Vanishing into the Dungeons

[BMPixy]

Hey-o, Pixy here with my first attempt at original fiction in what has it been, a year and a half? I figure that with this idea knocking around in my head for a little while, I might as well throw something together and see if it is any good.

Anywho, Vanishing into the Dungeons (VITD, for those of you who don't like typing) is a generic heroic fantasy style story in an original universe I've been playing around with for use in my D&D group. I'll include a bit of world building at the end of every pseudo-chapter, so look forward to those if my prose isn't up to cut. Updates will be sporadic, but I'm aiming for sometime between Sunday to Tuesday.

Without further ado, in my next post will come Prologue 1/3.

 

[BMPixy]

Prologue 1
“Dashing Rogue”

The Tavern
Crone’s Corner
Javius Onaia

There she was, that statuesque stunner, with legs that went for miles. A well-worn leather cloak did its best to hide her features, but from the short glances I could steal when she moved she had a face like a minor deity, platinum hair falling in locks down the side of her face, framing those piercing grey eyes. I grinned slyly to myself as she took her seat at the bar. Elvish, probably, with that hair and eye color, but with the hood covering her ears she could just be half- or quarter-Elvish, or hell maybe even a Mimic that wanted a night on the town, but from those two size-able lumps I could spot from under her cloak? More than worth it, I'd say.

I gently tapped my buddy, Hitchcock, on the shoulder, turning his attention from his drink, some Aezelia beverage he’d grown fond of and his wallet less so.

“Hey, Hitchcock,” I muttered quietly enough to be heard over the din of merriment and drinking present in the hall, “See that one at the bar in the cloak, next to the scarred guy?” I gently nodded my head in the direction of the person in question, leading his bleary eyes towards her.

“Aw man, you wanna try fer ‘nuther un today?” he muttered moodily in his drunken slur. “Come off it Javy, we got more 'an 'nough fer now.”

“Hey, you know me, I’ve never had enough,” I retorted, “Besides, you don’t need to follow me, just need you to keep your eye out of that drink and on the action.”

“Wha’e’er man,” he replied with a dismissive wave. Probably as good of an authorization as I was going to get from the drunken bastard. Slowly I stood up, and weaved my through the crowd, slowly making my way towards the seat beside the Elf girl, the stool seemingly beckoning to be placed underneath me. Just a few more paces, act casual, and there, in the seat.

I made a hand signal at the bartender, which he recognized with a grunt. I’d need just the right drink for what I was about to do. A quick glance confirmed that she hadn’t been spooked by the hand sign, so it’d be safe to say that she wouldn’t know what was coming. The bartender, a man who’d helped me through far too many misadventures yet I could never remember his name, slid me the drink, a shot glass filled with a liquid the color of jade, with small flecks of purple gently settling towards the bottom. Perfect.

I nodded at the bartender, the silent acknowledgment that this one would be put on my tab being understood by him, and I grabbed the drink, leaned back, and poured it all down my gullet. Nothing like a little Quickfingers to get an evening going. Now for the fun part.

“Y’ever notice the sign there?” I asked to the woman, pointing up at a ‘Beware of Pickpockets’ sign nestled in between bottles of liqour, a few shelves above and to the left of us. Her hand quickly flashed to check her goods, and I could see her brow furrow. Right where I thought they were.

“No, I hadn’t,” she replied uncertainly. Damn, if honey could talk that’d be its voice. Shame I’m on the job at the moment.

“Eh, figure, barkeep tends to keep it nestled away,” I said with a shrug, “After all, pickpockets are good for business, as long as they spend the coin they take at your place. Don’t want the people getting too wary.” I waved a hand to gesture to the crowd. “After all, Crone’s Corner never attracted the best of types, so it’s not like they’d go to the guard with accusations of thievery, as it’s far too likely they themselves got it from less savory activities.” Her attention drifted along my arm to the assembled thugs, thieves, and other scum, and I seized my chance. While she was distracted, my other hand quickly slid into the pouch on her waste, extracting a handful of the coins contained within. From the quick brush, she was loaded far more heavily than I expected. Might have to double or triple dip to get enough of it.

“I see,” she said, turning back to the bar and taking a sip of her drink. “But why would you tell me this? Not giving me much reason to believe you aren’t a thief yourself.”

“Oh, you wound me,” I replied, putting a hand over my heart and leaning back, “Can’t a man show a little chival-knee or whatever that lizardfolk word is?”

“You mean chivalry?” Just as planned. Now for Step Two.

“Yeah that,” I said, playing off my mistake, “After all, what’s a man to do when he sees a pretty face like yours all alone in such a dangerous place like this? Might as well give you a warning of what you could expect from us.” Her eyes went wide at the last word, the implications of my choice of words quickly settling in. I slid a couple of the gold pieces I had swiped onto the bar in front of her, and added, “This one’s free.”

