Tales of a Failing Empire- Interlude (Part 6)

The dwarf and the ranger teleported back a few armspans away from the camp. Grijhold had somehow mastered varying the phasing distance on their return from The Place. He's getting good at this, Nefydd mused.

The smell of cooked elk permeated the air. Grijhold and Nefydd glanced at each other, the dwarf shrugging his shoulders, signing 'Here we go.'

Lyn was waiting for them at their campsite. She had taken off her fighting leathers, revealing all of her physicality, further accentuated by a woolen shirt, unbuttoned to reveal just enough of her breasts as a distraction. The carcass of an elk calf roasted on a spit over a firepit.

Thank gods for the torc, Nefydd thought, rubbing his right forearm.

“Interesting arcana,” Lyn said, “You'll have to teach me that some day.”

“Not bloody likely,” the dwarf responded.

“I'm sure we can reach some kind of arrangement,”Lyn remarked, bending down in a stretch to touch her toes. “Come, I've brought you supper.”

“Elks haven't ranged this part of the Greendale in years,” Nefydd said, thanking Lyn as she handed him a metal plate and accompanying utensils.

“Everyone has their talents Mr. Foulkes,” Lyn shrugged, giving Grijhold a plate.

“Well, sit down, eat. Tell me if my skillset passes muster,” Lyn looked specifically at the dwarf.

Nefydd and Grijhold took a seat near their gear, but neither of them took a bite of the steaming elk meat on their plates.

“Oh for gods sakes,” Lyn exclaimed. She walked to the spit and gingerly tore off a bite with her fingertips. Looking at both the dwarf and the ranger, she slowly placed the meat in her mouth and ate.

Nefydd put a forkful of the meat in his mouth. The flavor was exquisite, never had he tasted game so well seasoned. Hints of garlic, onion, red pepper, and other elements spread across his tongue. How did Alayn have access to such spices? Regardless, the elk tasted delicious.

“Your cooking skills far surpass mine milady. Thank you.” Nefydd looked to the west, it would be getting dark in a bell or two. The three ate in silence, rarely making eye contact with one another, the discomfort a tangible cloud, stifling conversation. Nefydd finished first, placing his plate and utensils atop his gear. The ranger began stretching, starting with his upper body. Lyn looked at Grijhold and winked. The dwarf kept his eyes on his plate, savoring the meal.

Nefydd nodded at the two remaining diners,“I will be working forms.” Nefydd walked east, where the land dipped a few armspans lower in elevation.

“The lad is right, Lady Lyn, your cooking skills are unmatched. You could open an eatery in Pehrgast, make a killing with the wealthy snotcrusts,” Grijhold said, taking another bite of elk.

“Thank you. Your companion has an unusual history,” Lyn looked into the dwarf's eyes. Grijhold couldn't tell if there was hint of lust or perhaps a fisherman looking for bait to reel in her catch with that gaze.

“He's what I would call an enlightened soldier,”the dwarf responded.

“Lost his loyalty to the Imperial Council?”

“I would call it disillusionment with the Council's ideas of governance,” Grijhold put the last bite of elk into his mouth. Elk had never tasted this good. “The dinner was incredible. Allow me to clean up.”

Grijhold walked over to Nefydd's gear, picking up the empty plate and utensils. He felt her fingers caress the left side of his scalp, trailing down to his ear, her touch following the shape of his helix. “How long do you think he will play with his blades?” she whispered. He closed his eyes, took a few breaths. Grijhold found her other hand by his crotch. He grasped her right hand, gently prying the dodecahedron from her palm.

“Gods damned you're good lass,” he turned around to look at her, walking away to his own pack.

“Astute, for a dwarf,” Lyn smiled. Her beauty at the moment dazzled him.

“And your keen senses are bewildering as well, my lady.” Grijhold found the pot needed to wash the rest of the dishes. “Once I finish with our plates, I'll take first watch.”

“Of course. I'm going for a stroll while the sunlight lasts.”

“You could always go back to the priest. Let us handle this.”

“And miss all the excitement in the presence of such illustrious company? Never,” Lyn cooed.

