He had slain Lessers, Healers, Paladins with or without Firebrands, Cooks and Stewards. Wizards and their Apprentices. On the Fields of Glory, in their Tents as they slept or in the lavatories relieving themselves.
And Jeria did it gleefully. Admits that he did so, gleefully. And would do it again, and again, if given the chance without so much as a shred of hesitation or mercy.
And Iltu Isounder believed him. Because she had seen the results of his campaigns of terror all first hand.
What infuriated her more so than anything, was that Jeria promised to help her get a new leg. Something like the intricate, dwarven forged arm of that Zansui sported at the shoulder.
Something, Iltu hoped, would let her fight again.
Otherwise, she would be returning to the Empire. With Honors.
Yet it felt so disgraceful.
The Wagon itself was being guided by Katherine, a Tiefling cook with long, sharpened fingers, ashen skin and horns curling behind her ears. It had been obvious that neither would get along too well, considering Katherine seemed a bit of a harlot.
Iltu was a Paladin. And there were subject matters Iltu did NOT want to discuss.
The other passenger had been a clean shaven, bald headed dwarf, Triden Mastershield. The Dwarf was busily away in some book or another and did not seem to pay the world much mind, even when their son came along from time to time to check on them.
It was surprising how much Iltu wanted to talk to someone, anyone, when she, of course, rarely socialize with anyone outside of her own race.
Then again Iltu rarely spoke to anyone within her own race as well.
Thankfully it had not been all lude questions or stone silence.
Yesterday it had been Grigs riding alongside the Wagon. The Tiefling was a talkative, to say the least, but Iltu neither knew the demonkin Lord well nor knew anything about the world of Thievery. Iltu listened politely, yet quietly dismissed some of Grigs' 'Adventurers' as exaggerations of what really had happened.
Islin had ridden with her the day before that, and it had been mostly awkward silence. They discussed battle plans, spoke of Family and the weather.
Today, Iltu had found Jeria had taken on the duty to keep the former Paladin's 'spirit' up. Iltu had absolutely no intentions of speaking to THAT man. And Jeria seemed more interested in being as talkative as a corpse.
Then that weight of boredom had started to set in.
"Below Mistifre." Iltu directed towards the Worg riding Samurai, who turned only barely to regard her with a sidelong glance. "You said you would help me because Elandra would want you too."
Jeria nodded once, "She would."
"Why would Elandra want you to help me?”
The Samurai turned away for a moment, looking towards the head of the Marching troops. The Din were at the forefront, with Jeria's Raider's either taking up scouting duties or marching loosely around the caravan of wagons that trailed behind. Trevayne rode at the front on their Griffon, with the handful of troops he managed to scavenge from the Siege that nearly cost them their lives.
Jeria and Iltu were somewhere between, and most watched the two warily. When they first marched from Westwatch, they had nearly come to blows. Now they looked the pair of old war veterans having a chat.
For now, at least, they did not look ready to kill each other.
"You understand me more than my own Daughter," Jeria admitted, looking towards Iltu once more. "You are a friend, and Elandra would not want me to abandon a friend in need."
"Have you ever abandoned a friend in need?"
"Once." came the reluctant answer from Jeria. "She needed me. I needed to Fight. I regret it now that I know what has become of her.”
Iltu knew that Jeria had been speaking of Elandra. The Samurai may consider sending her away for her safety as abandonment. If Jeria had gone with her, things may have ended differently.
Fate, however, seemed fickle.
"What became of her?" Iltu questioned, leaning against the wagon's side. "Neither you nor Islin were very clear on it, but you were hearing her?"
"I heard her beneath Warstalker Manor, in that black temple," Jeria told Iltu, frowning in discomfort. "I heard her through the Winter Months, to that battle beneath Mistfire."
Iltu remembered the Temple beneath the Manor. The horrid dread and the pure evil that had been down there nearly made her head explode in pain. Then there had been the smell, of rot and decay so poignant that it made the foul stench of marching dead at Mistfire seem like a perfume.
Jeria continued, and Iltu could hear leather creak as Jeria gripped at the reins of the Worg.
