A Glimpse into Madness

The blood-curdling screams were deafening, and what made it worse was that the terror-stricken sounds were coming from a man. The pitch was high and long and when the air in the lungs seemed to run out it carried on in the form of an uncontrolled groan.  Isamyr couldn’t help but wonder what poor soul made that horrible noise, and what terror was so awful that it could push someone to the brink of madness.

Isamyr sat still and stared intently at the floor length draw curtain that separated him from the other patient quarters. The Silvani was so distracted by the hideous wail that he paid no mind to the physician’s needle pushing its way through his skin again and again as his wound was being tended to. As the gash on his abdomen was drawn together by a firm tug he winced and looked over at his caretaker. His questioning eyes said enough.

“I see you bleed just like the rest of us,” said the colony healer,” I guess we aren’t so different…” His voice trailed off as the scream from beyond the curtain began to gain pitch again.

“Yes, Mnynus we aren’t so different now are we,” replied Isamyr in his broken Merchant tongue as he tried to ignore the distraction; his eyes drifted again to the curtain that seemed to hide unspeakable horrors.

Suddenly a desperate shout from an aid, brought the physician to his feet as the sounds of a struggle broke out. “Lend me a hand, Silvani…if you will.” The old healer moved quickly as he swept the curtain open and away.

Isamyr slid from the wooden patients table and followed as best he could. They headed down a corridor of white curtained lined patient quarters to the rear of the building.  The walls were similar to the ones at the front of the shop; lined with shelves of beakers, jars, and tools of the trade, and hanging from the ceiling were dried bundles of herbs and bags full of other natural elements used in medicinal treatments.

Mnynus was so much more than Healer, he also functioned as an Apothecary for the region…one of the few that hadn’t yet been burned as a witch or practitioner of the occult. Luckily, he enjoyed the protection of House Hyperion.

The last few curtains were blood stained and the scent of burned flesh lingered in the air. For the Elf, it brought back a vivid memory of the three corpses hanging in the square of Maeus Proper. One of the curtained quarters was slightly open, and on passing Isamyr caught a quick glimpse of a man strapped down to an examination table. The patient’s skin was singed, his eyes were open wide and stared blankly ahead, and his mouth hung agape like a man frozen in fear. The Silvani tore his eyes from the sight, and couldn’t even begin to imagine what horror lay beyond the last drape.

Shadows played across the white cloth veneer as the occupants of the quarters where the screams originated from were engaged in a struggle of some sort. Mnynus pushed through the filthy curtain and Isamyr was close on his heels. The scene was one of abandoned humanity. Two aids were trying to restrain a struggling patient that was missing much of the skin and muscle from the right side of his face; his eyes were those of a mad man and the white bone of the right socket seemed to just barely contain the wild mans eye as it darted about. The stench of burnt and rotten flesh emanated from poultice wraps that covered his body, and his hands tore at a bloody bandage that covered a gaping hole in his chest.

In the chaos of the room, it took Isamyr a few moments to shake off the shock of it all; he watched the four reel around the room knocking instruments to the floor and tearing a section of the curtain free from its rings. Eventually he leapt into the whirlwind of swinging fists and grappling bodies. With the Silvanis help they overpowered the screaming madman and carried him back to his bed and secured him with leather restraints.

With the man bound to his bed, Mnynus took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow and left a trail of blood in its place. He looked at Isamyr, and at each Aid in turn and just shook his head. His labored breathing from the struggle calmed and he eventually reached down to the hem of his tunic and pulled lightly, straightening the folds that had gathered around his full form. As he composed himself, one of the Aids reached up with a cloth and cleaned the smeared blood from his forehead.

They all looked at the poor man that lay strapped down, and realized that his screams had now become quiet introverted gibbering.

“Who is this, and what in the Seven Saints names happened to him!,” Demanded Isamyr… still under the adrenaline surge from the conflict.

“This, my dear Silvani, is the mighty Aphyrus the Enlightened,” replied the sarcastic Mnynus,” A prefect from our great capital, Athaetheos. It seems after two years of neglect our petition for aid was finally answered, and all they could consider sending was this arrogant fool and his ten men at arms.”

The Silvani listened intently to the physician and cast an occasional glance toward the prefect realizing that he was far from lucid; The madman continued making unintelligible sounds and strange whining gurgles.

Mnynus continued on with a sigh,”…when our region suffered a slump in quarry production as well as tax revenue our pleas were quickly reconsidered. These poor fools went to the abandoned mason village of Demeabe, and entered the cursed quarries that lay beyond.”

“Now they are but four,” he said, gesturing with a hand toward the curtained hall,” they returned to Maeus two weeks following their departure… mountless and staggering. Before slipping into the madness that now plagues them, they told tales of a treacherous climb along the slopes of Verdicts Abyss, and a claim of ancient ruins descending into the face of  the Wall of Slaves…it is there that they were laid upon by the beasts.”

“And now, what does fate have in store for these poor souls,” questioned the Silvani as he leaned gingerly over the moaning prefect and looked deeply into his vacant eyes, “how will they fare when all is said and done?”

” That remains to be seen…they very well may recover from their physical ordeal,” answered the healer in a low voice,” but they may have been wounded far deeper than a physician’s knife can ever hope to heal.”

The Silvani returned his attention to the somber physician,” May I have some words with them privately?” he asked.

Mnynus contemplated this for a long moment,”I don’t see what harm it would do, but it’ll have to be the Prefect…the other three have been so traumatized by the event that they haven’t uttered a single word since their return.”

The physician and his assistants finished gathering the surgical tools that lay scattered about the room, and then left the Silvani alone with the shivering patient as he looked the man over once again. The poor man looked like he was teetering on the brink of madness, but Isamyr had sensed something deep in the eyes of the Prefect…something that held on to sanity by a thin thread.

Isamyr focused long and hard on those lost eyes, and his fingers reached out and skillfully slipped into the sunken areas at the temples at each side of the Prefects twitching head. The Silvani drew on the ancient gift of his people to reach into the damaged psyche of the man, to explore the fear that had unraveled the mind of the once mighty Aphyrus. With the elven gift of empathic sight he could ride rise and fall of the emotional currents that flowed inside the Prefect, and he could search for the horror that brought this man to the edge of reason.

