Content Warning!
[Previous]
[Next]
Two weeks after leaving port, they arrive in Salinas. They can see from the height of the ship’s deck that the city spreads along the shore and curves in a semicircle into the surrounding desert. To the East, the vegetation of the scrub plains grows gradually denser; to the West, the rocky terrain yields to sandy dunes. The city is a sprawl of yurts, shotgun shacks, and mudbrick buildings, sprinkled with black solar panels all over. Here and there, sturdy guard towers dot the landscape, denser near the city limits and more thinly dispersed throughout the city proper.
Admiral Starling says to them, “End of the road, so to speak. It’s midday, so almost everyone is holed up inside to beat the heat. Good time to blend in, get the lay of the land, and act like you belong.”
Vector says, “Thanks for the advice. And for your hospitality. Bon voyage!”
She gives them a crisp salute, which they return, and says, “I’m of the mind that doing favors to demigods tends to pay off in spades - many seem to have forgotten that, though. Anyway. Happy trails.”
As the adventurers disembark to explore the city, the cool ocean breeze plays tug of war with the hot dry air from inland. Vector carries his bag of replenishing in his go-bag, and Pannych carries Phyr’s - her own is stowed in her bag of tricks, along with ten dozen bottles of water, which are all able to go in one slot on account of being identical. Note that if you DID NOT CHOOSE “DASTARDLY DECEIVER” when dealing with the noobs at Fort Roguelike, then she has pitched the Orbs of Destiny overboard during the voyage. Phyr carries the map in both hands, having gotten it back from Vector, and studies it as they walk.
While crossing the beach, Vector points to one of countless large cast-iron cauldrons boiling away on the sand with some copper apparatus above them and asks, “What’re those?”
Phyr looks up from the map and shrugs, but Pannych says, “I don’t know what to call them, but you boil seawater to get freshwater, which condenses up in that copper thing, and then scrape out the sea salt to sell it.”
Vector says, “Oh,” then points to a bunch of tall, cylindrical machines sitting idle in the sun, each just a few feet from a cauldron. “Then what’re those?”
Pannych shrugs this time, but Phyr looks up from the map again and says, “That’s a still. Does the same thing, but with magic. They’re shut down for some reason, though.”
They wander aimlessly through the city, seeing only a handful of people over the course of an hour’s walk. Pannych leads them along a path more or less away from the sporadic guard towers, few of which are staffed at the moment. Very rarely, they catch someone’s eye through an open-air window. After studying the map, Phyr briefs them on a plausible story to establish that they’re traveling overland from the East, instead of having arrived by boat from the North.
Eventually, they come to Warner’s Wayfinding, a large yurt attached to an even larger squat mudbrick building. It has no windows, and flaps flutter over the vent grilles atop the walls. Unable to knock on the canvas “door,” Pannych holds the thick cloth back for the others to enter. Vector stoops as he steps inside, and calls, “Hello?”
It’s twenty degrees cooler indoors, and breezy thanks to the open windows, through which shafts of sunlight dimly illuminate the digs: woven grass mats floor the hut’s interior, two aisles of shelved goods stand to the left, and there is a seating area to the right where a closed-top water pitcher and several glazed clay cups sit on a table.
Beyond the counter is a small living area where a dwarf lays bare-chested on a cot, an open book tented on his belly - his eyes are open, and he turns to look at them without rising. After blinking a few times, he sits up and yawns, then says, “Ho there, travelers! Sorry you caught me napping - don’t usually get customers at this hour.” He stands and stretches briefly, wearing only a pair of brown trousers, then dons a cream-colored linen shirt and approaches the counter as he says, “Welcome to Warner’s Wayfinding! I’m Warner Hobbes, sole proprietor. Can I get you some sunscreen? Provisions?”
“Transport, actually,” Vector says. “I take it that’s your garage?”
“Aye, it is,” Warner confirms with a nod, “But I’m afraid I’m not taking clients now.”