"Elandra had been whispering to me. Pleading me. Ulimax had her soul this whole time, in some sort of perverse artifact."
Iltu nodded slowly, "That is what you meant by that you would end whoever stopped you from freeing her, slowly."
"And I will."
"Is that why you are so eager to head north?" Iltu continued to question someone she had once willingly spat on just a few weeks ago.
Jeria looked away again. The Samurai went as far as reaching out to pat the top of Grok's armored head. Iltu knew they were reluctant to speak to her. Jeria was not a conversationalist.
Neither was Iltu, but she had nothing to do but ride.
"Something tells me I will find what I seek in Westwatch.”
"Something?"
"Do not worry about it," Jeria grunted, not wanting to tell anyone that he could still see Markus, his elder Brother. The Oldest Warstalker Sibling stood off the side of the Road, always just out of the corner of Jeria's eye, pointing North.
Towards Westwatch.
"Did Zansui show you her arm?"
"She did." Iltu nodded, "The Stone Well Smith who had been commissioned had been stranded in Westwatch due to the Rebellion. They have Family in the Port District and they are waiting for my arrival."
"The Lady Zansui also mentioned it will be a very long time before I can operate the limb normally. The Magics have to attune to my body. And it will tire me."
Iltu's shoulders slumped slightly. "I may still have to choose a successor to my Firebrand."
"Why?" Jeria demanded, frowning in thought. "Do you not wield them for life?"
"Or if we are unable to wield them in battle due to an injury, and I cannot wield this sword in battle because you took my leg!" Iltu growled, annoyed at the sudden memory.
"But you will get a new one."
Iltu's eyes scrunched and she shook her head. "I don't know. The Order may come for it or they may not."
"Islin kept his when he had been on leave for an extended period of time."
"Islin is a special case," Iltu observed, gesturing towards the front where the aforementioned Din rode. "He wields the very Firebrand once held by the Scar."
"Does he?" Jeria's eyes narrowed considerably. "And why does he have Illindan's Firebrand?"
Iltu furrowed her own brows, it had been common knowledge, now at least. It took her a moment more to remember that Jeria himself had been trapped in stone for fifty years.
"It means nothing to you, considering who it is." Iltu started slowly, sure that Jeria would say something vulgar in return. "But Lord Ilithorn surrendered the sword to Islin, because the leader of the Crusaders of the Blue Rose at the time, your Sister, refused to accept it."
"At the end of the Din War?" Jeria asked, then leaned up in the saddle to seek out Islin. He could not. The sun beating down on them made it hard to look beyond the gleaming armor of the Din Lessers.
"Yes. Illindan attempted to surrender himself to the Alliance, but the Lady Jakuul refused to accept his surrender. They simply just declared the War over”
"You were there?" Jeria questioned, looking surprised.
"We all were," Iltu replied, raising her brows. "We had just returned from beyond the Black Wall. I had been surprised as many had been of the Dark Mage's duplicity, but I did not want to surrender."
"Yet you did."
"As would you if
you were ordered by your betters. Especially since we were mistaken."
"You were mistaken and you still wanted to fight?"
Iltu opened her mouth a second more, realized who she was speaking to again, then clamped it shut.
"You were wronged." Jeria pointed out.
"I had been. You wronged me." Iltu scowled darkly at Jeria.
Jeria nodded once, gesturing towards the bundle wrapped, and leaning next to the Din.
"The activation phrase, is it a lover?"
"A-" Iltu's expression became exceptionally fierce. "-son of a friend who did not see the end of the Kallaxian Campaign."
"Then I hope he rests well beneath the White Tower," Jeria replied, quoting a line a Din would say to another in that circumstance.
"You speak our tongue!" Iltu suddenly realized, her tone accusing. "That's how you used my sword so readily."
"As you speak Common and Kallaxian, I speak Din." Jeria shrugged indifferently. "It had been the language of my enemy."
"Who taught you?"
"I did not know his name, never cared to learn it." Jeria replied, again smiling a cruel smile. "But it was the same instructor who had been teaching the Lessers how to speak Kallaxian."