Burnt Offerings

The waters off the northern coast of Ulrymm, where the Merchant Sea is its narrowest, is known as the Quarry Straights. The ‘Devil’s Brooch’, an immense mason barge from Soldren, had crossed these waters along the normal shipping lanes reserved for such transports. The barge, that hailed from the nearby colony of Soldren, rolled easily over the waves as it navigated the reefs that riddled the waters here. Even at a mile out, the towering scaffolds and looming ward towers could be seen against the gloomy backdrop of a land plagued with the perpetual rains of this subtropical Empire. They lay stretched out eastward like tall spires reaching toward the heavens. East of the approach to Maeus, these colossal wonders marked the infamous ‘Wall of Slaves’, and the even darker “Verdicts Abyss”. But here in the quiet port, they stood like ancient looming guardians, watching the approach of the Devils Brooch and standing vigilant over the heavy docks of Port Maeus.

Isamyr leapt to the dock as the barge coasted in, and quickly tied a throwline to one of the mooring posts. His keen elven eyes scanned the pre-dawn darkness that hung over Maeus Landing, and could see no signs of life. Adarmin, pulling his oiled cloak tight to keep out the wet, climbed out as well, and nodded a farewell to the Bargemaster and his crew. The ‘Devil’s Brooch’ was still alit from bow to stern with lanterns that swung easily from the posts where they were hung; their swaying matched the rocking of the watercraft as it bumped lightly against the heavy docks.

“Valorik,” yelled the Kha’drekan giant,” Fare thee well, and may the currents treat you kindly.”

The small twisted Bargeman’s response was lost on the wind, but his smile implied the intent.

Port Maeus was a bustling center three years back, but trade had slowed when the ‘Summers of Blood’ began. The shipping lanes were once choked with mason barges and the slave caravan also passed to Valmoria via this northernmost port of Ulrymm. Many of the cities of this southern empire had direct access to the slave routes that came out of the south and east, and a steady supply of workers for the block mines streamed across the ferry route in exchange for the use of Soldren’s port to ship Ulrymm quarry products east and west along the sea of merchants. Now, all lay near silent along the trade route, and the shipping traffic was reduced to a few of the bolder Bargemen that still made the run to fill their purses.

In another hour the shore crew would arrive with the rising sun and the booms would begin to hoist the immense masonry on pulleys that would swing the cargo out onto the deck of the Barge. Other than that, the port was a virtual ghost-yard. Even before the beasts of Verdicts Abyss had begun to prey on the locals, Port Maeus was never what Soldren had become. Here the docks of Maeus entered onto an unprotected commercial district of warehouses and shops for the various stone trades. They didn’t enjoy the same protective enclosure that Soldren provided, nor did they have the convenience of an adjoining town and all the services that it provided.

Valorik had warned that it would be this way…a semi abandoned husk of a port, devoid of activity. The two companions passed hurriedly along the deserted, wet avenue that bisected the buildings and shops, and followed the bricked road that climbed upward into the hills south of Maeus Landing. A glance back over the rooftops before they were too far traveled gave an incredible view of the Landing and the water beyond. Dawn was quickly approaching and the towering booms began to grind into motion. A few figures could be seen moving about the various docks and buildings around the Devils Brooch, but it paled in comparison to what the Sister Colony across the straights would be experiencing at this same moment. The duo took one final gaze over the open waters, and then trekked off southward toward the Colony that lay three miles further inland, high above the cliffs of Drathnar.

Isamyr and Adarmin set a quick pace, and tried to ignore the stinging rain and the steep,winding ascent. Their destination was an archaic fortified manor that found new life as a Inn;  the notable ‘Hyperion’s Den’. This important landmark of Maeus always seemed to creep into the tales of old Valorik…a place he thought of fondly and often. The inception of Hyperion’s Den could be traced back to the early beginnings of the Mining Colony, and was known to locals by more traditional names such as ‘Innover’, ‘Warlock’s Maw’ or simply ‘The Den’. The mining town of Maeus grew up around the former House Hyperion, and decades later the looming manor and sprawling grounds found new life as a Great Inn for travelers from all walks of life. The addition of the north wing catered to visiting dignitaries and government officials. Its luxurious quarters often lay vacant for week if not months…awaiting the arrival of Members of the Magistrate, Secretary of the Coffers, Slave Lords, or other important individuals.

Maeus Colony overlooked the Quarry Straights from its steep cliffside location. From the ‘Landing’ it was hidden from sight, but as the road made its final bend to the southeast the modest town came into view. The partially walled colony was surrounded by lush rolling hills and sat behind the rushing waters of a small river that raced northward to empty over a precipice on its way to the sea below. Other rivulets and streams criss-crossed the landscape and ponds and gardens dotted the marginal areas that encircled town proper.

The town’s quaint structures were securely pressed together in a warm style of architecture that was accented with stone work sculptures and decorative columns. Most of the homes had small gardens, but many were left to grow wild and were only a reflection of what they once were. Lacking the attention of a skilled landscaper, the plants had covered walls, entries, and had invaded the homes that the were meant to accent. It was obvious that priorities lay elsewhere….

Beyond the homes that lay stretched out toward the banks of the river was the inner market of Maeus. Bodies moved to and fro along a wall of stone and mortar that was being erected around the town proper; a bastion wall that was three quarters complete, and was covered in scaffolding and busy masons.

Adarmin led the way down the main avenue and the two travelers passed between the unfinished section of wall that was reserved for a gatehouse and portcullis. The skeletal structure of the scaffolding wound around the foundation that would support the main entrance, and masons on wooden walkways that stretched between workstations stopped to look at the passing newcomers. The steady rainfall beat against  canvas tarps that had been erected to protect the masons from the elements, and the water collected in the draping folds of the canopies until it spilled over to the street below.

Passing various shops and store fronts brought curious townsfolk to doorways and porches to watch in quiet speculation as the foreigners headed toward the inner sanctum of the Colony. The large strange giant in the long flowing cloak native to the desertlands strode purposefully forward, and his much shorter companion wrapped in northern garb of Arregale followed suit. As they entered the central square, a man on a covered boardwalk that spanned three close buildings matched pace with the newcomers. His nervous glances were unmistakable as he quickly entered the office of the constabulary. Isamyr let out a frustrated sigh, and looked ahead at his lumbering companion.

“Turning heads as usual.” thought the Silvani, “A fine killer he is…. but an assassin he could never be.”

