Mas Bagus

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Roland the apothecary prepared his note, while the Jailer stood beside him. With Solomon's permission, they walked closer, observing the twitching corpse with great interest. The face of the undead contorted, his head tilted sideways, and his shoulder locked in a way that made both his cheek and his shoulder collide with each other.

Other than that, the violent spasm has ceased. Like some sort of disgusting contraption, Geralt gradually levered himself up, sitting with legs still outstretched.

Then he turned at them. Red eyes surrounded by dark sclera. His lips twitched, mumbling inaudibly as if his soul was in a process of readapting with his own motoric movement.

He spasmed once more before vomiting a mixture of blood, pus, and chemicals. His black, disgusting teeth bared wide when he finally made a noise.

"Morggg Fregricuz ratss," It was barely what you called speaking, what the undead did was spit more substance and forced his bowels to make a contraction to his vocal cord. But that alone seemed to be sufficient for the Jailor, who stepped forward gripping their weighed baton and brandished it on their side.

"Geralt of Black Serpent, you are guilty of the crime against the King of The Nation and The People. Who was the architect of your vile scheme?!"

A twitch, and nothing else happened, as if the harsh declaration had banished the Old Geralt's consciousness back to etherealness. But he was 'present', eyes opened, mouth agape, but his physical form was still.

Roland suspected that the necromancer played a role in this one. And he hoped it would be some sort of dark version of hypnotism. To command the undead to answer the question, and tell the truth.

Finally, the undead turned his head, to this and that. And Once again, through the ghastly wound, they saw his lungs expand, they wept a frothy mixture of blood and pus.

"Delving." he said in one full breath, the smell was almost unbearable, yet the undead repeated the name in utter mania. "Delving! Delving Jonas...Jonas Delving!"

His entire body spasmed, but he grinned when the tremor struck back and caused his head to fall back, mouth opened in a
soundless cry of joy and pain, the muscle and veins on his neck standing out like wire.
His right hand raised, on the back of his palm, a fiery marker emerged from his tattoo, glowing like a fiery iron brand.

Then something happened, he seized the pencil from Roland and stabbed the apothecary in the shoulder. Geralt's sudden mastery of precise movement stunned everyone, allowing the undead to roll down from the table. Turned out for the entire ritual, the dead bastard had taken his time to feel his upper body, reclaiming full control. What he did not calculate was the wound caused by Jazdia's arrow had damaged a portion of his spine, partially paralyzing the lower part of his body.

"Delving! Cheatin fuckwiz! I did all I could for the cause. Why should I suffer alone? Out of my way!"

The undead lurched forward, mustering every will to direct his erratic gait toward the exit, but was quickly stopped by the jailer, who had rushed to ambush the undead and swung their baton at Gerralt's knee.

He screamed, but not because of the supposed pain the jailer just inflicted. "I lent them my merchandise, my tool, my plaything!!!"

The stitching was undone, and his rotten entrails spilled out, blood and foul ichor dripping profusely, yet the dead still marched, slower this time, until he finally stopped dead on his track. Shackled by shadow and an ethereal chain cast by the necromancer.

"Eeverything!" he growled, the frustration was almost humane but turned into a terrifying howl when he screamed a name.

"Joormungand!"

The brand on his hand emanated a crimson smoke, the glow intensified and Geralt was spasming again. The second time he screamed that name, the desperation bled into his voice and it echoed with power that reverberated in the very air.

"Joormungand! Why have you forsaken me!?"

The third time he called the name, the voice was almost as broken as he was. The old bastard hunched, the glow on the tattoo gradually wanes as he slumped on the floor. Eyes opened, lungs-- contracting as if alive, yet he was lying still.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Royal Apothecary Roland hurriedly strode through the deserted corridor, bringing only a dimmed lamp with him. In every step taken, he silently cursed his colleagues who failed to inform him about their arrival. Petty imbeciles, they were, did they not have any inkling how important this matter was now not only for him but also for the entire branch?

