How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok
Page 22
“Call me Tamara,” she stated with a clear and confident voice.
“Godsdamn destiny,” Bern muttered into the silence from his spot in the room. It was very quiet, but Svein managed to catch it. He had good ears. Still, he stayed stoic and did not react.
“Alright, Tamara,” the nobleman said with handsome aplomb. “How do you do, and what brings you here?”
“I am not well met. I saw something bad and did not do anything to stop it. I have information for you all.” Tamara paused, eyeing the room in a single sweep of her gaze. “Bring out your moron friends. I can see the big one’s giant butt hanging out from behind that dresser.”
Yenrab wrangled his way out into the open and gave an awkward bow.
“Yenrab the Animal Chief slash Lover, Flee-er of Villages, and Walking Mat of Gennopolis, or so I hear. You need some hard glutes for all of that,” the woman said in appreciation.
A red-faced Yenrab poked his head around.
“I love animals. It doesn’t mean I LOVE animals. What the heck is that one, now, hey? I thought it was Animal Chief!” the big man sputtered. “And, for the record, I fled just one village. And I made sure to get a guy who, I’m sure, knows a guy to get it taken care of. And, seriously, Walking Mat? I don’t even know what that is.”
Bern stifled a chuckle, confirming Yenrab’s suspicions as to who had created those new names.
“I’m sure,” she said in a mocking voice. “Alright, so there’s fatty.”
“Mam, I am a being that measures 7 feet tall, I reckon, and over 400 pounds, none of which is fat. How the heck is that fat?”
“Big men are all fatties. It just hits them at different ages. Now, where is that guy with all that awesome black leather?” Tamara asked with a giant smile plastered upon her face.
Bern appeared from seemingly nowhere, shocking everyone.
“I wear if for the people,” he said, arching his brow.
Tamara laughed.
“Okay, now that’s two of you. Where is the hippy and where is the Spock?”
Carric crawled out from under the bed.
“Yep. I’m here. I assume I’m the Spock? What the heck is a Spock?”
“Yes,” said Svein in the practiced bored but yet somehow interested voice, well rehearsed by those lords and nobles of his nation. “What, indeed, is a Spock?”
“Bah. You guys wouldn’t understand. Different dimensional concept. Just forget it. Where’s weirdo?”
“I’m a weirdo!”
“Gah!”
Despite her bravado, Tamara was not prepared to have anyone, let alone Tracy, somehow pop out from behind her. Everyone simply stared at him.
“What? I cast a spell, and it went wild, and suddenly there I was, outside,” Tracy informed them. “And, Svein, what did I say about pauses?” he asked sternly.
“But, I, what? I wasn’t talking?” the man of Corster responded, beginning to feel as if he were losing what was left of his sanity.
“The pause was implied. Now, you, miss; I see that I surprised you. I’m sorry about that. Did you mess yourself? Let’s date.” Tracy stood back a bit to give himself extra attractive flair.
“No. No, no, no. I’m not here to get involved with you guys. But I heard from the town that you jerks are looking for the Burgh son. And I saw what happened and ran off. So, this is my amends, as harsh as they may be. Let me say my piece and be absolved,” the woman stated, her face growing flustered as she got to the point of the conversation that she dreaded talking about.
“The boy you seek was taken by the denizens of Rising Action’s lighthouse. I saw it from the woods’ edge. He had gone out with that girl of his to the tower. I don’t know why. I guess he didn’t believe the stories. Maybe, he was looking for a place to be alone with her and wasn’t thinking straight. He looked all dressed up and even had a shiny buckle on. But the place is cursed. It is a place of skeletons that gleam like they are gold, and they patrol the grounds about. A group of the things got them and carried them, screaming, back to the light tower itself. You know, I’m a ranger. I’m supposed to be able to do something about this stuff. But, on my own, I just knew I couldn’t. These skeletons, well, my arrows don’t do much to them. I know from pegging them previously. And there were too many. Just way too many.”
