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The Spirit Caller - Chapter 6 Written by: Cymrick Ravenfoot PILGRIM AND MENDICANT Surefall Glade was before me. Meeting the denizens of the druid stronghold gave me my first glimpse of the larger world around me. Equally strange and intriguing were the multitude of fellow travelers whom I found waiting at the Glade. All had come looking for answers, myself included. Sadly, Surefall did not offer any resolution to my quest. Instead, I found more questions to which there were no ready answers. The mystery of my visions deepened as I encountered others who struck me with the same feeling of familiarity that the ranger Taelosi had elicited. For the first time, I began to appreciate the serpentine nature of the path that lay ahead. I have never been fond of lines. Whether marching in column to some destination or standing rank and file for an assembly, I find the gathering distasteful. I’ll freely admit that this is due mostly to my own quarrelsome and distant ways, as I’ll usually find something unpalatable about the people I’m forced to march along side. Imagine my joy when I finally draw near to my long-sought destination, only to find myself at the hind end of a long column snaking towards the stone archways of the Surefall Glade. The late break of winter had created treacherous roadways, brigands and hungry wildlife on all of the ways east. When the weather finally cleared enough for the common man to dare the hazardous journey across the Plains of Karana, travelers descended upon the Jaggedpine Forest in a deluge. Merchants, pilgrims, travelers, messengers, craftsmen, and would-be students all clamored along the trails to Surefall hoping to gain entrance before the rains came again. Amidst the press of humanity, I stand fully three fourths towards the back of the line wishing I had thirty feet of empty air around me. Instead, I have a large family of farmers walking directly in front of me, with a portion of their livestock in attendance. I’ll confess that I find the company of their squealing pigs more comforting than their many, small children. To my right is a dark-skinned erudite, wearing brown travel clothes that are reminiscent of a scholar’s robes. Directly behind me is an apprentice bard, plucking his lute and warbling an unfamiliar song in adolescent tones. I had had the foresight to don my shaman regalia in preparation to entering this line. My garb and the surly expression on my blue painted face had the desired effect. No one had tried to talk to me yet, but the line was moving very slowly and the tedium was wearing down my resolve. Invariably, I took to diverting myself by examining my surroundings and my fellow travelers. I looked first to the erudite beside me. At a glance, he didn’t seem all that impressive. He was three inches shorter than myself, with a lean build and a shaved head. He was wearing a thick brown robe with a high collar, as if he found the temperature cool, and was carrying two satchels, one of them obviously a book bag. After a moment of eyeing him, I realized he was also examining me in a similar fashion. "What?!" I snarled after a moment of silence, hoping that he’d lower his gaze and scurry away. Instead, the forward erudite took my challenge as an invitation to converse. "Fascinating adornments you have, Northman. Religious garb of a sort, hmmm?" His voice was a surprise, it had a rich timbre and every word was pronounced with no trace of an accent. I had to remind myself that the dark-skinned man was only slight by the standards of my people. "Yes." I answered curtly. Go away! "Your blue face paint. That is also of some religious significance?" he inquired mildly. "Yes." I answered woodenly. "You could say it is." "Interesting how your hat is fashioned from a bear’s skull. It has a particular odor..." He tapped his right forefinger against his lips. "Do the holy people of your order wear this... head piece... all the time?" You are a terribly, terribly effeminate little man. Do you realize this? I bared my teeth and tried my best to fill my eyes with quiet bloodlust. "Not always. It is only for special rituals and trials." "I see. Yes, yes. As I expected." he said with a nod, completely overlooking (or ignoring) my fevered stare, and was then silent. After a moment, my curiosity overtook me. "Is that all you wanted to know?" I demanded. "Hmmm?" He had turned away from me and now looked back. "Forgive me. I was only musing about how the druids may react to a northerner coming to their gates garbed for a ritual sacrifice." There was a trace of mirth in his voice and he seemed just a touch patronizing. "They are men of wisdom. They’ll likely leave me the hell alone!" I turned to face him, starting to lose my temper. I hadn’t thought about how the druids would react to my appearance and it irked me that I’d get lectured about it by a random erudite on the path. I was beginning to see why erudites aren’t very well liked in Halas. "Ah." He was unmoved by my pique. "What brings you to the Surefall Glade then? I don’t see any newborn calves amongst your possessions. Are you attending a sacrifice?" "No business of yours." I answered levelly. His demeanor was too cool and collected for my liking. It was like a dash of freezing water in my face. I realized that he was amusing himself by pricking my temper and doing a marvelous job of it. If he had dashed up and struck my shins with a stick I would have been just as annoyed, but only barely. I decided to play along rather than confront him. "What brings you to the Surefall Glade, erudite?" I asked in my most subtle, ignorant-barbarian tone. "Are you a holy man on a pilgrimage perhaps?" "I am a holy man but I am not on a pilgrimage." he answered suavely, seeming to grow bored with our conversation. "You’re a holy man?!" I tried to act surprised, "What deity do you worship?" He