(Art source unknown)
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 9
Storehouse of Acheron
Soft, yet biting, the wind danced across city streets and roofs, inconveniencing everyone he touched. Many a roofer patted their bodies and rubbed hands together since it was nigh Frost and roof tiles needed tending. Shoppers, merchants, and tradesmen asked their spouses for warm socks and padded vests, cheap alchemical pocket warmers keeping their fingertips safe from the wind’s nasty bite.
There, at the very edge of the Workers’ District stood a three storey building. One where local warehousemen found good employment for many a Turn. However, like all things good, this otherwise honest, well-paying business came to an end. Quite the unnatural one, as many of these hardworking men, all dwarves, elves, and humans, readily attested to when asked by Lady Thaliel’s boys.
Three, the burly, yet swift on their feet elves had guided a trio of cloaked men to a hideout of theirs. Red Hoods oft rented the street floors of small homes, running cover business ventures for their people to use as a base. Entering one of these, a shop peddling cheap but good quality garments, were Joel, Dalen, and Rolan, otherwise known as The Castigator.
Mingling with the clientèle were a dozen strong group of men, who by no means looked like Red Hoods. One discreetly led the three newcomers into the backroom. There, an elderly worker sat across a smallish round table, sipping hot soup from a metal bowl. His shortish, once black hair had gone near milky white, but a few strings of dark to remind him of his youth. The human blinked when a young dwarf girl, most probably the one who took care of him, whispered something in his ear.
Without delay, the three removed their hooded cloaks and sat at the table. Indeed, apart from them being anxious to hear what had the elderly worker seen, their senses were attacked by the soup’s enticing aroma. Simple, yet packed with many layers of tastiness, it was a mashed potato soup with bits of slow fried smoked bacon, paired with aromatic herbs, and pickled onions.
“Good lords, you wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen wiff me own eye.” – exclaimed the grandpa and shook their hands.
Grinning from ear to ear, the huge elf made sure to be extra gentle when he accepted the oldster’s hand – “Someone that needs castigation, I gather?”
“Let the man finish his soup.” – Joel said with a smirk, first to note the dwarven girl’s nonverbal cues.
“As a matter of fact, may we have some too?” – asked Dalen, breathing over his fingers, as soon as his armored gauntlets touched the table.
“What, no pocket warmers?” – and Rolan offered the bounty hunter one of his, but this one refused with polite head shake.
The priest removed his padded leather gloves. Dyed soft red, they paired well with the rest of his Marrite attire and kept him warm via heat retaining enchantment. Not as powerful as his signature priestly cloak, these were perfect for this time of the Turn. Unpredictable ninths, really, when naughty winds torment the populace with early colds, nasty sniffles, and coughs.
“Name’s Hierth,” – the oldster began when all three of his listeners were served a bowl of piping hot soup – “I was a warehouseman at the Smiling Pony Storage Co. for over twenty five Turns, the last six as a chief foreman. All my years of work, I never seen huhwhat I’ve seen yesterday. Gotta say, with our dear old boss, Lord Panist, everything worked like a well polished alchemist’s clock. No payment problems, no violent creditors, and definitely... no spooky ne’er-do-wells!”
“I am told that your old employer, good sir Panist, he was an elven master of storage and supply with great renown.” – said Dalen, and following a long slurp from his bowl, asked – “You and your fellow warehousemen thought it strange when he simply woke up one day and left never to return?”
“He was a good man, Master Panist! Never in a hundred Turns would he just leave everything behind.” – the old man emoted raising his wrinkled fist in the air – “More, his entire family was gone without a trace too! Napped, I tell ya, they were all napped by some villainous sod!”
“Unfortunate that the city guard found no traces then. Now is when our hooded friends are going to help investigate, go where the good guards cannot.” – said Joel and patted old Hierth’s calloused hand.
“Aye, I told the three strapping fellows everything me and my old friends remember from these bad days. However...” – and the old man wheezed, prompting his caregiver to rub his aching back with a healer’s ointment.
The girl gave Hierth a worried look and covered him with a thick coat, one which most working people would only don during the Frost.
“You will excuse me for my weakness, good Lords. In me old age, I wheeze, I cough, and I stumble, yet as a young lad I could carry heavy bales full of goods and for hours on end!” – mumbled the old man, a tear in his gray eye.
“Good master Hierth,” – Rolan smiled at the old worker – “you need not seek excuses from the likes of us! We came here to hear your tale and act upon it, swiftly.”
