The sound of Ivory’s voice right behind Xen broke his concentration. The glowing pages faded and he snapped the book shut. He responded without turning to face her.
“Let me make one thing clear, my dear. This is my ship. You don’t enter the captain’s chambers without permission, and especially not without announcing yourself first.” Ivory felt a tinge of fear run down her spine. Even though Xen’s voice was calm, she could tell he was displeased.
“That being said,” he turned to face her and followed up before she could respond, “You look pale. Go find Loro in the galley. Tell him you need something without rat in it and that the Cap’n says you’re lodging with him.”
He got up and showed Ivory the door, presenting her with the journal he had been reading. After she took it, he added: “By the way, we don’t tolerate stowaways. We have a small hard working crew. If someone doesn’t pull their weight, they’re a stowaway in our book.”
The door shut. Ivory felt slightly confused as to why she didn’t even get a word in during the entire exchange.
Caeleo and Sapphira were fighting their way to the docks through crowds of people moving every direction. Everyone had agreed to meeting in a couple hours, but he wanted to make sure a boat was ready before then. The people of Lothair weren’t perturbed in the slightest by the earthquake. They kept moving and selling and buying as they were moments earlier, as if it was just a minor disturbance. They quakes must be more regular here.
“That’ll be fifty graal.” The harbormaster was writing Caeleo’s name in on a sheet of paper
“Alright. Sapphira…?” He trailed off as he looked around for the Fae. She must have wandered off in The Delthair Strip when something nice caught her eye. And ofcourse he had given her the wallet to carry since he had no clothing to speak of. If his observations of other Tarver natives were anything to go by, she’d probably spend every last cent. He turned back to face the harbormaster.
“My Fae is missing. She had my wallet.”
“Like I haven’t heard that one before. Let me guess, you want me to spot you the 50 graal and she’ll be back to give it to me?”
Caeleo gave the man a confused look. He was puzzled by his apparent generosity. “That’s perfect. Thankyou. If you see her before I do, tell her we’re at the inn.”
And so Caeleo went to the inn nearby and waited for his friends. Could I call them friends, yet? He thought to himself.
Xen was returning to his quarters when he spotted Ivory fast asleep next to his door. Crumbs of Loro’s biscuits were scattered about the floor, and another could be seen peeking out of her bag. Xen reached in and grabbed it. Vampires got hungry for more than just blood, after all. He sunk his teeth into the familiar taste of rat blood. Delicious, he thought to himself as he opened the door.
His room was full of artifacts from times past, decorated as regal as one would expect from a Captain’s Quarters. He put hung up his weapons and coat and pulled one of Celderon’s journals out of its pocket. He sat at his desk and ran his hands over the aged leather volume, bound pages sticking out at unequal lengths. It had been a long time since he left them in a shop, hoping to leave his old identity behind. He opened it up and slowly turned its pages, periodically pausing to channel flux through its pages and reveal glowing characters on an otherwise blank page. Ivory had just woken up and was peering inside the room...
As the orcs approached Caeleo, he realized he could smell. It wasn’t a sensation he was familiar with from his life in The Sky, and the stench of shit and sweat made him wish it had stayed that way. He was completely caught off guard when one of them began speaking to their horses in the Primal tongue. Caeleo did a quick translation in his head:
“Hey girl, journey’s almost over. Here, have a snack.” He pulled an apple out of a large pouch on his belt. “Ogren give you strength.”
It wasn’t often you heard people speak in Primal tongue. It was fabled to be the language of the gods, which wasn’t terribly far off from the truth. Certain magic users were able to communicate with animals using it, but nobody else, not even other Primal speakers, could understand it. Caeleo just found out he was the exception. He was glad he could give them a proper introduction:
“Greetings, sons of Ogren.”
The smell of whatever paper the smaller one handed him hit him full force. It was covered in a mix of dirt, trash, and feces, but still barely legible. The Ogres slowly continued their walk past them as he held it out to look at it. The others peered over his shoulder.
“A kidnapper of Fae?!” The fairy was terror stricken, but Igneous wasn’t sure why.
