Chptr 2
February 2024
Shar sat atop a grassy knoll just off the road. He had awoken before the sun had and could not find the peace of slumber again. Deep in contemplation he sat, watching the horizon as it began to lighten with the dawning of a new day. His thoughts ran rampant.
There was something astir, aside from the illumination of the landscape. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but he was sure the gods were meddling in his life. There was the stroke of luck that won him that game of bones, the adorable wench that had occupied his night when he should have been sleeping, besting a troll like Tonka in combat, it had all happened so fast that he hadn't given it much thought.
Now as the cloud's edges alit with the fire of the waking sun, the gladiator couldn't quite shake the feeling that an ominous force was blowing on the embers of fate. He was anxious that they were kindling an event that would rage all around him fierce and wild. Already life had ruined him, handing him one cruel fate after another. Gone was the adventurous youth known to his village as "Little Squirrel". Long had that beaming young boy been destroyed. His heart ached when he dwelled in those long passed memories.
Only the gods knew how he had survived the all consuming conflagration of the dungeons. Then to find victory after victory in the arena, it was really hard to take in at times. Not only had he survived, but he had risen from it like a phoenix, winning the crowd over with his unbridled joy at surviving each match. As he watched the first fires of the day's sun grow more intense on the edge of the world, his hopes seem to flare with an irrational inspiration.
While he could not see anything upon which to place his hopes, his spirit lifted with the growing warmth of daylight. His soul burned with the same undeniable heat of the great yellow blaze which fed life into all of Aborlon. The same fire that now lit the entire horizon with pinks and oranges seared away the melancholy of his past.
Would he find work in the mines? Was that to be his destiny or was there something else that lied ahead for him? He was still young and healthy, by human standards anyway. In his heart there was this undeniable desire to be more than he was, though he could not see a way to feed that future.
The fields in front of him were now fully revealed in the light of day. A gentle breeze began to stir the grasses. Birds were darting from perch to perch in the forest behind him, and the melody of nature was gaining volume as the wildlife rose to meet the new day.
Gathering both his thoughts and his possessions, Shar prepared to continue his journey. He felt more at peace than he had in quite some time, though he could not say why. There were still so many unanswered questions. He could not truly see where his destiny lied. Such uncertainty was usually unsettling. But his heart felt unburdened.
Having collected himself, he turned one last time to take in the beauty of the sunrise. It was hard to feel anything but serene when the world began with such colorful wonder. Just then something caught his eye on the edge of the woods. There was a pink light that seemed to be radiating from something within the tree line. The colors of the sky had long grown passed the hues of red and pink and were now a bright yellow atop a light blue canvas.
No, that light was not from the sun, he pondered. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, the light was pulsating. That was peculiar indeed. His curiosity wrestled control from him. With purpose Shar pulled his staff-mace from his pack and headed in the direction of the illumination.
With eyes fixed on the location of the light, he slowed his pace as he neared the fields edge. This close he was certain that the light throbbed gently, dimming ever so slightly only to brighten again. The closer he drew to it the more distinct the pulse.
Crossing into the woods was like crossing into a different region altogether. Where before he had been surrounded by the soft whisper of grasses with the bright light of day he now found himself in a dense wooded area with long shadows and excited birdsong.
The glow that had drawn him down the hill was now a shimmer that seemed to beam from a clearing a good ways ahead. His heart seemed to quicken with a curiosity he had not known in so long. Tentatively he continued forward as he yearned to know the source of the light.
What had it been? Where did the light go? He felt so foolish now. He had just wasted precious time chasing his imagination. Leaving the road was dangerous for a myriad of reasons. Shaking his head in frustration, Shar turned to head back only to have his attention caught by the tree in the shade of the bluff.
"I am already here," he thought, "what is one more moment."
He navigated his way through the rock strewn slope to the solitary tree.
"Alone like I am. Standing away from the rest of the forest as if you too know you are not quite the same as the trees who gather together for safety.", Shar stated bemused.
