Relic (part 2)

         Luke waved as Ryn’s hat disappeared behind the distant hill. Ryn and luke had spent three days in Barlign, talking about Luke’s plans now that he had reached manhood, and reminiscing about Hassarda. Ryn left back to Hassarda and Luke was ready to sign up at the Red Blade, a local mercenary meeting hall, to look for work that would pay for him to use a sword, one of Luke’s few talents. Luke had always wanted a sword, he practiced with a wooden one for years, and though a silver sword was heavier than the sturdy Jolindive, the difference was not great.
         Luke turned back toward town, walking down the old road, careful not to slip in the melting slush. It was a clear day, and the sun shone warmly. The sweet smell of Saldan bread drifted in on the light breeze, from the towns bakery. Luke’s mouth watered as he realized he hadn’t eaten anything yet today and it was approaching mid day.
         Luke decided a stop at the inn was in order, he had heard that the stew was quite rich in flavor, and accompanied by a slice of bread, Luke would be more than happy. A few minutes passed and Luke had reached the inn he was staying at. The golden arrow, one of two inns in town. The Wandering King was a larger more expensive inn, on the eastern side of Barlign.
         The Golden Arrow may not have been as fancy, or even as comfortable Luke grimaced remembering the state of the bed he had rented, but it was decent, cheap, and the owner, a elderly dwarf, was quite friendly. And if he had sampled his own wares a little to much, quite talkative too.
         Luke ate a quick lunch and wasted no time in finding the Red Blade. Entering into the lodge he was surprised to see so many people standing about. In a shaded corner there was a giant of a man easily seven feet and over three hundred pounds, his lank black hair was greasy and unwashed, and his glaring eyes seemed to dare you to even think of getting in his way, over all he was quite menacing even without the great sword strapped to his back.
          At a table near the entrance was a slender man with a pointed beard which gave his friendly smile a rather sinister look of a classic villan in one of the romance novel nobles read so often. His well used leather armor was mismatch, and the cutlass at his side showed signs of rust and misuse.
         At the bar sat a pair of elves wearing the simple leathers of woodsmen, but wielding bows of pristine craftsmanship. One had hair of rose tinted silver, and the others was of burnished gold. The first was clearly a woman, but the second was almost as beautiful as the first.
         And at the other end of the bar was a older man who had the look of a militant, he had a scar running from his left ear down to his chin, and thick stubble covering most of his face. Even though he held a tall glass of wine, he looked alert and ready to spring into action at any moment. His graying hair, and dark blue outfit identified him as a member of Mayln’s City Watch, but the outfit had clearly seen better days, and judging by his tired expression and deep frown, he must have been retired for some time, now forced to work as a common merc, Luke realized he was staring as the man‘s attention fixed onto him. The man’s eyes widened and he seemed to mutter something under his breath. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but then abruptly stood up and entered to one of the side rooms. Luke didn’t know what the man was about but he figured it didn’t concern him.
         Luke spotted the a man behind the bar, he was a squat man, as wide as he was tall, easily in his late forties, he had a thick bushy brown beard with grey running throughout, and a long pipe, his simple clothing and uninterested demeanor betrayed his years as the guild master.
         Approaching the Guildmaster who sat on a high stool, Luke laid his sword on countertop and proclaimed. “I am Luke Brailtar of Hassarda, and I would like to offer my services as a Mercenary.”
         “Yah, ye and six others, I done told ye bastards mercs, I aint got no work, wish I did, but I don‘t. So I’m sorry kid, I can’t help you now, maybe latter, I dun know, aint a mage.” said a sour man returning to looking over a finance report.
         Crestfallen, Luke slumped to a seat at a table nearby the elves spoke in hushed tones.
         “…Yes that would explain it, I also heard that the Kings road has been closed.” the first whispered. “Trouble in Capitol again? Humans always warring with each other, or themselves.” the second replied. “Yes and that’s not the worst of it, with kings road closed, the pass through the Lowland mountains has been closed too, were trapped here for goddess knows how long.” The first returned, drawing out a lute and strumming it idlely. “Yes, it is too bad that Aerlaseia Etrae Raynst isn’t duchess, her bungling brother couldn’t rule a tavern, let alone Archaeos.” “Yes, I agree entirely, he is too much the human, if only he had as much elven blood in him as his sister, she is quite the accomplished diplomat, and a beauty even by our standards.” “Mmm, and I also hear that…” 
         Luke could hear no more as the sunk into a whisper, talking about some juicy bit off gossip he assumed. The lack of work, Luke realized, must stem from the closure of the main way of entering the northern lands. Travel by sea wasn’t feasible at this time of year, and the only other way south, was by way of the caves of Nodrias. Few men spoke of Nodrias without muttering a prayer to appease Xanil god of misfortune.
