right idea about it all. âDidnât look the talking type, but I want to feel like Iâve done something today.â The pirate strutted over towards the alchemist, exchanging a quick glance with Wilthro who took the sign and fluttered over towards Estherâs shoulder. âHe hates it when I do this, might want to hang onto him for a bit.â She said with a smirk.
What followed was a series of grumbles, growls and screeches, a sort of⊠vocal warm up for the damned if there ever was such a thing. And Serena had to suppress her own enjoyment out of the weirdness of it all. âSorry, havenât spoken to an Orc in a while. Just making sure I get the inflections right, otherwise...â She not-so-subtly slammed a fist into the palm of her other hand.
Not unlike what the flame priestess was planning to do in the first place. Had some strange ideas about making friends with the locals as well, that one, given her odd mannerisms when knocking on the door and kindly asking the Orc to come out of hiding. All the while keeping a tight grip on that mace.
Yeah, friendly pat on the head her ass.
âRight, step aside missy.â Serena eyed the flame priestess carefully. âDonât want to get killed a second time.â
Serena put an ear at the door (which had received several dents and gashes because of poor handling) hoping to catch something. Anything that might give away the ludicrousness of this whole plan. There was a faint muttering, something she didnât quite catch but what mightâve been in the similar vein that sheâd heard the Orc mumble and scream about earlier.
Whatever it meant⊠Orcs were an odd bunch, and this one was even odder still.
The pirate pondered for a moment, pausing before giving a gentle knock on the door. âBADZURZ!â She growled, face contorting to a frown. âBadzurz dagronk! Izishu nargzab flas! Nar skazga!â
If there was anything sheâd learned in her lessons, itâs that the orcish language wasnât simply banging two sticks together and waiting until a head got crushed between someoneâs thigh muscles. She hoped it still wasnât. That would make this conversation an awkward affair moving forward, who would crush who and all that.
There was another pause⊠And then, âSharog nurz frum!â
"Dushum ghashan," was the muttering behind the door... over and over. There was a notable pause in both the scribbling and the orc's muttering as Serena barked from the other side of the door.
"Hmm... impeccable grammar. 'Badzurz' is a command though, say it with your diaphragm... like... like oh!
Like you're gonna crush my skull between your thigh muscles," he corrected in a rumbling baritone. The scribbling resumed in silence for a long moment before the rustling sound of an enormous weight lifting itself to its feet thudded through the wall. He cleared his throat several times.
"BadZURZ!!" he bellowed, flinging the door open and taking a step towards them... at least as much of a step as the door frame would allow at least. "Hmm," he stroked his blood crusted beard for a moment before attempting to stuff his considerable girth through the door. He made several attempts to come through, including one where he backed towards them until he managed to slide himself through onto their side.
"Attention, puny mortals, it is I, Orcimedes, ruler of the Western Pass! Terror of Thum-Dor! Inconvenience of the slightly farther away Ruzmok-Dor! Mightiest of Shaman," he announced, sweeping his enormous staff grandiosely over their heads. "You tread upon the domain of I and my Warband, the Red Hatchets. But fear not, though one of my warboiz has succumbed to an evil spirit, I have contained it safely in the room thither," he explained, motioning behind him.
Indeed, behind him in the room, scrawled across the door and much of the floor was a fully realized magic circle with complete and accurate array tracing intersecting with the original seal in the center of the room... or at least it would be if the sigils inscribed resembled any known arcane language and not roughly sketched animals.
The orc slid himself gracelessly to the ground before them with a grunt and crossed his legs, laying his staff across his lap like an adolescent tree. Behind him, the battered door finally fell off its hinges.
"What is it you wish to speak of?"
"Hmm... impeccable grammar. 'Badzurz' is a command though, say it with your diaphragm... like... like oh!
Like you're gonna crush my skull between your thigh muscles," he corrected in a rumbling baritone. The scribbling resumed in silence for a long moment before the rustling sound of an enormous weight lifting itself to its feet thudded through the wall. He cleared his throat several times.
"BadZURZ!!" he bellowed, flinging the door open and taking a step towards them... at least as much of a step as the door frame would allow at least. "Hmm," he stroked his blood crusted beard for a moment before attempting to stuff his considerable girth through the door. He made several attempts to come through, including one where he backed towards them until he managed to slide himself through onto their side.
