Curiosity
Curiosity always was my worst trait. It led me into all sorts of troubles, some of which got me good things, some got my ears cuffed. And once in awhile, it got me into real danger. The question was, what had it done for me now?
There were three of them. They came into the Inn of the Seven Dancing Sisters a few hours ago, and the attention they attracted was immense, even for the port quarter of Calimport. A dwarf, and elf, and a gnome were uncommon enough, and their gear marked them as wealthy beyond the standards of even the Merchant's Quarter. They entered from the muck and mire of the common street, instead of the elevated Nobles Way, though they were anything but common. But the real attraction was the casual way they tossed iron trade bars and small black crescent coins to my master. A word or two, and my master clapped for the bouncers. In moments, the inn was cleared. Teapots were left naked, half empty clay teacups abandoned without customary tealeaf readings. The black lotus smoke wafted fitfully around the low rafters, spouting from an unattended hooka, and the money till was left open on the counter. No matter, for my master had pocketed several years income, certainly enough to set himself up in the Beggars Guild as a real power. They even carried old Ahmed from his eating blanket out, tossing him onto his bundle of rags in the sewer trough along the side of the lower level streets. I should have gone with them, but my curiousity was aroused. I always have had an attraction to those that could command the elements, and these beings breathed magic. My master would no longer care if such a worthless crippled slave as I went missing. Besides, they might have things of value that the gods wished to have move on to a new owner.
From behind the black laquered panel, I watched as they moved among the dirty dishes and half eaten meals. The incantations they wrought took a long time, and their bodies shimmered and shone with fine invisible cloaks and spheres of force. The air twisted and rippled, and odd colors washed everything. My hair began standing on end at one point, and I nervously grasped the dirty amulet beneath my rags. My hair decided to relax immediately. Once again I thanked the gods for their mercy. Assisting that Red Wizard in lightening his burdens had proven its worth many times, though it had cost me half of my face and the use of one leg. Such benefits were twofold, for my worth as a beggar rose immensely, and the amulet had hidden me from detection again and again. I carefully moved forward again, eye pressed to the small crack in the wood panel hiding me, and watched them work.
The tall one was hidden by a dark green cloak, but a shiny pale white stone circled her head. At least, the movements beneath the cloak seemed to mark a woman. Then again, this was the first elf I had ever seen. Perhaps they moved differently. The smallest one, the male gnome, scrambled from point to point peering through a strange stone fixed to a strap over one eye, and his wand was black with a glowing tip. He might have been Thieve's Guild judging from the tools he wore, but he seemed to have no markings, and his short bursts of levitation to reach higher spots searching along the walls showed he was more magic than knife. The dwarf was strong, lifting the one foot high long tables from one corner as casually as I lift a tourist's purse. His armor was strange, almost fighter's fare, and an even odder symbol glistened from around his neck. I peered intently, but dismissed it as a target. The most wealthy fence I knew could not give me enough coin, and it looked nonhuman and holy. Who knows what curses could fall on me should I liberate such an object.
They each worked in a differet way, with the gnome muttering intently and searching high on the walls, while the dwarf strode about lifting things and moving things about. The elf simply stood in one place, silent, concentrating, and occasionally moving a little under soft robes. When the dwarf and the gnome conversed, it was in an odd, grunting way, quite unlike the smooth syllables of Calimport - an abrupt, harsh language spoken with stone tongues and harsh edges. Their magic was like that, too. The dwarf grunted and chopped the air with his hands, and a table moved out of the way. The gnome spat and crackled sharp crumbly words, and he lifted to the ceiling above the tapestries hanging across the dining area, his small leather clad legs brushing by years of soot and dust. The elf said nothing.
The dwarf discovered my hiding pace first. "Oi. Lookee here, Alenaie. There be a mouse what's been left behind." A sharp axe gimmering with eldrich forces gently flipped back the corner of my alcove, and a wizened nut brown face with bristly beard stared directly into mine. I cringed and gibbered like a simpleton, but I wasn't worried. He shone of goodness, and in my experience that meant he might be an easier mark. Besides, the worst he would do would be to beat me. Foreigners never knew how to do that right.