But it was just a tree. Nothing really special about it, aside from it growing in the shadow of a mountain. It was an elm he believed, though he was not altogether knowledgeable about such things.
It had a gray bark with vertical ridges that made it extremely uncomfortable to climb. The leaves were oblong with little points at the tip. At his height Shar could easily hop to the lower limb and climb it if he was of the mind to. But his carefree days were but faded memories now. He had to be on his way. Too long had he dallied on this fools errand.
Then he saw them. Resting in the nook of the lower most limb. There were two bracers there. The only way he was going to be able to retrieve them was to hop and climb into the tree. That was something he had not attempted since his father's...well, in a really long time.
Setting his pack down, he contemplated the challenge in front of him. Like sizing up an opponent he considered the best course of action8. He would have to set his staff-mace down and climb unarmed. Being unarmed was unwise as it left you at the mercy of those that were armed. He didn't like it one bit.
With a stern, cautious gaze, he inspected his surroundings for anything amiss. He looked into the shadows in search of would-be hooligans, scanned the rocky slope for movement and scoured the edge of the forest for unnatural shapes and silhouettes. Though there did not seem to be anything out of place, he committed himself to being quick at task.
With a grace that contradicted his muscular physique, the man hopped up, grabbed the lower limb and swung himself onto it facing away from the tree. Then with little effort he swung his left leg over the limb followed by the right, reversing his direction. As if in reward, the stash sat right in front of him.
He picked up one of the bracers and quickly surveyed the ravine for trouble. Satisfied he tucked both bracers into his belt. Underneath the bracers had been a knife. One of great quality from the looks of it. This too he stuffed into his belt and then quickly dropped down from his perch.
Once he had grabbed his possessions and made it back to the road he stole himself to more closely examine his booty. He began with the bracers. They were hard leather bracers with detailed metal plates. At first he believed it be an oxidized copper because of the color. But when he tried to wipe the corrosion away he discovered it be polished adamantium with runes inscribed into their surface.
Now that is a find! Adamantium was some of the finest metal in the nine kingdoms. It was excavated from deep within the mines of Donmolim by dwarves. Only the most skilled smelters and smithies could work it. Instantly he searched his surroundings for miscreants. Such luck felt unbelievable.
Armaments as fine as these were very expensive, certainly not something someone leaves behind. Yet, here they were in his possession, found stashed in a tree? He didn't bother pondering it anymore. He removed his steel bracers and put on the adamantium one. Fastening the buckles in place, he noticed the wear marks in the leather. From those marks he ascertained that the previous owner had been slightly smaller than he.
Anxiously Shar did a tight observation of his surroundings as he pulled the knife from his belt for inspection. The leatherwork on the sheath was expert, causing his heart to quicken. It appeared to be made by the same hands as the bracers. Could it too be made of adamantium?
Holding his breath he slowly pulled it free from its scabbard. It was made of the same rare metal as the bracers! He couldn't believe his luck. Judging from the inscriptions on the knife the bracers and knife were a set. It would take him decades working as a mason's apprentice to afford such a set.
Shar stopped so that he could tie the blade to his bicep. It felt natural, as if the set were made for him. Did the previous owner feel the same way when they had worn them? Why would they leave such a valuable set behind? They were stashed there as if they had intended on retrieving them at a later time.
Only a thief would do that. Shar reasoned. Stash them away until things had blown over. Then they would whisk them away to a fence to sell them. That was the only conclusion that added up.
"Am I to keep them?" he wondered aloud.
He decided that he would continue to wear them until they were recognized. If they were recognized Shar would assess the best course of action when that information came to light. There weren't any known settlements nearby, so there was no telling where the original owner resided. There was also no way to know if they were even alive.
