Chasing Down The Rat (A Crystal Blade Quest)

[Storm Veritas]

(closed to Shinsou)

The letter slid under his hotel room door in the dark of night, but secrecy was hardly necessary. The intended recipient, Storm Veritas, slept soundly in his quarters, alone, relatively sober, and fatally bored. His existence had grown tiresome and monotonous; victories over other warriors, conquests over throwaway women, and triumphs over large bottles of golden firewater. Each victory felt more shallow than the last, ever since they were taken.

Dreams of Karuka and Taische O’Sheean were broken by the morning sun cresting over his face. He grimaced silently as reality pushed its talons through his soft flesh. The waking world was his for the taking, yet with no end game in mind, each morning was a grim reminder of his ephemeral impact. He would come and go alone, his tall piles of gold simply sitting in vaults, collecting dust and yearning for adventure.

The hell is this? Paid that cheap cocksucker up front, better not try to double-charge me on the tab.

It wasn’t the hotel’s decrepit keeper who had slid the envelope under his door. A quick examination brought his eyes to a thick scarlet stamp of star-pressed wax. The seal was unfamiliar, but the handwriting of the letter within sang out to him in a chipper, familiar voice.

Storm,

I hope this letter finds you well and that your travels have kept you safe and healthy. My journey has moved me path the plane, however there are trails and adventures that are perfectly suited for a man of your particular skills.

Here in Radasanth, you’ve made a little name for yourself. I’m sure you know of Qu-Li, a two-bit racketeer on a suspiciously lucky streak.

He has managed to procure a weapon that I have sought long for. Known as “The Rat” for its rodent pommel, the blue blade has a golden hilt, and looks spectacular. Apart from its craftsmanship, this fine sword has deeply personal value to me.

Our last discussion piqued my interest, and the time has come for me to make good on my offer. My great powers will be available to you at last should you successfully attain the blade.

To reiterate: bring me The Rat, and I will bring them back. I will meet you in Center Market at noon one fortnight from the Lord’s Day.

Yours Respectfully,
DK

Impossible. I offered him THOUSANDS for that goddamned spell. He laughed it off as an insult. What is this f*cking thing?

Storm’s stance as he read the note had gone from slouch to a soldierly posture. His eyes sharpened upon the ink, trying to find fault or elements of counterfeit. There were none in spite of his inspection, no augmentations or signs of forgery.

His mind raced as he contemplated the plan. Qu-Li was a unique name; he must go by a taken name to avoid Storm’s knowledge in this city. The circles with which he could bankroll were small; a big timer would never roll through town without Veritas enjoying a game, the electromancer paying a sort of tribute as he drank his way through the entertaining rush of high stakes. The rush was about all that made him feel alive recently.

Instinctively, his hand moved to his face, the soft electric buzz of his energy singeing away the stubble in a smooth, warm buzz. He’d have to look presentable when he played stud against Qu-Li. For the first time in months, Storm wore a smile along his charcoal bespoke suit.

Today is going to be a very, very big day.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

So, you found the sword's location after all?

Enpera, Shinsou's spirit familiar, had asked him in his home in Radasanth's outskirts, in a house that sat proud above a river where the water ran glassy green below. The Telgradian had now been in the company of his familiar for little more than a year. He found Enpera to be a stalwart, headstrong guide for him; a powerful anomaly with a wealth of wisdom who kept Shinsou well informed. Between these two, they had found a meeting of minds that had carried them, in fourteen dizzying months, from being master and servant to partners. With their combined powers, they had usurped the old Brotherhood council with the help of the electromancer Storm Veritas.

At that moment, lying at peace with himself and the world, there was nothing Shinsou wanted from Enpera that he hadn’t already given him, but something he had discovered in the grand library of the Brotherhood's archives had been weighing on his mind. It was a chart. Not just any old map of Althanas but one that, although incomplete, led to something in Corone that even he, Shinsou Vaan Osiris, could not ignore.

“I believe so, yes. A sword that no-one else has ever seen, with a name as ridiculous as the difficulty of finding it. It is, however, supposed to be of great importance.”

Enpera had manifested into its jaguar form and had come to kneel by Shinsou’s side, to a place where his complex golden eyes could see and be seen. They were quiet then, more autumn than gold, with flecks of summer in the irises. Taking the chart from Shinsou’s hand in his jaw and placing it on the floor, he half-heartedly perused the map and with a knowing smile looked up at his master.