         Nodrias was rumored to be the home of Vilian himself, but Luke doubted that vilian god of darkness would hide in a dusty old cavern. It was more likely that the nameless lived in Nodrias and that was why no one went there. The nameless where somewhere in between man and ghost, and had little love for mortals, but were scared of light, so if prepared one could easily bypass their troublesome encounter.
         Still lost in thought, Luke had just left the Lodge when a young man crashed into him knocking him to the snow covered ground.
         “Ahh, look what you’ve done you ignorant fool! My robes are covered in mud thanks to you!” The mage (apprentice judging by appearance) protested only then looking at Luke. His anger seemed to subside when he noticed Luke’s sword. “Ah well, I suppose it wasn’t completely your fault, and then, maybe there is a way you can help me after all…” He said, in a amused tone. “I’m looking for a mercenary to assist me in a expedition to Mondrasa, assuming your skills a sufficient to compensate for you lack of, ‘Experience’.”
         Seizing the opportunity to find gainful employment, Luke took the Mage to the Golden Arrow to discuss his terms.
         “So I think you will find these terms more than enough to satisfy.” The mage said handing Luke a purse. Luke opened the purse trying to not look overly interested, but clearly impressed at the sum of money this man was willing to spend. “Ye know, I think that’ll do just fine.” Luke answered slipping the purse into his coat. “But I should at least know your name don’t ye think.”
         “Oh, yes, well, my name is…. Izen. Just Izen.” the mage replied. “Well Just Izen, when do we leave?”
         “Well, there are still a few matters I must attend to, but I think that by the following morn I should be ready, providing all goes according to plan.”
         “I see, well ye best be off to do whatever ye need done, I’ll be waiting on the old road.”
         “No, we should travel the Kings road, the old road is treacherous this time of year, very icy.”
         “Ahuh, I get what ye mean Izen, but King’s Roads a closed do to strife in capitol or what not, so we gots to got through Nodrias Cave to reach Iodesa, and take a boat to Mondrassa.”
         “Nodrias?! Damn, that is unexpected. Hmm, we will have to overcome that problem when we come to it, there must be some way to safely navigate it, despite what the common folk spin tales about around campfires.”
         “so, tomorrow morning at old road?”
         “So it seems.” Izen replied pushing back from the table and standing. ‘Farewell Brailtar.”
         
         Descending the long staircase to the cellar of the Red Blade, the seasoned warrior looked about with caution, careful to make sure none saw him open the secret door to his room at the cellars back.
         As he touched the barley visible runes carved into the Stones of the wall, they flashed with a white light, then returned to darkness. The Man waited as nothing happened. Then a faint outline of a door appeared and he stepped into the wall.
         He never had gotten used to walking through walls, or using the Crystal Eye, a relic that allowed one to communicate with a matching eye no matter its distance.
         The aging warrior knelt before the crystal globe that sat on a pedestal at his small quarters back end.
         “Master it is I, your faithful servant Galanost, I have news.”
         The stone flickered to life at the sound of Gallanost’s voice, and the milky white sphere cleared, focusing in to the visage of his master. He scowled at Galanost.
         “The cause of your anger is known to me your grace, the King’s Blade has not revealed itself despite our efforts, and your plans to use the blood of kings have failed.”
         “Really.” The metallic sounding voice resonated from the orb. “I forgot about my failed attempt at ascending, is there anything else you like to remind me of before I destroy you? .” The orb asked with evident sarcasm.
         Gallanost wondered weather the metallic sound was a byproduct of the stone, or the actual voice of the man. “Yes, well, I have been scouring the northern ruins as you commanded, but I have found little of interest save one thing. The Blood of Kings still flows my liege. We thought the Smithy to be the last but he has sired a brat, and thus the blade may still be within‘ our grasp.”
         “our grasp, indeed. The king’s distant relatives grow fewer by the day, but we have found the boy. His blood is probably even weaker than his father’s, but I have a plan to fix that problem. Follow the boy, but do not reveal yourself as Gallanost, that name is known to our enemies, assume the title Krytan, he is my favorite of your forms. Enter the boys trust, and learn of him, for I have a feeling he may join us if properly trained to understand our position, unlike his deceased relatives.”
         “Your will is my desire.” Gallanost covered the eye with a black cloth. Shuddering at the thought of his brief contact with his master. Gallanost muttered a quick prayer to Dyn to forget his sins, and set to changing his appearance to that of Krytan, a rough soldier for hire with the charm and guile of a pirate and the skills of a assassin.
         A hour later a man in his late twenties, with a thin mustache, green bandana, gold tooth, and assortment of jewelry adjusted his saber as he put on a black leather vest over his cream colored undershirt. Krytan the merchant and ex-pirate had finally returned from his less than profitable journey to the south, and was now hiring his services to earn enough to get back on his feet, or at least that is what this persona’s recent history stated.