On the southwest side of the square stood the ominous, Hyperion’s Den. It was a combination of manor house and keep, and was a magnificent structure wrapped in gardens and statuary. In the center of the square was a raised block dais similar to the one in Soldren. This public venue functioned as slave block, whipping post, soapbox and pulpit….it was a public place made for the people and used often. In fact, at its center were raised three large posts with burned corpses lashed to them. Above the head of each body, branded in the wood, was the word ‘Witch’, the bold symbol written in Ulryymic and the Merchant Tongue.

“Well, we wont be helping this poor lot” said Isamyr under his breath. His thoughts turned back to the unfortunate men in Soldren, lashed down to the block of Serisan to make atonement. That was a far better punishment than what these charred victims endured.

Adarmin cast a glance upwards at the withered corpses.  They were covered in scaly soot that hung off their bodies like black parchment. ” Reminds me of home…,” he grumbled, ” I hope thats not how they treat their visitors”  He reached a hand down within the folds of his cloak and rested a sure hand on the handle of his flail that hung heavily from his weapons belt.

The rain rolled off the charred remains and flowed down the posts, carrying wet ash over the steps and pooling on the cobbled square around the Block. The duo’s boots stood there for a brief moment in the swirling dark water as they considered the horrible deaths of those that hung before them, and then they left its blackness behind them as they made for the dry comfort of  ‘The Den’.

Darkness, my Friend…

The rain eventually returned and for two days the weather was miserable. Wet streets were abandoned for Drinking Halls, and the commoners turned to small talk over mugs of ale while the dark clouds hung over the Quarry Straights. The Inn of the Stone Chipper was filled with patrons from all walks of life, and the gaming parlor was overflowing with gamblers giving in to their various vices of alcohol, women and risky betting. The diversion of choice was often Trevais; a fast paced game of wit involving stone tiles and glass beads. High stakes between skillful players drew spectators to the second floor of the Inn, and the smoky parlor had standing room only.

This night found Adarmin and Isamyr turning in early; they both passed the hall that led toward the gaming parlor with hardly a glance, and left the loud room behind as they headed straight for the comfort of their chambers. They  gathered their belongings, prepared their travel packs, and went to sleep. They planned to wake before dawn and head for the docks to begin their six hour barge trip to the shores of Ulrymm in the south…to Maeus colony. Sleep came easily for them both; Adarmin had scoured Inner Soldren for two days now, gathering information and listening to superstitious rumor, and Isamyr had attended Mass two days back, and was still spiritually drained from the ordeal. Bishop Phiabe was a forceful speaker and the six hour sermon left the Silvanis head reeling. They both slept heavily…each exhausted from their own efforts; Adarmins long days of probing the locals and exploring Soldren, and Isamyr’s attempts at avoiding the prying eyes of the magistrate and living up to his deceptive claim of being a follower and enthusiast of the religious teachings of Saint Caldrinor (a spontaneous lie used to placate the lord magistrate of Soldren himself)

The rain slowed to a drizzle near midnight, and if not for the heightened hearing of a Silvani mixed with the keen awareness of an assassin it might have masked the sounds of the men scaling the balcony. The group of thugs made quick work of the climb; scaling an ivy lined trellis and slipping over the iron wrought railing. The first of the black clad shadows slid in through the open door of the room as he pulled a dagger from his belt. He made for the bed with quiet deliberate footfalls, but no sooner had he passed the threshold than had he felt the jerk of a razor-thin wire as it tightened around his windpipe.

Isamyr had heard the men in the alley, had pressed his form into the shadows of the room corner, and waited with his garrote ready. He seemed comfortable in the darkness…it seemed to complement him. The cover of night was like a friends warm embrace. Now, the intruder struggled violently against the assassins wire, but Isamyr braced and lifted his opponent and tried to keep his grip til the man lost consciousness. The struggling foes, flailing feet, and gurgling thug was enough to wake Adarmin in the next room, and the sounds of the other ‘night visitors’ were considerably more audible as they scrambled to their companions aid. The Kha’drekan warrior leapt from his bed, and grabbing his flail he rushed out onto his balcony in time to see a shadowy figure passing through the draped doorway of the Silvani’s room. Adarmin’s wings snapped open and with one powerful beat lifted the Anakim over the rail and carried him to the neighboring balcony.

He was unaware of the third intruder who had not yet reached the wet railing, and instead pursued the man who had just entered Isamyr’s door. The room was dark and only a narrow beam of light cast itself across the room from the doorway. There beyond the moonlit center of the chamber, darting silhouettes danced about in a deadly pattern. Adarmin advanced forward with his flail slung back and held at ready.

The Silvani saw the second assailant coming as clear as day. His elven sight viewed the dark room in a very different light. The room was bathed in the bright heat of its occupants. Each man seemed irradiated in an aura of warmth, and even the recently lied in bed, the natural temperature of the wood furnishings, and the cool stone walls seemed to add to the blacks, grays and whites that painted the bedchamber. An easy sidestep and the slashing dagger of the second night blind attacker caught nothing but open air. The return cut, however, met its mark. Isamyr felt his armor give as the blade punctured his abdomen guard and the blood began to flow freely; the wound wasn’t  fatal, but it definitely was in need of tending. Isamyr ignored the throbbing wound and instead drew the cord even tighter around his victims neck. The thug gurgled in protest as the silvani swung his body round to catch the next blow. The dagger lashed out wildly once more, but only sliced empty darkness. The glint of the dagger gave Adarmin an easy target as he viciously swung his flail at the thug. The spiked balls lashed out from the end of their chains and the sound of snapping bone followed by a body crumpling to the floor was definitive and final.

Isamyr was finishing off his own opponent when the third man entered in through the same door. He rushed forward and buried his blade into the back of the towering Kha’dreki. The bite of the wound burned but was far from crippling and Adarmin swung around with his weapon to bear. Blows were traded and by the end of the skirmish a second thug lay battered on the floor in a pool of blood that welled out across the moonbeam that extended from the balcony door, across the floor, to the edge of the bed.

Isamyr had witnessed the entire exchange, he had choked his opponent to death and the body had slumped to the floor when the garrote went slack. He looked up in time to see the fierce final strike as Adarmin’s flail crushed the skull of his opponent. This, the second victim to Adarmin’s vicious weapon, had lit the room with a spray of warm blood as the weapon snapped bone and tore flesh. To the Silvani, the splash of heat resembled sparks from a fire as they jettisoned across the chamber. The droplets covered the east side of the room and quickly faded from bright white to gray as they landed on the cool stone walls and floor.