“It’s in Corone. Under Radasanth itself, apparantly. ”

Shinsou sat up in his chair.

“Yes. The Citadel has many underground passageways and a lot of these sprawl beneath the city. From what I can discern from the various unofficial records and reports I collected on the Citadel, there is an obscure chamber where this crimson blade is sealed. They said a Drow was the original owner of the sword. However, why the blade was sealed and exactly where the chamber is are still questions to which I have no answer."

Shinsou folded the map between his thumb and fingers.

Enpera looked at him quizzically. “…and how sure are you about this?”

“As sure as I can be without actually going there to look,” Shinsou responded, standing up and peering out of the window. He frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember the details of the journal entry he had read of the now deserted corridors and the abrupt end to the script.

"Shinsou, the underground cave system running out from the Citadel goes for miles.”

Osiris nodded. “That it does. There are bits of it that haven’t been explored yet. I suggest we go.”

To find the Goat's final resting place was the Telgradian’s latest desire. It was a love, a project, a grail quested for and more importantly a sword that he believed led to something much greater. The blade, sealed away within the Citadel's underground workings, had been the great mystery of over the years and it had been sought after by many down the ages, but it had never been found. They had not known where to look, the citizens of old.

Enpera joined Shinsou at the window, his feline expression lit up like the fires of Alerar’s furnaces.

"Then, we leave at dawn. We have a long journey ahead."

[Storm Veritas]

There was something particularly exciting about being a gentleman that put a spring in the step of the scoundrel. Some would call it an exercise in vanity, but the wizard had dabbled in political circles for some time, and would be damned if he couldn’t dress the part. The small piece of parchment burned over a set of small logs to warm the room as he prepared for what would be a long day.

Gods be damned, you beautiful son of a bitch.

His smile stretched his face as he contorted in the mirror, searing off the ends of the last few whiskers which had erupted from his slumber. In minutes, his “shave” was pristine, a spectacular smoothness which made him look no older than thirty. His teeth were also sparklingly white, a gleaming brightness he had gained from a chemist friend that served him peroxides.

His bespoke suit was a white-pinstriped charcoal, which clung to him off the thirty-plus measurements the skilled tailor had painstakingly measured. The fine linen clung to him like a perfect skin, slimming on his already slender figure but never clinging or binding his athletic frame. Tall, smiling, and bursting with confidence, he tucked his daggers snugly into his belt-sheathes. For now, his precious gauntlets, made from the hide of Moonwing herself, would stay stowed in the carryall he kept neatly concealed beneath his left armpit.

Striding through the doorway into the bright foyer of the cozy hotel, Veritas flipped a single silver crown to the doorman as he strode out. Scrambling, the doorman graciously accepted the tip with a smile and deferential bow.

Lot more where that came from, my friend. I’ll be raining tips today.

Storm Veritas smiled in the bright morning sun, warm but comfortable as it spilled across the exposed skin of his hands, neck, and face. The snug knot below his throat was rose colored and shined as men and women stole passing glances at the unknown diplomat who strode with the confidence of the very mayor of Radasanth.

The walk was relatively quiet for a Saturday, Radasanth Center Market busy but not obnoxious. The crowds that filled the streets hovered close to the market stalls which took residence on the weekends, and afforded him an anonymity amongst the masses he would soon discard.

Coronian Kings was a white stoned building in the center of town; the only casino which actually paid proper taxes to the city for a gambling license. Naturally, there were dozens of townships which would service an array of low and mid-range gamblers, however “Kings” was the only spot where a man could lose his life savings in short of an hour. The door was held by a handsome gentleman sporting a full tuxedo, with a regal accent and finely waxed moustache.

“Good morning, Johnson! They still play cards in this shithole?!”

Flabbergasted, the bouncer of the establishment became wide-eyed until his hand was filled with two silver crowns. Silence and a confused smile was all the professional could offer as he held the door open for the world’s most famous nobody.

Holy shit, you mother*ckers are PATHETIC!!

It was a Saturday morning, but the degeneracy of gamblers knew no clock. A heavy drape of smoke hung over the massive, sprawling interior, where a horrific carpet loudly protested with absurd colors beneath a densely packed spread of felt-capped card tables. It seemed that every table held several people, and hundreds of droning conversations mixed with sporadically excited shrieks to create a numbing white noise that flooded the spectator.

Storm quietly walked to the back of the room, where a single velvet rope blocked the plebeian class from the back lot of card tables, where stakes were higher and the noise far more muted.

