Together the four of them, wild, unstable, each haunted by their own demons, made up perhaps the most deadly quartet of Delvers to have graced the surface of Dawn in decades. Or so Morlekai was fond of saying after a successful run, high with the afterglow of triumph against all odds, escaping death yet again as they recounted the stories of their battles and struggles to their raptly attentive audience of fellow adventurers and bards before they were allowed to sleep once more, the treasures retrieved safely in the care of the Guild, treasures they were paid top coin for, before they slipped into dreams strange and wonderful, to awaken days or weeks later with only the barest flickers of memory for the terrible journeys overcome and trials faced.
For their adventures, dreadful as they were, had, after all, taken place in the realm of dreams, a place where desire could shape reality as much as any ability, where every man gifted with the powers of a Delver could shape the realm as if they were a god of sorts as they survived its trials, making its story their own. And the weight of such terrible power was too much for any soul to bear. So sleep would, as always, serve its true, terrible purpose; purging memories from dreaming gods forming worlds with their wills, did they but know it. For even Delvers' recollections of Dreamrealms and Shadow were wrung completely from their sleeping souls. Or so the bards liked to fancy, though Malek was of the mind that dreams for most people were just fantasies the mind spun to keep itself entertained.
Yet the Guild was strong and prospered as it did despite the bards' fancies, for unlike most dreams, the treasures Delvers pulled from the Shadowrealms were as solid the next day as all the stone towers of Erovering, often possessing magics the likes of which no modern wizard could replicate. Priceless artifacts coveted by wizards and rulers alike, commanding top coin from the wealthiest players within the kingdom, leaving Guild and Delvers alike rich in coin and privilege, for all that theirs was the most perilous of professions. For glorious as it was, eternal as their legends became, few Delvers endured for more than a handful of years before finding the strength to retire, or never surviving their final adventure, for all that it was rumored that the most powerful among them could lose themselves in dream and legend for centuries, never feeling the marks of age or decrepitude.
As to whether the latter was true or not, Malek hardly knew, for all that he was vaguely sure Jessica's familiar had once hinted at that very truth. Whether Malek wanted to live forever was another question entirely. For as much as he reveled in losing himself, at least for a time, in the heady moments of excitement and awe, exhilaration, fear, and wonder, the glories that were a Delver's bread and butter, the cold, bitter world was always waiting for him when he got back. He loathed the thought of waking up forever to the storm of regrets that he was always hit with, every time he awoke from the mad dreams of a Delver, striving to find balance in the waking world once more, before daring to adventure yet again.
Malek slowed down his pace when he arrived at Barlton proper, wanting to take the time to gaze at its tall slate roofed buildings and to hear the hawking cries and bustle of the market with the enjoyment of a tourist. He put on his most disarming smile, pretending to ignore all flinches and nervous glances sent his way as he approached the gates, doing his utmost to radiate good intentions. And when he took some moments to prepare himself, covering the brooding hilt of his dread blade with something as innocuous as a sock, so that it looked like a staff secured to his back as much as anything else, the blade itself covered by an oversized cloak he kept buried in his pack, good for sleeping on as well as disguise. And when he forced himself to embrace lessons Morlekai and Lucienda had both been trying to drill into his head, taking deep breaths, demanding that the dark, furious fires of his wrath and regret cool to barely flickering embers, he felt almost human.
As he made his quiet, shuffling way into Barlton itself, his smile grew into something genuine. For hardly a soul flinched as he passed them, Malek doing his utmost to sink into the mind of the crowd, just one innocuous, friendly soul among many, no harm intended, no threat to anyone.
Yet for all that, it was a somewhat troubled Malek who made his way to the Guildhall proper half a glass later, unable to shake from his mind the anxious-eyed gazes of more than a few mothers bragging happily about their children's apprenticeships, nor the fact that the streets once filled with the cries and braggadocio of children were now strangely mute of all sounds save bustling commerce. The fear he had sensed had nothing to do with him.