"Attention, puny mortals, it is I, Orcimedes, ruler of the Western Pass! Terror of Thum-Dor! Inconvenience of the slightly farther away Ruzmok-Dor! Mightiest of Shaman," he announced, sweeping his enormous staff grandiosely over their heads. "You tread upon the domain of I and my Warband, the Red Hatchets. But fear not, though one of my warboiz has succumbed to an evil spirit, I have contained it safely in the room thither," he explained, motioning behind him.
Indeed, behind him in the room, scrawled across the door and much of the floor was a fully realized magic circle with complete and accurate array tracing intersecting with the original seal in the center of the room... or at least it would be if the sigils inscribed resembled any known arcane language and not roughly sketched animals.
The orc slid himself gracelessly to the ground before them with a grunt and crossed his legs, laying his staff across his lap like an adolescent tree. Behind him, the battered door finally fell off its hinges.
"What is it you wish to speak of?"
AnaĂŻs caught sight of a thin dark finger curl around the silver chain and tug it loosely in the drow womanâs direction. Her eyes shot to the bare glimpse of a sharp chin beneath the hood, then to Hilgur, then to the bridge they were standing on. Her eyes trailed something only she could see - the path of a guard patrol which had been across the bridge some twenty minutes earlier. If they kept to the usual scheduleâŠ
âIâm so sorry, I didnât catch your name.â AnaĂŻs turned to face the drow more fully, her elbow angling ever so slightly between her and the dwarf she was bound to. Not enough to be suspicious, but enough to act, even a little, as a divider between them. She was speaking ever so slightly louder as well - just enough to make sure they were noticed, without being conspicuous. âAre you a member of the expedition, or- heâs looking for funding, right? Are you a representative of a possible financier?â
âIâm so sorry, I didnât catch your name.â AnaĂŻs turned to face the drow more fully, her elbow angling ever so slightly between her and the dwarf she was bound to. Not enough to be suspicious, but enough to act, even a little, as a divider between them. She was speaking ever so slightly louder as well - just enough to make sure they were noticed, without being conspicuous. âAre you a member of the expedition, or- heâs looking for funding, right? Are you a representative of a possible financier?â
Ashera winced at the crude, guttural speech that answered her magic arrow. Orcish. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to her. The brute's nightmarish features stared straight at her from the open doorway, almost as if poised to charge. And then...
SLAM!
...and then it just shut the door on them, almost like a disgruntled elder wishing to get away from the younglings. Ashera stood there, agape, uncertainly grabbing another arrow in case this was some kind of feint. But when no attack came, her posture gradually relaxed. Ashera truly didn't know what surprised her more. That an orc was living in Arc En Lume's sewers (though such an environment was fitting for the creature) or Esther's suggestion to try speaking with it. Whether fortunately or otherwise, Serena happened to know the... language, for lack of a better word, and made efforts to reason with this orc. Curious indeed.
What completely threw Ashera for a loop was that not only did the plan actually work, but the response that came forth was so... articulated. More at home in the voice of a human noble than an orc of any stature. Nevertheless, the elf jumped back when this unusual orc suddenly burst out of the door and introduced himself as Orcimedes. More importantly, he mentioned that he was in league with the Red Hatchets. After finishing explaining why he was down here, Orcimedes went on to ask the same of the band of misfits that came a-knocking.
âYou are with the Red Hatchets?â Ashera cautiously enquired. âAre they not all merely degenerate junkies? Or does witchpowder work differently on orcs and make them erudite instead?â
SLAM!
...and then it just shut the door on them, almost like a disgruntled elder wishing to get away from the younglings. Ashera stood there, agape, uncertainly grabbing another arrow in case this was some kind of feint. But when no attack came, her posture gradually relaxed. Ashera truly didn't know what surprised her more. That an orc was living in Arc En Lume's sewers (though such an environment was fitting for the creature) or Esther's suggestion to try speaking with it. Whether fortunately or otherwise, Serena happened to know the... language, for lack of a better word, and made efforts to reason with this orc. Curious indeed.
What completely threw Ashera for a loop was that not only did the plan actually work, but the response that came forth was so... articulated. More at home in the voice of a human noble than an orc of any stature. Nevertheless, the elf jumped back when this unusual orc suddenly burst out of the door and introduced himself as Orcimedes. More importantly, he mentioned that he was in league with the Red Hatchets. After finishing explaining why he was down here, Orcimedes went on to ask the same of the band of misfits that came a-knocking.
