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More from jodimest
The appeal of the venerable 'party quest' is storied and long, stretching all the way back to the primordial days of tabletop roleplaying, a dark and obscure world called "The 1970s".
From humble beginnings it has grown into a staple of all kinds of games, yet I have never written a story within its context. True, many stories feature multiple characters, interpersonal relations, and action, but it's not truly a party quest without a gathering, a clear objective, and a fight or two along the way.
I had a great deal of fun with this chapter, watching the narrative unfold as I hemmed out 21 pages in the space of a single day. It was also great fun working with and having the creative freedom to flesh out characters created by viewers like you.
And so, here is the beginning of the story of Bliac Scruflos (property of
matt-the-wolf ), Nicholas Shakaal (property of 
nic-polarbear ), Dominik Raes (property of 
LoneWolfSniper44 ), Kynila Tulyk (property of 
cigarsnscotch ), and Zilthar Sendren (property of 
UnholyWarcry1990 ). They are a band of strangers hired by a mysterious order of Elves on a task to recover the Seal of the Archeparchy, a holy relic with a foreboding purpose.
THE SEAL OF THE ARCHEPARCHY
Chapter 1
“Damnable Elven sorcery!”
Bliac muttered something indecipherable under his breath, fiddling with one of his myriad instruments before tossing it over his shoulder.
“This is no good,” the slight man sighed as he withdrew a spyglass, scanning through the trees in a vain attempt to decipher the landscape. “The only viable things about these old maps are the landmarks, and I can’t make them out in this foliage.”
Between huffs and the clattering of cook pots, a gravely voice piped up with a familiar working Dwarf’s accent, a curious thing likely inspired by seagulls.
“So I just climbed this mossy, rain-slick mound of dirt for nothing? What about the Divining Compass?”
Bliac slipped his spyglass back into its soft leather pouch on his belt, then wiped the sweat from his brow through his wavy black hair.
“Neither divine nor a compass, it would seem. What magic propelled it likely wore off the moment it left the shop.”
The Dwarf, Nicholas, wrinkled his face into an indignant frown, “Alright, alright, I admit it. I got swindled by an elven sorcecary.”
Nicholas sat down on a slightly smaller stone than Bliac, an iron pan clanking and playing against his breastplate. He took a swig from a pigskin, and Bliac observed a pinkish drop spilling down his chin.
“Elves. Terrible with directions, but superb with grape juice.”
Bliac crossed his arms, incredulous. “Of course. Grape juice.”
Nicholas smirked, “Well, it was grape juice… ‘bout two years ago.”
Bliac shook his head, extending a palm “Come on, let me try a sip.”
Nicholas shot a confused look at Bliac, “Hold on. I thought the men of your faith didn’t take alcohol.”
“What’s the trouble, ‘Nick? It is simply grape juice, after all.” Bliac cradled the pigskin in both hands, tipping it upward as the wine sprinkled into his mouth. Nicholas was right, it was quite good, though it had been weeks since any alcohol had passed over his own lips.
“I suppose I’m not a religious sort,” The human grinned. “Are you ready to continue?”
“What’s the hurry? We’re lost, I’m tired, and there’s revolutionaries about just waiting to shake us down for shot, powder, and footwear.”
“We’ll not make it back into town before sunset if we wait.”
“Awwh!” Nicholas shot Bliac a hostile glare. “We’re scurrying back to civilization? Again? Why not press on and find some shelter, like in a cave?”
“That’s not a bad idea, Nicholas. Which side of the Basilisk would you like to sleep on? The blazing end, or the one that turns you to stone?”
Nicholas grumbled, “Hrm. Perhaps town isn’t such a bad idea, even if it’s overrun by revolutionaries.”
“Good,” Bliac smiled and jumped to his feet. “With a little luck we may even find a beautiful, buxom Elven ranger to safely and swiftly guide us through the verdant forests on feet of feathers and the honeyed songs of a lark.”
“Come off it, Bliac, there’s no such things as those rangers. You’ve been filling your mind with those awful Therian romances, haven’t you?”
Bliac shrugged, “Well, one must keep faith, right? At this point I’ll settle for an Elven mistress with more than half her teeth.”
Bliac Scruflos and Nicholas Shakaal had been chasing the mythical Seal of the Archeparchy now for two weeks, and so far the story had played out in a similar fashion. They would set off as early in the morning as safely possible, spend the day following up a bogus lead, or get chased around by Republican troops. It didn’t help that the town of Plagia was directly on the Maenid frontier, where soldiers of the Empire openly skirmished with the revolutionaries of the Republic on a near daily basis. For the moment the revolutionaries had the upper hand, but in the lush and overgrown rainforests of Protipeiros it was impossible to deploy their superior numbers against the enemy. It was entirely possible that the Maenid legionnaires would press through and drive off the guardsmen despite inferior numbers.
The town of Plagia had few of the comforts of a traditional Therian settlement. The stucco buildings were elegant and built to last, but the only real buildings of note were the town’s small riverside docks, an Ouzeri that played the role of a local tavern, a monastery of Androma, the Republican command post, and a small market. It was a place far removed from the rest of the world, but Bliac and Nicholas had been drawn here by the allure of exploration and treasure, as well as an invitation from the Triumvirate itself. As foreigners, the elves cast a mistrustful eye on them.
The nature of the invitation itself had been strange. Bliac was an intuitive, clever man well accustomed to the nuances of human nature, but he had never worked outside of the Caliphate of Man before. He had met Nicholas on the riverboat to Plagia, where he quickly learned that both were on the same mission and could benefit from partnership. Bliac hadn’t met many Dwarves before, nor was he aware that the Order of Sakas recruited from amongst them.
Both Bliac and Nicholas were artillery officers of their respective nations, and both had volunteered for and been given special dispensation by the Order of Sakas, an ancient and benevolent order of Elven warrior explorers. Their mission was to recover an artifact from a long-abandoned settlement called the Seal of the Archeparchy. The Republic aided them under the impression that they would turn the seal over, but strangely their orders were to turn it over to the Order of Sakas for a very handsome reward of 18,000 Ducats.
As they strode into town, the revolutionaries gave them the usual confrontation. They were gaunt, but hard elves, and Bliac held no illusions that he held any power over them. An officer approached him with a rigid frown. One could always tell the officers from the rabble by the quality of their shoes.
“Your documentation, human.”
“I insist that I am and always have been Dr. Bliac Scruflos, and that I’ve been here two weeks now. You don’t recognize the only human in town?”
“Of course I recognize you and your dwarf friend. I’d be a fool not to keep an eye on you, permission from the Triumvirate or not. Show me your papers or I’ll have you sent back down the river.”
Bliac rolled his eyes and reached into a pocket stitched into the lining of his shirt for this very reason. The document was wet with sweat around the edges, but the official ink upon it did not run. The officer examined the paper, scanning his eyes up and down. It occurred to Bliac that the elf was illiterate.
“It… seems to be in order. On your way, don’t cause any trouble.”
Nicholas hauled himself alongside Bliac, his pack and cookware jangling about.
“ ’Next time he asks, we should show him the label off a bottle of wine and see if he can tell the difference.”
The two expeditionary officers made their way to the Ouzeri, arguably the cleanest and most pleasant part of town. The proprietor was as polite an elf as she could be amidst a town overrun by hungry, shiftless revolutionaries and the drink was good enough that after a few sips one couldn’t really taste the food anymore. Alcohol was also somewhat safer than the local water supply, and Nicholas was convinced that it was necessary to drink ouzo and wine regularly to fight off disease.
Bliac swaggered up to a table and took a seat after resting his knapsack on the ground. He loosened his gun belt and slid the tips of his holsters aside, kicking his feet up on the table and raising an arm. He crisply snapped his fingers, drawing the ire of the barkeep.
“Skai, some ouzo, if you please!”
“This isn’t some coffee house or seraglio, Doctor. You come up to the bar and get served like everyone else, and you keep those muddy boots off my table.”
Bliac grinned smugly as he made his way to the bar. Skai was a Maenid elf with tired looking bronze skin and graying curls, but a fierce gaze and the wiry looks of a woman who could back her threats. She kept her tavern clean and insisted on order from her patrons, and she was not one to keep the ouzo flowing to already drunken patrons even if it meant a little extra money.
“How’s business, memsahib?”
“Present company excluded, it’s been… troublesome. The townsfolk aren’t coming in. They don’t want to spend their coin, not in front of these silver hungry revolutionaries.” She sighed, “As for the Republicans, the only ones with money are the officers, and they’re hardly civil. I’ve had to hire five of their troops as mercenaries just to keep the place orderly.”
“Anything else of interest?” Bliac glanced toward Nicholas, who was quietly sipping at a cup of water, leaving his ouzo untouched for the moment.
“Place your orders, first.”
“Of course. Cheese and olives for me, with wine. Nicholas?”
“Some Dolma would be nice.”
Nicholas wasn’t afraid to behave more recklessly in the field, but he always seemed to bottle up and become reserved in taverns. Bliac imagined that it had to do with Nicholas’ merchant upbringing, keeping the money quiet so as not to attract vultures.
It was common in ouzeris to serve food without drinks, but in the often swampy lands of Protipeiros it was a local custom to drink after a meal to stave off disease from contaminated water. It was less common to pay before eating, but Skai insisted upon it and Bliac didn’t blame her. He quietly slid some eight-bits of silver to the elf, who swept the coinage into a lockbox and secreted it away in a single motion.
“Right. Three friends of yours arrived on a boat today. They paid good money to quietly book a room upstairs, but I’ve got a key if you want to meet ‘em. They seemed… odd.”
“What was odd about them?” Nicholas finally injected himself into the conversation.
“They’re foreigners, all dressed in cloaks. Only one spoke to me in Therian, and with a bit of an accent. I’m no traveler myself, so your guess is as good as any as to where they’re from.”
“Anything else?”
“One thing. One of ‘em had a big, long tail.”
“Ah, it’s always the subtle details that prove most intriguing. Any idea what they’re after?”
“You.”
Bliac paused for a long moment, holding his tongue as a serving wench unceremoniously brought out their plates of food.
“What do you mean, me?”
“Not just you, Doctor. The two of you.”
“Did they ask about us by name?”
“No, just by description. A Benni Sulayim Human and a Lowland Dwarf.”
Bliac’s forehead wrinkled at the implication, “I am not a Benni Sulayim! Those sanctimonious barbarians exiled my family when I was just a child!”
“Well, I’m only repeating what they asked. I don’t know one human from another, just that you have round ears and big chins.”
“And you told these people about us?”
Skai grinned, “Why not? You don’t pay me to keep things secret.”
“What do we do?” Nicholas leaned in, whispering to Bliac.
“We finish eating, take a shot of ouzo, and pay our guests a visit. Do you think your fowling piece might get their attention?”