         Krytan was Gallanost’s most resourceful appearance, he had little responsibility, and could easily be forgotten as just another pirate (pirating had become extremely common since the kingdoms fall, there was no longer a royal navy, and Cassenport only protected its interests.) but Krytan could easily gain the trust of those of import with his charming nature, outlandish tales , and clever anecdotes.
         He strode out of the Red Blade Lodge with a swagger, heading toward the Golden Arrow to find a bottle of Olandblush Wine and a young man by the name of Luke Brailtar.
         
         “So you were spying on me?” Luke stated matter-of-factly, mild irritation enter his voice.
         “Sorry bout that now, canna be help spose.” Said a dashing pirate, tossing back the curly black locks that had escaped his bandana. “But ye know I be right in me thinking’. I’ve been to Nodrias, I have fought a Chasm Beast! Trust me, there aint no way ye are gonna be ready to protect the magling without me help, and besides, I don’t want much anyhow, thirty percent’s down right decent of me, yeah? The pirate asked with a suspicious grin.
         “Yeah, it is, and that’s what got me worried in the first place, but ye seem to be on the up and up… I guess it shouldn’t be a problem, but I have to explain this to Izen, so how bout you meet us on the Old Road, right?”
         “Sure thing partner. Oh and you should probably ask Izen to bring along a large supply of light stones, Goddess knows how long we may be stuck in that hole, and you don’t wanna run into a pack of shifters with no light to see by. They wont be able to find your bones when those greedy bastards are done with you.” Krytan said with a shudder.
         Luke removed himself from the table and quickly left the inn in search of Izen to tell him of his decision to hire the roguish southerner to aide them in Izen’s quest to reach Mondrassa.
         Krytan still sat at there table, nursing a glass of wine. He grinned as he thought to himself Ah yes, run along little one, go inform the magling of how wonderful your luck is that I should just, happen, upon you at the right time, that I just happened to hear about your quest, that I just happened to not mind working for a pittance. Heaven knows I couldn’t have a alter ear motive, or a agenda… my how naive these boys are…

         
         The sun shone faintly, unsuccessfully trying to burn through the hazy sky of the cold wet day. A chill wind wiped about, moaning as if it too was depressed at the bleakness of the grey.
         Luke was glad he had taken Ryn’s advice and bought a better coat, this one was a dark green color favored in the south, it stood out in the snow but was retained warmth quite well, without being itchy or to thick.
         He walked through the now mostly refrozen slush toward the Ancient Jollindive that sat atop the hill which looked out over Barlign. As he crested the hill he spied Krytan, wearing a thick black jacket and a wide leather cap atop his bandanna. He noticed a tatto of a phoenix with a black sword in its talons on Mrytan’s neck that he had missed the day before, it seemed strangely familiar, but Luke could not place it.
         Wondering where he had seen the symbol Luke greeted Krytan “Hail, and good morn to ye.
         “Aye, and the same to ye. By any chance have ye seen our mage, I don’t fancy waitin’ here is this dismal weather fer him all the day.”
         “you needn’t concern yourself, for I am here now.” Called Izen crested the hill. His Orange robes were gone, replaced with a thick brown travelers robe, and he now wielded a staff covered in faint rune work. “So, shall we continue? I‘d like to make it to the Greenrock before nightfall.”
         “Agreed.” Krytan said straightening his hat and getting to his feet. “we don’t want to be out after dark this close to the Wintersoul, so we best hurry, lest we be caught by Snow Spirits.”
         The Snow Spirits were the only creatures that lived on the highest mountain in Archaeos. Legend holds that they are the life energies of those who Auderous sent to fight Kaust in the war of the gods. but why they Still roam Archaeos, why they chose the Wintersoul, and why they are violent and malicious is anybodies guess, and is a topic of much debate at most the north mage tower.
         The spirits were said to come in groups, usually three to five, encircling there victims, howling in agony. They suck the life energy from their victims, leaving them a cold lifeless shell. Most travelers are wise and leave the peaks of the Wintersoul be, but there is always the ignorant southerner, the Arrogant unbeliever, the overly curious mage, who never return from the mountain just south of Barlign. Its jutting black peaks stabbing into the clouds that obscure its snow laden top.
         Izen and company spent the rest of the day sloshing through the melting snows, soon to give way to spring, making their way down the Old Road, toward the Greerock Inn.