In front of a door, Roland stopped, wondering if this was the correct room. Earlier he had asked around, looking for the maid who brought in the particular guest he was looking for, adding more lapsed time to his already tight schedule. If this was the wrong room, who knows how many more he would have to knock. Or if the Man was in this corridor at all.

Deciding to set aside his worries for later, he knocked on the door.

He didn't have all night.

***

Inside, Solomon sat at a table. He looked at the candle, its flame flickering, and the wax slowly dripping down the side. He was in contemplation. So far, everything was moving according to plan, but surely whatever opposing force keeping the country in turmoil would not let this go on uncontested for much longer. Something bigger must be at play. Petra coughed, and Solomon turned his head.

A polite but hesitant series of knocking could be heard. Solomon stood up from his chair, disengaging the latch, and peered out.

A man stood in front of the door. He looked average if not bookish, wearing a robe dyed in yellow and white and wearing a pair of glasses that seemed too small for his wide face. When their eyes met, the man flinched, seemingly intimidated by Solomon's presence, but then he quickly regained his composure.

“Well met to you, Sir. My name is Roland, Royal Apothecary.” he introduced himself, bowing and speaking at the same time. “Sorry for disturbing you at this hour.”

“That is quite alright. I find myself not quite ready to shut my eyes. What brings you so late? Is it something urgent?” asked Solomon. His eyes narrowed, looking directly at the man, “or is it something you wish to keep discrete?”

“Indeed, sir. The matter that I am about to disclose is sensitive. What I am allowed to tell you is we need your expertise to ‘prepare’ a very important individual for tomorrow's occasion.”

“Oh? Then I employ you to enter.” said Solomon

“I must refuse, sir.” insisted Roland, “If you would come with me. More will be explained once we’ve arrived.”

“Very well. Then let us be on our way.” Solomon took a step out of the room, the door drifting to a close behind him.

***

"I am going to tell you that this is the order from the king himself. Sir."

Roland, who had been silent for the entire walk from the guest house to a secluded antechamber in the west wing, now started to speak again as they began to descend spiraling stairs to the Royal Palace basement. "I assume you are already familiar with this individual. We found him in the ruins of Black Serpent headquarters...."

They finally emerged into a room that seemed like both a mortuary and a laboratory, buzzing with activities. Several apprentices could be seen mixing potions, weighing ingredients, jotting notes.

On the large table, lay a corpse of a middle-aged man with white hair. An apprentice was busy sewing his abdomen close, and it seemed that both the staff and the time itself had done quite a number on him; when they get close, the smell was a mix of putrefaction, chemicals, and curiously, an incongruous strong scent of herbs. The eyes were wide open, looked dull and blackened. Despite he heavy damage on his torso, his face was intact, save several scrapes and the contortion in the muscle that made his general expression looked like he had met his demise in terror.

That said, the corpse was still missing a substantial amount of flesh and bones around his sternum, leaving a large fleshy crater on his torso, revealing the seared heart and lungs within.

"We will need you to wake him up." said the apothecary animatedly. Behind him, a masked being approached, inserted himself into the group, then spoke in a demanding tone.

"And talk. We will need him to be alive so folks can hear him screeching when the horses pull him apart."

The additional person introduced themselves as the Jailor. Man or woman, nobody can tell what form behind their heavy coat and cowled head, and plague mask. The voice seeped out from the metal mask was determined, if not irritated, and distorted.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Awkwardly, the prince had himself ushered away by his myrmidons, he only spared a glance once at the group, who soon will be escorted to their own room. A glitter in his eyes showed many untold words, but it was already late, and he had to be mindful of he would conduct himself in the royal palace.

And so they went, ending the brief but very important handover ceremony. Fredricus would want witness, and so did those who were expecting the reward.

In her entire career as a representative and persecutor, this was the first time Jazdia will be spending a night in a royal palace. And of course, the reason was obvious.

She would rather go back to Angel's Share, but the place was closed, making the irony twofold. First being locked out of the establishment she owned, and the second having to sleep in the 'belly of the beast'.