And so the ex stockader turned gladiator continued his journey toward the capital of the human nation of Stenocia. It is the seat of the King of Kings power, the leader of the race of men. The nine Human kings swore fealty to the King of Kings and Queen of Queens. It rested on the border to the lands of the Elves, received merchant ships from as far north as the Troll nation of Kanjin and caravans from the western side of the continent.
As the days turned to weeks Shar gave the discovery little thought. It was only when he passed through a settlement that he was reminded that he might have to turn them over to their rightful owner someday. But that day never came. No one ever gave them anything more than an admiring glance. However, he did notice that people seemed to treat him with a little more dignity than before. As he entered into the region of Tyre, the memory of a childhood love occupied his thoughts.
Somewhere in the back of his mind though, there was this tantalizing notion that the gods were preparing him for an inferno of ill fate. Whenever the thought came to mind he quickly pushed it away. For now, he would just be grateful for his fortune and hopeful about a love once more real to him than any god or animal.
Bootstraps
March 2024
It had been weeks since his encounter with the vicious asphantis. Occasionally the throbbing headaches would plague his senses. A painful reminder of how close he had come to perishing. Headaches were a thing he could suffer with little more than a grunt, but the stench. Oh, Gods, the stench!
The visceral fluids and organs that had spilled from the wretched creature were gut wrenching. Roun could do little for the first week. In and out of consciousness, the putrid stench had been a sharp and obnoxious attack that continued its deluge for days. Even his feverish nightmares were infected by the smell as it seeped its way into the farthest reaches of his mind.
On the fifth day the Dwarf had recovered enough to wash his garments. It was an excruciating endeavor and his head had swum dizzily more than once as he had set to task. He had completely submerged his leather breastplate in water, a bad idea really, just to get most of the gore from it. After drying on the rocks in the sun he oiled it to condition the material.
While they had shrunk a little, it was not enough to make them too uncomfortable to wear. Truth of the matter he had been meaning to clean his traveling garments for quite sometime. But he was always so focused on work. As soon as he completed one task he simply moved on to the next one. In this manner days melted into weeks, weeks into moon cycles and moon cycles into seasons.
The greatest casualty were his boots, having received the largest drenching of gore of all his items. Luckily they were also the furthest from his nose. Bile had risen to the surface of his mouth as he had cleaned the bootstraps. Running the sinew through his fingers had made his skin crawl and his stomach slosh nauseatingly about. Gods those creatures were an abomination of life, he thought to himself.
Faithful was no less bothered by it than he. The horse had been on edge since the encounter. Whether it was guilt for bolting and leaving him behind or the memory of such a creature as the asphantis, he wasn't quite sure. Nonetheless, she shied away from him once he put the stinking leather boots back on. Cantering a few paces like a child edges away from their mess. As he recalled, she had caught first scent.
He was now but a few days travel from the reticent message's destination. He hoped that the recipient would be far more forthcoming about its contents than had his benefactor. Not that he made a habit of prying into the affairs of his benefactor, but this was in no way usual. And if Roun was really honest with himself, he was going to have some choice words for Ruthwah. A gods damned asphantis!!
The diplomat, looked ahead to see that there was someone on the road. With no thought at all he unhooked his axe and gave his mount a furtive pat. This was the type of concern that the two of them had been through before. An almost welcoming riddle compared to the challenges he had faced thus far.
The way that the roadside man continued to glance up the road at him gave Roun an inclination of what was going on. Bandits. He let his senses take over, allowing his hearing to become focused and heightened. He caught the sound of creaking leather to his right, then a soft scrape of boot against earth behind him. To the left he saw something glint in the sunlight. So far only the human in front of him was in the open, but it was clear that these guys weren't all that good at ambushes.
His axe was now fully in hand. No need to cooperate with the hoax. He pulled up a few dozen paces from the spotter.
"What have we here?" the mounted dwarf asked.
"A poor band of thugs ready to meet their gods?" he continued before the thief in front of him had a chance to respond.
"I must apologize for my tactics good sir." a voice came from above, startling both he and Faithful.