         The sun was setting when the road crested the final hilltop before the Inn. Less than a mile away a old two story building, painted a shade of green similar to cooked green beans, made for a cheery sight in the cold of the winter night. A enchanted lamp slowly grew brighter as they approached, illuminating the front of the inn and its stable. Closing the distance from the inn, they soon heard familiar sounds of a tavern at night. A piano played a soft tune in the background, while the major noises, were of glasses clinking, muffled voices, or the occasional sound of laughter.
         “Finally, I thought we might have to camp in this dreadful weather! I cant wait for a hot bath, a mulled wine, and a soft bed, I had forgotten how rough a days hike in the country could be.” Izen said with relief.
         “ah yes, the Greenrock, its been almost a year since I was here last.” Krytan said out loud to himself. “I wonder if that lass with the beautiful…” he trailed off a grin on his face.
         “you are quite the ne’er-do-well aren’t you Krytan?” Izen laughed slapping him on the back. “come on, lets hurry up and get something to eat, I’m famished.”
         Luke remained quite as he had throughout most of the trip. His sense of unease had only grown over the day, and it now bordered on dread.

         The tavern was busy for such a miserable winters night, and at least a dozen people lounged and dinned in the common room
         Krytan pushed past a group of merchants and secured the party a table at the far end near the fireplace. He pulled out a chair a sat down, taking off his wet coat and hat, and pulling out a small pipe. “So tell a me little more about magic izen, I have traveled far and seen much, but mages seem to be quite secretive in the telling of magic’s use.” Krytan queried, alternating from taking a drag off his pipe and sipping at his wine..
         “well, for starters, magic is the manipulation of energy, energy that flows through all things. To be a mage is to be trained in the art of seeing the energy with one’s mind, and controlling it, bending its flow to your will, and what ever new course you wish it to go. Much like diverting a river, it requires strength and persistence.” Izen said, in between bites of the stale bread that sat in a bowl on the table.
         “So if I was trained to see energy I could do magic as well?” Krytan asked while surveying the patrons of the Greenrock.
         “Yes well, its not quite that simple. Not everyone has the same skill at manipulating energy, it requires a mental will or great stuburness, for since the magi, the energies resist our interfearence, and so we now only can toy with the most malleable energies. Fire, cold, sound, and light. Some mages are powerful enough to command electricity, but that is dangerous, for those energies are powerful and unpredictable.”
         “Yes, I have heard the magi once wielded greater powers, do ye know of any spells they might had done?”
         “In the histories at the mages tower, it was said they could force gravity, wield the power of death, or even bind the essence of life, and it was said the fall of the magi, was summoned by a mage known as Syrol the dark, who discovered how to create a protective barrier around himself made from the energies of life itself, and thus stayed deaths hand becoming immortal”
         “As if one could believe such nonsense, immortality, bah, ye know its bloody stupid.“ Krytan claimed, blowing a cloud off smoke, and casually dismissing the fact he knew to be only too true.
         “Yes in all reality it is probably purely legend, many of the worlds histories were lost with the fall of the magi, and much is only recorded from oral tradition.”
         “Well, I think I know enough about magic, and would like to know a little more about the food this place dishes out. I think I’ll go buy a round of ale, and we can see if they have any good eatin’s”
         “good eatin’s indeed.” Izen muttered with amusement at the rough fellow’s vernacular.
         And so the night passed, Luke ate mostly in silence while Izen and Krytan drank and talked. Hours passed while they swapped stories and legends, and while Krytan made friendly with a comely serving wench. Luke still could not shake his thoughts of dark futures, and ominous portents.

         Olanar Drathern eyed his opponent warily. The bandit had a dagger dripping in a black substance that Olanar could only guess was poison, and was ready to use it on the dwarf. The bandit was skinny for a human, all skin and bones, and his tight black leather armor only accentuated his smallness. But this bandit made up for lack of muscle with speed and tenacity. Olanar parried the dagger with his own, wishing he had his broad sword with him at the moment instead of the jeweled dagger he kept in his boot as a last resort. The bandit thrust forward stabbing at Olanar’s stomach. Olanar dodged to the right grabbing the man’s arm as he came forward and swinging him into the close wall of the ally. The bandit smashed face first into the wall, dropping his dagger and staggering back from Olanar. Not one to give up a opportunity, Olanar launched a attack of his own,  stabbing at the man’s unprotected backside. But the bandit was not as unaware as Olanar had first assumed. The bandit spun kicking the blade from Olanars grasp, and following with a second kick to Olanar’s chest. The wind haven been driven from Olanar’s chest, olanar lay prone, unarmed, and stunned. The bandit reached into his armor, retrieving a dirk and driving forward, intending on skewering Olanar. Grabbing a nearby barrel lid, from the debris that littered the ally, Olanar got the wooden lid up just in time. The dagger punched through, not reaching Olanar’s heart by a short inch. Twisting the lid, Olanar flung the bandits dirk from his hands, and kicked out at the mans groin. With his eyes rolling up in his head, the bandit sank to his knees. The dwarf, standing stood eye to eye with the man, grinning, Olanar head butted the man and he heard a sickening crunch as the mans nose broke and he fell to his side, unconscious.
