Re: The Eye of the Phoenix
The meeting place, the Royal Hall of Snowspire’s court, was regal and not unlike most of the places Veros had ever been, as far as stately, important places came anyway. One thing stood out quite obviously however, the general age of the place, the cobwebs in the rafters and the cracked stone floors where spatters of old spillage was dumped. Old wooden crates in rickety piles were everywhere, and it was apparent that the place had become more of a warehouse than anything. It was windowless except for a single-paned stain-glass bay window on the far side, its colors faded and its glass warped. The floor of the place was nearly devoid of furniture, a large, circular table surrounded by ornate wooden chairs the only noticeable distinction in the dim corridor.
It was here that Veros noticed, that through many trials and many errors, they were coming to a dividing line along their journey’s path. Something told him, perhaps instinct, perhaps something else, but more than he knew, his suspicions were correct. When Veros and his companions were ushered into the dilapidated hall, he instantly knew that this was more important than it had first appeared. For starters, Nirkraj was not alone, at least ten other official-looking men and women gathered around the table with him at its head. They were varying in appearance, from a stout, angst-ridden northerner with a beard to a tall, dark-skinned woman in her late forties, and anything in between as far as Veros could tell. This is going to be interesting he thought before stepping towards the table anxiously.
“Veros. Come, you and your friends should take a seat.” Nirkraj began speaking instantly, surprising Veros with the knowledge of his ever-present blindness. Actually, it was starting to freak him out, to be honest.
“Nirkraj,” Veros acknowledged him, settling down into a seat as the rest followed suit. He glanced around the round table briefly, looking into the eyes of each of the seated officials (or so he guessed they were) with reserved curiosity.
“I am glad you could make it. Lieutenant Ramere is not always as efficient as he would like to think.” Veros noticed the short northerner somewhere across the table, rolling his eyes cynically before donning an uncanny half-smile, of course because Nirkraj couldn’t see it. Ramere was flanked by two other guards, one pale and scrawny-looking and the other large and blissfully unaware with blonde hair, Norman and Jim, as Ramere had told them on the way to the meeting spot. Nirkraj continued, “Yet while you have stayed here, my scholars and I have assembled a plan for what we think may aid you in your quest.”
“Slow down a second there, bucko!” Scorl blurted out in a haughty, demanding tone that startled most of the others at the table, “How did you all find out about it?”
Nirkraj grinned strangely, in an odd way that Veros just couldn’t describe as he said, “Who is to say we mentioned an ‘it’?” Scorl gave the rest of them an inquiring look, about to speak before Nirkraj began again, “No, we have outside sources. People you may already know. The boatswain Rolf Halmund and his accompanying officer, Rufus Almonder, hmmm?” Veros sat in stunned silence at the mention of the names, and only nodded subtly in response. “Yes, Veros, it would appear your comrades docked at the eastern harbor about two days ago. We made contact and soon after learned of your… predicament. What a tale indeed, Veros. Or should I say Veros the wayfarer? Or perhaps Veros the defeater of wizards? How about Veros the Kraken-slayer? Legendary, these stories are that I have heard. Yet perhaps even a legendary traveler such as yourself needs assistance in these dark times…”
“Where are Rolf and Rufus?” Veros said, ignoring the statement at the mention of the two men.
“They couldn’t make it,” said the stout northerner with the beard, leaning back in his chair casually with his arms folded, “said they were anchoring their ship or unloading supplies or somethin’.”
“Anchoring? Why?” Badris spoke up, staring the stout man in the eyes, the other just sitting there with an obviously bored expression on his face.
“Hell if I know.”
“Dagran! Use your manners! These are our guests after all.” Nirkraj scolded the northerner more like a child than a grown, fully-bearded man.
“Fine. The young one said they were planning on meeting you here. Tomorrow, eight o’ clock at the tavern. They’ve got plans we already know about, so listen up.” Dagran shifted his gaze across the table to a finely-groomed, mustachioed, gray-haired man wearing a pompous-looking outfit, giving him a cue of some sort.