“Why would someone want to kidnap a Fae? Golems make better labor, and brothels run wild in ports, right?”
“Their wings,” Ivory replied, “They make a drug called ‘Pixie dust’ by grinding them up.”
“Well why did they give us that poster if they were being paid to take them down?”
The group collectively gave Igneous a confused look. “How do you know that?”
“I heard them. You didn’t?”
“Your creators must have given you good ears. Maybe you can hear the Lothair market from here?” The port city Lothair was the melting pot of Y’vera. It was close to nearly every major faction, with the Fae to the east, Ocan and Ogren to the northwest, Delteria to the south, and Syren’s Isles to the west. On most days, humans were outnumbered by every other race. The Lothairian Strip, built up around the Delthair river running through the city’s core, was brimming with oddities and exotic items from all around the world. They were at its entrance, looking up at the tall architecture that made The Strip seem imposing and claustrophobic. A bit of Delteria’s stonebrick architecture was present, but was overshadowed by Fae crystalline structures, Naga woodwork, and large metallic Ogric pieces. People were bustling between buildings and stalls on bridges and walkways suspended far above the rivers. Some sellers even set up shop on the river itself, floating down the river serving delicacies to the many residents of Lothair.
“I’ll get us a boat. We’re ahead of the rest, so we can take a small vessel by ourselves.”
Just then, the ground shook, and a large boom hit them like a shockwave. Items fell from shelves and plates of food fell from the walkways into the river below. Igneous covered the sides of his head where his ears would be, obviously in pain.
Sometime in the past hundred years, a tale was spread across Y’vera. The tale told of a massive winged beast covered in scales, immortal to the passage of time. It soared through the skies, far above the world, and breathed fire down on its inhabitants. In combat, it was unbeatable. Its scales were harder but lighter than any known metal. If it caught you in its gaze, your death was certain. No one quite knows its origin, but its beastly nature has lead some to attribute its existence to Coyote’s curse. The draconic beast, however, has not been seen since the Cynthia Wars. Its role, if it existed at all, was chaotic. It fought for itself, rather than for Cynthia, for Coyote, or for Storxx and Rolark.
Xen was intimately familiar with this tale. He had witnessed first hand the destruction the dragon had brought on Delteria; it nearly levelled Cynthia’s Crystal Throne, as well as a large portion of Barion Square where the Veracity Guild Hall would later be located. Xen knew better than to attribute the dragon’s actions to chaos. He identified with its allegiance only to itself, knowing it wouldn’t have gotten involved without a good reason. Over time, he tracked the dragon’s actions and those surrounding Veracity. He learned a great deal of the Drakken family in the process.
Xen knew the tells of a vampire: slightly red eyes, slightly pale skin, a slight lingering of the eyes on dark red wine. What confirmed Xen’s suspicions, however, was the look in Bob Drakken’s eyes when Xen walked into the room. He had accidentally left his flask undone, and Drakken’s heightened sense of smell must have caught the distinct smell of Naga blood. His eyes darted up from his wine, flared as he sniffed silently, then all too quickly returned to his regal look of confidence the Drakken family always wore. Xen was determined to break it.
With fresh blood coursing through his system, Xen brought his aura to an intensity and range he hadn’t done in years. It felt good. To him, it was fear, adrenaline, and a toxic high. To others, a terror they had never imagined.
Bob Drakken couldn’t handle it any longer, and Stravier knew it. “Drakken, don’t!” was a meaningless warning; his wings had already broken through his garb. Drakken’s draconic form broke free and crushed the grand table in front of them as he let out a roar that paralleled the intensity of the demonic screams everyone else had heard in their heads. Not a moment later, Xen ran. He had never seen a dragon this close, but knew of the anti-magic properties its scales provided. His aura was useless against that beast, not to mention the fear he was feeling only intensified at the sight of a winged monster 30 times his size.