“Invitation” the wizard explained, pressing three gold crowns into the hand of the security guard overseeing the exclusive area. The lie wasn’t checked; enough silver could open any door in a casino. Striding forward, things were looking fantastic for the experienced adventurer.

The bets are higher, the drinks stiffer, and the waitresses SO much hotter.

Before he could sit, a seductive brunette approached him, her tray of drinks suspended just below the ample cleavage displayed before her lingerie. It was shameless, but the men in the casino weren’t wont to complain.

“Just a water for now, sugar. Come and meet me with a whiskey in an hour.”

He handed a curve to her, which she graciously accepted between the soft, baby-smooth skin of her breasts. It was money well spent.

“Break a thousand?”

Eyebrows popped from every seat as the dealer met his request with a straight face and tidy stack of chips. As he sat at the table, Storm grinned broadly. Exasperated looks caught him as the high rollers were put off by the grandiose display of wealth.

Okay, Qu-Li. Bait is set. Come and get it, wherever the hell you are.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Radasanth’s stone intestines were a far cry from the grand Citadel building. The vaults and arches that sailed up far over the heads of those who visited Corone’s gemstone were replaced with cramped, damp passageways that snaked into dizzying lengths through the darkness of the underground. The series of tunnels led towards the far end city outskirts, where a single secret chamber rumored to be the resting place of the Goat sword allegedly stood. The floor at the entrance to the maze began with a plethora of patterned stone, each embellished with emblems and designs that had long outlived those who swore allegiance to them, but as one progressed further into the bowels of the underworld the gradual decay turned properly constructed tunnels into debris littered death-traps.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris had begged, borrowed and stolen to be allowed permission from the monks of the Citadel to enter the maze, all the while disguising the true purpose of his visit under the false pretense of surveying the structural integrity of the tunnel complex. Some falsified credentials supplied by the Brotherhood had fooled the Citadel’s guardians. As far as they were concerned, Shinsou was there to make sure half of the cobblestone roads in Radasanth above didn’t post a risk of becoming sinkholes that often plagued the city in this wet season. The Telgradian knew that the lie came with a cost – he had to ensure the time he spent down there was minimal, which meant working quickly and efficiently through the network to ensure a swift return that wouldn’t arouse suspicions.

Osiris was expecting a tough time, and that was exactly what he was getting. Filthy, wet and shivering both hot and cold from the effort of the last fifty-metre haul through the first of the decrepit tunnels, he now crawled on his belly, pulling himself face down into the empty blackness beyond. He moved slowly, feeling first with his hands for the quality of the footing, then shuffling forward no further than the irrepressible light that spilled from his sword Stygian. The corridors had now disintegrated into a series of cavernous ruins; ones mostly made of chalk and limestone. Shinsou’s gloved hands pressed on stone, washed smooth by century upon patient century of water filtering down from the city above. Stygian’s light showed bright trickles of damp everywhere, washing over flat, undulating limestone. Beyond the splash of yellow light was unknown territory, unmapped, unexplored, as likely to be a ledge and a bottomless fall as a flat cave floor.

A perfect place to hide an item of such value. I wonder; how did it manage to travel from the back streets of Alerar to here? Someone must have wanted it kept hidden, and I’d like to know why.

With cold-stiff fingers, the Telgradian established safety by stopping to set a bolt into the wall by the mouth of the tunnel. He clipped into it using a crudely constructed rope harness and tugged the rope to ensure that he had enough slack to pay out more rope if needed. By the light of the blade in his hand, Shinsou checked a compass and marked the incline and his estimate of its length and direction with a pencil on the chart that he kept in his chest pocket, where it would not snag on the tunnel walls. This chart was special, salvaged from the Brotherhood archives and Shinsou believed that it was the only copy of its kind still in existence.

Only after he had done all of these things did Shinsou turn and look up and round, and send the thread of his makeshift torch into the vast, cathedral-like space Bane had found for him.

“Enpera, come up here and look…”

He spoke to himself; Enpera was sealed away in the ivory hilt of Shinsou’s former sword. He tugged twice on the rope, saying the same thing, and felt a twitch and then the sudden slack as Osiris began moving towards a stable footing. Shinsou’s hands coiled rope as a habit, without any conscious thought. Putting the sword to one side, the Telgradian stood in the roaring silence and let this gift to himself stand still in all its vast, black perfection around him, so that he could remember it for the rest of his life.