With her attention drawn to the two coins in front of her, my other hand quickly slid in and out of her other pouch, grabbing another eight or nine coins. Just a few more minutes of this and I’d be able to get that nice Dwarvish dagger Gertrude was fencing out in the Buxom Behemoth.

“Well, I must certainly pride you on your honesty,” she said with a small bit of fire in her voice, her face flush with embarrassment, “but you’ve only given me less reason to trust you.”

I raised a hand and placed the other over my heart, and replied, “Please, I swear on my honor that I won’t swipe anything else of yours. Is that enough?”

“I thought the saying went, ‘there is no honor among thieves’?”

“Aye, but it says nothing about honor in thieves,” I shot back jokingly. Of course, that doesn’t mean that’s true, I mentally added.

“Well, please excuse me if I don’t necessarily take you at your word there,” the Elf replied with a faint smile. And we’re in, easier than I expected. Now for Step Three.

“So, is a beauty like you willing to share a name, or do I have to earn it?” I said with a sly grin.

“Just because one yearns,” she said cryptically, “Does not mean one earns.”

“Poetry, eh?” I observed. Hmm, might be able to work with this... “Y’know, a buddy of mine always said that a poet and thief are a lot alike.”

“Oh, how would that be?” she replied, curiosity evident in her voice.

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, quickly running through my mental knowledge of shared qualities, before saying, “Well, both are deft with their hands, poets writing, y’know,” I added to ease her confusion. She nodded, taking a sip and signaling me to continue, and I took the chance and slid out a few more coins. “They’re also quick with the wit and can make people believe there’s meaning in even the grandest of fooleries,” I finished with a shrug. “Of course, he’s always been thinking too much and working too little, so take that comparison with a bit of salt.”

“No, I’d say your friend is very clever,” she said. I mentally grinned at the indirect compliment, but kept my face level. She suppressed a laugh, and shook her head, before continuing. “This might sound like a funny question to ask, but do you believe in destiny?” She adjusted herself to look me directly in the eyes, and I felt an uneasy shiver that I couldn’t quite explain go down my spine as those eyes locked into mine.

I played off my unease with a slight chuckle, and replied, “Eh, destiny is a moot point for me. If we don’t have it, that means I made all the right choices myself. If not, then that means I’m fated for greatness. Simple as that.” Taking advantage of her attention, I slid out a last few coins from her purse. Alright, I think this is enough. I coughed twice and scratched my right shoulder, signaling Hitchcock to pull me out of here.

As the drunkard trudged his way through the crowd, the Elf said, “Fair enough observation, I suppose. If anything, I’d sa-” Before she could finish, the old bastard nearly barreled into me as he hastily came off of a light jog he had taken to seem anxious.

“Oi, Javy!” Hitchcock shouted, “I just got news, Nick’s back in town!”

Caught between cursing and shame, this time not having to feign the emotions, I replied, “Dammit, Hitch, you’re drunk! Nick ain’t coming back for another two weeks.” I looked over to the Elven lady in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, my friend’s a bit drunk. I’ll need to take him back to his room.”

She nodded in understanding, “I see. With luck and fate on our side, we may run into another again and finish this conversation.” Yeah, fat chance, after how much I took I hope I never run into you again, I mentally shot back, but instead grabbed Hitchcock by the arm, and began leading him out of the establishment.

_/\_​

The Seer smiled as the pickpocket melded into the crowd, his comrade-in-arms draped on his shoulder. She gently nudged the grizzled human next to her, and whispered, “He’s the one.”

“You sure?” he replied after he finished his drink.

“With certainty. Trail him, find where he’s staying, and let him know that the Seer of Bonds wishes to speak with him.”

“And what will you do meanwhile?”

“I’ll find the other two.”

CODEX IMPERIALIS:
The Tavern

Considered the greatest innovation of magic and architecture of the eighth classical century, The Tavern, or known officially as the Imperial Hydra Inn, is the largest tavern among the Known Nations. While normally a building this size would merely drain tax money, the addition of a portal network connecting to every city in the Empire of Izna instead enabled residents from across the nation to travel, and trade, with people they would have had to take the three week journey across the nation’s mountainous terrain in order to visit.

And with trade, comes influence. With influence, comes power. And Queen Helena I, the creator of the tavern, wielded this power well, using it to reclaim territory lost in the Empire’s earlier downward spiral, and even expand the borders, both peacefully and through war. Now, because of this Tavern, the Empire of Izna is the most powerful nation on the continent, and it is the center of knowledge, culture, and trade for the entire civilized world.

 

[BMPixy]

Prologue 2/3
“Lone Ranger”

The Tavern
Benjamin’s Butchery and Bait Bazaar
Aesh’iel Eaziel Earl’ea

The bell on the door rang gently as I stepped inside the butcher’s shop, the owner looking up at me and grinning, realizing what exactly it was I was carrying over my shoulder. I strolled over to the counter, and heaved, letting the massive boar fall to the counter with a might thud.