"Bring him out, Kradar. " The quiet soprano voice, so soft and warm, relaxed me further. The elf pulled back her hood, and those flowing powerful green robes showed me a face hauntingly alien, breathtakingly beautiful... and then my blood froze. Thieve's Guild markings on her wrist and face. An impossibly beautiful, achingly exquisite face, but eyes that showed no interest, studying me as if I were an insect. And a strange, thin, sharp blade which sprung from a wrist bracelet. I was silent immediately, and threw myself at her feet, making no sounds and uncovering my Guild mark, making no further movement. I was either dead, or not, as she chose, and there was nothing I could do about it.
"Ach, Alenaie, I kenna let ye just kill him. He's an urchin. Ye may hold wi' th' path o' true balance, but I don't. An' what's he unbalincin'."
The gnome in the corner paused from his work, his strange gemstone twinkling a frosty blue as he gazed me over with minor interest.
"I do not care much either way, but you should probably know he has an amulet of non-detection under that filth." He dismissed me from his mind, and continued his hovering inspection.
"Kradar, this urchin is more than he appears. But you are right. Perhaps he may prove more useful alive. Fifty gold as a wager?" Her warm voice did not match her emotionless eyes, but my heart lept in my chest, and I began calculating my options for flight or usefuless. The elf sheathed her dagger with an odd twist of her wrist, exposing more of her strange armor, and making me wish that I were a full grown man. "You may keep your trinket, Guildmember. And if you prove useful, we shall even pay you for your time. Tell me, have you seen anything like a secret passage in this room?"
I kept myself prostrate on the floor, and desperately thought of ways to be useful. "No, great Mistress, I have not found such passages, save the secret one to my former Master's vault. And the usual escape route in case of trouble." Her voice flowed sickly sweet through a melody of phrases, and I felt a cool breeze pass through my soul. A small black crescent coin bounced off of my head, and I dared glance up, still not moving. She addressed me again, her voice an odd contrast of flatness and warmth, like a fire that gave no heat. "Rise, Guildmember. You are hired, if only for a day. If my spell had detected falsehood, you would be dead, but you know that. Pick up your wages, and remain still, so that we may ask you to guide us for a bit."
My joy at finding more wealth that I could garner in a month was tempered by a calm appraisal of reality. They wanted me for something, which was usually bad for my chances of survival. But they had at least one good being, so I might escape when he hesitated. And they were not evil, so I would be allowed to make some choices as to how I was to escape, and how much I could profit, and they might even decide that I was unworthy of the trouble to hunt and kill so small a mouse as I. Since I was sure I was dead a moment ago, this represented more choices than my mind could really comprehend, so I took to the Old Ways; watch, listen, and answer fully and truthfully. But at every opportunity, ask questions. And survive.
The next hour was the strangest of my life, as each continued to search the room in various ways. I answered question after question about everything from what was usually served at the inn for the evening meal, to who brought deliveries, to the color of my mother's eyes. I think the gnome merely asked to keep my attention from what they were doing, but he did not grow up on a Calimport street, where having eyes in the back of your head was not a skill, it was a necessity. The dwarf seemed to enjoy asking about meaningless things, like who delivered paper, or odd herbs, at what times, and where they left them. He obviously had not paid guildwere to the Theives' Guild for such standard information, but my wages were more than enough to cover such costs. And perhaps no one would ever find out, so that I could keep them for myself. But I told him everything, including how Ericia the Witch occasionally left small bowls of bitter smelling incense burning on the left-hand stair, for no reason that I could discern. This seemed to excite him immensely. Occasionally, my skin would prickle suddenly as some spell or other enveloped me as it passed by, but rarely did the cool breeze waft through my soul again. The elf had acknowledged my markings and hired me correctly, and crossing a member of the Guild is not something that generally has a high level of survival attached to it. My skin may be burned ugly and scarred, but I prize it nonetheless. Besides, she was more beautiful and terrible than anything I had ever seen, and perhaps she would see merit in taking me as a slave. Stealing from this group had left my mind long ago.
