Cleave told this to the party and Krug sighed.
“Point. I don’t like it, but that makes sense.”
“Let’s just continue our quest for now, and when we’re done, maybe we can find a few people who won’t give us too much trouble if we ask question,” Cleave said.
Cleave turned to the merchant and handed him back the book. “Thank you for letting us look at this.”
The merchant held up his hands and shook his head. “No, thank you. It was nice seeing those asinine guards get the fear of the gods put in them. Keep it. I hope it helps you on your quest.”
Cleave placed the book in his pack and the group went back to their room at the inn.
FOUR
The party smuggled the old book back to the inn and continued to try to make sense out of it. Cleave tried to call up all manner of game commands to get the game to reveal the diary’s secrets, but nothing worked. Apparently reading old Elvish was a skill you had to learn in game. A skill he didn’t have.
Cleave, Tarka, and Krug split up and asked around to see if there was someone who could speak Old Elvish or if there was some information that could help them decode the diary. These questions garnered them anything from confused stares to angry rants about expensive elven items or the shoddy quality of elven craftsmanship.
A flirtatious comment from Tarka to an old sailor led them to the docks. There were many ships on the docks with dock workers of various races working the boats, though most seemed to be either elves or halflings. For the sum of a few copper a haggard dock worker directed them to a barge anchored at the end of the harbor.
Salty winds slammed the party in the face as they walked up to the hulking ship. “Wave Skipper” was painted onto one of its side and. A carving of a topless elven blond mermaid with her arms over her breasts and blue eyes staring out into nothing. Her fins were blue and a bit faded.
The party talked to one of the dock workers, a strapping halfling carrying, what to him, was a massive box filled with cargo.
“Pardon me,” Cleave said as he walked up behind the halfling.
The halfling put down the box and drew a dagger from his shoe. He turned to the elf and lowered his weapon a few inches.
“What is it?” the red bearded sailor said, straightening his brown tunic.
“Is Captain Anfalen here?”
“Maybe. Who wants to know?”
“We do. We’re looking for someone who knows Old Elvish,” Krug said. “We heard that your captain was a former member of the Lren and we want to speak with him.”
“Who is we? The constable send you to poke your nose into our business again? We don’t have time for any of their shit. Captain has a huge shipment to get to Barrinton Harbor in a fortnight and he ain’t got time for another inspection.”
“We don’t care about your cargo or the stupid local government. We just want to talk to the captain,” Tarka said.
The halfling put down the box and leaned against it. “What makes you think the captain wants to talk to you?”
Tarka pulled a few copper from her money pouch and jiggled it in her hands. “Just a few of my little friends.”
The sailor laughed. “I’m not bothering the captain for a few coppers. I already got an earful this morning about wasting too much time in this shitty harbor, I’m not in the mood to withstand another.”
Krug pulled a couple of silver out of his pouch. “Perhaps a couple of my friends could change your mind.”
The halfling smirked. “You know, I think I found your friends on our reservation list. I’ll go get the captain.”
The halfling took the coins and took two steps toward the boat. Before he reached the ramp to the ship he quickly spun around. “Don’t go looking in that box. I’ll tell you freely there’s some fine, elven rope in there. None of that garbage you find around here. I better not find any of it ‘confiscated’ in the name of the government. If I do, I’ll personally cut your fingers off.”
The halfling walked up the ramp and disappeared into a superstructure. The group looked to each other and shrugged, but after a few minutes he came out and waved them on board.
The party walked up the ramp and past several sailors engaged in their duties. Cleave’s sensitive ears caught a conversation between a few sailors about a crate of fine elven made saddles that a few members of the watch tried to confiscate earlier.
They followed the halfling who led them to the superstructure, down some stairs and through a short hallway. They entered a living quarters with several four poster beds and hammocks strung up on the walls. Moving through two more rooms with several beds and hammocks, they came to another door. The halfling knocked.
“Just a little heads up, don’t mention what’s going on in the city. Captain is liable to stab you with his rapier.”
The door opened and a tall man with dark brown hair braided down his back stood in the entryway. His angular features and pointed ears quickly gave away his elven heritage. The halfling bowed and scampered back toward the living quarters. The elf waved the party into the room and shut the door behind them.
There was a large table in the center of the room with several sheets of parchment containing charts and maps spread across it. A compass and a magnifying glass lay atop them. On nearby shelves, there were several statues and baubles of high quality. The elf pulled a chair up to the table and motioned for the party to do the same. He spoke once they were seated.
“I’ll cut to the quick.” The captain’s sharp aqua eyes surveyed the three of them. “Are you here to inspect my elven wares?”
The party looked at each other confused.
The captain’s brow furrowed. “What part of my inventory did the constable send you here to look at? I’ve had my stock thoroughly checked twice today and I don’t have time for another. Out with it. I’m already behind schedule.”
Cleave shook his head. “We’re not here to inspect your cargo, sir.”