“Yeah, if the powder isn’t wet and a bird hasn’t nested in the barrel!”
“If we play things right, you might not have to fire it.”
“And if things don’t go according to your beggar’s luck?” Nicholas quirked an eyebrow.
“Hence the olives and cheese. I grew up half-starving on the streets of Salamet, and I’ll not die on an empty stomach.”
The two crept up the clay steps of the ouzeri, for all the good it did them. Even without his rucksack and cookware Nicholas’ breastplate pinged and clanked with any impact. Bliac started to regret taking that one shot of ouzo as a familiar dullness overtook his normally precise and alert reflexes. Nicholas clutched a shotgun in his hands, an over-under piece that was almost as long as the dwarf was tall, a gun better designed for hunting and the rigors of the field than a potential shootout in a confined space. It was for that reason that Bliac kept a pistol in his left hand and a yataghan in his right. The former was an elegant three-shot flintlock while the latter was essentially a grayish chopping knife the length of his forearm, scarred with the telltale nicks of a weapon used in a tough fight or two.
Nicholas had convinced Skai to lend him the master key, sliding it into the lock and carefully twisting the bolt free. It was Nicholas’ idea to go first on the presumption that a shorter target would catch the occupants off guard.
Nicholas quickly turned the handle, pushing the door down with his weight and shouting out. As the door swung open he stepped forward once, dropped to one knee, and brought his hefty weapon to bear while Bliac danced to his left and slipped into the room pistol first.
Before he could react a rough, almost leathery hand reached around his left wrist while a second jerked the barrel of his pistol downward, the stab of pain compelling him to let go of the weapon. He raised his right arm to strike at his opponent when he suddenly felt the chill of steel against his neck and the sting of a fresh cut. His eyes darted to the left, then the right, and only when he looked straight up did he see the most astonishing thing.
Yellow serpent eyes wrapped in red scrutinized him from the ceiling, reading his body and his movements. He dared not move his head to look down towards his compatriot, but from the sound of things he had met a similar fate as something pushed him to the ground with a loud thud and the ring of a metal cuirass.
For a few dreadful moments Bliac paused, eyes darting around, trying to find a way out of this predicament. It wasn’t panic, really, but he admitted to himself that he had been caught off guard by a well executed riposte.
“Drop the knife, sahib,” called the figure on the ceiling.
After a few moments, Bliac resigned to his predicament and let his yataghan clatter to the ground. In response, the figure leapt from his place between the rafters and landed on his feet, curious three-toed things tipped with claws of different sizes. The scythe-like toes on the insides of his feet were weapons in their own right, each big enough to curl around his ears. He had reddish skin with familiar black markings like the stripes of a tiger. He had seen such creatures before at the Kara Harp Okulu, the grand officer’s school in Salamet. It was a Siparid, a lizard of the valley.
The figure was not dressed in the military jacket of a cadet, but rather a functional leather vest and trousers. He reached down to the ground, picking up Bliac’s yataghan and handing it to him blade first, but not before considering the move carefully.
“Here.”
Another voice piped in from the direction of a telltale odor, that of a canine.
“Zilthar, is that wise?”
The intense looking Siparid kept a close eye on Bliac, continuing to hold a shimmering scimitar at the ready.
“It would be less wise for him to test my sword. Humans speak, do they not? What is your name.”
“Dr. Bliac Scruflos, and this is my diminutive assistant, Nicholas Shakaal.”
“I’m not a damned secretary! I’m an officer of the King’s army, here by special dispensation in the name of the Order of Sakas.”
The Siparid named Zilthar leaned in close, keeping his blade always close to Bliac’s skin. He took a long moment to examine the human down his snout, then from either side, getting a good look in with each eye. He felt like a staked goat.
“Don’t move, Nick. Maybe… he can’t… see us.”
Finally, a bizarre, inscrutable grin spread across the lizard’s face, stretching from eye to eye and even beyond. It was more terrifying than comforting.
“Good. We are allies, then!”
Without further ado, Zilthar slid his scimitar into its scabbard, backpedaling and taking seat on a bed. His long tail, which was curled upwards moments before, relaxed along with the mood. Bliac could move at last, bringing a hand to his neck. The sword had only left a minor nick, not even enough to draw blood.
He finally saw the other two figures in the room, which surprised him still more, but certainly accounted for the faint odor of a dog. To either side of him were two Vucari, wolf-like humanoids from lands far north of Salamet. Long ago they had been avowed enemies of the Caliphate, and he hoped that they didn’t continue to hold any grudges. To his left was a neatly groomed wolf with dark gray fur and yellow eyes dressed in the humble attire of a cleric. To his right, standing over Nicholas, was a brown and blonde-furred female dressed in the leather and cotton garb of a seasoned explorer. Much to Nicholas’ relief, she helped him back to his feet, looking over his armor with curious blue eyes.
“I should apologize for barging in like that,” The words escaped Bliac’s mouth without much enthusiasm. Was he really apologizing to Beastfolk and Saurians?
“There is no need for that. The Sakasi sent us here as quickly as possible, and we had no time to issue a warning in advance.”
Nicholas seemed to be similarly bewildered, looking at his animal companions. “No offense, and you can have my head for this, but isn’t it strange that the Sakasi sent a Siparaid and two Vucari into Elven lands?”
“Well, the boatsman and passengers did give us some peculiar looks,” Zilthar shrugged. “I accepted it as some strange form of Elven facial communication. I tried to return the gestures, but…”
Nicholas interrupted with some incredulity, “So the Sakasi never told you about how the Republicans are a great lot of murderous, ignorant racists and how any Beastfolk traveling about could be at serious risk of death?”
“There’s no time for a consideration of the risks!” The female Vucari interjected. “Time is quickly running out. You were to locate the Seal of the Archeparchy, correct? Did you have the good fortune of stumbling upon it?”
Bliac shook his head, “Two weeks of searching have produced very little, not even an exact location.”
She rolled her eyes, “This was a waste of time. It’s getting dark. I say we head out and start our search right now before the Elves determine who or what we are.”
Nicholas raised his voice, “Oi! You’re not going anywhere without us! We’re on the same mission! We took the same coin!”
“Both of you are artillery officers with no cannon, no night vision, and no sense of smell.”
The other Vucari spoke up in a calm, almost icy voice.
“They are readers of the landscape with maps and navigational equipment. They are also more accustomed to this forest than us. We need them, Kynila.”
“That’s Captain Tulyk to you, Dominik.”
Dominik turned to Kynila, chastising her, “We are neither representing our armies nor do we have any troops to command. This is a clandestine operation. We do not refer to each other by rank. We are citizens, explorers.”
“Regardless, they are explorers who have discovered nothing of value to our mission, and time is running out.”
Bliac raised a hand, interjecting, “Pardon me, memsahib, but we were not informed as to the time sensitive nature of this operation. We were told simply to locate and retrieve the Seal of the Archeparchy and bring it to the Sakasi.”
“The situation has changed,” Zilthar turned to Bliac again. “You may know that the Republic is searching for the artifact. It now appears that they have launched an expedition of their own to find it. The Maenids are after it as well. Neither side can be permitted to obtain this Seal, and the Sakasi wish for us to do so.”
“This is a fool’s errand,” Dominik scoffed. “We don’t know where the Seal is, we have no way of blending into the populace, and the Republicans and Imperials are converging on it if they haven’t already found it. I say we pocket what money we have and just go home.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Zilthar grinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dominik growled. “We are mercenaries for the Sakasi, nothing more. They paid us 4,000 Ducats to set out on this fool mission. We shouldn’t let greed cloud our judgment.”
“And what of pessimism? Should we give up based solely on your doubts?”
“Damnable lizard,” the cleric grumbled.
“Saurian, actually,” the Siparid grimaced.
“There’s one thing I’m curious about. Does anyone here know why the Seal of the Archeparchy is so important all of a sudden?” Kynila crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side in curiosity.
“All I know is that the Elves are willing to murder and climb over each other to get it. I feel that this is reason enough to keep it out of their hands. Their objectives for it… may not be wholesome.” Zilthar corrected himself at the end.
Nicholas quietly stepped forward and coughed, drawing everyone’s attention.
“I’ve done some looking into it, independently of course. The Seal of the Archeparchy was, or is, a holy relic that belonged to the now defunct Archeparchy of Psion. The Archeparchy was not a typical seat of government. It was a monastic complex led by a high priest called the Metropolitan. My guess is that his personal seal is what we are after, but I’m not sure why the wedge-chins want it so much.”
“So if we locate the Metropolitan we locate the seal?” Bliac asked, quite surprised by his friend’s academic assessment.
“Well, one can hope,” Nicholas’ confident smile melted before his friend’s astonished stare. “Why are ye lookin’ at me like that, Bliac? You’re the one that found those scrolls!”
“Yes, but I couldn’t actually read them!”
“They don’t teach the old Maenid dialect at your ‘Harp Carp Cool-ooh’ school?”
“That’s Kara Harp Okulu, and no, they don’t,” Bliac paused for a moment. “Wait. You said that you looked into things ‘independently’. Nicholas, did you share the information on those scrolls with anyone?”
“Just a priest at the Monastery of Androma, here in town. It’s always better to translate documents with a literate native speaker competent in matters of history. You don’t find those kinds of people in a tavern.”
“And it never occurred to you that they might share their findings with others?”
“Hm. Now that you mentioned it, that priest seemed much more interested in those scrolls than I was.”
“When did you speak with him?”
“About a week ago,” Nicholas uncomfortably scratched the hair on the back of his neck.
“A week ago? Isn’t that about the same time we got this map? The map that’s led us to the middle of nowhere?”
“Oh.” Any joy stemming from his academic performance melted away, replaced by frustration. “By steam and hellfire! I can’t believe I was boondoggled by a man of the cloth! Well, an elf of the cloth.”
“Ah, my naïve Dwarven friend, the fact that he was a cleric should have tipped you off. Murderers, thieves, and scoundrels of all kinds run to the temple for protection.” Bliac turned to Dominik, who was almost certainly a cleric. “Ahem, no offense intended, sir.”
“None taken. I know precisely of what you speak.”
“Very well,” Bliac stroked his chin. “Nicholas, do you remember the name of this priest or where his quarters are?”
“His name was, uh… Niarchos! Phaidon Niarchos. We didn’t work in his quarters. We looked over maps in the rector’s library.”
Bliak kneaded his palms, an impish grin on his face. “Brilliant. A half hour from now the monastery will hold the evening liturgy, and the rector won’t be in his quarters. I could slip in and take a look on our behalf.”
“Not alone,” Dominik piped up. “I’m coming with you. I… have a way with discreet activities.”
“Methinks there’s more to you than you let on, Dominik.”
