Spireward: A Magecraft Chronicle

[Myrdraxxis]

Spireward

“Blessed are those who walk in Lord Dahgo’s light! They shall bask in his mercy and reap the rewards of faith! When crops fail, the faithful shall never go hungry. When beasts prowl the land, the armies of His might shall guard you. When the night swallows up all life, His light will keep the darkness at bay!”

Rashid tried to filter out the loud preaching that echoed across the market plaza, muffled only by the packed crowds that hurried along. So far he’d been unsuccessful. The Terryn missionary was good at his craft and had a voice that carried over the noise of the crowds. Keth was a trade city, and at this time a day the roads were packed with merchants and travelers from all over the Frontier. A perfect platform to call down to the masses from and preach the good name of Lord Dahgo, may his Light guide your way.

Rashid snorted and took another gulp of beer.

The noise distracted him from the unbearable heat but did absolutely nothing to lessen his irritation. In fact, they seemed to be working together, the heat and the shouting, to gift him a truly marvelous headache. Thank you kindly, but he couldn’t accept such a thoughtful gift.

His swig of beer turned into a long gulp that drained half his mug.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” The person sitting across from him sounded annoyed. What a coincidence, so was he. Rashid sighed, leaning back in his chair. The open front tavern was nearly as busy as the market outside. Normally Rashid didn’t bother coming here in the busy hours, but his newest client had insisted. The man seated across from him was short and wide, and very richly dressed. Bold move that. This guy was either stupid, or a local magistrate.

“Watching for assassins. We’re pretty open out here, you know?” Rashid replied. The man blinked, then sneered.

“They wouldn’t dare. The Teeth are detestable, but they are loyal to Keth. And to the council.” Local man then. He was probably right. The assassin guilds that stalked the Free Cities were almost all former saboteurs from the war who fought and died for their city.

“Alright then, mister Arlond.” Rashid leaned forward, fixing the man with a stare. “I may be new in town, but typically people of your ah…stature, don’t call directly on my type. Especially not out in broad daylight. Arlond scowled, the expression stretching his jowls.

“I have been made aware that you do not typically take jobs from higher class clientele, for whatever reason.” Well, the man had done his homework, at least. Rashid had only shown up to this meeting because of how unusual it was.

“I find that odd jobs for colonists suit me fine, these days.” Rashid replied. “Call me a bleeding heart for the little guy.”

“Well, you’ll find that this job offer is in the spirit of that idea.” Arlond continued. He cleared his throat and leaned in a little closer. “You’re aware of the rumors that towns along the frontier have been going silent?”

It was much more than a rumor at this point. Small settlements would simply stop communicating, and familiar faces would vanish. Sometimes someone would investigate, and find villages ravaged and destroyed with no survivors. More disturbing were those that had no signs of fighting at all, but still lacked any trace of people. What had started nearly a year ago as mere rumors and scary stories had turned into a legitimate worry for travelers on the continent.

Caravans traveling through the Free Cities were more heavily guarded. Terryn crusades into the wilderness were more frequent now. Rumor was Vaer was starting to send contingents of soldiers down from the fatherland to garrison its colonies along the western coast. For Rashid’s part, he’d been forced to start taking jobs closer and closer to the Free Cities, following the people who were moving further in to seek protection. “If you’re asking me to look into these Vanishings, then I’ll stop you right there. I don’t go chasing after ghost stories.” Rashid said.

“Nothing so dramatic.” Arlond smiled thinly. “I need you to find someone.”

“Again, chasing after someone who’s gone and got themselves Vanished-“

“We have a lead this time.” Arlond interrupted Rashid’s complaint. Arlond had a leaflet of papers placed on the table in front of him. He slid one of them over to Rashid. It was a picture- a Vaerian photograph rather than a portrait, of a young girl, barely out of her teens. “The Governor’s daughter, Iris Baezerg. She was visiting a relative in Dradem for the last week. Our mages lost contact with her caravan yesterday, outside the village of Cliffrun about a day’s ride from here.”
Rashid took the picture and studied it, humming thoughtfully. As far as he knew, no one had ever been able to get word out when these Vanishings happened. Inquests always happened weeks or even months after the fact. It was part of what made them so baffling. The nobility had reacted quickly this time, it seemed. There might be a chance.

“So the job is to find this girl?”