The light picked out random lengths of stalactites and stalagmites, closing like shark’s teeth from floor to roof and back again. The glow of the flame reached out and splashed colour across the rising and falling calcite, drew rainbows from the constant sheen of water and sprinkled brilliant, living diamonds across the roof at each crack and angle of the rock. Shinsou was almost reveling in the beauty of it. Only as Enpera was manifesting himself out of the hilt to stand beside him did he at last follow a thunderous noise, turning west to shed light on a cascading torrent of a waterfall.

“This is it? This is the place?…” Enpera asked, awed by the scale of everything in front of him.

“Not yet. But this is the cavern I think precedes the chamber.” Shinsou whispered to himself as he stroked a palm down the smooth face of a calcite stalagmite that jutted from the floor. Despite the joy of finding the cave which marked a milestone in the exploration of the underground, the Telgradian felt the moment was bittersweet. “We’ve still a while to go. Stygian’s light isn’t enough here, either.”

Enpera nodded its jaguar-like head. “Let me provide some more light for you.”

Blistering incandescence spilled from the shadow beast as Enpera created a dark matter flare, made of his own special brand of magic. Under its light, the stalagmites appeared as virgin snow, the waterfall was a cascade of living ice, and all beyond the jagged shark’s teeth was finally visible, a greying white limestone arch halfway to the heavens now visible.

“How high do you think that is?” Enpera asked, surveying the dizzying heights of the archway beside Shinsou.

“A hundred meters, maybe even more. I’m not keen to find out,” Shinsou responded, pacing towards the opening of the archway, “…not when I can feel the Goat within my reach.”

[Storm Veritas]

The large, round table was met at the end by a statuesque blonde with porcelain skin and sapphires for eyes. In spite of her beauty, she dealt cards with a keen, swift skill that betrayed her veneer of charm and whimsy. In a simple light blue dress, she was both seductive and professional; it was an outfit that left plenty to the imagination. With a striking beauty such as this, men’s imaginations were likely collectively more than happy to oblige such imagination.

“Bets up, bets are closed. Good luck!” Her voice had a light, almost bubbly pop, but her eyes were razor sharp and focused on the entire table. Storm was transfixed for his first round, studying her before the others.

She’s good. No games, no bullshit. No false pretense. Adds legitimacy.

The rest of the table, some six feet in diameter, was met at haphazard increments with a handful of professionals. Comfortable yet suitable clothes, large stacks of chips being managed with an array of sleight of hand tricks. They were hunkered in, trying to beat each other fast enough to clip the house rake. Storm ascertained the red chips were ten, and the blue ones five. Green must be ones, because they were treated far more casually.

The only advice worth following in low-end games was to rely on patience in the absence of skill. A good hand was always hard to beat, and removed some of the need for the more refined tactics only a professional would know.

Soon, the soft cracks of decks shuffles and the rhythmic pffifft, pffifft sounds of cards sliding seamlessly across felt became just another part of white noise, as the magician quietly watched his chip stack bleed. He won a few hands, but lost many more, and kept a stoic appearance as he gradually lost money.

Plow through two piles, that will gain attention.

The aging magician could feel their eyes on him, as he accepted a whiskey and tapped a barmaid on her taut bottom. It was returned to the tray before she could leave, empty save a round, smooth blue chip. “Maybe a second will turn the tides…” he smiled, as she playfully rubbed at his back.

He embraced a small, subtle tic, squeezing the cards a bit more firmly when his hand was strong. Veritas knew this would cause a faint, nearly indecipherable whitening at his fingertips. It was exactly the type of tell that would bankroll these professionals, and earn their affection. Shortly thereafter, he was called on a bluff, emptying his stack. When he didn’t get up to leave, the other players did their best to not salivate.

“Cut me another double, sweetheart. That full boat was some kinda bull-shit.” A heavy handful of coins emerged from under his armpit, and he counted an additional two-thousand gold coins.

This time, the group of otherwise ordinary gamblers afforded the wolf in diplomat’s clothing more leniency, taking care to see if something was awry. His cherry bowled pipe joined theirs in layering the ceiling with a thick, blue-gray haze, and laughs began to pop as he ordered a drink for the five of them.

One of you must know Qu-Li. Which one of you sorry sons of bitches hold the key to the kingdom?

For now, he was patient, planning to pace his cash loss and earn their trust more deeply.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Enter with courage in your heart. Go forward as the darkness allows you. Step through night’s arch and come to the cathedral of the earth. Face the rising of the sun, and its setting, pierce the curtain to the well of living water and discover at last the entombed.