         Brushing the dust of his slate colored tunic, and black breeches, olanar stroked his long grey beard eyeing his downed opponent. Olanar wondered what had possessed the man to attack him without provocation, and the poison dagger hinted at larger motive than a mugging. Olanar searched the man looking for some clue as to the reason behind the attack but finding none. Olanar had a idea as to why the attack had came though. Before his father had died, he had given Olanar a gift, a orb, the size of a apple, made of solid gold, covered in runes. He told Olanar to keep it safe, to keep it hidden, and then he died. Olanar had kept it in a small antique chest in the attic of his house in Nalathea. One day, having just returned from a log days work, arguing with a local merchant about the pay he was about to receive for guarding a caravan to Massarde. He was shocked to find a old man, sporting a knee length black beard, dark red robes, and a ornate cane, sitting at his dinning table. The man told him that he was searching for a Orb, and believed that Olanar might have it somewhere in his house. Olanar was surprised, for he had told no one of the Orb, since the day his father gave it to him, fifty years prior.
         Olanar told the man he had no idea what he was talking about and to leave is home immediately. The man gave Olanar a sideways glance and grinned saying in his cold clipped voice. So be it. He left, and Olanar had not seen him since. But he had sensed he was being followed twice since then, and this time, he had caught the man who was pursuing him, the human bandit. Olanar had his suspicion that the man worked for the red robbed stranger. He returned to his house immediately, to find the Orb and make sure it was safe. When he reached his home he found it in complete disarray. The kitchen was a mess, his table was upside down, his couch torn and slashed, his cupboards emptied onto the kitchen floor. Olanar ran up the steep stairs to the Attic, he found his boxes and chest open their contents strewn. Olanar pushed the cabinet in the back from the wall, exposing the trapdoor to the crawlspace. He opened it and retrieved the antique chest. He quickly opened it, and found the Golden orb, sparkling slightly in the dim light that filtered through the dirty attic window.
         “Well done, well done indeed. Thank you for leading me to my prize dwarf.” said a familiar cold voice, a man in red emerging from the shadows like a ghost. “I knew my friend would prompt your return, and the state of your hovel would distress you into such a search.”
         Olanar stuffed the orb into his pocket and turned to face the old man. A smug expression on his face and his cane pointed like a blade, the man laughed. His dark blue eyes held the look of one who held no compassion, no feeling, no life. He motioned for Olanar to come forward, but the dwarf did not move.
         “Come now dwarf, there is no need for this to become, violent.” the man said with no emotion. “Just hand orb the Orb and I might let you live.”
         “Ye think I’m ignorant, ye’ve proven what ye will do to get it, wouldn’t be least surprised if ye would kill me to not leave any loose ends. I don‘t know who ye are, but I got a feeling, I don‘t wanna.”
         “My name is Sylon the Dark, my perceptive Dwarf.” the man said with dripping sarcasm. “Well, if that’s how this shall play out, then you may Dyn have mercy on your soul…”
         Sylon began chanting in a low tone, waving his cane in strange motions. A dark cloud began to form at the canes end, and small forks of red lightning sparked out of it, striking nearby boxes. The boxes once hit turned dark, and began to crumble, as if they had lay in the attic for countless years, and were now old and decrepit. Olanar had little doubt that the cloud of darkness would do the same to him. Looking about in a search for a escape, Olanar eyed the grimy window. Sylon, obviously a mage, saw Olanar’s gaze, and noticed the nearby window. He began chanting once more, but olanar was quicker, he dodged from the oncoming cloud, and flung himself at the window. It shattered, and the dwarf fell out of sight.
         A Nalathea merchant climbed down from his cart of silks from Iodessa, and headed off to get a drink at the tavern. He looked back at his cart just in time to see a small thing explode from the second story window above his cart. It was followed by a black cloud which exploded in a red flash, knocking him to his knees, and blinding him. He squinted, blinking away tears as he saw his surprised horses bolt, carrying away his silk and the dwarf who had landed on them.

         Olanar fought to stand in the cart full of shifting silk cloths. The cart bounded down the lane, scattering pedestrians, and destroying merchants stalls. Olanar got his feet, and crawled toward the drivers seat, and the reigns. Olanar grimaced as he saw the road lead toward a tall brick wall of one of the two story houses that clustered the slums of Nalathea. Jumping to the seat and grasping the reigns, he desperately tried to get the horses to turn, avoiding the wall and keeping the cart from flipping. The horses pounded out the city gates, and Olanar heard the city watch’s angered shouts as the ran down the King’s Road cursing the runaway cart. Olanar looked over his shoulder at his home of the last fifty years, and decided that it was time to move on, sell the silks at Domustai, and take the Old Road to Geora, where he could see if any of his father’s old friends knew anything about the Orb, and he could easily keep a low profile at the Dwarven Citadel, as oppose to being one of the few dwarves who didn’t live in Geora.
