Chapter Two
Boy Meets Girl, Boy and Girl Meet Wolf
As Timothy Vandross was leaving his mother a well-written good-bye letter, Hina Hinas was packing the last of the things she thought she might need. She’d decided on a final destination for the first leg of her journey; the metropolis of Desanadron. It was the world’s largest city, an entire city-state in and of itself, boasting a few protectorates to the its south. Only four or five days of travel separated the northern border of the Elven Kingdom to the southern outskirts of Desanadron, so long as she had a mount.
She was in the process of tucking one of her monster references into her large rucksack when Jackson entered the room behind her. She knew his footfalls anywhere. For years she’d heard him come up the stairs, as softly as he could, and crack the door open to check on her in the middle of the night. While brutal in his training methods, he loved his daughter very much. “Where will you go,” he whispered, his countenance strangely stony.
“First, to Desanadron,” she replied, at which her father actually winced visibly. “I know, you don’t like the idea. But I don’t know where I’ll be going from there. I certainly won’t hang around,” she said, knowing full well why her father didn’t like the city. Big city equals big trouble in his book, she thought. In that, at least, he was correct. “That’s not where I’ll wind up, and for right now, I don’t know where I’ll wind up. I’ll just sort of wander until I decide to stop.”
“Will you at least wait until morning,” Jackson asked, his face now contorting into an expression of anguish. He’d held his emotions in check as best he could, but now he couldn’t stop himself from tearing up. “Have one good meal with your mother and I before you leave. I don’t want us to leave things as they are,” he said, and at this, Hina smiled.
“I didn’t plan on leaving until around noon tomorrow,” she said, which was the truth. “I want to talk to you and mom just as much as you want to talk to me. But don’t get me wrong, dad. I’m going, no matter what you say to try to convince me not to.” Jackson Hinas gave his daughter a long, hard look with his golden eyes, and gave her a small grin.
“Don’t worry about that, dear,” he said. “We just want one more talk, and that’s all. I promise.” Jackson exited her room and pulled the door shut behind him, standing with his back to her bedroom door for a long moment as a single tear ran a track down his cheek.
Timothy Vandross opened his senses to the forest around him, and was not disappointed. The sounds, scents and sights of the wilderness surrounding him on both sides of the dirt road leading away from his village tantalized him. He’d seldom given much thought to the idea, but he knew that there lurked out in the wilds of the Elven Kingdom monsters, just like in any other wilderness. Travel throughout Tamalaria wasn’t always considered dangerous, but that was thanks mostly to the large number of bands of ‘monster hunters’. These monster hunters often sought the larger, more dangerous and uncommon beasts of the realm, seeking to take pelts and bones that could be used in crafts to make unique items. The bones of a bladeron, for instance, could sell on their own in certain markets for hundreds of gold pieces if they were workable.
Tim concentrated on the road ahead of him, his eyes adjusting to the gathering gloom as midnight drew near. He looked over his shoulder, and found that he’d already traveled far enough that the few torches lit in the village behind him could scarcely be seen. “Mom, I’m sorry,” he whispered to the woods around him. “But I have to do this.” He turned back around, and immediately regretted ever having turned his attention from the road before him. Standing now in his path, though he hadn't heard their approach, four Goblins in padded leather armor and green jerkins faced him with leering snarls on their pug faces.
Goblins stood as the second-smallest of the Greenskin Races, but they always traveled and attacked in packs, and their savagery knew no limits. These four wore the leathers and bore the jagged long knives typical of brigands of their kin, and each wore a different colored bandana on his head. The one standing closest to him, some ten yards away, wore a white bandana with a dragon insignia on it, and twirled his long knife idly in his hand as he chuckled mirthlessly at Timothy.
“You look lost little boy,” the Goblin at the front taunted, ceasing the twirling motion of his weapon. He pointed the tip towards Timothy threateningly, and smiled widely enough to remind Tim of one of his mother’s cookie jars, the one with the hinging top. “P’raps we can be of assistance, and lead you back on the right path. For a fee,” the Goblin added, which got a chuckle from his comrades. Tim hung his head, trying to control his anger at his own carelessness. Shouldn’t he have heard them, seen some sign that they were laying in wait for him? Maybe, but the truth of the matter was, this would be the sort of thing he’d have to contend with while out in the world.
“I have very little in the way of money, good sir Goblin,” Tim said, keeping his eyes directed at his feet. “And I would appreciate it if you cleared the path, please,” he said in as polite a tone as he could muster. Not an hour away from home, and already he was in trouble! The gods must not think very highly of me, he thought, bringing his mana to bear inside of himself. He didn’t think he’d need anything too powerful to deal with mere Goblins, but he didn’t want to underestimate them, either.
“Do you hear that, boyos,” the head Goblin said to his companions, who chuckled still. “Such graceful manners on the young master! You honor us with such etiquette,” the Goblin said. He tucked his weapon hand across his chest and bowed formally to Tim, the predatory grin still on his face. Such mockery, Tim thought, such disdain. How dare they, he thought to himself, feeling the fury that was his genetic birthright brimming to the surface. Such foolishness and arrogance, he continued on to himself, no wonder my father had such an easy time bending them to his will!
“Hey, boss, if he don’t have any money, what should we do,” asked another Goblin, this one wearing a red bandana. He had his hands spread wide, as if to say, ‘Any suggestions?’ The head Goblin used his empty hand to scratch his chin as he looked skyward, and he put on a pensive expression. Timothy could smell the sweat and grime of the Goblins from where he stood. They obviously hadn’t hit up an inn or hostel for a night’s sleep or bathing in a long time.
Of the four Goblins, only one appeared to be scrutinizing Timothy with any degree of real interest. He stood farthest away from Tim, and wore a yellow bandana on his head, and unlike the others, he had a short-cropped goatee on his chin. Goblins normally stood around three to four feet, but this fourth and farthest Goblin appeared to be slightly shorter, and his eyes held a gleam of intelligence that Tim did not detect in his cohorts. That one, Tim thought, may be the biggest threat, because he’s actually sizing me up.
“Well, that would mean we’d have to just kill him and take anything he’s got worth pawning,” said the lead Goblin, brandishing his weapon once again, and taking a ready stance facing Timothy. Tim heaved a sigh, and cycled through his non-lethal spells for an appropriate choice that would demonstrate to the others that combat with him would be foolish. After a moment’s thought, he had one from the school of Necromancy at hand.
“You don’t want to do this,” Timothy said quietly, directing his words at the lead Goblin. “I have no quarrel with you, Goblin. Just cut your losses and walk away,” he warned.
“Perhaps we should do as he says,” said the furthest Goblin to the leader, the one with the yellow bandana. “He has magic, and he’ll use it,” the smaller Goblin said to his leader.