With a crash a red gryphonette tore through the limbs overhead and glided to the ground in front of the dwarf. Upon its back was an elf! That was something that was uncommon: an elf bandit. Well, it was uncommon for an elf to be in a band of miscreants. Some disgruntled customers might say the traveling merchants were crooked, but he did not believe that to be true of the Venvyre.
With the landing of the mounted elf, the rest of the men in the woods came out of hiding. There was a scarred, rugged looking dwarf that materialized from the sound of the leather. The glint revealed itself to be a troll. The human woman, circled around to stand next to the elf, no longer dragging her feet. Also from behind him padded in a green goblin, bare-chested and carrying a nasty looking spear. Odd how they surrendered the benefit of having him surrounded.
"We were sent for two purposes, master dwarf." the elf, who seemed to be in charge, continued.
"We are a not a band of thugs, well at least we do not think so. My name is Pharom Orivenlis of house Oriven. I, and my fellow companions, serve in a kingdom across the Natno Ocean."
"Roun Whitmaul, of the Mithrilfury clan. I am honored Pharom, what makes our acquaintance?" he inquired driving straight to the point. His axe was still firmly grasped in his hand, though not a one of them made for their weapons.
"Our liege and King, Mavrix Durand has an interest in the message that you bear." Pharom replied.
Roun had to hide his surprise at that. "What gives breath to the notion that I am carrying anything?"
"Let us assume that you have such a message without arguing the merit of its validity. Our king has sent us to ensure that you arrive to your destination unvexed. When Ruthwah sent you to task he was not fully aware of all the parties interested in its contents. Upon discovery of the forces that move against you, King Durand sent us to aide." with that the elf dismounted and bowed graciously to Roun.
Still bent over the elf offered "We are in your service."
Curious that this mixed band of races would claim to be from a Kingdom across the western seas. It was to his understanding that great beasts and monsters of nightmare resided there. The wind had long whispered of those lands as a place of darkness and evil. But here was an unusual posse of people claiming fealty to a kingdom there and offering themselves as subordinates.
"What of this other, as of yet unrevealed, purpose?" Roun inquired.
"We are to win your favor." Pharom replied, still bowed.
"My favor." the dwarf repeated. So this fledgling king sought to ally himself with Canthium? Or was he trying to earn some favor from him as a diplomat?
This was a lot to take in. They clearly knew he was working for Ruthwah, but that wasn't really hidden knowledge. They claimed to know of the task at hand and that was not known to many. Or was it? Was he really the only one outside of the know on this message? Such a revelation went leagues in explaining the circumstances of late.
"What about this message that you believe I burden to and fro is of concern to your master?"
Standing straight now, Pharom appeared bereft. "My apologies ser, I was not offered such knowledge. Only that it was to find its success."
Damning all things unholy, what was so important about this message? Given the events that had transpired Roun was not altogether comfortable having a party of strangers about. While it might be a brutal fight, the veteran dwarf was confident he could best these people. But were he to let his guard down, sleep whilst they lie awake, turn his back on any number of them... On the other hand it would be added security to have a party with him.
He considered the party with more scrutiny. A Troll and a Goblin keeping company was something to behold. They were usually mortal enemies. The Dwarf was not familiar to him, however, he looked to be of the Forton bloodline, but underhanded people existed in every race. The spotter was a shifty little human man, aged to gray.
Was that a fresh scar on his cheekbone? The human female also seemed to be sporting some recent wounds, and the gryphonette was favoring its left leg. They had seen battle recently. He now saw the telltale snags in chainmail, the blood spattered stains upon clothing. Weariness shaded all their faces, the old man himself looked exhausted.
"What can you tell me of these other parties that are interested in my goings about?" Roun pressed.
"There is an evil brewing among the thirteen races of Aborlon, one that moves to upset the generations of peace that has sustained us all. My lord does not know who its orchestrator is, only that they are dancing with some dangerous companions. There have been delegates and messengers from the worse peoples on Epimetheus travelling to the western deserts of Aborlon. Every one that we have been able to apprehend has bode ill intentions toward the races these parties deem lesser."