         Olanar also though he might see if any had heard of Syrol the Dark at the Mages College, not that he trusted the professors of the Arcane, but if there was a mage who could be trusted, that’s were you would find him.

         The sun had not yet risen as Krytan rose from his bedroll and snuck out of the small cave two days away from the Greenrock in which they had slept last night. He uncovered the Crystal Eye and summoned his master. “Master, all goes well, we approach Nodrias, and I have already befriended the mage, though the king’s boy is proving rather aloof, I fear he mistrusts me for some reason, though I know not why.”
         The image in the eye condensed into the scowling visage of his master, dark blue eyes under a furrowed black brow. “Good, see to it you persuade him soon. A matter of import has occurred. A dwarf named Olanar from Nalathea has been  discoverer to possess the Orb of Jockribe, and flees to Geora as we speak. If you make good time in Nodrias, you may just meet him on the Old Road. “ rasped the eye.
         “Shall I kill him milord?” Krytan inquired with Detachment. “Or shall I convince him to join our party as well?”
         “Do not kill the dwarf yet, he is, resourceful and will undoubtedly be of much help in securing the Mancer’s Stone. But after the stone is ours, I think a convenient accident may unfortunately happen, disposing of our dwarf, and the mage whelp too.”
         “Yes, I must take care to be sure the stone does not fall into the mages hands, he could prove a problem if he mastered it use. Hmm, a question before we part once more. The Orb of Jockribe, what does it do? I would hate to have any, unexpected events, ruins you’re plans.”
         “yes, yes, the Orb belonged to my nemesis, Jockribe. He seemed to have possessed the ability to come unscratched from even the most dangerous of encounters. The orb has absorbed the trait, though it could not spare Jockribe from the ravages of age, the fool, he laughed at my quest for immortality, but it is he who rots in the dirt, not I, and soon I shall return to my place as a god among men!” said Krytan’s master, a maniacal grin splayed across his face.
         “That sounds quite useful, but dangerous as well, the dwarf could present a problem.”
         “No, he shall be a tool to our cause. If any can reach the Mancer’s Stone, he shall be able. There are many dangers in Loramon’s Tomb, the least of which could undo most men.”
         “Loramon, was he the one known as the mancer?” Krytan asked “you have spoken little of him in comparison to your summaries of the other Magi, I remember you saying that he was perhaps the greatest save yourself, and you had respect for him alone, but you left it at that.
         “Loramon, was my Partner, a gifted fellow, whose aide allowed me to accomplish many things that would have otherwise taken too much time.. He and I worked side by side for many years, until he stumbled across my research into immortality. He was afraid of such power, he was weak, he threatened to expose me from fear, and had to be dealt with regrettably. I built Mondrassa as his tomb, out of respect for his work. I now realize how idiotic such notions are, friendship, loyalty, kindness. I have seen centuries pass, countless deaths, betrayals, injustices, the fool made king Auderous may think Vilian banished, but his presence is everywhere, darkness is inevitable. And so I shall hasten its coming with the mancer’s stone, but take car, i placed many wards to keep Loramon safe whilst in the height of my power. I never expected to need his relic and I placed the Mancer’s stone on his grave. I shall guide you through my traps and guardians, and my Partners legacy shall assist my goals, despite my partners opposition to them. Ironic, hmmm, but enough history lessons Krytan, seeking knowledge is a virtue, but wasting my time is a sin, so return to your camp and ready to proceed, the dwarf is crucial, don’t miss him.”

Syrol turned from the crystal eye, and sank into a soft armchair he had placed nearby. The cost of using the magic device taxed him to his limits, bitterly he thought; If only I was still in the age of magi, this tool would take less than a thought to use, and now it costs me dearly. Syrol coughed violently, blood flecking his lips, he snarled. “Damn you Auderous! And damn the Magi for betraying me. Well, at least they got their reward for turning me in to Auderous, he striped them of their power, turned us all into shells of our former self’s. But soon, soon I shall recover the relics, and his damnable sword…

Carefully placing the Eye into his pack, Krytan walked back to camp. As he approached the mouth of the cavern, he found Luke waiting.
         “You’re up early Krytan.” Luke stated his arms folded across his chest and a slight edge to his voice.