“Hey, Droug, when I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” snapped the lead Goblin. With a growl, he lunged ahead, running straight at Timothy with his long knife brought up at the ready for a backhand slash. When he had closed half the distance, Timothy summoned the magic forth and threw his hand out in his assailant’s direction. Just before he cast the spell, he noticed that, due to the smaller Goblin’s warning, the other two hadn’t made a move.
“Purge,” Timothy shouted, and a circlet of black energy lanced from his hand into the stomach of the onrushing Goblin. As the magic struck, there came a loud thudding noise from the impact, and the Goblin stopped in his tracks, dropping quickly to his knees with one arm over his stomach. He gagged, and a moment later, began vomiting violently on the dirt path of the woods. The sound of his retching quickly took on an agonized quality, and for a full minute his comrades looked on, two of them horrified, and the Goblin with the yellow bandana looking only mildly curious.
Blood, Tim thought, seeing that there was crimson fluid in the latest explosion of vomit from his target. Tears welled and sparkled at the corners of the victim Goblin’s eyes, and he did not try to mask them or wipe them away. As he dropped his weapon, bracing himself with both arms on the ground, another wave of yellowish bile and blood came erupting up from his throat. “Please,” he pleaded, struggling to get the words out. He held one hand out toward Timothy, and waved it in defeat. “Please, make it, stop,” the Goblin begged.
A small part of Timothy had no desire to cease the little fool’s suffering. It urged him to let the Goblin tear his insides apart further with the spasms wracking his body. But the larger part of his conscience could not allow that sort of thing to go on, and he broke the invisible thread tying his mana to his victim. The Goblin gasped aloud, and slowly moved his arm away from his stomach, sitting on the path.
“Have you learned your lesson,” Timothy asked the Goblin, who said nothing, but merely nodded and gasped for clean air. “Good. Now, are any of you gentlemen going to attempt to do me harm, or may I pass on now?” The other Goblins all tucked their weapons away, and the small one with the yellow bandana even stepped out of the road and bowed slightly, indicating with his hands that Tim should proceed. Tim stepped around the head Goblin, between the other two cronies, and stopped next to the sagely Greenskin bandit. “You knew something like that was going to happen. Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
“Sometimes, young master, it is best to let the foolish youths of my kind learn their lessons the hard way,” the wizened Goblin said, bowing his head in deference. “Please, be on your way. We will no longer waylay you,” said the older Goblin. Such wisdom Timothy had never heard from a Greenskin’s mouth, but he was glad that someone like this Goblin had already surfaced on his journey, someone with worldly wisdom and foresight.
After all, if a band of Goblin raiders had a wise man, surely other such groups had brains to match their brawn, he thought. Timothy Vandross continued on through the night.
Ignatious Stockholm didn’t know all of the facts relevant to his situation just yet, but Oun had given him the information he needed, at least. He was to await the arrival of a young Elven woman and a half-Elf man in the city of Desanadron, but in order to meet them, he’d have to take some leave from the Hoods. He didn’t mind the idea, but leaving Flint in charge of his duties did give him a quiver.
He headed out of his room and down the tunnel to Anna Deus’s office. He knocked twice on the door, hard, and awaited a verbal reply. “Come in,” came Anna’s ‘male’ voice in reply, and when Stockholm poked his long snout through the doorway, she said more quietly, “Ah, Stocky. Come on in, and lock the door behind you.” Stockholm did just that, and then took a seat across from Anna at her desk. “What can I do for you, Chief?”
“Anna, do you remember that time off I said I was going to need at some point,” he said, waiting to see if she’d recall on her own. “Back when we dealt with the Glove of Shadows?” None of the head officers of the Guild much liked discussing the events around that particular artifact; they’d lost a valued member of their Guild, the Illusionist Styge, during the effort to recover it. The only positive note from that whole quest had been a raise in the level of respect that passed between the Hoods and their rival thieves’ Guild, the Midnight Sons.
“Yes, I seem to recall you said you’d need some time off,” Anna said, nodding and bringing her hands up under her chin. “I assume you need to take that starting in the morning?”
“Indeed,” he replied. “Look, I’m sorry for doing this to you, boss, you know I am,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I know you depend on me a great deal to keep things moving smoothly here in the Guild. But you also know that Hollister can keep up on the paperwork, and we’ve got Borshev to keep the men in line,” Stockholm said. Anna seemed to think about this for only a moment, and then she gave him a soft grin.
“I knew you’d mention them,” she said, leaning back in her chair. Stockholm took a short sniff of the air, and found that he could still detect the faint trace of liquid silver she used in her cologne, to keep other lycanthropes from detecting that she was, in fact, a woman. William Deus, as she was known, had to remain a separate part of her life for the time being, and nosy lycanthrope policemen would be a bother. Especially if they outed her to her men as a woman. “Yes, Stocky, I’ll have them brought in for a chit-chat before the morning comes. However,” she said, stopping him from rising from his seat just yet. “You do know that I’m curious to know what this time off is for. Vacation? Family gathering?”
“Well, it’s sort of a vacation,” he lied, giving her a truly wolfish grin, which he knew caused her to shudder internally. “And I don’t do family gatherings, for your information,” he included, rising from his seat across from her. “I don’t have any family to speak of.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, idly playing with one of the pens from the cup on her desk where she kept them. “The ever-mysterious Mr. Stockholm. My sweet, homicidal Red Tribe Werewolf, always keeping me in the dark about such things,” she chided, giving him her best ‘I’m just kidding’ look when he glowered at her. “Just come back to me in one piece, friend.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, opening the door after unlocking it. “I always do.” Unlike the few other times he’d told her this, he felt a little like he was lying to her. Presently he had the healing powers he’d once possessed as a god, and the Fist of the Breaker. When he next saw Anna Deus, he knew that these powers would have been stripped away once again by the Greater Gods, and he would be a lesser being, the creature she’d always known.
It really was too bad he couldn’t tell her, he thought, but he couldn’t. Of the few rules he’d been given to live by before his banishment, this was the one absolute law that could never be violated. Another of their rules, however, had been that he could never sire a mortal child. Hence, he thought with a sullen grin, the need for his horrible blind dates compliments of Anna Deus. Stockholm headed to his private chamber to prepare for a long journey, though he knew not where he’d be going when the others arrived in Desanadron. Oun had not gotten that information to him just yet. For the time being, he thought, I’ll just have to be patient. At least that’s one thing I’ve learned to be while living in the Mortal Plane.
Patient.
With dawn only an hour or so away, Timothy Vandross pulled out a crude map of the Elven Kingdom he’d had since his school days, and tried to calculate his position. For the time being, he knew only that he had managed to get almost as far as the city of Blackwood during his long hours of night travel. A considerable distance, but he would need to stop and have a ration packet soon if he was to continue on.