Grijhold watched her saunter off to the west.”That was bloody close,” he muttered. He took out his waterskin, pouring water over his head. “The lad's table manners saved my horny arse yet again.”

Tales of a Failing Empire- Interlude (Part 5)

The first thing Nefydd did upon arriving at The Place was vomit. Teleportation (Grijhold's word for this strange way of travel) had always unsettled him; or was it The Place? Fortunately, Nefydd's heaving generated a small amount of bile and saliva which he wiped on his right sleeve.

Nefydd was never able to remain standing after 'phasing in' (another one of Grijhold's words). The Place was always the same, startling 'clean' white corridors and rooms. There were no edges to the design of this region (but was it?), all ceilings and floors curved downwards or upwards where they adjoined the walls. Illumination was provided by armspans of glowing tubes in transluscent panels on the ceilings. It was never dark in The Place. Outside of The Place was one big unknown. Was this a castle relic of the Ancient Tymes? Even Grijhold didn't know. He would occasionally mention 'demi-plane' during the few times he and Nefydd actually broached the topic of the nature of The Place.

Grijhold gave it the name. One of his arguments for the name was that the creators of the area were long gone and nowhere in the abode (if it were such) were any clues to their language. Grijhold's master had named the area Jadaharien Lldrean (some elvish variant that roughly meant Bleak Fortress). After Grijhold 'acquired' the magic trinkets from his master he came up with The Place on his second visit.“Am I going to be some pretentious bastard like all the other magick-wielding ego maniacs in history by giving this place an equally pretentious name?” Grijhold would say, usually when he was drunk by the fire pit, (and it took a lot to get him drunk) then answering himself with a suprisingly unlsurred “Fuck no!”

So the nomenclature stuck. The Place was often used as a last resort when things got bad in a variety of situations. Already it saved their lives three times. For the tenth time, Nefydd wondered if the trinkets would ever 'misfire.' Grijhold told Nefydd some tales of teleports going awry when used as a spell. A few outcomes were a ghastly mess and according the dwarf, well published in the magic community. The Place was a temporary refuge at best, for Nefydd was extremely comfortable being here. The place smelled strange, as if the land beneath was burned in a some type of acid. Even moving here was queer, you couldn't actually touch the floor as if you were walking along a well kept forest path or one of Anfekor's Imperial Roads. It was more like a slight hop and a jump to properly traverse any of the accesible areas in The Place. After the jump you would float slightly for less than half an armspan before you landed, to hop again, and again, until you reached your destination.

The Place had hallways and rooms that were sealed by heavy white doors, Nefydd guessed that the door materials were the same consistency as those in the halls. How many more chambers and halls lay beyond the doors was another huge unknown.

Nefydd pulled out a kerchief from a pouch on his belt, wiping his mouth.

“Stamina still rusty, eh?” A look of concern passed over the dwarf's face for a moment, he crossed over to the other side of the room.

Every time they used the teleportation clips, the phasing always took them to the same room inside The Place. The size was 20 spans long and wide. At opposite sides of the room were corridors leading to other rooms. The light grey floor had a circle in the middle of a navy blue. The companions were always inside the circle after each teleport. Grijhold had checked the circle numerous times for runes or inscriptions but each inspection revelead nothing. This time, one of the walls contained a window.

“Hmph, sliding panel. Glass is about a finger thick, if not more. Oh, the view is breathtaking.”

Nefydd took a slow, tentative hop to the window. The glass was thick, but outside was nothing but darkness.

“A void?”

“Lad I am completely at a loss. I'm certainly not going to break this glass and find out,” the dwarf answered, a frown creasing his forehead.

Both dwarf and man were startled when their heels touched the floor.

“We can walk... Normally.” Grijhold took a few strides toward a corridor, turned, and walked back towards the window. “What in the Tarrasque's Maw is going on?”

“I don't think the Tarrasque is an avid landlord of this place Grij.”

 Grijhold walked past the window to the corridor where a large metal woman was walking gracefully towards them, her metallic feet making a slight clink noises as they touched the floor.

