‘My father is Bardrack the Butcher. All I’ve ever done is learn how to kill things.’ She replied.
‘But you didn’t realise you had killed him?’
‘Like I said. I learned how to kill things. I’ve never actually killed anything, or anyone. Until now I suppose.’
Dorian nodded. ‘Ok. That seems to make sense. So now, who is Bardrack the Butcher?’
The girl looked up at him again,
‘Seriously?’ She said.
Dorian shrugged. ‘I don’t spend much time here. I had a run in with the Duke a few years ago and I’ve found it’s better for my health if I keep away from the city.’
‘The Duke?’ The girl asked, her eyes widened.
‘The Duke. Yes.’
‘What’s your name?’ She asked, letting the crossbow slip to the floor.
‘Dorian.’ He replied and straightened. ‘Of the Deep Valley.’
‘Dorian of the Deep Valley.’ She said.
He liked her voice and the way she spoke his name in a melodic fashion. ‘At your service.’ He said, offering a slight bow.
‘Dorian. The Duke was hung drawn and quartered three years ago. My father did the drawing and the quartering. He was displayed, in quarters, at each corner of the kingdom.’
‘Oh.’ Dorian said.
He frowned, had it been that long since he had been here?
‘The poor fellow over there was Alberto.’ The girl nodded towards her fallen would-be hero. ‘He was a kind and caring boy who wanted to leave my father’s guard and seek his fortune through adventure. He tried to help me escape. We were to head to a town near the mountains and embark upon a Quest.’
‘A Quest? What Quest?’ Dorian asked, at a loss.
‘Any Quest.’ She replied. ‘Any Quest anywhere would do I suppose, but I’m told that the Mountains are the best place to be.’
‘’The Quest Gates.’ Dorian said.
She nodded.
‘What’s your name?’ Dorian asked, realising that he still only knew her as ‘girl.’
‘Felicity.’
‘Felicity Bardrack?’ Dorian asked.
‘Bardrack is my dad’s first name.’
‘Felicity… the Butcher?’ Dorian asked cautiously.
‘That’s not a surname Dorian. Is it? My surname is Handash.’
‘Ah. Of course. Apologies.’ Dorian held out his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Felicity Handash.’
Felicity took the offered hand and shook it.
‘I can’t be Felicity Handash anymore.’ She said as they clasped hands.
‘You can’t?’ Dorian said.
‘No. My father will scour the kingdom for me, and for you of course.’
‘For me?’
‘Naturally. You killed some of his best men. Vin was like a brother to him.’
‘He was?’
‘Yes. They were very close. They used to torture prisoners together.’
‘Right.’ Dorian said.
‘You need to take me away from here.’ Felicity squeezed his hand more tightly and placed her free hand over it. ‘Dorian Deep Valley, it is upon your honour to get me to my destination. You must help me begin my Quest. Without your help Ranger, I will surely… OH MY GOD WHATS THAT?
Dorian almost leapt from his boots at the sudden shrill outburst. Felicity dropped his hand and ran over to the thick tree he had used as his sniping spot. He saw that she was running towards Spyra. The Blink Dog was sat on his haunches observing the exchange and his ears spiked as Felicity ran over to him.
‘Felicity STOP! He’ll tear your face…’
Not hearing, Felicity reached the Blink dog, gathered in her arms and stroked her face against his.
… off.’ Dorian finished, as he watched with slack-jawed amazement as Spyra licked at her and rubbed his furry head against her.
‘Oh, he’s adorable.’ Felicity said, lost in joy.
‘He’s a Blink Dog.’ Dorian said with confused emotion. ‘A legendary creature of the Abyss that is said to be able to phase through dimensions at the speed the sun’s light travels through the multiverse. Able to tear out a man’s throat before he is even aware he is in the presence of a beast of the Netherworlds.
‘He’s so cute! What’s his name?’ She said, gathering up the animal in her arms.
‘Spyra.’ Dorian replied. Still lost.