Tim ate his packet as he marched along, still trying to make good time. He figured he might very well try to purchase a horse in the city of Blackwood, since it would make his traveling a little more expedient. Even without a set destination, a mount would be a good idea, and he might be able to afford a decent one with the savings he’d brought with him. It wasn’t much, but one hundred gold pieces wasn’t a small amount, either.
Finished with his meal, Tim spotted a stump along the side of the dirt road and had a seat, pulling out his map once again. He estimated that he would make the city of Blackwood just a little bit after sunup, so long as he kept his pace and didn’t get distracted. As he looked over the map, he felt his eyes getting steadily heavier, and knew he would need rest as well if he wasn’t clever. Thankfully for Timothy, he was more clever than he sometimes gave himself credit.
“Refresh,” he intoned, opening his hand toward himself and pulsing mana through his own system. The Refresh spell, an old trick that most mages learned early in their studies, had been one of the few spells that Timothy had learned completely on his own. He had use of several such simple spells, and he wondered why traditional mages didn’t use such magic more often in their day-to-day lives.
Feeling full and as though he’d had a good five hour nap, Timothy hitched up his rucksack and got moving again. He came to a fork in the path about half and hour later, and took the right fork, which a road sign indicated led toward Blackwood. He would arrive at the city and its stables in due time.
“The first thing I want to say is sorry about last night,” Hina said to her parents as she walked into the kitchen with her military-style rucksack over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to ruin dinner, mom. And dad? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No harm, no foul dear,” Jackson said to his daughter. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the machine on the kitchen counter (one of only two concessions her parents made to technology), sat down at the table, and patted the table. Hina set her bag down in the doorway, and took the seat across from him. Her mother finished scooping scrambled eggs onto a plate for Hina and her father, and brought their food over to them.
“I don’t mind too much, dear, but I’d appreciate it if both of you could behave yourselves for this meal,” Hina’s mother said gravely. Hina and Jackson both began eating, and as they did, they talked, all three of them.
“I suppose I should tell you where I’m going first,” Hina said around a mouth full of sausage. “I’m going to Desanadron.”
“So your father told me last night,” Mrs. Hinas said. “You know how I feel about that place,” she warned.
“Arlene, it could be worse,” Jackson said to his wife, shoveling eggs into his mouth. Another trait he shared with his daughter was atrocious table manners, as he continued to talk with his mouth full. “She could be heading to the Port of Arcade.”
“Don’t even joke about such a thing,” Arlene Hinas gasped, her hand flying to her chest in dismay. She looked hard at Hina. “You don’t dare go to that place. Not only is it across the continent, but it’s filled with nothing but hoodlums!” Hina chuckled lightly at her mother’s expression and warning.
“Easy, mom. I wouldn’t go there unless I really had to,” she said. “Besides, I still don’t know where this trip is going to end up. I may just wind up coming back home after seeing a little of Desanadron.” Her mother secretly hoped this was the case, but knew in her heart that it wouldn’t be so.
“Do you have everything packed that you’re going to need on the road,” Jackson asked, sipping his coffee. Hina could smell the hint of nutmeg he put in his morning pick-me-up, but not the bourbon that her mother smelled right away. Arlene Hinas knew her husband well enough to know why he bothered at all with the nutmeg. Not that Jackson was an alcoholic, but lately his superiors in the watch had been hounding him to get his daughter to join up, get a real job. Today, he’d have to tell them that she’d taken off on a long-term stint of wandering, and he’d surely get some hell from them.
“I think so,” Hina said in response to his question. “I’m going to head over to the stables and pick up a horse, too.”
“Do you even have the money for that,” Arlene asked immediately. “Your father and I have a little extra money for you, if you need it,” she said. Her statement drew a questioning expression from Jackson, and his wife smiled benignly at him. “I’ve been squirreling a little away at a time for a few years,” she said to him. “Just a small nest egg, in case something like this came up.”
“Nice of you to tell me,” Jackson grumbled, looking away. “I really would have liked to get those bookshelves last month, but you said we couldn’t afford them. How much is this nest egg?”
“Oh, nothing much dear,” Arlene said, avoiding the question as best she could. “I’ll go get the pouch, Hina.” Arlene headed out of the kitchen and down the hall, to her and her husband’s room, and returned a minute later with a heavy pouch of coins. She handed it to Hina, who tried not to look surprised by its weight. She apparently didn’t have much of a poker face.
“That much, huh,” Jackson chided, giving Arlene a mockingly dangerous look. “I really wanted those bookshelves, you know.”
“Oh hush, you,” Arlene said, giving him a gentle nudge. “We can afford them easily in a few weeks. Now, Hina,” she said, grabbing her daughter’s attention again. “That should be more than enough to buy a good horse and see you through Desanadron. Don’t forget to try and pick up some souvenirs for your father and I while you’re gone.”
“I won’t forget, mom,” Hina said softly. She found that a serpent had curled around her heart, and she could not look her parents in the face. If she wavered now, she might not even leave, and she was determined to at least get to the large city-state to the north before turning back. In order to ease a little of the pressure she felt inside, she said, “And I’ll come back when I’m done with this trip. Even if only for a little while. I’m not going to completely disappear from your lives,” she said. The words coming from her worked as a sedative for that invisible constrictor wrapped around her resolve.
“Little while or long while, you know you always have a place here, with us,” Jackson said, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. Hina gave a quick, small squeeze back, and then proceeded to finish her meal. She talked a little more with her parents then, reminiscing about times past, both good and bad. The sensation of having passed from one chapter of her life to another intensified as she hefted up her bag and hugged them both good-bye in the front doorway. No longer able to keep the tears from her eyes, Hina Hinas turned her back on her parents, and headed west toward the city’s stables.
Jackson and Arlene watched her recede into the middle distance, and then they both returned to the kitchen. Husband and wife sat silently, drinking coffee and enjoying the quiet of the house. Finally, Jackson said the impulsive and universally male thing a man in his position would say. “So, since we’ve got the house to ourselves,” he began. Arlene rose from the table with a smirk, and raced him down the hall to their bedroom.
Timothy handed his papers to the guard at the western gates of Blackwood about an hour after dawn, and waited while the large Minotaur constable scrutinized his paperwork. The bull-headed humanoid grumbled under his breath as he reviewed the information on the papers, and finally grunted as he handed them back to Tim and nodded to the guard standing on the other side of the open gates. “Go on through, kid,” the Minotaur said. “But be aware that we don’t take kindly to funny business in this city,” he said, waggling a thick brown finger at the half-Elf Void Mage.