Pharom went on, "It was one of these couriers that led us to you. The note that it possessed made clear to its intended recipient that you were not to deliver your message. This was directed with no uncertain threats as to the consequences should they fail."
"Therefore, your king wishes to thwart their plans by ensuring the success of my travels." Roun concluded.
"Aye." Pharom confirmed.
This was becoming more complicated and severe than he had imagined. There were still many questions to be had, and Roun wanted to understand what was truly afoot. He was just about to continue his inquisition when the Goblin grunted and fell to bended knee, clutching something protruding from his chest. An arrow?
The surrounding forest came alive with shrieks and war cries as dozens of humans came pouring forth. They wore furs, loin cloths and carried vicious looking weapons of war. Their faces covered in strange tattoos and bodies decorated in paint. Barbarians!
The party of six quickly formed a wall in front of Roun. The goblin pulled an arrow from his chest, retrieved something from a pouch about his hip and shoved it into the open wound. While he made no sound his yellow eyes grimaced in response. He then grabbed his spear and joined his companions.
The attackers were swift, gaining ground at an incredible velocity. They threw themselves at the defenders with reckless abandon. Roun was already unmounted, war axe in hand as he made to join the fray. Before he could make it in line an invisible force threw him back several paces. Magix! There was a magic user among them.
Three barbarians lunged in at the gray skinned troll, swinging their swords and hammers wildly to tilt the encounter in their favor. The large warrior simply swiped all three attacks aside with a broad swing of his studded mace and back handed the barbarian to his left, sending the savage hurtling into the woods. With a telltale crunch the airborne assailant crumbled into the trunk of a large tree, twitching his last moments of life away in a haphazard pile of fur, flesh and blood.
Two fighters pushed in on the old man bringing their tools of death to bear. To the old man's credit, however, he deftly dodged both attacks, sending a dagger into the eye of one while spinning around behind the other and slitting his throat wide open. Another dagger appeared in his hand only to bury itself in the chest of an oncoming barbarian rushing forward. A fourth fur-covered miscreant lunged at him while he was throwing that last dagger only to be met with a burning blast of fire from the gryphonette.
The female, with fiery red hair screamed a battle cry and slapped her hands together, causing a great concussive wave to plow into the stampeding mass of attackers, sending several of them careening through the air. The foremost to take the blast did not get back up, those that did wobbled about in a daze. Here the elf danced through their numbers with his rapier, thrusting its deadly point through arteries and eye sockets with incredible accuracy.
The scarred Dwarf had his war hammer in constant motion, clobbering barbarians as if they were frozen watermelons. His aim seemed unshakable. When the attackers defended high the hammer came in low, when they defended low it swung in high. One barbarian, larger than most of his brethren, stepped in and deflected blow after blow. At times the ruffian batted the hammer aside with his battle axe and swatted it aside with his bare hand at other times.
In a combination move the large barbarian deflected a blow with his hand and brought his axe in a full circle biting deep into the dwarfs left bracer and arm. The dwarf bellowed in pain and tumbled back just as the gryphonette flew in and dug its talons into the shoulders of the axe wielding assaulter. The large man shrieked in rage as he sought to tear this new threat from his body. Wrapping its wings about its prey it then blew fire into the makeshift cocoon, scorching the barbarian.
Screams of agony rang above the cacophony of the engagement startling many of the combatants. Wailing in fury, the humongous fighter grabbed the gryphonette by the wings and ripped it free from its perch. Tearing large pieces of his own muscle asunder. Blood poured freely from the lacerations in his shoulders. His hair was completely gone and his face was a cracked mess of scalding red flesh and blackened skin.