“Yes. And, of course, if you so happen to learn anything about the town’s fate…” Arlond trailed off. Rashid doubted he cared all that much about the townsfolk, but on the other hand…

“Five thousand marchs upfront.” Rashid said. Arlond barely blinked at the price. Wow, they really were serious. The governor really must be worried for his daughter. “I’ll need the day to prepare. Any equipment, possibly a team.”

“Whatever you need, do it quickly. We can’t afford to let this chance slip away.”

The two shook on it, an act that seemed to make the fat nobleman uncomfortable, and Arlond departed. Rashid stayed to finish his drink, studying the picture some more. Ultimately, he decided he was more worried about the village itself than the fate of this noblewoman. Cliffrun was a village he’d passed through before. Small place but decent folk. A part of him felt a pang of sympathy for them. He was worried about how to go about this though. He could look into the Vanishing himself, but that would take more time. And he needed to get their quickly, so travelling on foot was out. He’d need to rent a horse. Maybe hire some other freelancers to help cover more ground.

“Saints above, I hope I don’t have to go to the Teeth for help.” He muttered. The local assassin’s guild was good and all, but a bit insular and…touchy. Hiring a couple of saboteurs for a scouting mission would be pricey.

Rashid took a sip of beer, letting his gaze drift across the plaza-

He promptly spit out his drink and slammed the cup down. The action drew irritated looks his way, but Rashid ignored them, his heart suddenly racing. ‘Of all the damn luck.’

Travelers of all stripes walked the streets of Keth, but even among them, the gleaming white and gold-plated armor of Terryn knights stood out, light gleaming off of their forms with every motion as they marched down the street. Most watched them with barely hidden disgust or fear- the War was over, but still not gone from peoples’ minds- but Rashid’s gaze was focused at the head of their column. A woman strode at the front, helmet clasped in one hand, revealing light blond hair and piercing green eyes that radiated an air of stern focus. The crowd parted before her, and the row of knights that followed. They were proud, powerful, and carried themselves with purpose.

They were trouble.

Rashid hurriedly slapped some money on the table and gathered up his things, standing up and turning to leave. Damnation, why was she here in Keth of all places? By chance, he happened to glance back at the exact wrong moment and his eyes met those of the woman knight from down the road. Aw hells. The young woman stared, then eyes widened in recognition. Time to leave. Rashid took off at a brisk walk away from the café, disappearing into the crowd. Maybe he’d leave sooner rather than later and find some help on the way out of town. Keth was quickly becoming more trouble than it was worth.

[Mizagium]

The lesser rock-drake bit into the boulder, jaws like a steel trap. With shark-like serrated incisors, it tore through stone. Shards flew in all directions. Unsatisfied with just one bite, the beast bit again and and again until he stood amid the rubble of his rage.

An adolescent, barely out of his baby skin, he had challenged the dominant male of his clutch – his own sire – and been easily defeated. Overactive hormones still surging through, the beast had stalked off along, away from the familiar caverns and out into the plains, looking for something – anything – upon which to vent its rage. Some gazelle would have been preferable, but a lone standing rock would do.

Still fired up, the rock-drake stomped around and tossed a few of the larger rock chunks about, snorting and growling all the while. While not very big by species standards, lesser rock-drakes were not to be trifled with – so the local wildlife had long since learned to steer clear. Especially during an adolescent tantrum.

This one was bigger than a lion, low to the ground, and colored a mottled gray-and-brown, with flecks of black. Folks not native to the Frontier sometimes described them as big crocodiles, although the drake family had legs that fully supported them off the ground, rather than slithering along like true crocs. Still, the head shape was basically similar, and they had more in common with crocodylinae than true dragons. Even among drake species, rock-drakes were particularly ornery; despite their cavernous homes, they would often deliberately close to Frontier civilizations.

Some twenty minutes passed before this one settled down. Although incapable of feeling shame, it did recognize that this tantrum was unproductive and a waste of valuable energy. So, with on last snort, the rock-drake turned in the direction of home.

And then the wind shifted.

The rock-drake froze and lifted its great snout to the sky, taking in the new, but familiar scent. Man. It didn’t know how it knew this scent, just like it didn’t know how it knew the scent of many things, but it knew instinctively that this was a human. And humans were dangerous.

They were also delicious.

The drake swung his head to and fro, not with the fury of earlier, but with the practices purpose of a hunter. It could outrun a human, could kill it simply by throwing its full weight on them. All it had to do was -

A crack like thunder split the air and the lesser rock-drake slumped over. Blood pooled around it, leaking from the bullet wound in is head. The human rose from the tall grass, rifle still smoking in his hands. He was big – not very tall, but wide – bearded, and wearing a long brown coat that seemed too thick for this king of weather. Seconds later, another head emerged from the grass, a large canine.