âYou are with the Red Hatchets?â Ashera cautiously enquired. âAre they not all merely degenerate junkies? Or does witchpowder work differently on orcs and make them erudite instead?â
"Ghru?" He guffawed, with a look of minor offense. "Young lady, I assure you that I don't require alchemical assistance to become erudite," he replied, pulling what was to him a tiny notebook and stick of charcoal from the satchel on his hip, flipping through towards the end and scribbling something hastily while carefully mouthing the word. "Erudite indeed," he muttered, snapping the book closed and stuffing it back into his pouch.
"You misunderstand, Golog: Orcimedes is not with the Red Hatchets. Guided by the Shamanic spirits, I have traveled here and discovered a den of Lesser Dagul. I've inducted them into my warband in order to exorcise them and impart the wisdom of the five tenets of Shamanism," he explained. "Red Hatchets are with the warband of Orcimedes."
"You misunderstand, Golog: Orcimedes is not with the Red Hatchets. Guided by the Shamanic spirits, I have traveled here and discovered a den of Lesser Dagul. I've inducted them into my warband in order to exorcise them and impart the wisdom of the five tenets of Shamanism," he explained. "Red Hatchets are with the warband of Orcimedes."
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Wilthro perched quite comfortably on Esther's armored shoulder, much to the latter's amusement. It was an entertaining feeling to have a little animal companion following you. She'd pet the wondrously-curious owl if she didn't feel like she was covered in sludge. She could hear the innocent...? hoots and coos from Serena's partner amidst some clear agitation over the pirate's black speech. Could Esther blame him? The language was harsh-sounding, painful, overly sharp, and above all, just plain uncomfortable. Her ears were ringing while Serena and Orcimedes had a lecture on speech.
...Wait, Orcimedes?
Esther waited for a proper, quiet moment before she walked forward up to Ashera and the orc. "Yeah, sorry Ashera, but there's no alchemical ingredients proven to enhance intelligence and wisdom. Not that there isn't a mystical search for one." She gave the elf a wry smile. Alchemy was an intriguing craft, in many fortunate... and unfortunate ways. Esther wasn't sure if she should've been interested, or very worried, that this orc knew alchemy himself.
""But there's a more pressing concern," she continued, changing the topic. "You called yourself Orcimedes? The warlord who'd been fighting at the border against Stormhold and ruled the mountains of Helgarde over four decades ago? The mighty and feared orc leader who just vanished without a trace?" She couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. Forty years later and an infamous myth of her nation just showed up, down here, in the sewers of Arc en Lume? No one would've believed the tale if she told it. And she certainly didn't believe the rumors about Orcimedes when she was a kid.
"Sorry if it might be hard for us to believe you're the same person. Though..." She paused, looking at his massive frame, even for an orc. Then she realized she might've run her mouth where she shouldn't have. And in her voice was, now, some slight embarrassment. "You... do have the size of him." She hesitates, then takes a step back. Maybe she shouldn't have delved into questions that she shouldn't ask.
...Wait, Orcimedes?
Esther waited for a proper, quiet moment before she walked forward up to Ashera and the orc. "Yeah, sorry Ashera, but there's no alchemical ingredients proven to enhance intelligence and wisdom. Not that there isn't a mystical search for one." She gave the elf a wry smile. Alchemy was an intriguing craft, in many fortunate... and unfortunate ways. Esther wasn't sure if she should've been interested, or very worried, that this orc knew alchemy himself.
""But there's a more pressing concern," she continued, changing the topic. "You called yourself Orcimedes? The warlord who'd been fighting at the border against Stormhold and ruled the mountains of Helgarde over four decades ago? The mighty and feared orc leader who just vanished without a trace?" She couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. Forty years later and an infamous myth of her nation just showed up, down here, in the sewers of Arc en Lume? No one would've believed the tale if she told it. And she certainly didn't believe the rumors about Orcimedes when she was a kid.
"Sorry if it might be hard for us to believe you're the same person. Though..." She paused, looking at his massive frame, even for an orc. Then she realized she might've run her mouth where she shouldn't have. And in her voice was, now, some slight embarrassment. "You... do have the size of him." She hesitates, then takes a step back. Maybe she shouldn't have delved into questions that she shouldn't ask.
In all honesty? Plans never went as they should when Serena had a finger to stir in that particular pot. So imagine the surprise and joy when the Orc actually wasnât a cracking heads first, ask questions never sort of man.
With a loud roar the door flung open, and out came the eight foot greenskin muttering with a voice that could only suggest heâd wash his mouth with thumbtacks and a good strong pint of ale. Then again, most of his kind sounded like that anyway. So not a lot to complain about on that front.