"But he never left our main encampments at the Landing!" Iltu blurted out, shock playing across her features.
Jeria again offered an indifferent shrug.
"And?"
<><><><><><><>
"Are they still talking back there?" Islin asked in disbelief.
"Yes, last time I checked." Grigs nodded some, "Katherine notes they were exchanging words in Din."
"Din?" Zansui half turned on her horse. "My Father speaks Din?!"
"Your Father speaks something other than swear-laden Common or condescending Kallaxian?" Islin questioned, looking rather bemused. "Now there is a shock."
"Wedding Ceremonies to plan for?" Grigs grinned, getting a smoldering look from Zansui. "What? What's wrong with a Din Step-Mother?"
"Nothing. I think that was in poor taste that's all."
"He's been sleeping with Katherine since he's gotten back from Mistfire." Dratin observed, and now everyone twisted to stare in shock at Broodling. Now it had been the blond dragonkin who raised a scaled brow.
“What? I thought you lot already knew!"
"How do you know?" Grigs demanded, looking rather shocked.
"And for how long?" Zansui chimed in, arching her horse so she could be closer to Dratin.
"No no." Dratin made a quick silencing motion. "I blurted it out and I didn't mean to. I thought you guys already knew!"
"You caught them didn't you?"
Dratin's head snapped from Grigs and Zansui, who were now on either side of the Broodling.
"Not exactly?" the Dragoon admitted meekly. "Look he will kill me if he finds out I blabbed."
"Well, how did you find out?" Zansui pressed, reaching out to flick Dratin's shoulder with her false fingers.
"Well, I may have overstepped my bounds and asked. He threaten to skin me for a hat."
"Well, that confirms it."
"Katherine has been hovering around his tent more often than usual." Grigs pointed out, looking across the Broodling to Zansui. "I wonder how that got started."
"Shhh!" Islin made a shushing gesture. "Here he comes."
Jeria brought Grok up in a trot. The Worg's armor, though patched, still looked ravaged and it jingled nosily. Both Worg and Rider came to be next to Zansui, and the Samurai glanced over them with a raised brow.
"Why does everyone but Dratin look smug?"
"I do not look smug," Islin said defensively.
"No you look embarrassed," Jeria replied, before nodding towards the Broodling. "She looks guilty."
Then the Samurai rolled his eyes. "Nevermind, I know what it is, and I do not want to hear it."
"Dad-" Zansui started to say.
"-End of discussion," Jeria said with such finality that both Grigs and Zansui exchanged smirks again. Jeria growled, giving a baleful glare at Dratin, who averted her gaze.
Jeria snarled like an animal, and kept his eyes on Dratin. “I taught Kathrine how to serve Tea, I am not sleeping with her.”
“That would require sleeping-” Grigs started cheekily, immediately earning the ire from his Father-In-Law who glared at them as furiously as they did Dratin. Grigs wisely clamped their mouth shut and hid their smile by turning towards Zansui.
"-Changing the fucking subject!" Jeria declared, then moving Grok closer to Islin's horse. Zansui and Grigs continued to be amused with Jeria’s sudden awkwardness.
When he was close to Islin, Jeria shot Dratin and Grigs both murderous looks before they regarded Islin, holding out their hand. "Illindan's Firebrand. Let me see it.
"How did you-" Islin started to protest, then sighed, fetching the weapon anyway.
Jeria took it by the hilt and held it aloft, twisting it in his hands to inspect it.
"He changed the name," Jeria noted, eyeing the runes along the indentured edges. "That is why I did not recognize it."
"Yes. He changed it shortly before the Din War ended, to reflect his feelings on the matter."
"What was the name before?" Grigs asked.
“Righteous Flame," Jeria answered before Islin could. "It is called Mournful Regret now."
Jeria passed the weapon back, not liking how it felt in his hand.
"Not such a mindless thug after all." Zansui smiled, interested that Jeria could read another language as well.
"It takes some planning to kill people in large numbers," Jeria said, and it sucked the cheer from Zansui, who immediately rolled her eyes and looked away.