Dalen gave the oldster a somber smirk, pointing himself when he remarked – “Not as venerable as you, good sir foreman, yet many Turns of warrior duty have not spared neither me knees, elbows, or shoulders.”
Following a short breather, Hierth spoke – “Yesterday’s evening, I was returning back from a neighbor’s home where me told old stories to entertain the kiddies. Walking past the storehouse, I heard the distinct sound of a crane being operated and took a careful peep. You see, my Lords, though my sight is troubled, my ears are quite spry! I could not mistake wind chasing garbage for the turning of wheels or enchanted iron ropes pulling cargo.”
“From what they told me, the storehouse is closed shut. Creditors, your old master had none, and with his entire family gone the property fell in disrepair. For the past few Turns nary a single report had been issued by the city guard. I know,” – said Joel, scratching his nose, eyes slowly filling with tire – “I’ve checked with them.”
“True, and we kept the building clean... at least from the outside. Lords, I will not lie when I tell you that hearing the crane operational, I assumed the best. That my dear master Panist or someone of his household had returned and reopened our beloved storehouse. Nay... not even the fact that it was late at night did not chase my hopeful thoughts away. Only when I saw what I saw, only then did I weep, hiding behind an old metal container.”
“From the looks of it, you’ve seen something weird... wizardly even. Am I right, good master Hierth?” – asking this, Rolan produced a small scroll case from his robe pocket and placed it on the table.
It was etched in mystic symbols, one of the few remaining words of magic left from the old empire. Made of cast bronze, its greenish patina promising those who lay their eyes upon it that locked inside there were secrets from these turbulent days. It bore the Imperium’s sigil, a long shield emblazoned with the burning sun, a sword at its center, nine lightning bolts flying from its blade.
Only the oldster blinked, confused and then surprised, when his young helper described the scroll case’s details for him. Yet, far from being afraid in the presence of olden magics, the man instead continued with his tale:
“In me old age, I was able to see much since it was dark and those who unloaded cart after cart, they... they had tiny flames burning in their very eyes!”
“Green flames?” – Rolan inquired with troubled brow and looked at Dalen, who sat there holding onto his iron amulet.
“H-how did you...? Nevermind. I watched in horror how these beguiled dwarves, elves, humans, and orks, loaded heavy crates and the crane of my beloved storehouse lifted them up. Someone had to have been inside too, my lords, for when one crane load entered the building, it soon came out, the iron basket all empty. A trained worker, even myself in my youth, could maintain a fast pace yet, everyone is mortal and they need a breather. These poor persons however, they worked with breakneck speed and did not stop! I saw, at the very end of their work, how one misstepped and her leg snapped broken.”
The elderly man, haunted by the horrid sight, he rubbed his eyes and following a long, sad sigh, continued – “There was another present, a tall woman of ork blood. I noticed her armored shapes since she did not move like an ensorcelled person. A wave of her hand, and I swear to you my lords, I witnessed the same glow emanate through her armored fingers, it turned the wounded woman into an eyeless corpse! Two of the beguiled dragged the body inside the storehouse and everyone, the armored orkish lady including, left with the carts.”
Canting his head, Dalen patted the old man’s shoulder and asked – “Good master Hierth, you saw no weapons on them, only that armored orkish woman? No daggers, swords, and axes fused with their hands or did they leave trails of their own blood?”
“Not one of them was armed nor they bled, master Dalen. Me? I must have been blessed by Father Kan, for they did not see me or I’d be with him and not here, talking to you.”
Joel slipped the old man’s caretaker a health potion and asked him with a somber smile – “Master Hierth, please tell us, you as a warehouseman of many years, how big and heavy would these crates be?”
“About this long and wide, could prolly contain longswords, spears, maybe even alchemical guns!” – the old man livened a little bit and gesticulated aplenty, giving the three quite a correct assessment of the cargo he witnessed being hidden inside his beloved storehouse.
“Worry not good master Hierth, we shall take it from here! You return to your warm home and take a nap.” – exclaimed Rolan and stood up, slipping the old man’s caretaker a small but plump coin purse.
“Trust in us, we shall get to the bottom of it all and, if there are thugs lurking inside the storehouse, they’ll end up in chains.” – Dalen promised the old foreman and gave a pair of brand new alchemical pocket warmers to Hierth’s helper.
The girl made sure to grace all three with a polite bow and gently ushered her charge out. As soon as they left the backroom, Rolan unfolded his olden scroll case. His companions witnessed a scroll made of polished metal, yet they knew not what it was exactly. Whatever it was, the item appeared to be quite good in conducting magic since the wizard charged and activated its spell with one gentle touch.