smiled like a teacher instructing a troublesome student. "Quellious the Tranquil." I favored the dark-skinned cleric with the blankest of stares before I let the light of recognition shine in my eyes. "Aye! By the Tribunal I’ve heard of Quellious! He’s the God of Isolation and Soft Living, isn’t he?" With that, he was paying attention to our conversation once more. "No. Not in the least, my large, naïve bystander." He shook his head as if he were lecturing a child. "My people have very deep and meaningful beliefs. The faith of Quellious is a glorious tapestry of age old wisdom, subtle nuances of thought and enlightened spiritualism. The tenants of my religion are far elevated from the crass survivalist habits of the northmen species." As he offered up his cross tirade, I silently mouthed his large words just for effect. I responded as soon as he paused for air. "This is why I don’t argue with erudites." I said, shaking my head sadly with a morose look on my face. "The only thing they are interested in talking about is how they are so much better than I am. I wonder if this self-superiority is a comfort or a burden?" I stared straight ahead and advanced with the line, a large rat-like grin on my face. I could hear him take a sharp breath but stifle his response. The next minute was spent in silence, as he quietly rattled his prayer beads. I was also amused to note that everybody around us was had lapsed into nervous silence. "Intriguing." he said at last, his voice smooth and level once more. "A clever northman. Apparently the backwaters of Norrath do produce the occasional ‘diamond in the rough’. Imagine what you would be capable of if you had only received a proper education." I gave a firm nod. "Agreed." Looking ahead and trying to hide my grin, I continued, "Perhaps with your help I could find true wisdom at the universities of Erud? Just think... I too could be mincing around the wilderness, carrying no weapons, and hassling large men who are wearing severed animal parts." We both walked in silence for several minutes, trying to hide our mirth. The tortured silence of those around us was too delicious to let pass. Erudites have as fierce a reputation as my kinsmen, though the erudites are feared for their love of dangerous knowledge not their martial prowess. While we were both amusing ourselves at the expense of our own racial stereotypes, those around us were obviously wondering if we were planning on murdering one another. The erudite gave a dry chuckle. "I must admit, curiosity and boredom do create in me a dangerous alchemy. Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Soleim Yemiah, disciple of Quellious." "Ha! Well met Soleim. I am Cymrick McMarrin, servant of the Six Hammers." Grinning once again, I shook his hand. "I also hate waiting in lines. Standing around makes me cranky." "Hmmm... so I had noticed." Hanging his prayer beads back around his neck, Soleim nodded in my direction. "Perhaps we could pass the time by making more polite discussion?" "Perhaps that’s for the best. The man in front of us is sweating on me." I peered grimly ahead, only just able to see the head of the line. Soleim and I talked for some time. The morning sun rose in the sky and the gates of the druid stronghold steadily drew near as we argued about various topics. As I anticipated, Soleim proved to be a frustrating foe. Debate has never been my strength and the erudite displayed a profound knowledge of many subjects. It was clear that Soleim was more motivated by intellectual curiosity than any desire to elevate himself above others. The pass into Surefall was guarded by legionnaires from Qeynos, in compliance with a long standing treaty between the Magistracy of Qeynos and the druids of Surefall. When we finally did reach the checkpoint, the guards quickly determined that we were not fugitives and allowed us to pass. After being admitted, I quickened my pace, gratefully leaving the throng behind me. Once away from the crowd, I turned to my momentary companion and bid him farewell. "Good meeting you Soleim. I must go." "Very well, Cymrick." He gestured towards the heart of the glade. "Perhaps we could meet again later and talk? There is an inn by the lake that offers an excellent view and is usually quiet enough for civilized discourse." "Ha! Maybe. Though I’m not interested in talking philosophy anymore, fair warning to you." "Another matter entirely I assure you. A more serious inquiry." I was curious but I had other matters to attend to. If Soleim was still around in a few days, I would talk to him again, just to see what he wanted from me. Though not the first erudite I’d ever seen, he was the first I’d ever spoken with. He was not at all what I expected. His sense of humor in particular ran contrary to what I’ve heard about erudites. Wonders of the Rathe never cease. I had heard before the tales of a wondrous glade that lay within the Jaggedpine Forest. An ancient place of great tranquility. After first witnessing the solemn peace of Surefall, I realized that words had not done it justice. The glade was home to a great grove of ancient pine trees, a silent host standing witness to the passage of centuries. The mighty trees were so old that I could not see their crowns whilst standing by their feet. Many stood as broad around as a small house. There were buildings here. Dwellings erected amidst the giant’s toe-like roots. There were also very few people, surprising considering the line at the gate. I knew there must be more strangers lurking here, but I could see only a handful at a time. It was as if people vanished once entering Surefall. Sunlight and water also came hesitantly: a small lake, a few cold streams, a waterfall, and slanted shafts of pale light but never any rain. It seemed as if sun and water came only to bring their blessings for the trees. Sounds were also mouse-like and timid here, people