At the pleasant little domicile of Gutiruk...
Gutiruk could only watch as his ward invited the four strange people - at least three of them were palace guards, obviously. Had the Seer arranged for them to come, or had she simply known they would be here? Probably the latter, Gutiruk thought as he followed the five people who had stopped paying attention to him. He was but a partial observer to the consuming madness that was the ability to see the future. If the Seer could actually see the future, that is. Nobody really knew what she saw, but it was definitely pertinent to something.
And hey, maybe these people would feel grateful enough to leave gifts, though their importance suggested otherwise. Gutiruk hoped they would, at any rate. He hadn't milked this whole Seer business nearly enough, it occurred to him. Then again, the Seer was not exactly the most cooperative person in that regard. If only she could have found it in her heart, if she indeed had one, to care about something other than maddening magical visions and help her generous provider out a bit more.
Gutiruk's thoughts were interrupted as they suddenly stopped in that hallway - the one where she had spent at least a full week carving things into Gutiruk's formerly exquisite wooden paneling. And when he replaced the paneling, she went and did it again. He did not really see what the problem was - she had only drawn a bunch of lines. Not even a full drawing of something. He thought she'd lost interest midway or something, as she sometimes seemed to when drawing. But now, here they were, and though the Seer's face was unreadable, he could tell by the spring in her step that she was excited about this.
First she stared at the little guy - the one who spoke to Gutiruk - her compound gaze possibly full of meaning. She then quickly turned away, skipping over to a nearby set of lines. Pulling out a wrapped shard of glass (so that's why he couldn't manage to reconstruct that display case!), she sliced two more lines along the wall, and it was the strangest thing that happened next - the image of a crown emerged. Gutiruk could hardly comprehend how he did not see the resemblance earlier, honestly. Jumping over to another section of the wall, she drew the shard across it a few more times, producing an image that, while stylized, seemed to adequately convey a dragon. This made Gutiruk feel even more silly, really - all the pieces were there, he could tell. It was just missing a few extraneous details.
Unfortunately for the man, the embarrassing exposition would continue with no less than 11 more images - they were, in order, a mountain with some kind of knob sticking out from the top, a very spot-on representation of a coin, some sort of curtain, an undefined stick figure with a set of trousers drawn on it, an egg, a stylized flame, a representation of the Sun, a... lizard of some kind, a large double door, a caricature of a dog and another mountain, but dotted. The guards seemed a little bewildered by it all, to be honest.
"Does she draw on walls a lot?" one of the guardsmen whispered to him with a tinge of sympathy to his voice, and Gutiruk could only nod.
At one of the pubs of Foghaunt...
Not a lot of good men drank at this hour, and Uks did not count himself among them. Not because he was not a good man - he would certainly proclaim his virtue to any who asked, and mean most of the words he had to say, too -, but because he did not have any money or skills that were in great demand these days. And his tab was, in here and in other places, unfortunately, bloated to the point where begging and fluttering of eyelashes would avail him nothing.
Being a layabout sure used to be fun. Everyone was his friend, he bought people drinks and they had a good laugh about the events of the day. Now that he had no money, few people who weren't at least three quarters on the path to alcohol poisoning even spared him a glance. Quite humbling, really. He was sure that those were the good old days he would certainly remember when he became rather old and decrepit, which, if his money problem was not rectified soon, he would get to experience as soon as next month if this hangover became even more malignant than it already was. But his lack of resources, talent and ingenuity meant he could only stare at the other drunker, luckier individuals in the room, hoping that he could perhaps alleviate his suffering with their accumulating fumes.
"We require individuals to perform as porters for an expedition," a voice suddenly rang out in the room, interrupting Uks' attempts at sniffing a particularly inebriated individual from afar. Perhaps this was the opportunity he needed? He could certainly carry things, or at least he could a few months ago. He hadn't tried lately.
"Will there be money?" Uks asked, not even looking at the origin of the voice for fear that stopping in his absorption efforts would cause the trace quantities of booze to seep right out of him.
"Yes," the voice replied, catching Uks' interest and causing him to look in the direction of where it was coming from. He was pleased to see a man with two lady bodyguards, which was an indication of strong moral character if anything external ever was, and slightly disturbed to see the smaller lady pointing her crossbow at him. Oh dear.
Fortunately, a moment later the other two looked at the offender, and she lowered it, looking slightly miffed.
"Well, I certainly accept," Uks said after breathing a sigh of relief and getting up. "I could certainly use money."
The man looked around the room again dully. "Anybody else?" he asked, at which point one patron fell out of his chair, bouncing to the floor while the rest remained perfectly silent, sauced and absorbed into their drink. Well, except for the barkeep. He was intently cleaning a glass instead. The man shrugged, motioning Uks to come with him, and so Uks did. He wondered when he would be getting the money. Hopefully soon.
At the royal smithy of Castle Fogeye...
Solkie, though ashamed of his poor conduct, was a tad relieved when the prince did not choose to make an issue of it.
"Calm down, man, 'tis not a problem. You have done an exemplary job, a short delay is hardly going to worry me."
Prince Grimmeth was certainly his favorite prince, he reflected. And he had, though only very slightly, failed to provide for his needs ahead of time. This could never, ever, ever happen again!
"I shall endeavor to have your lance within the hour, my Prince!" he said, bowing deeply and heading back to work feverishly. The Prince still had faith in him, and this was very important. He had best not betray his promise - to do so would be to rob himself of all his credibility! With this in mind, he took that darned guard spear and tried to put on the vamplate once again - once his mind was set on the task, it proved easy, ten minutes of labor at best now that he was properly motivated! Finding that he had fifty minutes of time left, which was unforeseen, he decided to further improve the design - sharpen the spear, adapt the grip to Prince Grimmeth, add a few decorative designs, make sure the length was just right - on exactly the fifty-ninth minute of his work - he counted every second of it - he was done. Rushing out of the workshop with his lance in hand as if his very life depended on it, Solkie managed to get into position with thirty-seven seconds to spare.