A lit candle and a quick look at the bodies scattered around the room quickly revealed the motive. The thugs belonged to the ranks of Hephelius the pitmaster.  Adarmin and Isamyr had seen them pitside and at least one of them had grappled with the Silvani. A quick discussion concerning options and consequences, was followed by the decision to depart Soldren as soon as possible. Valmorian society had a firm view concerning murder and local laws restricted weapon use within the borders of the colony. That coupled with the fact that they were both foreigners made for a dangerous combination…especially since one of them was a member of the Sidhe. That would most certainly seal their fate to a life of chain gangs in the quarry pits.

An explanation and apology to the Innmaster, as well as some coin to cover damages, and the traveling companions were heading south along the Road of the Enlightened toward the port district. Passing through the tower of the Port Master was uneventful, and they exchanged nicities with the guardsmen as they made their way to the docks stretched out into the dark waters of the bay. Their way to the east docks was a quiet stroll and the sound of the tide against the rocky shore was calming; a welcome feeling concerning the current circumstances.  The resting place of the ‘Devil’s Brooch’ was a large dock straddled by a stilt home and the wooden boardwalk was covered with crates of stone, mineral kegs, and slabs of granite.Barking dogs brought the bargemen for the Devils Brooch to the docks to see what was amiss.

So, Valorik the Bargemaster was willing to set sail for Maeus immediately for triple the crossing fee….no questions asked. The crew hurried along the docks making quick preparations and soon the large floating platform was underway; raised sails were snapped open under a steady wind and lanterns about the vessel were lit and soon the docks were lost in the darkness of night. The Devil’s Brooch, on the other hand, was truly a spectacle of flickering lamps; a glowing beacon in the bay as it cut its way southward through the heavy fog. The waters and mists around it seemed to reflect the light…emanating an eerie glow. Valorik’s vessel truly was a ‘gem’ floating on the dark waters…the Devil’s Brooch’ seemed a fitting name.

Finally, beyond the Bay of Soldren, Valorik held a twisted hand up and pointed southward. “There beyond the Shallows… there be the beacon light of the Great Ward Tower of Sildrios. It stands vigil over the coast…high above the cliffs at Verdicts Abyss.”

Adarmin and Isamyr stood at the bow of the barge and looked long and hard at the distant light. They knew that they would make shore two days travel from Verdicts Abyss…at the docks of Maeus. Ultimately though, they knew that their journey would bring them to that distant light. Verdicts Abyss was the birth place for the nightmares that plagued the people of Maeus.

“Bargemaster,” said Adarmin without taking his eyes from the light of the Ward Tower, ” what manner of tales do you have about the beasts that prey on the people Maeus….and how might we hope to prevail where others have not?”

“Well then,” replied Valorik, ” if its tales you want, then pull up a seat and brace your souls. I’ve heard all manner of stories coming out of Maeus, and a recounting will take some time, but so will the ‘Crossing’. Lend me your ears…and make of it what you will.”

As the adventurers slid crates close to where Valorik was seated, he stared at them intently; his cold blind eye seemed to penetrate their very souls. “Where to begin then,” questioned the bargeman, ” Ah…the beginning is as good a place as any”

As the eerie tale of the Beasts of Verdicts Abyss crossed the cracked lips of the boatman, the dark waters of the Quarry Straights seemed to contest in choppy opposition. The boat creaked and moaned and the other sailors gathered round to hear the tale that chilled their bones each time they returned to the shores of Ulrymm.

Valorik’s words seemed to take on a life of their own as he spoke. “Three years ago the bloodletting began…three years now the curse has plagued the poor souls of our sister of the stone….”

A Show of Faith

That night it began to rain again and Adarmin and Isamyr could hear the storm as it rolled in, and hours later the skies opened up and it began to pour. As they each relaxed in their own meager rooms they listened to the hypnotic patter of the rain on the tiled rooftops, and the constant wash of water that fell from gutters onto the cobbled back street that their windows opened on to.

The night was much more bearable than the day, but the humidity was still present. However, on the back of the storm came light winds that blew through the opened windows bringing a brief respite from the overwhelming heat. The drapes lifted and rolled with the breeze like dancing spirits…and the two travelers, no doubt, watched the flowing curtains, and listened to the hypnotic rain as they were gently lulled to sleep.

Morning brought with it the sounds of a busy colony; carts and pedestrians moving to and fro across wet roads, bartering in the square, and the persistent ringing of the church bell calling the flock to mass. Adarmin and Isamyr, woke, ate in the common room, and decided to examine life in Soldren. Upon leaving the Stone Chipper, the first thing they noticed was that the men that had been strapped to the stone dais in the square were no longer present. In their place were lively vendors calling out to the citizens as they passed on their way to the temple of the Saints of Talavrith.

Isamyr’s eyes scanned across the square from public block, to temple, and came to rest on the shrine from last nights unexpected meeting with the magistrate. There, beneath the statue of Saint Caldrinor, stood a pious looking cleric dressed in the unassuming gray robes of the Priesthood. His hands were clasped together in front of him and he nodded and smiled to his congregation as they filed past the shrine to leave offerings to Cadrinor or one of his lessers while on their way to the Temple’s open front doors.

Adarmin and Isamyr had decided over breakfast that they would visit a number of shops and street side vendors, to see if they happened across any items of interest as well as any information concerning Maeus, the Wall of Slaves, or Verdicts Abyss.

Stepping off of the porch their feet settled onto the wet street and the clay underfoot rose up around their boots and caked to the soles. Southern Valmoria was a wet place indeed, especially during Seige Season. The wet weather dumped itself across the realm, and the surface clay present in this area made for poor drain off; The result: wet roadways, thick mud, and flooded ditches.

The sun was just rising above the buildings in the east and sat above the church’s steeple like a fiery crown. Even this early, the warmth of it beat against their cloaks, and its glare caused the sun-shy silvani to squint uncomfortably. For the time being it seemed as if the skies had opened up for mass and that a dry day might be in store for the denizens of Soldren.

Heading north along the ‘Road of the Enlightened’ the two companions crossed the soggy cobbled street and began to work their way against the crowd. The citizens nodded and smiled at the foreigners and did their best to make way for them to pass.  As Adarmin and Isamyr reached the far side of the square near the active shrine,they caught sight of the Magistrate and three of his lessers sitting astride their mounts and engaged in small talk with the cleric standing vigil near the statue of Saint Caldrinor. The lawman looked up at the approaching men and gestured to them lightly.