“So it’s me you have a problem with? One of my crewmembers? Also, when are you going to release Greeley? Last I was here a drunken brawl got you a night in the jail and you bastards have been holding him for three days. He’s one of my best sailors and I want him released before I set sail.”
“We aren’t with those bastards in the city. Are those ass holes confiscating elves, too?” Tarka said.
“Apparently so, and he’s one of my best sailors. If you aren’t with the constable, or the mayor, why are you on my ship?”
“Sir,” Krug said, trying not to crush the chair he sat on, “we’re looking for someone who knows Old Elvish. We heard you used to be a member of the Lren, and hoped you might be able to read a document for us.”
Anfalen’s lips tightened. “I barely have time to get this ship loaded. What makes you think I have time to read?”
“It’s about something very important to the Lren,” Cleave said. “We were sent on a quest by our friend, Bitterroot, to find the Ring of Treesoul. We know it used to belong to the elf Devdan Erwynn, a hero among your people. We were hoping you would read some of a document that’s in old Elvish for us, or at least see if you could tell us something about the ring.”
“You misspeak when you call the Lren my people. I have not been close to the Lren in over thirty years. Three decades ago I fell for a halfling lass. The Lren don’t like outsiders, so when I told them she could either come with me or I would leave, they gave me the boot. She was a fickle bitch and left me for some sailor, but I wasn’t terribly bitter. I hated living among those cloistered prancing pricks. So I got a job as a deckhand and have been on the seas ever since.”
“Bitch. Well at least you’re the captain of this awesome boat and she’s probably some rotten sailor’s wife,” Tarka said.
This brought a wry smile to the captain’s face. “Interesting how life works out, isn’t it? If she hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have worked so hard to get where I am now.”
The captain surveyed the party members, obviously deep in thought. After th
e long pause, he finally spoke.
“I’m not terribly fond of my old tribe, but you have me curious. You say you have something written in old Elvish. May I see it?”
Cleave pulled the diary from his inventory screen and handed it to Anfalen. The captain carefully took the diary in his hands and ran his fingers over it. He opened it and his eyes were filled with wonder as he slowly turned through the pages.
“I haven’t seen some of these runes in ages,” Anfalen whispered to himself as he poured over the document.
“It supposedly belonged to Veluthiel at some point,” Cleave said.
“Whether it does or not, I can’t say. But perhaps I can give you some insight into its contents.”
Despite being busy, Anfalen spent an hour analyzing the document. He took a piece of parchment and wrote down a few words. When he was done, he turned the diary and parchment back over to Cleave.
On the piece of parchment were a few runes with the words tomb, death, hidden, pathway and forest.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen some of those runes, and I’ve forgotten what most of them mean. I’ve written down some of them, but I can’t decipher much. However, I think I know of someone who could help you more.”
“Who?” Cleave, Tarka, and Krug said together.
“There’s this troll that lives in the forest, Kurkmud. He used to visit our tribe from time to time. The Lren weren’t terribly fond of outsiders but they made an exception for Kurkmud. He was a historian. He’d come to visit us and share stories he collected of our past, back when the Lren had a city of their own and weren’t a bunch of sniveling pansies hiding away in the forest.”
“Do you know where we can find him?” Cleave said.
“I was a scout when I was with the Lren and I used to run by his home quite often. He has a small house in a clearing. I don’t remember exactly where he’s located, but if you have a map I can give you a general idea.”
Tarka took out a map she’d been making of the area. The elf looked it over and circled a small area on it with a quill.
“You can find him there. Fair warning, he’s a weird one. But not the terrible sort. He can help you out if you’re willing to part with some silver. Anything else you need?”
Cleave shook his head.
“Then I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m have a great deal of work to do and I don’t have much time for conversation.”
Cleave and Tarka rose from her chair but Krug spoke up.
“Before we go, sir. I have one question.”
“Make it quick,” The captain bounced his left leg.
“You asked us if we were here to inspect your elven inventories or those you’ve had in port. Have the guards been giving you trouble about halfling items?”
“No, but don’t give them any ideas. Every time you turn around, the mayor here decides it’s illegal to sell something else. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”
“Thank you very much for your time,” Cleave said.
“It’s fine. I imagine the sailor who brought you aboard didn’t mind. You probably lined his pockets well to get a word with me.”
The party reached into their money pouches but the elf swiftly held up a hand.
“I have no interest in your money. I do, however, need you off my ship. If you need to speak about the Lren again, come to this ship and ask for me. Say “my peg leg is on fire,” and one of my sailors will come and get me. Until next time.”
The party said goodbye to the captain and continued on their quest.
FIVE
Cleave, Tarka, and Krug went to gather a few supplies with the little money they had. On their forays around the shops, they ran into several merchants undergoing an inspection. The group had to steer clear of elven items in order to keep them from getting confiscated. After an arduous shopping experience, the group left the city.
They cut through the forest and made a path toward the area that Anfalen marked on their map. The going was slow, but they managed to make progress thanks to Krug’s magnificent strength.
They found a clearing a half-mile into the forest and decided to rest their aching muscles. Cleave and Tarka talked while Krug wore a thoughtful expression, staring at a group of trees in front of him.