Fortunately, he had twenty more minutes to properly catch his breath and let the redness dissipate from his cheeks before Prince Grimmeth returned, a bewildered little man on his arm. Probably another minion he had obtained similarly to his brothers, judging from the evident lack of understanding that probably stemmed from inadequate education and rearing. Resisting the urge to kneel, Solkie bowed and produced the lance - a beautiful piece of work, to be sure - and the Prince accepted it gracefully, as if there were any other possible way he could accept it.
At an abandoned house on the outskirts of Foghaunt...
The air was perfectly still in the entrance hall of the house, and the layer of dust on the floor was of prodigious thickness. Whatever rats had lived in this house had probably curled up in corners, died and had mausoleums built to contain their entire family's remains by their similarly deceased descendants. Spiderwebs hung from every corner, and the smell of ancient history permeated the atmosphere. Even the sounds of the surrounding city were scarcely audible, so thick was the air in this place.
There was a knock on the door, followed by excited babbling and altogether more sober voices.
"We are here!" Veltipp said confidently.
"Where are we?" his friend Jum questioned uncertainly.
"It seems distinctly uninhabited," Prince Arcus observed the obvious.
"So it does. And it very well may be!"
Arcus sighed, and another excited knock followed. A few more knocks, then a hand was placed on the doorknob, finding the door to be very much unlocked. The air shifted very noticeably as the door was opened, and fresh air freely entered the building for the first time in what seemed like ages.
"Can you smell it?" Veltipp asked as he stepped within, disturbing the dust quite a bit. "The spirit of the place?"
Arcus responded with another sigh, and Jum shook his head. The group walked into the living room.
"That's good. I can't, either! My skills are not failing me, obviously," Veltipp said, evidently feeling validated.
"Is there anyone here?" Arcus asked, looking at the desolate kitchen through one of the doorframes.
"I am not really sure. It is becoming more and more possible that you are right!" Veltipp answered, glancing around one more time.
"So there's nobody here?" Jum asked, sounding disappointed.
"Looks like it! I might have confused the past and the future again. It happens when I'm really thinking clearly, you know?" Veltipp said, and Arcus sighed again, more deeply than before, starting to cough a little from inhaling a little too much dust.
"So, uh, what do we do now?"
"I dunno. I'm not the spirit guide here."
"We leave. Nobody's clearly been here for many years, and this place is hazardous for my lungs," Arcus said, and the other two shrugged. Within minutes, they were outside, shutting the door behind them. As they walked down the road and out of sight, Murder-Thought slunk down from the shadowy confines of the entrance hall ceiling. This kind of interruption, though annoying, was good practice.
"They are gone," he whispered in a piercing manner, and immediately returned to the dining room table, retrieving his cards from one of the many secret pockets in his outfit. His good friends Strangle-String and Arson-Stick had already taken up their respective positions, and the three recommenced their game.
"Kind of funny that we'd get a visit from royalty today," Murder-Thought said to his friends, and Strangle-String giggled a little.
"Veltipp's looking pretty hale and hearty," Arson-Stick observed.
"That he is. Hope he has fun on his quest."
"Lunch is ready!" Rattle-Knife called out to them from the kitchen, raising the spirits of everyone in the room.
"Lunch!" Murder-Thought called out in unison with the others, and went along with his friends to get some of Rattle-Knife's impeccable roast beef.
At the southern gate of Foghaunt...
Tobber was really feeling the adventure in the air, and felt the urge to lovingly caress his arbalest. Since there were no onlookers, and Habber was busy with the wizard-prince, this was exactly what he did, offering it some kind words of encouragement in the process. The arbalest was his second most wonderful friend in the whole wide world, and it and Habber had a lot of things in common. They both loved maiming things, and they both were easy to wind up, point at creatures and hope for amusing results. And they were both immensely useful during hunting, too. Hopefully the wizard-prince will not fill Habber's mind with even stranger nonsense than what Habber usually busied himself with.
What would be even better, though, would be the appearance of more people. Like that man with the blunt words and interesting offers. He presumably would elaborate on what would need to be killed, Tobber thought - even though Habber was busy, he was also getting progressively more antsy. Tobber could feel it in his bones. It was a brotherly connection of sorts, even if Habber was not actually his brother. They were brothers on a deeper level than flesh, anyway.
Where was that guy, anyway? He should have been here by now. There are other people here now - a man with two guards. Perhaps he was looking to take away both Tobber's and Habber's opportunities. Perhaps they would need to resolve their differences in bloody battle - they looked oblivious, and would probably be made short work of if circumstances were favorable. Not that they necessarily would be, naturally!
Ah, there was the man. He still had his captive. Tobber got up from his seated position and tapped Habber to make him pay attention - Habber looked like he was about to stab him, so all was obviously well. He pointed at the man lugging the trapped smartass with him, and together they advanced to address him. Or, rather, Tobber addressed him, and Habber just nodded appropriately.
"Your words have... inspired us," Tobber said, staring the man right in the eyes. Habber seemed to be staring at the other guy instead, prompting him to go behind his captor for safety - a reasonable reaction. "We are so very inspired, in fact, that we will be joining you in this opportunity. It is a hunt, is it not? We can smell the blood on the air," he said, and Habber furiously nodded at the last part.
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Topic: Kingspawn of Allochthon: important question! (Read 19706 times)