Index:
Episode 1 - The League of Iron assembles
Episode 3 - Legacy of the Veil Breakers
Episode 8 - Last of the Old Ones
Episode 12 - Mistress of Flesh
Episode 15 - March of the parasites
Episode 16 - Shadows in the Fog
Warmth.
The roaring hearth glowed all red and tiny greenish sparks danced their very best, last jig, whenever a piece of wood cracked on the flame. Brown, white, and black, the Smoke gracefully climbed up the chimney, heating up all rooms on the home's second storey. He feasted on dry woods, twigs and delectable straw all evening, and his aerial belly was full of fat drippings from the feast.
Coughing, he joined his brethren who'd just puffed out from other chimneys. Together, they formed a cozy blanket, drifting further and further away from the fort. Once they reached old Mother Forest, they'd sewn a hood onto their blanket, turning into a soldier's cloak. One which all halfling cavalrymen had prudently donned to shield themselves from Frost and Chill, Night's frivolous cousins.
Ancient and long-traveled, Starlight poked holes through this aerial cloak, Her rays caressing many a soldier dream. Those who stood guard, a stalwart wall of armored muscle, toughened bone, and trained sinew, their watchful eye said the light hullo. Happy to have finally met those of life and shining soul, Starlight graced the tips of their spears and helmets with tiny blue flames.
Such was Her happiness, that even the armored antlers of reindeer still on patrol were graced by this hallowed flame. Two by two, their riders whispered remnants of prayers as old as the Neldaeir, and halted their mounts. Rein-holders gripped their long spears tight, and their crossbowmen, showed Starlight the tips of their best crossbow bolts. The noble reindeer bellowed, their snouts raised up at the starry sky.
Long have these halfling warriors traveled, and far away were their home hearths. But Starlight, they knew, She would grace their loved ones' faces and bring them good tidings from the front. They only need best the Thulm cavalry, and survive till this war was over...
Sat around a long table, in comfy wooden chairs, the Four were warm and their bellies full of great food.
“By my Order's oldest cooking cauldron, 'tis indeed thine Temple's finest stew, Master Priest!” - The Knight swore as he patted his belly, wooden spoon raised in the air.
“Master Ainhart,” - tiredly asked Gelduin's wife - “is this really your Temple's famed Rocco stew, or just a huge pot of mushyrooms with Rocco meat?”
The Elf, who'd just poured himself his sixth bowl, studied the bubbling, thick golden broth and shrugged.
“Well, I may have over-mushyroom-ed it, but just a wee bit.” - He grinned from ear to ear and nudged the Ranger - “Blame your husband's foraging skill!”
“Ackh! I remember asking you how much we'll need, yet what came out of yer priestly mouth? More, yee said!” - Snickered the Dwarf, and sipped what broth was left in his fifth bowl of stew for the evening.
“No, I cannot believe it!” - Exclaimed the Sorceress, who had trouble finishing her third portion - “How... no, where do you fit all of this food?! I can barely eat two...”
“Well, you shouldn't have snacked on my sweet root breb before lunch time, dear sorceress.” - Giggled the very pregnant Dwarven matron and rested her head on her husband's broad shoulder.
“But it was so crispy and delicious.” - Mumbled Eirunn and fidgeted in her chair under the smiling eyes of Osnhild, who chuckled:
“Why, of course, snacks are supposed to be delicious, my dear. Could you even imagine nauseous snacks?! People would not dare snack upon them and that would be... sad.”
“Wait!” - exclaimed the Knight and unfolded his handkerchief, where a long slice of the aforementioned breb had remained hidden throughout most of the feast - “I still haven't snacked on it.”
They all snickered, keeping their voices down since their companion's daughters had already retired for the evening. Gelduin's wife dozed off in her cozy chair, and the four spent their next half-hour resting from the feast, which wasn't over until they've had the house's choice ale. This was yet another time honored tradition, and just like the Sharing of Names, on the first evening of the Quest the Four would tell their life tales.
Dalnor asked the lady of the house for one wide iron skillet earlier, and the Elf for some of the Rocco fat left on the bottom of the broken jar. He proceeded to fry a dozen of the biggest mushyrooms which he cleaned and stuffed with fresh cheese. Earlier this evening, while the Elf was still cooking his famous stew, the Knight went out to have his talk with Tholdain. On the way back, he purchased a wheel of chromatic cheese from one industrious halfling supplier.
“Here,” - announced Dalnor, holding the skillet full of perfectly cooked stuffed mushyrooms - “we can finally enjoy that chilled flagon of halfling best ale, Master Gelduin.”
“Osnhild, I am sorry...” - Gelduin woke his wife up with a gentle hug, and she smiled, seeing the big brass flagon he'd just served on the table.
“Our Thorfaeld is not old enough to learn the joys of ale, husband.” - Said the matron with a gleam in her eye, and produced four clay mugs from their dining cupboard.
She took a whiff while filling their cups with the aromatic, dark-amber brew.