"Malek. You made it! Saints above boy, come in already. You are half a day late!" This from a cheerfully grinning Alacabar, giving his slightly distracted companion a warm comradely pat on the shoulder with sufficient force to crack the collar bones of most men. "What have you done to yourself, boy? That cloak could hide a horse! And a sock on your hilt?" Alacabar's fierce grin only widened. "Will wonders never cease. Are you trying to blend in? Lucienda's lessons might actually be working. You hardly look like you want to rip anyone's head off with that silly smile and that holey sock drooping down your back. Where's that brooding glare we all know and love, little pup? We missed you!"
Malek chuckled wryly, allowing himself a moment to take in Barlton's supposedly humble Guildhall; perfectly jointed stonework surfaced with brilliant gold-flecked marble, a multitude of windows all made of precious glass, staining the room with all the colors of sunset. The reinforced door was itself a masterwork of oak and mahogany, sturdy and thick, etched in bronze with ancient verse, beautiful to behold. All in all, the Guildhall was an exemplary work of sturdy construction, the windows reinforced with grills of steel, not lead, the door stout enough to hold a score of men at bay. And all under a veneer of such elegance that most saw it as nothing but exquisitely furnished and well-priced lodgings, fit only for the noblest of guests vising Barlton, where if one had the savvy and the connections, a goodly amount of gold was to be made with its access to the great river from which so much trade did flow.
Malek allowed himself to be led to their table, his massive friend taking the lead. “Barkeep, ale to our table and quickly, man!”
To this a distinguished figure in fine woolens and a doublet of silver gray did give the fierce Alakabar the most stately of nods. “At once, Del Alacabar. And this must be the famed Del Malek himself? Your reputation precedes you, young sir. Please, make yourself welcome, and we shall do our best to accommodate your needs within our humble little chapter here.”
Malek chuckled at that. "Humble little chapter indeed! Furnishings and elegance the rival of any lord's holding, and stout enough to hold off several score upstarts who dared to make trouble."
The seneschal of sorts gave a polite chuckle before shifting his gaze to more than a few noble patrons and merchants also making use of the facilities, no doubt hoping in his quiet way that his adventuring guests, though ever his top priority, would be so gracious as to not rub the Guild’s potency in the faces of the mundanes too much. It was understandable, his reproving smile hinted, as all knew Delvers to be a hot-blooded sort, but it was bad form really.
Malek smiled sheepishly, giving his head the barest tilt, well able to read all that was said with the man's single bemused expression. The man smiled in earnest then, having no doubt feared Malek would be that ‘other sort' of adventurer, and Alacabar's bone crushing grip instantly turned to an approving pat as he sensed Malek's desire to make a good impression on the poor seneschal. Delvers, after all, tended to be quite good at reading one another after surviving the depths of Shadow back to back for any length of time.
"Come, pup. Our table groans with roasted meats and winter stew still. 'Twould be a pity to waste it after spending half the day playing in the snow, tormented by a love forever out of reach."
Malek flushed at that. Of course Alacabar knew about Apple. How could he not? Affairs of the head or heart, nothing was off limits to a crew that Delved as deeply as they did, forging bonds of loyalty and friendship stronger than steel could ever be. All it had taken was a few chance comments, and they had
pried the story out in short order. As for Malek's own feelings, he hadn't said a word, but there were no fools who survived long in Shadow, especially as deep as they dared to go.
"She's just a friend, Alacabar. Sister of my shieldsister. And I would far rather be her hero than have her fall in love with someone that could only break her heart in the end."
Alacabar chuckled. “Give it time, pup. Enough years of this madness and perhaps you'll be ready to retire, to start life anew, and perhaps she'll still be unwed or freshly widowed, her man no doubt nobly dying in the foolish war to come, and you two can find each other, rekindle flames of love and passion too long kept buried in ashes of old regrets, the embers sparking into a brilliant bonfire of love and fiercest passion fit for the most epic of bard's tales!”
Malek smiled. "It's a sweet dream, Alacabar. But you know who she really is, and there is no way in hell I would be permitted to marry her, even if I wanted to, and I am not saying I do. This is all but a flight of fancy. I like a smiling young buck as well as any lass with dimples and a saucy grin, and all that matters is that Apple is safe and secure once more." He gave Alacabar a pat on the back. "Besides, you and I both know that Delvers who journey as deep as we have never get out. The Shadow's too thick in our blood. We'd probably die if we even tried."
