‘Alright, alright. Fifteen percent.’ Corbett said.
He lifted his hand to his mouth and lightly spat onto it. He presented it to the doorman who did likewise, but not spitting quite so lightly.
‘A Covenant.’ The doorman said.
‘A Covenant.’ Corbett repeated.
Such a bargain sealed in such a way was not something that could be broken or amended without serious repercussions.
‘So, where is he.’
‘Tavern. Where else?’ The doorman said, frowning at Corbett.
‘The Tavern? I could have fucking guessed that! I thought you had him squirreled away somewhere!’
‘Nope. He’s in the Tavern. Best be quick. Fifteen percent Wizard. Don’t you go getting yourself killed now.’ The doorman smiled.
Corbett was about to indulge in a few moments of very robust profanity at the man, but he did have a point, he needed to introduce himself to the healer quickly, before any others got in there. He still didn’t have a board to present though, and he still needed more money to actually get one made.
‘Fuck me.’ He muttered as he moved quickly toward the Tavern. ‘I knew I should have gone straight to there. Bloody hell.’
The Tavern
Felicity rode into the town at speed, shouting at the milling townsfolk and adventurers to get out of her way. As she burst into the main street in a cloud of dust kicked up by her mounts thundering hooves, she spotted a very large, almost naked man who appeared to have been built from pure muscle.
‘That’s one of them.’ She thought.
She had to hope she wasn’t too late. She continued on to the Tavern and as soon as she arrived slid from the horse, not bothering to tether it to a post. She moved quickly into the building and pushed through the subdued crowd. All were drinking but none appeared to be merry and was there was certainly no carousing. She looked about the place, trying to spot the Cleric but could only see burly men, and heavily painted women.
‘Damn, where is he?’
The sense of déjà vu was strong here. Gestures, clothing, expressions all seemed familiar to her. It was very close to the time. If she missed the window of opportunity it might all come down around her. Then she saw the Fighter. She was sat on a chair with her booted leg up, resting on the table. She was obviously relaxed and was looking up at what could only be a magic user of some kind.
‘Another one I think.’
His robes were dirty, deep and long. His hat was strange, not one she had seen before, certainly not on a Wizard, perhaps he was a Necromancer, although he wasn’t dressed head to foot in black. Then she realised what kind scene she was looking at. It was a pitch.
The Fighter was in. She was so at ease because she had secured her healer. The magic user was trying to get in on the group. Was the healer the leader or the fighter? It didn’t matter right now.
She needed to get her spot quickly. She had to be the leader. She moved towards the wizard and as she got closer saw that the Cleric was listening attentively to the man in the robes, and as she approached she caught the end of the robed man’s pitch.
‘So basically, what I’m saying is I’m your man. Three chains mate, three. That’s got to be one up on anyone in this town right now and I’ve successfully Quested, which is worth its weight in potatoes when we’re talking about coming out of there in one piece. And by potatoes I do of course mean massive piles of gold and not actual root crops. Just in case there’s any confusion there.’
‘What’s with the hat?’ The Fighter asked.
Felicity took a little more notice of the woman. Clearly a Sister of Steel, the swords and armour were instantly recognisable. She was pretty but looked tired and had probably not eaten well lately, her cheekbones were higher than they should be, the shallowness of her cheeks accentuating them. He eyes were… enchanting, but they had a weariness to them. She was doing her best to appear strong, but she was drained. Felicity knew a woman who was almost spent when she saw one. But still, a Sister of Steel. Those girls had some serious stamina and could swing their blades with limb severing force. She would tread cautiously.
‘My hat?’ The Wizard said. ‘It’s… my hat.’ Felicity saw him stiffen. This was obviously a sore point with him.
‘It’s not pointed.’ The Fighter said. ‘I thought you lot had to wear a pointed hat.’
‘I thought you lot had to have peni…’ Corbett started, instantly angry at this sword swinging, armoured hellion for questioning his sense of style.