Eventually, they tired of the search, and one by one drifted to the low dining table underneath the only decent tapestry in the dining area. With a muttered oath I actually recognized, the gnome flicked his hand towards a far table, and lightning sparked. The blast sent splinters flying, and I threw myself to the floor again, smelling the sharp tang of ozone and the acrid woodsmoke mingling with black lotus. The fumes must have been effecting them as well, for the dwarf and gnome sprawled on the rugs next to the table, and began picking at the fruits and cheeses left behind. The elf was the last to abandon the search, elegantly spinning her cloak aside to reveal slim armour clad legs, and daintily settling crosslegged at the head of the table, directly under the tapestry. My heart leapt in my chest and my cheeks burned at the sight of her exposed ankles, which seemed to amuse her, for she laughed a silver shower of icicles and gestured for me to stand at the end of the table, looking down at them.
"So, little Edan. We have observed you. Now you shall amuse us by what you observed. Speak; what are we?"
"O Wise Mistress, I do not know how I should answer. If I answer too well, I am dead. If I do not answer well enough, I am punished. What is your wish for this miserable excuse for a slave? What answer shall please you?"
Her grim amusement was plain to see, but her tone warned that I had not yet gained enough worth to answer so boldly again. "Well said, apprentice-beggar, but not wisely said. Tell us your intellect, that we measure it and determine if you are worth hiring for a longer duration. Our search has failed here and now, but it is not over. Show us you can be our eyes and ears, and that coin I tossed onto your head shall be your daily wage. Enough that in a few months, you could move up to the Thieve's Guild as a full apprentice. What say you, little human?"
My eyes washed across them, but not seeing them as they lounged about a dining table like the nobles and merchants. Calculations, observations, and appraisal.
"The Master Dwarf is from the far north, and both fights long axe and dagger, both of which are enchanted. He follows an unknown but gentle god, and his powers come from divine magics. A fighter and cleric of power and experience. He seeks to find out where a hidden user of magic is hiding using supplies and spell components, like a cat finding mice by the disposition of their food."
"The Master Gnome is from nowhere commonly known by Calimport, but not from the Depths... the Underdark, you foreigners call it. he is full of magic, but of what sort I cannot tell, but his folk in general are known for illusion. He has no Guild tattoo, but is a safeman and catburgler of some experience, and wields powerful magic items, so my guess is an illusionist thief from an unknown land. He seeks the evidence of hidden compartments and passages, the hiding places for smuggling and trade."
"And my Mistress Elf, you are the leader here. You are a thief... "
(my hands made the quick movements in Guild Cant indicating the Dark Guild, the only Assassins Guild I had ever heard of)
" ...and a magic user following the way of Divination, seeking knowledge and profit with these two partners. You watch all but say nothing, and I would gladly accept being your slave, if you would spare my life to your service."
Her laughter bounced around the room as the dwarf and gnome simultaneously turned suspicious eyes on me, and for a moment I thought I had misjudged. I gripped my amulet and prepared for death. But the sheepish look across the table from dwarf to elf told all, and the dwarf flipped a large platinum coin across to her.
"Aye, ye be right again, Alenaie. He is smart enough. hire him on as guide, an' be done wi' it. But fer the sake o' me pride, get him cleared up a bit on th' details. I dinna enjoy bein' taken fer some moneygrubbin' mercenary."
Alenaie's mirth seemed to offend the gnome a bit, but he sniffed at the coin passing; "I told you never bet with an elf-maiden. She is too sharp to be trifled with." He turned his head to me, and his high voice carried pride and suprising power. "Yes, boy, illusion is my friend. But it is of little enough use in this quest, where we are hunters who can be smelled miles away by or quarry. And not every place is so provincial as to cramp independence and style with stupid guilds and dues."
