Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 19:45:48 GMT
Maii IM 1003
There’s an air to Deci.
Really. Once you’re in this city you can tell where you are by the simple expedient of just letting the nostrils the dark lords gave you serve the task they were meant to do. There are those that glorify in the city, wallow in it as the ‘meanest’ place in the Empire. The smell sums these people up. Deci smells like nuts.
There, I said it. Daring old me! Would it really hurt the council to invest in some sort of basic sanitation? I mean, to be fair, we’ve probably got the most enterprising people in the Empire here and there’re orcs who make a tidy stack of grulls by taking away other peoples refuse. I’ve seen them. They’re horrid. Really icky! I’ve heard they pile it all in a big heap outside the city and then dig through it to see what people have thrown out since, and this is something you understand I’ve only heard and not personally looked into it, there’s money to be made in the rubbish of others. Old rings, scrolls, bits of broken dagger, it all goes into the orc heap. But that’s orcs for you and whilst I have done many things, one of those is not our piggy nosed neighbours. I know, I know… they’re evil, conniving little bastards who only seem to hang around looking for the first chance to die horribly on the end of a butch sword but think on this. Those sort of orcs are the ones that nature has deemed want to lurk in dark holes waiting for the hot thrust of a burly arm.
Which of course I am not personally adverse to but I digress.
No, it’s the orcs that don’t do this, the ones that raise families and move to the big city. Those are the ones you have to watch. You’ll note I say that you’ve got to watch them since to be honest, sweetie, I have better things to do with my eyes.
But I’m back in Deci again and right away it’s like I’ve never been gone. Nothing seems to change nothing seems to move on. There’s lots of lovely young boys fighting in Cheapside and only too willing to entertain an old man of an evening of course but there’s also all these drow and the kids who want to be drow. You must have seen them? Really? No? Well for Terrible Demonlords sake you must really learn to open your eyes. Half the drow you see in Deci are in fact youngsters who like to dress in black and put on the accent. Black and purple isn’t really all that practical and if there was anything beneficent about a spider then I have to say that I’ve never seen it.
But I’m back in Deci. Why? Because it’s where my shrine is. Why a shrine? Because I’m a priest. A dark and nasty one at that only not so much really. The best bit about a shrine is that it has a roof and whilst I enjoy the larksome life of the gypsy road as much as the next man. assuming of course that the next man is camper than a Man of Talthar and weedier than an Imperial Warlord, there comes a time when family becomes important and that time, darlings, is right about now.
This is my son by the way, I’ve already explained about him. Yes, I’m his mother, please try and keep up as I swear that you only ask that every time just to gather a few giggles at my expense. Aethen is a good boy and already I see the spark of the true artist in him. Don’t let those meaty hands and lack of what might pass for a forehead make you think otherwise. He’s still young and…
…yes? He looks to be in his teens but that’s Nobles for you.
…yes? He’s a Noble of the Blood. You know, like the silk-clad do-wotsits that own the Empire? His father is an Edwige.
So you’ll be wanting to know why I asked you to my little shrine I suppose. Yes, there will be cake but why that should interest you I cannot guess. You’re all dead aren’t you? Well, near enough. Anyway, I am thinking of taking a little trip and being a glorious sort of fellow I thought that whilst the old noodle has a profile to halt a charge and a haircut you could slice paper with it does not always come up with the best places to go. Soooo, whilst you’re here, sweeties, perhaps you might want to tell me a simply darling place to go?
Yes… quite the funniest thing I’ve heard of late.
I did point out that I’m a priest and you are here at my beck and whim?
Yes, I thought I had. So, where would you suggest?
*
He walked the hundred paces that took him to a bend in the worn path and through the dark trees that fringed him on either side. Stopping when he saw the village that became clear to his eyes as he turned the corner.
There was nothing overly remarkable about the village, it being typical of its kind. There were ten large huts and twenty smaller, single roomed hovels that clustered about the stubby ruins of what must have once been a tower or similar structure at some time. Pigs rooted in the earth and a number of people drifted from hut to hut in a slovenly, perhaps weary fashion. His experienced eye told him they were simple peasants and none of them seemed to possess the skills or strength that would have signified a threat to someone of his ability or training. The serfs looked at the ground as they went about their tasks and they all avoided the stump of the tower and the mound of earth that stood near to it. From his vantage point Selgard could see that the mound had been made in symptom to the pit that had been dug beyond it.