‘Aww. Spyra. Who’s the cutest little thing? So, what do you say Dorian of the Deep Valley? Will you help me find my Quest?’ Felicity approached him as Spyra revelled in ear rubs and pampering.
‘I suppose I… should.’ Dorian replied, not entirely sure he was convinced of this. ‘But you should know that you will need, at the very least, a Cleric, a Wizard, a Rogue and a Warrior, and these people can be extremely difficult to work with and…’
‘Yes of course,’ Felicity said, interrupting his flow once again, ‘but at least I’ll have my Ranger.’
She smiled and took his hand once again and in it placed a royal blue handkerchief. ‘You have spots of blood on your face. You should clear them.’
‘Thank you.’ Dorian said. He wiped at his forehead, cheeks and chin.
‘You may keep that. In case you need to clean up again.’ She gave him another of her very agreeable smiles. ‘Come then brave Dorian, lead me through the woods. I am truly helpless here, without your bravery and knowledge of the natural world I don’t know what I can do!’
She was teasing him, he understood that but Dorian’s mind was working hard to figure the situation out. He was, he had always admitted to himself, hopeless with people. With animals he was fine, and in the heat of battle he was keen, sharp and able to think far ahead of his adversary, be it man or nature, but with people…
‘Yes, of course.’ He said, deciding that the best way to deal with difficult thoughts was to abandon them. He tucked the handkerchief into a pouch. ‘Follow me. I’ll lead you out.’
Felicity stepped close to him and gave him a hug, and as she did Spyra ran around them both, leaping shoulder to shoulder.
‘A Quest.’ Dorian thought. ‘I haven’t been on a Quest in ages. Could be fun I suppose.’
The Town
The Town lies at the base of one of the largest mountains of a range that runs for two hundred unbroken miles across the northern border of Trestfall. There are no gold mines in this region, the soil is not fertile and the weather inclement. Even copper and iron and other lesser ores have no real footprint here. Generally, there are only two industries, Retail and Adventure. Well, actually there are three, but the activities performed by the ladies of ‘Madam Foo Foo’s Pamper Parlour’ technically fall under the Leisure category.
Weapons are sold here, and suitable ammunition where applicable. Trail rations and supplies are prepared, and you can get a horse or mule, a pair of boots, a hat and any other item that would be useful when setting on some bold endeavour. More exotic supplies such as potions can also be acquired but the vendors of potions are forced to conduct their trade at a good distance from the town due to the volatile nature of the practice of alchemy. These stores always look brand new because they are rebuilt on an almost monthly basis. An alchemist without third degree burns, missing fingers or who owns both eyebrows is either a Master of his Art, or new to the job.
The first thing to greet any traveller to the town is a view of the main street. It runs through the very centre and on each side the stores huddle together, with wooden advertising panels sticking out from their first floor announcing to all what kind of business they can expect inside. Tailors, Leatherworkers, Blacksmiths, Butchers, Sackmakers, Potters and Carpenters all fight with each other for a customer’s attention, sometimes literally, in the street. Because there is one thing that the town does not have. Law.
There are no police in the town, no militia and definitely no Sheriff. Instead, the peace is kept by a common agreement that if someone has a grievance they should convene by appointment in the street and beat the shit out of each other. The last
person standing is, by standard definition, the winner. It had also been agreed that ladies who owned stores could offer forth a proxy to fight for them. However, this option is rarely used as the women of the town could better in viciousness what the men possessed in strength by a country mile.
The sole purpose of the town is directed towards also its only clients. Adventurers. And their sole purpose is to Quest.
The Trestfall Mountains have, it is said, never been crossed. Some have claimed to have travelled its length, where the tail of the peaks meets with the Shundar Ocean to the east and to the vast boulder strewn and ice-packed lands of Khaffkar in the north-west. But there has never been a traveller who has crossed over, and then returned.
There are people who tell stories of such a thing. Stories that they managed the crossing of a distance yet to be determined, but certainly in excess of two hundred miles across a blizzard swept landscape of crevices, avalanches, bloody big mountains and cave system filled with things with evil rows of teeth that don't get to go out very often. But there is something that all Adventurers seek deep inside that forbidding range. The Gates.