“Go on,” the man said to the canine.

A Fenris wolfhound darted from cover and closed on the felled drake. It circled to approach from the rear, in case it still lived. When it remained down, the wolfhound investigated the rest of it with teeth bared. Finally it sat back and turned towards the human.

“All clear, Birk,” it said to him in an uncannily human voice. “Looks like it went right through its brain.”

The human – Birk – grunted and picked this way out of the grass. The long coat reached most of the way down his legs. He slung the rifle strap over one shoulder and knelt beside the dead rock-drake.

“You’re getting good,” the wolfhound said. The accent was hard to place. Far too refined to come out of something so dangerous looking, and it didn’t seem to match any particular dialect in the Frontier.

Birk glared at the wolfhound.

“What? You weren’t always able to bullseye a rock-drake brain from that distance.”

“Rock drakes are slow, Skars,” he said.

“Mmm until they get moving – then you’re dead.”

“Go get the sled,” Birk snapped.

Skars, the wolfhound rolled his eyes but obeyed.

Once he was out of sight, Birk said, “He’s gone. You can come out now.”

From one of the inner pockets of his coat, a small, furry head emerged. “You sure?” Another talking animal with an unplaceable accent – although this one was much less refine.

“Yes, Kamo. Go get the shell.”

“Right-O, boss!” The creature, an ermine by the looks of him, saluted, and darted away. While he waited for his animal companions to return, Birk stood and kept watch for scavenges, one hand on his rifle strap, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword he wore at his belt. Usually concealed by the coat, it was an old Xiaolinese jian. While Birk himself wasn’t Xiaolinese, he wasn’t particularly picky about where his gear originated. Case in point: the Vaerian rifle and the Arcian survivial coat, not to mention the Ossenian summoner’s codex in another pocket.

Kamo returned first, carrying the spent shell casing, which he deposited in a pouch on Birk’s belt. He could get a few marchs from the blacksmith in Keth for it. Skars finally appeared, pulling a large sled by a rope held in his teeth. Kamo kept his distance by hanging on Birk’s shoulders and shooting dark looks at the wolfhound, who found it terribly amusing. Together, Birk and Skars rolled the dead rock-drake into the sled and secured it with leather straps. And together they hauled it back towards the Free City in the distance.

-

Birk didn’t mind the city, really, he just preferred the solitude of not being in the city. But a man could not live on solitude alone, especially when supporting two summoned spirits. Really it was just Skars; Kamno was small and didn’t drain too much from him. And Keth was alright. Not too big (yet) and fairly accepting of runaways and strays and anyone who didn’t want to be asked about where they’d come from. The guards at the west gate nodded greetings to Birk and gave only a raised eyebrow to the dead animal he was hauling. This wasn’t unusual for him, and he wasn’t an unusual sight; there were plenty of Frontiersmen and -women who sold their hunts to the traders.

No one gave him more than a second glance as he made his way through the crowds. Thankfully his trader contact wasn’t too far in. Merlandra’s Trade Goods had been his go-to for years, since setting up outside Keth. Gruff but fair, and not one to waste time; she had him pull the drake into the alley out back, and then shooed him and Skars inside. While he waited, Birk studied the framed map of the Frontier she had behind the counter. Merlandra would occasionally take it out and make adjustments herself, usually of new settlements cropping up, or existing ones changing names or – once in a while – disappearing. Nothing unusual about those, though: the Frontier was unforgiving, and if your settlement couldn’t make it, you either died or relocated.

She reappeared shortly with a receipt and a bag of money. Birk agreed to have her skin the drake and was paid the value of the pelt, plus his finder’s fee. He also agreed to let her keep and sell the drake meat (he wasn’t very fond of the stuff) and was paid for that as well. They shook on it, wished one another farewell, and Birk departed.

Outside, he transferred some of the coins to a small satchel and handed it to Skars. “Here, your cut of the hunt.”

The wolfhound took the bag in his mouth delicately, and said, around it, “I’m going to see if the bookseller has what I requested. Are you staying in Keth or going home?”

Birk scratched his beard. “I’ll stay for a bit. Find me…”

“I’ll find you, Birk,” Skars said with a wink, “Can’t very well lose my anchor to the physical world, can I? I’ll see you two later.” With that, the wolfhound disappeared into the crowd.