Still holding the creature by its wings he split the animal in two as if breaking bread. A hideous shriek pierced the air as the gryphonet lost life. Blood sprayed about spattering everyone nearby. A tremendous roar of triumph sounded from the barbarian's chest. At that very moment the point of a rapier poked out of his mouth and then disappeared whence it came. Eyes wide in confusion the lifeless form of the brute toppled to the ground.
Roun was now in the fray and he laughed aloud with the joy of battle. Lewd curses and taunts spewed from his lips as readily as his axe cleaved through the unprotected flesh of the attackers. This diplomat was no stranger to combat and he waded right into the midst of the attackers with confident assuredness. With the experience of a man who had spent a lifetime fighting, the dwarf hacked at limbs, heads, and weapons.
Beneath the feet of the axe wielding dwarf, blood began to churn into a disgusting red mud. Without so much as a second thought he simply moved deeper into the fray. Opponents fell at an alarming rate, and the fighters now began to hesitate rather than rush headlong to their deaths. His efficiency at killing was turning the tide.
The Troll pushed forward in an attempt to shield Roun's left flank but froze in place and began to shimmer with a purple haze. Several of their adversaries seized the opportunity to chop at the unprotected warrior. Rage virtually steamed from the trolls eyes as he took blow after blow without the ability to defend himself.
A spear shot into and through one of the opportunists and embedded itself deep within the side of another. As if cutting his way through dense undergrowth, the Goblin cleaved his way to the Troll's aide. A fierce war cry spun his attention to a new threat: a red-maned barbarian with a steel glaive. The would-be savior had barely raised his falcata in time to parry the onslaught of blows.
This warrior seemed to inspire the other barbarians as they now attacked with renewed vigor. When his blade was not swinging in to find a gap in the goblin's defenses the blunted end was battering at him. The attacker roared with immense rage as he batted the sword from the goblin and brought the glaive down into the skull of his victim.
Red hair ablaze with some unknown power, the female stomped her foot toward the murderous poleman. A ripple in the ground shot forth from her foot and threw the barbarian into the air. She then screamed angrily as she swung her hand down, at the same moment the now airborne attacker was slammed into the ground with such force that blood spattered across her face.
Spinning on her heel she wailed in anguish as she hopped into the air and brought both of her hands down, causing a half dozen barbarians to crumple beneath the power of her attack. Any who thought attacking her from the rear was going to be effective met their gods by way of the old mans daggers.
Materializing out of nowhere, a magician appeared before them. He seemed as shocked as they were that they could see him. Then the mage's eyes focused on the glowing amulet that the old man held aloft. The purple glimmer disappeared from the troll and seemed to get pulled into the amulet. With lethal accuracy, two of the troll's throwing hammers found their mark, striking the magician dead as they crushed his skull.
Roun was still making quick work of the assailants when the few that remained decided to find glory else where. He laughed at their backsides, sending terrible demoralizing taunts at them as they dissolved into the tree line. The few remaining barbarians still combatting with the party took their cue and fled. Looking about the battlefield the Diplomat evaluated the scene.
The Goblin was dead, his head nearly cleaved in two. The old man and red haired woman were unscathed, as was the elf. The gryphonette had perished as well, a poor mangled end to a brave little creature. The mountain dwarf was already mending his wounded arm, wrapping it in a torn piece of cloth. The Troll had severe lacerations all over his upper torso, blood flowing freely from them. The assault had been quick and deadly. There were moans and gurgling from the dying assailants and the elf moved quickly to finish them in a show of mercy.
They had won, but the conflict had cost them. What were barbarians doing in Meadowsdown? Were they another attempt at preventing Roun from task? Or were they some plot to earn the trust of the diplomat? An expensive duplicity. Judging from the tears that welled in the eyes of the party at their losses, he doubted it to be the latter. So they had been there to kill him.
There was no way he could have overcome such odds without their aide. He would have succumbed to their numbers. What's more is that this party had fought in an organized manner. They had seen combat together many times over to be as effective as they had been. These were not random volunteers set to task, nay this was a unit of trained fighters.