and noise both absorbed by the grove. I could see why my people rarely visit this place. There was something unearthly about the Surefall Glade. Something not easily explained. Standing amidst living creatures to which my life span is but a fleeting instant was a sobering feeling. Although I had not been a shaman long, my senses could easily perceive the power of this place. Though Surefall would become my home for several months, I would never lose my respect for the place. My words always came in lowered tones and my actions were always carefully considered here. Surefall Glade is home and stronghold of the druids and rangers that protect it. They call themselves the Protectors of the Pine. They are men and women, mostly humans, who worship Tunare and combat those who would wield the logging axe and hunting spear within their hallowed forest. They punish transgressors the way others hunt murderers and rapists. No trials, no mercy, only executions. A typically human interpretation of the Earth Mother’s will. They are dangerous people, but only if you betray their laws. They are also very wise, which is what makes them interesting to me. After storing my belongings in a small but clean inn room, I wasted no time beginning my inquiries. Sagely deciding to set aside my battle garb, I went to prowl the common room of the inn and make conversation with the locals. I learned much about the druid’s home on my first day there. The most important information I acquired, however, was that Saggius Hothwell was indeed as dead as I had heard and that he had left behind no pupils or close colleagues. Apparently Saggius was an esoteric and solitary man in life, who was given to crazy pursuits. Just the kind of man who would have a place in my past. Also the kind of man to die and leave no trace of his passage. I was left with a veritable dead end in my quest to unravel the mystery put to me by the Spirit of Wolves. Moreover, the way back to Halas was now impassible due to mounting hostilities between the northern tribes. With no where to go and no obvious line of questioning to pursue, I set myself to my own interests. I took up academic studies amongst the denizens of the glade. I began my studies with only the intent of strengthening my language skills. Though I could speak the northmen and common tongues well, my competency with the written word was noticeably less than the skills of the young adults in Surefall. A barbarian coming to study languages amidst the druids raised some eyebrows, but no criticism. I practiced stoic silence and moved with a quiet menace, proving yet again that being a savage amongst the civilized folks has some advantages. Before long my mundane studies metamorphosed into a more cabalistic pursuit of forbidden knowledge. My newfound interest in books and words opened up a new avenue of investigation for me. The druids are the inheritors of much old lore, passed down generation to generation by the servants of Tunare. Though much of their works were not for the eyes of strangers, what was open to me surpassed by far the topics available to a dweller of Halas. It was all I could do to not neglect my martial practice. I read scripture, fiction, history, sorcery and science. Much I did not comprehend but every new thought brought about a subtle change in my outlook. I was taken by a fever more powerful than the pox that nearly claimed me in my youth: curiosity. The subjects at which I excelled the most were topics of spirits, old powers and gods. I also learned a few lessons about the power of the druids and rangers. Those who worship Tunare and serve her will are granted great powers, provided they have the wisdom and the will to accept her gifts. Druids use a kind of magic similar to the powers commanded by shamans. Like us, they move and entreat natural forces. Unlike shamans, they do so by prayer, *not* barter. Though shamans may perceive all the powers of nature, we are only able to command those that we can endure through strength of body and will. The soldiers of Tunare, on the other hand, are protected by the love of their goddess and empowered to manipulate forces fatal to any other being. Mastery over the forces of nature is a frightening thing indeed. Druids can change their shape, conjure fire, command the animals and the trees, and even heal the sick with Tunare’s blessing. If a druid is exceptionally strong, control of the weather and the earth is not beyond his grasp. They are not without limits however; their magic is taxing, more so than the spiritualism of my people. The inner fire that fuels the magic of a shaman is indeed like a flame, rekindling far quicker than the tranquil reservoir that fuels druidic magic. Their service to the Earth Mother also prevents them from forming binding pacts with the spirit world. Druids are mostly unable to summon and command spirit guardians or totems of any kind. All save one that is... Infamous for her tireless machinisms and struggles with the gods, the Spirit of the Wolves has some dealing with Tunare and her children. I should not have been surprised by this, but I was. Her ancient pact with the Earth Mother cast new complications upon my own quest. I was quite sure that the dratted Wolf Mother had some role in my father’s demise, but the thought that Tunare may have played a part as well was a source of concern for me. While I was not so self-centered to believe that such forces would be interested in the lives of my kin, I don’t have the same rosy impression of the Earth Mother that many of her gentle children do. Certainly, she does love all her creations but she *is* the Goddess of Nature. Nature is a cycle to which both death and birth belong. There are larger mysteries in my past. I’m certain of it... and it worries me. My most clever ally in my pursuit of knowledge turned out to be none other than Soleim Yemiah. We met again