“Well this is new,” Nefydd mumbled. If the ranger were to guess, the metal woman was a construct. Her face was carved with delicate feathures and long hair was sculpted flowing below her shoulders. Her eyes glowed in colors of a clear blue sky. The craftmanship was far beyond anything he had ever seen in Anfekor, or anywhere else on the continent. Her curves were precise, highlighting an hourglass figure. She wasn't armed, but Nefydd surmised she didn't use weapons, as her metal fists would likely pulverize any of her opponents.

“Elemental?” Nefydd asked.

“Sentry this is my travelling companion, Nefydd Foulkes. Nef, this is, well, she calls herself Sentry.”

Nefydd nodded slightly,“Nice to meet you. Milady.” 

“No need to be so damned formal Nef.”

The ranger shrugged, “Grij, she walks as if she's a Florsendian courtesan.”

“A masterful touch on the part of her creator I would say.” Nefydd gave a slight nod.

“Have you spoken to her?”

“I have, she's not much of conversationalist Nef.”

“How did you know her name?”

“She arrived in this same room the first few times I phased here. Didn't speak a word, followed me as I went around for a look. I started calling her Gertrude and trying to make small talk and the like. Not a peep from her.”

“One day after going down what I would deem the southern corridor, I arrive at a door, or what appears to be a door. It doesn't open. Of course, Sentry is a few steps behind me. It looks like she won't budge, she just stands there waiting. So I sit my ass down beside the door and say, 'Well Gertrude, I'm in a pickle jar it seems.' Then she speaks, I was already sitting down, so the shock wasn't obvious. 'Please call me Sentry,' she says. 'Aye,' I reply. She asks me, 'Why aren't you trying to open the door?' So I look at her, with her beautiful glowing eyes looking straight at me and say, 'Sentry, this ain't my place, if the bloody door doesn't open then obviously somebody doesn't want to me in the bloody room.' She says, 'Most life forms of your pnuematic signature would try to open the door or command me to open it for them.' I say, 'Awfully gods damned smug of the bastards to ask you such.' She says, 'I exterminated most of them.' Then she turns, walks away; swaying those gods damned perfectly forged, sculpted hips of hers. Hasn't spoken to me since.”

“Has she always arrived after your phasings?”

“No, she hasn't. I was beginning to wonder where in the Seven Hells she went. Until today, I've not seen her for some time. She decides to show herself. Something's going on here, what with her arrival coninciding with the bloody window.”

“Any more surprises I should know about while we're here Grij?”

“Nope, I don't know what exactly she is. She looks like a bloody construct. Your question earlier, is she an elemental. I've no gods damned clue. Does she report to somebody or something else? Where does she go? Nef, I've don't know. As long as we mind our business in The Place and not try to deface or wreck anything, I think we're saavy here.”

“Well, as unsettling as it is to have metal woman watching over us, we have to figure out what we're going to do with Lady Lyn.”

“Speaking of such, gods Nef, her sex is like a burning candle, melting wax, just dripping over the luster.” Grijhold looked over at Sentry and shuddered.

Nef just shrugged, raising his right forearm. The torc on his forearm was made of leather and bone, it was covered in whorls and circles, magic symbols blessed by orc shamans.

Grijhold turned and grunted,“Aye lad, I keep forgetting you wear that bloody thing. Orc magic is always a two-edged axe.”

“It certainly helps, it was a worthy acquisition.”

“It dessicates your damn manhood Nef. You've lost a part of yourself.”

“Only the desire Grij.”

“Well, at any rate, if she didn't give me the wyvern's tail, I would've surely liked to plough her garden.”

“She could be with the damn Imperial Watch.” Nefydd almost spat on the floor, but seeing the immobile form of Sentry a few paces away, he bit his tongue.

“It's possible. She was digging into your dirt with a hill giant's shovel.”

“She wanted me to elaborate more on Gaulton's Folly. Somebody in the capital is getting nervous. Or I'm being paranoid.” Nefydd looked shyly towards the construct (or was it/she an elemental?).

Grijhold grimaced, “ If, if, she is their lackey, the Council or someone who has their ear is trying to reign in or tie off what they consider loose ends.”

“Did you get any auras?”

The dwarf paled, “She's got high magicks. I haven't seen an aura like that in well... a long time. Almost like a gods damned sun.”