Tamara didn’t cry, but her guilt was evident on her face. Tracy looked on her, his face breaking into a look of sad empathy and understanding. There was something about the way she told her story. He could see how anyone might act the way she did.
And even though he was a he at present, his female self felt a sense of sisterhood. She clamored from the back seat of their shared mind, demanding to be put in charge. I’ve got this, Tracy’s male id shot back, perhaps a bit too defensive in his response. The female id stared daggers with a metaphorical smoldering gaze.
Tracy reached over and tried to put an arm around her shoulder, but her body stiffened, and she nudged it off, though without resentment. The female id within him gestured and his male id moved out of the way.
“I should have tried,” Tamara said, standing there in her intimidating ranger gear looking weak and helpless. “They were just kids, really. I should have tried.”
Yenrab looked upon her with a kind face, and then gave Tracy a blusterful look, noticing in surprise that he was changing into a woman again. The sorceress moved off and a bit away.
“Ya know, Tamara, there is always some place where we fail. We don’t always win. We don’t always do the right thing,” the half-orc barbarian comforted. “And sometimes, well, sometimes doing the right thing feels like the wrong thing. Like when you kill a mother bear’s cubs because she is dead and the cubs will starve if you don’t. Maybe you did the right thing then. For sure you are doing the right thing now.”
“I guess what I am saying is we all have our moments. Thank you for coming here and telling us,” Yenrab finished, looking wise in his youth, and intelligent beyond his mortal coil.
Tracy spoke up from where he had retreated to.
“And thanks, even more, for going back to the town after this parlay and letting everyone know that we weren’t the ones who caused all of those problems down at the Chivalrous Chicken. Or maybe future thanks? Anyways, the spirits of those kids demand it.”
She looked so assured and fantastic, her beautiful face beaming with both confidence and power.
Tamara, however, looked appalled.
“How, what, I!” she sputtered, unable to grasp what the madman was on about.
“If you could calm the townsfolk and let them know that it was all a simple misunderstanding, I guarantee that you will help us accomplish our mission here in retrieving the boy and the girl, or what is left of them. We would all be grateful, and perhaps, this is the penance that you seek. Please, tell me that I have persuaded you on this issue because, honestly, we have a job to do, and I’d like us to set off and accomplish it now, to be straightforward. We don’t have a coin to our name.” Carric smiled and offered up his hand to seal the proffered deal.
“You know, you guys, well, honestly, yes,” the woman stumbled out, organizing her thoughts. “Okay. Deal. Just fix this. Go find that Burgh boy and bring him back. Or his body. Or something. And don’t let anyone know that I was there when it happened.”
“That, m’lady, is a fine deal,” the bard bowed as he said it, his sweet words calming that sad and guilty beast inside of her. “I accept.”
Their hands met, and the deal became fine indeed.
Chapter 27: It’s a Secret
The woman had left, the deal had been made, and now Svein Novogord was a mess.
“Alright, so, here we go,” the human said in a shaky voice. “A bastion of undead.”
He coughed and then wiped his hands on a blanket as he sat down upon his cot. The party all looked at the noble with worry.
“Special undead. Skeletons that gleam.” He shook his head and looked up at the rafters of the residence, so dusty and filled with webs.
“What’s wrong, Svein? You were so eager earlier.” Tracy was, as always, quite curious. She leaned up against a wall as she trained her elven eyes into the man’s own. He gulped under that stare and nodded a little.
“My home nation, Corster, is a nation constantly beset by pirates and the undead, hailing from the shores of Dergos, that magic-cursed land. As the first son of my house, I have fought many of them. I’ve torn apart zombies, smashed skeletons, and then in one fight, I tussled with a vampire.” Svein looked at each of them with a haunted visage, looking and studying them for reaction. But they stood stalwart and steady, awaiting all of the information before responding.
“And that last, well, he turned me on my own men. I stabbed Rogaine, his full-bodied hair flipping to the dirt as his life fled out. I slashed Brut, his forever magnificent scent filling my nostrils as I took his head. I didn’t kill Viagra, but I certainly harmed his legendary skills with the ladies. All of this I did,” Svein choked out, not weeping, but not sane or calm by any measure.