“Not until my babe breathes his first, can I drink my fill.” - She giggled, sat in her comfy chair and explained - “'Tis what my mama used to say, when we served food in the evening, after all chores and farm work was done.”
“Try the cheese-stuffed mushyrooms, Lady. I am sure your babe will enjoy that.” - Grinned the Knight, and offered her a portion.
The Four raised the mugs and emptied them in one go.
“For the Quest!” - Everyone stated, before their cups touched the dining table.
Gelduin refilled the mugs, studying his companion's faces as he did. Osnhild swiftly devastated the large mushyroom, snacking on stringy bits of molten cheese, while her husband and guests slowly battled with their portions.
“I never expected a married volunteer, let alone one with so many children.” - Stated the priest, still struggling with the last piece of mushyroom on his plate.
“Ah, at least thou comes not from the Duchy of Telvonia.” - The Ranger smirked as he raised his cup - “These backward ninnies still think us Dwarves grow like fruits on a tree!”
“Wait,” - The Elf raised his finger - “are those the same nincompoops who wrote the book 'The Origins Of Alkiorn's People'? I read a copy in our Tempe library as a young neophyte. These Telvonian scholars claim that Elves just spring out of holes in the earth!”
“Aham, 'tis the same rag.” - Grimaced the Knight, and scratched his temple, as if the mere memory gave him headache, yet he quoted:
“Thus, without any shadow of a doubt, and relying on our most arduous research, we have concluded that Humans are not born, but descend down from heaven on godly light.”
“Let me guess,” - said the Sorceress when she somehow managed to finish her plate - “us Arkan kin are formed out of pure magick?”
The Knight nodded, gifting her with a witty smile:
“At least this is not a lame reproduction cycle, like babes being beamed down on rays of light.”
“I think ours is the most boring.” - Frowned the priest, and raised an eyebrow, sipping from his cup, lost in thought.
“Growing like fruits on the vine is just as dull.” - Shrugged Gelduin and gave his wife a wink:
“What say you, lady of the house?”
“I think that the seed has been most fruitful, and the tree,” - she patted her belly - “soon to bear fruit.”
“I'd love to hear your parents thoughts on the musings of Telvonian sages, Master Dwarf.” - Asked the Knight with a smile, and raised his mug left hand on his heart, as was olden Neldaeiri custom to honor someone with a toast:
“Indeed, their son has grown up to be a most accomplished warrior, and father!”
They witnessed their host's face once again assailed by torment, such that the hand he held his cup trembled. Osnhild took his free hand in hers, which offered a shield against whatever painful memory gripped his heart.
He drank the cup dry, sighed, and, following one more look in his companion's eyes, said:
“I shall start with my own tale. You need to know what forged me, for the success of our Quest.”
“My parents... they are no longer around, for one simple reason – they were killed.” - Gelduin began his story with a calm, yet somber voice.
“First, I must start with my earliest memory, so you can understand why. Four summers old, I was dressed in the clothes of my older brother, and hungry as I was, paraded like a toy. Distinctly, I remember the dread of not being able to keep a wide smile, and reply all proper like. They'd beat me and deny me food or water. If I failed badly and gained them unfavorable looks, I'd spend a chill night, naked, locked in the bug-infested broom closet.”
Gelduin's companions saw how Osnhild's eyes steeled and an angry sigh left her gritting teeth.
“You see, I come from one of the biggest cities, far away from Mother Forest. 'Twas a gloomy place where, because of their status, certain people live a life better than ours. Most of them earn and keep these luxuries with their merit. Either by trade, skill, or organizing services essential for our society, they purchase better homes, dress in finer clothes, and dine on fine delectables. In these lofty positions, family honor is of great import, the eye of society must look favorable upon them... or else.”
The Ranger made a short pause to water his throat.
“Many invest considerable amount of money and effort to maintain their image. Oft, they would gift charity to the unfortunate, build public buildings, or donate their own possessions. Others? They... they...”
It took him more than a few breaths to wrest control of his heart, but the Dwarf continued.
“Others parade their well-behaved children around the city. You see, family is everything for a Dwarf. Demonstrating that they have multiple kids at important social events, or marching them down the main city streets dressed in doll-like outfits, wins them the good eye of the people.”
His companions looked at each other, their faces masks of confusion.
“I was one of these children. Through me, these parents of mine appeared all proper like, and their standing grew. 'Twas my brothers and sisters muffled, hidden pain, that won these 'noblesse' many an accolade, and afforded them even more and expensive things.”
“And people did nothing?! That is horrible!” - Exclaimed the Sorceress, tears in her eyes, fists clenched, and lips trembling.
“They couldn't, for no one suspected our fate, my friends. You see, everyday people are honest to a fault and they cannot imagine how one would visit such torment upon innocent children, for they themselves would never have done such a terrible thing.”
“Vayila must've sent someone, answered your prayers!” - Grumbled the priest, his irises aglow with tiny golden flames.