“Ah…if it isn’t the visiting worshipper of our holy saint of the penitent…and a member of the Sidhe at that…” Turning to the priest he casually added ” These are strange times we are in…are they not Bishop?”

“Apparently so,” replied the holy man, ” This newcomer to our fair colony is a welcome addition to the flock…we must welcome him with open arms!”  The sarcasm of the Magistrates off the collar remark, was lost on the Bishop who was more interested in spreading the holy teachings of Talavrith to the masses. He moved forward briskly toward the elf dragging his thick robes through the wet road, and his hands reached up and grasped Isamyr’s shoulders in a firm but friendly gesture. The feeling that washed over Isamyr from the intimate touch made him queasy.

“You MUST sit in on today’s sermon…we shall be paying special tribute to Caldrinor this morn” The Bishop wrapped an arm around the silvani and began to herd him toward the temple. Isamyr allowed himself to be swept away in the tide of worshipers as he listened to the aged cleric,”I am called Bishop Phiabe, and you are quite fortunate to have arrived when you did, my son! Your sinning ways will see the light today…your soul is as good as saved!”

As the last of the crowd filed into the temple with Isamyr tucked into its center, Adarmin stood watching in disbelief at what was happening. The time spent with Isamyr thus far hadn’t revealed a religious side, at least not one that he shared openly. The silvani had cast a final glance over his shoulder toward his friend as he passed the threshold of the temples large ornate doors, but he quickly returned his attention toward the zealous priest as he disappeared from sight.

With a final confused glance toward the church and shrine, Adarmin gave a simple shrug as he bade good day to the magistrates and began his trek north along the wet road towards the shops spaced out along the main thoroughfare. His thoughts lingered briefly on what could have possibly convinced his traveling companion to attend mass that morning. It was odd enough to be attending mass in a foreign land dedicated to strange gods, but even more so for a Sidhe to listen to the teachings of one of the human Saints that helped to shape the Midlands surrounding the Merchant Sea. These ‘Saints’ and their crusade heralded the fall of Sidhe dominion over man in the years that preceded the Age of Kings, and an elf seemed an unlikely participant in these religious affairs that represented dark days for their people as a whole.

While pondering the strange event, the call of the vendors brought Adarmin back to reality and to the wares that lay stretched out northward along the Road of the Enlightened. The giant meandered through the tents and carts of the street side vendors…sometimes admiring the handiwork of a craftsman, other times haggling over a item or two, but most of the time simply striking up idle conversation with the locals to fish for that bit of information that might prove to be useful in the days to come.

In any event, Adarmin’s presence in Soldren did not go unnoticed, and word of his movement throughout the colony seemed to spread before him like a wildfire. He was being referred to as the ‘Giant’, the ‘Tall One’ , and even ‘Anakim’ was whispered low a time or two. As he made his tour of Inner Soldren he simply ignored the attention that was lavished on him; He was Divine Sired after all,  and above the trivialities of the commoner….

The Devil’s Brooch

As the evening pit fights were coming to an end, the patrons in the common room were either settling down for the night or heading off to other drink halls spread throughout the colony of Soldren. Isamyr had won quite a bit of coin from Hephelius the Pitmaster, by besting a number of his favored grapplers. As the rough looking Master of Exhibitions handed over the last purse of winnings to the Silvani, he couldn’t contain the contempt that had been growing throughout the night; he glared menacingly at Isamyr. No words were exchanged, only coin and an angry stare.

Adarmin was standing near the base of the staircase that led to the second floor of the Inn. Thosus, the InnMaster, leaned heavily against the oak banister, and looked up at his giant patron.

“Your rooms are ready Adarmin,” he said with a tired sigh, ” and tell your friend to watch his back. Hephelius holds a grudge, and doesn’t like to be ‘rolled’ by foreigners. The Silvani is a bit more than he appears, and the Pitmaster is bound to think he was taken for a fool…”

The Kha’drekan nodded his head slightly and bade Thosus good evening. As he headed for his room on the second floor, Isaymr caught up with him on the stairs and they continued together.

Before they disappeared from sight, the Innmaster yelled,” the two of you should speak with Valorik about passage across the Quarry Straights. He’s the only Barge man still making the trip  to Ulrymm. See if he’s in the gaming parlor up there…look for the man with one eye.”

With that, they continued up, and instead of heading directly to the dark corridor that led to their rooms, they followed the sound of voices coming from a wide hall that led them to the interior of the second floor. They paused for a moment at the double doors, and then passed  through to the smoky parlor beyond. The atmosphere of the room was very different from that of the Pit arena. An occasional fist on the table, the clinking of mugs, and light laughter made for a relaxed gathering of gamblers. An eclectic mix of participants put members of varying social classes elbow to elbow with each other; anyone could play…as long as they had coin. Some of the players were dressed in clothing of substance and pomp; finer materials edged in wide flat trim and rich looking grommets. The ‘men of means’ were obvious; an occasional ring-adorned hand would lay cards down on a table, or a player would be absently fiddling with a necklace of silver, a fancy cloak brooch, or some other flashy trinket. In contrast, the working class were present too; Overseers from the Block Mines, Tariff Hounds, and a Lesser Magistrate or two. Many of these were dressed in bezainted leather, jazeraint scale or brigandine, but only a handful had weapons dangling from their belts.

Like so many establishments in Soldren, weapons worn at the hip were allowed, but always with a culturally mandated ‘Peace Tie’. This, of course, was to prevent arms being drawn in haste. Most larger weapons were often confiscated or secured in some other manner…this was the way of the enlightened living in one of the cities of the ‘Pearls’.

The Gaming Parlor was an exception to the norm. Many of the players that did have legal weapons were still required to relinquish them to an Armsmaster upon entering. The only exclusions to this edict were constables or inn guards; the prior enjoyed unbound weapons altogether. Within the walls of the Stone Chipper, large sums of money changing hands, deadly weapons, and alcohol were not a good mix; the occasional barroom brawl would erupt, but was usually defused rather quickly…often at the tip of a guards sword. The gambling room, on the other hand, attracted the moderately wealthy, and a secure venue was absolutely necessary.