Wizards, Sorcerers, Warlocks and Witches, and the senior holy men of the various religions have all offered their thoughts upon why the Trestfall mountains are home to these incredible, unnatural features. Although the holy men’s opinions are mostly ignored due their insistence that whatever the reason for the Gates it’s their God that did it. At the Great Conclave meetings, held every twenty-five years, agents of the supernatural gather to consult and confer and things are not always calm. The Assembly of Witches refuse to make any sandwiches for the religious sects in protest at their continued habit of trying to burn them at the stake. More recently it was agreed that it was ‘about fucking time’ some of the other guilds started having a hand in the catering as well. Like those that weren’t exclusively women.
The outcome of these meetings is usually unchanged where the Mountain Gates are concerned however. These things open seemingly at random. They are portals to areas that exist on their own planet, and others. The Gates remain accessible until a person steps inside, and then there are only a few minutes before they will close.
This is the start of a Quest.
Every day groups of adventurers trek into the mountains to seek a fresh Gate. Often, they will find nothing, only a cold and dangerous welcome from the inhospitable temperature, the barren, ice-coated rocks and the beasts lurking under the snow and in deep caves where pressured adventurers seek shelter from sudden storms. But those who do and manage to survive the experience of what lies beyond the Gate, usually return with great riches or strange and powerful artefacts, or a greater understanding of the universe. Although the latter isn’t considered to be particularly worthy of bragging rights having no real market value.
The return rate of adventurers is very low. Even experienced groups are sometimes never seen again. This poor rate of survival is compounded by the fact that many groups enter the Gate as virtual strangers to each other. Petty fallouts and squabbles leading to rash decisions which often end with someone being eaten alive or impaled on a spike.
It is vital that a party consist of a group of people of good character, who are mentally stable, have a true team spirit, and bring with them no personal agenda, only a sense of duty to their companions. These will then overcome all obstacles and emerge as true heroes. This always looks better on paper.
Corbett
‘What do you mean it’s not this place?’ Corbett asked. Already suspicious of the man he was talking to, as he displayed some kind of nervous tic which made him keep winking at him as though he might be in on some joke.
‘It’s like I says. You be lookin fer the town. This be the village.’ *wink*
Corbett narrowed his eyes. ‘I was told that the town was the next place I would come to. I’ve been walking for a fucking month.’
‘The town is the next place Sur.’ The man said. ‘From ere.’ *wink*
‘Yes. I understand that.’ Corbett took a breath. ‘But I was told at the previous place, that the Town was the next place. How is this not the next place?’
‘Oh right, well see, the folks down from ere, they don’t count our place as a place, cos we don’t get on see.’ *wink* ‘They always send folks elsewhere so as we don’t get no business. And we don’t tell anyone that their place is a place.’
Corbett stared at the man as though he were a talking shoe. ‘You don’t get on.’ He said.
‘That’s right,’ the man replied, although to Corbett’s ears it came out as roight and made his senses crawl. ‘They sell their pigs at half our rate n they’re driving down the price. Getting to be a man can’t make a shilling from a fully-grown pig.’ *wink*
Now, because of the wink, Corbett wasn’t sure if the man was being honest, indignant or if he meant that he ‘could’ make a shilling from a fully-grown pig and was just letting him in on his little pig vending secret.
‘Right.’ Corbett added a frown to his narrowed eyes. ‘I see.’
He didn’t, but he wanted to move away from any further pig-based discussions. ‘Well how far is it to the town from here then? ‘Ooh.’ The man said. His face was red from being scoured by
the wind, rain and sun, and his skin had small bumps across it, he looked like a mauled raspberry. ‘It’s about fifty miles or so.’ *wink*
‘Fifty miles.’ Corbett said, waiting to see if a wink came again.
‘Aye, bout that.’ The man said. No wink followed.
‘Fucking hell.’ Corbett snapped.
