by C. M. Carney
20
Gryph’s eyes scanned back and forth as they moved deeper into the ancient Thalmiir city, eyeing every statue, depression and alcove warily. They’d worked their way deeper into the city, encountering a wide variety of automatons. None had been as powerful as the goliath, but the ever-present clank of metal or whining of gears was fraying Gryph’s nerves.
Myrthendir had been a fountain of information on the weaknesses of the various dwarven machines and the best tactics to attack and defend against them. With his aid, they’d moved through the city with only a few minor injuries.
Wick was crushing hard on the regal elf, following on his heels like a precocious child, peppering the man with endless questions. “How do you know so much about the constructs?” “Where did you learn about the dwarves?” Gryph was embarrassed for Wick but saw no reason to rain on his small friend’s parade. If Gryph was being truthful, he also thought highly of the elf.
Conversely, Ovrym had a deep distrust of the man, even taking Gryph aside to warn him that something was off with the Prince Regent. Gryph did not share the adjudicator’s suspicions, but he trusted the xydai’s instincts and promised to keep a constant eye on the tall elf.
Gryph walked up to Myrthendir, saving him from another bout of babbling curiosity from Wick. “This isn’t the first Thalmiir city you’ve explored is it?”
Myrthendir looked at Gryph with a quizzical expression before shaking his head. “It is not. When I was younger, when my elder brother was the heir, I journeyed to the outside world with Barrendiel.” The mention of his cousin’s name brought a sour expression to the elf lord’s face.
“My father sent us to experience the world beyond our borders and learn about their people. He believed that to gain a true understanding of the Realms one must experience them first hand. While in the outside world I gained my Specialty and my Calling.”
“A Specialty? A Calling?” Gryph asked, once more finding he missed Lex. His banner NPC may have possessed an irritating sense of humor, but he had been a great source of information about this strange universe.
Myrthendir looked at Gryph in surprise and amusement. “Sometimes I forget that you are a player and new to this realm. I will try to explain.” He took a deep breath and Ovyrm stepped alongside him. Despite his mistrust of the elf, the xydai seems intrigued by Myrthendir’s last words.
“You have a Calling?” Ovyrm said in a stunned voice.
The Prince Regent looked at the xydai. “Yes, adjudicator, like you I am called to a higher purpose. I am a Loremaster of Xynthos.”
Tifala gasped. “A loremaster.” For a moment Gryph thought she would bow to the tall elf. Wick’s mouth went slack, wanting to speak, but unsure what to say. It hung open for several seconds before he closed it. In the time he had known the gnome summoner he had never once seen him at a loss for words. Even Ovyrm seems impressed.
“Okay, can someone tell the new guy what the hell you’re talking about?”
Ovyrm smiled. “All sentients of the Realms can learn and master skills, based upon a wide variety of factors such as their Intelligence, Strength, Wisdom, and their Affinities for certain spheres of magic. Most people of the Realms will focus on a few, and most of these are the simple skills, carpentry, farming, brewing and the like. Those of greater abilities will sometimes become adventurers. You are already well on your way in that regard.”
"Once you advance to level 20 you can choose a Specialty. Think of it as specializing down into mastery of one niche. I am an arms magus, a warrior who specializes in using magic not to cast spells, but to enhance the effectiveness of my martial skills, armor, and weapons." He held his hand out to Tifala. “Tifala, if I am not mistaken, is a life mage, well on her way to the Calling in one of the druidic schools.”
The gnome woman nodded and smiled. “If the spirits of water, earth, and air will have me that is indeed my choice.”
Ovyrm looked to Wick. “And our demon loving friend here has obviously chosen the path of the warlock.”
“I made bad choices in my youth,” Wick said as if that explained anything. “I’m working on a new path.” He reached out to grab Tifala’s hand.
“Um, okay. That makes sense, I guess.” Gryph said, imagining it was like getting a college degree. “How does one get a Specialty?”