“I have an abiding interest in foreign faiths… and coin.”
Darkness crept over the town of Plagia before sunset, the many trees and foothills cloaking the area in darkness. Villagers and sentries set about lighting torches, and one by one windows in the houses flickered to life. The steady parade of revolutionary soldiers milling about did not abate, however, and Dominik became concerned about his chances of remaining undetected.
He had been in this town for but a few hours and felt some regret for being unable to observe it longer. He wasn’t a scholar at heart, nor did he have a great love for the Elves, but he at least found some beauty and elegance to this part of the world, its darkening streets and elegant stucco homes. In his home city of Vucarnarod there was little in the way of brick and mortar outside of temples, government buildings, palaces, and factories. Everything was carved timber, little gingerbread shapes with white carvings and totems, fading paint, and mud underfoot.
These Elves were not much wealthier than the Vucari, but their cobbled streets and sturdy homes were elegant in their own right. When he turned to his new human compatriot, however, he read the man’s intentions as those of an unrestrained thief, a person too excited to appreciate his elegant surroundings or the value they held. They had at last learned each others’ names and little more. Bliac Scruflos. It sounded more like regurgitation than a name to him.
He felt ridiculous in his black woolen cloak, like a child draped in a bed sheet. Even in his days as a footpad and a pickpocket he never wore such a thing. He vowed to remove it the moment he and Bliac had sifted through the wandering bands of revolutionary guardsmen.
“Dominik Raes,” Bliac said in a low voice as he peered through the window towards the darkening town plaza. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
“It is my real name,” Dominik paused for a moment. Perhaps this human needed to know the truth, or at least part of it. “It… wasn’t always my name.”
Bliac resisted the urge to smugly reply. The Vucari would soon be an ally and he didn’t want to encourage distrust between them.
“What was your name before?”
“Qaletaqa. That was before I was ordained, which was before I joined the army.”
“Qaletaqa? That’s a Baziri name, is it not?”
“Yes. My father fought for the warlord Khal Shah. He accepted the faith of Odem and changed his name. It was… not an easy thing to be.”
“Yet you returned to Vucarnarod and changed your name. What happened?”
“My father purchased land with his income. He worked hard and fought hard, dragged our family along for the sake of his duty, and it was to be a gift to our family once he retired. One day, during a battle, my father was captured. Our family lands were distant. The government wasted no time in declaring my father dead. Then, they seized it.”
Bliac’s heart sank, “That’s horrible. What became of your father?”
“He returned and stayed for a time, but his patron died. We moved to Vucarnarod and tried to start over. My father taught me how to fight smart, how to stay alive, but he died during a brutal winter.”
“I wasn’t aware that Vucari could freeze to death.”
“The winters of the north can be bitter beyond description. He slipped and fell, I believe, and before he could awaken the cold had sucked the life from his body.”
Dominik closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath. The air here was so moist, so warm. He had to remember that as uncomfortable as the heat could be, it was not as cruel as a northern winter.
“My mother and sister had to take to… night activities to stay alive. The madam would not suffer a male child running about her establishment, so she forced my mother to leave me on the street. There I picked pockets, smashed shops, joined and left gangs. One day my mother died, but at that point I was no longer family. For a time I dare say I had the carefree confidence you seem to carry, the belief that nothing can stop you as long as you keep this,” Dominik tapped a clawed finger on his temple, grinning. “It didn’t last.”
“And then you ran to the temple?”
“The Church of Raven and the Savior Masada.”
“I thought that Masada was one of the Auspices, a demi-god.”
“In your faith he is simply the offspring of an almighty being, but in our faith he is the incarnate of Raven, one of two gods of creation,” Dominik put a thumb to his chin contemplatively. “Please inform me if my preaching offends you. I do not mean to be evangelical, simply informative.”
“I’m… not a very religious person,” Bliac shrugged. “It is not my way. Rules. Constraints. A father figure constantly watching you and passing judgment on you. Surely the Lord, praise be his name, has better things to do with his time.”
“The faith of the Vucari, Volenya, consists of two gods: Raven and Hawk. Hawk is the creator of the heavens, sky, and stars. Raven is the creator of the soil, roots, men, and the underworld. Both clash, argue, and disagree on many things, but they protect the people. The concept of the Savior Masada is an old one, familiar to many. Raven came to this world as Masada and created the Beastfolk people out of both anger and love.”
“The myth says that you were once humans and that he twisted you to become like animals, yet you revere him?”
For the first time, Dominik’s eyes went ablaze, piercing into Bliac’s soul and igniting a primordial fear in him.
“We are not animals! We have souls, feelings, thought, everything that you humans do. The humans of the creation story were more animal than man. By transforming us into who we are Raven reminded all of us that we are creatures of balance, a combination of animals and gods. On this mortal plane we can all aspire to be godlike or bestial, but we can never truly be one or the other.”
“What about the afterlife?”
Dominik pondered for a moment, then spoke out carefully. “In life, we are measured by our choices. If one chooses to be godly in conduct, with kindness to others, intellect, and selfless bravery their spirit will ascend to the heavens to be at Hawk’s side, free from the wants and depredations of beasts. If one chooses to behave as a mere animal, slavering and voracious, selfish, carnal, and obsessed with sex then their souls are swallowed by Raven and taken into the roots of the world tree, where their souls are transformed to those of animals and are reborn as such.”
Bliac quirked an eyebrow, “And do you believe all of that?”
Dominik grinned, a much more honest and comfortable thing than the alien smile of a Siparid, yet still strange when framed by black lips and sharp teeth.
“Not all of it, but it is still a compelling belief. I have yet to study a faith that doesn’t offer some form of redemption or an interpretation of the afterlife.”
“So you don’t have a problem with what we are about to do?”
“Not a one. If their clergy see no problem with killing Beastfolk, I see no problem with robbing elven clergy. Would you care to lead the way?”
Bliac and Dominik crept down the stairs, then made their way to the back door of the ouzeri, which emptied onto a small deck overlooking the riverbank. Bliac looked around the corner of the building, which emptied into a small private garden. Thankfully, the path to the Monastery of Androma did not run through the town plaza. Instead, it snaked up a hillside, a beautifully tiered and contemplative approach to the lofty entrance of the temple at the top.
The compound was walled, but not in a fashion that would effectively keep out a pair of thieves. What concerned Bliac was what awaited on the opposite side of the wall. Monasteries of all sorts were predominantly designed to keep its inhabitants within, rather than keep trespassers out. Thus, someone climbing a short wall from the outside could find a distressingly long drop on the opposite side, enough to kill a person in a fall outright. Bliac hadn’t spent much time observing this monastery, largely improvising a way in. He saw a large elm tree reaching over the walls of the compound, close enough to allow a thief a safe and easy climb down to ground level.
For a creature that stood almost a head taller than he Dominik was amazingly light on his feet. They had little trouble walking through the darkness to reach the walls of the compound. Bliac stretched his arms for a moment, looking to either side, then hopped up to grab the top of the wall, hoping that discrete shards of glass or metal barbs weren’t there to greet him. Thankfully, there were no unpleasant surprises and he had absolutely no trouble pulling his lean and lanky form to the top of the wall. He peered down the other side, which appeared as a dark chasm, but his experience as a thief and an artillerist alike granted him a confident estimate.
“There’s a 24-foot drop on this side, give or take a few inches,” the human whispered. His lupine compatriot paced back and forth for a moment, pulling down the cowl on his hood, then finally tearing it off in a quick, agitated motion. The vucari bent at the knees, then jumped up, managing to get both his arms over the top of the wall after a surprisingly strong leap. Dominik had no trouble positioning himself on top of the wall.
It only took a few moments for Bliac to grab a hold of the elm tree, get a firm footing between some of the branches, then shimmy down its trunk. The bark was uncomfortably rough against his skin and rubbed against his clothes, but he reached the ground mostly unharmed. Looking back up, however, he realized that this would not be a viable escape route.
Dominik had grabbed onto the tree with his claws, but seemed somewhat at a loss as to how to descend. Bliac realized that his wolf-like paws were the problem, being too big and awkwardly shaped to enable a simple descent. He tried to wrap his broad toes around the tree trunk, but even with claws and leathery pads his feet found little traction. Using his arms more than his legs, Dominik slid down to the ground and hit it with a thud. The momentum was enough to pull him from the tree trunk and flatten him on his back. The vucari rolled onto his side, then his front, coughing softly.
“Dominik, are you alright?” Bliac earnestly inquired.
“Fine,” Dominik gasped a bit, then gradually regained his breath. “The wind fled me. That could have gone better.”
“Come, let’s find the rectory.”
The monastery complex was tricky for Bliac to navigate in the dark, but it became apparent that Dominik had absolutely no problem thanks to his lupine eyes. He had an enviable sense of situational awareness, pausing periodically to take whiffs of the air. Bliac took a more intuitive approach to remaining hidden, observing the clues around him, making judgments on foot traffic, patrols, and any kind of security by reading the nature of the architecture.
They passed through, around, and even above buildings that looked eerily immune to the passage of the centuries. They avoided the dorter and cloister based on the simple wisdom that the main residences of the monks would be a poor choice of hiding place for anything, be it a map or a pair of interlopers. They climbed a low roof, where they caught the unmistakable odor of a kitchen, then caught sight of a lavatorium with an adjacent garderobe, an ancient toilet over a cistern which likely led to the nearby river.
“Possible escape route?” Bliac tugged at Dominik’s shoulder.
“You’re a holier man than I if you’re willing to swim in elf shit to get the job done.”
“It was just a thought.”
After searching for several minutes they at last found the rectory, a humble but isolated residence surrounded by a terraced garden. With the rector presiding over liturgy and the religious proceedings, the thieves were confident that the house was quiet and unattended.
Dominik held his hand in front of Bliac’s chest, stopping him. He was very much a hound, with his eyes and ears locked to the front.
“Wait. Someone is inside,” he whispered. “Side window, go.”
They crouched low, moving slowly towards the side of the house. A small cellar window greeted them, one that didn’t seem to invite intruders any larger than a cat, but Bliac knew better.
“This is me. I’ll open the cellar door for you once I’m in.”
Bliac slipped off his shirt, handing it to Dominik.
“I’ll want that back. It’s sturdy Sepet cotton, hard to weave, breathes well-“
“I’m not interested in your sartorial jaw-flapping. Get going.”
Bliac knelt down and found the edges of the window, which were somewhat caked over in moss. It opened outward, but the hinge was just high enough that he would be able to squeeze his head and shoulders through, and with that he could wiggle the rest of his body inside. He flipped onto his belly, stretching both arms forward and gathering his shoulders as close to his ears as possible. Then, in a highly practiced motion, he wriggled forward and slid like a serpent forward, then downward into the rectory’s cellar. With his arms and hands outstretched forward he absorbed the impact of his fall with grace, then when he got his feet past the windowsill he somersaulted forward and climbed to his feet. With that done, he quickly found the cellar storm door and unlocked it from the inside, Dominik descending the steps to meet him.
