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.”