“And I did it out of love for the vampire and his people. He never spoke to me, but I knew I loved him. I wanted to kill his enemies, and then I wanted to give myself to him. To feed him or to serve him. This wasn’t like the tales, where the real me is locked away in my mind and is battling against some stranger who has taken it over. In that moment, I genuinely was a traitor to my nation and my friends. I wanted to do anything I could to make the vampire happy and powerful.”
Svein Novogord swiped a single tear from his cheek as it broke from his eye socket and made a run for the floor.
“It was all because of a gaze. All because he looked at me. I struggled a bit as his essence swarmed me, eye to eye, and then I was his. Those eyes were is so powerful and so hypnotic,” his mouth lurched out in sorrow-stricken awe. “I remember it crystal clear and feel like I always will.”
Svein looked up and out at something nonexistent and faraway. Yenrab hocked something nasty and spat it upon the ground.
“Just stop it. Just no. Our world is besieged by horrific beings that just shouldn’t be. The dead should not move about. It was bad luck that happened to you, ya know, not whatever self-blame you have cursed yourself with,” Yenrab asserted in a firm and no nonsense voice.
“You know, I am just a pup,” Svein stated with a weak and uncertain tone. He looked about at all of them and saw that none of them had a clue what he was going on about.
“I made myself by leading small squads in victory against the enemy. I could have inherited my nobility by right, but I passed it on to my brother in my quest to make my title my own. And I did. Even now, I expect, my name is muttered with pride and honor.” He laughed in sour humor over the thought.
“But I don’t know what to say. It isn’t blame. I don’t blame myself. That vampire broke me. He launched himself through his wide, multicolored gaze and thrust deep into me, making me act and feel in ways that I never otherwise would. And I know that. Yet, I remember my actions as if they were my own.” The human paused in his telling. “I could have been stronger. I felt, at the very start, that I had a chance. I could battle his will and mind with my own. And I didn’t. I don’t deserve the title I earned. I don’t deserve any title.”
Tracy coughed in loud, clearly fabricated, spasms, and Svein stopped talking to look at her. Then the sorceress cleared her throat.
“You’re a pup? Like, are you half-dog?” she asked with a look of awe.
“What? No. What?! That’s a Corster idiom. I won my right to lordship through defense of the lands.”
“So, you’ve killed a lot of the undead, as well as these pirates?” Tracy’s look of awe was also awful in the way that it bore down on the grief-stricken noble. He shuddered as he realized the line of thought, the absolute logic behind it, and how the empiricism stacked against his own feelings. This was not a line of inquiry. It was a debate.
“You’re a soft-belly,” he responded with scorn. “You aren’t one of the people. You really can’t understand?”
“Then,” Tracy said with a straight face, her eyes tearing down psychological defenses, wall after wall, “make me understand.”
“I . . . well . . .”
“No pauses, young pup from Corster. Let it out. All of it. Don’t think, just speak.” Tracy stared as she spoke, her firm voice gaining electric power as it strode out strike after strike upon the man’s defenses. And the rest of the party looked very uncomfortable. This was another side of her/him/hir that they were not used to. The half-elf from Freemeet was quite surprising.
“I left because I will fail again. I know I will. I attacked my own men!”
He was speaking quickly now in a rat-a-tat rhythm, his words breaking free without restraint as it was all torn from him.
“I don’t deserve the title and estate I was given. I don’t deserve to be a man of Corster. I cannot again face the undead for, inside their ranks, lie things that take your mind and soul from you, turning it against yourself. I don’t think I can do this!” Svein started weeping.
Yenrab, Carric, and Bern all began to speak up at once. Tracy silenced them with a quick and angry sweep of that powerful Coraellion gaze.