Bliac wondered how a humanoid with bent, double-jointed legs could descend stairs, and now he knew. Dominik simply turned his body to the left and shimmied down. It was so simple that Bliac was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. He slipped his shirt back on, not bothering to tuck it back in, and crept up the stairs. The yellow glow of lanterns splashed into the hallway of the otherwise dark house. Dominik was right, there was definitely someone inside.
Dominik sniffed the air, listening in closely, then spoke in the faintest whisper he possibly could.
“One man, in the library.”
“Reading?”
Dominik shook his head, “Writing- no… drawing.”
The two carefully crept down the hall. For all they knew, the man in the library could be a harmless friar or a trained warrior monk. Bliac didn’t want to take any chances. He slid a small stiletto from his boot while Dominik tensed his fingertips, keeping his claws at the ready. Neither was an ideal weapon, but if the elf fought back it helped that they were two against one.
Bliac poked his head around the corner, then ducked back. He and Dominik locked eyes for a while as Bliac pressed a finger to his lips. He ran through the conversation in his mind. What was the name of the friar who drew the bogus map?
Bliac cupped a hand to his mouth, drew a breath, and shouted.
“Brother Niarchos!”
The elf jumped in his seat as though the Lord himself had spoken. He nervously placed a feather quill back in its inkwell, shooting to his feet.
“Y-yes? Who’s there?”
Bliac and Dominik appeared in the doorway. Bliac had the burning look of a betrayed man on his face, but what really scared Niarchos was the appearance of a terrifying beast, an unholy fusion of wolf and man with claws and razor-sharp teeth.
“W-werewolf!”
Bliac and Dominik looked at each other for a moment. Apparently some elves still honestly believed in lycanthropy. Bliac would have laughed aloud if an idea hadn’t popped into his head.
“No sudden movements, brother, or I’ll have him maul you. He thirsts for blood, and I’m sorry to say he hasn’t eaten in days. There’s no telling when he might snap.”
“How is it you can command him?”
“He commands himself. I raised him from a pup, and I trained him to be my henchman. I should warn you that he has occasionally been known to eat people, even people who wrong me. Especially people who wrong me.”
Dominik shot Bliac a look of disgust, but held his tongue.
“What do you want? Who are you?”
“We never met in person. My friend, a Dwarf, met with you to help him find the Seal of the Archeparchy. You created a map for him, a false and deceitful thing that led us around in circles for a full week. Then we learned that you sold the real map to the revolutionaries!”
“No! No, it’s not like that. I made mention of the find to the rector. The rector told the revolutionaries. I didn’t know what would happen until two Citizens knocked on my door and forced me to tell them!”
“Citizens? What do you mean?”
“They are the judges of the Republic. The inquisitors. The executioners. They mistrust the temple and its clergy. The rector wished to earn their favor to show that we meant them no ill will, but I did not wish to tell them. They made me!”
“What did you tell them?”
“Please understand! If I hadn’t answered them honestly I would have been carried off to the National Crown.”
“Enlighten me. What is the National Crown?”
“You really don’t know? Does no one know what the Republic is doing to its people? It…” Niarchos gulped, sweat beading across his forehead. “It is a magical apparatus for public executions. They’re appearing everywhere. A man puts a harness upon your head and pulls a lever. You bleed from your eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, and you die in seconds.”
The thought of this mad magical execution device sent chills down Bliac’s spine, but he kept up the pressure on the friar.
“That doesn’t answer the other question. What exactly did you tell them?”
“I drafted a map, but it does not tell them the precise location of the Seal. It is not a lie, but it is not the truth either. They will find the Seal with time and persistence, but it will take them weeks to find what I can guide you to in just three days.”
“Then tell me. Where can I find the Seal?”
“No! Your dwarf said that you were agents of the Republic. I won’t tell you anything that I haven’t told them. Your werewolf can devour me. I won’t be responsible for this!”
“Brother Niarchos, when we first approached you we didn’t know how you felt about the Republic. The revolutionaries are crawling everywhere. We simply assumed that the monastery supported them.”
“So you don’t work for the Republic?”
“No. We… work for the Order of Sakas. They’re paying us good money to obtain the seal.”
“The Sakasi?” Niarchos dropped to his knees, sobbing. “Y- you should have said something-“
“I know. I see that now,” Bliac sighed. “What is so important about the Seal?”
“The Sakasi didn’t tell you?” Niarchos shook his head. “No. No, not even they would say.”
“Is it magical? Is it powerful?”
“Magical, no. Powerful, yes. It is both a key and a map to the Armory of Yakos.”
“Yakos? As in the elven auspice of war? Yakos the tyrant?”
“Yes. He was the supreme auspice for centuries, jealously guarding a hoard of godly weapons. The weapons were designed to kill other auspices, but they were immensely powerful. They could cleave through swarms of soldiers.”
“Yakos was slain by Masada, and Masada was slain by his co-conspirators.”
“Yes, and officially the weapons vanished. In truth, they were locked away and simply forgotten with time. The Maenids should have destroyed them, but they couldn’t. If the Republic gets its hands on them, they’ll wipe away the Maenid Empire.”
“Perhaps it’s not my place to say this, but I have little love for the Maenids.”
“Would you prefer this? Thugs and vagabonds prowling the streets, executing people at will? Petty tyrants touring the countryside, packing people into wagons and burying them alive? Executions in public? The Republic wants a world without kings, a world without gods… a world without Humans and Dwarves. Doesn’t that make you want to stop them?”
“He’s right, you know. Like it or not, the Sakasi might be the only people we can trust to keep these weapons out of the Republic or the Empire’s hands.”
Niarchos pointed a finger at Dominik.
“It speaks!”
“Indeed. Now quiet or I’ll eat you!” Dominik snarled. He didn’t like it, but part of him found it hilarious.
“Brother Niarchos, we need to find that seal and deliver it to the Order of Sakas. Please, for your peoples’ sake, where is it?”
Niarchos took to his feet, picking up a candle lantern and parsing the stacks of books in the rectory’s small library. He pulled out a green book with an elaborately adorned cover trimmed with gold leaf, pulling it open and withdrawing a crisply folded sheet of vellum. On it was a much more elaborate map than the one Niarchos had drawn for Nicholas. It had detailed landmarks, some of which Bliac had already seen. Without hesitation, he stuffed the map into his hidden shirt pocket.
“Thank you, brother,” Bliac paused for a moment. “Are there any more copies of this?”
“No.”
“If you sold the Republic a fake, why did you take the time to make an accurate one?”
“The Maenid Empire has already launched an expedition seeking the Seal. One of their agents was to arrive tomorrow and retrieve this.”
“You were going to sell the key to Yakos’ loot pile to the Maenid Emperor? They’re little better than the Republic!”
“Yes. I see that now, but at the time it was a risk I had to take. The Republic cannot be allowed to find that hoard.”
“So what will you do with the agent?”
“I… suppose I shall have to draw another map like the one I made for the Citizens.”
“Do it. And this map had better be authentic, or I’ll be back with this guy and he’ll eat you for certain, starting with the knuckles. One at a time.”
“That was insulting,” Dominik grumbled as the two left the front door of the rectory.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to pretend you were a werewolf, but it really seemed to work.”
“Not you. The elf. How is it that people still think we are werewolves and that we eat people?”
“Well, I understand that vucari have been known to bite on occasion.”
“I only bite people that I like,” Dominik grinned. “Let’s get out of here. Oh! Not through the toilet. I absolutely insist that we do not escape down the toilet.”
“Right. Let’s try the front door. The liturgy is still in session.”
“You’re crazy!”
“The Devil himself could pass through the temple and no one would bat an eye.”
“Your people still believe in the Devil?” Dominik gave him a skeptical look.
Bliac continued, “I… had the displeasure of attending a service here out of curiosity. The rector is an absolutely dreadful bore. Besides that, there’s a side entrance quite close to the main exit. I remember staring at it for an hour wishing I could escape.”
Dominik paused, pondered for a moment, then shrugged.
“Very well. Let’s try it.”
Bliac peered in through the side door after cracking it open, then gestured to Dominik. They quietly walked into the temple, passed in full view of prostrate elves, and quietly ducked out of the main entrance. Bliac stopped to listen, to make sure that they hadn’t made a commotion. Some of the worshippers murmured, wondering if the wolf-man they had just seen walking through the liturgy was real or imagined. The rector raised his voice, a universal request for silence in the temple, and before long all of the elves were back to their misery.
The path before the temple was empty and unguarded. Even the non-religious townsfolk and the revolutionary soldiers had ducked indoors for the evening. The dark of the night was unsettling to linger in, after all. Insects, wild animals, and other dangers crept about, none the least being a party of five adventurers setting off into the night.
From humble beginnings it has grown into a staple of all kinds of games, yet I have never written a story within its context. True, many stories feature multiple characters, interpersonal relations, and action, but it's not truly a party quest without a gathering, a clear objective, and a fight or two along the way.
I had a great deal of fun with this chapter, watching the narrative unfold as I hemmed out 21 pages in the space of a single day. It was also great fun working with and having the creative freedom to flesh out characters created by viewers like you.
And so, here is the beginning of the story of Bliac Scruflos (property of
matt-the-wolf ), Nicholas Shakaal (property of 
nic-polarbear ), Dominik Raes (property of 
LoneWolfSniper44 ), Kynila Tulyk (property of 
cigarsnscotch ), and Zilthar Sendren (property of 
UnholyWarcry1990 ). They are a band of strangers hired by a mysterious order of Elves on a task to recover the Seal of the Archeparchy, a holy relic with a foreboding purpose.THE SEAL OF THE ARCHEPARCHY
Chapter 1
“Damnable Elven sorcery!”
Bliac muttered something indecipherable under his breath, fiddling with one of his myriad instruments before tossing it over his shoulder.
“This is no good,” the slight man sighed as he withdrew a spyglass, scanning through the trees in a vain attempt to decipher the landscape. “The only viable things about these old maps are the landmarks, and I can’t make them out in this foliage.”
Between huffs and the clattering of cook pots, a gravely voice piped up with a familiar working Dwarf’s accent, a curious thing likely inspired by seagulls.
“So I just climbed this mossy, rain-slick mound of dirt for nothing? What about the Divining Compass?”
Bliac slipped his spyglass back into its soft leather pouch on his belt, then wiped the sweat from his brow through his wavy black hair.
“Neither divine nor a compass, it would seem. What magic propelled it likely wore off the moment it left the shop.”