“We can pay a premium for expedited services,” Vector offers.
Warner clicks his tongue and runs a sandstone-colored hand through his stony gray hair and says, “If only that were the issue. No, my buggies are outta commission.”
Phyr pipes up: “Hey, I’m a technomancer. Want me to take a look at ‘em?”
Warner looks the adventurers over with pale water-green eyes, then sighs and says, “Sorry, it’s just not that simple. I can offer my stock, I’ll even give you a discount for the inconvenience, but I’m grounded for the time being.”
Vector says, “Well, look: we just got into town from Plainsedge, and we are tired of walking. We need to get to Hope’s End. Urgently.”
Warner double-takes and says, “The Hell you wanna get out to Hope’s End for?”
“Long story,” Pannych says. “Tell you what: you tell us yours, we’ll tell you ours?”
Warner slumps his shoulders and sighs, then waves them over to the table and starts pouring water into the cups. “It’s like this,” he begins, “Ever since this damned war started, supplies of mana potions have been squeezed and squeezed some more. We can’t even run our stills, we’ve been reduced to cauldrons. We’re not rich enough to buy any on the black market, especially with less salt to sell, and we can barely keep our hospitals running - nearly everything our mana condensers can make is seized by that blasted paladin and her goons! She says it’s to serve a higher purpose, but fuck’s sake, when we asked what happens if we need more for the hospitals and it eats into her take? She said, ‘Then I will relieve you of your hospitals to ease the burden’.”
He shudders at the memory and continues: “Stars’ names, that ain’t the way of the gods! But anyway, the bandits have been getting bolder, as there’s fewer travelers to rob these days, and they’ve started attacking the city. Me and some others spent the last of our fuel on a gambit: take the fight to them, and see if we could score any mana in the bargain - but no dice. We just got back today, with nothing to show for it. Now, instead of barely hanging on, we’re well and truly fucked. No end to the war in sight, and we got no way to dig ourselves outta this hole!”
“So,” Phyr asks, “How much mana would it take, ballpark figure, to get your buggies recharged?”
Warner shakes his head and says, “I couldn’t do that - no, if you had the mana to do that, then there are much more pressing issues to handle first.”
“Fine,” Phyr says, “Then how much for the whole shebang?”
Warner looks askance at him and says, “What exactly are you suggesting?”
Phyr says, “Look, just tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Warner’s suspicion grows, and he says, “I dunno - bad enough I’m telling you our problems, but you’d figure all that out talking to half a dozen people anyway. I ain’t about to tell a bunch of strangers exactly how hard up we are, though. Don’t you owe me a story now? Who the Hell are you all, anyway?”
Pannych rises and curtsies, saying, “I am Pannych, lesser goddess of fear and anxiety.”
As she sits, Phyr stands and bows with a flourish, saying, “And I am Phyr, lord of destruction and chaos, whose - no, skip that part. I’m Phyr, technomancer extraordinaire, and I’m here to see how I can help.”
Vector remains seated and says plainly, “Name’s Vector. Just a guy. They’re my friends.” Warner’s wide-open eyes look all the wider, owing to the pale circles around them, presumably from habitually wearing goggles. Vector continues: “We’re on our way to Hope’s End to put a stop to Nathanael Thorn’s upcoming tournament and slay him. But the tournament starts in two weeks, and we’re not about to venture into the Forgotten Wastes on foot.”
Warner picks his jaw up off the table and stands to go retrieve a pair of black goggles and a white linen cloak from a stand in the living area, saying, “Come with me! We need to go see the Council of Elders right away!”
Warner hurriedly leads them deeper into the city, along winding paths between yurts and huts, to a long two-story mudbrick building. Like all the others, it is fairly plain to look at, but it has “City Hall” engraved on a wooden sign above the door. Inside, the air is slightly cooler in the shade, and they walk over hardwood floors through a lobby, crossing a hallway before entering a large meeting room where a dozen-odd elderly folks are speaking quietly. They look at the newcomers, and the orc woman at the head of the long conference table says, “Warner? To what do we owe this interruption?”