‘Why don’t ee get a cart? There’s a couple leave ere each day, although I don’t know why I bother to take our pigs on account of us getting a lousy price over there.’
Corbett paused. He had spotted an opportunity and he to play this carefully if he wasn’t to break his bond.
‘What are you suggesting?’ He asked, carefully and slowly, and with a slight rise of his eyebrows, which he hoped would intimate to the man that perhaps he could elaborate on his statement a little.
‘Well, ee could hitch a ride on of the cars could’n ee?’
‘So, you are saying…’ Corbett said, and his eyebrows rose a little higher.
The man looked at him with mild confusion, as though he was standing a hundred yards away and couldn’t quite catch what Corbett was saying.
‘Er… that you might… take a cart… to the next place…’
‘And that….’ Corbett was now practically leaning over towards the man. He nodded his head slowly and the man instinctively mimicked the action.
‘That you could…’
‘Hmm?’ Corbett willed the man to get on board the train of his thoughts and get his ticket stamped.
‘Well, I mean you could have a lift with me, when I take me cart.’
‘Yup.’ Corbett said, quickly, ‘That’s close enough. I would be delighted to accept your unsolicited offer of transport to the next place. So long as the next place is the town at the foot of the mountain, and not some random fucking village or cluster of tents with a camel, that you have or haven’t fallen out with.’
‘Roight.’ The villager said.
‘What time will you be leaving?’ Corbett asked.
‘Oh, well, we loike to have a lie in around here so it won’t be until around ten I would say.’ *wink*
‘Terrific.’ Corbett said, rubbing his hands. ‘Now I want a bath and I want to eat. I’ll guarantee there’s only one bloody tavern here, where is it?
The man pointed beyond Corbett’s right shoulder, ‘Over by the square, there’s Billy’s Inn. He can sort you out with a bed and a…’
Corbett had already turned and was walking in the direction of the Inn. He would eat a hearty meal, have a hot soak and then enjoy a decent lie in before his ride took him to the next place. His mood lifted considerably.
***
The meal at Billy’s inn was hot and well cooked, and Corbett took a bath which eased his aching body of its twinges then lay o
n his bed which had a half-decent mattress.
At six am he was woken by the sound of strong and repeated thumps upon his door.
‘What in the name of…’ He exclaimed as he whipped the sheets off his naked body. He stormed to the door and wrenched it open.
It was the man. The ‘place’ man. Corbett realised that he hadn’t bothered to ask his name.
‘You! What do you want? It must be the middle of the fucking morning!’
‘Uhm, well, we’re leaving for the town. It’s time to leave.’
‘What! You said ten am. It must be five or six!’
‘Oh, I was just joking there sir, of course we start off at dawn or close to it. I figured you would know that.’ *wink* A frown pressed against his forehead. ‘Er... do ee realise that ee’s not wearin any clothes?’
Corbett looked down at his thin, tattooed body, then back up at the man. ‘Of course I know I’m not wearing any clothes.’ He snapped.
‘Oh right.’ The man said. *wink*
At this he turned and made his way down the stairs.
‘Unbelievable.’ Corbett said, shaking his head. He closed the door and began to dress.
He regretted not having had his robes washed but the meal, bath and room had almost emptied his purse. If he didn’t get to the Town soon and into an adventurer group he was likely to starve to death. He could use magic. The option was always there. But in his current state it was dangerous to do so. Channelling magic, even the smallest amount, meant poking holes into reality. You had to be on top of your game to go around messing with that kind of stuff. No. He was cantankerous, but he wasn’t reckless, at least not with magic, at least not most of the time.
He would get his lift, find a party and let them do all the work. All he had to do was look wise and concerned and occasionally make something explode. It would be easy money. He snatched up his hat and wondered if he should have invested in a staff or a wand for this venture. They served no purpose but they helped to look the part. It was too late now he supposed. He placed the tired hat upon his head at his favoured angle and set off to get his lift.
Rocks Fall Everyone Dies Page 4