“I understand, sir,” Timothy replied, walking through the open gates and into the western outskirts of the city. Tim found himself immediately on one of the main streets of the city, with school-aged children of several Races rushing past him toward the local schoolhouse, bumping and brushing against him with nary a word of apology. Ah, he thought, to be so young again.
Tim spotted a traveling merchant on the street, just a minute walk down the road, and he swiftly approached the Human vendor. “Excuse me,” he said, gaining the man’s attention. “I’m just in town to pick up a horse. Could you tell me where the stables are,” Timothy asked. The vendor gave him a short list of directions, and Timothy headed off at a light run. He turned down several small side streets, and as he made a left turn onto the main road that the stables were on, he collided with a young Elven woman. “Ooof,” he grunted, falling back a few paces.
Hina herself hadn’t had any clue that she would be run into by a young man nearly half a foot taller than she, and wound up flat on her back. Several items in her rucksack made a tortured crunching noise, and she silently cursed the clumsy fool who’d knocked her down. She opened her eyes, and found the young man leaning over her, offering her his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” Timothy said to the young Elven woman. “I didn’t look where I was going,” he said. She took his offered hand, and he hauled her up to her feet, helping brush off her arms.
“Whatever,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and dusting off her backside. Hmm, she thought, taking a good look at the stranger. He’s kind of cute, she thought, in a backwoods hick kind of way.
“No, I’m really sorry,” Tim blathered on, unsure why he was still talking to the cute Elven girl. Maybe, he reasoned, that’s why I’m still talking. Because she looks cute. “Look, is there any way I can make it up to you?” The young woman seemed to think about that, and she finally pointed to a shop on the left side of the street.
“See that,” Hina asked, pointing to one of the premier teashops in the city. She smiled internally; this could be fun, she thought. “It’s called a teashop. I assume they have one or two where you’re from,” she said sarcastically.
“Ah, yeah,” Timothy said, blushing and rubbing the back of his head. She’s still talking to me, he thought. Yes! Wait a minute, he thought then in his more rational internal voice. What am I doing? This is just wasting time! I should be heading further out, I should be on the road, adventuring, not spending time trying to flirt with cute girls I don’t know! “We’ve got one,” he said, referring to the teashop.
“Good. You can make it up to me by buying me a cup of tea,” Hina said, smiling at the young half-Elf gentleman. Despite the good vibe she was getting from him, she could sense his awkwardness. Maybe he’s just not good with girls, she thought. But no, there was something else there, she sensed. Something vaguely familiar, and her sense of perception told her the answer right away when she looked harder for it. Magic, she thought. I can see his mana flowing around his body, and that means he’s also a magic-user, like me. Maybe this little encounter will turn out okay, she thought.
Tim waved her on, indicating that Hina could lead the way to the teashop, which she did. The front doors, saloon-style affairs, swung inward easily as she stepped inside and was greeted by a humble Elven waitress. She seated the two of them at a small booth fronting the windows looking out to the streets, and she gave them each a small paper menu. Timothy looked over the long list of teas and other hot drinks they offered, and then looked at the prices. His eyes nearly watered. They want three gold pieces for a cup of friggin’ tea, he exclaimed internally. For that much I could buy a box of twenty teabags back home at the grocers!
“I’ll have the black tea,” Hina said, and Tim’s eyes darted immediately to the price listed for black tea. Two gold and five tin pieces, he thought. Damn but that’s a lot of money for a cup of black tea. “You,” she asked, looking at Tim.
“I’ll uh, have a cup of pekoe tea,” he said, picking the cheapest option on the list. The waitress nodded, and took their menus. As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, he glowered at the young Elven woman. “Nearly five gold pieces for tea? A bit much for accidentally bumping into you, isn’t it?” The young woman laughed harshly at him, and then stifled her giggles when other customers gave her odd looks. “So, what’s your name?”
“Hina,” she said. “Hina Hinas. Yours?”
“Timothy,” he replied. “You can call me Tim.”
“And does mister Timothy have a last name,” she chided, goading a response she hoped. “Because that would be useful to know, too.”
“There’s no need,” he said defensively, looking away. Oh, that’s how it’s going to be, eh, Hina thought. She brought a small amount of her mana to bear, and cast a silent spell at Tim. The Void Mage immediately felt the pulse of the spell working on him, and felt the sickening headache coming on that he associated with the acquisition of a spell. “Vandross,” he grumbled, trying to keep the hated name from escaping his lips.
Did he say Vandross, Hina thought, gasping aloud? As in Richard Vandross? She had a sinking feeling develop in her stomach, and bile rose in her throat at the thought of sitting across from a man such as that tyrant. “Was your father,” she began.
“Yes, he was,” Timothy said with a sigh, visibly sagging in his seat. Well, so much for flirting, he thought. What was that spell she’d used on him, he wondered. He knew, of course, thanks to his gifts. It was a Q magic spell known as Truthsayer, and it forced a target to give an honest reply to the last question they were asked. It could be resisted, but the target would have to see the spell coming, since it was a silent spell. “And that wasn’t very fair, you know,” he whispered, just as he had the answer to her question. “Using magic on me like that.”
“Ah, so you knew it was a spell. You are a magic-user then,” Hina said, intrigued. “What school of magic do you study? Necromancy,” she asked before she could think better of the unintended jab at his expense. Necromancy had been known far and wide as Richard Vandross’s favored brand of magic.
“No, not exactly,” Timothy said, still unable to meet her gaze. The waitress shuffled along toward them, and set their tea down before them. Tim scrounged for the fee, and gave the woman the coins, sending her on her way. “I’m a Void Mage,” he confessed aloud, no longer able to care who overheard him. After all, what could it hurt the situation? He’d already blown it with the one person he’d met outside of his village that he took an interest in.
“Really,” Hina replied, fascinated. She’d read about Void Mages, and knew that they learned spells and attack techniques by being struck with them or being near the user when the spell was cast. Unlike his assumption, however, she was not repulsed or offended by his presence. She was intrigued. “That’s got to be pretty handy,” she said, sipping her tea.
“Hmm? It doesn’t bother you,” he asked, himself now finding his interest in her resurrected.
“No, it doesn’t. Should it,” she replied. Timothy smiled, and drank some of his own tea, a little too soon. Piping hot, he sprayed tea on his lap and gasped, trying to put out the heat by smacking his jeans on the crotch lightly. He didn’t want to hurt himself, but the moment was so awkward and strange that even when Hina laughed aloud at his antics, he felt like crawling into a hole and dying.
“I’m sorry about the uproar,” Tim said to the staff in general, standing up and grabbing a napkin to wipe himself off and the chair. “I don’t mean to be such a clutz,” Tim said to Hina, who was once more trying to stop herself from laughing aloud. Tim calmed himself down and retook his seat, blowing on the tea this time before taking a sip. “So, where are you from,” he finally asked.