The Ranger nodded. His face quite tristful, the Dwarf sipped more ale before he continued his tale:
“True, Master Ainhart, yet some years had to roll by, until it happened. One day, 'twas my tenth birthday, I found out why our eldest brother was missing. The noblesse dressed me not in the fine outfit and polished shoes I was usually given, but old sandals, and a moldy sack that barely covered my thighs. Their carriage traveled for many hours, until the air became rather chill...”
“Hands bound and a rope tied around my right ankle, I was dragged out of the carriage. They kicked and they punched me, until the other end of that rope was tied around a tree. There was so much snow and the wind carried frozen shards which cut my skin. I asked for mercy, yet without a word they left me there. Soon their carriage was but a dim memory, its tracks hidden by the snow.”
“I refuse to call the noblesse father and mother, for these hallowed words are never to be marred!”
“I hope that someone rescued you, Master Gelduin!” - Exclaimed the Knight, his fists clenched so hard, that his knuckles became pure white.
“To cry in the cold was an act most useless, therefore I dug myself deeper under the snow. I hoped that it would offer protection from the frosty gale and... I was mostly correct. Though, many breaths later, my hands frozen and my fingers bleeding, I made a discovery. Underneath the warm, snowy funerary shroud, there lay my brother. Mummified by frost, what was left of his half-eaten by bug and critter body looked upon me with hollow eye sockets and I cried out in pain.”
The Ranger paused to refill his mug and drank it dry, before he continued his tale.
“'Twas my desperate cry that a group of infantrymen heard. Deep in the forest for their yearly winter training regimen, they discovered my nearly frozen to death body. Before I woke up, there was this golden light which surrounded me. I saw the shadow of my brother's lively face and heard his calm words reassuring me that everything will be fine.”
“Instead of Afterlife, I felt the numb pain of my heavy limbs, and a terrified, fatherly voice, asking who did this to me.”
“Who was it?!” - Asked the sobbing Sorceress.
“You've all met Tholdain when we entered the fort.” - Answered Gelduin with a somber smile - “It was he, then a sergeant, who led the soldiers who found me. For many days, they fought a desperate battle to save my life and, with the break of good weather, reached their base camp. There, one Arkan man healed my rotting hands, thus sparing me the fate of living as a cripple for the rest of my days.”
“The noblesse – did they pay?” - With ice cold rage asked the Knight.
“Master Tholdain and his troops were beyond angry. You see, as they were digging me out, the soldiers found not only my brother, but seven other bodies. They'd packed everything and, as swiftly as the weather allowed them, traveled to the city. There, they confronted the noblesse and with me as a witness, doomed the two to death. Yet, too late it was for my siblings, who'd mysteriously vanished. Feverishly look for them as they might, not Master Tholdain's soldiers, nor the city guard achieved any success.”
“I assume their punishment was appropriate and swift?” - Inquired the Priest, and finally reached for his ale mug.
“Their trappings of power taken away, naked, the two were brought deep into the forest and tied at the same tree. Tholdain and I watched from our roaring campfire, as they slowly froze to death. Though there was justice, neither of us was happy, for my siblings could not be found. Yet, even though the noblesse's demise was right, their peers strongly disliked it. They made sure to promote Master Tholdain... as far away from the city, as possible.”
The Ranger stood up and refilled his companions' ale mugs.
“He needn't ask me twice if I desired to come with him. We arrived here and I became 'the regiment's son'; all soldiers my fathers, their wives, sisters, and daughters, my mothers. For the first time in my life I was fed, drank my fill, and had proper clothes. Here, I made an oath that for my lost siblings' sake, I would build a big family. That I'll have a warm house and my children, loved and happy. That I and my wife be real parents, one who our kids would gladly call Father and Mother.”
“Why did you volunteer, Master Gelduin? You've fulfilled your oath and then some!” - asked the Sorceress, as she wiped her tears with her olden, pure white handkerchief.
“There are other noblesse hiding in that city, scum like they who exploited me, and vanished my siblings. Once the Quest is completed, with the Cloak of the Deliverer on my shoulders, I will seek them out!”
“Undimmed is Vayila's hallowed light, as She glows for those who love.” - Sang Ainhart, and pointed at his long axe as he swore - “Cometh the Quest's end, you will have my Ax, Master Dwarf!”
“They will earn their just reward, these parasites.” - Announced Dalnor, hand on the gemmed pommel of his sword.
“Burn in Arkan fire, they shall!” - Promised the Sorceress, her long mane aglow with blue flame.
The Ranger hugged his wife, soaking up their promises with a much happier face, even following a tale so somber.
“Immortal is the warrior whose kin stands behind him.” - Whispered Lady Osnhild, and rose up, fatigue clearly seen on her lovely face.
“Indeed, though even the immortals need quality slumber!” - Waggled his priestly finger the Elf, yawned, and aimed his steps towards the second floor.
Before leaving the dining table, they emptied their mugs and left them, handles pointed towards the hearth. According to olden tradition, this meant that even in death, the Four would return, visit the home's beating heart...
***
Dear reader, if you liked this story, you might enjoy my published work.
Well done, Knight, I think this is one of my faves.
An interesting theological debate, enjoyed this chapter also.