Shinsou lowered the inscriptions he had lifted, along with the map, from the Brotherhood’s vast archives. Softly, he repeated “come to the cathedral of the earth.”

“We have. So, next we face the rising and setting sun. But,” The Telgradian pondered, looking around the cavern, “we didn’t step through night’s arch to get here. We crawled through a tunnel that wasn’t there before half a tonne of rock fell into the original route. We need to find out where the original passageway was before we can work out where to go next.”

Shinsou stood at the margins of the magnesium white light that Enpera had produced moments before and turned in a slow circle. The makeshift flare cut a horizontal line along the wall, cutting through stalactites, snagging on outcrops and falling into a tall slice of darkness.

“There.”

He carefully ran over to it, soft footed on wet rock. The arch was more of a cleft, jaggedly asymmetric, higher than his up-stretched hands and broader than his arm-span. He followed the dark space cautiously, rounding a bend, moving into a narrower passageway.

“Shinsou?” Enpera was at the entrance, peering in. The Telgradian shouted back to him, cupping his hands against the echo. “This is it. The rock fall’s up ahead. It must be at least twenty metres thick. Our tunnel looped out and round to come out further along the cavern’s wall.” Shinsou reversed back towards him, playing Stygian’s light over the passage walls. Here and there were smudges of colour that barely held the light.

“I think there are paintings on these walls.” Shinsou could almost hear the awe in his own voice. He backed out, into the cavern, to the place where there was enough light to see. The Telgradian wanted to look around, to search the high walls for other signs of life here. The blood that coursed through his veins nearly fizzed with anticipation.

It was then he noticed that Enpera’s magical flare was fading fast. Gobbets of molten energy fell hissing to the ground. In the yellowing light, Shinsou saw Enpera strip back his black fur into sharp prickles. His dark hair glowed like gold in the poor light, and he had mud in his mane.

“Are you ready to deal with the rising and setting of the sun?”

Shinsou leaned forward, and coppery lights bounced off the passageway and lit the water. He smelt of sweat and excitement; perhaps even a little fear as he checked the compass on his wrist again.

“I think the riddle means we have to go east of the entrance and then west again. I know there’s a river by the north side of the cavern. Can you set up another on of those spells somewhere up there, so that it shines on the wall and the water together?”

Enpera knew he had enough energy left for three of those spells, and they had already used one, but neither of them had any idea how long they would be in the sprawling network of tunnels for. He complied, wedging a second molten sphere between two stalagmites at the side of the water-cut channel in the chalk, where Shinsou showed him. The bright light spat and flared and the black ribbon of the river became a thread of silver in snow.

“We have no idea how deep the water is, and it’s clearly too wide to jump” Shinsou noted, brushing aside his filthy brown hair. “We need to be looking for a bridge or a stepping stone, or something like that, so we can cross.”

Enpera was ahead of him, searching. He was bristled back with his eyes set ahead. The smears on his cheeks made the dark matter familiar look gaunter than he should have been.

“Why are we trying to cross the river?” He asked in a gruff tone.

“If I’m right,” Shinsou started, pacing forwards, “It’s the only good reason for us to be going east before we go west. There must be a crossing point to the east so we can walk back west along the north wall. The waterfall is a curtain and there’s a pool at its base that us as close to a well of living water as we’re likely to get.”

Enpera nodded. “It’s probably also as far from night’s arch as you can go in here. The sword is in hiding to be safe for posterity.”

Shinsou carefully stepped over a slippery rock, negotiating it expertly. “Exactly my point. It was wasn’t intended to be easy to find, but equally not impossible. Therefore, across the river, which you wouldn’t do by chance or even by choice unless you had to, makes the most sense.”

“Then we’ll cross here, will we?” said Enpera uncertainly.

Shinsou looked down quizzically at his footfall.

“On the stepping stones that look like fucking marbles?”

[Storm Veritas]

Time passed quickly as the group of men took turns pilfering Storm’s haphazard play. He was wise to it; understanding his style was fast and loose, meaning he lost more than he won but kept the group nervous. He’d bet recklessly, pushing coins in unevenly as the pile toppled, making counting the bet all the more difficult. Several drinks went down his throat with a warm rub as the thin wizard eyed the group. Knowing his liver was a well-oiled machine, a strong tolerance bought him some leniency. He feigned being more drunk than he was, but not more drunk than he should have been.

