[Moderated Quest - Prologue 2] Smokescreens

The heat was sweltering. How could a field littered with rocks burn for so long? Now Horghmund stood, staring out at scorched earth and the blackened bits of prairie grass that jutted up from overturned soil. This hadn’t been the first time someone had tried to burn the village, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Each time the flames licked closer, and now the dwarven armorsmith was worried for the families that lived on the edge of town.

Today’s fire had claimed the thatched rooftop of a family home, though luckily no one inside came to harm. The Alerians had come through, sweeping through with their noses almost too high to look at any of them, back when the first fires had broken out. The rains had just been through, without the lightning storms that made spring so dangerous. There shouldn’t have been fires, they’d all insisted. The Kyorl didn’t say anything, and they all knew the patrol wouldn’t be back, even when two more fires started up.

What if next time everyone was busy, or asleep? What if next time buckets weren’t as quick or wells were dry? What if next time Lemelle wasn’t here with her magic to bring a tide from the clouds?

Reaching up to wipe the sweat from his brow, he could still marvel at the heat left over now that the field was nothing but embers and ash. It felt like he was in front of his forge, not standing on the packed earth street. Hopefully the next strike would wait. In the morning his father should be back from Kachuk with volunteers to help the little group of artisans find the source of their misery. The rooms above the stable would be filled with men better at scouting and skirmishing than any of the villagers and soon they would have peace.

It was time to sleep, as the golden light faded and the sun started to slip below the horizon to the west. The night would be long, as it always was with the sun needing to climb the Mountains of Dusk before it could shine on their rooftops. Horghmund was determined to be among the first to greet their saviors, whoever they may be.

Vaahnzerekh leaned against the side panels of a merchant’s cart with an air of patient boredom. He lazily scanned the bustling marketplace from behind a pair of icy eyes, taking great care not to let them linger on any single thing for too long. The people of this age, he had learned, were quick to take notice of anyone caught staring and Vaahnzerekh had no wish to be singled out.

Everything about the infiltrator and been carefully assessed and presented to be forgettable. His persona, the clothes he wore, and even the body he inhabited. No one in Kachuk’s merchant square would think twice about yet another bored merchant’s assistant waiting for his master to finish conducting business. And that was exactly what Vaahnzerekh wanted.

Knowing how these creatures thought and acted was part of Vaahnzerekh’s role as an infiltrator, and his ability to understand them is what had led to his success. Unlike some of their kind who hadn’t been able to fully embrace this new age, Vaahnzerekh had swiftly adapted and thrived. Together, he and Vyrabron had provided more information than half the awakened infiltrator teams. Vaahnzerekh knew that it was only a matter of time before the Storm Herald took note of him and elevated him once again to his former position as a magitect.

“Now is not the time to think about that,” Vaahnzerekh scolded himself. Their achievements had elevated them within the ranks of the infiltrators, true. But it also meant that they stood with more to lose should they fail their given assignment.

Intelligence gathered from the far ranging scouts had indicated that there was trouble brewing in the lands of the dark elves. Only a fraction of the Glorious Empire had been reawakened so far, and the Storm Herald had commanded that nothing be allowed to threaten the remainder of the process. Because of their achievements, Vaahnzerekh and Vyrabron has been chosen to be the ones to assess the threat that this conflict presented, if any, and to do what was necessary to ensure that it stayed as far from Kron’tyr affairs as possible.

“Over there,” Vaahnzerekh finally said, breaking their watchful silence. He pulled one hand from his pocket and pointed at a burly, redheaded dwarf who had set himself up in the hiring area and was making an announcement. Moving like the shadows themselves, Vyrabron melted into view and followed the gesture with his eyes, taking the scene in with a much more direct analysis than Vaahnzerekh had.

From this distance, it was hard to tell exactly what the creature wanted but the infiltrators caught enough to see that the dwarf was having no luck in finding assistance for some sort of trouble that he was having. Vaahnzerekh and Vyrabron exchanged glances, their long familiarity with one another doing most of the communicating between them. Vyrabron thumped his chest with one hand and nodded, signaling his agreement. They had, after all, been sent here to investigate local troubles.