         Realizing that he had been acting a little suspicious as of late, Krytan decided he must try and appear more, normal, to Luke. “Yeah, I was cleaning my saber, by the way, would you like to train a little, improve you swordsmanship some? I know a good early morning workout can do you wonders.”
         Luke remained quiet for a moment, looking krypton over and apparently coming to a decision. “Okay, it would be good to know you’re fighting style anyhow, I’m sure a seaman like yourself has a unique one having once been a pirate.”
         Krytan was glad that his lie about being a pirate had at least some truth, before he became Syrol’s servant he did work as a guard on the trade ship Stormsail, and had seen the way pirates fought up close and to violent ends.
         Krytan stretched a bit before unsheathing his blade, then he dropped low keeping his blade close and started slowly circling Luke. Luke wielding his silver longsword, two handed, cut the air, making a loud swoosh, and advanced toward Krytan. Luke went to the right slashing diagonally across Krytan’s chest, Krytan parried the attack aside and counter and slashed at Luke’s unprotected side. Luke managed to get his sword in place, only barley blocking the slice, and tried to hold his own as krypton unleashed a volley of strikes, driving Luke backwards. Suddenly Luke feet left the ground, as he slipped on a patch of ice, falling flat on his back. Krytan dove forward, and Luke had to roll to avoid being skewered. Quickly regaining his feet Luke called out “Damn Krytan, I thought this was just some friendly sparing?”
         “What use is friendly sparing when the enemies you will face will not be friendly at all, or in the mood to spar!?” Krytan asked lunging at Luke. Luke was not caught unaware this time and riposted nearly scoring a hit of Krytan, but Krytan had foreseen this and had purposely altered his thrust, dodging out of Luke’s reach and backhanding him instead of impaling him. Luke started to grow angry as his hits continued to be parried or dodged, and he was hit three times with the flat of Krytan’s blade. Luke charged Krytan, hoping to take him off guard, he raised his blade in a overhead chop, but Krytan just slipped forward under his guard, punched him twice the gut, and delivered a uppercut that sent him reeling. Luke’s blade flew from his hands as he fell, and Luke groaned as Krytan stepped on his hand, preventing him from reaching the blade.
         “Do you yield, Lukas, or shall I have to be you more, eh?”
         “Didn’t I tell ye, don’t call me Lukas!” Luke yelled, kicking Krytan in the side of his ankle, dropping him to his knees and freeing his hand. Luke grabbed his sword, and retreated, crouching low and eyeing Krytan, waiting for a opening.
         “Good, ye have potential lad, but potential won’t stop cold steel!” he barked, slicing at Luke. Luke parried his blows, aware that he now faced the same situation as earlier, and was slowly being baked toward the ice. But as he reached the ice, he was careful to step on the one spot of ice free soil, maintaining his balance. Krytan continued to press forward, and almost lost his balance on the slippery surface of the ground. Luke bashed his blade into Krytan’s wrist, knocking his saber to the snow, and followed with a punch that knocked Krytan from his perch.
         Breathing heavily, Krytan surrendered. “Good boy, ye learn quick. Luring me onto the ice, you’re more experienced than ye seem boy, where ye train?”
         “Practiced with wooden swords me whole life, and I learned how to fight dirty from my father.”
         “Ye father eh, wasn’t he the bloke who up and disappeared?” Krytan asked trying to seem unassuming.
         “”yes, but when did I tell you that Krytan?” Luke asked his suspicion back again.
         “I’m sure you mentioned it at one time or another, but I really just wanted to tell you that I was sorry you had to go through that. My own father beat me.”
         “Really?” Luke asked actually surprised. “now that you mention it, I really don’t know much about you Krytan, what’s you’re story?”
         “come from Cassenport, father was a wealthy merchant, mother was just a pretty face, some nobles daughter me dad married to gain influence at the Duke’s court. Me dad always wanted me to succeed him and run the shipping business after him. I always wanted to live the life of a sailor, for the sea is my true love.” Krytan said, his tale convincing for so far it was close to the truth. “But me dad would have non of it. ‘no son of mine is going to be some low life sailor, some common laborer! You are of a higher caliber Krytan, you have privilege, and with that comes responsibility.’ he would say. Eventually I started sneaking out and learning the trade on a fishing boat, but when me dad found out, the bastard set fire to the old man who taught me’s boat, and bribed the harbor master into saying it was a accident.  I told the old man I would buy him a new boat, but me dad didn’t believe in charity, and me allowance was Spartan to say the least. So I hooked up with a group of less than reputable sorts, told them the easiest way to waylay me father’s boats, and I suddenly found meself as a pirate.”
         “What happened, why aren’t you still pirating?” Luke asked, curious as to why the pirate was so far north.