“Pardon me, Elder Shay,” he says breathlessly, “But I think these travelers may be able to help with our problems!”
The elders regard them with suspicion. Shay says, “And who are these travelers?”
Pannych curtsies and says, “I am Pannych, lesser goddess of fear and anxiety, and I have come to this world to slay the Influences and bring peace to the land.”
Phyr bows deeply and says, “And I am Phyr, lord of destruction and chaos, technomancer extraordinaire - I come to bring peace and prosperity to those who shall abide it, and to lay waste to those who would trespass upon my domain and… like… guys who wave their dicks around for no good reason.” Pannych and Vector look at him weirdly, and he mutters, “What? I haven’t finished re-thinking it!”
Vector shakes it off and straightens for a bow, saying, “I am Vector, a humble mortal who travels with these demigods as their ambassador and facilitator.”
The mood of the room shifts from defeated skepticism to outright confusion. A particularly wizened old man with bright eyes and leathery skin says, “Those are ominous epithets for a group of peacebringers.”
“The world is in turmoil,” Vector says, “And those who threaten its people are both ruthless and powerful. We are here to beat them at their own game.”
“Perhaps they can be of assistance, after all,” Shay muses with growing interest.
“Or perhaps they are spies, sent to assure our destruction,” says a pale man in late middle age. The elders descend into a susurrus of murmurs.
“Why on Earth would we do that,” Phyr asks loudly.
The pale man says, “You could be agents of General Mephistopheles’ army! He might have sent you to gain our trust, only to stab us in the back and rob High Priestess Morrigan of our tribute!”
“No,” Phyr says, shaking his head, “I mean, why would we do it that way?” He draws a blaster and places it on the table. “This plasma blaster is a powerful weapon, way beyond anything you mortals can make - and I have two of them. If I wanted to, I could level this place in an afternoon, so why bother with the long game?”
One of the elders, an elf crone with short white hair, inspects the blaster briefly with glowing eyes and says, “I have never seen anything like this, in all my years.” Her astonishment grows as she continues to turn it over in her hands and scrutinize it. “In the hands of a mortal, it would be deadly,” she adds, “But in the hands of a demigod? Destructive beyond imagining.” She places it delicately back on the table, and concludes deferently, “I believe Lord Phyr is telling the truth: he has no need for such games with the likes of us.” Phyr re-holsters the blaster.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how close we are to the brink of destruction,” the pale man insists. “What if he feared a fight, and is playing it safe to avoid unnecessary-”
“Oh, come off it, Stewart,” an old gray-skinned elf interrupts. “Let’s at least hear them out.”
“Thank you,” Vector says with a nod. “Now, we understand that your hospitals are low on power, and your machines are out of juice, and you have something of a bandit problem. Is that so?”
Stewart, wide-eyed, desperately shouts, “They want to sabotage us! Starve us out, and take the town without a fight!”
Phyr narrows his eyes and says, “Wait, your name’s Stewart? Hey, have any books of forbidden magic gone missing from your magic guild?”
“Why, yes,” a human woman says. “Why do you ask?” Stewart slowly pushes back his chair.
“Freeze,” Vector shouts, drawing The Final Word and aiming at Stewart.
“Guards! Seize them,” Stewart shouts, rising to his feet and pointing an accusing finger. A dozen guards pour into the room, readying flintlock rifles.
“WAIT!” Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks to Shay, standing with both hands raised high. “Just wait a damn minute! Everyone, lower your weapons!” Vector cautiously stows his rifle, and the guards then hold theirs at the low ready. Confusion has re-taken the room.
“Pause! Phyr, what the Hell are you thinking?!”
“It was just a hunch, but come on! Creepy old guy named Stewart? Missing books of forbidden magic? It paid off.”