“Never think like that. The undead are horrific, for sure, because they can do such things to us, the living. Think on that. You now know the might of their more powerful lords and why they must be fought, everywhere and always.” The half-elven sorceress put out her hand in a gesture of welcoming. “Come with us, Sir Svein Novogord, to the lighthouse of Rising Action. Let us all help you gain revenge for what they did to you and your men.”
The man put his face down into his palms and wept a bit before turning his tear-reddened face upward to look at her. Then he seized her outstretched hand in decision, almost pulling her off-balance as his determination coursed through him. He was decided.
“Yes, Tracy. You are right. This world needs every arm it can get. Yes, I will go forth with you all to find the Burgh boy and bring him back to his father,” his resolved voice stated with duty and resolve.
“And,” the nobleman offered with a sad but slightly uplifted grin, “I still expect a regular share of the treasure while doing so.”
***
There is something very magical about predawn light. Especially, when the moon rises full, adding additional glare and glamour to the scene before you. When you are a kid with your friends wandering about through the forests, fields, and rock piles of your lands, it makes the world something unfamiliar and exciting. There are no torches and lamps to make the world the way we expect it, and that makes it wonderful. It creates a new dimension in which to play.
When you are older, it remains the same. It hearkens back to those days of childish romp.
And when you add in the element of danger, well, your heart beats fast with the delicious mix of old and new—the discovery of yet another place of magic in this often-mundane world.
Marching in order from their place of residence, each and every member of the party could feel this course through them. The night was alive and dangerous. It was exciting and, of course, profitable. It was also chilly and pregnant with destiny. The air seemed thick and the ground somehow heavy.
“You will all burn forever!” called an owl from some treetop. Carric wavered and stopped, panting.
“Are you alright, friend Carric?” Tracy asked, real concern flowing from her eyes.
“Yeah,” the bard wheezed, a bit dizzy. “I think Gharag was making another pass at me. But I don’t think he’s all that strong here. I don’t know what this is all about, but maybe I learned a thing or two when he got me last time.”
“Should I get out the book?” Yenrab asked with worry.
“Hells no!” Bern Sandros exclaimed. “I think we already have enough destiny here, thank you very much.”
Carric nodded his assent, and then shook his limb
s and body. “I don’t know if that did anything but it felt good doing it.”
Svein looked very afraid, but he looked at them all, and then did the same.
“It really can’t hurt, can it? Ey, bard?” he spoke, with a bit of forced humor.
The moon threw light all over the land, while the sky promised whispers of a new tomorrow. Crickets made love to the tunes of chirps and cricks, the sounds everywhere but where they stood. Some bullfrogs croaked in the distance, the promise of a good fishing hole, should they all come out of this alive.
“No,” Yenrab assured the nobleman. “It really can’t.”
The rest followed suit. And, judging by the looks on their faces, it really did do them some good. They were young, alive, and now shaken with a midge of stirred. Each looked at the other. This was it. Whatever that hellish god wanted them to turn away from was right up ahead. As one, they nodded, and they began to march.
Yenrab took the front, his twin battle axes gleaming in the sun’s echoed light. Bern disappeared, his dark hues resisting even this cascade of illumination. Carric kept his crossbow out, his harmonica wired and ready at his lips, while Tracy hovered nearby, his own crossbow at the ready. Svein took the rear, his chainmail’s links oiled and shiny as they swayed back and forth with the rhythm of his footsteps.
They were careful and as quiet as they could be as they moved on, quickly making it to a single hill that stood before a set of flat land before the larger hill upon which the light tower had been built.
“Last chance, guys. Anyone want to back away?” Bern asked, though his tone made it clear that he quite well expected they were in it now no matter what happened next.
“You will burn forever!” called some manner of tiny beast from the top of the hill.
“And miss the chance to throw that guy’s plans into the abyss? Seven hells to the no!” Carric responded.
Svein wavered a bit, but Tracy’s cool look upon the man’s face made him shut his mouth and press on.
“Yeah. Feed him to the Great Bear, guys,” Yenrab threw in with teenaged enthusiasm. “Let’s get this done.”