Roun began to relax now that the threat had been subdued. The others were tending to their fallen comrades with reverence. The Troll tenderly lifted the body of the Goblin into his arms. Such compassion between these two was so unusual that watching the scene unfold was surreal.
As the adrenaline receded the throbbing began. Like a storm thundering across an open field. He could not remember a time when his head had pounded this powerfully. His vision began to swim, his balance to swoon. His knees shook and his sight started to blacken. Wobbling he tried to grasp at the reason for the sudden weakness. Attempting to lean on something brought the ground to him unceremoniously. He could hear one of the others cry out in startled concern at seeing him collapse. His final though settled on how vulnerable he was now to this odd band of strangers Then it all went black.
Shifting Sands
The old man closed his eyes as the severity of the situation settled upon him. How could I have not known of this? Silently he scolded himself. But he knew how. First and foremost the Paternal Covenant was a secretive and arrogant group of Draconian Rasa. While they shared information with the political caste, the Gorsch, they did not actually answer to them. It was the religious leaders responsibility to guide their people's faith, but they did not take on a sense of responsibility for their people so much as an air of superiority.
So there was very little intelligence to be had from inside the Covenant. The lack of information from his spies within the Gorsch was concerning though. A rogue element within their borders should cause a blood letting on their Death Deck that caused both celebration and widespread violence throughout all of Glatar. Yet there wasn't even so much as a mention of it.
This must mean that the Gorsch were not aware of the usurper. Given that the Gorsch are just as malevolent and vicious among their own caste as they are with others, a revelation like this would be impossible to keep contained. Yet his spies were indignant that Ruthwah had even inquired whether or not such a situation had arisen.
So maybe the usurper was a member of the Paternal Covenant. If that were true it would mean that the Rasa intended to seize power from the political leaders of Glatar. With the absolute freedom that they enjoyed as religious zealots for their people he found that hard to imagine. Managing a population was a tedious task. As lord of Canthium, the unending responsibilities tied to leadership was not an off-handed matter. It required diligent attention and copious amounts of time.
All this aside, he had been solely focused on the revelation that a band of vagabonds had founded a new kingdom on Koppugn. These miscreants had been pursued by many kingdoms in the Western Quad. There were allegations of banditry, murder and treason against the royal crown. Much of the charges were inflated falsehoods meant to turn the commoners against them. The truth is that the only thing this band of mixed races had done is violate many social norms by living together.
The true crux of the matter is that they did not belong to any established kingdom. Their ideologies were what caused the greatest concern among the lesser kings. And the matter was really too trivial for the King of Kings to address. Though he believed that the royal crown secretly supported the wayfarers. In fact, Ruthwah was sure that he and the Queen of Queens enjoyed the discomfort and irritation that the beliefs of the vagabonds caused in the ranks of the nobility.
Canthium had long been a place of forward social trends. Though having goblins among their company was something that kept even Lord Ruthwah from welcoming their numbers into his lands. Not that his King would have allowed him such liberty. The commotion and anxiety that these people caused among the staunch traditionalists had swept across the nine kingdoms like a plague of locusts. It infuriated their sensibilities. To be honest it also threatened their whole understanding of the way things were.
But the fates had a way of weaving things together into a seamless canvas of wonder. The vagabonds had established a kingdom away from the nine kingdoms. In fact, there was no chance whatsoever that this news would not settle more than a few nervous lords and kings alike. The mixed nature of this kingdom's population also placed it in a unique situation to gather information that other kingdoms could not.
Like shifting sands everything that had occupied Ruthwah's attention had now changed so drastically that it threatened to overwhelm the old mage. His head spun slightly as he reorganized his perspectives and adjusted his priorities. Looking back on the resources he spent on keeping abreast of the assembly of roaming people, or roamers, it was hard not to scold himself.