“We won't be able to lose her Grij.”

“Aye, we'll have her for the duration I reckon. Sunshitter is a bastard... A real cagey bastard.”

“She's a distraction. We have to get rid of that bulette.”

The dwarf nodded, “And the tomb?”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it I guess.”

“Aye. We can go back any time now if you wish.”

Nefydd looked again at Sentry. The construct was staring right at them.

“I need to sit here a bit longer. I'm not ready to leave yet.”

“Are you lusting after the metal maiden lad? Those orcish wards aren't as strong as the shaman claimed are they?”

“I appreciate beauty Grij, even in the hands of a sculptor mage.”

Sentry spoke. “My creation did not involve arcane energies.”

Both dwarf and human jaws dropped. Mouths agape, the two adventurers stared at Sentry.

“You may both stay as long as you wish,” the construct said, walking toward a closed door, which opened, allowing Sentry access. The door came down, closing with a hiss of air as it touched the ground once the construct passed beyond it.

“Oddly, I feel safer here than at the campsite,” Nefydd uttered.

“Caught between a flesh and blood beauty and a metal forged maiden. Strange times lad, interesting times.” Grijhold took a deep breath, looking out into the black void beyond.

“A few more moments Grij.”

“The moments I'll give you Nef. And hope that the Matron Mother entertains my pleas that we aren't annihilated by the curvaceous magicker when we teleport back.”

It has been too long since I've posted any material on the blog.  I don't know how long I will be able to keep this up with the new European Union regulations about the blog and I have very little computer know how or expertise. However, in the next couple of days I will post (hopefully a better edited) an edited version of Tales of a Failing Empire- Interlude (Part 5).  There have been significant upheavals in my life but I will attempt to post on a more regular basis.  For those of you that visit this site now and then, I thank for your patience.

Tales of a Failing Empire- Interlude (Part 4)

The tors around Tamith split on the southward sheep trail out of the village. The rocks weathered down to clusters less than 3 armspans in height. The granite slabs and domes occasionally revealing the weathered remains of Sulkiri and Orcish runes. Some of the stones were split in two, scars of 'earthcarving' magicks from the Orc shamans and the Rockhewer Lords of the old tribes of man. The grey stone dark and cold, giving way to the bright green grasses that were the province's namesake.

Despite their efforts, Nefydd and Grijolhd could not gain a significant lead on the woman. Her stamina was considerable, and she maintained an armspan of distance from the pair. Her shapely boots moving in steady rhythm with their respective marching down the trail. The two companions no longer whispering to one another, their faces grimly set on the trail ahead of them.

The trail cut east and then north for a half a league. The pair stopped by what appeared to be a split menhir. The dwarf waved his left hand in a vertical motion, across his torso. A small section of earth at the base of the menhir eroded away, revealing a hole an armspan wide. Nefydd crouched down, pulling two backpacks and a pair of shoulder packs out of the hole.

“How far to the bulette spoor?” Lyn asked.

Grijolhd waved the sunrod in his right hand, “Another half a league thereabouts. North, northeast.”

“We'll camp here for the night,” Nefydd proclaimed. “You expecting to tackle the critter this evening?”

“I'll just follow your lead for the time being, gentlemen.” Lyn placed her hands on either side of her belt, covering the hilts of her weapons. “Are you certain you wish to stop? We still have a few more bells of daylight.”

“I've got an extra blanket,” Nefydd eyed Lyn warily.

“Thank you, won't be needing it. I'm a light sleeper.”

“Fine with me.” Nefydd saw her eyes looking into his and knew she caught his lie. He brought two packs over to the dwarf and walked a few armspans across to begin rummaging through his own gear.

“I travelled with Berend Keirkegaard for a time. He says you were a good soldier.”

Nefydd looked up at her.“There's no such thing as a good soldier,” he replied, “Only living ones. How is the Ser... When was the last time you saw him?”

“Six months past, in the Shatterbolt Mountains. He died in an expedition.”

Nefydd was quiet for a moment, turning his gaze from the woman. His hands froze for a few heartbeats pulling a camp stove from his pack. “Didn't know where he contracted in.”