Across the parlor, flanked on either side by a lesser magistrate, a man fitting the description of Valorik was leaning back in his chair examining his cards with his one good eye. Even through the smoky haze it was obvious that tempers were on edge, and that the stakes were high. A noble had just left the game cursing and was scowling at the flat leather money purse in his hand as he weighed his losses. In the center of the round oak table was a small mound of silver and copper coins. The two magistrates looked worriedly as Valorik pulled the winnings to his side, but their attention quickly shifted to the newcomers as they approached.

“Fair tide and quick current to you all,” said Adarmin to the table of gamblers. The Inner Sea greeting was accepted with favorable nods, as he continued,” I am Adarmin of the Kha’Dreki, and my companion and I seek passage to Ulryym. Thosus said that you might be able to help us with this matter.” He locked eyes with the Barge man and could see that the Valmorian was relieved for the interruption; it seemed that the unease at the table had settled some with the arrival of the strange foreigners…the reprieve took the edge off and all three players were able to breathe, relax, and reflect.

Valorik looked appraisingly at the two travelers. “You’ve come to the right place..I’m the Bargemaster of the Devils Brooch. The ‘Crossing’ will cost you six brass each and I’m due to leave for Ulryym again in three days time…just before dawn.”

Adarmin and Isamyr glanced at one another and nodded in quick agreement.

“Fine then, we would like to book passage now,” said Adarmin, as he and Isamyr began to pull coins from their money purses , ” …and when that day is upon us, where will we find this…’Devils Brooch’?”

“The east dock,” replied the one eyed boatman,”….look for the glow before the rising sun…my beauty ‘ll be alight like a finely cut gem!” With that he held out a deformed arm with twisted fingers to catch the brass bits as they were passed.

And so, the hollow eyed boat man wrapped his claw of a hand around the coins, and shook his head.” You’ve sealed your fate in coin, and your lives are as good as forfeit if its the Beasts of Verdicts Abyss that brings you here. Maeus is cursed, as are its people and all that would meddle in the affairs of the condemned.”

Pointing a crooked finger at the two companions he added, “Be forewarned…At the ‘Wall of Slaves’, they say that the beasts await… they shall know your fear as they lap the sweat from your trembling forms, and they shall know your weakness as they drink the blood from your broken bodies …”

A wolf in sheeps clothing

Gathered around a fighting pit in the recesses of a high ceilinged back room at the Inn of the Stone Chipper, a group of sweaty patrons had milled over the match that had just taken place. The unruly crowd scrambled to make their bets as ‘Gatherers’ worked the crowd to take wagers big and small. The last fight was a bladed match between two knife wielding opponents; both experienced combatants that danced a deadly pattern across the pit leaving a trail of blood on the walls and floor. Isamyr watched the match in admiration, and followed each move with his darting eyes, hoping to predict the match before the final blow.

The Silvani was so moved by the deadly exhibition that he spoke with the Pit Master, Hephelius, about participating in the next match. The heavyset, narrow eyed man looked the thin foreigner up and down, and pointed toward the warrior that just entered the fighting area. Yelling over the din of the crowd, he dared Isamyr,” There stands Ghiam Slav….a deadly brawler and ruthless combatant. Who are you to hope to best him?”

With those challenging words the crowd began to stir; bets were bellowed out and money began to change hands.

“It seems your crowd has spoken,” said Isamyr with a grin on his face. He removed cloak and weapons belt and descended into the sunken arena. The teeth of Ghiam Slav were filed into points and were bared in a deadly grin. The wild eyed grappler was clad in pit leather and had a full face mask that only revealed the snarling mouth and feral eyes. Across the bloodied pit stood Isamyr with a cold, indifferent look on his face; His calm stare concealing the deadly dance that was already playing out in his head before the brawl began.

Before the opponents could close to exchange blows, Adarmin had already placed his bet on his companion to win. The odds were 5 to 1 against him, but the Kha’drekan had sensed something lethal in his friend that lied beneath the surface. The first blows were struck, and Isamyr shook off the powerful strikes that came raining down like hail. In the blink of an eye he deftly breached his opponent’s defense. Side stepping… his lithe, wiry form began to wrap the pit fighter into an advanced hold that allowed little chance of escape. As unlikely as it seemed the unexpected was taking place. The elf had the purposeful movements of a highly trained combatant…and one who had the raw agility to execute  attacks that left his opponent stunned and helpless. This wasn’t simple brawling…this was something far more dangerous.

The sinewy muscles of the Silvani’s arms strained around the neck of Ghiam Slav. The leather faced warrior’s eyes widened as he realized that his air was quickly being cut off. His nails clawed at Isamyrs arms to no avail, and his eyes began to bulge from their sockets. Before long his legs gave out and the two toppled to the arena floor. Isamyr choked Ghiam until his twitching body gave its last heave; he relished in the sweet victory, and savored each gasping breath of the man whos life he held in a deadly embrace.

The crowd quieted some, as they realized what they were seeing. Ghiam was moments from death, but the Silvani’s practiced hold could feel the slipping pulse of the man and he let his grasp go a mere moment before the end. The pit fighter slumped down to the floor unconscious. Suddenly, his chest began to move to and fro with labored breaths. In the minds of the locals this was no mere feat and the patrons roared back to life to celebrate the unexpected outcome of the victory.

Before leaving the arena, Isamyr looked down at the feeble looking Ghiam curled up in a fetal position and gave him a stiff boot upside the temple….a mark to remember him by.

This was no simple act of luck. Isamyr was born deep in the Sidh forest of Cyrin’Lor, but intrigued by Man and his strange manners he eventually found his way to the city of Maris’Taelon on the western coast of Arregale. In time, his talents attracted the attention of the ‘Obsidian Claw’, and he was brought into the fold of this elite corp of killers. This guild of assassins, that can trace its archaic roots back to the ‘Claw of Sembia’, has been a bane on the northern kingdoms since the end of the 1st dynasty of the kingdom of Seraqevo. Now, their martial ways were his, and his cold grip was just as likely to kill you as his weapons were.

This deception wasn’t lost on Hephelius; he was no fool and could see that the weakness of the Silvani was nothing more than a guise. As the night passed, he allowed Isamyr to compete twice more in the pit, and each victory brought more hatred, until he had begun to plot the Silvani’s undoing….