“Or it could be a red herring,” Pannych says.
“Or it could be a double-reverse,” Phyr says.
Pannych sighs and says, “Vector, what do you think?”
“I think we’re gonna have a hard time defusing this situation.”
“I know that! I mean about Stewart!”
Vector tries to shrug, but can’t during the Pause, and says, “I wouldn’t put it past you, either way. But I think we already screwed the pooch on a low-key investigation, though.”
“Agreed,” Pannych says.
“Fine,” Phyr says, “I’ll handle it.”
“What?!” Pannych and Vector shout in unison.
“Please,” Phyr insists, “Just trust me on this, and I promise it’ll go smoothly. Like, your kind of smoothly. I have an idea.”
Pause wears off.
Phyr raises his hands in surrender and says, “We’re not here to fight! Just hear me out, and we can get this whole situation defused!” His speech roll succeeds, and the tension stops rising in the silence, but it does not abate. “OK! Good start. Now - it’s like this. What’s your name, madam?”
“Dorothy,” says the elf crone who inspected his blaster.
“Right. Dorothy told you all how great my guns are - and my armor’s just as good. I don’t wanna fight - but if you do, then I’ll win. So let’s please all just calm down, and we can get to the bottom of this with three simple questions: first, can’t anyone scrye the missing books?”
The human woman who answered the first question about the missing books says, “We’ve tried, of course, and they’re warded.”
“As I suspected. Question two: does anyone besides Stewart know for sure whether he’s able to cast Ward?”
Stewart scoffs, and the same woman says, “Of course he is, he’s the Head Librarian of the Salinas Magic Guild! He’s the one who first - reported - the theft…” She trails off, and eyes Stewart with growing suspicion.
“Madeline! Don’t indulge these meddling kids! This is preposterous,” Stewart exclaims.
“Maybe,” Phyr concedes, “But my final question is for you, Stewart: is anything in your house warded right now?”
“What? What use would I have for scrying wards in my own house?!”
“That’s an evasion, not an answer,” Pannych says.
“I refuse to listen to another word of this nonsense,” Stewart shouts. “You can’t just come in here and accuse me of necromancy with no evidence!”
“Who said anything about necromancy,” Phyr asks, grinning.
“Those are the books that are missing, you fool! Of course this is an accusation of necromancy!”
The mood in the room starts to turn - Phyr reads it, and redirects. “Fine, if you’re innocent, then we can scrye your house and there should be no blind spots.”
“That’s an illegal invasion of my privacy,” Stewart screams.
“Shit, he’s got you there,” Pannych says. “Presumption of innocence, yo - and everything you’ve brought up so far is circumstantial.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Phyr mutters out the side of his mouth.
“I’m on the side of justice, don’t be a tool!”
“Look, I’ll make a deal,” Phyr says to the room. “Scrye Stewart’s house, and if there are no wards, then I’ll drop the issue and go to jail. How’s that?”
“No!” Stewart slams his fist on the table and points at Phyr. “You will leave Salinas right now and never return! You simply cannot walk into a meeting of the Council of Elders and accuse one of us of necromancy! Guards, escort these brigands to the city limits, and send them back from whence they came! I knew they were here to destroy our city all along, and look at them sowing discord among us - they’ve turned you against me, one of our longest-standing members!”
The guards approach Phyr, and he raises his hands once more, saying, “OK! I’ll go without a fight - if there’s no way to look for wards that doesn’t invade Stewart’s privacy.”
The guards pause - they very much don’t want to fight him - and in the silence, Shay says quietly, “Madeline, cast Etherscrye on Stewart’s house. That will tell us of any active spells on the premises, and if there are none, then we can have done with this foolishness.”
Stewart mumbles under his breath as Madeline considers for a moment; then she says, “Etherscrye.” A yellow-ringed oval opens up, showing only blackness. “Nothing to see,” she says.
Phyr shouts, “Quick - now try scrying the missing books, while she’s got Etherscrye up!”