“I asked for a handful of pheasants, and you bring me a boar. To what to I owe this honor?” the human said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. I pull the requested trio of birds out of rucksack, placing them next to feral pig.

“Ran across the other one while gathering that one’s pheasant. Would have let the boar go, but then the other one noticed this one,” I replied with a shrug, “Would have been a waste to let the other one rot in the wilderness.”

“Makes sense,” Benjamin said, “So, that’ll be four minas for each of the pheasants, and then eleven moderas for the boar, plus ammunition costs.”

“One maxia and two moderas,” I countered, “the boar managed to wound this one.” I lifted the side of my shirt, revealing a strip of bandages covering the place where the beast had managed to cut through my hide of scales with its tusks.

The butcher examined the wound, and replied, “Eh, I suppose that’s not unfair. How many pellets did you use?”

“Six leaden shot, worth two minas each.”

Benjamin nodded, and pulled out his ledger to do some mathematics, running the numbers. After a handful of moments, he said, “Alright, so that comes out to one maxia and four moderas. I’ll go ring you up.”

“This one thanks that one,” I said with a grateful nod.

“Anything for the best ranger I know,” Benjamin replied with a smile, as they counted the coins and wrote out the receipt. “Speaking of that,” they continued, “You hear that there’s a slinger tournament down at the Velo City range?”

“That one has piqued this one’s curiosity. Elaborate.”

“From what I’ve heard it’s this afternoon. Entry fee is six moderas. You want me to break the maxia?”

“Maybe, depending on whether or not that one knows if Shael’ia will be entering,” I replied, leaning on the counter.

“Pro’lly,” the butcher replied with a noncommittal shrug, “You know how much of a prick that guy is, and how he always has to prove he’s better than everyone.”

“Break the maxia,” I said harshly, “This one shall show the other one their place in the hierarchy.”

“That’s the lizardwoman I know,” Ben replied with a smirk, sliding the maxia back into the register and pulling out twelve moderas. I gathered my payment and receipt, placing them both in my bag, before waving goodbye to the human and exiting the butcher shop.

_/\_​

The Tavern
Velo City Ranged Training Grounds

“Gooood morning contestants!” the announcer called out, the magnify spell on his headset amplifying his voice so all could hear. “Can I get a ‘hoo-ah’ from all you rudies and rangers ready to pit your skills against the best of the best!?”

The assembled crowd of entrants, about sixty or so strong, cheered in response to the announcer, though I myself remained silent, scanning the group for that familiar crest of scales.

“Right-o, and to all you out in the bleachers, can I get a ‘hoo-ah’ from those of you ready to have the time of your life!?”

The roar from the assembled masses was nearly deafening, and I could see others of my kind reflexively cover their sensitive ears from the noise.

“Excellente!” the announcer said, oblivious to the pain he indirectly caused, “Well, in that case, welcome to the Sixteenth Semi-annual Velo City Sling-Shooter Slaughterhouse! I’m your host and em-cee Mister Beat-Wizard X, and I’d like to thank you all for coming out here this lovely afternoon! Any-fu-man-shu, without any further ado, let’s find out which of our competitors have aim true, and which of them can’t follow through! Will Group One please report to the range for round one?!”

Eight of the assembled contestants broke off from the group, and made their way to the range, each of them standing across from one of the targets. If I recall correctly, there were eight groups, and I was assigned to group four. The top two scorers in each group would on to the semi-final round, with two groups of eight competing to see who among them could score the most. Those two finalists would then compete to see who could score the most points over five rounds of three shots.

Interrupting my examination of my opponent’s techniques- hmm, that one is going underhanded, he likely is used to shooting for range- an Elf, dressed in a long cloak and standing a little under my height, stepped towards me. If what I remember of mammalian sexes is correct, the bulges on their torso means that they are... male? I may have to seize the chance to ask later, but until then I will have to refrain from assuming.

“Hello there,” they said with a small wave. I nodded in reply, saying nothing. “I noticed you seemed to be examining the other competitors quite analytically, and since this is my first tournament, I was wondering if you could tell me a little about what is going on?”

Ah, wonderful, a newbie. Always good to see fresh blood joining the craft. I let a small smile slip from my mouth, and replied, “Very well, this one shall illuminate the Elven one on the workings of this tournament. The Elven one may ask whatever questions this one can answer.”

Their eyes lit up slightly, and they asked, “Well, first of all, how is the scoring conducted?”

I gestured to one of the targets, and said, “As that one can see, the target is composed of four rings. The outermost ring is worth three points, then proceeding inwards the values are six, nine, and then twelve. Each ring is thinner than the one outside of it, and so whenever a pellet strikes the target, the score is gauged by the sound of the impact.”

“And what happens when a pellet strikes on the border between two rings?”

“Then there is a sound that is between the two pitches, and the points are averaged. For instance, if that one struck on the edges of three and six, this would give that one four and a half points.”