“Fold, fold, fold. All a bunch of goddamned pussies at this table! I thought this was the table where the real men played!? Am I lost?”

Don’t oversell it. No reason to slur, your word choice is plenty. Keep it simple.

Storm had avoided blinking for several minutes, resulting in tired eyes that appeared red and glossy. His cheeks had earned their pinkness; a little heat had settled in from several worthy mouthfuls of thin, watered whiskey.

The attractive dealer shot him an annoyed glare, her eyes a harsh contrast to the jovial smile that appeared plastered upon her at this point. The soft pfft, pfft rhythm of cards sliding seamlessly across the soft felt was almost hypnotic as she kept the game moving. While his antics annoyed her, they had also caught the attention of the “floor bull”, a barrel chested man with a sharp suit and shaved head that managed the casino. The newcomer drunk checked all the best boxes for him; spending freely, drinking too much, and looking easy to handle.

Another hand rose and fell, the gorgeous blonde clapping her hands and waving them before the group of degenerates. “Quick break! Five minutes, lock your chips!”

The hell!?

It all happened so quickly that the experienced drinker and cardsmith didn’t know what hit him. The other bettors leaned back, pulling at the buffer pad which had previously rested their wrists, uncovering small compartments with locks and keys. A quick shovel of chips into a chamber, the twist and pull of a key, and the men were up, chatting and drinking and laughing at each others’ collective maneuvers.

Where the… how do they… what if… the hell?

“First time by, eh friend? How do you like our Clara? Quite the dime piece, ain’t she?” The thick, short, neat man in a pinstriped suit with a shining head was talking to him, his voice silken and the odor of some pleasant if strong cologne unmistakable. He smiled and put an arm around the shoulders of an altogether motioning for the mound of coins the wizard had retained.

“Get those coins, you’ll need them. You’ve been tapped for a special game for the REAL needle-movers, if you’re interested.”

Jackpot.

“Is that so? Well your girl Clara moves my needle just fine, but I suppose that a more interesting game might be worth my while. These guys won’t throw more than ten crowns in on a hand, and there’s just no rush in this half-penny bullshit for me.”

Standing and satcheling his considerable bundle of coins, Veritas tapped the jingling pile for security as it was pushed taut under his arm once more. The recruitment continued as he was escorted to the kitchen, where after two quick turns he was redirected to a clean, pleasant, opulent room, filling him with only one coherent thought.

Holy shit.

The scent of fine tobacco hung in the air as a harem of women attended to a table of four men, this time the ladies topless and somehow more attractive than the beauty who just helped the casino scrape the top off his cashpile. After a second look, the mage concluded these ladies weren’t more beautiful, but rather the presence of bare breasts called the juvenile in him to the forefront.

“I think you’ll find the food, wine, women and wages here all the more interesting. Fifteen crowns is the buy in for each hand here, which I trust will better service your needs. If there’s anything we can get you… and I mean anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

A knowing smile from the recruiter reassured Storm as the squat man gently pressed him to the table. The faces that turned to him were welcoming, including one muscular young man with black hair pulled slick against his head. Dark almond eyes grabbed him from beneath tanned skin, the stranger sitting in more of a throne than a seat.

“Sit down, friend! Always welcome a new roller ready to enjoy the rich life of getting poor quickly!” A razor rasp echoed beneath the voice of the would-be king; he barely moved as the other two stood to shake hands.

Qu-Li. Your ego precedes you. Sorry Jackson, it’s a bad day for you.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The stepping stones that looked like marbles also rolled like the damned things underfoot.

Shinsou made Enpera wait while he set up a bolt and strung out two lines at right angles to give him as much security as possible before he tried crossing again. He was glad of the lines when the third stone rolled under his feet and the Telgradian felt the strength of the black current push against his calf.

“That’s fucking cold!” Shinsou might have tried to deny it, but his hand was now clutched around Enpera’s body next to him to give him some extra stability and bounced in time with the his own shuddering to belay the effects of hypothermia.

“Caves are always cold,” Enpera retorted, “You’ll be fine when we get moving again. Besides, it’s not a bad thing to be already cold if you have to do any sort of swimming in here.”

“We’ve got too much gear to do any sort of long distance swimming.” Shinsou sounded anxious, which was not like him at all. The water had un-nerved him more than either of them had expected. “Also, we might need some more light from you, and considering your flares won’t light if your fur is wet we might have a problem.”