His friend snorted. "Like a drunkard so deep in his cups that to stop would mean his death from the shakes as much as continuing will mean his death from a rotted liver. What a colorful mood you are in today, boy!" Alacabar laughed, though his hooded glance made it clear Malek's comment had hit home. "No lily-livered drunkards are we, boy. No shakes will touch frames as potent as ours. But you are right. Leaving the Delver's life is no easy thing, when you've dived into living nightmare as deeply as we have."
Malek blinked, gazing at the suddenly serious man.
Alacabar's eyes locked upon his own. "One time I spent a month in utter quiet. Alone in the Dragonspire Range." He gave a slow shake of his head. "The dreams. They haunt you, boy. A bitter melancholic ache for something you cannot name, your soul slowly crushed and squeezed by the horrid, joyless monotony of an empty, meaningless life. All pleasure, no matter how sweet to the tongue, tastes of ashes. No lover can give you release. No show or farce elicits a smile." He sighed. "And the only cure for it, the only cure there ever was, is to dare yet again the terrible, bittersweet magic and utter wonder that is the Dreamrealms. Then one wakes up full of vigor and cheer, the world alight with pleasure, wonder, and color once more."
This last said even as he gently led Malek to one of the many fine chairs by the grand polished table near groaning under the weight of all the roasts, meat pies, soups and souffles upon it. He found himself seated across from the leader of their group, even at that moment devouring a great turkey leg. Dressed in elegantly cut sky blue doublet and hose that contrasted so well with his undershirt of finest ivory silk, he was graced with short spiky hair the color of moonlight above perfect features as fierce as they were beautiful. The most noble of predators, he looked as always the height of elegance and untamed savagery both.
Morlekai flashed Malek a warm smile of greeting. "How fares the youngest member of our quartet? Are you ready for the next stage of our adventure?"
Malek grinned at the thought, savoring the fantasy of holding that divine artifact in his hands, its mystic gentle light redeeming even his scarred soul. “More than words can say, Del Morlekai. More than words can say.”
Del Morlekai gave a sharp laugh that echoed oddly through the vast eating hall, more than one noble and his lady quietly enjoying their fare turning their way, as if to gaze at the Delvers with mild reproof. Those lords and ladies with any experience visiting Guild halls, however, merely smiled tolerantly, politely ignoring the deadliest warriors their kingdom had ever known.
Morlekai merely flashed a toothy grin at those lords who dared to meet his eyes, though none had the nerve to stare for long.
"Feel better?" teased the sultry sweet voice of Lucienda. Malek's heart raced at hearing her honey-sweet voice, even as he gazed upon the incredible beauty comprised of such sensual curves and impossibly elegant features that was the gray-eyed siren sitting at Morlekai's side, presently gazing at her companion and lover with gentlest rebuke, her soft words sending shivers down even Malek's spine.
Morlekai flashed Lucienda a madcap grin even as he swooped down for a kiss, gentle and fierce at once, she kissing back hungrily for a timeless heartbeat before they both broke off, chuckling throatily. “Endlessly better, my siren queen. Though were you not here, the aping glares of the endless fools our fine Guild condescends to cater to would leave me in far more disjointed spirits.”
"Then let us be glad that I am here, dearest Morlekai." Lucienda's throaty chuckle earned her more than a few haunted looks as she was gazed at in rapt adoration by near every man who heard her siren voice, hopelessly strung by their heartstrings, yearning for an impossible love they knew could never be. "Indeed, my Morlekai, where would I be, save by your side?"
Morlekai’s gaze was filled with a rare gentle fondness. “Prospering and well, I do hope, wherever life takes you.”
Lucienda flashed their leader a teasing wink. “'Tis fortunate then, that I am exactly where I wish most to be.”