The man cleared his throat and spoke in a heavily-accented Bowerstone slur, not unlike an auctioneer or salesman, “Yeah see, now, we’ve got word from yar friends that there’s somethin’ goin’ on, now. There’s a big plan, spiel, yeah. You all know anyone by tha name o’ Sarvis Umbras, now?” Veros eyed the strange man with veiling curiosity, nodding his head very subtly like the sway of a boat at sea.
“So I see,” he continued in his odd accent, “Well, this fellah Umbras has got his sights set on somethin’. Revenge? Justice? Scrumpy? Don’t quite know. Ya see, yar friends caught sight of ‘im. Dirty deeds, see- killin’ off his crew o’ that ship he was in, see. Later on, some scouts o’ ours recognized ‘im. Outlaw of sorts, ya see now. Been on the run for near some time now, see. Man’s dangerous- killer, crazy. Them scouts best not mess with ‘im, and so they all came back an’ reported it. Well, he’s here somehow, or somewhereabouts near and we don’t even know why yet, see. Mayhaps you’d know there, sonny?” As much as Veros was about sick of the strange city accent, he had to admit- this was going somewhere… whether for good or for bad still remained to be answered.
“You were right about one part at least, um… er…” Veros trailed off, not knowing who he was even talking to.
“Name’s Avery. But you, sir, can call me Ave. Or just A if yar quick that way, see.”
“Er… yeah…” Veros looked around at the rest of his group, their expressions all mirroring his thoughts: what the hell have we gotten into here? “Avery, like I was saying, you were right about one part- Revenge. Sarvis was with us in the grove when we fought Jack-”
A sudden, overwhelming hush engulfed the room, and a few of Nirkraj’s attendees gasped under their breath before the High Priest himself spoke, “We were not told about Jack,” His voice sounded hollow, almost severe, and Veros knew why, because this was hardly a laughing matter, “If it is true that you speak of Jack of Blades, then perhaps this is a matter of greater importance than I first suspected… You say this Umbras, this monstrosity of a man, he has something to do with the demon of ages?”
“Unfortunately so. He is one of his men. Or at least he was. Somehow, some way, he betrayed Jack or vice versa. Now they are at odds with eachother from what I can tell and they both seek revenge. Or at least Sarvis does.” Veros gave his information, the mood of the room becoming darker than the gathering night outside. The air was filled with tension.
Nirkraj shifted in his chair, looking up into Veros’ eyes in an uncanny way despite his blindness, “So it is. Sarvis, I’m afraid, has no idea what he is up against. Powerful and deadly as he is, he cannot face Jack alone. And for that matter, neither can you. I feared that it might be as so, for great evil tends to be attracted to great magic such as this, yet it now appears as reality. Yet desperate times call for desperate measures. And desperate allies as well.” Veros’ eyes widened and the rest of the group looked to one another nervously at the thought of where this was going… and where it might end up. “You will find that bonds made with common goals are the most powerful, young Veros. And there are only two men that may aid you on this most difficult task of defeating the demon and reclaiming your honor.” Two men? Veros thought, What’s going on here? “One of the two was once your enemy, a servant of a great evil, yet the other is a stranger… at least to his own eyes. You have seen him, yes?” Oh no, Veros’s mind began frantically spinning out of control at the possibility that- and then, from the opposite side of the ancient warehouse, a rusted metal door creaked open, three silhouetted figures standing in the entryway, one of them cloaked and the other two helmeted guards. They approached the table, hard footsteps echoing all around, almost like the intense beating of Veros’s heart. Then, when the trio reached the table, the cloak was thrown back and a pale, lightly bearded face with a crooked nose and a sly expression was revealed. And the part that stopped Veros’s beating heart- on one exposed shoulder, there was a scar as dark as any abyss, strangely shaped like a paw mark. The Black Paw, the curse and legend of- “Veros,” Nirkraj said, “Meet the real Grimlaf Helmort.”
Darg's back in business. Sort of.