“What a place,” Kamo said in Birk’s ear. “What a world. Used to be, people weren’t so accepting of us spirits, ya know? Or maybe they were too accepting? I dunno, but people used to think of us as just slaves, yeah?”

“So you’ve said,” Birk replied absently. He supposed he should trade in the shell casing. Maybe see if Varden was able to secure some ammunition for his rifle.

“Not ta mention your people.”

“My people?”

“Vaerians, or whatever you people call yaselfs these days – I can’t keep ‘em straight. But I thought that your people didn’t like us magic-types.”

Birk shrugged. “We’re not all the same.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me, bub. Would make it a whole lot easier if you were.”

“Hmm.” Birk started towards the blacksmith, but caught a glint of something on the other side of the intersection: white-and-gold armor. Terryn knights. Here? He indicated them to Kamo.

“Whoa, that’s shiny. They trouble?”

“Could be. We’ll stay clear.”

“Back in my day,” Kamo started, “armor that bright and shiny meant good things. Heroes wore than kinda armor, yea know? Oh, it was easy! Heroes wore the bright colors, and the bad guys wore the dark colors. I loved it! And see – no one wrote these rules down, there wasn’t no charter that everyone agreed to – it’s just how it was. Light was good, dark was bad. These days, you got all kinds of people running around in different colored armor. Sometimes it’s tha same color, too! How’s a humbler ermine like myself supposed to keep it all straight? I tell ya - “

[Damien]

"They're flanking us! Fall back!" cried a female voice.

Calder looked towards the source, recognizing the voice as his sister's. He ran in a dead sprint towards her, using his staff to vault over the multitude of corpses in his way. "Sister, look out!"

She turned towards him, a look of fear on her face. "No! Calder, fall back! Get out of-"

Her words were stopped short, an arrow through her throat.

Calder's eyes widened as his pace slowed, combatants from both sides closing off his path to his sister. "NO! ASTRID!" He swung his staff, not caring if he hit friend or foe. His only care was getting to his sister, but the tide was against him, barring him from her for seconds that felt like hours, minutes that felt like days.

When he finally reached her, he could tell he was too late. He fell to his knees beside her and gathered her up in his arms. He called upon his healing magic to seal the wound and try to breathe life back into her, but his magic was not strong enough. She was gone.

“No,” he muttered, “…no…no no no nO NO NO NOOOOOO!!!!!” He screamed and wailed, his voice cutting above the din. In his fury, he released a burst of pure light, incinerating those near him. He released his sister’s body and stood, eyes aglow, and looked across the battlefield at the one who’s arrow felled her.

The guilty one’s eyes widened, seeing the burning wrath of a vengeful angel careening towards him. Calder’s spell called a column of radiant, holy flame from the sky, incinerating the archer and those around him, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

“Hey,” came a voice. Calder searched for the one who would draw his ire next.

“Hey!” The voice came louder this time, but still he couldn’t find the source.

--][--

“HEY!” came the voice again, this time accompanied by a bucket of water.

Calder coughed and sputtered, scrambling out of bed.

“Hey, man, what the hell?!” he growled, glaring up at the offender. He smelled smoke, and upon inspection, found that his bed was smoldering. “Oh…sorry about that. I had another night-”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘nother nightmare, I assumed as much.” said the innkeeper. “Getting’ real tired of the scorch marks in here, Calder. Yer lucky yer a good healer. Ye helped my daughter get over her illness, and I’m grateful to ye, don’t get me wrong, but the damage yer causin’ to my inn is getting’ to be a bit much…”

“Yeah, it’s fine, Gordon,” said Calder. “I’ll pay you for these damages and be on my way. Give you some time without having to worry about whether the inn is going to be standing or be a pile of cinder and ash in the morning. If you’ll get me a little food for the journey, I’ll leave some money for the damages and get out of your hair. You remember how to contact me if little Charlotte starts having problems again, right?”

“Yeah, I ‘member,” said Gordon, a small smile on his face. “Let me get ya that food. It’ll be at the bar when yer ready.”

“Thanks, Gordon,” Calder replied. “I mean it.”

Gordon turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Calder waited a few minutes before he got out of bed and walked over to his pack, pulling out some smallclothes and putting them on. He then walked to the mirror and saw just how disheveled he was. Bags under his eyes, face a bit gaunter that normal, looking completely exhausted.