The Dwarf, Nicholas, wrinkled his face into an indignant frown, “Alright, alright, I admit it. I got swindled by an elven sorcecary.”
Nicholas sat down on a slightly smaller stone than Bliac, an iron pan clanking and playing against his breastplate. He took a swig from a pigskin, and Bliac observed a pinkish drop spilling down his chin.
“Elves. Terrible with directions, but superb with grape juice.”
Bliac crossed his arms, incredulous. “Of course. Grape juice.”
Nicholas smirked, “Well, it was grape juice… ‘bout two years ago.”
Bliac shook his head, extending a palm “Come on, let me try a sip.”
Nicholas shot a confused look at Bliac, “Hold on. I thought the men of your faith didn’t take alcohol.”
“What’s the trouble, ‘Nick? It is simply grape juice, after all.” Bliac cradled the pigskin in both hands, tipping it upward as the wine sprinkled into his mouth. Nicholas was right, it was quite good, though it had been weeks since any alcohol had passed over his own lips.
“I suppose I’m not a religious sort,” The human grinned. “Are you ready to continue?”
“What’s the hurry? We’re lost, I’m tired, and there’s revolutionaries about just waiting to shake us down for shot, powder, and footwear.”
“We’ll not make it back into town before sunset if we wait.”
“Awwh!” Nicholas shot Bliac a hostile glare. “We’re scurrying back to civilization? Again? Why not press on and find some shelter, like in a cave?”
“That’s not a bad idea, Nicholas. Which side of the Basilisk would you like to sleep on? The blazing end, or the one that turns you to stone?”
Nicholas grumbled, “Hrm. Perhaps town isn’t such a bad idea, even if it’s overrun by revolutionaries.”
“Good,” Bliac smiled and jumped to his feet. “With a little luck we may even find a beautiful, buxom Elven ranger to safely and swiftly guide us through the verdant forests on feet of feathers and the honeyed songs of a lark.”
“Come off it, Bliac, there’s no such things as those rangers. You’ve been filling your mind with those awful Therian romances, haven’t you?”
Bliac shrugged, “Well, one must keep faith, right? At this point I’ll settle for an Elven mistress with more than half her teeth.”
Bliac Scruflos and Nicholas Shakaal had been chasing the mythical Seal of the Archeparchy now for two weeks, and so far the story had played out in a similar fashion. They would set off as early in the morning as safely possible, spend the day following up a bogus lead, or get chased around by Republican troops. It didn’t help that the town of Plagia was directly on the Maenid frontier, where soldiers of the Empire openly skirmished with the revolutionaries of the Republic on a near daily basis. For the moment the revolutionaries had the upper hand, but in the lush and overgrown rainforests of Protipeiros it was impossible to deploy their superior numbers against the enemy. It was entirely possible that the Maenid legionnaires would press through and drive off the guardsmen despite inferior numbers.
The town of Plagia had few of the comforts of a traditional Therian settlement. The stucco buildings were elegant and built to last, but the only real buildings of note were the town’s small riverside docks, an Ouzeri that played the role of a local tavern, a monastery of Androma, the Republican command post, and a small market. It was a place far removed from the rest of the world, but Bliac and Nicholas had been drawn here by the allure of exploration and treasure, as well as an invitation from the Triumvirate itself. As foreigners, the elves cast a mistrustful eye on them.
The nature of the invitation itself had been strange. Bliac was an intuitive, clever man well accustomed to the nuances of human nature, but he had never worked outside of the Caliphate of Man before. He had met Nicholas on the riverboat to Plagia, where he quickly learned that both were on the same mission and could benefit from partnership. Bliac hadn’t met many Dwarves before, nor was he aware that the Order of Sakas recruited from amongst them.
Both Bliac and Nicholas were artillery officers of their respective nations, and both had volunteered for and been given special dispensation by the Order of Sakas, an ancient and benevolent order of Elven warrior explorers. Their mission was to recover an artifact from a long-abandoned settlement called the Seal of the Archeparchy. The Republic aided them under the impression that they would turn the seal over, but strangely their orders were to turn it over to the Order of Sakas for a very handsome reward of 18,000 Ducats.
As they strode into town, the revolutionaries gave them the usual confrontation. They were gaunt, but hard elves, and Bliac held no illusions that he held any power over them. An officer approached him with a rigid frown. One could always tell the officers from the rabble by the quality of their shoes.
“Your documentation, human.”
“I insist that I am and always have been Dr. Bliac Scruflos, and that I’ve been here two weeks now. You don’t recognize the only human in town?”
“Of course I recognize you and your dwarf friend. I’d be a fool not to keep an eye on you, permission from the Triumvirate or not. Show me your papers or I’ll have you sent back down the river.”
Bliac rolled his eyes and reached into a pocket stitched into the lining of his shirt for this very reason. The document was wet with sweat around the edges, but the official ink upon it did not run. The officer examined the paper, scanning his eyes up and down. It occurred to Bliac that the elf was illiterate.
“It… seems to be in order. On your way, don’t cause any trouble.”
Nicholas hauled himself alongside Bliac, his pack and cookware jangling about.
“ ’Next time he asks, we should show him the label off a bottle of wine and see if he can tell the difference.”
The two expeditionary officers made their way to the Ouzeri, arguably the cleanest and most pleasant part of town. The proprietor was as polite an elf as she could be amidst a town overrun by hungry, shiftless revolutionaries and the drink was good enough that after a few sips one couldn’t really taste the food anymore. Alcohol was also somewhat safer than the local water supply, and Nicholas was convinced that it was necessary to drink ouzo and wine regularly to fight off disease.
Bliac swaggered up to a table and took a seat after resting his knapsack on the ground. He loosened his gun belt and slid the tips of his holsters aside, kicking his feet up on the table and raising an arm. He crisply snapped his fingers, drawing the ire of the barkeep.
“Skai, some ouzo, if you please!”
“This isn’t some coffee house or seraglio, Doctor. You come up to the bar and get served like everyone else, and you keep those muddy boots off my table.”
Bliac grinned smugly as he made his way to the bar. Skai was a Maenid elf with tired looking bronze skin and graying curls, but a fierce gaze and the wiry looks of a woman who could back her threats. She kept her tavern clean and insisted on order from her patrons, and she was not one to keep the ouzo flowing to already drunken patrons even if it meant a little extra money.
“How’s business, memsahib?”
“Present company excluded, it’s been… troublesome. The townsfolk aren’t coming in. They don’t want to spend their coin, not in front of these silver hungry revolutionaries.” She sighed, “As for the Republicans, the only ones with money are the officers, and they’re hardly civil. I’ve had to hire five of their troops as mercenaries just to keep the place orderly.”
“Anything else of interest?” Bliac glanced toward Nicholas, who was quietly sipping at a cup of water, leaving his ouzo untouched for the moment.
“Place your orders, first.”
“Of course. Cheese and olives for me, with wine. Nicholas?”
“Some Dolma would be nice.”
Nicholas wasn’t afraid to behave more recklessly in the field, but he always seemed to bottle up and become reserved in taverns. Bliac imagined that it had to do with Nicholas’ merchant upbringing, keeping the money quiet so as not to attract vultures.
It was common in ouzeris to serve food without drinks, but in the often swampy lands of Protipeiros it was a local custom to drink after a meal to stave off disease from contaminated water. It was less common to pay before eating, but Skai insisted upon it and Bliac didn’t blame her. He quietly slid some eight-bits of silver to the elf, who swept the coinage into a lockbox and secreted it away in a single motion.
“Right. Three friends of yours arrived on a boat today. They paid good money to quietly book a room upstairs, but I’ve got a key if you want to meet ‘em. They seemed… odd.”
“What was odd about them?” Nicholas finally injected himself into the conversation.
“They’re foreigners, all dressed in cloaks. Only one spoke to me in Therian, and with a bit of an accent. I’m no traveler myself, so your guess is as good as any as to where they’re from.”
“Anything else?”
“One thing. One of ‘em had a big, long tail.”
“Ah, it’s always the subtle details that prove most intriguing. Any idea what they’re after?”
“You.”
Bliac paused for a long moment, holding his tongue as a serving wench unceremoniously brought out their plates of food.
“What do you mean, me?”
“Not just you, Doctor. The two of you.”
“Did they ask about us by name?”
“No, just by description. A Benni Sulayim Human and a Lowland Dwarf.”
Bliac’s forehead wrinkled at the implication, “I am not a Benni Sulayim! Those sanctimonious barbarians exiled my family when I was just a child!”
“Well, I’m only repeating what they asked. I don’t know one human from another, just that you have round ears and big chins.”
“And you told these people about us?”
Skai grinned, “Why not? You don’t pay me to keep things secret.”
“What do we do?” Nicholas leaned in, whispering to Bliac.
“We finish eating, take a shot of ouzo, and pay our guests a visit. Do you think your fowling piece might get their attention?”
“Yeah, if the powder isn’t wet and a bird hasn’t nested in the barrel!”
“If we play things right, you might not have to fire it.”
“And if things don’t go according to your beggar’s luck?” Nicholas quirked an eyebrow.
“Hence the olives and cheese. I grew up half-starving on the streets of Salamet, and I’ll not die on an empty stomach.”
The two crept up the clay steps of the ouzeri, for all the good it did them. Even without his rucksack and cookware Nicholas’ breastplate pinged and clanked with any impact. Bliac started to regret taking that one shot of ouzo as a familiar dullness overtook his normally precise and alert reflexes. Nicholas clutched a shotgun in his hands, an over-under piece that was almost as long as the dwarf was tall, a gun better designed for hunting and the rigors of the field than a potential shootout in a confined space. It was for that reason that Bliac kept a pistol in his left hand and a yataghan in his right. The former was an elegant three-shot flintlock while the latter was essentially a grayish chopping knife the length of his forearm, scarred with the telltale nicks of a weapon used in a tough fight or two.
Nicholas had convinced Skai to lend him the master key, sliding it into the lock and carefully twisting the bolt free. It was Nicholas’ idea to go first on the presumption that a shorter target would catch the occupants off guard.
Nicholas quickly turned the handle, pushing the door down with his weight and shouting out. As the door swung open he stepped forward once, dropped to one knee, and brought his hefty weapon to bear while Bliac danced to his left and slipped into the room pistol first.
Before he could react a rough, almost leathery hand reached around his left wrist while a second jerked the barrel of his pistol downward, the stab of pain compelling him to let go of the weapon. He raised his right arm to strike at his opponent when he suddenly felt the chill of steel against his neck and the sting of a fresh cut. His eyes darted to the left, then the right, and only when he looked straight up did he see the most astonishing thing.
Yellow serpent eyes wrapped in red scrutinized him from the ceiling, reading his body and his movements. He dared not move his head to look down towards his compatriot, but from the sound of things he had met a similar fate as something pushed him to the ground with a loud thud and the ring of a metal cuirass.