“Oh, I’m from Blackwood,” she said. “But I’m on my way to get a horse and head north, to Desanadron. What about you,” she said casually. She had only known the young man for a little less than an hour, and already she was interested in him. She felt a natural attraction to him that she couldn’t explain, but since she had little experience in these sort of things, she thought that perhaps if they traveled together, she could figure out the attraction. If it turned out to be nothing, after all, she could always just head someplace where he wasn’t going.
“Oh, well, I’m from Whitewood originally,” Tim said. “But my present home is a small village about half a day’s travel away to the southwest. I don’t have any particular destination right now, though,” he said. “I’m just sort of traveling, you know? Without any purpose, other than the adventure of it.”
“You’re wandering aimlessly,” Hina said with a wide smile. Finally, she thought, someone else who doesn’t know what precise direction they’re headed! Elves in Tamalaria were usually free-spirited folk, but they all eventually settled down. Timothy Vandross and Hina Hinas, however, had not yet reached that age of settling in, and they were ready for anything, it seemed. Hina decided to take the plunge. “What say you come with me, to Desanadron?”
“I beg your pardon,” Timothy asked, flabbergasted. The two voices of his conscience once more set in against each other. Dude, a cute girl just asked me to travel with her, one voice ranted. Score! Ah, invoked the other voice, the voice of reason, she may just want a bodyguard on her way to Desanadron. After all, nobody knows what sort of bandits or monsters might be encountered along the way. Yeah, the excited voice, the hormonal voice urged, but that sense of danger might make her stay close, maybe even huddle up against me in the night! Like a tennis match the two internal voices went back and forth, for long enough that Hina had to interrupt. She had a worried, apologetic look on her face.
“I’m sorry if that seems weird to you,” Hina said. Gods, she thought, he must think I’m some sort of weirdo, just up and asking him to travel with me. Why else would he hesitate so much. Thankfully, he surprised her.
“No, not at all,” he said with a grin. “It’s always safer to travel in pairs or groups, after all,” he reasoned, using his internal voice of reason’s suggestion. Unbeknownst to Timothy, that internal voice of reason was actually his Keeper, the spirit being that resides in the heart and soul of all sentient residents of the realm of Tamalaria. Still, it was handy for him to have its wisdom to call upon when need be, whether it was his own thoughts or another’s. “I’ve got to head to the stables and get a horse, myself. Do you have a mount?”
“No, I’ve got to head there too. I guess it was good fortune you knocked me down, huh?” Tim waved his hands at her and stammered another apology, and she laughed raucously at him. As they left the teahouse and headed to the stables, neither one was aware of the eyes upon them.
“Well, what do you think,” asked one of their unseen observers to the other. Lenos puffed away on his pipe, which he kept perpetually in hand while on either the Mortal or Heavenly Plane. He didn’t know why, but he enjoyed the sensation it gave him.
“I think the potential fate of thousands of lives is in the hands of an aimless young woman, and a clumsy oaf of a young man,” Oun replied, sitting next to Lenos on one of the city’s public benches across from the teashop. He waved his right hand at head level, and coughed on Lenos’s smoke. “I also wish you wouldn’t puff away so much on that damnable thing. Now come on,” Oun said, rising from the bench. “We’ve seen to those two meeting up, and I’ve already spoken to Stockholm. We should get back and make sure Guirdejef hasn’t caused too much havoc,” Oun said, just as a young Human couple across the street disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“It may be too late for that,” Lenos commented.
WHERE DID YOU SEND THEM, Death asked of the Greater God of doorways. He had just watched the half-mad god send a pair of Tamalarian Humans through one of the many doors that led out of their home reality, but could not immediately guess to which other reality they’d been sent.
“Oh, you shouldn’t worry,” Guirdejef said to Death, patting the ethereal being on the back. “I sent them to one of the realities that you watch over, Honorable Guest! And it’s one they may well find themselves more comfortable with. Only Humans.” Death took an educated mental guess, and raised his scythe. “If you bring them back, I’ll just send them back through,” Guirdejef warned. “Besides, won’t it be fun, wondering how they’ll react when they get there?”
Death heaved a heavy sigh, and shook his head. He tore a rift in the Heavenly Plane with his scythe, poked his head through, and pulled it back. It was as he expected, but the situation that the two Humans had been dropped into wasn’t exactly pleasant. WELL, I DON’T THINK THEY’RE GOING TO HAVE A VERY GOOD TIME, Death intoned.
“Why? Where are they,” the Greater God asked.
THEY’RE IN A PLACE KNOWN IN THAT WORLD AS NORMANDY BEACH, AND THE TIMING COULDN’T BE WORSE. THERE’S A BIT OF A WAR GOING ON, YOU SEE.
“Oh,” said the half-mad god. “Oh, I hope they’ll be okay. If they aren’t, though, doesn’t that just mean one more job for you?”
YES, IT DOES. AND MORE WORK IS PRECISELY WHAT I DON’T NEED RIGHT NOW. With that, Death tore a fresh rift in the air, and stepped through. SOMETIMES, he thought, I HATE MY JOB.
The four days that Hina and Timothy spent together riding north out of the Elven Kingdom were beneficial to their budding friendship. Hina told Timothy all about her hobby of ‘wandering aimlessly’, and the various other hobbies and tidbits of information she’d picked up over the years. Likewise, Timothy told her about the various spells and techniques he’d learned over time, and how he’d learned them. His was an impressive arsenal, and after the third day of travel, while they took a brief break from riding for lunch, she expanded it for him by using two of her Ancient spells.
On the fifth day of travel they broke free of the forest of the Elven Kingdom, and they passed through the border patrol without incident. Out on the open flatlands, their steeds were able to pick up a lot more speed, and Tim estimated that they would make Desanadron in only a few days’ time. He suspected as well that wherever Hina was heading after the big city, she wouldn’t mind if he came along with.
During the evening of the sixth day, they agreed to bring their travel to an early halt in order to give the horses a better rest from their hard running. The horses had only cost them a combined total of seventy gold pieces, and Timothy, being a gentleman if nothing else, had paid for them both. However, if Hina had not told him that they needed a good, solid night’s rest on the sixth day, he would have rode his own mount and hers into the ground.
They let the horses graze and prance about together on their own as they both worked on getting a fire going for them to cook a decent meal on and keep warm through the night. The moon began its final ascent into the sky, and they began eating their stew in relative silence. The sounds of the plains life, crickets, owls and faraway wolves howling, filled the empty air around them, and gave both the young half-Elf and full blood Elf a warm sensation in their hearts. There was no more comforting sound to either of them than the peace and quiet of the forest, but the sounds of the plains weren’t too much different.