He washed his face, hair, and beard in the basin, drying himself off with the provided towel. He went back to his personal belongings and put back on his travelling clothes, packed all his remaining things in his bag, grabbed his staff, and walked downstairs. Gordon was waiting, along his daughter and his wife, Rebecca.

“Awww, Mr. Holt, do you really have to go?” asked Charlotte, her face in a pout.

“I do, unfortunately, little one,” he said, smiling softly at her. “And how many times to I have to tell you to call me Calder? We’re family, aren’t we?”

“Yeah! And I don’t want my big brother to leave!” she exclaimed, nearly in tears.

Calder stepped towards her and picked up the child. She was already so big even though she was only five years old. He’d been there for years now, watching her grow up. “Well, don’t worry,” he said. “I may be gone for a while, but I’ll always come back. Have to make sure you stay okay.”

“You promise?” she asked.

“I promise,” he said, hugging her tightly and giving her a kiss on the top of the head. He put her back down, and she walked back to her mother’s side.

“D’you know when you’ll be comin’ back?” asked Rebecca.

“Honestly, I don’t,” he replied, “but this will be my first stop when I do come back into town. I promise.”

Gordon handed the satchel of dried meat, cheeses, and bread to Calder, and Calder attempted to pass a small pouch of coin in return.

“No, no,” said Gordon, pushing the pouch back at Calder. “I can’t very well ask that of family, now can I? Especially this little one’s favorite brother.”

Calder smiled, a tear at the corner of his eye. “Thank you. How can I ever repay your kindness?”

“Just come back and visit every now and again,” said Rebecca, beaming.

“I promise,” he said. He turned and walked away, waving back at the family.

The sun was shining brightly, just as he liked it. There was a lone preacher proselytizing on a street corner, and Calder turned the other way, heading for the city gates. He had had enough of churches and preachers to last him a good long while, especially after the death of the high priest of the church that raised him as a child and the death of his sister while fighting alongside the “faithful”.

A glint on shining gold armor caught his attention.

Terryn Knights. Why were they here of all places? He tried to blend into the crowds to remain unnoticed, which was made difficult due to his rather brightly colored garb of reds, oranges, yellows, and white. In attempting to go unnoticed, he bumped into a man wearing a dark gambison, studded with metal bits, shoulders covered with iron pauldrons.

“Pardon me,” he muttered as he continued past the man and walking as quickly as he could for the gates. I don’t need any trouble from the Knights. For the love of everything holy, no trouble.

[Bruce Leroy]

Lost in the crowd of travelers making their way into Keth, Ezekiel stumbled through the gates of the town. He head was pounding and he felt nauseous, trying to walk off the long night that he had. Too much beer, not enough food. Are you trying to kill yourself? Ezekiel chuckled to himself. But it was fun though. Reminiscing about the night that he had with villager. He could still smell her scent on himself. Licking his lips and scratching his stubbly chin, he felt a smile touch his face. He felt the warm of her body against his and longed for it again. It was a good night, but this life that he lived never would allow for him to get used to such things.

Ezekiel, making his way through the crowd of newly arrived visitors of Keth, contemplated his life thus far. It had been dull and uneventful with little to show for all of his efforts. Years upon years of wandering, travelling from town to town, it was all a part of the same routine at this point. Reaching to his side he gripped his dagger tightly, making sure to run his thumb over the deep engravings in the hilt that he had memorized years ago. Although entering new towns had become a habit, entering the town was always the worst part. If someone recognized me… No one would recognize me here. He let his hand drop to his side and continued walking trying to blend in with the rest of the crowd.

Looking at his surroundings that when he saw the Terryn Knight. That is precisely what I did not want to see. Before the knight saw him, Ezekiel turned his head. I am far too sober for this. Walking towards the direction that he thought would lead to the nearest pub, he felt as though someone was watching him. He let the feeling go, this was not the time to get paranoid. It’s just another nothing town. Get your drink and food, then be on your way. Turning a corner Ezekiel, stopped at a food cart and purchased a slice or dried meat. Asking the vender where the nearest pub was he placed a coin on the cart for the meat and placed a second one down next to it. “You will forget my face.” He stated as he walked away.

Walking in the direction that the vender had pointed him towards, he was struck by an urge to watch the Terryn Knight. It wasn’t wise and he knew that he should keep moving but, it felt like it could be interesting to see when the knight just so happened to be in this very town. Could it be coincidence or could it be that he had finally been found out. One thing was for sure, he thought to himself as he lifted himself onto a crate to watch the plaza, I will not be caught today.