âWeâve got âOpen Sesameâ, but yours works too.â The door had finally succumbed to its poor treatment and, with a metallic thud, came crashing off its hinges and down to the ground in unison with the Orc. All that was missing? A standing ovation, but Serena kept from bouncing up and down like some giddy girl come to meet her idol; Mightâve slipped a bemused giggle and a little smile in tow though.
Wilthro shook, visibly uncomfortable with the giantâs presence. The owl gave a weak âCooâ as he inched closer to the alchemistâs head, a cautious glance taking stock of the situation.
âThey donât look very wise, probably the broken spines and torn limbs and all.â Serena commented jovially, daring a glance inside the room that had served as some makeshift summoning chamber or other unpleasant dealings that might as well scream Demon worship at work, donât disturb.
âHey, Raven, you know this big lump? Huh...â Maybe a legend like that wasnât common knowledge if one didnât live in or visited Stormhold on a regular basis, and Serena hadnât a single clue what Esther was on about. Would be the mother of all coincidences if this Orcimedes was one and the same.
âOh,â The pirate piped up. âYou havenât found some damsel lying around here have you?â Brown eyes turned back to the Orc, gleaming with their usual joy. âOr has she been imparted wisdom too?â
"Ah yes, I was quite rambunctious in my youth," he replied, grunting with amusement, though he regarded Esther for an uncomfortably long moment with his piercing amber eyes while stroking his beard after her comment about his identity. "Hrmph. Hard to believe you say. You ever hear stories of Aslak the Insurmountable?" He asked, straightening his back and tapping a finger on his knee unconsciously. It thumped loudly against his skin.
"Very highly regarded hero amongst Stormians... Holdians... your peoples," he said. "Old rivals, I and he. One day he approached the mountain pass with a large caravan on his way to Helgarde and I came out to meet him with the rest of the Warboiz. 'Halt'he says. With such a commanding presence that we couldn't help but obey. Suddenly. Some of the boiz even fell over.
"'I can't handle your bullshit today, Orcimedes,' he says. Well, I can't just let him through, I have a reputation to keep: Orcish hierarchy and whatnot. So he challenged me to a duel," he explained, clambering to his feet and fumbling about with his belt.
"My axe vs his branding iron. Couldn't say no," he grunted turning his back to her. With a heavy thud his trousers dropped to his ankles. "Not in front of my warboiz. Well I lost that duel and the caravan went through to Helgarde," he said lifting his tunic to expose his left buttox to her. Seared into his flesh was a large stylized 'A.' He pointed to it enthusiastically.
"Apparently the caravan was transporting some important dignitary or noble or something. Helgarde made him a Vassal over that if you can believe it," he chortled, pulling up his pants. "I launched a live cow through a window of Helgarde castle proper the very next day with a trebuchet I stole. Caused quite a ruckus," he said with a laugh as he pulled his trousers up and returned to his seat with a grin and a wistful sigh. Those were the days.
"What's this? Damsel you say?" He rumbled in thought, stroking his beard. "No. No damsels that I can recall... there is a large chasm at the end of this path, however, where some surfacers have set up a holding camp. They are not amenable to the five tenets of Shamanism: had to kill one," he grunted with a note of displeasure. "You might check there."
"Very highly regarded hero amongst Stormians... Holdians... your peoples," he said. "Old rivals, I and he. One day he approached the mountain pass with a large caravan on his way to Helgarde and I came out to meet him with the rest of the Warboiz. 'Halt'he says. With such a commanding presence that we couldn't help but obey. Suddenly. Some of the boiz even fell over.
"'I can't handle your bullshit today, Orcimedes,' he says. Well, I can't just let him through, I have a reputation to keep: Orcish hierarchy and whatnot. So he challenged me to a duel," he explained, clambering to his feet and fumbling about with his belt.
"My axe vs his branding iron. Couldn't say no," he grunted turning his back to her. With a heavy thud his trousers dropped to his ankles. "Not in front of my warboiz. Well I lost that duel and the caravan went through to Helgarde," he said lifting his tunic to expose his left buttox to her. Seared into his flesh was a large stylized 'A.' He pointed to it enthusiastically.
"Apparently the caravan was transporting some important dignitary or noble or something. Helgarde made him a Vassal over that if you can believe it," he chortled, pulling up his pants. "I launched a live cow through a window of Helgarde castle proper the very next day with a trebuchet I stole. Caused quite a ruckus," he said with a laugh as he pulled his trousers up and returned to his seat with a grin and a wistful sigh. Those were the days.