during one of my late night study sessions in the great library. Our meeting was much less due to chance than I initially supposed, as it turned out that Soleim is a great scholar who haunts places of learning as a ghost haunts his tomb. He was returning manuscripts with the intention of borrowing more when he spied me reading at my table, surrounded by books and lit tapers. The sagacious erudite had been practicing an uncommon form of modesty when he politely conversed with me outside Surefall. The workings of the erudite’s mind were far beyond my ken. I quickly found that Soleim is interested in any knowledge beyond his own personal experience. Geography, alchemy, poetry, theology, sorcery, archaeology, astrology, history, dead languages, ancient monsters... everything is his area of study. There are too many mysteries in the universe for Soleim to sleep for more than four hours in a day. Amongst those mysteries is the puzzle of a young scholar shaman. In this fashion, I came to have a curious erudite as a study partner during my stay in Surefall. Though I couldn’t bring myself to trust Soleim enough to enlist his aid in unraveling the manipulations of the Wolf Spirit, having him around did prevent me from having to look up too many long words. Watching the erudite conduct his personal research also made me aware of my own limitations as a scholar. It was during my months of study here that I first began to keep journals. When I first decided to pen a journal, I had only intended to record the details of my encounters with the Spirit of Wolves. My memory of the handful of dreams and visions in which she appeared was threadbare at best. But before long, I began to keep a record of the many events that transpired since my departure from Halas. Writing about my thoughts and experiences became a ritual of subtle importance to me. Sampling again the events of my life in retrospect was a way for me to shed the impulsiveness of my youth. A way to defeat my own biases after a fashion. In the following years, my journals would become one of my most important tools in exploring life’s mosaic and defeating confusion. Many hours of silent study in the libraries and galleries of the druid stronghold gave me time to decipher the perplexing ways of my dark-hued companion. His all consuming lust for script was such an obvious motive that I was fairly shocked to find that Soleim had not originally come to Surefall in order to study. Apparently, the erudite cleric had been amongst a party that left Erudin in search of a thief. A religious artifact called the Cup of Prexus had in fact been stolen from the priesthood of the Oceanlord last fall. Thievery of this kind is rare in Erudin, a land where all crimes are punished with death. For this reason, the Deepwater Knights decided that a foreigner was responsible for the theft. They quickly formed a sortie, of which several worshipers of Quellious were a part, and set out to recover their precious grail. After spending much of the winter in Qeynos, Soleim’s party sped to the east, intent on capturing the thief as he made his way over the Serpent’s Spine Mountains. Soleim however, did not go with them... The obvious value that the Cup of Prexus, an ever-flowing font, would have in the scorching deserts of the far east and the considerable wealth of the old families in the Desert of Ro, made the thief’s destination almost obvious. However, contrary to conventional reason, Soleim was convinced that the thief had actually turned north and fled into the territories of my people. The specific nature of the artifact and the deliberate manner in which it was taken had convinced my companion that there was a hidden purpose behind the theft. A purpose beyond mere monetary gain. When he was unable to convince his party to follow his theory, he went north alone. Soleim then became stranded in Surefall for the same reasons as I. Soleim’s mission was the original reason for his interest in me. The Shaman of Justice are thief catchers and peace keepers amongst my people. If a priceless religious artifact were stolen and brought into our territory, my Order would be interested in securing its return and punishing the wrongdoer. Unfortunately, I had no information to offer Soleim, save the names of a few shaman he could speak to. I also offered to take him to Halas to meet them, once the bloodshed between my people and the Sabertooth tribe had abated. It was ironic. Soleim and I are very different people, yet our situations are very similar. We are both following our intuition, facing a dead end in our individual quests and are both stranded in Surefall. How very quaint. My crass appreciation of our quandary did not last however, as I was visited by another of my blinding epiphanies. I was asked one afternoon by an elder matron of the glade to fetch Soleim from the banks of the lake. He had promised to teach prose to the woman’s two grandchildren and he had not yet quit his evening prayer to attend the session. Being patient with the woman, I decided to fetch the studious priest as requested. When I found Soleim, he was kneeling on a prayer mat facing the still water, clutching his beads and mouthing a silent mantra to his patron. The perfect stillness of the ancient grove and the mirror of the water created a marvelous temple to the God of Tranquility. The moment froze in time... and I was struck with a powerful sense of recognition. Two people, both strangers, had been shown to me in a vision. The elven ranger, Taelosi, and now an erudite holy man. I had become the inheritor of yet *another* mystery. Who had given me this vision of the future? The Six Hammers? And for what purpose? I told Soleim nothing of my sudden recollection, though I think he sensed my mood. What could I say to him when I did not even know the answers myself? Matters became more complicated for me with the arrival