The Elf nodded, and said, “It sounds fairly complicated, but it is starting to make sense.” They paused for a second, before hesitantly asking, “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

Hmm, this might be my opportunity to clear up my confusion on their sex. “As long as this one receives the opportunity to do the same,” I replied with a shrug.

“Makes sense,” they mused, before pausing, likely to figure out how to word their question. “It was about your dialect of Imperial. Are you from the Centragar region?”

“Indeed this one is,” I said in response, “Perceptive of that one, most attribute my speech to ‘lizardfolk stuff’.”

“I have a few friends from that area, so that’s how I was able to tell,” they said idly, “So, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

“This one’s question may seem odd, but...” I paused hesitantly, unsure over how they might receive the question. “But mammalian genders have always confused this one. Is that one a male?” Their reaction was not what I was expecting, anger, but rather mirth, in the form of stifled giggle.

After a moment’s embarrassment, they finally calmed themselves, and replied, “No, I am a woman.” Gods damn Yishae, she lied to me about that. I’ll have to apologize to Benjamin for calling them a female after the Crone’s Corner incident.

Putting an end to the awkward silence before it could begin, the announcer yelled, “A’ight everybody, wonderful performance from Group Three! Tallies have been scored, and the winners are Ulrich von Lichtenstein and Rodrekr Stonechucker! Will Group Four please report to the range?!”

Turning to the Elf, I said, “This one must go now, it is time for this one to compete.”

“Alright. I’m in the next group, so hopefully we’ll both make it through to the finals,” she said in reply, as I turned and left, hefting my sling.

I stepped up to my designated target, and palmed one of the leaden slugs on the stand next to me, examining it and feeling the weight. About one-fiftieth, maybe one-hundredth of a stone in weight? Typical sport pellet. Aerodynamically molded, ah there’s the branding. Mini’s Slugs, Shells, and Shot; a good brand. Not my personal favorite, but a high quality name nonetheless.

A signal from the referee alerted me to that it was now my turn. I slid the pellet into the pouch on my sling, ensuring that it was secure, then secured the sling in my hand, fingers through the loop, pouch secured in the other fist. Assume first position, inhale deeply. Visualize the slug impacting the center of the target. And... now!

I uncoiled my body like a whip, using my entire form to propel the pouch around to the release point, at which point the leaden bullet shot out, still carrying all of the momentum I imparted into it. A second later the projectile impacted the target, the high pitched dwoong indicating I had struck the center of the target. As expected.

The judge raised both of his arms, indicating I had received full points that round, and I relaxed, as the next competitor prepared their shot. Slowly I let myself slip into the zone, removing everything else from existence aside from myself, the target, and the judge. Everything else was irrelevant. Thrice more I was called to throw, and I was not found wanting, for each time I struck true.

 

[BMPixy]

“Nice, nice, VERY nice performance from Group Four! Give them a hand, everybody!” Beat-Wizard X shouted, and he got his reply in the form of appreciative applause from the audience. “Right, and here’s our results: the winners of this group are Aesh’iel Eaziel Earl’ea and Luke Starkiller!”

Excellent, I have advanced to the next round. With a hearty smile on my face, I returned to the waiting area, nodding to the Elven girl as I passed by her. The crowd of contestants was now half the size it had begun with, the other participants either leaving or joining the spectators in the stands. This should make the task of locating Shael’ia easier than it was before.

“Ah, Aesh’iel’ka,” a familiar voice echoed from behind me. Could that be-?! “How wonderful of you to show up,” Shael’ia said, circling around to stand in front of me, his customary two goons for once not visible. Probably got booted up to the stands by security.

“Shael’ia, I was wondering when you’d show that beetle-face of yours,” I shot back in Aezalia. If he wanted to speak the words of our people, then so be it.

“Why the hostility, Aesh’ka? What could I have done to offend you so much?” he replied with a smug grin, knowing full well why I took such a sour tone with him.

“Need I remind you, when it happened only four years ago? Has that rotting mind of yours finally been infested with maggots?” I snarked, before adding, “And do not call me Aesh’ka, you lost that privilege when you lost that chunk of your crest.”

From the flicker of fire in his eyes, I could tell that my last comment had wounded him, as he struggled to form words in reply. After a moment, he settled on something and said, “Whatever you say, Aesh’iel’ni. I simply came by to wish you good luck... in getting second place.”

“You use that honorific as if you have anything to teach me,” I responded, “Do you not remember which of us was trusted to trek into the Jinyan Wastes with naught but what they could carrying in a single rucksack?”

“And I assume you remember which of us was given the duty of protecting the village from all threats, while you were out on your spirit quest?”

“Which of us returned to a home ruined, torn apart by what you had let in?!”

“Which of us had to see their home burn because of their failings!?” Shael’ia shouted in reply, and then suddenly my fist was in his throat, cutting off whatever he would have said next with a wet gurgle. Almost at once two burly humans were pulling me away from Shael’ia, to prevent me from tearing off more of his crest in anger.