Swallowing her pride, Jazdia decided to make peace with the situation and be friendly to the maid.

"Please lead the way."
She didn't know the others, but the servant who escorted her was not very friendly. After uttering a glorified but rather standard instruction to follow, she led Jazdia toward a very large corridor. At first they were still with the group, until each one of the disappeared at every subsequent door. Cedar was the last to be directed into another corridor and seemed to be very enjoying the conversation with the staff. Good for him.

"This will be your room, Ma'am." said the maid flatly. It was a nice room, as expected from a royal palace. The bed was big, the air was fresh and the floor was clean. Three most important criteria for her, and she would not peruse the other details.

Unbuttoning the admiral coat and threw it on a nearby chair, Jazdia then realized that the Maid was still there.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" asked the maid in an irritated tone.

There was a pause when a rather-unladylike exclamation came from the next door. Complaining about the light that should be dimmed. Not sure if the maid could hear it too.

"No, thank you," answered Jazdia, calmly walking toward the door and reaching its knob before gradually closing it. Indirectly asking the maid to leave. It won't be open until the next morning.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Almost two hours had already passed, and Matilda seemed all too eager to get back on the road. Jazdia agreed with that proposition and asked everyone to be prepared.

Still using the same formation, the party continued their journey with moderate alertness. The road between Hdur and the capital city should be considerably safer now, though Jazdia wouldn't discount a potential ambush no matter how small that was. She instructed Kaito to maintain the usual speed.

***

00:20 A.M.
Rascade City Outskirt, Kingdom of Kindeance.

It was well past midnight now and nothing unusual was afoot. The dimmed light from torches and lamps adorning the city battlements could already be seen from the distance. The wagon slowed gradually and stopped in front of the city gate. There, no less than ten men manned their stations, four blocked the way. The others stood in the battlements with muskets and crossbows

"Halt!' commanded one of the soldiers toward the already halted convoy. He had his pike pointed diagonally toward the incoming stranger. And there he came forward, a herald of the bone-grinding bureaucracy. "The city's closed, no passage!"

"Good night! We are here for official business." reasoned Jazdia, who had positioned herself between the carriage and the line of guards. To her, their cautiousness was understandable.

"Official business you say? With a bear? Elf? And that funny-looking foreigner over there? So a wandering circus is an official guest now?"

"Yes. That's our pet bear, our ringmaster, and that lady riding behind me is our tumbler." Jazdia paused for a breath and winked. "While I am the juggler."

"Yeah, you don't say!" said the other guard, glaring at her condescendingly."Like I will buy that bullcrap. Juggler my arse, don't even have enough tits to juggle."

Before Jazdia considered blasting these grunts to pieces. the first guard interjected. "What, ow who's inside the carriage?"

"Our mime artist and the manager."

"Come now, ma'am, do you want to enter or---"

"Hey, what's the holdup!?"

Like a roaring lion, Matilda's helmeted head emerged from the carriage window and shouted. It took some time for the stationed guards to realize who was that before hurriedly retreating aside. The rest was scurrying for a gate lever.

The metal portcullis rattled as its chains came to life and lifted it upward. The wagon immediately rolled inside. Jazdia however stayed behind to pester the frightened guards some more.

"No need to apologize. I see that you are still maintaining the old standing order. I assume Your Highness hasn't elected anyone to replace Lord Aaron Delving yet?"

The guard shook their heads. Some said they don't know, while others commented that no further order was coming from the top since three days ago, which was not only strange but also resulted in the day-to-day routine going into disarray.

"The bombing case too." added one of the guards right before Jazdia set off. "The investigation was stopped, and it makes people kinda riled up."

Still behind the wagon, Jazdia took a rather sharp turn at the next crossroad. Taking a longer and more scenic route to see the state of the city for herself. She had to accelerate her horse in a constant gallop in order to arrive at the palace in a timely manner.

The streets were calm, almost peaceful and no strays could be seen. Even the famed Black Swan Tavern was deserted, its dazzling lights radiates throughout their closed windows and the only soul there was a seemingly immutable bouncer guarding their front door.