The half-giant was pensive, pushing down trees and clearing brush. Tarka noticed his silence and rubbed his leg. “Hey Krug, what’s got you so quiet?” Tarka said.
“Just thinking about Clearwater,” Krug said.
“What about it?”
“Just trying to figure out why the mayor and guards are acting like that. It doesn’t make any sense. If you hate elves, or whatever, that’s not cool but fine, hate them. But why would you want to wreck your own economy? He’s even hurting his own fellow halflings.”
“Maybe the mayor, constable, or whoever is in charge is just crazy, trying to make some coin, or something,” Tarka said. “That wouldn’t be too far out of the ordinary.”
“Still doesn’t make sense. If I was trying to make money as an evil mayor, I wouldn’t shake the people down so much that they couldn’t keep paying me.”
Cleave laughed. “Maybe the mayor is a complete moron.”
“We already deduced that, Cleave,” Tarka said, rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know, but something isn’t making sense here,” Krug said.
“Let’s try to focus on something that does make sense, our quest for the Ring of Treesoul. We’ll have time to conjecture later,” Tarka said.
This put a great strain on the half-giant but he continued on without complaint. They went on for three hours. The party looked tired and haggard from walking through the dense brush, but it was nothing in comparison to Krug’s sweat and grime covered body as he arduously cleared a way for them.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” Krug said as he struggled to push aside a dead tree.
Tarka huffed. “I feel like I’m gonna pass out. Maybe we should log off and come back tomorrow.”
“This part of the forest is horrible. I wonder if we can find a safe spot to set camp before we log,” Cleave said.
“I don’t think there is a safe spot around here,” Tarka said. “We’ve been fortunate not to be attacked thus far.”
“We’re gonna have to do something soon. My body is about to give out,” Krug said.
Krug pushed his body against another tree. He grunted with effort as the roots of the tree, which was just larger than he was, sprang up from the ground. Before he could push it too far, there was a scratchy voice behind the wall of bark the trees created.
“Stop, who or whatever you are.”
Krug paused. “Who’s there?” He said.
“You tell me what you are. What’s the idea trying to push a tree down on my house?”
The party identified themselves.
“Are you Kurkmud?” Tarka said.
“I am, and why are about to bring destruction on my abode?”
“We’ve come to see you,” Cleave said. “We’re seeking knowledge about old Elvish and heard you were a historian.”
“What’s wrong with you, you sound sick. Go away, I don’t wish to catch any illness.”
“We all sound sick. We’ve been travelling in this forest for hours without any rest,” Krug huffed.
“Ah, that’s different. Follow the sound of my voice and I will lead you to the entrance of my home you nearly crushed.”
The party followed the sound of the Kurkmud’s voice until they came to an opening in the trees wide enough for Krug to step through. A dirt path led to an old log cabin that was small but rose at least ten feet from the ground.
Standing on the pathway was a creature a foot shorter than Krug. Its skin was green and warty and it had a long nose that hooked downward. Its long, thin mouth curved downward when it levelled its black eyes on them.
“You all look terrible. Get inside my cabin and we’ll see what I can do for you.”
The group followed
the troll into his small cabin. He gestured at a table piled with several pieces of parchment that contained small, loopy writing. They tried to find a place to sit but all of the roughly made chairs had parchment stacked on them. The party elected to sit on the floor.
Kurkmud lit a fire in a small fireplace and put a kettle over it. He filled it with yellow tinted water and went to a cabinet filled with herbs and vegetables. Gathering a few in his long fingered hands, he dumped them in the water and placed a lid on the pot.
A few pieces of parchment blew near the fire as Kurkmud passed by. Tarka leapt up and caught a couple that came dangerously close to the hearth. The troll looked at her with a dismissive eye and ignored her, continuing his work. More parchment flew toward the fire, and Tarka frantically worked to keep them away from it.
“I see your little friend likes to stay active,” Kurkmud jerked a thumb at the frightened kobold as she squealed and caught another piece of parchment. “Very good, it keeps up the immune system. But, could you tell her to be careful? She’s holding onto information much older than she and I don’t want my documents damaged.”
Tarka gave him an angrily disbelieving look as she snatched another yellowing piece of parchment from the hungry maw of the fire.
The contents of the pot cooked for several minutes before the troll took it off the fire. He placed it haphazardly on the table, scattering several sheets of parchment. Tarka went into another frenzy playing her game of “try to keep the cabin from burning down” while he filled two cups with broth and handed them to Cleave and Krug.
He filled another for Tarka and handed it to her. He shook his head as she placed the haphazardly gathered parchment in a safe place.
“Please try to curb your enthusiasm. You’ll wear yourself out, and you’re already in rough shape,” Kurkmud said.
Tarka glared at the troll and without saying a word, then thanked him for the cup and walked back to cuddle next to Cleave.
Crisis at Clearwater - A LitRPG Virtual Fantasy Adventure (Book 2 Unexplored Cycle) Page 3