Decision made, the two living constructs rose, wearing the flesh of dead men, and made their way over to the dwarf.

Cain had rode in from elsewhere on a mule that was griping and bellowing all the way into town. He was a touch disheveled his left boot had a hole in its heel, the left leg of his pants had a hole in the front and back side about the size of his thumb with a burned chared hole up closer to his left hip partially covered up by his charred cavalry saber. The right sleeve of his sea coat and shirt underneath that were also charred with fresh white sail cloth bandages wrapped around his shoulder and bicep. To finish every thing off Cains hat, his Tricorn hat that he brought on shore had a a hole in it and looked as if it had been through a war.

Never the less Cain rode into town on a mule with out much of a struggle to stay in the saddle. As he entered into town he stepped off the mule and lead him into the town proper. His leg was a touch stiff but it didn't show too much as he walked through town. Eventually he saw a dwarf which was making an announcement.

Cain had heard something similar to this before. There was a mystery happening and people were either getting hurt or killed and the authorities didn't were guessing it was something innocuous. Something that a few volunteers could clean up easily. Stepping toward the dwarf Cain said "You there, did the fire crews happen to find any strange crystals near where the fires had started?" He waited patiently for an answer as he nodded cheerfully to the various gawkers and potential allies.

Vyrabond watched the sea of people with a detached care. He could not logic within his set parameters which was worse. Being bored or pretending to be bored by normal standards. Of all the Kron’Tyr infiltrators he was the most adept at stealth. He had the ability to remain mostly unseen in several junctions of Althanas’ world.

But skin walking was another matter. He was a mute, unable to speak. For other Kron’Tyr this was a trivial matter. Communication could be as easy as data transference or simple Kron’Tyr morse code. Simple touches to his epidermal skin would suffice to a Kron’Tyr to understand his words clearly. He could make his reports and effectively serve his Lord without need to speak in many a capacity. In some regards he had found a sense of satisfaction -fleeting as it was- in doing so. Yet when draped in the flesh of the world he studied being a mute had drawbacks.

His numerical odds bordered on the heretical chaos theories of luck; finding town loudmouths to wear as flesh and having to kill his way across a town to keep his cover. But Vyrabond was built for this task. And he was built well. At the hourglass’ end, that was all that mattered.

His charge he was tasked with protecting waved him forward, and seamlessly he flanked him. He listened to the words of the diminutive creature, rolling his eyes at his words. He turned to his partner, fingers idly lifting to the chest of the dead flesh. He drummed his fingers like he scratched an itch to minimize any prying eyes being suspicious.

When he finished he waited for the other Infiltrator to speak. “Yes, this is our new mission. I’ll introduce us and prepare the journey to wear our skin for an extended period.”

Vyrabond nodded, letting out a grunt of air. Looking displeased. Ah, that Vyrabond knew how to do well.

“No, no crystals, at least not that we ever found. Truth be told, we looked abou’ the fields after what we could but none of us are particular good trackers. The whole village hasn’t got a hunter, we trade or buy what we need when it comes to skins and meat and whatnot.” the old dwarf answered.

Relief had washed over his face, smoothing slightly the deep and furrowed wrinkles of his brow. The fact that there were strangers willing to help was more than he could have hoped for. Promising them the best of weapons and reward the town could cobble together, the dwarf led them away from the square to pay for a meal before the trip back to the village.

---

They could see the smoke from miles away. The wagon lurched forward and the nags pulling it, what supplies the old dwarf had bought in the city, and the town’s saviors moved at the best pace they could. Still they watched the fields ablaze too long through the day. By the time they could see the town and the houses smoldering along the edge of town, the dwarf’s mood was manic. He abandoned the wagon to run up, and joined in the meager bucket brigade that was working in a fan from town outward to drown the fires that somehow managed to catch on scorched earth that had been attacked so recently.

More buckets of water were being lined up, free for the taking while disheveled artisans cried and scurried past.