When Jazdia reached the Plaze, it was again, empty and it was not supposed to be like that. The darkened interior of The Angel's Share and a CLOSED sign on its door would warrant Lucas a hefty penalty this morning, and she was sure of it.

Calm, peaceful, and normal. As she rode straight through the main road, she wondered how far she would go to do her part to maintain this normalcy. The stability of the land that was not her own. And for that bried while Jazdia forgot that she was retired.

Jazdia was just a minute late when she reached the palace. The carriage had just been taken off somewhere with all its passengers already climbing the stairs toward the main door. The elf followed suit. No welcoming ceremony, and no flowers or yells or anything. And no spies as well as far as her eyes could see. They returned, in silence, like thieves, and ironically with the next crown walking with them. What an interesting turn of events it was.

Matilda led the group, and Fredricus' personal chamberlain received them once they entered the main hall. Some servants followed the man and quickly flanked Prince Alec with Matilda closely guarding him.

"His Highness will be eternally grateful." said the man pompously. "But I am afraid your rewards will have to wait for his Higness' wisdom. You will be summoned when the time is due. Please follow the servants, they will take you to your chambers."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

The baker raised his fingers. He was chopping assortments of boiled cow skin and tripes when Cedar came up with a new request.

"A moment, okay."

Baker was very detailed when it comes to a proper kitchen protocol, down to the smallest detail. No contaminations allowed even if it was just the aromas. A butter should smell like butter and Garlic should smell like garlic. So when they asked for garlic and butter, he first set aside his current chopping board, get a new one, wash the knife, and only by then he could start chopping the garlic. After securing the minced herb into a small glass saucer, he washed his hand again, kneeled, and brought up a small block of butter from a container and place it in a different sauce.

Such an elaborated procedure understandably makes the process quite long, but thankfully the patron this time was very patient.

"Here you go, pal." he chimed, exchanging a glance toward the young blonde boy who seemed to be getting along very well with the beastman.

"And you must be Alec." he said with a playful smirk, handing the boy a clean spoon. "Well of you go before that shieldmaiden of yours noticed."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Jazdia stood idly in front of the crackling hearth, sipping the last portion of the tea. Everyone else was talking, some else were tending to injury. It was Matilda who remained in silence, sitting alone without uttering a single word, keeping an eye at the prince who was currently exchanging banter with Cedar.

Pouring another cup, Jazdia moved to the counter and sat on one of the stools.

"Greetings, what can I... oh it's you."

"Were you expecting somebody else?"

"In this premises? Probably more 'usuals' sent by a certain stubborn patriarch, but that seems like a stretch. I think he is currently more concerned with an escaped royal rather than a small business run by a single father. What about you? Done with the words of wisdom already?"

The elf shook her head. "Did you not see who just entered?"

"The old you wouldn't care.

"The old me huh--" For the first time in a while, Jazdia raised her voice as if a surge of emotion overwhelmed her. But it quickly faded, and her composure returned.

"People changes, Dwain. It would takes more than a bunch of verbiage to change minds. That 'something more' is what I don't have now."

"You still have. Maybe not as convenient as it used to." the elven man shifted to the edge of his long table, picking a pinch of thyme, dropping it into the cauldron, then back to her again.

"Sizeble enough to run an entire mafia. Don't count me on that though..."

Jazdia lets out a half-hearted chortle. There was a long pause after that until Baker started again.

"Do you regret it?"

That was a question of the decade. The question that she could never answer with words. She remembered when she decided to retire, she was tired and weary. Justice could never be perfect, that was one thing, but the endeavor to get there was usually full of people squabbling with each other to uphold their own version of justice. Then you have politics that demands leniency and deception on the enforcement of the law, all in the name of stability. Her heart could not stand it anymore.

But here she was and she wondered what kind of answer this would be. It was said most elves had given up their canonical role as the enforcer of the celestial law since the time of inception, yet the impulse still remained within her, and it felt like an addiction.