[Myrdraxxis]

Rashid muttered another quick apology as he shouldered by a pedestrian, ignoring their returned apology. The man, his brightly colored garb clashing with his haggard look, seemed almost as harried as Rashid was. Funny that, but maybe not unexpected. Terryn knights didn’t give many people in these parts pleasant memories. He didn’t slow his pace but didn’t speed up either. Just quick enough to move with the crowds. It was a trick he’d learned from a saboteur during the war. Moving too quickly would stand out in a crowd just as surely as being too careful would. The west gate of Keth wasn’t far off now. The walls rose high above and the stream of travelers was growing larger, coming back towards him. The class of merchants and the pleasant smells of freshly cooked food were replaced by a gentle hum of conversation and the (not so pleasant) smells of animal stables. He kept his head ducked low and his helmet off. Armed folk were common in the Frontier, but in this case his helmet would make him more recognizable rather than give him the anonymity he was seeking. Bloody Terryns. He squashed down the flash of irritation and kept moving.

‘How did they even find me?’ He wondered, dodging around a pair of Vaerian traders. He hadn’t gone anywhere near Terryna in years. ‘They might have not even been here for me.’ He realized. Could have just been bad damned luck. Which was just typical. He could see the gates now; thrown wide to let a steady stream of people through under the watchful gaze of half a dozen armed guards. Keth may have opened its doors to outsiders again, but had doubled its military since the war, and learned its lessons well. Rashid stared forward, starting to breathe a sigh of relief, when a voice rose up over the crowds.

“You there! Stop!” A woman cried out. Rashid winced and, despite himself, glanced over his shoulder. The Terryn knights gave no thoughts to subtlety, barging through the flowing river of people with all the grace of, well, a barge. They had actually followed him from the café? Saint above. There was no mistaking their leader. She was a young woman, still in her twenties. Unusual, for someone so young to already be commanding her own cadre. He wasn’t terribly surprised though. They’d crossed paths before, and every time she’d seemed to be more and more the model knight. The way she moved now, her armor seemed practically a second skin, the large halberd she hefted seemingly light as a feather. Rashid almost smiled.

‘One of these days she’ll strong enough to catch me. Or I’ll just be too old.’ Rashid mused. She stared right at Rashid, picking him out from the crowd instantly. Those green eyes were filled with a steely determination that Rashid could practically feel, mixed with something else. He looked away quickly and sped up. Moving with the crowds only worked when you hadn’t already been made, after all. “Hey! Stop!” He didn’t stop. Instead he broke into a run, weaving between folks deftly- hah, not too old to do that yet, and then cut suddenly to the left, down a side alley. There was panicked shouting now, no doubt the Terryns had started chasing after him in earnest. Rashid exited the alley and began doubling back. Damnation, they’d be watching the west gate now. True, the Terryns were guests here and didn’t really have any authority to stop him….in the city at least. Outside its gates though, it was anyone’s game.

It was only ten minutes later, running through back alleys and changing directions every so often, that Rashid determined he’d lost his pursuers. He exhaled loudly and took a moment to catch his breath. Then he stepped back into the main roads. By coincidence, he’d rounded back towards the markets. That worked fine. He needed to get some supplies anyway. That in mind, he headed towards the blacksmith. There was already some folks there, when he arrived, the most conspicuous of which was a man in Arcian garb with a pair of spirits accompanying him. Aaron spotted Rashid from across the room and called out. “Be with you in a moment, sir!”

[Damien]

"You there! Stop!" a woman cried out.

Calder flinched, could feel the gaze of the woman leading the Terryn Knights in his direction.

No, no, no, he thought. He turned and saw the woman practically glaring in his general direction, but her eyes met with those of the man in the dark gambison that he had bumped into. The man broke into a run and went down a side alley, and Calder followed. Oh, no you don't. Not today.

He quickly turned down another alley that ran parallel to the one the man had entered, eventually catching sight of him. Calder doffed his robes and donned his normal travelling clothes as rapidly as he could. No need to be a shining beacon after this... He dropped his robes at the opening to the alleyway the man had just left, grabbed a book from a holster from under his cloak, and started casting, tracing lines in the air in the shape of the intricate rune on the page for the spell he was attempting to cast.

As he completed the spell, he saw the glint of armor at the end of the alleyway before the flames leaped up from the ground, barring the path of the knights. With no exits aside from this one, they'll have to double back, he though victoriously. Now to make myself scarce.