"What's this? Damsel you say?" He rumbled in thought, stroking his beard. "No. No damsels that I can recall... there is a large chasm at the end of this path, however, where some surfacers have set up a holding camp. They are not amenable to the five tenets of Shamanism: had to kill one," he grunted with a note of displeasure. "You might check there."
Hilgur's thick, sausage-like fingers caressed his beard as he listened to Anais. His bushy mustache and beard hid it well, but his bunched cheeks and squinted eyes were filled with glee, her contempt for him flown way over his head. "Oho! Another one joins the expedition. And you sought me outside of the Jackalope, too. I approve of your enthusiasm!"
As they talked, Anais slid between Hilgur and his drow, talking to the latter. The dwarf's brows furrowed, and his black eyes glinted sharply. The drow hesitated to speak and looked to Hilgur, as if asking for permission. "She's my assistant." His smile returned, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "You need not concern yourself with her, lass. She's with us for cleaning. Only the cleaning." She bowed her head, flicking her big eyes up to Anais like a wounded animal.
Just then, two Sacred Flame guards emerged on the centre of the bridge, their chain suit crinkled, their armour plates scraped together, and their bucket-like helms bore fire-coloured feathers arranged in an arc. They slowed their steps, and turned their attention towards Anais, Dreador, and Hilgur.
As they talked, Anais slid between Hilgur and his drow, talking to the latter. The dwarf's brows furrowed, and his black eyes glinted sharply. The drow hesitated to speak and looked to Hilgur, as if asking for permission. "She's my assistant." His smile returned, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "You need not concern yourself with her, lass. She's with us for cleaning. Only the cleaning." She bowed her head, flicking her big eyes up to Anais like a wounded animal.
Just then, two Sacred Flame guards emerged on the centre of the bridge, their chain suit crinkled, their armour plates scraped together, and their bucket-like helms bore fire-coloured feathers arranged in an arc. They slowed their steps, and turned their attention towards Anais, Dreador, and Hilgur.
AnaĂŻs turned her head ever so slightly to look at Hilgur over her shoulder, a frigid contempt in her pale blue eye that hadn't been there before. "It's rude to answer for other people."
The clank of metal sabatons at the end of the bridge was a clocktower bong alerting her to the limits of subtlety. Slavery might be illegal in Beaucourt, but AnaĂŻs knew well enough that the guards wouldn't look twice at a drow unless they were forced to, and without the weight of noble status behind her words public declarations would just be handwaved away with false promises of an "investigation". No, the knights would need either an explicit acknowledgement of the crime from Hilgur, or they would need to arrive to that conclusion themselves before their oaths would compel them to act. But how to go about doing that? Hmm hmm hmm???
"I love your necklace!" AnaĂŻs declared loudly, stepping closer to the drow and framing the silver collar around her neck with splayed fingers. Their noses were mere inches apart; AnaĂŻs had no doubt the drow's first instinct would be to step back, and Hilgur's would be to pull her back into place. "You simply must tell me where you got it!"
The clank of metal sabatons at the end of the bridge was a clocktower bong alerting her to the limits of subtlety. Slavery might be illegal in Beaucourt, but AnaĂŻs knew well enough that the guards wouldn't look twice at a drow unless they were forced to, and without the weight of noble status behind her words public declarations would just be handwaved away with false promises of an "investigation". No, the knights would need either an explicit acknowledgement of the crime from Hilgur, or they would need to arrive to that conclusion themselves before their oaths would compel them to act. But how to go about doing that? Hmm hmm hmm???
"I love your necklace!" AnaĂŻs declared loudly, stepping closer to the drow and framing the silver collar around her neck with splayed fingers. Their noses were mere inches apart; AnaĂŻs had no doubt the drow's first instinct would be to step back, and Hilgur's would be to pull her back into place. "You simply must tell me where you got it!"
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Seeing the orc's relative calmness, Esther eased up and brought a small smile out at the orc's tale. "Who in Stormhold hasn't heard of Aslak?" She responds with some enthusiasm. "He was one of the most famous warriors in our nation. Though he was stubborn. And prideful, when I think about it. Heard that orcs liked him for it."
She looked over behind Orcimedes at the room he was in. A part of her wondered whether what...ever he was doing, he also did decades ago. Was this the same orc? "But that's not quite the tale I heard. I was told that you, Orcimedes, sieged Helgarde castle, destroying one of its towers by throwing your axe at it, only to be defeated again by the Insurmountable." She did her best not to chuckle and instead showed some respect to the giant orc.