Most of the attendees, for some reason, were slashing at each other's throats as Xen fled to the doorway. A couple others joined Xen’s side, wearing some strange looking crystalline contraption across their chests. Xen dawned his own and continued running for the locked entrance as the dragon’s fire filled the room behind him. Drakken gave chase, ripping through walls and bodies alike to stop Xen. The contraption Xen had placed on the doorway was whirring loudly as they ran full speed into it and disappeared into thin air.
They reappeared on the other end of the doorway with their crystalline gear disintegrated. “Let’s go!” Several more of the Cerberus’s crew appeared from the rooftops and joined the group running for the pier. From the outside, the building looked completely undisturbed. The building would be unusable after the fire destroyed any integrity it had left, but at least the magical barrier would contain the destruction. It would also slow down Stravier and Drakken long enough for them to make a clean escape, not that they wouldn’t have their hands full eliminating any witnesses; the Drakken family secret could threaten Veracity’s position if it were known.
Xen’s job was done. In a few days, several of his underworld contacts would take over, most of the public none the wiser. Aboard the Cerberus, he wasted no time ordering the small crew of eight to cast off downriver: three different ashen breeds on deck tying and untying sails, two naga at the wheel working together to navigate the river, a pixie in the nest, and two humans busy below-deck (one of which Ivory had a close encounter with earlier). Meanwhile, the crew’s ogre chef had come across Ivory while making his rounds with the evening’s dinner...
Alex Stravier and Bob Drakken: leaders of the most influential trade guild in Y’vera, Veracity. Who could have known they were attending? Xen had seeded a plant in Veracity years ago who had become the Wormsloe emissary. His thoughts raced at the possible reasons for Stravier and Drakken’s attendance…
Did they find the plant? Did they just decide to visit this week? Do they know of the plan? Do they recognize me? Will they recognize me? Should I adjust the plan? How can I adjust the plan?
Xen’s eyes were aglow when he came up with the perfect solution.
“Gentlemen! Sorry I’m late!” He cut off someone speaking, but no one seemed to mind.
“It’s about time you showed up, my lord.” A man stood up from his chair, took a short bow, and presented it to Xen.
“Thankyou, squire,” Xen dismissed the man who looked nothing like a squire, took his seat and gestured wide with his arm, “Please, resume. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He did.
A different individual from before responded, “Ay, you’re a loose cannon Baron Celderon.” No such man or, for that matter, position existed. “We were just discussing imports from the Dudleyans.” They were, in fact, not.
“Ah, my hometown!” It wasn’t. “I just expanded my brewery there. Exports are booming.” They weren't, but there was a brewery. “Anything you wanted to know about them?”
Yet another individual chimed in, a little too quickly: “Yes, my lord. We found trace amounts of blood in your product.” An audible, over the top gasp came from the large round table.
“Yore kiddin’, right mate?” A more seedy individual, probably drunk, looked very concerned. Loud whispers floated across the room, unsure of how to proceed.
“Now now! Calm down everyone. I assure you there is plenty of blood to go around.”
A pause.
“You wot?”
A cowering fear crept over the entire room. Stravier was standing, pulling a massive sword off his back and yelling to Drakken through the sudden intensity of Xen’s aura. It felt as if thousands of lost souls were yelling in the ears of those present, scratching at their skin, weighing them down with a thick, dark mist.
“Gods help, why’re we outa chick’n again? I keep’t tellin’ ‘em that we weren’t going to find any more in Wormsloe at this time o’ year. It’s not much in demand since new years is 20 weeks ‘way.” The ogre grabbed several pounds of some indistinguishable meat from the shelf and threw it into a large pot of soup in the middle of the room. “Vermin-meat it is. ‘Ave to add some extra garlic to make sure the taste stays olright.” He began trudging upstairs, which in comparison to him were quite small. He barely fit through the doorway to the main-deck of the Cerberus, despite what looked like several past modifications to make the doorway larger. It was darker out than he had anticipated. “Crew’ll be back soon,” he wondered out loud, “Wond’r how the plan’ll go. Maybe we’ll be able to get chick’n here year round.” As he crossed the ship, he saw Ivory looking curiously at the ship’s expert craftsmanship. “Wrong ship, miss.” His voice and tone were as slow and deliberate as his stride. He picked up a rusty trap off the ground, pried a rat from its grasps, and took a long sniff. “Ahhh, there’s no place like Wormsloe.”