“First you must choose an area you want to specialize in and then find someone willing to let you apprentice for them. A Master will often spend years training you.” Ovyrm stared at Gryph. “But you’re a quick study, so you’ll likely achieve your Specialty much quicker.”
Gryph picked up on Ovyrm’s veiled reference to the Godhead and cast a sideways glance at Myrthendir. He cannot know what I possess, can he? “And a Calling?”
“A Calling is a further refining of your Specialty. It requires intense study and quite often has a spiritual quality to it,” Myrthendir said. “I am a loremaster, a seeker of lost knowledge. I trained in The Atheneum in Xynthos, a haven of learning from before the time of the Ruin. More than a million volumes are stored within the walls of the Atheneum, some of them in languages so ancient that nobody alive understands them. It was there that I studied the Thalmiir, learned of the world before the Ruin and rediscovered ancient knowledge. Then I went out into the world to discover and catalog long forgotten secrets. The Loremasters of Xynthos believe in one thing over all others; that knowledge is power.”
A sense of déjà vu brought a chill to Gryph’s heart. He sounds like the Colonel.
“During my travels, Barrendiel and I saw many wonders,” Myrthendir paused as if pained by some old memory. “And a few abominations that haunt my dreams to this day. While adventuring in an ancient Gypt temple, Barrendiel and I became separated and everything changed after that. I didn’t see how much until now.”
The elf lord gripped his staff in white-knuckled hands and a look of regret painted his face. Gryph suspected his cousin’s betrayal was forcing memories of missed opportunities to the fore of his mind. I know that look and I know that feeling.
“Eventually I returned home, secrets left undiscovered, my purpose in life left unfinished. I’d always hoped I could return to my studies, but then my brother died and my place was by my father’s side.”
Gryph could feel the pain swirling inside the Prince Regent. He knew a little something about obligations and broken dreams. He was now the man Gryph because of obligation. A respectful silence hung in the air as the companions let the Prince Regent process his emotions. It did not last.
“Xeg has Calling,” The imp had shrunk back down to his normal size.
“No you don’t, you little red worm,” Wick said in irritation at the imp’s rudeness.
“Does so, pea-brained grumpkin,” Xeg said and scowled at Wick from his perch on Tifala’s shoulder. She scratched lightly at his chin.
“What is your Calling Xeg?” she asked, earning a glare from Wick that said, don’t encourage him.
“Xeg am a Zyrrgtyth of Bxrthygaal,” the imp said, proudly pushing his chest out.
“That’s not a thing,” Wick muttered.
“Is too thing. Way better and more great thing than thing you no have,” Xeg said like a pouting child who was told his art project was no good.
“I summoned you here,” Wick said. “I’d say that makes my thing better than your thing.”
“Nuh uh,” Xeg said, sticking his tongue out at Wick. “Xeg here cuz want be.”
“Enough children,” Tifala said.
“Xeg ain’t no children,” the imp said, turning angry eyes on Tifala. “Xeg am be much ancient Xeg.”
Tifala scratched the underside of his chin again. “Of course you are my mighty Xeg.”
“Mightiest Xeg of all Xeg,” the imp said standing tall with his hands on his hips.
Wick scowled and muttered under his breath something to the tune of “I need a new Specialty.”
/>
Gryph repressed a grin and changed the subject. He turned to Myrthendir. “What else can you tell us about the Thalmiir?” The elf smiled and nodded a small thanks to Gryph for ending the juvenile argument.
“Few of the cities remain. Most are lost to the ravages of time, either plundered long ago or scuttled by their masters before leaving Korynn. Barrendiel was right about one thing, the Thalmiir had a well-documented tendency to jealously guard their technology and wealth.”
Gryph thought he saw a pained expression glaze over the man’s face, but as soon as it formed it was gone. “It was one reason the Alliance was a surprise to many. Under normal circumstances, the Thalmiir were more likely to seal themselves away in their mountain homes than get involved in the affairs of the world. They were a proud people, to the point of arrogance and fought many an ancient war against my ancestors and the Nimmerian High Men and the Orc tribes of the Raal Zanaag.”