Calder sped off in the same direction as the man in the dark armor, hoping to find him before the knights managed to after the detour. He eventually found his way back to an open street with no sign of the knights anywhere, nor the man they were chasing. Off to the side was a bench in front of a shop, so he decided to sit and rest for a moment before resuming his search for the man and another way out of the city. He pulled a small cheese wheel from the pack that Gordon had given him and reached for his dagger to cut off a piece...only to find his dagger missing...or at least the hilt...

"Ah, gods-damned, cheap piece of-!" he exclaimed. "Now I have to get a new dagger. Hopefully this one will be better and last longer than a month..." He replaced the cloth around the cheese, put it back in the sack, and began making his way towards the blacksmith.

Upon arrival, he spotted two notable people there, one somewhat familiar and the other not. He walked up beside the man in the dark gambison, close enough to be heard.

"So," he muttered under his breath, "do you make a habit of running from the Knights, or did you actually do something to deserve being chased? And before you answer, let me make it clear, I'm not with them, and I made them take a little detour which probably helped you get away..."

[Mizagium]

"Some commotion back there, boss," Kamo muttered in Birk's ear. The damn ermine hadn't stopped chattering the entire time and at some point Birk had realized he wasn't listening. Kamo either didn't notice or didn't care; he liked to talk and Birk liked to not talk. People sometimes mistook that for him being a good listener. He wasn't. But he found that silence discomforted many people and they would fill the emptiness with words. That was part of why he chose to live out beyond Keth's walls.

Kamo slipped the seeming-offhand comment into his cadence without interrupting the flow, which would have gone unnoticed by Birk, except that the ermine spirit tugged on Birk's ear when he did.

"Terryns?" Birk asked as low as he could without turning.

"Dunno. Maybe. One guy just came running in."

"Keep watch."

Varden reappeared then, muscular and stout and bearded - like a real-life dwarf. He had a welder's mask pushed up and bits of his beard still singed orange-red. "Whatcha got for me, Birk?" he asked in a voice just a little higher than one would expect.

"Spent shells." Birk retrieved a few from his belt pouch and carefully placed them on the counter.

"'Nother guy," Kamo whispered. Seems to the know the first. Seems ok."

"Wanted to see if you any more in," Birk continued without acknowledging Kamo.

Varden scooped up the empty casing and disappeared them somewhere. "Some. Not much this time. Suppliers have been...well, anyway, I got a box, yeah. Hang on a sec." Varden ducked down below the counter. Clinks and clangs floated up along with a muttered curse or two.

"Can we hurry up," Kamo complained. "I hate this place. Smells like metal and gunpowder."

"It is a smithy," Birk told him, patiently.

"Yeah but it smalls like iron. Iron always makes me think of blood."

This time Birk did look at his spirit. He had never known that about Kamo. It wasn't an unreasonable association, but he hadn't expected that from a spirit. Then again, if Kamo was telling the truth (and that was a fairly big 'if') then he had been around for centuries, been summoned into the world several times before. Birk suddenly wondered if he wasn't the first soldier Kamo had known. He didn't ask, choosing to let the silence stretch - Kamo didn't fill it this time.

"There we are!" Varden reappeared with a box of twelve bullets. "Had to tuck this one away for you. Last one I got. Don't know if any more are coming in."

"I appreciate that, Varden." Trade city or not, Keth was still a Frontier city supply lines dried up without warning. Trade caravans disappeared and were never found. Birk had accepted that reality when he...stayed. Others failed to fully appreciate the dangers of the continent, or believed they were somehow immune.

Birk offered to pay full price for the bullets, instead of take the discount usually offered for trading in scrap metal, but Varden refused, saying, "Nah, we ain't in a crisis yet. Save your money." Then he offered his hand. When Birk took it, the smith pulled him close, leaning over the counter. "Dunno if you seen yet, but there's Terryns about."

"I saw," Birk said. "What's going on?"

"No one knows. You live outside the walls, right? Probably good if you stay out for a bit."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They broke apart and Birk turned to go before he remembered something. "Oh, Varden! Is Shao in yet? I wanted to ask him something."

Varden grunted. "Out running an errand. Should be back in a bit."

"Mind if I wait here?"

Varden shrugged. "Suit yourself." Then he eyed the two men standing close. "Who's next?"