Inwardly I winced, for to be Freelance was the ultimate insult. The things the Guild did to your body were unmentionable, it they decided to have a body found at all. I began wondering if the Guild would remove my bad leg, cripple the other one, or merely kill me, just for serving such an Outcast. Alenaie's deep silver eyes saw all, though, and she gestured for me to sit.
"Do not worry, Guildmember. I shall call you SharpEyes, for you are not bound to give me your true name, and you have seen well - if not fully. And your first mistake is that I am no Assassin. That guild is too dark for my blood. But yes, I follow the school of Divination. And we seek an ancient foe to all life, not for profit, but for vengeance. Our quarry will not hunt you on the open streets, and has no temporal power to harm your small life. We are not seeking riches which you can steal from us, but your eyes and your local knowedge will be useful to us. So come. You shall not be slave, but hireling. Sit with us, and eat."
I hesitated, fearing a trick, but that hesitation made her eyes narrow, and my bones felt like icicles were forming along them. I sat, and snatched a small piece of flatbread to fill my mouth.
Alenaie gestured once, and the last of the spell protections expired with a faint *pop*. She began eating carefully, daintily, and her eyes followed my movements carefully. When I looked at the ground, she snorted gently once, and then seemed to come to a decision.
"Come now, SharpEyes. You have not made the contract inside yourself. I shall make it easier for you, for I wish you to be an extension of us, a strong spy. You may ask us all one question, in return for the many we have demanded of you. Ask us a question, and we will each answer as truthfully as our natures and appetites will allow."
Here was a quandry. My life held in the balance, and knowledge of this group or its quarry could save my life. Yet there was a greater opportunity here, one so strong that I had always waited to ask this question, had stolen snippets of scrolls and studied them, followed street performers in hopes of catching a glimpse of the truth, had lived for since my very existence began. The words bolted from my lips in a spray of flatbread crumbs, and I cursed my curiosity as they abandoned common sense for my primal wonderment...
"What is it like?"
All three powerful beings around the table froze in astonishment, watching as my face burned and I wiped the table in front of me with head cast down. But now it was out, so I perservered.
"What does it feel like to cast a spell? What does it smell like? What does it taste like?"
The dwarf was the first to speak, but suprisingly, he did not chastise me for my impertinence or box my ears. The last powerful one I had asked such a question to had had me whipped until I feigned unconsciousness, and thrown into the sewer pits. His eyes held not contempt, but startled awareness, and a faroff look as if he were remembering his own past.
"I be right honest, you suprise me, boy. But a bargain's a bargain, an' trust is a trust. So fer me, it feels like th' first time you touch a hammer, an' it touches ye back. I reach out wi' words an' tap at th' reality, an' my God sends power what does the work o' changin' things. It feels like ye can do anythin', anythin' at all. It smells different fer different spells, too. But most spells, they smell o' the deep caverns in yer nostrils, wi' sulfer an' forges for th' warlike magics. Smells o' moss an' cool clean water drippin' in th' deep fer th' healin' magics. An taste... well, the warm damp taste o' clay fer some, rich brown dirt fer others, an' fer th' real powerful ones it tastes o' metal and hammer, forge an' hearth."
The gnome snorted once, derisvely, grabbing a wineskin as big as himself and taking a great huge swig of the wine. "Bah. I suppose it is different for every spellcaster. But illusion has no substance, no taste, no smell of its own. An illusionist feels his subjects. Those minds to be fooled, they become part of the equation. So the feel is one of nothingness, of a flat absence of feeling, like your skin going dead, for you are projecting unreality into reality. You taste nothing, save your own mouth and the air, and you know when the air begins to become tasteless that you have transferred your sensibilities into the illusion. You smell nothing, for as your illusion forms your breath is taken along with your senses and made into the mirror of reality, leaving you with no smell for a short time. There is no feeling of power from such spellcasting. The power comes from viewing your target's reaction, be it fear or delight, in your constructed reality. And glorying in the sight of creatures far more powerful than you beieving in what you hae wrought so deeply that they drop into a world of your own making, completely in your power."