of Autumn. An irascible druid with past associations with Saggius Hothwell came to Surefall Glade in the late weeks of summer. After learning of her arrival from talkative druid initiates who had grown used to my presence, I went to seek her out. Autumn earns her moniker from her unusual appearance. Her short tousled hair is riot of golden yellow, cherry red and foliage green locks. Her skin is a dusky tan and her physique is slender, much like an elf’s. She has wide eyes, the colour of hazelnuts and ears that peak in modest points, betraying the presence of faerie blood in her veins. Her appearance is attributed to her mixed lineage. Found at a young age as an orphan, Autumn has the marks of human and elven ancestry about her, with perhaps a little treant thrown in for good measure. I quickly found that her similarity to the fall season did not end with her appearance. Her behavior is also breezy, mercurial and prone to rapid changes in temperature. A second story room of the lakeside inn in Surefall acts as a sort of semi-permanent residence for Autumn. Mounting the stairs of the inn, I trudged upstairs to find the door of her chamber wide open. Rustling noises and dark mutterings emanated from within. I knocked upon the pane of the open doorway and called out. "Hello?" "What?!" almost immediately came the sharp reply from within, "I said I’d speak to the acolytes later. If that’s one at my door, go away now..." Her voice was not quite as lyrical and pleasant as a wood elf’s, judging only from the single wood elf I’d ever met. I stepped into the doorway and answered. "I am an initiate actually, and not druid. I have to speak with you on an urgent matter, Autumn." I was momentarily dumbfounded by the chaos of her chambers. At first I assumed the condition of the room must be due to her current effort to ransack it. But, after a moment of silent appraisal, I realized that the discarded clothing, loose parchment and general detritus strewn about her quarters had been deposited there long ago. All told, I had seen man-eating leopards keep less slovenly dens. "Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?!" She gave a chest of books a good, swift kick for emphasis. I inclined my head politely and got straight to the point. "Yes, I can see that. You’re a difficult person to find. I am Cymrick McMarrin. An associate of yours had past dealings with my family and I’d like to find out if you know anything about them." She held up a hand. "An urgent matter... for you, not me." She turned away, focusing her attention back on her search. "I’m hard to find because I have things to do and don’t want to be disturbed. It seems that I can only be alone when I’m far away from anyplace like this. Now could you please..." "Saggius Hothwell may have killed my father. I’d like to know how and why." That got her attention again, and earned me an angry look. "You must be mistaken, barbarian. Saggius was not a violent man. Nor was he interested in your people at all." She lifted her chin as she spoke, trying to unsuccessfully to stare down her nose at me. "If your father did die at his hands, he must have been a thief or a despoiler of nature." "Hardly. If you knew Saggius so well, perhaps you have an explanation for what did happen." I folded my arms in front of me. "Or are you too busy pillaging your quarters listen to my tale? I’ve been looking for some clue about Saggius’ activities for a long time now. Will you not spare me a moment?" Her scowl didn’t shift in the slightest. "I don’t feel any empathy for rude strangers and I certainly don’t like wasting my time cleaning up others messes. But... I don’t like the idea of a mouthy outlander coming here and soiling Saggius’ reputation. He was misunderstood enough, as is." She threw herself into a chair with a grunt and squirmed around to yard a pair of leather riding chaps out from under her behind. "Speak. But make it quick and don’t expect me to sugar-coat the truth for you, if I do know anything about your father’s tale of woe." I nodded. Reluctantly, I began to tell Autumn the tale of my father’s mysterious demise eighteen years ago. When I came to the point of the tale where my father actually passed away on the fringe of the Stonelands, she interrupted me. "He died of disease then." she said bitterly, her voice reminiscent of branches snapping. "Certainly Saggius didn’t give it to him." I nodded again, and undid the high collar of my tunic to show her my scars. She stared at me with wide eyes, her expression hovering between shock and disgust. "I was not expected to survive the plague myself. Yet I did." Loosening the cuff of my tunic, I showed her my left hand also. "I recovered from the plague just as my father perished. Furthermore, Robert Ross was not ill when he left Halas. He never would have survived the journey to Surefall Glade if he had been riddled with contagion." She snorted, her eyes narrowing in distrust. "Are you suggesting that Saggius worked some kind of necromancy at your father’s request? Such things are filthy and perverted to the true children of Tunare. Saggius was many things, but he was not a blasphemer. Also, necromancy of that kind cannot work at such great distances. If Saggius were in Surefall, your father were dying in the Stonelands and you lay in Halas, no sorcerer alive could have transferred his life force to you." "I wasn’t suggesting necromancy was involved. Actually, I had no idea such a thing was even possible." I paused while doing up my collar. "There is one more detail I must confess." Autumn raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so I continued. "Since I had a near brush with death last winter, I have been haunted by the Spirit of the Wolves. She has appeared in my dreams twice now and has come before me once in the flesh." Autumn ceased all her fidgeting once I mentioned the Spirit of Wolves, and she seemed