Saints in the shadows

As Adarmin and Isamyr pressed on through the driving rain, their boots and cloak hems became caked with wet clay from the cobbled way. The weather was miserably wet, and the road was theirs alone all the way into Soldren Proper. Along the way lit homes and businesses lined the streets and shadows moved about under canopied porches. Passing a large two story building with a low stone wall and lush garden brought women to the edge of the structure; leaning over the porch railing and waving from the small balconies they called out to the passing men with promises of money well spent if they were hired for a nights romp. Their half covered forms bore corsets and flowing silks… the tools of their profession. The poor women’s propositions fell on deaf ears as the duo made haste to the warm glow of the Inn up ahead.

In Soldren there are five tavern halls, but only one Inn. Passing through customs at the tower of the PortMaster, the guards were kind enough to mention that. “…on the square in the Proper” they said, ” the largest and loudest building there”.

As the rain began to subside to a misty drizzle, steam from the cobbled way began to rise; the humidity would be overbearing in a few hours as the damp heat would become stifling and muggy. Adarmin glanced briefly at a stone block dais in the center of the square with some figures lashed down face first to its granite surface. He pondered what he saw, but continued on and took the steps of the Inn in what seemed like a single stride. Looking back he realized that Isamyr hadn’t followed and had instead headed for the sopping figures strapped out under the darkening evening sky. As Adarmin entered the Inn of the Stone Chipper a figure heading for the exit met his eyes briefly as they passed one another.

The man was dressed in the official garb of the magistrate, dark robes covered by bezainted leather war gear. His outfit was adorned with the soldiers silver bars and chains denoting a man of significant rank.  He strode purposefully toward the cloaked Silvani that had just begun to consider the pleas of one of the tied down criminals.

“You there…foreigner,” said the lawman with a certain cold edge, ” In Soldren, we don’t converse with the condemned. The Block of Serisan is a place for the guilty to make atonement for their sins”

Taken aback by the sudden challenge, Isamyr headed toward the opposite side of the square from the ‘Stone Chipper’, acting as if he hadn’t heard the comment.  There, in the shadow of the Inn was a small temple and adjoining shrine. It boasted statues of religious iconic figures, all finely crafted from a white marble. Isamyr kept his cloak drawn tight and pretended to admire the stone figures in front of him. The Silvani was easily mistaken for an Arregalen; his cloak was trimmed in thick knot work and the tailored design of his garb was a northern trend. The magistrate stepped up beside him and looked the statue over like he was seeing it for the first time. “A masterpiece is it not…are you a servant of Saint Caldrinor?”

“Why, yes I am.” lied Isamyr with an obvious accent. The Merchant Tongue was known to him, but his mastery of it was lacking. His broken and hesitant speech made the magistrate take a closer look at the man that stood beside him.

Then the Silvani, in an effort to give more credence to his claim, pulled some coin from his purse, stepped forward to the  shrine, and left an offering in the stone box at the feet of the Saint of the Penitent. He lowered his head in a mock prayer to this saint of Man, and maybe even whispered a silent plea on behalf of those poor souls that were tied down prostrate before the church. With that he nodded to the watchful lawman, and bade him good evening.

Meanwhile, in the lively common room of the ‘Stone Chipper’, the towering Adarmin was turning heads and causing a stir. Thosus the Innmaster, greeted him and asked if he was in need of a room. Coin was exchanged for the accomodations, and the barrel chested bartender turned the currency over in his fingers looking at the strange shape and markings; the sharp edges almost gave it the appearance of a triangle. Looking up at the looming figure dressed in desert wrappings and billowy cloak common to the distant southern empires he curiously asked,”Asrahni? Or is Kha’drekan?….I’ve seen the likes of these coins before, but their none to common…”

Adarmin ignored the inquiry, and quickly turned the conversation to other matters.

“What do you know of the strange happenings in Maeus…what manner of beasts plague the poor citizens there?” Even though he had a thick accent, he was oddly comfortable in the Merchant Tongue, however the click and roll of the language native to the Kha’Drekans gave it a peculiar sound… outlandish and otherworldy.

Thosus furrowed his brow and gestured with his hand for Adarmin to lower his voice.

“Tall one… you’d be better served to talk quieter about what goes on across the Quarry Straights. This lot is a superstitious one.”  The TavernMaster left his post at the bar and beckoned for Adarmin to follow. A small table in a quiet corner was his destination. Taking a seat, he huddled over the table toward the Desert man to talk privately.

Thosus wove an intriguing story of  how the mason camps and penal colonies of Maeus now lie empty, and how many of the indentured and sentenced laborers had been bonded to Valmoria to work off their debts. The Wall of Slaves, near their Sister Colony across the straights is silent now, and the region suffers because of this.

“My strange friend,” said the barmaster with a solemn shake of his head, “Four summers now are marked in blood, and each year brings news of another colony abandoned. Maeus is the last….but you are not the first to come to their rescue”

From an adjoining room of the Inn laughter broke out followed by a succession of cheers. “Thats the next fight beginning…join me pitside, will you?” said Thosus as he hurriedly stood. Adarmin fell in step alongside him as they made their way toward the rowdy crowd.

Thosus paused and spoke once more to the giant patron before they crossed the threshold to the loud room where bets were being made and challenges yelled out. “…many have crossed the straights to face the dark demons in that cursed place we call our Sister of the Stone never to return again. Some might call them brave, while others call them reckless, but for me….I just call them dead.”

Road of the Enlightened

Adarmin and Isamyr passed through the Port Master’s ominous tower, a fortified stone structure looming over the multitude of docks that stretched out into the bay like skeletal fingers. All traffic to or from the port district  flowed through this checkpoint where ship masters signed the port ledger, tariffs were levied, and visitors could be scrutinized.

Soldren was a port colony for the affluent kingdom of Valmoria; a land of learned men…civilized and sophisticated. Valmoria and its close neighbors- Ulryym,Musdao, and Sarpanth, were known as the’ String of Pearls’.  Within these four ‘civilized’ nations,  philosophy, science, theology, the arts, and mysticism had flourished, and were represented here by large universities and enormous temples. Some of the world’s greatest minds had studied in the halls of the many learning institutes in these four lands, and societies of learned scholars and theologians guided the masses and ruled through peaceful diplomacy and artful manipulation. They taught that man’s mind could bring light to the waking world of the savage tribes that still practiced cultures of brutality. However, where there is light, there shall also be darkness…

Despite their higher learning, and deep respect of life, these citizens of the ‘Pearls’ still had an unhealthy appetite of the flesh. The pleasures of the mind and soul were equally matched by the pleasures of the body, and their debased needs were consuming, and even though some legitimate criminals were punished by sentences to hard labor, others were innocents from other countries that were captured by slave caravans and sold as pleasure slaves along the Sea of Merchants. Turning a blind eye became the norm and the slave routes continued to flow through the various cities of these lands fueling the debased needs of its people. Often described as hedonistic, and self- indulgent, their population centers had a renowned reputation as ‘ports of pleasure’, and  indulged in the exploitation of others to satiate their wildest desires. Human trafficking was a profitable profession, and the slave caravans were always on the move from slave block to slave block in these countries as they plied their wares to the locals.