For a few dreadful moments Bliac paused, eyes darting around, trying to find a way out of this predicament. It wasn’t panic, really, but he admitted to himself that he had been caught off guard by a well executed riposte.
“Drop the knife, sahib,” called the figure on the ceiling.
After a few moments, Bliac resigned to his predicament and let his yataghan clatter to the ground. In response, the figure leapt from his place between the rafters and landed on his feet, curious three-toed things tipped with claws of different sizes. The scythe-like toes on the insides of his feet were weapons in their own right, each big enough to curl around his ears. He had reddish skin with familiar black markings like the stripes of a tiger. He had seen such creatures before at the Kara Harp Okulu, the grand officer’s school in Salamet. It was a Siparid, a lizard of the valley.
The figure was not dressed in the military jacket of a cadet, but rather a functional leather vest and trousers. He reached down to the ground, picking up Bliac’s yataghan and handing it to him blade first, but not before considering the move carefully.
“Here.”
Another voice piped in from the direction of a telltale odor, that of a canine.
“Zilthar, is that wise?”
The intense looking Siparid kept a close eye on Bliac, continuing to hold a shimmering scimitar at the ready.
“It would be less wise for him to test my sword. Humans speak, do they not? What is your name.”
“Dr. Bliac Scruflos, and this is my diminutive assistant, Nicholas Shakaal.”
“I’m not a damned secretary! I’m an officer of the King’s army, here by special dispensation in the name of the Order of Sakas.”
The Siparid named Zilthar leaned in close, keeping his blade always close to Bliac’s skin. He took a long moment to examine the human down his snout, then from either side, getting a good look in with each eye. He felt like a staked goat.
“Don’t move, Nick. Maybe… he can’t… see us.”
Finally, a bizarre, inscrutable grin spread across the lizard’s face, stretching from eye to eye and even beyond. It was more terrifying than comforting.
“Good. We are allies, then!”
Without further ado, Zilthar slid his scimitar into its scabbard, backpedaling and taking seat on a bed. His long tail, which was curled upwards moments before, relaxed along with the mood. Bliac could move at last, bringing a hand to his neck. The sword had only left a minor nick, not even enough to draw blood.
He finally saw the other two figures in the room, which surprised him still more, but certainly accounted for the faint odor of a dog. To either side of him were two Vucari, wolf-like humanoids from lands far north of Salamet. Long ago they had been avowed enemies of the Caliphate, and he hoped that they didn’t continue to hold any grudges. To his left was a neatly groomed wolf with dark gray fur and yellow eyes dressed in the humble attire of a cleric. To his right, standing over Nicholas, was a brown and blonde-furred female dressed in the leather and cotton garb of a seasoned explorer. Much to Nicholas’ relief, she helped him back to his feet, looking over his armor with curious blue eyes.
“I should apologize for barging in like that,” The words escaped Bliac’s mouth without much enthusiasm. Was he really apologizing to Beastfolk and Saurians?
“There is no need for that. The Sakasi sent us here as quickly as possible, and we had no time to issue a warning in advance.”
Nicholas seemed to be similarly bewildered, looking at his animal companions. “No offense, and you can have my head for this, but isn’t it strange that the Sakasi sent a Siparaid and two Vucari into Elven lands?”
“Well, the boatsman and passengers did give us some peculiar looks,” Zilthar shrugged. “I accepted it as some strange form of Elven facial communication. I tried to return the gestures, but…”
Nicholas interrupted with some incredulity, “So the Sakasi never told you about how the Republicans are a great lot of murderous, ignorant racists and how any Beastfolk traveling about could be at serious risk of death?”
“There’s no time for a consideration of the risks!” The female Vucari interjected. “Time is quickly running out. You were to locate the Seal of the Archeparchy, correct? Did you have the good fortune of stumbling upon it?”
Bliac shook his head, “Two weeks of searching have produced very little, not even an exact location.”
She rolled her eyes, “This was a waste of time. It’s getting dark. I say we head out and start our search right now before the Elves determine who or what we are.”
Nicholas raised his voice, “Oi! You’re not going anywhere without us! We’re on the same mission! We took the same coin!”
“Both of you are artillery officers with no cannon, no night vision, and no sense of smell.”
The other Vucari spoke up in a calm, almost icy voice.
“They are readers of the landscape with maps and navigational equipment. They are also more accustomed to this forest than us. We need them, Kynila.”
“That’s Captain Tulyk to you, Dominik.”
Dominik turned to Kynila, chastising her, “We are neither representing our armies nor do we have any troops to command. This is a clandestine operation. We do not refer to each other by rank. We are citizens, explorers.”
“Regardless, they are explorers who have discovered nothing of value to our mission, and time is running out.”
Bliac raised a hand, interjecting, “Pardon me, memsahib, but we were not informed as to the time sensitive nature of this operation. We were told simply to locate and retrieve the Seal of the Archeparchy and bring it to the Sakasi.”
“The situation has changed,” Zilthar turned to Bliac again. “You may know that the Republic is searching for the artifact. It now appears that they have launched an expedition of their own to find it. The Maenids are after it as well. Neither side can be permitted to obtain this Seal, and the Sakasi wish for us to do so.”
“This is a fool’s errand,” Dominik scoffed. “We don’t know where the Seal is, we have no way of blending into the populace, and the Republicans and Imperials are converging on it if they haven’t already found it. I say we pocket what money we have and just go home.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Zilthar grinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dominik growled. “We are mercenaries for the Sakasi, nothing more. They paid us 4,000 Ducats to set out on this fool mission. We shouldn’t let greed cloud our judgment.”
“And what of pessimism? Should we give up based solely on your doubts?”
“Damnable lizard,” the cleric grumbled.
“Saurian, actually,” the Siparid grimaced.
“There’s one thing I’m curious about. Does anyone here know why the Seal of the Archeparchy is so important all of a sudden?” Kynila crossed her arms and cocked her head to the side in curiosity.
“All I know is that the Elves are willing to murder and climb over each other to get it. I feel that this is reason enough to keep it out of their hands. Their objectives for it… may not be wholesome.” Zilthar corrected himself at the end.
Nicholas quietly stepped forward and coughed, drawing everyone’s attention.
“I’ve done some looking into it, independently of course. The Seal of the Archeparchy was, or is, a holy relic that belonged to the now defunct Archeparchy of Psion. The Archeparchy was not a typical seat of government. It was a monastic complex led by a high priest called the Metropolitan. My guess is that his personal seal is what we are after, but I’m not sure why the wedge-chins want it so much.”
“So if we locate the Metropolitan we locate the seal?” Bliac asked, quite surprised by his friend’s academic assessment.
“Well, one can hope,” Nicholas’ confident smile melted before his friend’s astonished stare. “Why are ye lookin’ at me like that, Bliac? You’re the one that found those scrolls!”
“Yes, but I couldn’t actually read them!”
“They don’t teach the old Maenid dialect at your ‘Harp Carp Cool-ooh’ school?”
“That’s Kara Harp Okulu, and no, they don’t,” Bliac paused for a moment. “Wait. You said that you looked into things ‘independently’. Nicholas, did you share the information on those scrolls with anyone?”
“Just a priest at the Monastery of Androma, here in town. It’s always better to translate documents with a literate native speaker competent in matters of history. You don’t find those kinds of people in a tavern.”
“And it never occurred to you that they might share their findings with others?”
“Hm. Now that you mentioned it, that priest seemed much more interested in those scrolls than I was.”
“When did you speak with him?”
“About a week ago,” Nicholas uncomfortably scratched the hair on the back of his neck.
“A week ago? Isn’t that about the same time we got this map? The map that’s led us to the middle of nowhere?”
“Oh.” Any joy stemming from his academic performance melted away, replaced by frustration. “By steam and hellfire! I can’t believe I was boondoggled by a man of the cloth! Well, an elf of the cloth.”
“Ah, my naïve Dwarven friend, the fact that he was a cleric should have tipped you off. Murderers, thieves, and scoundrels of all kinds run to the temple for protection.” Bliac turned to Dominik, who was almost certainly a cleric. “Ahem, no offense intended, sir.”
“None taken. I know precisely of what you speak.”
“Very well,” Bliac stroked his chin. “Nicholas, do you remember the name of this priest or where his quarters are?”
“His name was, uh… Niarchos! Phaidon Niarchos. We didn’t work in his quarters. We looked over maps in the rector’s library.”
Bliak kneaded his palms, an impish grin on his face. “Brilliant. A half hour from now the monastery will hold the evening liturgy, and the rector won’t be in his quarters. I could slip in and take a look on our behalf.”
“Not alone,” Dominik piped up. “I’m coming with you. I… have a way with discreet activities.”
“Methinks there’s more to you than you let on, Dominik.”
“I have an abiding interest in foreign faiths… and coin.”
Darkness crept over the town of Plagia before sunset, the many trees and foothills cloaking the area in darkness. Villagers and sentries set about lighting torches, and one by one windows in the houses flickered to life. The steady parade of revolutionary soldiers milling about did not abate, however, and Dominik became concerned about his chances of remaining undetected.
He had been in this town for but a few hours and felt some regret for being unable to observe it longer. He wasn’t a scholar at heart, nor did he have a great love for the Elves, but he at least found some beauty and elegance to this part of the world, its darkening streets and elegant stucco homes. In his home city of Vucarnarod there was little in the way of brick and mortar outside of temples, government buildings, palaces, and factories. Everything was carved timber, little gingerbread shapes with white carvings and totems, fading paint, and mud underfoot.
These Elves were not much wealthier than the Vucari, but their cobbled streets and sturdy homes were elegant in their own right. When he turned to his new human compatriot, however, he read the man’s intentions as those of an unrestrained thief, a person too excited to appreciate his elegant surroundings or the value they held. They had at last learned each others’ names and little more. Bliac Scruflos. It sounded more like regurgitation than a name to him.
He felt ridiculous in his black woolen cloak, like a child draped in a bed sheet. Even in his days as a footpad and a pickpocket he never wore such a thing. He vowed to remove it the moment he and Bliac had sifted through the wandering bands of revolutionary guardsmen.
“Dominik Raes,” Bliac said in a low voice as he peered through the window towards the darkening town plaza. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
“It is my real name,” Dominik paused for a moment. Perhaps this human needed to know the truth, or at least part of it. “It… wasn’t always my name.”
Bliac resisted the urge to smugly reply. The Vucari would soon be an ally and he didn’t want to encourage distrust between them.
“What was your name before?”
“Qaletaqa. That was before I was ordained, which was before I joined the army.”
“Qaletaqa? That’s a Baziri name, is it not?”
“Yes. My father fought for the warlord Khal Shah. He accepted the faith of Odem and changed his name. It was… not an easy thing to be.”