Alacabar lifted his massive tankard in toast. “To true friends, fellow soldiers of dream and wonder, willing to fight by my side against all odds, I salute you! For braver and more worthy boon companions I cannot fathom. May every journey end with the sweet taste of victory upon our lips, and a fat purse of gold at our hips!”
At that, they all grinned and raised their cups in unison, and Malek felt the worries and cares of his preoccupied mind ease as the warmth and camaraderie of his companions washed over him, savoring good food and company alike, till at last he leaned back and sighed, replete and relaxed.
Alacabar chuckled warmly. "I see our appetites for food and good cheer have been well-sated. Perhaps there are other appetites you wish to slake? I understand this is quite the well-appointed chapter hall."
Lucienda’s throaty laugh was teasing even as Malek felt himself flush. “I fear our young friend is still mourning loves lost by cruel fate and gentle necessity both. Tease him not too much, dear Alacabar. His heart shall heal in its own time.”
Alacabar sighed, his gaze upon Malek almost fatherly. "You're right of course, Lucienda. This lad hasn't taken a single lover since Apple left a hole in his heart. I still say he needs a companion to ease his soul of the weary weight we all sometimes feel when not crashing between the maelstrom of madness and glory that is so often our wont." He clapped Malek affectionately on the back. "And Barlton is known for the beauty of its Guild associates. No doubt our young lad could find someone who could make him very happy here, if he but put in the effort."
Morlekai’s own fierce gaze was almost gentle as he gave an abashed Malek who so rarely wanted to be the focus of such attention a gentle nod. “Our young lad here is making a fair name for himself, loyal and true companion that he has been to us in the madness of Shadow. When he is ready, I have no doubt he will have the courage to unlock his heart once more, to choose the man or woman that shall claim his devotion, and embrace each day they have together, savoring all its wonder and beauty. For tomorrow is promised to no man, least of all Midnight Delvers who dare to dance in realms of darkest Shadow and dream."
"Hear, hear!" Alacabar chuckled. "In the meantime, boy, find yourself a lover and enjoy these moments of revelry!" Malek found himself laughing along with Lucienda, his cheeks flushed in a grateful grin for the warmth and love of his companions. People he would gladly risk his life to protect, a virtue both given and received many times over in their terrible journeys, actions which had bonded them as close and tight as family could ever be.
There was no jealousy either, for ones as close as they. Lucienda gazed fondly at her lover as Morlekai gently queried after Jessica, his fierce adoration of her no secret by any means, Lucienda having made it clear when firs
t Malek had dared broach the topic that she begrudged Morlekai not at all in his desire to savor many flavors, knowing she would always hold a special place in his heart, as she did for him even when her appetites led her upon escapades worthy of a bard's tale all their own. Or so she had once teased a suddenly flushing Malek, making it abundantly clear she was well aware of Jess's open-mindedness in terms of romance, and thought the three of them could get along quite famously, if Malek understood what she meant, at which point Malek had politely excused himself, her throaty laughter following him out the princely quarters she had shared with Morlekai that night. Malek smiled in reminiscence, knowing their leader had unusual status within the Guild, even among Delvers. For all that no official title had ever be ascribed to him, no one recalled a time when Morlekai had not been a part of the Guild.
"Jess is well," Malek assured. "She seems happy, content to wile away her days puttering about her magic garden, which really is something, I tell you. The entire Academy is awash in such a profusion of blossoms as you ever did see. The sun caresses your skin as gently as a warm spring day, the air alive with fragrance and birdsong." He chuckled softly. "Did you never look beyond the massive wall that serves as a demarcation between the vast campus proper and the surrounding lands, you'd think yourself in the height of spring, as opposed to the dead of winter."
Morlekai gave an approving nod. “Greenmage indeed, and a master of her craft. And we need say no more than that,” their leader assured with a grim smile, making it utterly clear to Malek that even now Malek was not to discuss the dire depredations of Franken, the fallen fool whose twisted henchmen Malek had so gleefully cut down in a fit of killing rage. An act that still haunted him, as justified as Morlekai and Dean Echobart himself had counted his actions. And just the type of furious killing spree he had trained to master as a former Squire of War, making full use of even his darkest talents to further that end, just as he had been taught to.
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