He had allowed himself to be swept up in the prejudices of the royal court. Like an errant fool he had gotten caught up in the political fervor of a volatile and narrow-minded band of bigots. He allowed their fears to influence his perspective and it had consumed valuable time. Worse, it had distracted him from the danger he had placed his diplomat in.
That danger could not be overlooked any longer. While the dwarf was one of the most capable people Ruthwah had ever taken on, even his skills had limitations. This new King, Mavrix, claimed to have knowledge of a usurper of great influence among the dark lands of Koppugn. Ruthwah was well aware of the evils of that continent. From shape-shifting monstrosities to armies of the undead, the western continent was a nagging concern that had never really crept its way into the lands of Aborlon before.
But now this Mavrix has done the unimaginable, he has not only created a kingdom of mixed races but founded it in the heart of a place filled with immense evil. As if that feat alone wasn't outlandish enough, he claims to be have information of a draconian who seeks to take power in Glatar. Now this new King in a show of altruism wishes to share that knowledge with a Lord in the kingdom of Silvervurgh?
The information that Ruthwah could verify had rung true. There had been a few reports of undead warlocks sighted off the coast of Dire Squall. The reports had been shrugged off as rumor by the Czar of Ostrul. However, Mavrix claimed to have confirmed the rumors with similar reports coming out of Ord and Kanjin. Undead magic users should be of great concern to the Arcane Syndicate of the Magi. It had been decided thousands of legras ago that it was the responsibility of the arcane guild who trained the mage turned necromancer to exterminate the abomination.
To have one venturing into Aborlon spoke highly of its ability to shield itself from the ensorcelled safeguards established on the lands of Aborlon. Such ancient magix were powerful and came at a great cost to the Magicians of their time. Many lives were sacrificed, both willingly and unwillingly to establish those boundaries. Crossing those boundaries without alerting the syndicate was an unimaginable challenge.
Holding the scroll with the Durand seal in hand, Ruthwah reread the message. It appears that the new king sent a unit of soldiers to assist and protect Roun. This brought a small smirk to his face. King Durand could not know the level of distrust that Roun had for others. It was what had made him such a formidable asset. Roun was not one to be caught by surprise. He had grown wise during the great wars and did not share the same ideologies that ran rampant among his kind.
Nonetheless, Mavrix had proven competent and reliable up to this point. Though he still wished he could bare witness to their coming upon Roun in mid travels. Soldiers? If sending a unit of infantry or calvary to intercept a dwarf like Roun was going to prove effective, Ruthwah would have to hear a full account of the event as he gave it little chance.
The probability of success of this new king's efforts aside, Ruthwah was still compelled to provide aide of his own to the diplomat. This meant leaving the comforts of his estate. Even an old Magician such as himself needed to be decisive in times like this. Too often leaders of history have taken the back seat in times of peril only to fade into oblivion after the matter concluded. Ruthwah was not going to be that person. Canthium had been an appointment filled with opportunity and risk. A fact he knew full well when he accepted the appointment.
Looking around his study he took in the disaster that had been his workspace for too long. The large, sturdy golden ash table was covered in paperwork, maps and scrolls of varying import. The ink pot and quill were worn. Fine sand was scattered about from the multiple scrolls he had written in haste over the last three seasons. His paperweights held open the map of Stenocia and a vial of Roun's blood rested atop the map.
Utilizing the locator spell had been simple, but he had come upon a more concerning bit of information in the process. Someone else had linked him with a real-time location spell. Far more in depth and expensive, such an incantation required the expenditure of constant resources. It also exemplified Ruthwah's need to make haste. It was possible that the nefarious usurper was responsible for that link. That meant that the dwarf was indeed in great peril.
While teleportation was easily one of Ruthwah's least favorite modes of transportation, the need now was both urgent and paramount. Roun was not just his diplomat, he was a dear friend. He would need to gather the ingredients necessary to teleport. Elements from the nether and lagoic plane as well as the astral plane would be required.
While Ruthwah actually looked forward to being on the forefront of events again, he could only hope that he was not too late.
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