But... really, launching a cow with a trebuchet? She used all her willpower to avoid laughing. It was just so... silly. Why would an orc do that?
"But I've heard a dozen different stories about that battle, both at the pass and afterward. The drunk bards got a bit crazy with it." She gave a small smile and said no more. The big orc just gave them a lead and, presumably, wouldn't be in their way. She couldn't ask much more than that.
She looked over behind Orcimedes at the room he was in. A part of her wondered whether what...ever he was doing, he also did decades ago. Was this the same orc? "But that's not quite the tale I heard. I was told that you, Orcimedes, sieged Helgarde castle, destroying one of its towers by throwing your axe at it, only to be defeated again by the Insurmountable." She did her best not to chuckle and instead showed some respect to the giant orc.
But... really, launching a cow with a trebuchet? She used all her willpower to avoid laughing. It was just so... silly. Why would an orc do that?
"But I've heard a dozen different stories about that battle, both at the pass and afterward. The drunk bards got a bit crazy with it." She gave a small smile and said no more. The big orc just gave them a lead and, presumably, wouldn't be in their way. She couldn't ask much more than that.
"A whole tower?! Is that what they say?" He laughed, slapping his thigh. "No, t'was a moo cow. Landed straight in the grande hall. Not sure my axe could have knocked a tower down, but I did throw it into Helgarde: knocked down a whole row of outhouses! Spectacular," he snorted, shuffling to his feet.
"You should have seen the look on Aslak's face when he chased us away. Bards do weave a thread don't they... ahhah!" He chortled, positively tickled as he roughly brushed the dust out of his tunic and leggings, doing little more than to smear the blood further over himself.
"Hah! Come then, to the chasm. I will take you there, and you can search for your damsel," he said, squeezing his girth back through the door into the "exorcism" room. "Take heed not to scuff the array lines. Might release the spirit."
"You should have seen the look on Aslak's face when he chased us away. Bards do weave a thread don't they... ahhah!" He chortled, positively tickled as he roughly brushed the dust out of his tunic and leggings, doing little more than to smear the blood further over himself.
"Hah! Come then, to the chasm. I will take you there, and you can search for your damsel," he said, squeezing his girth back through the door into the "exorcism" room. "Take heed not to scuff the array lines. Might release the spirit."
"It's rude to answer for other people."
Hilgurâs face scrunched up in response.
"I love your necklace! You simply must tell me where you got it!"
The drow acted just as Anais had predicted - she jerked back defensively as the scholar intruded into her space. Her bare foot slid across the stone road and her knees bent into a position to either lunge or run. Hilgur tugged the chain, something she flinched against. Then came the clanging of sabatons, and she froze. The visage of a frightened, abused animal dropped. The drow glanced over her shoulder at the guards calling for her masterâs attention, then looked back to Anais, her chin lifted.
âThe Sacred Flame,â the drow answered, unusually accented, with something that could be construed as pride.
âHold there!â One to the guards commanded. Hilgur straightened up, passing a dirty look to Anais on the way. âYes, guard. What can I help ya with?â His growl barely coming through gritted teeth.
The other guard glanced at the dwarfâs âcompanionâ. His body stiffened up at the sight of the chained drow. âSir, I need to see the papers for your servant,â he demanded, his voice calm yet wary. The drow stared Anais down through it all with open resentment for the situation.
Hilgur rolled his eyes. âHmph! Is it cause Iâm a dwarf? You think Iâm not respecting your laws, son?â He muttered and fumbled into his pockets. And fumbled some more. And a little more. His brows furrowed, and the colour left his face. âErr, I must have misplaced it back in the Jackalope. I⊠didnât expect the need to lug the blasted things around, you see.â
The guards seemed unimpressed. One of them rested his palm upon the hilt of his arming sword. The drow blinked. She glanced from Anais between Hilgur and the guards, mind alert behind those bright blue eyes. Doubt. There couldnât be -
The dwarf cleared his throat and shrugged. âLook, I acquired her lawfully from one of your Captains. Jean-Pierre-something-or-other. Take it up with him if you donât trust me, aye?â
The guards eyed him for a moment. Their helmets obscured all emotions, but their guarded posture showed no evidence of trust. âStand aside, citizens. We need to inspect the property.â One guard drew his blade, keeping an eye on the latter as he approached the drow. She drew back and up to her full height, eyes fixed on the blade, Her chest rose and fell quicker as he came closer. The lines on her neck tightened. She didnât dare move her feet. A thick leather glove reached for her hood and pulled it down.