A few minutes after they finished their meal, a much different sound rose up from the darkened flatlands, and whatever the owner of the noise was, it spooked the horses enough to send them fleeing in the other direction, behind their owners. Timothy rose to his feet and summoned forth his mana, ready to cast whatever spell he might require. Hina rose as well, drawing her mana and her short sword. The sound they heard was a nearby growling, a low, guttural noise that Timothy associated with wildcats and Hina had never heard before.
The first growl was soon followed by two more such noises, both close to the first. As Tim tried to get a look at their potential assailants, Hina decided to make the job of seeing them easier. “Compana, Light,” she whispered, twitching her sword in the direction of the sounds. A small ball of white light fluttered up from the tip of her sword, and burst open high above, illuminating the area as though it were sunlight. Perhaps fifty yards away, just visible in the area of light, were three beasts of which Timothy had never seen or heard. Thankfully for him, Hina knew of these creatures from her studies. “Terarachnids,” she muttered, trying to think back on the entry in her tome of beasts of Tamalaria. The three creatures appeared to be enormous black and yellow striped spiders with a crimson diamond pattern on their backs. Each of the creatures’ eight legs clicked and clacked as they raced toward Timothy and Hina, having scented fresh prey.
“Um, what should we do,” Tim asked, just a little disgusted by the look of the terarachnids. They stood at about chest height, he guessed, if they got close enough to check.
“We have to scare them off, or kill them,” Hina said absently, still trying to recall what it was that the creatures were afraid of. Finally, she remembered not what they feared, but what could easily kill them. “Tim! Do you have an Aeromancy spells?”
“I’ve learned a couple over the years,” the half-Elf Void Mage said, calling one up as he thrust his hands toward the creatures. The terarachnids stopped in their tracks, each one seeming to sense a moment after the other that something bad was about to happen to them. “Malarkan! Air Cutter,” Timothy Vandross shouted, pumping his arms toward the creatures in great roundhouse punching motions. With each thrown punch, a wave of slightly green kinetic force, Aeromancy in its visible form, sliced toward and into the terarachnids. The Air Cutter blades found purchase and shredded the creatures’ flesh and insides apart with ease, and they let out a strange, sheep-like bleating noise as they fell apart, yellow and green viscous fluids pouring and streaming from their bodies. Steam rose from their hot, strange colored blood, and the stench of the creatures’ last bowel movements filled and ripened the air.
Hina Hinas was impressed to say the least. She sauntered up to Tim, and clapped him once on the back, hard, sending him sprawling to the ground. The sudden use of a spell he’d never used in combat had drained him, and he hit with a thud and an “Ouch!” Hina helped him up to his feet, and he rubbed his head in that same awkward fashion he had back in Blackwood, or whenever he was nervous or embarrassed. “That was a good job,” Hina said.
“Thanks,” Tim replied. “I feel a little bad, though. I’ve never had to hurt an animal before,” he said, looking to the clustered remains of the terarachnids.
“They aren’t animals, they’re monsters,” Hina corrected him. She turned and headed back to their fire only a few yards away to settle in for the night. “We’ll keep a watch. You take first shift, and wake me up in about four hours. That okay?” Tim nodded, and took his watch for the night. The rest of the night was blissfully uneventful.
If I’d known it was going to take this long, I would have stuck around the Guild for a while longer, Stockholm thought from the comfort of his rented cottage. He always maintained an above ground residence, and as he dusted and rearranged the furniture in his quaint little living room, he snarled at himself and the gods above for giving him so much extra time to wait on the arrival of his companions.
He couldn’t very well request any work from Anna, because then she’d grow suspicious of his need for a vacation, and possibly send him right back to regular duty. He could always refuse; each member of the Hoods was on a completely voluntary service basis, even the Chief and Prime. When Anna felt the timing to be right, she’d hand over the mantle of Headmaster and resign from the Guild, but only when she felt she had enough loot to live comfortably off of for the rest of her natural years. Being Human, she was already near that hash mark. She stuck around for the general excitement of things, it seemed.
And so he busied himself with tidying up his humble home. The first few days had been entirely filled with the purchase of new drapes, new bedding for the lycanthrope-sized bed in the bedroom, and the installation of a Gnome-designed icebox, or ‘fridge’ as they were called. Stockholm had opted to install it himself, and as a result, the job had required doing twice, just to make sure. That had taken a good day and a half of his time. The rest of his required cleaning had filled most of the remainder of his time thus far, but now he found himself reaching, searching for any speck of dust, anything that seemed out of alignment.
Despite his status as a former god, which caused more havoc and chaos than anything, he found himself like Oun in that he was predisposed to having things neat, clean and orderly. His home was his war room, and he wanted everything to be where it should be, and in proper condition. He couldn’t explain his need for things to be so, but that was the easy part of Stockholm’s existence; he needn’t explain much of anything to anyone. Not these days.
And so he continued to bide his time, waiting for the arrival of his new companions, or fresh word from the gods.
On the morning of their ninth day of travel, Timothy Vandross and Hina Hinas came to the crest of a hill, and at the bottom, they could see the outskirts and high rising buildings of the city of Desanadron. During the last three days they had spoken much, trained a little, and rode on past several potential obstacles, only stopping three times to deal with threats that could give chase. They had, together, bested a small group of Orc raiders, a pair of thresherbeasts, and another pack of terarachnids. During all three encounters, they had used their magic arsenals to maximum affect with minimal effort.
Tim reigned his steed to a halt atop the hill. “It’s enormous,” he said, looking at the far off city, and seeing that it stretched from east to west as far as he could see.
“Well, it is the largest city in the entire realm,” Hina replied, herself flabbergasted at the sheer volume of space the city seemed to swallow as its own. She found that she could not see the northernmost limit of the city from her vantage point, high rises or not. Her own vision, being a pure blooded Elf, should have been much better than Timothy’s; unfortunately, she could see little more of the city than he could on this gray and overcast morning.
The pair eased their horses into an easy gait, and approached the city of Desanadron with open minds and hearts aflutter. Both of them had heard various stories about the huge city-state, and some had been positive, while the majority had been negative. Safer than Arcade, they were often assured, but not very much. One could supposedly find anything they looked for available for purchase somewhere in the city. Need an exotic poison? Some merchant or member of a Guild had one available, for certain. Want a rare weapon? Chances were, you could find someone carrying it. Need a body disposed of? Yes, there were tradesmen willing to do this service as well, provided one had the money necessary. Magical items and artifacts were usually easier to find in Palen, but if one looked hard enough around the various magic-user Guilds in Desanadron, one was just as apt to find it there.