“Your company was the only one who left the Senators' forces-”

“We were disillusioned with where the campaign was heading.” Nefydd placed the stove on the ground, rubbing his hands on his knees.

“And shortly thereafter, their armies were routed in a crushing defeat-”

“At the eastern Jurasin, is there a point to this inquiry?” Nefydd stood up, teeth clenched and walked to the menhir.

“Lass, this isn't exactly where you want to go.” Grijolhd chimed in. Quicker than the woman could follow, the dwarf signed to Nefydd, 'We need to have a conference, now.'

The dwarf tossed a small metallic dodecahedron to Nefydd. The ranger clasped the item, no bigger than the tip of his thumb, to the colllar of his shirt. “Shit,” he whispered.

Lyn was smiling, unmoving hands still on her belt. The dwarf and the man vanished. Her eyes wide, the woman channeled a questing for enchantments, and found nothing. There was no evidence of any magic.

“Oh they'll be back,” she murmured, looking at their gear.

“And you will harm not a hair on their heads,” a voice growled behind her.

“Most impressive orc, but your stench gives you away.” Lyn didn't bother turning around.

“And your signature matron, you light up the night like ten thousand fireflies.”

The woman frowned, questing her senses, there, she found it, a tiny spark.

“An earth father, here? Oh how delightful.”

“It is good you remember matron. Your kind often forget the ancient ways of others.”

“Hmph. And you fail to appreciate that it was we, who aided your enlightenment millenia ago.”

“Not all of you.” The orc said, his voice deep, rich, as if flowing through the air, rock and soil.

“A node, of course. Very well, earth father, you have my attention.” Lyn turned around. The orc was old for his kind, his appearance told otherwise, but Lyn could see his aura, and she gasped. The orc positively glowed, giving off a shimmer of the land as it looked thousands of years ago, when the orcs creeped above their ancient stoneholds in the night. On the eve of their rebellion.

Physically, he was still impressive, his muscles retaining their shape, not quite wiry as most orcs became as they aged, but solid curves, veins vibrant, the blood flowing in strong currents. His hair was still black for the most part, but Lyn's vision saw the faint traces of grey in a few strands. The sides of his head were shaved, but the hair on his head was long and tied in a ponytail. His goatee was black. Where the hair was shaved were several tattoos, whorls, circles inscribed with the old runes of deep earth magicks. His tunic and breeches were made of bulette hide, stained a deep brown. His left hand gripped a staff made of Tysthewood; trees that grew no longer in the human held lands of Anfekor and the other nations of the East.

Majestic as the orc was from the eye's view, his aura was absolutely stunning, Lyn was nervous, something she had not felt, in a long, long time.

“You know of my companions then?” Lyn cooed.

“Indeed, they are known to many brethren bordering the Cursed Lands.”

“Have you come to help us with our little quest?”

“I have come to make sure that no harm befalls them as they seek a resolution to their challenge. I will be watching you matron.”

Lyn brought her left hand up, chewing on her index finger suggestively. “Delightful, very well earth father, I will behave.”

“See that you do.” The orc changed, his arms folding towards his ribs, body crouched to the earth almost in a strange bow of reverence, wings came forth, then the piercing eyes, and finally the powerful claws of a plains owl. The wards around the orc as he transformed were blinding, and Lyn had to actually look down at the grass for a few moments. There were sounds of air being displaced by wings at least an armspan in length. Lyn looked up to find herself alone once again within the disheveled campsite. The dwarf's sunrod the only illumination, highlighting the orcish runes in white upon the menhir's base.

“I suppose I should cook up something for the boys when they come back.” Lyn sighed and went to work.

Far above the campsite, a great plains owl circled within the dwindling thermals, waiting.

Tales of A Failing Empire- Interlude (Part 3)

Nefydd let out a barely audible sigh, looking at the dwarf.

“Your... Illustriousness,” Grijhold said, hands tightening on his walking stick.

“No, dwarf, you have the title wro-” hissed the priest.

“I was referring to your female companion,” Grijhold interrupted. “I believe we haven't been properly introduced.”