Hilgur breathed a sigh of relief. The drow shut her eyes, with futility and embarrassment.
There, upon the nape of her neck, seared into the flesh. The ring-shaped scar like an eclipse against her dark skin. A mark reserved only for the worst of transgressors. The mark of a murderer. Her eyes flashed open at the guard with his hands on her, and bared her teeth at him, canines flashing. A warning growl omitted from her chest, ending in a sharp click, click, click of her tongue. Sounding more like the purr of a beast and chatter of an insect than a person. He backed off immediately.
âWhoa, there,â he hushed her, then gave Hilgur a concerned look, âYou have a lot of faith in that chain considering the severity of that mark. What was she branded for?â
Hilgur glanced towards Anais and answered.
âThe Ducard family.â
The guards recoiled, in the exact same instant that the drow dashed into action. Her hand gripped the chain as she darted to Anais faster than Hilgur could pull her back. The chain spun around the scholarâs neck and pressed against her back, her pointed chin digging into Anaisâs shoulder.
âRiâgat unsâaa alu!â The drow shouted, over the clamour of drawing swords. She tugged at her hostage, trying to ease them both out of Hilgurâs grasp. The chains around Anaisâs neck were uncomfortable, but not biting. Her furious glare fell on Hilgur. âDos orn ri'gat uns'aa alu, gorra'h, xor usstan orn nau'thal dos ulu straek. To death!â Steel flashed in her peripherals, and she spun, hissing at the approaching guard and pulling the chain. With restraint. Anais felt it. The drow was being careful with her.
The pedestrians, once content to ignore the private dispute, instantly scrambled and screamed for the guards. The Orderâs clerics and knights emerged on either side of the bridge and brandished their maces, swords, and shields, closing off any avenues for escape.
The two guards closest to Drei and Anais raised their shields and assumed defensive postures. One of them raised his voice. âDrow! Let the woman go, or you wonât have a neck to be branded tomorrow!â
Hilgur had remained utterly calm through all this. He stared down the drow, with pitch-black eyes that sucked in all light. âKeep yer britches on.â His shoulders shook up and down as he chuckled. âShe ainât gonna hurt anybody.â
The other guard glanced at Hilgur from his peripherals. âThis is not the time to peddle your nonsense, dwarf.â
Hilgur folded his arms, turned towards Anais, and quirked one brow.
Hilgurâs face scrunched up in response.
"I love your necklace! You simply must tell me where you got it!"
The drow acted just as Anais had predicted - she jerked back defensively as the scholar intruded into her space. Her bare foot slid across the stone road and her knees bent into a position to either lunge or run. Hilgur tugged the chain, something she flinched against. Then came the clanging of sabatons, and she froze. The visage of a frightened, abused animal dropped. The drow glanced over her shoulder at the guards calling for her masterâs attention, then looked back to Anais, her chin lifted.
âThe Sacred Flame,â the drow answered, unusually accented, with something that could be construed as pride.
âHold there!â One to the guards commanded. Hilgur straightened up, passing a dirty look to Anais on the way. âYes, guard. What can I help ya with?â His growl barely coming through gritted teeth.
The other guard glanced at the dwarfâs âcompanionâ. His body stiffened up at the sight of the chained drow. âSir, I need to see the papers for your servant,â he demanded, his voice calm yet wary. The drow stared Anais down through it all with open resentment for the situation.
Hilgur rolled his eyes. âHmph! Is it cause Iâm a dwarf? You think Iâm not respecting your laws, son?â He muttered and fumbled into his pockets. And fumbled some more. And a little more. His brows furrowed, and the colour left his face. âErr, I must have misplaced it back in the Jackalope. I⊠didnât expect the need to lug the blasted things around, you see.â
The guards seemed unimpressed. One of them rested his palm upon the hilt of his arming sword. The drow blinked. She glanced from Anais between Hilgur and the guards, mind alert behind those bright blue eyes. Doubt. There couldnât be -
The dwarf cleared his throat and shrugged. âLook, I acquired her lawfully from one of your Captains. Jean-Pierre-something-or-other. Take it up with him if you donât trust me, aye?â
The guards eyed him for a moment. Their helmets obscured all emotions, but their guarded posture showed no evidence of trust. âStand aside, citizens. We need to inspect the property.â One guard drew his blade, keeping an eye on the latter as he approached the drow. She drew back and up to her full height, eyes fixed on the blade, Her chest rose and fell quicker as he came closer. The lines on her neck tightened. She didnât dare move her feet. A thick leather glove reached for her hood and pulled it down.