“The Dark Ascendancy changed all that,” Gryph stated.
“Yes, the arboleth know, they do not think, they know that they are the Realms preeminent species and that all others exist either to serve them or die.” Myrthendir sent a sideways glance at Ovyrm. “That is why they call themselves the Prime, and they have made it their mission to bring order, their order, to the cosmos. Against such a foe, even the arrogant Thalmiir realized they needed aid.”
“Do you think the Prime are responsible for the chaos infection in the Nimmerian ruins?”
Gryph saw the Prince Regent’s expression change, but he could not read it. Had the mention of chaos brought his thoughts to his murdered father? After all, it had been Lassendir who was the only one to recognize the corruption as the taint of chaos. Perhaps he was feeling overwhelmed by the pressure of taking over his father’s position? Scrambling to understand how to protect his people from the many dangers they faced? For a man born not to lead, but to advise, that was a terrible burden indeed.
“No. While the arboleth hate all life that is not Prime, they are devotees of order. They hate and fear the Princes of Chaos above all others.” He looked at Gryph. “In that, the Prime and I agree.” For just a moment the Prince Regent’s control dipped and Gryph saw the fear inside the man, yet it soon dissipated, replaced by purpose.
What frightens him so much?
“We should reach the gate to the Inner City soon,” Myrthendir said, changing the subject. He moved ahead of Gryph, lost in his own thoughts.
Wick moved to follow him, but Tifala placed a hand lightly on his forearm arresting his motion. Wick looked up at her in confusion. “Leave him be my love. He still grieves.” A look of understanding crossed Wick’s face, followed by a flush of embarrassment as if he’d just realized how much of the fanboy he’d been acting. He nodded to Tifala and kissed her hand lightly.
A few minutes later they came to a chamber easily as large as the biggest football stadiums of Earth. Seating for thousands lined the walls, all looking down on a central dais where a large stone chair sat in front of a massive statue of some ancient Thalmiir king. The cracks and chips of time lay riven across the proud Thalmiir’s face and he held a massive double-bladed axe.
“Durgath the Doombringer,” Myrthendir said. “He was the first Stone King of the Thalmiir. He reigned in this city for a thousand years before he fell in battle against the last Dragon King during the time before the Ruin.”
“Dragons aren’t real,” Wick said, his tone that of a know-it-all teen.
“Not for many millennia,” Myrthendir agreed. “But, they ruled Korynn before the birth of all our peoples.”
“So there is truth to the legends?” Tifala asked, amazed.
“Nearly all legends grow from seeds of truth,” Myrthendir said.
“As do all lies, all betrayals,” Ovyrm said.
Myrthendir’s gaze locked onto the xydai’s yellow eyes and for several moments Gryph felt the air in the room become heavy. Then the Prince Regent nodded. “Quite correct, adjudicator.” Myrthendir turned and walked around the base of the massive statue. After a moment Tifala and Wick followed.
Gryph walked up to Ovyrm who was watching Myrthendir’s back. “What is it?”
“I am uncertain,” the xydai said. “I have known a loremaster or two in my life. They portray themselves as scholars seeking great truths, but they are just as often rogues who were not above theft and murder to gain the knowledge they coveted. They were hoarders who use their knowledge to dominate others. This elf prince might differ from those men, but he may also be just like them.”
“In my experiences, people are never just one thing, and sometimes even they don’t understand why they do the things they do,” Gryph said.
“That has been my experience as well.”
The xydai followed the rest of the group. Gryph looked up at the towering figure of Durgath the Doombringer and saw something in the long-dead king’s expression that was somehow familiar as if he had once known the man whose visage it portrayed.
Is this man an ancestor of the man I once was? Does that mean he is my ancestor? Gryph still didn’t quite believe in the concept of past lives and eternally reborn souls, despite the evidence of his soul reverie. The whole idea contradicted all that he had been taught, and even though it was a cultural bias, he still found it hard to discount. After a moment Gryph shook his head chasing the foolish thought from his mind and followed his companions.