Stewart shouts, “Mass Hamper,” and sprints out of the room.
The adventurers run after him, but they all trip and fall down, then fumble as they try to regain their feet. Madeline says, “Mass Dispel,” and the Hamper lifts, but Stewart is out of the building already.
As the adventurers get up to give chase, a guard takes out a speaking stone and says, “BOLO for Elder Stewart - place him under arrest on suspicion of theft and necromancy.”
Warner says, “Stop, guys - let the guards handle this. They’ll bring him in.” Screams from the streets indicate otherwise. The adventurers follow the guards outside to see Stewart in the street with his back to them, hands held in menace and a high wall of glowing purple ether surrounding him.
“Insects,” he shrieks. “You cannot stop me! I am above you all! Soul Steal!” A tendril of purple energy snakes from his outstretched hand, over the wall to a nearby guard, then returns to Stewart with an ethereal green mass in tow. He absorbs it and says, “Reanimate!” Before the guard has even fallen down, his limp body goes rigid and his eyes glow purple. He looks around and attacks the nearest other guard to him. “Blast! Blast! BLAST!” Explosions erupt at the feet of the gathering guards, sending them flying. The guards who are still standing open fire, but the bullets stop dead at the magical wall and fall harmlessly to the dirt. “I’ll burn this city to the ground before I go to jail!”
Phyr draws a blaster and turns to Pannych. “Now can I kill him?” She rolls her eyes and sighs, but nods. He walks calmly up behind the frantic necromancer, focused on the guards arrayed before him and up in the towers, and pokes a hand at the wall - when it passes through without resistance, he steps to the other side, and shoots Stewart in the back.
The wall dissipates, the reanimated guard collapses, and Stewart falls face-down in the dirt, his back a smoking ruin of bubbling flesh and charred bones. After a few seconds, the remains start to glow purple and rise from the ground, accompanied by rumbling laughter. “You fool, by killing me you ha-” Phyr pulls the trigger three more times, and all that’s left are blackened gibbets. The adventurers each get 5 XP, putting Pannych and Phyr at third level.
Phyr turns back to Pannych and Vector, and says loudly, “See? I told you my hunch paid off!”
Shay, just now emerging into the street, says, “That was all on a hunch?!”
Phyr stammers, and Vector says, “He’s very intuitive. Look, I know this wasn’t the most orthodox way of solving your necromancer problem - but it is solved at the end of the day, isn’t it?”
Shay is transparently flummoxed for several seconds, then shakes her head and says, “Just come back inside.”
Once everyone is seated around the conference table again, Shay says, “All right, Warner. Your travelers have proven their - worth. How do they propose to help?”
“Well, I didn’t want to get into specifics with them earlier,” he says, still shaken a bit from the encounter with the secret necromancer. “But they’re demigods, so I thought you should speak with them.”
Over the next couple of hours, the Council of Elders go over their infrastructural needs. Phyr takes notes, and then spends the next week traveling around the city: he recharges stills, buggies, and the mana batteries that serve as generators for various buildings; he is able to repair solar panels and mana condensers that need it; and with his professional-level Informedness and Crafting, combined with his Technical Intuition, he is able to recommend some improvements to various designs that will increase yield and efficiency.
During the same week, Pannych and Vector ride out on a bandit raid with Warner and a crew. They cover new ground this time, and hit paydirt, bringing back a considerable amount of money and a modest but sorely needed supply of mana potions. Phyr uses the bulk of them to keep doing his work, as his enchanted earring makes him more efficient than any of the city’s other technomancers. All told, the adventurers earn 30 experience points each for their endeavors, which gets Vector to level 8.
With eight days to go before the tournament, Warner agrees to take them to Hope’s End. They pack their things and make ready to leave at dusk, planning to travel overnight and rest during the heat of the day.
To CONTINUE TO CHAPTER 12, click here.
[Next]
No comments:
Post a Comment