‘Actually, that’s a common mistake.’ Felicity said, stepping in to the gap between Fighter and Wizard. ‘Only witches treat the pointed hat as a requirement of their occupation, and even that doesn’t have to be black as is often thought.’
All eyes turned to her. Even Daisy, who had realised full well what Corbett had been about to say, suddenly found her interest in him evaporated.
‘Oh! I’m so sorry. My name is Felicity. I couldn’t help but hear you talking about this gent’s headwear and being a Mystic I have a great interest in Arcane Lore and… well, I suppose I just love helping folks to understand how it all works. It can be terribly confusing.’
‘If she’s a Mystic I’m David Bowie.’ Carl was back. Corbett felt him slip around his mind to get a better look.
‘David who?’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Carl said. ‘Be careful nob-head. My nipples are all tingly. And that’s never good.’
Corbett’s brain heated for a moment. He had never actually seen Carl or Kezra in their demonic form and definitely had no wish too. Instead they were shadows of shadows that occasionally formed on the back of his retinas. ‘Nipples? He shuddered.
‘Oh, a Mystic. I’ve not spoken to a Mystic in ages.’ Valeran said with a pleasant smile.
His memories of his years in the Order came flooding back. Mystics often visited and brought with them news of the Great Cities, of the current wars and conflicts and often had ancient tomes revealing Arcane secrets to share. All Mystics were exclusively women. Valeran recalled that it was something to do with the way men’s minds were clouded with memories of past transgressions that they hadn’t even been a part of. They brooded over slights their grandfathers and great grandfathers and great-great grandfathers had received and would continue to war over them though their sons. Women, Valeran had been told, were too bloody busy for all that nonsense.
‘Are you here to Quest?’ Valeran asked.
Corbett continued to glower at the girl. She had totally ruined the vibe of his pitch for the group.
‘You can bet your collection bowl she’s here to Quest.’ Corbett thought as he glowered at the interloper.
‘Oh no, not at all. I’m looking for a friend. I believe he is here in the town somewhere, you might have seen him.
He’s an extraordinarily talented Ranger. I believe he’s looking to lend his skill to a party. I’m just here to wish him well and to make sure he’s up to date of all of the knowledge we have on the Gates that we hold.’
Valeran turned to Daisy. ‘Gate knowledge? That would be very useful wouldn’t it?’ Excuse my dear, I’m so rude. My name is Valeran and this is Daisy.’
Daisy nodded. ‘Hello.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both.’ Felicity said.
‘My name’s Corb…’
‘Would you like me to introduce you to my friend? If I can find him in time of course, I suppose you will be off soon.’ Felicity said, cutting Corbett off.
‘Well we are looking for the services of a Ranger so that could be most fortuitous.’ Valeran said, already lost in the maze of the girl’s charm. ‘Don’t you think so Daisy?’
‘We can use a Ranger.’ Daisy replied. Not quite so lost but intrigued by the Mystic’s manner.
‘Splendid!’ Valeran said.
‘And a Wizard?’ Corbett said. ‘You still need a Wizard, right?’
Three pairs of eyes turned to Corbett.
‘I’m just saying, I’ve spent twenty minutes running through my
CV and then this… lady turns up and she’s IN! She even said she wasn’t looking for a group. And not just her, some bloke who hasn’t even turned up yet. Hardly bloody fair is it?’
‘Erm…’ Valeran said, turning to Daisy for direction.
‘We’ll let you know.’ Daisy said.
‘You’ll let me know?’ Corbett’s patience tilted. ‘I’m a sodding three-Chain Elementalist. I’ve probably got more arcane power in my sandals than most of these second-rate conjurers have produced in their entire lives.’
Corbett’s hand swept around the room.
‘I’ve blown up castles, I’ve caused dams to break and flood and fires to rage across vast swathes of forest…’
‘Careful.’ Carl said, returning from wherever he had been lurking.
The voice in his head caused Corbett to pause. At least one of those mighty feats of destruction hadn’t actually been on purpose.
‘…er… I single-handedly defeated a mighty creature who no one could have known was as dangerous in death as it was in life. Possibly more so.’