He found them all staring wide-eyed up at the largest pair of doors Gryph had ever seen. These massive doors slid open on large tracks set into the ceiling and floor. Gryph looked up at the towering slabs of stone and true iron, adorned with intricately carved portrayals of Thalmiir warriors clad in heavy plate armor and bearing massive hammers, axes, and swords.
Quite an effective warning, Gryph thought, impressed by the design choice that allowed the Thalmiir sentinels to look down upon, and warn, anyone who came into the room. Although they were mere carvings in stone, Gryph could sense the capability in those visages and he was glad he would not have to face off against the warriors they represented.
Long trails scoured in the dust along the tracks suggesting that they had recently opened them, and likely for the first time since they had sealed the city.
“The Sentinel Gate guards the entrance to the Inner City of Dar Thoriim,” Myrthendir said. “In the ancient days, only the Thalmiir were allowed beyond this point. The penalty for anyone foolish enough to ignore that law was death.”
“Let’s hope the landlords aren’t home,” Gryph said.
“Why would the Dwellers leave these open?” Wick asked. Everyone looked at the diminutive gnome. "They have to know that we're coming after them, or that someone will. If they’re trying to steal whatever secrets this place hides, why leave these doors open? Surely they must have used the Seal of the Dwarven King to open the gates."
“Agreed,” Ovyrm said.
“Then why not close them after they entered? It makes no sense to let us follow them.”
“Unless they want us to follow them,” Myrthendir suggested.
“Why would they wish that?” Ovyrm asked.
“I do not know,” the elf prince said, a dour expression crossing his face.
Gryph felt a chill run down his spine. “Guess there’s only one way to find out.” The others looked at him with expressions that ranged from agreement to disbelief and after a moment he gripped the shaft of his spear in a white-knuckled grasp and took a tentative step over the wide metal band built into the floor that marked the threshold to the inner city.
Gryph stood rigid as his pounding heart counted the passing seconds. There was no sound at all. No clanking of an approaching goliath, no hiss of wall mounted flamethrowers powering up, no grinding whine of approaching metallic spheres ready to unfurl ballista at him. After ten furious beats, he let himself breathe once again. After thirty seconds his shoulders lowered, easing the knots of
tension throughout his body. At a full minute, he looked back at his fellows and shrugged.
One by one the rest of his companions also stepped over the metallic border. The silence of peace held for all of them, broken only by the exhalations of relief each of them made as their crossing failed to trigger an attack.
“That was fun,” Wick said, easing the tension everyone had been holding in.
Gryph looked at Myrthendir and indicated he should take the lead again. The Prince Regent nodded, and the companions fell into position behind their party leader. The gallery they were in was nearly as high and long as the one beyond the Sentinel Gate, but it was half again as wide. Odd spheres lined the walls at even intervals casting a warm golden light that easily illuminated the entire chamber.
Gryph looked up to see a host of balconies lining the walls in tiers. Solid stone bridges spanned the distance between walls crosshatching the open air above him. His tactical mind could envision a host of defensive capabilities these structures could provide, and he was glad that he would not have to face the Thalmiir on their home turf. As if defying his unspoken wish the sound of hundreds of skittering metallic legs came at them from behind.
21
“Run!” Gryph yelled as he punched urgency into his own legs and rushed towards the far end of the massive gallery. Behind them, a swarm of spider like automatons skittered after them on eight metal legs. None were yet close enough to attack, but they moved much faster than the group and would soon catch them. Gryph glanced back and used Analyze.
Thalmiir Arachnid. Level 6 - H:150/S: 300/ M: 100/ SP: 0
Thalmiir Arachnids are the most common of the Thalmiir automaton constructs. They spend most of their time hidden in the small passages that parallel the main thoroughfares and passageways of Thalmiir cities and provide maintenance services. In cases of extreme emergency, they can defend the city. They are individually weak, but as a swarm, they can quickly overwhelm even the most powerful of adventuring parties.