Almost at once that bastard regained his composure. “Seems that that one needs to learn some control over emotions,” he said, this time returning to Imperial. “This one would advocate that one being removed from the tournament, that one is too unpredictable and may assault this again later.”

“We were planning on doing that already,” the human on my left said, as the pair dragged my limp form away. Damn him. Damn him and all his kind.

_/\_​

The Tavern
Main Halls

“Hey, you there!” I heard someone yell from above and in front of me. Glancing up from my sitting position, I noticed the Elven woman I had spoken to before waving at me and approaching at a light jog.

“What happened to you, I thought you made it to the semi-finals!?” she said in shock.

“Punched a contestant in the throat,” I replied simply, returning my head to the comforting nest formed by my arms and legs.

“Why’d you go and do that, you could have won! Everybody else there was worse than you by a long shot!”

“This one has a long history with the other one, something which that one should not get involved with,” I explained, “Words were exchanged, then, in the heat of the moment, a blow. And thus this one sits here.”

I sensed movement from above me, and lifting my head once more I saw the Elf sitting next to me, staring at me intensely. “Listen, you can tell me whatever it is that is on your mind at the moment,” she said in a calming tone of voice.

“And why should this one do so? These ones have only met and spoken as of today.” In instant response to my question, she pulled out a necklace, ending in a patch of blue fabric with a golden § sewed into it. N-no way?

“That one is a Seer?” I asked incredulously, taken aback by the revelation.

“Seer of Ties, to be specific. Slinging is a hobby of mind,” she said with a shrug, shoving the necklace back into her cloak. “So, now that you know I’m qualified, is there anything you would like to talk about?”

“This one is... overwhelmed at the moment. P-perhaps this one should rest first, and speak to that one later?” I said nervously, caught between awe and fear at the mage before me.

“If that’s what makes you comfortable,” she replied, “Here, I’ll give you my card. Be there tomorrow, at about mid-morning?” She offered the piece of paper, and I accepted it, sliding it into one of my innumerable pockets.

Slowly standing, I responded, “Yes, this one shall be there.” I shook my head, trying to clear it, before waving to the Seer in goodbye, and leaving. I should have known today would be eventful when I ran into that boar this morning.

_/\_​

“Hey sis,” the Seer of Ties said to the Seer of Bonds, catching the attention of the other.

“What is it, my dearest sibling?” the elder Elf replied.

“Do you ever think that what we do is, I dunno, the right thing?”

“It is what the Grand Path has laid out for us, by definition it must be the correct thing to do.”

“No no, I mean like the moral thing, not the correct thing.”

“If the end result is good, then does it matter whether the steps leading up to it are?”

“I suppose, but something still feels... wrong about this.”

“Do not worry little sister, the feeling will pass in due time as the splendor of the Grand Path is revealed.”

CODEX IMPERIALIS:
Magic

Legends, dating back to the dawn of creation, provide numerous, often contradictory, explanations for what created magic. However, among them, there is a common thread. To create life, the gods took one of their own and sealed them in the earth to forever slumber, using the fallen one’s power to breathe the spark of life into the plants and beasts and sapients. With training, one can harness the power of this Fallen God and bend it towards their own will. But this fallen god is a covetous one by nature, and wishes for all their stolen power to return to it with interest. This imposes a payment, known simply as the Cost, on every spell a mage casts. As a result of the Cost, two schools of thought have arisen to discover to most efficient way to pay it.

The first group is known as the Seers. The defining feature of their method of casting is the payment from the self, using bits of their own life-force to pay the Cost for a spell. Members of this group tend to be of the longer-lived races, such as the Elves and Dwarves, as they have a much larger surplus life-force to spend. On average, a Seer’s spells tend to be weaker, but because the Fallen God represents the very concept of self-sacrifice, their spells tend to have longer lasting effects and be more concerned with the days to come. Many a prophet and guide studied under the tutelage of the Seers, and no court in complete without a Seer standing beside the throne, whispering advice to their ruler. Some might view the Seers as cryptic, influence-hungry sycophants, and in some cases they would be correct, but if the Seers take offense at this view they say naught.

The second group calls themselves the Sorcerers, and they are the most popular school of thought. The defining feature of their casting method is the payment of others, using the power of the Fallen God to take the life-force of others and return it to them. Sorcerers tend to come from the shorter-lived races, such as the humans, goblinoids, and lizardfolk. Where a Seer tends to focus on burning longer rather than brighter, a Sorcerer would burn four times as bright, even if it meant they only burned for a quarter of the time. Because of the massive potential returns on life-force, a Sorcerer can wield immense magical power, as seen in the Massacre of the Exploding Mountain, the last battle of the Fourth Izna-Osiri war, and this aspects attracts those who hunger for power or glory. But, should the spell fail, the Fallen God still wishes for their returns, and takes the Sorcerer’s life-force for their own. But despite this mortal peril, many still flock to the path of the Sorcerer for whatever reason they bring.