[Bruce Leroy]

Ezekiel, having watched the Terryn Knight’s chase the man and not notice him at all, smiled to himself. See, nothing to worry about. No one even noticed me. In his moment of satisfaction Ezekiel hopped down off the box that he had placed himself to watch the scene. Biting off another piece of meat, he began to walk towards the pub not bothering to watch where the knights or the man ran off to. I might even be able to find a companion for the evening with the Knights looking elsewhere. Good to know that I am not the only one that is being hunted.

Walking for what seemed too long; he found that he had quickly gotten lost. Turning the corner and lost in his lustful and drunken daydreams, he ran into someone. “Oh I’m sorry. How terribly clumsy of me. I was lost in…” In that moment he took notice that it was one of the Knights that were chasing after the man. “…in my thoughts. Well I’ll be on my way.” With that he quickly turned away and began to walking in the opposite direction. Before he got more than a few steps, there was a hand grabbing his shoulder.

“And where do you think you are going? You just struck a Terryn Knight. You are going to pay for that.”

“I assure you sir that I did not mean to run into you. If you would please forgive my incompetence, we could both be on our way and forget that this even happened.“

“Incompetence comes at a price and you are about to pay.” With that the knight turned Ezekiel to face him. After a moment the knight remarked, “Don’t I know you?”

“No no not at all. I am just a humble traveler that was in search the pub and some company for the day.”
“Well you found some.”

With that two different knights grabbed Ezekiel’s arms and began dragging him towards an empty alley. Ezekiel attempted to struggle, but was met with a quick punch to the gut. Once the men had dragged Ezekiel to the back of the alley he was met with another gut punch.

“You’ve had your fun, now if we could please stop that will be the end of this,” Ezekiel gasped.

“You speak as if you hold the power in this situation. By my count you are outnumbered 3 to 1.”

“Yes, I know I can count, but you have no idea who are whom you are trying to assault do you?”

“It doesn’t matter who you are. It seems that you need to be taught a lesson in respect.”

With that the leader lunged at Ezekiel. Quickly, Ezekiel stepped to the side while at the same time tripping the knight so that he ran face first into the wall.

“I truly am sorry about that. You must watch your step, these streets are paved terribly.”
The Knight regained his balance, nose bleeding, “I think my nose is broken!” he cried out. “Don’t just stand there, get him!”

The other two knights charged towards Ezekiel. He ducked under the first swing and blocked the second one aimed at his gut.

“There will be no more of that.” Ezekiel said as he twisted the knight’s arm. While distracted by the pain in his arm, he was stuck by 3 blows to the face. Turning towards the other knight, Ezekiel swept him off his feet and delivered an elbow to the face. The third knight still attempting to recover from running into the wall was struck across the face with a kick that knocked him out.

Standing he straighten his cloak and looked to make sure that no one was watching as he exited the alley. As he began walking towards the direction that he thought was the pub, he saw the man that was running earlier.

“Huh. What are the odds?” he said to aloud as he scratched his beard.

[Myrdraxxis]

Rashid’s entire body went tense for a moment before he slowly released it, sighing. He didn’t take his hand away from the hilt of his sword, however, as he scanned the room. No one was looking at them, save for the occasional appraising look from the blacksmith. The man was more absorbed in his conversation with a customer however, so Rashid turned his attention to the person that had just spoken. “You make a habit of finding trouble with the Holy See?” he asked back at the man, who Rashid vaguely recognized as the brightly colored person from earlier- and continued, “Thanks, I guess. No offense friend, but what do you want? Nobody just starts that kind of trouble for no reason.” Mentally he was calculating his odds. He still had to leave Keth as soon as possible, but if the Knights were on the wrong track now and he had a little more time…maybe he could look for some help in town after all?

He gave the other man another look-over. Disheveled and dressed for spellwork more than fighting, but still…

“You been in Keth long, friend?”

[Damien]

"I'll be honest with you," Calder began, "I've got a bit of a grudge against the Knights. I'm a holy man myself, but I've long since left the church for...personal reasons..." He finally turned to look at the man. "I generally don't trust the church or the Knights, so anyone running from them usually doesn't deserve to be chased. At least, that's what my experiences tell me."

"Whether you deserved it or not is neither here nor there at this point. They've lost the trail, you've gotten away, I got to disrupt them, everyone wins. Except them, of course." Calder smiled warmly at the man in the dark gambison, dusting off his traveling tunic a bit and straightening his vest at the same time. "The name's Calder. Calder Holt," he said, hand extended amicably. "I've been here a while, helping to heal Gordon's daughter. He's the owner of the inn near where I bumped into you earlier."