For an hour he waited but still no one else showed themselves and so, carefully, Selgard roamed a little closer. He stopped when he found a pole planted to one side of the path and this he inspected more closely. That of it that was above the ground stood to his shoulder and was surmounted by the old, yellow skull of a goat. Tattered streamers hung limply about it for there was not sufficient wind to stir them from where they rested. As his eyes swept the darkness he could see another further on, and more to the other side. His outstretched hand felt the faint tingle of spiritual power, but it was a subtle thing and promised him no direct harm. Mentally, Selgard let his body dim in the greater whole of the world and then stepped forward, knowing himself to be invisible to those that might have otherwise been keen to employ their eyes…
*
It was near to dawn when Jander came to the crossroads. He had been forced to attend to his Governor’s duties through most of the night and had walked to the village only when he had done that. He had been fortunate to find Siren for she tended to spend most of her time in the Forgotten Hills which would have involved a much greater search but she had not been able to provide him with anything regarding Fryer’s Held or tribal movement in that direction. She did not have scouts posted all about the city, concentrating, she confirmed his earlier thoughts, on the Hills through which the eastern road ran and the south for the trade routes that stretched to Eartholme, then the heartlands and the south.
“What do we have?” Jander asked as he saw Selgard step into view from the shadows. The darker man inclined his head as he sought to frame his words more concisely.
“Most of the tribe we heard about has gone. Not long now but it was obvious they were spooked by one of their warriors going missing. The villagers seem to have been scared but not actually harmed the tribesmen killed and took a pig with them but that is all the damage they did.”
“All of them gone?”
“Not quite.” Selgard shook his head. “There’s this big warrior who has remained in the old tower and he’s waiting for someone but I can’t tell who.” Nodding, Jander followed Selgard as he led the way. It did not take long to crest the rise and pass into the village, the people there scattering when they saw Jander, even if they could not see Selgard, as he walked past them in his glittering golden laminar, shield on arm and sword ready in case of trouble. He only stopped when he came to the foot of the tower and there he called to the warrior within.
“I heard you.” A voice answered. He was a big man and moved well despite his bulk. Furs padded his mail and a leather tunic held the layers in place. From the simple iron helmet he wore a mask of more mail hung to hide his features, though a beard could be seen at the lower edge of the kirtle. His shield was made of layers of oak and bronze with more iron banding the rim and crossing the board’s centre. At his hip he had a thick-bodied broadsword. “I am Woegrimm.”
“Jander.” The Governor of Deci answered formerly. “The Spirit of my City is concerned about what has been wrought here. I am concerned about what has been wrought here. You will tell me what has happened.”
Woegrimm stared at the shorter figure for a moment and thinking he heard a slight sound to one side twisted to face what he feared to be a new foe, but there was none there. Jander in turn was waiting. He had been concerned to hear from Selgard that the warrior’s aura was white and he could see this for himself now. There was something about the man that seemed ill, but the Sunstar could not, for the moment, put his finger on it. “Listen Woegrimm, you stand on the blades edge. I do not doubt your courage or your resolve but to fight me will gladden only the carrion crow.”
“We were attacked first. I said I would wait to see the skulking people’s return.”
“Your shaman?”
“Is gone from here with the statue of the Goddess and every moment I buy him the more likely he is to make safety.”
“Of the Hordehost..?”
Woegrimm drew his sword then. “I spit on the Hordehost. Our people are as old as his but our Goddess is not some grubbing spirit. She will come amongst us once more.”
“I think I see. But you interfere with my City?”
“We interfere with nothing! The Goddess was of the City before you. Long centuries ago she it was who took the place from the robber fort it was to what it became. She was the Spirit then, I am told, but then came the Princes and the cycle did not continue but rewove itself once again. So she slept. So she will be revived.”
“I do not think my Spirit will allow that.”
“Then we seem to be opposed.” But Woegrimm’s sword did not come up aggressively and it was clear that he had expected to fight a band of assassins or black-clad warriors with blood in their eyes. A shining knight clearly did not set well with his expectations. “I am sorry but you must feed the crows it seems.”
But still his sword did not come up. Jander looked at the man sidewise, eyes narrowed in thought.
By Alan Morgan (CI5V6)