IM 1001 Pt 2 ~ Deeber: The Final Dawn 01/02

[Sire Halfblack]

Deeber IM 1001: The Final Dawn 01/02

Ulis Tamary nodded as he walked through Cheapside. To one side of him walked Stooks, though he was at that time walking about the Poor Quarter of Halgar, and Leofric, though he was striding in his leisurely way through the grubmarket on the Shambles quarter of Trollsville.

“I confess I did not expect this.” Ulis commented. The City Spirit was too full of power, it having both come back at a rush with the death of the previous Kallah Lord and then been increased, strangely, from without. It was not something he was used to since he had always favoured stability throughout his long years at the post and it resulted in his conversation filtering into the dreams of all those in his city.

“He really told them where to go though, didn’t he?” Leofric laughed.

“Not funny, my Lord.” Stooks dressed the spirit of Trollsville down. His voice was that of a schoolmaster to a student gifted on the playing field but not in the class they both currently shared.

“Sorry, and less of the ‘lord’, Hm?”

“As you say. Your big brother has returned you know?”

“Gentlemen!” Tamary interrupted. “There are things to discuss. I believe that many of us are to gather and we should at least agree on what it is that we three do agree on. We should not bicker. Already the settlement of Rundel is lost to us.”

Stooks nodded, the Imperial City had been a cornerstone of the Empire’s western province but now it had gone and none would remember it for it had… suddenly never been. Leofric frowned, not knowing the name, but gave his commiserations anyway.

As those that slept passed onto the more normal theatre of their slumber, the city continued to heal after the recent schism in the ranks of the beggars. The Kallah who had taken up with the dagger faction tried to pretend they had always been loyal to Tamary and for the most part the beggars waited to see who would claim the mantel of Kallah Lord.

It was early in the new-year though that a new story began to circulate about the settlement. A group of hardier-than-normal peddlers who braved the Winter’s cold to go north and try and get a jump on the Spring’s pelt trade came back to the city with tales of some concern to the more tribal folk of Deci. None of these hairy peoples had much time for Centaris for it was known that it was a place of people-eating elves and tribes who, for some reason, served them even against their own kind. Many of the tribals in the city, despite having fled from Ikhala, had been openly gratified that the Hordehost had seen fit to attack Centaris. But now the peddlers brought more news.

Although the seas were fiercely storm-ridden, a number of craft had crossed from the lands above the Great Sink to bring greater numbers to the Centaran cause. The peddlers had not seen the craft but each had found people who had, either whilst scouting the coast or, in two occasions, in visions. It was said that they were great, ivory barges that felt not the wind or the storms for they moved upon oceans of their own choosing. Within them, it seemed, was carried aid for the Centarans and this would mean further conflict between that place and the Hordehost. A visitor from Alguz hoped that this would not keep Ikhala busy when the Foe came calling during the coming, warmer, months.

But Deci was now in the decaying weeks of Winter. The snow had ceased to fall and only an all-pervading damp filled the air and settled into the wood and upon the stone of the building. Moss grew in clumps and the settlement decayed a little more with each passing day.

For the bringing of Duke Jack Flashblade to the Justice of the city of Deci and its City Spirit

A great quantity of potions and poisons of
All varieties is offered.

Those willing to discuss fair trade should approach The Kallah of the city who will refer any such Communication to Ulis Tamary for consideration.

As the first light of the Final Dawn came across the Empire the children of Slavik paused in what they did. A rippling scent of fear came across them, place to place, tribe to tribe, aspect to aspect. Something had happened, something that the nine aspects could not comprehend but whose scent they well knew. It was death.

Across Primus the creatures of Slavik that best typified each of its multipherous aspects felt the premonition of what was to come and they knew it was time to pack up and ready themselves for the possibility of a journey. If things were to fragment then the children of Slavik would be the first to leave the ship.

But how?

“How?” Trundelberry asked. Amongst the tangled rags of the bedcovers, Mrs. Berry looked to be in equal shock.

“It’s happening – the Choice wasn’t made – it’s all going to fall apart.”

“Nice,” the goblin nodded, “see, thing is, what I was thinkin’ is that I’m like well overdo for a bit of power and what with the aspect thing what I ‘ave chosen I was thinkin’ wot ‘as ‘ow it was prob’ly ‘bout time that I got all powerful and stuff. Yeah?”

Mrs. Berry thought about this. “But Slavik?”

“Yup – good ol’ god an’ stuff. But let’s think about me fer a likkle bit, yeah?”

“I think that you should go to Thimon and there meet with the City Spirit which is the Aspect of Slavik that you follow. You shouldn’t (cough) have any problems being as who you are – just go and ask the nearest rat that you see in there.”

“And I’ll get power, like, yeah?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Berry nodded.

It was only a little while later that Trundelberry took himself to the shop. The Stepsons had not progressed with their training of late, not especially wanting to be ninja’s, but had managed to collect together a number of useful items that might, or might not, be ready to go one sale in the shop.

Amongst all the normal knives, dagger and the like that such an enterprise needed there were three special articles that the Stepsons had managed to lay their twitchy little paws upon. The first was an extravagant knife much etched with swirling designs and of Ishmaic manufacture. The second offered up for his perusal were in the form of a pair, though very plain looking. The third was a heavy thing, short of blade but heavy of pommal.

“Tell us, then!” Trundelberry snapped.

The brightest of the stepsons stepped forward, his head bobbing happily. “The first-first came to us by ‘finding’ off dead-dead thing. It is used-wielded but once-once but it can take-remove the Rites of Binkered Eyes and the like from a chamber by cutting-swiping the trails of power away.”

“Heh.” The goblin chuckled.

“Second-next,” the rat continued, “these very fine. They fly-fly at enemy that seen, even round corner-corner!”

“Nice.” Trundelberry nodded.

“Last one like bell – if struck ‘gainst place-place that is solid but holds some sort of portal-shifty-thing then it rings out. Very old.”

Trundelberry chuckled as he turned his three new ‘special articles’ over in his grubby, goblin fingers.

By Alan Morgan (CI4V2)