Hilgur breathed a sigh of relief. The drow shut her eyes, with futility and embarrassment.
There, upon the nape of her neck, seared into the flesh. The ring-shaped scar like an eclipse against her dark skin. A mark reserved only for the worst of transgressors. The mark of a murderer. Her eyes flashed open at the guard with his hands on her, and bared her teeth at him, canines flashing. A warning growl omitted from her chest, ending in a sharp click, click, click of her tongue. Sounding more like the purr of a beast and chatter of an insect than a person. He backed off immediately.
âWhoa, there,â he hushed her, then gave Hilgur a concerned look, âYou have a lot of faith in that chain considering the severity of that mark. What was she branded for?â
Hilgur glanced towards Anais and answered.
âThe Ducard family.â
The guards recoiled, in the exact same instant that the drow dashed into action. Her hand gripped the chain as she darted to Anais faster than Hilgur could pull her back. The chain spun around the scholarâs neck and pressed against her back, her pointed chin digging into Anaisâs shoulder.
âRiâgat unsâaa alu!â The drow shouted, over the clamour of drawing swords. She tugged at her hostage, trying to ease them both out of Hilgurâs grasp. The chains around Anaisâs neck were uncomfortable, but not biting. Her furious glare fell on Hilgur. âDos orn ri'gat uns'aa alu, gorra'h, xor usstan orn nau'thal dos ulu straek. To death!â Steel flashed in her peripherals, and she spun, hissing at the approaching guard and pulling the chain. With restraint. Anais felt it. The drow was being careful with her.
The pedestrians, once content to ignore the private dispute, instantly scrambled and screamed for the guards. The Orderâs clerics and knights emerged on either side of the bridge and brandished their maces, swords, and shields, closing off any avenues for escape.
The two guards closest to Drei and Anais raised their shields and assumed defensive postures. One of them raised his voice. âDrow! Let the woman go, or you wonât have a neck to be branded tomorrow!â
Hilgur had remained utterly calm through all this. He stared down the drow, with pitch-black eyes that sucked in all light. âKeep yer britches on.â His shoulders shook up and down as he chuckled. âShe ainât gonna hurt anybody.â
The other guard glanced at Hilgur from his peripherals. âThis is not the time to peddle your nonsense, dwarf.â
Hilgur folded his arms, turned towards Anais, and quirked one brow.
Anaïs put her hands up in a placating gesture, eye studying the knights and Hilgur in quick succession. Not quite what she had intended⊠but not necessarily a loss. If there was one thing the daughter of a noble house knew how to do well, it was spin. Flohlu un'saa," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
"I'm okay!" AnaĂŻs said as the guards circled with swords drawn. "I'm okay, really! She won't hurt me. Funny how desperate slaves will act sometimes, isn't it, Mr. Black-Mane?" She tittered slightly and gave a small, nervous grin as she spoke, though she leveled a sharply devious gaze at Hilgur.
"Ducard, though. There's a name, isn't it?" AnaĂŻs continued, turning her eye back to the leader on the knights gathering on the bridge. "You know, the records at the archive-" She gestured with one hand to the golden sun stitched into the bottom of her robe. "-state the assassin in that crime was already lawfully executed. I know some people say all drow look the same, but to think someone would twist such a tragedy to their benefit! Though I suppose slandering the good name of a Sacred Flame paladin by suggesting he would engage in the illegal slave trade isn't too far beneath a man who'd falsify one of the order's brands to legitimize his crime, is it?"
"I'm okay!" AnaĂŻs said as the guards circled with swords drawn. "I'm okay, really! She won't hurt me. Funny how desperate slaves will act sometimes, isn't it, Mr. Black-Mane?" She tittered slightly and gave a small, nervous grin as she spoke, though she leveled a sharply devious gaze at Hilgur.
"Ducard, though. There's a name, isn't it?" AnaĂŻs continued, turning her eye back to the leader on the knights gathering on the bridge. "You know, the records at the archive-" She gestured with one hand to the golden sun stitched into the bottom of her robe. "-state the assassin in that crime was already lawfully executed. I know some people say all drow look the same, but to think someone would twist such a tragedy to their benefit! Though I suppose slandering the good name of a Sacred Flame paladin by suggesting he would engage in the illegal slave trade isn't too far beneath a man who'd falsify one of the order's brands to legitimize his crime, is it?"