Xen was known for his heists. The intricacies of entire operations resulting in the theft of priceless artifacts were known to none but him. As a firm believer of “if you want something done right,” he always played a key role in each one, ranging anywhere from wiping out an entire bunker of soldiers to gaining favor in a court of royalty only to poison their king. This one revolved around Wormsloe’s weekly meeting. Everyone in attendance knew their own role, but no one actually knew who else was involved.
Xen took a few gulps from his flask as he stepped up the stairs to the riverside boathouse. He took care to lock the large doors behind him, attaching to it a magical apparatus he procured from underneath his coat. Everyone had already arrived, and discussions were already well underway. He only needed to show up late and insert a few well placed remarks, and Wormsloe would be his for the taking.
Atleast he thought. He didn’t expect those two to be in attendance.
“So that’s what that is,” Igneous’ artificial voice echoed his curiosity. Caeleo looked confused. “What what is?”
“OGRES?!” Sapphira squeaked from the front, as if she heard the question. Not a moment later she burst through the cloth door into the back and fluttered in the air. “THERE ARE OGRES!”
Not a single person in the back moved.
“And?” Tarkus asked.
“Well, uh, I mean…” She looked flustered as she played with her hands thinking of how to communicate her fear. Tarkus cut in.
“Ogre’s ain’t gonna hurt no one. They’re slow and stupid. Stay out of their religious politics and you’ll barely notice the brutes exist.”
Caeleo had forgotten about Ogres almost entirely. While in The Sky, he had left watching Ocan and Ogren to Ipotael and focused most of his efforts on Delterian politics. That meant he knew basically nothing beyond the existence of the Chorragus. Despite this, he tried to appear knowledgeable. “Ogric or Ocanic?”
Years ago, in Y’vera’s early years, Ogres were united on a single island called Ogren with Rissdar as its capital. They were fiercely religious and dedicated to the god Ogren. Sometime around the time of Cynthia’s fall, a new religious faction cropped up, dedicated to the god Ocan. Each faction believed their god to be the true progenitor of the species, which created enough political tension to literally split Rissdar in two when the powerful inner circle of Ogric mages known as The Chorragus split the island down the middle. Ogres aren’t terribly social because of it, and usually quite hostile.
“And what are they dragging?” Igneous didn’t even look outside. Sapphira looked surprised.
“I think it’s a bag of shit.” Ivory’s comment brought the conversation to a halt. “You mean, like-”
“Yeah, literal shit. It reeks out there.”
“Fuckin’ ogres. What the hell.”
“So we can just… slide by, right?”
Sapphira covered her nose in disgust. “Smells like we’re about to find out!” “Ay, Niko, what’s that smell?”
The ogre pulling the bag took a large sniff. “I smell it too. You think it’s us?”
“You know what, I do. It’s full of shit, ain’t it?”
“Uh, is it?”
“I think. I’ve been shoving posters and those other things in there for the past 10 hours. Smell my hand.”
The ogre closed his eyes and sniffed the hand under his nose. It took him a few seconds for the smell to register. “Ogren help me that smells like shit!”
“Does it?” He took a sniff of his own hand, and, after a few moments, had the exact same reaction.
“So we’ve been carrying a bag of shit around Lothair all day?”
“Yeah.”
And the two kept moving, right into the path of the cart.
“Ofcourse,” Xen spoke with a clear tone, as if the past minute hadn’t even happened, “At the dock ahead there’s a ship called the Cerberus. Ask the harbormaster. Wait for me on board and we’ll set off by evening. I need to see to some other matters first.” He shook Ivory off his arm and grabbed his flask. He looked slightly flushed, but it quickly subsided with a swig of blood.
With that, Xen began walking away before stopping abruptly. “Oh, and you’ll need this if you don’t want the crew to kill you... Or worse.” A medallion flicked through the air towards Ivory.