disturbed for the first time since I had entered her chambers. "The Wolf Mother?! Are you sure it was her?" I stared at her in stony silence for a moment before answering. "I am a shaman, little druid, I know a spirit when I see one. It was the Spirit of the Wolves. She knows my name and has some hidden interest in me. My mother tells me she appeared before her when my father passed on. I’m fairly certain that the Wolf had something to do with me surviving my childhood sickness." "Really?" She was staring through me now. Suddenly, she sprang to her feet and clapped her hands together. "Do you know something?" I asked. "Perhaps, perhaps not." Seeing the darkening scowl on my face, she decided to elaborate. "I was once told by a ghastly crone that I would someday meet a boy who was saved by wolves. I wonder if she could have meant you?" A shadow of doubt crossed her features. "I think the crone was a sorcerous hag, actually. She said that the boy would ‘know me’ even though we had never before met." "Really?" I was staring through her now. As a scowl crept across her features, I decided to explain. "I once had a spiritual vision in which the faces of several strangers were revealed to me. Since then, I have met two people who seemed familiar to me because of that glimpse I had of the future." "Did you recognize me in the same way?" she asked, cocking her head like a bird. "No." I shook my head. "But then neither Taelosi nor Soleim seemed familiar to me when I first..." "You’ve met Taelosi Illmaedrae?! Where? And when?" She leaned towards me with her fists on her hips. "You know Taelosi?" I asked. Interesting. The coincidences become too numerous to be coincidences any longer... "I met him in the Stonelands. We fell in together while escaping from the Sabertooths of Blackburrow." "Yes, I know Taelosi... we first met a long time ago... many years past..." Her gaze was distant while she talked. I wasn’t bothered in the least by her wandering attention. Both Autumn and I seem to share the habit of talking to our own inner voices rather then those around us. For a moment, I didn’t know what to make of all these coincidences. Then I had a sudden flash of insight. "When did you last meet Taelosi?" She stared at me blankly, either not listening to me or unwilling to speak of the wood elf any more. "After I encountered him, he said he was heading north, into the lands of my kinsmen. Do you have any idea why?" Autumn slowly sank down to the floor while thinking, her gaze still distant. She settled into a cross-legged position before answering. "He wasn’t likely heading north to do battle with the gnolls. He can find battle anywhere he goes, he doesn’t need to look for it." Suddenly I was aware of how young she looked, and she seemed tired for a moment. She looked to be in her early twenties, though she must have seen nearly twice that many years in her time. "Taelosi is a scout and a hunter, an emerald warrior. Perhaps he is hunting something, or somebody." "Perhaps." I said, wondering if my suspicions could possibly be correct. "I must ask him when we next meet." I turned towards the door to leave. "Wait!" Autumn called out behind me. "Yes?" I looked back to see that she had snapped back to reality. Her gaze was sharp again, not misty eyed and thoughtful. "It is possible that Saggius may have overseen some dealing between your father and the Spirit of Wolves. I never talked with him about such an event but I could dig up his journals and see if he wrote anything about your father." She stared directly at me, her face unreadable. "Failing that, I could perform an augury. If Saggius was doing the will of The Great Mother, perhaps she will tell me about it." "My thanks." I waited. "There is one condition. If there is some link between your business and Taelosi, you must tell me about it." She was completely still. I could sense the power of her concentration. "Very well. I have some suspicions about what our elf acquaintance may be involved in. I don’t yet know how, or even if, I am involved but I will keep you informed." I peered back at her, my own features carefully neutral. "Is there anything else?" "No. Just don’t bother me until you speak with Taelosi, barbarian." She waved me away, turning her attention back to the boxes. "Very well." I paused for a moment. "Call me Cymrick. I am no more a barbarian than you are a savage." With that I left. There is a man who likes to have the last word, Autumn thought. Surveying the wreckage of her room, she swore softly. "Damnation! Now I have to find Saggius’ journals as well." The sun had not yet risen and the silence of the dusky predawn was punctuated only by the hesitant chirruping of small birds and the groggy rustlings of the earliest risers. Wending his way silently between the temporary camps populating the road to Surefall, strode a dark cloaked stranger. His passage was noiseless. His footfalls disturbed not a single dog nor caused a single sleeping child to stir. He picked his way past bound flaps of tents and dying embers of campfires until he reached the gates of the druid stronghold itself. Peering out from the hood of the dark stranger’s hood were eyes of the darkest emerald. With slow deliberation, he withdrew his gloved hand from his cloak and rapped soundly on the windowpane of the squat guardhouse standing by brassbound gate leading to the glade. "Huh? Wazzat?" came a voice from within the front room of the structure. A man’s voice, groggy with sleep. Twenty seconds later, the door to the guardhouse unlatched and a bleary-eyed young guardsman wearing the uniform of a Qeynos legionnaire emerged. He went about buckling a sheathed sabre onto his belt while eyeing the stranger suspiciously. "Well? What do you want traveler?" the guardsman asked at last. "I am an Emerald Warrior and sworn soldier of The Great Mother." The cloaked stranger’s voice was soft and