The woman smiled, revealing perfectly straight, polished teeth. “Grijhold Torseeker, well met. And you must be Nefydd Foulkes.” Again she smiled, giving a curt nod, her ponytail moving in rhythm.

Cornelius coughed. “I have some rather important news from the village council.”

The priest pulled out a scroll case from within his robes, tossing it to the dwarf. “Your contract with Tamith shall end in two days time. You will be paid accordingly, any shortcomings or shirking of your duties are a violation of our contract and will, of course, be deducted from your payroll. That is your copy of the termination notice.”

Grijhold removed the scroll from the case, unraveling it and glancing at the scribework within. “Impressive handwriting skills, did you forge this document yourself, Sunshitter, or did you have a lackey do it for you?”

“Oh the article is genuine, I assure you, I was able to procure 3 out of the 5 signatures needed to make the termintation binding. I expect you to leave this town in two days. But before you go, there is the matter of an old barrow you two dug up?”

“Barrow!? We dug-” Grijolhd's walking stick snapped.

Nefydd laid a firm hand on the dwarf's left shoulder. “Grij, leave it be, we can be damn sure Aled didn't sign it.”

“Can we?” the dwarf growled.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted by your unprofessional behavior, there is the matter of a barrow. This is Alalyn. She will accompany you to the barrow and assist you both as she sees fit under official capacity as an adjutant marshal.”

Grijolhd, grinding his teeth, said quietly, “ Anything else?”

“Ah yes, I would like the scroll case, it is property of the Church.”

“But of course,” Grijhold spat in the case, closed the lid and tossed it back to the priest. “Apologies Gleaming Goose, but I needed to clear my throat.”

“Good riddance to you both. You do your Guild great dishonor.” Cornelius nodded to Alalyn, striding back to the village proper.

“Lead on gentlemen,” Alalyn grinned.

“As you wish, milady,” Nefydd managed to say with a slight bow.

“Ah Mr. Foulkes, no need to be so formal. Lyn will be fine if you please.”

“Very well.”

Grijolhd walked briskly in the direction.

“Is your dwarven compatriot always so dour?”

“Only when he's lost his job.”

“Adventuring is such a difficult profession these days.”

“Aye milady.”

“Mr. Foulkes-”

“Begging your pardon Lyn. I don't know you but it appears you can more than carry you weight in matters such as this. So let's skip the flattery and the flirtations, if any were forthcoming in the first place. I prefer milady as you clearly prefer to refer to me as a gentleman, which, last time I checked I'm anything but.”

Alalyn smiled, “Ah Nefydd, you and I will get along spectacularly, I'm sure.”

Nefydd gave her a quick nod, rubbing his right forearm, walking headlong to catch up to Grijhold.

“That's an interesting torc on you right arm Mr. Foulkes,” Alalyn called after him.

“She's worse than I thought,” the dwarf mumbled. “Definitely magicks attuned.”

“She's charming in a way,” Nefydd whispered back.

“With looks like that, it ain't too hard lad.”

“Maybe she can charm the bulette.”

“That is what I'm afraid of.”

Alalyn called behind them, “A bulette did you say?”

Both Nefydd and Grijolhd stopped. Nefydd turned, containing his surprise. “Aye milady, near the barrow.”

“We shall all earn our keep then won't we?” The woman smiled. “Come, come, I should like to see this barrow.”

“I imagine you would,” Grijolhd mumbled again.

“I heard that.”

Update- The New and Improved Art

Thanks Keith for sending me a jpeg image of the art! I've been able to put the it on the blog and it looks fantastic! Thank you!
More to come in the following weeks folks.

A Tremendous Thank You!

I would just like to thank Keith Decesare for his hard work and contribution to the blog! Keith drew the picture you see above!  Unfortunately, (myself not being very suave with computers) I had to do a bit of tinkering with Blogger to get the art up and running for the site. Keith is an amazing artist, one of my top favorites and I really appreciate the work he has done. This really doesn't do the piece any justice, as I had to scan the art in order to have it posted on the site. For some reason, Blogger wouldn't accept the Adobe pdf that Keith sent me. For this Keith, I apologize profusely.  Keith's website can be seen here:  Linkage

Thank you Keith for the art and for your time!