"Why do you people name swords anyway?" Grigs asked, frowning in thought. "I mean, a sword is a sword right?"
"Says the man who keeps losing his weapons." Zansui huffed and patted the short sword at her hip. "I've kept the same blade at my belt since I left the Outriders, I call her Little Wing."
"I call my hammer Oink-Smasher," Dratin spoke up but quickly averted her gaze again when Jeria glared her way.
"I named my sword after my Wife." Iyrest, who had remained silent the whole time, made their presence known.
Jeria regarded the younger Din Paladin with furrowed brows. "Naming an ordinary sword is not the Din Way."
"We are changing." Iyrest offered, though Jeria could only see his own reflection in the visor-less, mirrored helm the Din wore.
"My Little Wing is nothing more than an Archer's Blade," Zansui observed, directing it to her Father. "Simple steel."
"I haven't named my swords anything." Grigs offered a shrug.
"You have a weapon that can freeze fire, and you did not think of a name for it?" Jeria asked with more than a little disappointment in his voice.
"I didn't think about it!" Grigs offered a grunt, and shook their head. "Can we get back to him sleeping with Katherine?"
"I am not sleeping with Katherine," Jeria growled dismissively, waving a finger at Grigs. "Don't change the subject back to that, that is none of your affair.”
"Fine, I'll name it now then." Grigs declared and ripped the sword out of its scabbard.
Holding it before him, they could see the trail of frost slowly flow from what looked to be a solid, black sword, laced with runes none of them had hope to translating.
The weapon, oddly enough, seem to match the Master Thief, considering all of their clothes, armor, boots and skin were as obsidian as the blade itself. It was as if they were fated to be together.
Grigs held it there for more than a few moments and looked to be struggling in thought.
"And I will name it-" Grigs started to speak. The words were hesitant and unsure
"-Bob."
Jeria, after offering a resounding sigh of disappointment, turned pointedly towards Zansui.
"So I know who named my grandchildren."
The rest, including Grigs, broke into laughter after a moment of dull silence. Even Iyrest could not help but smile.
<>
<><><><><><>
"I thank you for coming to meet me in my offices here in the City." Gorgreen bowed his head slightly to the occupants inside the Lord's lavish City Office. "I am afraid my private offices at my estates are being renovated."
"I heard, Lord Gorgreen." a tall, dark skin man in gold trimmed, blood red armor frowned, looking Gorgreen over. "Was it the Vampire you had mentioned in your missive?"
"Something worse and beyond the Slayers of Mebane's ability to deal with," Gorgreen replied with a reassuring smile. "But they are no longer an issue."
"Skip the pleasantries." spat an old, gray-haired and bearded dwarf. "We has dealings if we are the get the Darkscales swarmin' over these demon-infested walls.”
Gorgreen smile faded a moment and regarded the occupants solemnly.
Within his Public Offices stood a man from Mebane, a Slayer who knew Gorgreen was an evil, morally corrupt politician, yet would take his coin and dispatch whatever monster the man pointed a finger at. Gorgreen, having browsed over the man's surface thoughts, was glory hungry.
This Slayer did not care about the lives of the innocent, so long as they penned the death of monsters brought low by this Slayer's hand.
And if Gorgreen had been willing to pay for it, then all the better.
Another occupant Gorgreen had acquired directly from Kallax, the man had a savage facial scar that ran directly across their face, leaving their nose in two completely sections, and narrowly missing their eyes. Those eyes were feline like, and gold, a magical affliction of a different nature altogether.
The Kallaxian had been a Shin-no-Kage, one of three that had survived a Din stone curse for fifty years.
The other one remained hidden and aloof.
The third having been Jeria Warstalker.
Tracking this one down had cost Gorgreen quite a bit of coin, and more than a few spies. There was an animosity, maybe minor, towards Jeria. But the Kallaxian, none the less, were desperate for funding for the New Monastery, replacing the other that had been ripped down during the Din War.
The last one, the dwarf, was in Gorgreen's employ from an earlier assortment of chaos making. They had worked with the Noble many times before, never questioning why they never aged.
Only where the coin would be.
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