"I am not sure."

"The uncertainty that is only on words, and not in action."

Baker's smugness became more intense Jazdia quickly realized what happened. That her musings had allowed him to read her mind. Blushing, she turned away and reached for her purse, smacking five coins on the counter so hard it made a loud thud.

"Oh shut up already!"

Dwain took the coins without counting them. Still smiling, but this time combined with a mischievous head shake.

"Won't feel bad if I were you. The way I see it, this time it was the trouble that finds you. And your 'addiction' simply kicked in. Can't say it was a bad thing. To have one peaceful nation is a blessing. It makes everyone, including you sleep better at night."

Suddenly Jazdia was lost for a word. He glared at Baker, glared so intensely this time he should be able to read what she was thinking. To say interventionism brought peace was a simplified outlook at best. Did he not remember what they did at Tretagor?

"On the flip side, The decision to not give a damn is still up to you." Baker avoided eye contact with his former boss, sighing before continuing in a more apologetic tone. "Fred will ask for more favor, sure but you have the capability to tell him to shove it. Pardon my words. You will still suffer a loss from your investment though."

Simultaneous steps could be heard when Solomon and Yvonne made their way down from the second floor. Baker shrugged one more time before telling Jazdia that he was out of words of wisdom to prattle. Of course with his sarcastic humor and all.

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

The elven man frowned only slightly, not because he was offended, but because the stammerings bear in front of him make him kinda flabbergasted.

"What are you talking about?" he groaned. "You worried over nothing. I sold the stuff to you because they were simply what you asked for, a bag of old bread. Even if I still have the stock you have now, I would not sell my inferior produce to them, or let them have it. Nah, I'd rather let those York kids come back tomorrow, buy the freshly baked ones, and undoubtedly be satisfied with what they get rather than having them go home now with stale bread."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

"Bread for breakfast? Give me a second."

The baker enthusiastically withdrew himself from the group and manned his counter. The stew was boiling beside him, but still far from cooked. It was late and the display table was understandably empty, except for the items Nina made with that Delving maid this morning, that he should have been personally set aside for their own breakfast tomorrow morning. He wondered where the pirozhki bread had gone.

"I am sorry but we all run out. Why don't come back next morning at 9? A new bunch will be ready at that time."

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

It took a while for Cedar to finish his long-winded answer.

For Jazdia, a normative answer was as reliable as a politician's promise, it rarely offered a solution and was mostly a rhetoric to mirror the speaker's motivation and code of honor. How did a man-bear capable of having a way with words, that was a question for another time.

At least a sense of cautiousness had been instilled. But Jazdia still thought the consequences were not grasped fully by Cedar. As she was about to open her mouth to refute, Baker glanced at her signaling a hint to give it time.

Either by pure coincidence or not, when Matilda stomped closer into the inn like an angry ox, Cedar's solution for the matter became somewhat more practical, and she liked that optimism.

The entrance of Matilda brought an abrupt yet supposed end to their strategic conversation. Jazdia exchanged her glance with Baker, tacitly motioned him to put back his innkeeper mode.

"Greetings," said the man. Smiling. "Are you hungry? What can get you?"

Sovereign's Will: A Fantasy Roleplaying Game. [CONCLUDED]

Jazdia listened as if the news were yesterday's occasion to her. She walked to the counter, helped herself with another Tertagorian bread, and returned to the fireplace.

And only by then her eyes wandered, silence engulfed the room after Cedar voiced his contention, and the bear was not afraid. Though, he slightly underestimated the precarious situation he was in.

"I do not completely agree with what Baker said. Though he was right about not trusting Fredricus, I do have my own theory." After sipping a quarter part of her tea, she looked at Cedar. Intrigued by the words he uttered before. "Imagine if the King knows what you are capable of. Oh, he would love to add you to his collections, Maybe not as his rug or trophy, but as a weapon. A chained weapon, locked into his dungeon, only be used at war. Well-fed but caged and shackled. Not entirely dissimilar to that blindfolded girl we rescued earlier."