The elf-maiden watched both of her partners speak their turn, and when her eyes met mine, they seemed to swallow the universe with their luminosity. "My partners have very different experiences from mine. For me, a spell feels like my soul is full, too full to contain the power. I feel the movement of power in my very bones, and other places... an intimacy much greater than a mere showing of ankles, little one. It feels like the air is gathering weight, and pressing down, until I can feel the strength of it in my hands, and can shape it like a knife. It gathers in my senses like a seabreeze, casting me into the sharp salty tastes and eddies of seaweed and sand. And tastes... it tastes like a green leaf crushed under your tongue, or a mint spray dipped in honey. It is the most glorious feeling in the world."
There was no warning for what came next. Rather, there was literally no time. An odd sensation, as strange forces whirled around me, and I thought that perhaps she had cast a spell on me, but alas, when her head exploded I knew it was not the case. The dwarf screamed "TIME ST..." before he was paralyzed, and the gnome struggled against his paralysis to no avail. And the achingly beautiful maiden I had been talking about simply imploded into dust as the pent up energies expended themselves over and over again on her corpse. The litch moved slowly forward from the tapestry, calmly stepping through his window onto the table, his bony feet delicately tapping around the gore and abandoned food. He reached down, picking up the wineskin and setting it to his teeth. The wine fell through his jaw onto the table, of course, and he gazed at it sadly before tossing it gently at my frozen feet.
"Alas, my boy, it was a very enjoyable conversation, but I am afraid that I simply had to take advantage of their relaxation." His voice was whispers and scratches of dry branches over gravestones, and part of my brain died of terror then and there, leaving me as numb inside as was outside. "All too few of my brethren have fallen prey to this small band of three... oh, do make that two, adventurers you see before you now. Vaunted litch-killers, every one. But strong in magic, so they were speaking truth to you, each in their own way."
He moved like broken sticks, his cloth wrappings moving idly in the various smokes, mingling with them in a nightmare of grey and black. Stepping over to the dwarf, he gently drew a long knife, and beheaded him quietly and efficiently, before lifting the head to gaze on it.
"I was not part of your little party, so have no bargain to keep. But a moment of amusement in an eternity of boredom is a rare and precious gift, so I will repay it in kind. You asked how casting a spell feels. For me, it is the rush of adrenaline I no longer have, and a reshaping of a body long since wasted away. It feels almost like I am... alive."
Dropping the head, he turned to the corpse of the elf-maiden, and gently caressed the pile of dust, bringing a part of it to his face before inhaling it into his open nose socket.
"It smells like the dirt of a freshly dug grave, the ashes of a funeral pyre, or perhaps the clean scent of lillies in a graveyard."
Turning slowly to face me as he floated across the table to the gnome, he paused to look directly into my face. His red coals of eyes held my soul in their gaze, and he grinned in an odd sort of way.
"Oh, do not worry so, boy. You have done me a great service, lulling these three. I am grateful. So grateful, that I will kill you with no pain, and not even feast upon your soul. Do give my kind regards to Kelemvor when you meet him, and tell him that Dar'Tur still walks this part of the Wheel with impunity. He will not hold it against you, and his minions will send you to whatever god your foolish soul belongs. He is silly that way, not like the old gods."
He paused at the gnome, still twitching and fighting his paralysis, and muttered a word. Bright fire lanced through the gnome, crisping him like a seared piglet at Midsummer Feast. Gently breaking off a crispy arm, the litch turned finally to me, head cocked to one side, considering. He raised the arm, and ground it between his teeth for a bit, before dropping it and dusting off his hands. Shaking his head sadly, he began moving towards me.
"Alas, my boy, as for the taste of a spell, well, I can no longer help you there. Ever since I became a litch, such memories have faded. Try and try as I might, I really cannot say what the taste really is."
As his knife rose over my head, he paused for a moment. "Now, there is one thing I have heard, though. I have heard that it tastes just like chicken."
The knife descended, and I knew no more.
Edited by cmorgan, 17 March 2008 - 02:31 PM.
Cheers! And two horns up for metalheads all around the world!