Traveling through the Port Masters brought the two companions face to face with the dark reality of life in Valmoria. A dozen slaves were lined up against the cold stone walls and stood, eyes down, dripping rain water and stinking of urine. They looked hollow and lifeless…and their lives of servitude hadn’t even yet begun. Soon, if they proved to be trustworthy, they would be free of their shackles and ready to begin anew as servants, laborers, courtesans, or cheap prostitutes.

The slaves were moved aside as sailors from another recently arrived vessel were preparing to declare their personals. When it came to Adarmin and Isamyr they were asked to declare weapons and were questioned concerning their intentions while in Soldren. In exchange for a few brass they were given a quick introduction to Valmorian custom and law, and provided with peace ties for their bladed weapons. Isamyr, when asked to unstring his bow while he was in the colony, became uncooperative until voices were raised and armed magistrates began to act impacient. His unruly behavior brought a closer inspection of his pack and other items, and the guards poked about in his belongings finding nothing. Eventually, the two were left to go on their way, and  following the primary way north…the Road of the Enlightened, they set their sights on the distant buildings of Soldren Proper.

In search of high adventure…

Their journey from Vae’shavic, the merchant capital of the south, to the mason colony of Maeus in the land of Ulryym was a lengthy sea voyage spanning weeks in stormy waters filled with dangerous reefs and unpredictable currents. The year was 1101 of the common calender, and sailing the Inner Sea, or Merchant Sea, was a difficult endeavor during Siege season…one left to experienced crews and competent navigators.

The ‘Coastal Prancer’, a small merchant vessel operating under a trade warrant granted through the Guild of Seven Saints, was tossed about as it pushed through the narrow waterways that led them from the Sea of Rueing to the Inner Merchant Sea. Aboard that vessel were two travelers that purchased passage while the Prancer was laid over at the lower docks of the column city of Vae. The mysterious pair apparently took note of the rumors that had finally grown beyond the borders of their origin.  With weapons and Will they had agreed to investigate the strange claims of deadly beasts condemning a poor colony in Ulryym to a life of fear, and to claim the reward that was offered to free the poor souls from the demons that plagued them.

Word of strange events taking place in North Central Ulryym had begun to surface in port cities along the Merchant Sea. The rumor mill began to draw the attention of hunters, and adventure seekers beyond the immediate areas surrounding the Arthirion region. As the stories go, some mercenaries had tried their hand at routing the beasts from the cursed land, and the promise of high adventure, the thrill of the hunt, riches, and renown had drawn them to the shores of the Sisters of the Stone and had repaid their efforts with deadly certainty.

On the bow, looking out across the choppy waters as the vessel passed the breakwaters of Soldren, the two travelers realized that even though the dangerous voyage was at an end, the adventure was only just beginning…

Adarmin, Tower of the Kha’Dreki, was just that…a tower of a man. Looming over every person he had ever met, he had never known another that could look him squarely in the eye. At 7’9 he was always a spectacle, and could seldom find a moments reprieve from the prying eyes of those around him. Those in the nomadic tribe of his people, say his height was a gift from his father…and not his only gift. Beneath his bulky hooded cloak were the wings of an Anakim. Adarmin was one of the few divine-sired among the vast deserts that stretch out from his home city of Ferin-Sul. In times long past, before the Great Migration of man, the progeny of a union between a Seirum and a human was a much more common event, and the Angelic-like Anakim fought above the desert battle fields vying for control of the very skies in the name of their sworn liege.

Standing beside him, in contrast, was a lithe figure nearly two and a half feet shorter. Isamyr, a member of the Silvani Sidhe, likewise was a stranger to these lands, and would catch the crew looking at him in innocent curiosity or sometimes with disgusted contempt. While in Vae’ the foundation of their bond formed as these two men had both found a similar interest in the events that were taking place in far away Ulryym.  Long nights of swilling ale and making daring promises to aid the weak in a distant land, eventually led to action as they booked passage aboard the Coastal Prancer. Now, after weeks of confinement in the close ship quarters that they shared, a growing respect had begun to develop. Each seemed to have his own challenges, and these seemed to separate them from the crew.

On more than one occassion during the voyage Isamyr had spotted the feathered tips of Adarmin’s wings, as had some of the crew. Whether sleeping or sitting they were difficult to hide, and there had been much hushed speculation as to their origin…more than once the word ‘Anakim’ had been whispered. And as for Isamyr…his foreign elven features, and difficulty with the human tongues didn’t seem to bother Adarmin, but did foment a growing distrust among the superstitous sailors; sidhe presence in the realms bordering the merchant sea was once more prevelant, when they ruled over the affairs of man…that was a long, long time ago, and best forgotten.

Upon arrival, but before docking, Captain Halavar had pointed out the distant lights of the Ward Tower near Maeus colony in the south. He explained that this is as far as he could take them, and that a six hour barge trip south across the Quarry Straights would be in store for the two travelers, as navigating through the dangerous reefs was impossible for a normal vessel. A regular trade route had been established across the Straights and the mason colonies of Soldren and Maeus had become trade dependent, and, in this way, were rightly named  ‘Sisters of the Stone.’

The ship slowly made its way into the harbor, creeping up to the commercial docks that stretched far out into the waters. When the Coastal Prancer was within reach of the shore crew that awaited near the cargo booms, mooring lines were thrown out to them and she was quickly tied off.  The ship crew made quick work of lowering the walkway and the passengers were encouraged to debark before the booms were positioned and the unloading process began.

Farewells were given and the two adventure seekers hastily made their way through the pouring rain toward where all the docks seemingly converged…the heavily fortified Headquarters of the Port Master and the Officio Magistratum.