         “Like I said earlier, me father has influence with the duke of Cassenport, and he put out a bounty on me head! Pirates ain’t the most loyal people you’ll meet, and I had to get out of Cassenport fast. I ended up working as a guard on a merchant boat that ran from Liastrell, to Nalathea, then up to Toretal. Damn fools got us frozen in and had to spend the winter up in Barlign cause Malyn blocked the King’s Road. But now I can earn some cash, get back south.”
         “If the bounty still be active, ye probably gonna have to go in disguise. you any good at that sort of thing.”
         Krytan eyed Luke, searching to see if Luke had any clue to his actually profession as a spy. “Ye learn all sorts of things as a pirate and a wanted man, I can manage.”
         “Good, I’d hate to get that far and be arrested before Izen pays me. Plus I’m looking forward to exploring Mondrassa. Besides, we probably won‘t meet anyone from Cassenport in Massarde.”
         Fool, if you knew the horrors my master placed to protect Loramon, you would change you’re tune. “Yeah, and maybe we can stop of at Iodessa afterwards, try some exotic food, and drink, and women.” and deliver you into the hands of my master, who has a tower near Iodessa.
         “Oh, you mentioned Liastrell, whats it like, it has to be the one
         “Yes, I hope so, you know they have the largest palace outside of Sokailas, The Eskrelair house has become as wealthy as the royal family, er, royal, whatever, the kingdom. And Atravius Eskrelair, the current dukes grandfather, built Eskrendast the Red Palace. Called such for it was made from red sandstone.”
         “well aren’t you just a little book of knowledge, where’d you learn that, ye don’t look like the bookish type.”
         “Ryn, my great uncle, he told me stories and I spent a lot of time with him, avoiding Theon, learning the sword, and hearing his tales of his days as a bard.”
         “You’re related to the Bard Ryn of the North, well I’ll be, I saw Ryn play at the Duke’s Court in Massarde when I was but a boy.” and so Luke and Krytan exchanged tales, and stories for a couple of hours while Izen slept late, tired from his lack of physical conditioning. It wasn’t until noon that they packed to head into Nodrias, which lay only a few miles south, near lake Spara.
         The group stopped as Nodrias came into sight. The road ended suddenly, and loose shale lead downward at a steep angle into the gaping cavern mouth, hanging stalactites made the cave only look more unwelcoming, like it was waiting to devour any foolish enough to trespass.
         Izen reached into his pocket, retrieving a light stone the size off a egg. He put both hands around the smooth grey quartz spoke in the language of magic, and rub his hands together for a moment, until a pale white blue light seeped out. Izen flicked the stone to Krytan and motioned for him to take point and for Luke to guard the rear.
         Krytan stopped short of the cave turning to say “Guys, there are a few rules to go over before we enter the cave. One, don’t leave the light under any circumstance. No matter what you see or hear, no matter whatever I might do, you two do not leave the light. Number two, no stops, the cave is only four hours long if we don’t stop, and the less time were in this godforsaken place the better. And three, Izen, hand Luke a light stone, and having it enspelled so all he has to do is rub, if we are attacked, run, do not, and I repeat do not, turn off the main path, it leads straight through the mountain, if you loose youre way, don’t expect to be found.”
         Izen and Luke looked nervously at each other, as Krytan disappeared into the dark, they rushed to catch up.
         Olanar finished selling the last of the silks and the cart and horses. It may have been faster to travel with them, but he would also be easier to spot in a cart, plus dwarves weren’t overly fond of horses.
         Having a large bag of coins and standing in the Domustai market, Olanar decided to stock up on supplies and equipment. Best to prepare for the worst his father always said.
         Olanar was trying various flavors of jerky and dried meat when he suddenly felt very odd, and had the overwhelming desire to leave the booth. He apologized to the merchant and scurried away to another nearby booth. Less than a minute later a fight broke out near the jerky stand, and one of the combatants was apparently a mage, for he hurled a fireball at his assailant, which missed, hitting the jerky stand, and surrounding are and turning it into a fire storm. The merchant rolled on the ground in agony as the guards arrested the mage and the attacker, and healers attend the merchant.
         If I hadn’t moved, that would have been me… Olanar thought realizing his good fortune. Not knowing the power of the Orb of Jockribe’s power to protect him. Muttering a quick prayer to Ganfren, Olanar finished his shopping and left Domustai. It was three hours still until noon and a nice day for spring. A warm southern breeze kept temperatures warm, and there was little or no snow this far south.
         Arriving at the turnoff to the Old Road, olanar started west toward Geora. The Citadel, Geora, Home. Olanar thought to himself, reminiscing what has it been, fifty years? I wonder of Kanraen ever finished his apprenticeship, or if Douren and Pliesa ever tied the knot. Olanar was soon deep in thought, for the first time in fifty years, actually missing his former home.