‘Ohh, that’s a bit cheeky mate.’ Carl said, and Corbett could feel the Demon’s smirk. But Corbett wasn’t about to be derailed, his train of indignity was hurtling along the rails of self-righteousness at an unstoppable speed.
‘It’s outrageous. A bloody total outrage. Some bubble-headed Mystic…’ he turned to Felicity, ‘No offence.’ He said, then continued at a pace, ‘Shows up out of nowhere, after eavesdropping on my conversation at that, and meanwhile Tits MaGee here,’ he jabbed a finger at Daisy, who raised her eyebrows but made no other move, ‘gets to mug me off with we’ll let you know! I’m not some talentless actor trying to earn a bit part in some bloody stage-play, I’m a PROFESSIONAL!
‘Ok. Mr Sparks,’ Daisy said, ‘but considering you are a professional you don’t have a Wizards hat do you? Valeran here has his white robes, well, formerly white robes, but you have turned up without invitation and no party board, you look homeless, and you aren’t wearing a wizard’s hat. And you could talk a glass eyes to sleep incidentally. What are we to make of that?
Corbett took a deep breath, ready to unleash his explanation of why he didn’t have to explain to some dumpling-chested wannabe man why his present hat was far more suited to the rigours of adventuring, spell casting and general wizardly duties, when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Corbett let out a mild ‘eep!’ instead and jerked his body in surprise.
Hold on. Let’s stop there.
Because it’s going to get messy and we need to get our ducks in a row. First off let’s discuss Corbett’s voice. He’s a loud man. For someone so slight in body his volume is surprising. It’s worth noting that Wizards are also mostly eloquent speakers. Not so much in what they say but how they say it. They are masters of enunciation, because accidentally saying ‘ah’ when you meant to say ‘ih’ during a spell could well result in the caster standing knee deep in quicksand rather than having a rainstorm occur over an enemy camp.
Corbett has a terrific vocabulary, which although featuring a very large percentage of profanity, is packed with words from all around the world and a few from other dimensions. He knows the Black Tongue of the Demonic Plains of Cr’entrar, he is well versed in the musical melodies spoken by the Fairies of Sunland, and he knows every variation of the word ‘twat’ across eight kingdoms. Unfortunately, while he is more than capable of employing his skill in languages for the art of Elementalism, his social etiquette is essentially non-existent. For example, checking who is in the room with you as you bawl out disparaging comments about any race, creed, or occupation would be considered polite if not actually smart.
Here's Why
‘Excuse me? Are you bothering these ladies?’ Says the Paladin stood directly behind Corbett. He is still enclosed in his fine plate-mail. Despite it being a very heavy armour Paladins have a thing about wearing it most, if not all of the time. Granted it looks good in the midst of some epic battle, as the sun reflects off its surface giving radiance to an already Essence infused piece of kit. But its use as anything other than something that stops swords ends there.
Paladins are an odd bunch. Chivalry, righteousness, bravery and stoicism are their hallmarks, alongside an absence of pragmatism, a limited world-view and staggering hypocrisy.
They have the blessings of Clerics, the might of Warriors and the sensitivity of block of granite. Compromise is a word that doesn’t exist in a Paladin’s vocabulary, along with subtle and liberal.
‘Excuse me? Are you bothering these ladies? Translates to ‘I don’t understand you. I don’t know where you are from. And I don’t wish too, and now I’m going to knock your block off,’ in pretty much any civilised tongue. Which is precisely what the Paladin intends to do to Corbett because he said something that might or might not be against the Paladin’s ‘code of honour.’
But let’s leave the Tavern for a moment and glide over the Town with a birds-eye view.
Until we come to Donalt. There he is. Andreton is with him. The Warrior has insisted on towing the Steppe-Beast along, worried that someone might hurt her. This despite the obvious fact that it would take a diamond-coated lance, driven in by a charging Rhino to even prick her hide.
Donalt, knowing that arguing against bringing her to the Tavern would be pointless has simply thrown in the towel and brought his mount too.