Hina and Timothy approached the city’s borders, and found that already they could make out the sounds of commonplace conversation among the city’s citizenry. They were entering what was known to city residents as the eleventh district, an area that was mostly residential and occupied for the majority by Jafts, Humans and Dwarves. Few other Races dwelled in the eleventh, but the district was also home to one of Desanadron’s largest pawn shops. The establishment was run by a Wererat fellow who asked no questions about where merchandise came from, and such policy usually attracted a larger crowd than another similar business might if it asked awkward questions like ‘Where’d you get this?’
“The locals seem friendly enough,” Tim said to Hina in a low whisper as they rode along astride their steeds, which were at this point walking very slowly. One of the local constables, wearing full chain mail armor and the city-state’s uniform serape, a design of a purple field with an eagle in gold by each shoulder, approached them slowly. He was a Human fellow, and he approached with an easygoing countenance.
“What ho, goodly travelers,” the constable called to them.
“What did he just call me,” asked Hina playfully. Tim grinned at her low brow humor, and put one finger to his lips to shush her momentarily. “Good morning, constable. We’re wondering where there might be a local stables to place our horses for the time being.”
“Ah, that’s easy enough,” said the officer. “You’ll head straight ahead through the next two major intersections, then turn right on Forest Lane. There will be the Meng Brothers Stables there for you to rent out stalls for your mounts. Anything else I may assist you with?”
“No, not right now,” said Hina. Tim lead the way to the stables, where they rented stalls for their horses for the day. At only two tin coins a day, the fee was reasonable enough, though the Meng brothers appeared to be a bit short-handed on attendants. Timothy and Hina stepped back outside onto Forest Lane, and surveyed the bustling street around them. “Well, what now,” she asked the half-Elf Void Mage. He took in a deep breath, and nearly gagged on the heavy odor of nearby Jafts.
“Now, we do a little sight seeing,” said Tim. He hooked one arm around Hina’s shoulders, and together, they began wandering, rather aimlessly.
Stockholm’s head snapped up from his kitchen table, where he had been carefully inspecting the affect of the new polish he’d purchased from an Alchemy shop on the wood. He stared ahead at nothing for a moment, a strange tingling running up his spine. “They’re here,” he whispered to no one in particular.
“Indeed they are,” said a familiar voice from behind him. Stockholm whirled about, and found seated in his living room a peculiar figure in green robes, holding and puffing away on a pipe. Though peculiar, the figure was familiar to the Red Tribe Werewolf.
“Greetings, brother Lenos,” Stockholm said amiably. Lenos had ever been one of his favorite fellow gods. As a Greater God, Lenos held the strange honor and position of being worshipped by tens of thousands of people in the Mortal Plane, but most of those worshippers were of the Bishop Class of Cleric-types. Bishops were battle-priests, and they harnessed the powers of magic spells that held sway over and against mecha. Despite having their own religion, which worshipped Lenos as their god, the Bishops had few other followers outside of their specific Class. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
The reasons for Stockholm’s preference of Lenos’s presence were simple. Firstly, when Lenos spoke to his prophets back in Tamalaria’s First Age, he did not include any rule mandating that worshippers of Lenos disallow for the possible existence of other gods. It stated quite clearly, in fact, in the holy book of Lenos that the other gods were there, and could be given their due respect. To Stockholm, this expressed an open-mindedness that few other gods allowed their worshippers. The second reason that Stockholm enjoyed Lenos’s company and teachings was the fact that Lenos believed, as did his followers, in the necessity of times of war. Peace could not always be maintained in a peaceful manner, it said in the book of Lenos. One must always be ready to make war in the name of peace.
“Well,” said Lenos in his deep, throaty voice. “Your companions have arrived in the city, as you probably have already detected. In addition, Churiya is here, in the city of Desanadron. The council of the gods requires that you corner him and defeat him in pitched combat. That way, he shall be forced to return to the Heavenly Plane, where we can serve him with punishment fitting his crime.”
“And what of the other problem,” asked Stockholm, raising an eyebrow as Lenos chuffed blue pipe smoke into his living room. “Guirdejef, I mean?”
“Well, about that,” said Lenos, standing up from one of Stockholm’s comfortable recliners as the Red Tribesman poured himself a cup of coffee in the adjoining kitchen. Lenos joined him, and Stockholm silently poured the Greater God a cup of coffee. “Thank you. Guirdejef has opened several portals throughout the realm of Tamalaria, and has been randomly throwing people through into other worlds, other realities. The overall situation is not good for most folks who go through, or at least, we can assume it isn’t good. Death has attempted to keep us appraised of the unfortunate folks’ situations, but a few of them have already died in the worlds to which they’ve been sent.”
“That does not bode well,” said Stockholm. “Has he brought anything into this world, our world?”
“Yes, a couple of things and a few people,” said Lenos, sipping his coffee and puffing his pipe. “What we need you to do is to usher these foreigners to this Mortal Plane back to their own world, and seal the doorways that Guirdejef has opened. Using your healing powers on the rifts in the Plane, it shouldn’t be too hard. But there are some, well, creatures shall we say, that won’t be so willing to return to their home worlds. Those ‘guests’ must be destroyed, and that is where your natural fighting prowess and your Fist of the Breaker will come in handy.”
“Can you give me some visual idea of what I’m up against,” asked Stockholm. Lenos reached into his infinite robes, and withdrew a shining piece of mirror. Stockholm looked into it, and several dozen images flashed before his eyes. Humans, Lizardmen with oddly colored scales, and what he could only assume were demons of some sort showed on the mirrored surface. At one point, some enormous, heavily armored autocart appeared on the mirror surface with several dozen Humans in military-style uniforms, each man holding a strange mecha weapon. “How many of these rifts are there?”
“Well, there are only three at this time,” said Lenos. “While none of us approves of Guirdejef’s use of the doorways to other worlds, I must say that it’s a good thing there’s only the three rifts. There were more, but he’s been closing most of them the moment he sends mortals from this Plane to other Planes. You can see why this is important, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” said Stockholm, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “So, I meet up with the other two, get to know them a little, and then we go get Churiya. Any idea where he’s holed up?”
“Yes, he’s hidden himself in an abandoned mecha factory on the north side of this city,” reported Lenos, setting his mug down on Stockholm’s kitchen table. “He’s having trouble retaining his power as a Lesser God now that he’s completely manifested in the Mortal Plane. He’s losing some of his power, you see. Once you defeat him, head to the first of the rifts, and you should find a group of the outsiders nearby. This is a map,” Lenos said, handing a scroll from his robes to Stockholm. “I have marked with a red ‘X’ the location of each major rift we require you to seal. We can’t get an exact hold on the outsiders’ locations, as they do not belong in this reality. Therefor, they are not spoken for by any of the gods.”