The Telgradian frowned. Already he was regretting the profligate waste of the earlier light. His world was limited to the meek circle of the light Stygian offered beside him. In all of the looming darkness, the noise told him more than he had seen of the waterfall, of its size and volume and the plunging depth of the pool at its feet. He tilted his head to look back up at the cataract, to guess its height. The elven blade’s light did not reach a point where there was no water, but right at the limit of its reach there was turbulence and a spray that reached far out into the cavern, dancing like the lights of fireflies.

The river’s head could be there.

When Shinsou looked down, his eyes followed frothing ice-cold water that plunged deep into the void of black to an immeasurable depth. For the hell of it, he found a stone the size of his fist and threw it in. It spun like a leaf in the violent water and vanished from sight.

“Pierce the curtain.” Enpera said, remembering what the cipher had instructed. “How do we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Shinsou replied, wiping his brow, “but according to what I read in the archive, the Goat’s fore-bearer did it four hundred and nineteen years ago without magic or safety ropes and as far as we know he made it out alive. So, we have to assume that it’s not as challenging as it seems. I think if we –“

“Shinsou?”

“-Take a look at the northern end of the rock face where the waterfall ends, then we-“

“Shinsou…?”

“-Might find there’s a hollow in the space behind the water that will let us – what?”

“I don’t think he did it.” Enpera’s voice was flat, leached of all inflection.

“You don’t think who did what?” Shinsou asked, wondering what his familiar was babbling on about.

“I don’t think the fore-bearer you spoke of made it out alive. Look at this…” Enpera gestured his snout in the dim light towards a collection of objects piled together. “There’s a skeleton here. Not a single bit of flesh on it, and a huge amount of limescale deposit. It’s been here for a very long time.”

Shinsou looked closer, kneeling down to inspect the corpse. The bones were starkly white, made thick and uneven by layers of chalky deposit that had welded it to the floor so that only the top half was truly visible. The Telgradian brought his torch closer, kneeling by the curved sweeps of the pelvis and traced the lineage from the toes to the skull with a finger. As his fingertip scraped over the surface, an ivory coloured residue collected on his skin. It was then the Telgradian’s eyes caught something small glinting in the fading light by the skeleton’s right arm. Shinsou carefully collected it, picking it up between his finger and thumb, and placed it in the palm of his hand.

“This ring; look at it. The runes on the edges look like Drow, but a much older dialect.”

“So?” Enpera queried.

Shinsou looked him flatly in the eye.

“The fore-bearer was from Raiaera. You’re right, this is him. Only, no Goat in sight.”

[Storm Veritas]

Sitting at the table, a wry smile spread across the face of the electromancer as he looked down his aquiline nose at the cards before him. He had noticed the opportunity early in the evening, but played with a bravado and lack of discretion becoming of a man allowing too much whiskey to slide down his palate. Here, with the stakes raised significantly, he would play up the advantage he had discovered early.

Metal in your inks… more than enough to tip the scales. If only you fools knew that you didn’t have a f*cking chance.

Indeed, it was a iron titanate that the card company had deployed to paint the blues in every face card in the deck. The slender, muscular mage didn’t know the first thing about what “iron titanate” was, but he knew the effect all too well. When he tried to pull from metal sources around the table, the face cards would respond, a faint pull pulsing from them that he could feel without seeing.

“You wouldn’t hold it against me if I won a few, would you? You sons of bitches actually make the gambling a little interesting here.”

He played swiftly, knowing he’d have to clean Qu-Li out entirely if he were to foster a trade for the Rat; a perfect negotiating totem that just begged to find its way into the hands of the man that rode the lightning. He played the odds wisely, improving his chances with knowledge of each card of the table, at least to the extent of general magnitude of the card. Winning the third significant hand in a row, Storm tapped on his lap as he gestured to a remarkably beautiful “entertainer”, who looked like she had walked down from the heavens with a detour through a fetish shop.

“Hey, sugar! Ever see a man with a stack this tall and thick? I’ve got an open lap if you’re looking for a seat. Come on down and watch your hero take away from all these terrible men…”

The glare he caught from the other men fell upon him like the breath of Sunwing himself, but Veritas simply scoffed with a cocksure grin and kept betting more heavily. The others met his posturing, and he dropped a hand or two before he began lightening the pockets of everyone at the table. The smooth-faced man he knew to be Qu-Li excused himself for a quick break when things went sideways.