‘Ve must make our board ya? So vy ve go this vay?’ Andreton says, looking at Donalt with an expression that is at once puzzled and content.
‘We won’t need boards mate. We’ll be picking our healer and not the other way around. We’ve got a map!’
‘OK.’ Andreton replies. There is a pause. ‘Vot is…’
‘A map is something that tells you where something is that you can’t see from where you are standing.’ Donalt replies. Having known Andreton would ask this because the Warrior had a memory that made a Goldfish look like it could count cards.
‘Ooh.’ Andreton says. ‘Is magic!’
‘Yeah. That’s right.’ Donalt replies, flatly. ‘Is magic.’
We fly on.
Leaving the Rogue and Warrior as they continue towards the Tavern and alter our course a little. Let us fly towards the mountains, crossing the long, well-worn path that has been trod by adventurers for at least a thousand years. The path ends as it reaches the incredibly hard boulders which only the most severe actions of nature could have torn away from the hills and peaks. It is hard going from here on. There is no path to guide you, only monuments erected by travellers in honour of fallen friends and lost hopes. Occasionally, as you progress along the steadily rising landscape you might see a magic-circle painted onto a portion of land that is reasonably flat and thereby accommodating to the rituals of Shamans and Witches.
Here, because people are often kind when travelling, the circles have been primed with Essence, the stuff of everything, and those who have an illness or injury can sit within the circle and draw healing energy from it.
We fly on and up, because now the scenery becomes more rugged, and walls of stone begin to reach higher than it is possible for a normal man to climb without aid. It is into these daunting sides that steps have been hewn by strong and talented people using tools imbued with magical force. This will help to take you further in, deeper, higher and strangely darker. As you weave through the gulley’s and chasms light is exiled and torches must be lit.
It grows colder. While the gulley’s widen, which is a relief, the elements increase in their severity. Ice becomes the new danger. It coats the rocks, hides deep reservoirs of water that an unwary traveller might step into. There is little chance of drowning, but your clothes and pack will become soaked and the ice can now reach inside. More adventurers die of hypothermia than of falls, or attacks by weather or creatures.
On we go.
Climbing still higher we finally enter the mountains proper. Here there is snow, it covers every surface save where a howling channel of wind scours it from the face of the rocks. It
can be no deeper than the thickness of the sole of your boot, or fifteen or twenty feet. A poorly judged step can see you drop down and be covered in a second and your colleagues must scramble to haul you out before your expiry to cold and suffocation. The snow hides pits, and chasms and also the animals and monsters who make this terrible, beautiful landscape their home.
Yet, even with all of this danger, you must move deeper into the range, using the peaks as your only guide. Somewhere in this frozen hell there will be a Gate, possibly many, offering a choice to the adventurer of the kind of fate they might encounter.
They are clearly not things of nature. No natural occurrence will feature impressive pillars that hold within them a swirling, ethereal block of lights with perfectly cut steps leading up to them. The Gate will have no connection to the scene around it. It is alien. Otherworldly. Plonked there by the hand of a God with nothing better to do with its time. A world will wait beyond, perhaps identical, perhaps radically different, it might be summer or spring, autumn or winter. You might step through the Gate and your booted foot land on grass or sand or stone or a perfectly cut slab of stone, a pavement that leads to some massive but foreboding castle. Whatever the situation, and wherever you find yourself, this is the start of your Quest.
We had better get back.
It’s been around ten minutes and it’s all happening. Sorry, I just really like mountains. Don’t worry, flights of fancy are amongst the fastest things in the multiverse. I’ll get a wiggle on.
There, see? Didn’t take long.
It’s a short while since we left Corbett at the Tavern, and Dorian, the noble if a little naïve Ranger, is making his way cautiously towards it. He has encountered civilians and adventurers making their way past him with all the haste they can muster, difficult for some with injured legs, backs, and egos, and is both concerned and convinced that it has to be the case that the girl who has spirited him away from the forest is in some way connected with what he is seeing.
Rocks Fall Everyone Dies Page 13