“Yet you returned to Vucarnarod and changed your name. What happened?”
“My father purchased land with his income. He worked hard and fought hard, dragged our family along for the sake of his duty, and it was to be a gift to our family once he retired. One day, during a battle, my father was captured. Our family lands were distant. The government wasted no time in declaring my father dead. Then, they seized it.”
Bliac’s heart sank, “That’s horrible. What became of your father?”
“He returned and stayed for a time, but his patron died. We moved to Vucarnarod and tried to start over. My father taught me how to fight smart, how to stay alive, but he died during a brutal winter.”
“I wasn’t aware that Vucari could freeze to death.”
“The winters of the north can be bitter beyond description. He slipped and fell, I believe, and before he could awaken the cold had sucked the life from his body.”
Dominik closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath. The air here was so moist, so warm. He had to remember that as uncomfortable as the heat could be, it was not as cruel as a northern winter.
“My mother and sister had to take to… night activities to stay alive. The madam would not suffer a male child running about her establishment, so she forced my mother to leave me on the street. There I picked pockets, smashed shops, joined and left gangs. One day my mother died, but at that point I was no longer family. For a time I dare say I had the carefree confidence you seem to carry, the belief that nothing can stop you as long as you keep this,” Dominik tapped a clawed finger on his temple, grinning. “It didn’t last.”
“And then you ran to the temple?”
“The Church of Raven and the Savior Masada.”
“I thought that Masada was one of the Auspices, a demi-god.”
“In your faith he is simply the offspring of an almighty being, but in our faith he is the incarnate of Raven, one of two gods of creation,” Dominik put a thumb to his chin contemplatively. “Please inform me if my preaching offends you. I do not mean to be evangelical, simply informative.”
“I’m… not a very religious person,” Bliac shrugged. “It is not my way. Rules. Constraints. A father figure constantly watching you and passing judgment on you. Surely the Lord, praise be his name, has better things to do with his time.”
“The faith of the Vucari, Volenya, consists of two gods: Raven and Hawk. Hawk is the creator of the heavens, sky, and stars. Raven is the creator of the soil, roots, men, and the underworld. Both clash, argue, and disagree on many things, but they protect the people. The concept of the Savior Masada is an old one, familiar to many. Raven came to this world as Masada and created the Beastfolk people out of both anger and love.”
“The myth says that you were once humans and that he twisted you to become like animals, yet you revere him?”
For the first time, Dominik’s eyes went ablaze, piercing into Bliac’s soul and igniting a primordial fear in him.
“We are not animals! We have souls, feelings, thought, everything that you humans do. The humans of the creation story were more animal than man. By transforming us into who we are Raven reminded all of us that we are creatures of balance, a combination of animals and gods. On this mortal plane we can all aspire to be godlike or bestial, but we can never truly be one or the other.”
“What about the afterlife?”
Dominik pondered for a moment, then spoke out carefully. “In life, we are measured by our choices. If one chooses to be godly in conduct, with kindness to others, intellect, and selfless bravery their spirit will ascend to the heavens to be at Hawk’s side, free from the wants and depredations of beasts. If one chooses to behave as a mere animal, slavering and voracious, selfish, carnal, and obsessed with sex then their souls are swallowed by Raven and taken into the roots of the world tree, where their souls are transformed to those of animals and are reborn as such.”
Bliac quirked an eyebrow, “And do you believe all of that?”
Dominik grinned, a much more honest and comfortable thing than the alien smile of a Siparid, yet still strange when framed by black lips and sharp teeth.
“Not all of it, but it is still a compelling belief. I have yet to study a faith that doesn’t offer some form of redemption or an interpretation of the afterlife.”
“So you don’t have a problem with what we are about to do?”
“Not a one. If their clergy see no problem with killing Beastfolk, I see no problem with robbing elven clergy. Would you care to lead the way?”
Bliac and Dominik crept down the stairs, then made their way to the back door of the ouzeri, which emptied onto a small deck overlooking the riverbank. Bliac looked around the corner of the building, which emptied into a small private garden. Thankfully, the path to the Monastery of Androma did not run through the town plaza. Instead, it snaked up a hillside, a beautifully tiered and contemplative approach to the lofty entrance of the temple at the top.
The compound was walled, but not in a fashion that would effectively keep out a pair of thieves. What concerned Bliac was what awaited on the opposite side of the wall. Monasteries of all sorts were predominantly designed to keep its inhabitants within, rather than keep trespassers out. Thus, someone climbing a short wall from the outside could find a distressingly long drop on the opposite side, enough to kill a person in a fall outright. Bliac hadn’t spent much time observing this monastery, largely improvising a way in. He saw a large elm tree reaching over the walls of the compound, close enough to allow a thief a safe and easy climb down to ground level.
For a creature that stood almost a head taller than he Dominik was amazingly light on his feet. They had little trouble walking through the darkness to reach the walls of the compound. Bliac stretched his arms for a moment, looking to either side, then hopped up to grab the top of the wall, hoping that discrete shards of glass or metal barbs weren’t there to greet him. Thankfully, there were no unpleasant surprises and he had absolutely no trouble pulling his lean and lanky form to the top of the wall. He peered down the other side, which appeared as a dark chasm, but his experience as a thief and an artillerist alike granted him a confident estimate.
“There’s a 24-foot drop on this side, give or take a few inches,” the human whispered. His lupine compatriot paced back and forth for a moment, pulling down the cowl on his hood, then finally tearing it off in a quick, agitated motion. The vucari bent at the knees, then jumped up, managing to get both his arms over the top of the wall after a surprisingly strong leap. Dominik had no trouble positioning himself on top of the wall.
It only took a few moments for Bliac to grab a hold of the elm tree, get a firm footing between some of the branches, then shimmy down its trunk. The bark was uncomfortably rough against his skin and rubbed against his clothes, but he reached the ground mostly unharmed. Looking back up, however, he realized that this would not be a viable escape route.
Dominik had grabbed onto the tree with his claws, but seemed somewhat at a loss as to how to descend. Bliac realized that his wolf-like paws were the problem, being too big and awkwardly shaped to enable a simple descent. He tried to wrap his broad toes around the tree trunk, but even with claws and leathery pads his feet found little traction. Using his arms more than his legs, Dominik slid down to the ground and hit it with a thud. The momentum was enough to pull him from the tree trunk and flatten him on his back. The vucari rolled onto his side, then his front, coughing softly.
“Dominik, are you alright?” Bliac earnestly inquired.
“Fine,” Dominik gasped a bit, then gradually regained his breath. “The wind fled me. That could have gone better.”
“Come, let’s find the rectory.”
The monastery complex was tricky for Bliac to navigate in the dark, but it became apparent that Dominik had absolutely no problem thanks to his lupine eyes. He had an enviable sense of situational awareness, pausing periodically to take whiffs of the air. Bliac took a more intuitive approach to remaining hidden, observing the clues around him, making judgments on foot traffic, patrols, and any kind of security by reading the nature of the architecture.
They passed through, around, and even above buildings that looked eerily immune to the passage of the centuries. They avoided the dorter and cloister based on the simple wisdom that the main residences of the monks would be a poor choice of hiding place for anything, be it a map or a pair of interlopers. They climbed a low roof, where they caught the unmistakable odor of a kitchen, then caught sight of a lavatorium with an adjacent garderobe, an ancient toilet over a cistern which likely led to the nearby river.
“Possible escape route?” Bliac tugged at Dominik’s shoulder.
“You’re a holier man than I if you’re willing to swim in elf shit to get the job done.”
“It was just a thought.”
After searching for several minutes they at last found the rectory, a humble but isolated residence surrounded by a terraced garden. With the rector presiding over liturgy and the religious proceedings, the thieves were confident that the house was quiet and unattended.
Dominik held his hand in front of Bliac’s chest, stopping him. He was very much a hound, with his eyes and ears locked to the front.
“Wait. Someone is inside,” he whispered. “Side window, go.”
They crouched low, moving slowly towards the side of the house. A small cellar window greeted them, one that didn’t seem to invite intruders any larger than a cat, but Bliac knew better.
“This is me. I’ll open the cellar door for you once I’m in.”
Bliac slipped off his shirt, handing it to Dominik.
“I’ll want that back. It’s sturdy Sepet cotton, hard to weave, breathes well-“
“I’m not interested in your sartorial jaw-flapping. Get going.”
Bliac knelt down and found the edges of the window, which were somewhat caked over in moss. It opened outward, but the hinge was just high enough that he would be able to squeeze his head and shoulders through, and with that he could wiggle the rest of his body inside. He flipped onto his belly, stretching both arms forward and gathering his shoulders as close to his ears as possible. Then, in a highly practiced motion, he wriggled forward and slid like a serpent forward, then downward into the rectory’s cellar. With his arms and hands outstretched forward he absorbed the impact of his fall with grace, then when he got his feet past the windowsill he somersaulted forward and climbed to his feet. With that done, he quickly found the cellar storm door and unlocked it from the inside, Dominik descending the steps to meet him.
Bliac wondered how a humanoid with bent, double-jointed legs could descend stairs, and now he knew. Dominik simply turned his body to the left and shimmied down. It was so simple that Bliac was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before. He slipped his shirt back on, not bothering to tuck it back in, and crept up the stairs. The yellow glow of lanterns splashed into the hallway of the otherwise dark house. Dominik was right, there was definitely someone inside.
Dominik sniffed the air, listening in closely, then spoke in the faintest whisper he possibly could.
“One man, in the library.”
“Reading?”
Dominik shook his head, “Writing- no… drawing.”
The two carefully crept down the hall. For all they knew, the man in the library could be a harmless friar or a trained warrior monk. Bliac didn’t want to take any chances. He slid a small stiletto from his boot while Dominik tensed his fingertips, keeping his claws at the ready. Neither was an ideal weapon, but if the elf fought back it helped that they were two against one.
Bliac poked his head around the corner, then ducked back. He and Dominik locked eyes for a while as Bliac pressed a finger to his lips. He ran through the conversation in his mind. What was the name of the friar who drew the bogus map?
Bliac cupped a hand to his mouth, drew a breath, and shouted.
“Brother Niarchos!”
The elf jumped in his seat as though the Lord himself had spoken. He nervously placed a feather quill back in its inkwell, shooting to his feet.
“Y-yes? Who’s there?”
Bliac and Dominik appeared in the doorway. Bliac had the burning look of a betrayed man on his face, but what really scared Niarchos was the appearance of a terrifying beast, an unholy fusion of wolf and man with claws and razor-sharp teeth.
“W-werewolf!”
Bliac and Dominik looked at each other for a moment. Apparently some elves still honestly believed in lycanthropy. Bliac would have laughed aloud if an idea hadn’t popped into his head.