 

[BMPixy]

Prologue 3/3
“Midsummer Knight’s Mare”

The Tavern
Grey Guard Garrison (Centragar Region), Training Room
Uljeik Oxtosser

Slap away the axe with the shield, thrust forward with anelace. Blow dodged as expected, step forward inside effective axe range. Thrust from foe’s shield, slip to side, retrieve stiletto with shield hand. Opponent attempts to step away, catch him off balance with anelace swing at heels. Foe stumbles, lean forward with tackle, bringing foe to ground. Punch to face, disorient, mount. Place stiletto at opponent’s throat.

“Yield?” I ask the man, and he nods. I roll off the man and pull myself up. I offer him a hand, and he accepts it, standing to his full height, a good two or three heads taller than me.

I step back slightly as he says, “That was a good set of matches Uljeik. And here you gave the impression you were one of those mighty glacier types, caught me a bit off guard with how fast you are.”

“Then you best learn not to underestimate any foe you come across, Halvus,” I reply with an appreciative shrug. I lift up the visor on my helmet to wipe some sweat, and continue, “Besides, you’re bigger, which means you need more armor to provide the same protection as I get, which requires more weight, slowing you down.”

“Aye. Doesn’t help that ever since my smith ran off with my daughter it’s been hard to get this thing maintained properly,” the human said, attempting to nervously scratch the back of his neck, but an earlier mace blow to his shoulder preventing such an act.

“Ach, you should have told me about this problem earlier, I assumed you had found a new smith!” I said, shocked by his negligence in maintaining his armor. “I got a sister who runs an armory out in Hvelmali, you can take a portal there and tell her I sent you, she should give you the family discount.”

“Really? How good is she?” Halvus asked curiously, pulling off his helmet and resting on a nearby bench.

“Yovrena does damn good work, she’s the one who does half my family’s armor and weaponry,” I respond, taking a seat on the bench myself. “Plus she keeps going on about how the Governor of Maltei commissioned three sets of armor from her.”

“Huh, I’ll have to check her out then.” A pause as the man seemed to contemplate something, before he added with a smug grin, “She a looker?”

“Felmir damn you Halvus, she’s my sister and you’re married!” I yelled, half tempted to punch him again for that comment. “If you kept it in your damn pants for more than thirty seconds you could have managed the Paladins!”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” he shouted in fear, reminded of how easily I had beaten him in the past seven matches, “I was just trying to make a joke!”

“May the Fallen God take you for her own, Halvus,” I muttered, “You don’t joke about those things, especially knowing the fact that you might actually try it.”

“Right, right, noted for future reference.” The man put his hands up defensively. From behind us a throat was cleared, catching both of our attentions. Turning to face it, I saw the signature grey robes of the garrison’s commander, an aged and knowledgeable human going by the given name of Neil. We knew him as-

“Major Armstrong!” we exclaimed as we stood up and snapped to attention, the dented shoulder plate inhibiting Halvus’s salute slightly.

“At ease, men,” the major said, shaking his hand dismissively. “Just came down here to inspect the troops.”

“If I may dare to ask, milord,” I said, “For what purpose is this inspection?”

The aged man gave a knowing smile, one that nearly sent a shiver down my spine, and replied, “Sir Uljeik, a fine question to ask. In fact, if you would come with me, we could discuss that question.”

I nodded graciously. “Very well, milord.” With a wave Major Armstrong motioned for me to follow him, and as he turned away Halvus shot me a questioning look, to which I replied with a shrug and quickly stepping into line just behind the commander, trying to match the pace of his longer legs as best I could.

“Tell me Uljeik,” the elder man said, “Why did you decide to take up the Grey and join the guard?”

“My family has a tradition of joining the ranks of the Paladins of Felmir,” I replied tentatively. Why is he asking about this, what does it have to do with inspections? “It was only natural that eventually one of us would not be pure enough for the Paladins, but seek to still serve Her Majesty with our lives,” I finished with an uneasy shrug.

“I assume you value your family highly, to continue on such a path despite not being able to join the Paladins?”

“I value my family as much as any Maltin Dwarf would, it is in our blood to put the family before yourself.” Why is he asking these questions? Is this... some kind of test?

“If you do not mind my asking,” Armstrong said, “why did the Paladins deem you not pure enough to join their ranks?”

I instinctively tensed. No, no thinking back to that day. “I do mind, milord. When I joined the Grey Guard, I was told that my sins were irrelevant, purity needless, the only thing that mattered was my devotion to doing what must be done to protect the Empire and Her Majesty, what the Paladins are incapable of doing without losing favor.”

The major nodded. “Of course, of course, pardon me for prying. I was merely curious as to what led you to join our ranks.” A moment of silence fell upon us, both of us lost in our thoughts. Eventually the man stopped in front of the door to his office.