“Any idea how many of them are going to put up a fight,” Stockholm asked, unrolling the map and giving it a once-over. Three red ‘X’s, as Lenos had promised, though they were widely spaced apart. The closest X was in the foothills to the north of the city of Desanadron, only a little distance west of the woods that the Tiverski brothers inhabited. Stockholm wondered for a moment if they were having any trouble dealing with these foreigners from another reality. It would take less than a day to travel to that location once they caught and defeated Churiya and sent him back to the Heavenly Plane.
“We’re not entirely certain. A word of caution, however,” Lenos said, pulling out the mirror once more and summoning the image of the armored autocart and its armed Human troopers. “Death has informed us that autocarts like this one you see here are called ‘tanks’. This group comes from one of the realities under his jurisdiction. They appeared near the rift closest to Arcade and Palen.”
“I wasn’t aware that the Honored Guest saw over more than this Mortal Plane,” said Stockholm, intrigued. “I assume that the term ‘tank’ means pretty much the same thing for that autocart as it does to us in this Mortal Plane?”
“About the same, yes. ‘An impenetrable fighting warrior’, the term ‘tank’ comes from the old unified Greenskin language,” said Lenos. “Their peoples are dumber than bricks, but you have to admit that they’re very effective brutes.” Stockholm gave a hollow grunt as a reply, but he could think of at least one decent Greenskin warrior; the Orc known as Rage, a Midnight Suns agent. “Death also cautioned that those men with the tank are going to be hostile and aggressive, because quite frankly they’re probably scared out of their wits.”
“Why’s that,” asked Stockholm.
“Their home reality, Death informs us,” said Lenos, lighting a fresh batch of tobacco in his pipe. “Is much different from ours. It is inhabited by animals and Humans, and that’s it. No monsters outside of their popular fiction, and no sentient Races other than the Humans. Elves exist among them, but only in secret. There are Vampires and Werewolves as well, but their numbers are so few and their nature so secretive and filled with rage, that they keep themselves hidden away from the world at large.”
“So these men have no idea how to deal with the facts of this reality,” said Stockholm. “Interesting. Well, I’ll be taking off then,” he said, hitching up his rucksack from the kitchen floor. He rolled up the map Lenos gave him and tucked it into an inner pocket of his sleeveless vest. “I’ve got to go meet these two companions of mine. Tell me, are they nearby?”
“Very,” said Lenos, fading out of the Mortal Plane moment by moment. “They’re doing a little sight-seeing. They’ll be passing by your home in about five, maybe six minutes. Try not to frighten them too much, please,” said Lenos as he disappeared. Stockholm exited his house, and walked to the low stone wall he had put up to front the little bit of lawn space that he had. He took a seat on it, crossed one leg over his other, and waited for his companions to arrive.
When he saw them, a small twinge shot through his heart. The young Elven woman had an air of indifference about her, and he could detect the magic swirling around her from fifty yards away. The young half-Elven man had a familiar air about him, and from the profile he provided when he looked to the girl, Stockholm was able to place the profile of his face as familiar.
He had a face similar to that of Richard Vandross.
“All right, so thus far, we’ve seen several street gangs, a small riot inside of a twenty-four-hour tavern, and a pair of constables being fleeced at a shell game table. What other charms do you suppose this city holds for us,” asked Timothy in his most sarcastic tone.
“It could be worse, you know,” said Hina, already feeling a little defensive about the city of Desanadron. She’d only been here a few hours, and already she had developed a liking to it. “It could be boring,” she said, summarizing what she thought of the city. Everything seemed to happen all at once in the city, and all around her people went on about their business, whether that business be legal or otherwise. She couldn’t understand how a city with such a low officer-to-citizen ratio maintained order at all, but there was a sort of lawfulness to the city’s streets, even if it was a disorganized sort.
“Well, I’ll have to give you that,” said Timothy, excusing himself as he brushed into someone. “There’s enough people in this city to evenly populate most of the western half of Tamalaria! I don’t see how people tolerate the cramped living space, though,” he said, looking back and forth from apartment building to apartment building. “I’d be a bit claustrophobic myself.”
“I’m sure they get used to it,” Hina said, looking to Timothy. He looked down at her and gave her a smile, and before he knew it, the two of them bumped headlong into someone’s barrel-like chest. They both shook their heads for a moment, and Timothy and Hina both found themselves looking at a gentleman of a sort neither had actually ever seen up close; a well-armed and muscular Red Tribe Werewolf. “Oh my,” said Hina, flushing slightly. “We’re sorry, we just got caught up in conversation,” she said, but the Red Tribesman held up a hand to stay her words.
“No need to apologize. I’ve been waiting for the two of you, actually,” Stockholm said, a cryptic statement from the Elven pair’s perspective. “Please, come inside my home. We have things to discuss,” Stockholm said, indicating with a flourish of his hands the squat cottage that was his private home. Timothy and Hina looked at each other questioningly, and both wondered the exact same thing; is this guy a psycho, or some sort of con man? Best to be prepared, Tim thought, bringing his mana to bear. “Please, refrain from thinking ill of me, and stow your spells for the time being, Void Mage,” Stockholm said, taking an immediate reading of both the half-Elven boy and Elven girl.
“How did you know what I am,” Tim asked, fascinated now with the Red Tribesman. If he was a con man of some sort, he was skilled to have seen through Timothy’s exterior to what sort of mage he was.
“There’s a lot of things that I can observe that others wouldn’t,” Stockholm said, stepping to one side and then turning his back on the pair, heading back toward his own home. “Like the fact that the young woman is a Q Mage, and knows a few Ancient spells,” he said over his shoulder, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. Tim and Hina looked to one another, and this time they shrugged their shoulders. Why not, the shrug said. If nothing else, it was more unique entertainment that they’d only find in a city like Desanadron.
They followed the Red Tribe Werewolf into his home, and back through the living room to the quaint little kitchen. Everything’s so clean, Hina thought as she took an offered seat at his table. Stockholm brought them both a mug of steaming coffee, and sat himself at the head of the table. Tim, to make things even, sat opposite Hina, and the two of them looked to Ignatious Stockholm, eager to find out what precisely the enigmatic Red Tribesman wanted with them.
“Well, where to begin,” Stockholm said, blowing on his own mug. “First of all, I’ll introduce myself, and then you can tell me your names. After that, I’ll explain some things. My name is Ignatious Stockholm.” Hina introduced herself by name and Class, and Timothy did likewise after her. Stockholm smiled benignly at the two of them, and noted the way both of their eyes seemed to fix upon the erstwhile invisible brand on the back of his right hand. “Now, I’m going to tell you why I was waiting for you,” he said, launching into his exposition.
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