“No sudden movements, brother, or I’ll have him maul you. He thirsts for blood, and I’m sorry to say he hasn’t eaten in days. There’s no telling when he might snap.”
“How is it you can command him?”
“He commands himself. I raised him from a pup, and I trained him to be my henchman. I should warn you that he has occasionally been known to eat people, even people who wrong me. Especially people who wrong me.”
Dominik shot Bliac a look of disgust, but held his tongue.
“What do you want? Who are you?”
“We never met in person. My friend, a Dwarf, met with you to help him find the Seal of the Archeparchy. You created a map for him, a false and deceitful thing that led us around in circles for a full week. Then we learned that you sold the real map to the revolutionaries!”
“No! No, it’s not like that. I made mention of the find to the rector. The rector told the revolutionaries. I didn’t know what would happen until two Citizens knocked on my door and forced me to tell them!”
“Citizens? What do you mean?”
“They are the judges of the Republic. The inquisitors. The executioners. They mistrust the temple and its clergy. The rector wished to earn their favor to show that we meant them no ill will, but I did not wish to tell them. They made me!”
“What did you tell them?”
“Please understand! If I hadn’t answered them honestly I would have been carried off to the National Crown.”
“Enlighten me. What is the National Crown?”
“You really don’t know? Does no one know what the Republic is doing to its people? It…” Niarchos gulped, sweat beading across his forehead. “It is a magical apparatus for public executions. They’re appearing everywhere. A man puts a harness upon your head and pulls a lever. You bleed from your eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, and you die in seconds.”
The thought of this mad magical execution device sent chills down Bliac’s spine, but he kept up the pressure on the friar.
“That doesn’t answer the other question. What exactly did you tell them?”
“I drafted a map, but it does not tell them the precise location of the Seal. It is not a lie, but it is not the truth either. They will find the Seal with time and persistence, but it will take them weeks to find what I can guide you to in just three days.”
“Then tell me. Where can I find the Seal?”
“No! Your dwarf said that you were agents of the Republic. I won’t tell you anything that I haven’t told them. Your werewolf can devour me. I won’t be responsible for this!”
“Brother Niarchos, when we first approached you we didn’t know how you felt about the Republic. The revolutionaries are crawling everywhere. We simply assumed that the monastery supported them.”
“So you don’t work for the Republic?”
“No. We… work for the Order of Sakas. They’re paying us good money to obtain the seal.”
“The Sakasi?” Niarchos dropped to his knees, sobbing. “Y- you should have said something-“
“I know. I see that now,” Bliac sighed. “What is so important about the Seal?”
“The Sakasi didn’t tell you?” Niarchos shook his head. “No. No, not even they would say.”
“Is it magical? Is it powerful?”
“Magical, no. Powerful, yes. It is both a key and a map to the Armory of Yakos.”
“Yakos? As in the elven auspice of war? Yakos the tyrant?”
“Yes. He was the supreme auspice for centuries, jealously guarding a hoard of godly weapons. The weapons were designed to kill other auspices, but they were immensely powerful. They could cleave through swarms of soldiers.”
“Yakos was slain by Masada, and Masada was slain by his co-conspirators.”
“Yes, and officially the weapons vanished. In truth, they were locked away and simply forgotten with time. The Maenids should have destroyed them, but they couldn’t. If the Republic gets its hands on them, they’ll wipe away the Maenid Empire.”
“Perhaps it’s not my place to say this, but I have little love for the Maenids.”
“Would you prefer this? Thugs and vagabonds prowling the streets, executing people at will? Petty tyrants touring the countryside, packing people into wagons and burying them alive? Executions in public? The Republic wants a world without kings, a world without gods… a world without Humans and Dwarves. Doesn’t that make you want to stop them?”
“He’s right, you know. Like it or not, the Sakasi might be the only people we can trust to keep these weapons out of the Republic or the Empire’s hands.”
Niarchos pointed a finger at Dominik.
“It speaks!”
“Indeed. Now quiet or I’ll eat you!” Dominik snarled. He didn’t like it, but part of him found it hilarious.
“Brother Niarchos, we need to find that seal and deliver it to the Order of Sakas. Please, for your peoples’ sake, where is it?”
Niarchos took to his feet, picking up a candle lantern and parsing the stacks of books in the rectory’s small library. He pulled out a green book with an elaborately adorned cover trimmed with gold leaf, pulling it open and withdrawing a crisply folded sheet of vellum. On it was a much more elaborate map than the one Niarchos had drawn for Nicholas. It had detailed landmarks, some of which Bliac had already seen. Without hesitation, he stuffed the map into his hidden shirt pocket.
“Thank you, brother,” Bliac paused for a moment. “Are there any more copies of this?”
“No.”
“If you sold the Republic a fake, why did you take the time to make an accurate one?”
“The Maenid Empire has already launched an expedition seeking the Seal. One of their agents was to arrive tomorrow and retrieve this.”
“You were going to sell the key to Yakos’ loot pile to the Maenid Emperor? They’re little better than the Republic!”
“Yes. I see that now, but at the time it was a risk I had to take. The Republic cannot be allowed to find that hoard.”
“So what will you do with the agent?”
“I… suppose I shall have to draw another map like the one I made for the Citizens.”
“Do it. And this map had better be authentic, or I’ll be back with this guy and he’ll eat you for certain, starting with the knuckles. One at a time.”
“That was insulting,” Dominik grumbled as the two left the front door of the rectory.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to pretend you were a werewolf, but it really seemed to work.”
“Not you. The elf. How is it that people still think we are werewolves and that we eat people?”
“Well, I understand that vucari have been known to bite on occasion.”
“I only bite people that I like,” Dominik grinned. “Let’s get out of here. Oh! Not through the toilet. I absolutely insist that we do not escape down the toilet.”
“Right. Let’s try the front door. The liturgy is still in session.”
“You’re crazy!”
“The Devil himself could pass through the temple and no one would bat an eye.”
“Your people still believe in the Devil?” Dominik gave him a skeptical look.
Bliac continued, “I… had the displeasure of attending a service here out of curiosity. The rector is an absolutely dreadful bore. Besides that, there’s a side entrance quite close to the main exit. I remember staring at it for an hour wishing I could escape.”
Dominik paused, pondered for a moment, then shrugged.
“Very well. Let’s try it.”
Bliac peered in through the side door after cracking it open, then gestured to Dominik. They quietly walked into the temple, passed in full view of prostrate elves, and quietly ducked out of the main entrance. Bliac stopped to listen, to make sure that they hadn’t made a commotion. Some of the worshippers murmured, wondering if the wolf-man they had just seen walking through the liturgy was real or imagined. The rector raised his voice, a universal request for silence in the temple, and before long all of the elves were back to their misery.
The path before the temple was empty and unguarded. Even the non-religious townsfolk and the revolutionary soldiers had ducked indoors for the evening. The dark of the night was unsettling to linger in, after all. Insects, wild animals, and other dangers crept about, none the least being a party of five adventurers setting off into the night.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Wolf
Size 120 x 90px
File Size 89 kB
Hmm, not too much seeing as how you've captured what I wanted his personality to be. Only thing I could say is that he has a trusting nature and an aversion to being unloyal. I don't have a back story or anything planned so go free on that regard. Again great work you've done :)
I approve whole-heartedly of this party-centered narrative.
I think you've captured Dominik's character quite well: Calm, calculating, a bit impatient if not intolerant of Niarchos. It matches what I had in mind for his reactions. The only part that seemed off is one line when Bliac and Nicholas first meet Dominik and the others:
“This is a fool’s errand,” Dominik scoffed. “We don’t know where the Seal is, we have no way of blending into the populace, and the Republicans and Imperials are converging on it if they haven’t already found it. I say we pocket what money we have and just go home.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Zilthar grinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dominik growled. “We are mercenaries for the Sakasi, nothing more. They paid us 4,000 Ducats to set out on this fool mission. We shouldn’t let greed cloud our judgment.”
Dominik's lines here seem better suited for Captain Kynila Tulyk, since just moments earlier, Dominik was persuading her that Bliac and Nicholas would be of use in their quest. It seems odd that he would so suddenly change his mind and disregard their task at hand.
Other than that, I am quite impressed with the story so far. Especially how you worked in Dominik's back-story in his little mission with Bliac. I'm glad there wasn't much need for change, though it is a nice touch to give Dominik a sister. Perhaps a contact to run into later on in the story, if not a driving force for him throughout.
I look forward to the next installment!
As a side question: Might you be taking commissions any time soon?
I think you've captured Dominik's character quite well: Calm, calculating, a bit impatient if not intolerant of Niarchos. It matches what I had in mind for his reactions. The only part that seemed off is one line when Bliac and Nicholas first meet Dominik and the others:
“This is a fool’s errand,” Dominik scoffed. “We don’t know where the Seal is, we have no way of blending into the populace, and the Republicans and Imperials are converging on it if they haven’t already found it. I say we pocket what money we have and just go home.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Zilthar grinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dominik growled. “We are mercenaries for the Sakasi, nothing more. They paid us 4,000 Ducats to set out on this fool mission. We shouldn’t let greed cloud our judgment.”
Dominik's lines here seem better suited for Captain Kynila Tulyk, since just moments earlier, Dominik was persuading her that Bliac and Nicholas would be of use in their quest. It seems odd that he would so suddenly change his mind and disregard their task at hand.
Other than that, I am quite impressed with the story so far. Especially how you worked in Dominik's back-story in his little mission with Bliac. I'm glad there wasn't much need for change, though it is a nice touch to give Dominik a sister. Perhaps a contact to run into later on in the story, if not a driving force for him throughout.
I look forward to the next installment!
As a side question: Might you be taking commissions any time soon?
Well, this story of yours has captured my imagination, and I wondered what Dominik might actually look like in his battle gear.
Not too dissimilar from your Vucari foot soldier HERE, I'd imagine. Enough of a uniform so as not to be shot by his own, but the rest practical and useful for camouflage.
I was thinking of commissioning you to draw Dominik in battle.
Then again, I could wait until a later part of your story, and use a scene from that. (Assuming our heroes get into some sort of skirmish later on).
Not too dissimilar from your Vucari foot soldier HERE, I'd imagine. Enough of a uniform so as not to be shot by his own, but the rest practical and useful for camouflage.
I was thinking of commissioning you to draw Dominik in battle.
Then again, I could wait until a later part of your story, and use a scene from that. (Assuming our heroes get into some sort of skirmish later on).
Hm... I might consider it, but I think I'd like a little more feedback about what you'd like him to look like. I have some uniform ideas in mind, but in terms of his physique, his hair (if he has a particular hairstyle), and any special fur pattern I'd prefer to hear the details from the commissioner rather than simply take a stab in the dark.
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