“Would you mind stepping inside, Sir Uljeik? I would like to speak with you some more.” the commander asked, opening the door and gesturing inside. Well, no harm no foul.

I replied, “No I would not, milord.” I motioned for the major to step in first as I held the door, and he accepted my silent offer, myself following close behind. “Do you want me to leave the door ope-” I asked, cut off as I noticed what was inside. Sitting at the major’s desk, in the major’s chair, was some elven man, rippled with muscle and casually drinking something out of a mug.

“That is not necessary, Sir Uljeik,” the elf said, leaning forwards. “What we discuss in here will likely remain within these walls.” Wordlessly I shut the door.

Finally finding some vocabulary, I asked the major, “Excuse me, milord, but who exactly is this man, and what is he doing in your chair?”

The major opened his mouth to speak, but the intruder cut him off, replying, “I am known among social circles as the forever forgotten Seer of Fates. However, we’re all friends here, so I will let you call me Kuskyn.” With a smirk, the Seer added, “And the reason I am in this chair is because I do not like having my back facing doors. Too many people trying to challenge their fate.” A... Seer? Here? I glanced at the major, who shrugged, and settled into a position leaning against the window.

“The esteemed Seer,” Armstrong said, “is here for some purpose he refuses to share with me, despite our long friendship. However, what he did mention is what led me to bringing you to him. Tell me, do you believe in destiny?”

“I believe that each living being has a purpose, but how one achieves that purpose is left to the wisdom, or lack thereof, of the being in question,” I said, confusedly. Why is everyone being so cryptic now? “So I assume yes, I do believe in some form of destiny.”

“Good work Neil,” Kuskyn said, “You’ve found the right one, just as I said you would. ‘Course, I’m always right, but that’s besides the point.” That’s it, I’ve had enough of this.

 

[BMPixy]

“Aw, to hell with your cryptic bullshit,” I spat, “What’s going on here?” The Seer moved to speak, but I cut him off, continuing, “And if you give me some jabber about ‘destiny’ and other needlessly cryptic stuff, I’ll be leaving to go beat the stuffing out of Halvus again.”

“Sir Uljeik, you will not take such a to-” the major said, cut off with a slight chuckle from Kuskyn.

Standing from the seat and finishing his drink, the Seer said, “And that’s why you’re perfect, Sir Uljeik. I sincerely apologize for my dancing around the subject, but...” I get the feeling that the apology isn’t as sincere as he says, but I let him finish. “But it is merely a habit. People rarely like having their destiny spelled out to them so bluntly as you’d like. To get to the point, I came here to invoke a favor from Neil. Specifically, I’d like a Grey Guard added to my retinue, one possessed of certain qualities that would reveal themselves in due time. And you are just the man, Sir Uljeik.”

I glanced at the major, who merely shrugged. “You do realize the cost of having one such as I added to your retinue, correct? The Grey Guard have a reputation...” I asked the Seer, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Yes yes, people will think I’m doing morally-gray things, and I’ll be under heavier scrutiny than normal, yadayadayada. I’ve done my research, Sir Uljeik, and I’ll have you know...” The Elf leaned over the table, staring me straight in the eye. “I simply don’t care! I’m a Seer, everybody already think I’m doing sneaky, underhanded things. Hell, if I had a job description, it’d probably be in there, third line, following ‘predict the future regarding your domain’ and ‘alert people of their futures in a cryptic manner’.”

Hmm, not the reaction I was expecting. Shrugging, I replied, “Very well. If milord would have it, I shall join your retinue as soon as possible.”

The major spoke up. “You have my blessing, Sir Uljeik. May you find the strength to do what must be done.”

“And may I have the wisdom to know when to do it,” I said with a nod, finishing the call-and-response, signifying my transfer of service.

Clapping his hands together, the Seer, my new master, stood to his full, and quite honestly rather impressive, height. “Excellent. I expect you to arrive at my office bright and early on the morrow, with everything you need. Consider any expenses for so suddenly moving to be paid for in full, just pass the receipts on to me.”

“And what of my servants and staff?” I asked, in an attempt to hash out the logistics of this operation.

“I have my own personal collection of armorers, squires, handlers, and any other staff you will need. As for yours, I shall cover their payment for the duration of your service. Perks of being a Seer.”

“Very well. I shall return to my lodgings, and make my way to your establishment tomorrow,” I responded, “I shall expect a full briefing of my duties upon arrival.” Before the Seer could reply, I turned and exited the office.

Well, this certainly has been an interesting turn of events. Certainly won’t be able to explain this to ma very well.

_/\_

“Oi, sister, you here?” the Seer of Fate called out as he entered the room, “Scored the third one: one Sir Uljeik Oxtosser, Grey Guard.”

