The events of the 23rd of Sandstone, 1063Aryn squinted, his head turned upwards towards the sky. Beside him the new Duke Bomrek prattled on, his talk of battles and wars and victories completely ignored by the businessman. When the buzzing in his ear had finally reached all Aryn could take, he turned his gaze on the grizzled Duke, teeth grit, "None of that is important. What is important, is that these merchants are leaving. These merchants are leaving because they've had five of their horses go missing. Why not put your energy towards finding out who the rustler is, instead of reliving your glory days marching before the barracks."
The Duke and Aryn never got along, and yet another of their legendary shouting matches was about to begin, if not for the wail that emanated from the emptied reflecting pond. Lucy came tearing up the ramp, her hand pressed over her mouth as she rushed to the edge of the cliff, dry-heaving into open space. Rice, carrying stones for the rewalling, dropped them, his face paled.
"What is it!" Aryn shouted, already beginning to walk towards the pool.
"I've...found the merchants horses," Rice said, his voice waivering.
As Aryn peered over the edge, the sight below filled him with dread. Not for what he saw, but for how wrong it felt. Horse-corpses were tossed into the side culvert, their throats and bellies slit. In the center of the drained pond, the dried mud had been painted with thick layers of ruddy-red horses blood into the shape of a leering demon, terrible maw opened wide to bare fangs. Written above it, almost lovingly, was the phrase seen on the back of the Yellow Robes. Below the demons leering face were the words translated to the common tongue:
YOU HAVE BEAT ME
Aryn nearly jumped when Kuli spoke up beside him, the Maester having moved quietly across the bridge while he was distracted. "That's the heathen Demon Olsmo. I'd recognize his foul image anywhere. To have him grace this fortress, even in this sacrilegiously work of
art, is a foul omen indeed."
"But what of the words?" Bertrand's quavering voice called from afar. He was trudging up towards them, flanked by Akroma and Dojango, their faces grim. "Do not tell me you've ignored the message. Read it, plain as day. Powerful messages must take powerful sacrifices. The blood of brave stallions is a fair price for news of an evildoers demise. Even in death, Demons have great powers. Powers enough to carve their image in stone, or drive others to leave messages in their stay. This can be taken as nothing but a good sign."
"A good sign? I respectfully disagree, Elder Bertrand," Kuli said, his voice calm. "I've met Olsmo's followers, I've seen the destruction he has left behind. I have seen
the Holy City in ruins, and from what? From his whims and machinations. This message should not be taken lightly, this is a message that screams to me. It screams of trouble brewing, it screams of mischief, and disaster."
The bickering, bubbling over among the Dwarves, was brought to an end by a cold voice behind them.
"
The old man is correct, Problemwalled. I've seen the Demon's death myself."
Aryn missed many things as he turned. He missed the sight of dozens of dwarves, their faces contorted in horror. He missed Kuli, his resolve broken for only an instance, his eyes wide with the kind of terror only brought on through knowledge. And he missed Bertrand, the old man's wrinkled face turning white as bone, his apprentices exchanging worried looks. All Aryn saw was the Dwarf standing before him, her black leather greatcoat streaked with dirt and blood. Her beard was matted and unkempt and full of sand - a gas mask made of tubing and charcoal and copper covering most of her ruined face. Green-glass goggles covered her eyes, glinting cruelly in the harsh sunlight.
"
With his growing strength, Bax Unostotho gave US life anew. With his followers growing, his energies swirling, he struck down the Fire Beast like so much cattle. We're his messangers. We're his servants. And we. Are your friends."
Aryn almost passed out at the sight of Ex-Mayor Likot standing before him. The last he had seen, she was ripped in half in the sands, slated for the funeral pyre. What had happened in the blackness of night to get her away from the cleansing fire? It wasn't until she had finished speaking that he noticed her two companions. They were both clad in trenchcoats as well, though the massive one behind her wore his like a jacket. They both wore full masks of wrought iron, smooth and faceless, green glass covering the eyes. It was with a moan of comprehension that he recognized them - seconds before Likot spoke again.
"
Bax Unostotho knew I would be lonely, and he made me an honor guard. Why don't you say hello to Miss Valania, and Sergeant Pepper. It's been a while, but Bax Unostotho praises how well this desert can preserve a corpse. He praises you all for your vigilance against the evil of Olsmo. And he especially praises you, Problemwalled - he sent me with this message. 'One rebirth is the same as another.' I'm your friend, I've seen Zefon herself."
Now I'm going to claim my old room. Bring me wine, and stew. We have much to discuss Aryn. I've been away too long."