unhurried. He waited patiently for the guard to reply, and only continued after it became obvious that no reply was forthcoming. "I am a ranger and am welcome in the Surefall Glade. I would like you to open the gate so I may enter." The young guard rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Thought you said you were an ‘Emerald Warrior’?" He took another long look at the cloaked man while rubbing his hands together. "And I ain’t seen you around before either." He raised his voice so that his comrades within the guard post could hear the exchange. There were sounds of men rousing themselves within the guardhouse and the travelers camped at the head of the line were coming to as well. "The Emerald Warriors are an order of rangers." the stranger explained graciously, with no sign of impatience. "From a distant land." "Protectors of the Pine are rangers, and druids also." He tucked his thumbs into his belt. "I ain’t ever heard of any Emerald Warriors." "Private!" A balding sergeant thrust his head out of the open window. His jaws were covered in stubble and he was not yet in uniform. Moreover, his voice was laced with irritation and his eyes were shot with red veins. "Sah!" The young guardsman straightened sharply. "Let him in already, for the love of Marr!" the sergeant growled. "Yes sah!" The young private saluted sharply and made haste towards the gate. "And private... you get to clean up the road after the livestock has gone through." The crass sergeant coughed into his hand. "Thank you so much for waking me up." "Sah!" The private opened the gate to admit the stranger. "Thank you." The dark ranger slipped nimbly through the crack in the gateway. "And a good morning to you, private." He offered sincerely. Taelosi strode away from the gate and up the cobbled path into the heart of the sacred glade, brooding thoughts sliding through his mind like shadows. Once this continent was called Tunaria. Yet now, many of its inhabitants have never seen an elf, her first children, nor even recognize a servant of the Great Mother when seeing one. The passage of time has so absolutely transformed Norrath and I fear that we grip our cherished past too tightly. The ranger paused at the threshold of the ancient grove. A lanky vagabond lay propped against a tree near the entrance of the glade. The loiterer was dressed in threadbare robes and was reading quietly from a large scroll, wound around a wooden spool. Examining the man’s face, Taelosi quickly realized it was the northman he had encountered in the Stonelands some months earlier. Thinking for a moment, he recalled his name. "Cymrick. I see you found your way to the Surefall Glade after all." He gave a ghost of a smile when he saw the lad start in surprise. Evidently, he had caught the young barbarian unawares. "You are so eager to leave that you wait anxiously by the entrance?" "Taelosi!" Cymrick clamored to his feet and rolled the scroll swiftly in both hands. "No. I was waiting here so I’d know the instant you arrived." "Curious. I don’t remember ever saying I was headed to the Surefall Glade." He let down his cloak hood and slid his rucksack from his shoulder. "Yet here you are." Cymrick gestured, breaking out into a sly smile of his own. Massaging his shoulder, Taelosi returned the smile politely. "What do you want of me, Cymrick?" The young barbarian was scratching his left hand again, and he had a thoughtful look on his face. "I have a question for you. Something I perhaps should have asked you when we first met. Before we crossed paths in the Stonelands, you said you were heading north. Why?" "I was searching for information and looking for certain people. Curious that you show this sudden interest in my activities." He let his pack rest against his feet and folded his arms. "Is one of these people you are looking for a thief?" the young shaman asked. Taelosi blinked and then spoke softly, "Yes. Quite the leap of intuition you just had there, Cymrick. Just how is it you divined the nature of my journey north?" "Easier that I show you than I try to explain." The young shaman tucked the wood-bound scroll onto his belt and gestured for Taelosi to follow. "There is a man here in Surefall that you should meet. Though I am not sure how, I feel his quest is somehow related to yours." "The Cup of Prexus and the Brazier of Ro." Taelosi repeated the names of the missing artifacts, sorting their significance in his mind. "And our mutual acquaintance here feels that the two thefts may be the work of a single rogue." The elven ranger pointed idly in my direction while talking to Soleim. The inn common room was just coming to life as the kitchen staff finished baking the daily bread. I sat in silence at a table with Soleim Yemiah and Taelosi Illmaedrae, watching the pieces of an unfathomable puzzle dropping into place. I couldn’t understand how I had known that Taelos was hunting a thief, or how I anticipated that his quarry was the same as Soleim’s. On one hand, there was a holy man hunting a thief. On the other hand, there was a hunter on a mysterious errand. I only had my vision to suggest that there was a commonality between the two. "I am also impressed with this fortuitous turn of events in my quest." Soleim spoke in a subtle, sarcastic drawl. Plainly, he was now suspicious of my involvement. "A breakthrough brought to me by the stranger I happened to encounter while waiting to enter the grove. A most spectacular coincidence." I cracked my knuckles. "I have no handsome explanations for either of you." I looked to Soleim and then to Taelosi. "But I can tell you that this is no coincidence. There is a purpose to my intuition, I just don’t fathom it yet." "Explain." Soleim demanded in a flat tone. "I had a vision once. I was shown the faces of several strangers, yourself and Taelosi amongst them. After you told me about the theft of the Cup of Prexus, it