“Excellent,” the Seer of Bonds replied, stepping out from behind one of the many veils adorning the room. “Then the Three shall be assembled on the morrow, and the winds of destiny shall either fill their combined sails and drive them to the greatest of heights or tear them asunder under its fury.”

“Right, right,” the Seer of Fate said, waving his hands in front of him. “Something-Grand Path-something-fate, you know why I’m helping you out on this pet project of yours.”

“Fate always finds the most curious ways of reminding us to whom our ties are bound to,” the other Elf replied with a faint smile, “Do you not enjoy having a position such as ours, to be able to split nations and unify long-lost peoples with but a word, a turn of phrase?”

“Aye, but the wrong word and we end up with a knife in our back and our Lifeforce reunited with the Fallen God.”

“A cost that sometimes must be paid, as with any cost imposed by our divining.”

“Eh, whatever. I’m gonna head out and grab some food from that Sonadi place by the corner. You want anything?”

“I shall have my usual.”

_/\_

CODEX IMPERIALIS:
The Empire of Izna, Military Institutions

Throughout the rise, fall, and subsequent rise again of the Empire of Izna, numerous monarchs, both mad and sane, have mandated the creation of various militias, guards, armies, special operations groups, and the like to deter threats to the greater Empire as determined by the technology and politics of the era. At the time of this writing, in the year 1437, there are four primary military branches of the Empire.

Town Militias - While lacking the organization, logistics, and training of the regular military, the town militias are noted here due to the simple fact that they are the largest militant group out of any of the listed. From the smallest of hamlets to some of the largest of cities, each has a personal militia, for use in defending the populace from threats to small for the regular military all the way to ensuring a message gets into the portal network to make sure that help arrives, defending the town with their lives until a regular branch arrives. Of interesting note is that any militia member, when dealing with regular military, is treated as being two ranks lower than any regular troops, and have a maximum militia rank of Lieutenant, to ensure that a proper chain of command is held to in any situation involving mixed militia and regular.

Imperial Army - The Imperial Army is the backbone of the Empire’s military, forming the largest collection of trained troops out of all the branches. In times of crises, they may be drafted from town militias, or even conscripted from the civilian populations, for the most part the Imperial Army is volunteer only, and in some families it is considered tradition for the children to serve at least one tour of duty in the Imperial Army. The Imperial Army is organized into one moltus for each region, composed of thirty thousand regulars, along with support and logistic staff. Each moltus is split into ten conplus, of three thousand men a piece. These conplus are then divided into thirty impus, a force of one hundred men. Decreasing in size from the conplus is the exiguus, each of which contains ten men. Some Army moltus further split the exiguus into two parvus, however this is rare. Standard Imperial Army equipment is a pike, a club, a dagger, and a renntartsche, with armor beyond the clothes on their back and what they can scrounge up generally reserved for officers greater in rank than conplus sergeant.

Imperial Navy - Composed of some four thousand warships, mixed with various support and logistics ships, the Imperial Navy is considered one of the more prestigious, if also more deadly, lines of service for one seeking to serve the Empire with their life. Sailing the high seas, protecting merchant vessels from privateers and pirates, and guarding the blessed coasts of the mainland Empire and the various island territories are all duties one can find in the Imperial Navy. To be a part of the Imperial Navy is oft considered to be a part of the greatest navies on the face of the world, and the Izna-Julia War of 1321 is oft pointed to support such claims. Regardless, the Imperial Navy is the first, and only, line of defense against threats from the sea.

The Paladins - If the Imperial Army is the hammer that strikes down the foes of the Empire, the Paladins are the shield that rises up to defend it, from threats both within the mind and among the many enemies of the Empire. Composed of those few who have been deemed most pure by the greatest leaders of the various religions of the Empire, it is shockingly small compared to the vast human waves of the Imperial Army, with an effective strength of one and a half maltus. However, what they lack in number they make up for in zeal and strength, leading the masses in battle-worship and striking down corruption with one arm and destroying their foes with the other. Each Paladin is a beacon of purity among the lay-people, and as such each one is unique in armament and temperament. Regardless, they are a force to be feared above many.

Grey Guard - To contrast the zealotry of the Paladins, but magnify the dedication, there is the Grey Guard. The defining motto of the Grey Guard is “I did what I had to”. What would leave a Paladin a hollow wreck is the norm for the Grey Guard. Larger than the Paladins, but smaller than the Imperial Army by necessity, the Grey Guard uses it’s eighty thousand members as not only soldiers, but also spies, assassins, bodyguards, and when the worst comes to worst, diplomats. They are not only the cloaked dagger of the Empire, but also the scalpel, dealing with threats too large for the militias, too sensitive for the Army, too ambiguous for the Paladins, and/or too land-locked for the Navy. Due to the nature of their service, many Grey Guard have to personally finance their operations, if only because overt Imperial support would blow their cover. As such, when a large formation of Grey Guard form, it is an eclectic mix of forces, each bearing arms best suited for their service.