“It is one of many, once assumed long lost scrolls of vision.” – said Rolan and pointed at the illusionary images forming above said scroll – “The olden Imperials used these to save images or in the case of this one, entire vistas.”
They watched as ancient legionari in impeccable formation, their battle-worn heavy armor bathed in blood reflecting a dark-green magical hue, battled with a band of ensorcelled. Horrid, this scene nevertheless reminisced of what Dalen and his young pupil Keryln had recently went through. Yet there were more details in this ancient magical recording—sound! Soon the small room became aloud with the roar of battle, the cries of wounded and dying, the clink of steel, and flesh being cleaved through and through.
Ahead of the beguiled rode a man who wore the shiny armor of the Imperium, yet from his shoulders fluttered a green cloak instead of dark-blue. His bore a weird mark; a darkly spot which appeared to constantly change its shape. All three of them however, they recognized that said blackish spot, it was a face... of sorts. Not one which most people would like to see, for even in their attempt to imagine its features, they knew nightmares will likely haunt their every dream.
Then another man, a noble general rode forth. The commander of the legionari wore Mara’s crest upon his shield and bravely clashed with the enemy. Swords aswinging, the two met each other as both soldiers and beguiled fell slaughtered on the muddy field. Foul weird magics reached forth to smite the general, yet his egg-shaped kite shield banished them all. The two roared and they shouted, exchanged olden words which token few Sages of today knew. However, to witness the end of this epic duel the three men could not, for this scroll was ancient and, time was not kind to it.
Everything fizzled with a spark of mana erupting up from the scroll’s end.
“Dalen, your iron amulet... Where did it come from?” – asked the wizard, quickly stashing the magical scroll, and since it had singed the table a bit, whispered one minor restoration spell which repaired the damage.
“I purchased it as a young warrior from one shop in the Trades’ District which sold oddities. It was priced low and offered basic protection from magics. Why it bestowed me such great defense against these weird energies, I know not.” – explained the bounty hunter a curious gleam in his eye when he inquired in his turn – “Rolan, tell me, what do you know of it?”
“A tiny bit of the imperial shield which you just saw was once made into an amulet. That is all I know despite my extensive research. Father Joel can say more about the mad queen, if your teachers did not.”
“My sword master and the crossbowman I studied under only told me a few things.” – and Dalen hid the amulet under his cuirass – “That after the Iron King, she was the most delusional and bloodthirsty, wanting everyone and everything to obey her at all times. Wait... wait... is this why...? Then that weird magic is...”
The priest of Mara took a deep breath and as he released it, his face was heavy with worry.
“While the Iron King made daemons from another realm manifest, an act nigh impossible by itself, in order to ‘cleanse’ his kingdom from us, the wretched imperfections, her approach was quite different. She used this weird magic to corrupt the souls of people, turning them into the poor, beguiled creatures you and I fought, Dalen.”
“I thought it but a chance discharge of magics, a terrible yet unfortunate accident.” – said the bounty hunter, gnashed his teeth and grumbled – “Now I understand that it was on purpose! Someone, that orkish woman perhaps, is behind the death of all those people I was hired to protect!”
Joel stood up and checked if his sword easily left the sheath before he said – “My head priest, he had prayed that all of this was, as you say Dalen, a terrible accident. That some fool mageling, no offense Rolan, found an item charged with weird magics and in their folly, caused a magical trouble. Openly, the Temple of Mara can only act if we confirm this a conspiracy... That this mysterious woman is in control of weird magic. Otherwise, you know how it goes.”
The Castigator followed Joel’s example, gave the priest and Dalen friendly pats over their shoulders, offering a cheerful reassurance – “Rest assured, Lady Thaliel’s boys have this storehouse encircled. No one can get in or out, but us three!”
When they were about to leave the backroom, Rolan nudged the bounty hunter and warned him – “It is indeed powerful this amulet, though, I’d ask for a boon.”
“Eh, don’t tell me ye want to wear it? You are full of powerful magics and this, it is all I have.” – Dalen protested.
“You misunderstood me, master bounty hunter.” – said the wizard and patted his massive chest – “When you call forth its protection, make sure that happens away from me. Unless you are eager to discover just how powerful the Castigator is in battle against the weird magics, yet without command over his own!”
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
[MWF] — The greatest magical wrestling federation ever!
I love it. Also… iron as a foil to magic is a wonderful theme to weave in.
This is very exciting. To fight magic with magic. And of course the castergator has the most magic.