occurred to me to inquire about Taelosi’s activities in the area." I scratched my left hand idly while speaking. Even to my own ears, my explanation smacked of lunacy. "Ever since I met two people from my augury, I have sought to find some rational link between them. In the case of you two, that link is a common purpose." "A common purpose... perhaps." The dark skinned erudite mulled over my tale while resting his hands casually on the table. "I confess, there are similarities between the two thefts. If only considering the objects stolen." Taelosi was listening intently to this point. Finally he spoke up, "I have been tracking this rogue for more than a year now and have crossed the continent lengthwise in order to find him. Last fall I tracked him to the city of Qeynos and then he disappeared." The elf hunter started to flick the golden rings in his left ear while speaking. "Since then I’ve been trying to locate him by tracing the movements of his accomplices. My trip to Halas produced some interesting leads but didn’t bring me any closer to locating the rogue himself." "Explain." Soleim asked simply. Taelosi continued. "I found indications that the thief was working with an orc named Golan. Golan Gorebrew is a known villain in Feydwer, a slaver of Clan Crushbone. I spotted Golan at a bandit camp in the Western Karanas early this spring. The presence of a Crushbone Orc so far from his home is unusual, so I was mightily interested in his purpose here. I didn’t get the chance to interrogate him though. Later I found that Golan may have brokered a deal for my quarry." "Assuming for argument’s sake that it *is* the same thief we are looking for, do you think it is likely he disposed of the Cup and Brazier through a deal arranged by this orc?" Soleim mused. "If this is the case, he traversed most of the continent and performed a second ‘job’ before he had even disposed of the plunder from his first theft. It strikes me as a most unlikely action for a thief to take." "The thief who stole the Brazier of Ro is local to this area." the ranger added. "I believe that he went far outside his home territory in order to perform a theft from the Temple of Solusek Ro in Freeport. The thief himself is a half-erudite assassin and a former cultist of Bertoxxulous. According to the League of Antonican Bards, he commonly operates from a hidden temple to the Lord of Decay somewhere in the area of Qeynos." "Fascinating." Soleim almost purred. "A temple guard in the Chapel of Deepwater was murdered during theft of the Cup. She was dispatched with a single thrust of a wavy-bladed dagger." The erudite’s dark eyes glowed as his mind hashed over the details of the crime. "The death of this guard was most perplexing. When we re-constructed the crime after the fact, we determined that the thief did not need to slay her in order to seize the artifact and escape unnoticed. We had to dismiss the act as a gesture of malice." We stopped talking as the hostess dropped plates of food onto the table, brought cutlery and tankards of water. The smell of freshly cooked eggs and toasted bread set my mouth watering. Taelosi and Soleim just picked at their food while I began to devour my breakfast in earnest. "There was a similar incident at the Temple of Solusek Ro." Taelosi revealed. "It was remarkable only because of the senselessness of the act. The person killed was not guarding the Brazier or the temple." "Ahem. As I was saying..." Soleim downed a draught of water and continued, "There is an obscure practice amongst the most fanatical servants of the Lord of Decay. The practice is called ‘Death’s Toll’. It is performed when acting in the service of Bertoxxulous and usually involves the ritualistic slaying of a single unsuspecting victim. It is possible that this half-erudite assassin uses ‘Death’s Toll’ as a calling card of sorts. If this is the case, it would seem that we may well be hunting the same man." Taelosi started jingling his earrings again at this point and I restrained myself from slapping his hand. "As soon as I’ve rested and re-supplied, I intend to make my way to Qeynos. I have some contacts there whom I believe can help me locate Golan Gorebrew. If we can find Golan, he may be able to tell us where we can find the thief, the missing artifacts, or both." "Do you wish to form a partnership then Taelosi?" Soleim asked rhetorically. "Yes, I think we should. I’m now reasonably certain that we pursue the same man and we both have good reason to find him." The elf ranger prodded his eggs with a fork while I looked onwards hungrily. "This situation also shows promise of growing out of control." "Then you won’t mind if I join you in your hunt?" I spoke. Till this point I had been more than happy to listen but the details of their seperate investigations had not answered the questions that ate at my mind. "I still have questions about this theft. Who were the artifacts sold to? These relics could have been sold for more riches elsewhere. Why sell them here? If there was a motive other than monetary gain behind the thefts, I want to know what it is." "Come with us to Qeynos then Cymrick." Taelosi offered. "More the merrier." "Great." I ate my last piece of toast. "I have one other question now." "An remarkably inquisitive savage, Cymrick is." Soleim chuckled. Ignoring the abrasive erudite, I fastened my attention on the steaming eggs and bacon. "Are you two going to eat your breakfast? If not, I can put that food to good use." The mystery of the theft of relics joined my strange visions and the haunting wolf spirit as outstanding questions left unanswered. I guess I am doomed to be a confused shaman initiate for all eternity. No matter, I have a course of action to take now and I’ve always wanted to see Qeynos anyhow. Onwards... Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | ||
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