Too easy. Candy from a group of goddamned babies…

A thin, wiry old man looked blankly at the inexplicably fortunate newcomer, staring down the last segment of coins he had brought to the table. His face perfectly stoic, the largest bet of the evening split the duo, as Storm’s strong straight looked tremendous against the table. Only a combination of two face cards could beat him from here. Determined to be sure, the experienced wizard focused on the grip of his opponent, trying to know with absolution that his cards were not both face cards. He neglected to account for the watch on the man’s hand, hidden by the cuff of long sleeves. The old man’s eyes widened with exasperation and confusion as he stood, shrieking.

“The ‘ell is that!? What’s this filthy son of a whore up to?!” The old man snapped at his affected wrist, and out popped no watch, but rather a concealed pistol. It had been pinched against his skin, and certainly accounted for the pulse which betrayed the newcomer’s game. The low-caliber weapon in hand, he began to raise the barrel to face the sinister Storm Veritas. It was, of course, a futile effort.

You’re not in my f*cking league, gramps.

Having manipulated fine fields of electromagnetism all night, the ability of the electromancer was operating at a fine point. Without any thought or hesitation, Storm raised a single palm in a flash of white and blue, a crackling bolt exploding from his flesh, manifested through his own self preservation. A total mismatch, the bolt arced in a blink, hitting the man with an indescribable force. A thunderous explosion filled the room as the wiry old man was blasted out of his seat, through the air, and through the wallpapered wood panel wall which separated the high rollers from the riff-raff. He landed dead in the next room, a cloud of smoke disguising the horror. A large, jagged, haphazard and freshly minted hole in the wall was ringed by a combination of char and blood, with remnants of flesh hanging from some jagged splinters.

The smell of ozone and smoke filling the room, the other gamblers were knocked to the floor by the concussive force. Whether they were knocked unconscious was irrelevant; none of them would dare to reach for a weapon in the wake of such carnage.

The other patrons caught in the melee were broken into two packs: a herd of topless prostitutes and barmaids desperately running to the front of the house to safety, and Qu-Li running back to a different room, looking over his shoulder and saying nothing.

“Relax, jackass. I only killed old man winter because he came at me. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.” Storm’s words were spoken loudly toward the back room, but were likely muted by the chaos of white noise he had created with his explosive display.

Qu-Li had run into a room which had no windows. Only a hanging string of beads partially obscured what appeared to be an office/panic room. There were probably a couple of guards awaiting the wizard, but time was now on his side. He paused to languish briefly in the madness, adjusting his cuffs of his pinstriped suit and filling his satchel with abandoned gold left atop the poker table. The smoldering elder wouldn’t need the money, and Veritas knew with great certainty that he didn’t have any f*cking face cards to have beaten him with, anyway.

He took a deep breath by the doorway, trying to get a feeling for any metal beyond him in the next room. Knowledge of a poised rifle, for example, would prove very useful.

Nothing. The hell is he thinking?!

This wasn’t the first rodeo for the mage, and he pulled his daggers into his hands before he made his move. With a swift pop, Storm dramatically rolled into the room, bounding through acrobatically toward abandoned hardwood and instantly raising his blades towards the waiting guards. Unfortunately, with no such guards present, Storm’s daggers would go thirsty, and quickly found their leather homes by his belt. It was an abandoned office, with an upturned rug and discarded slab of hardwood, a tear-away section which led to a circular, stony ring in the floor. A small side table had been capped with two empty white felt fingers, where the Rat had previously perched.

The smell of must was unmistakable; the low light below bounding up to him from damp, mold-stained cobblestones. Qu-Li had fled into the sewers below.

Sewers. New suit. I’m gonna kill this motherf*cker.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou shook his head as he inspected the calcium frame prostrate before him. In his time, he had seen many similar sights, although none that were as ancient as the one in front of him. He knew what to look for and, habits being as they were, proceeded to perform a quick post-mortem.

“It’s hard to see through all the calcium deposits, but there are no obvious breaks, no fractures in the spine or legs bent at severe angles.” He said, carefully inspecting the skeleton by his torchlight, being sure not to accidentally break anything. Though technically the bones should have been preserved and perhaps reinforced by the calcium deposits, there was still a chance that bones that old would be brittle.

Enpera stood back a little bit as the Telgradian continued his inspection. Stygian lit only the skull, the empty sockets of the Raiaeran bladekeeper peering into his soul. As Shinsou scurried around the site, making his observations, the jaguar by his side very suddenly remembered why they were there.

“The Goat. If this is the elf, where is the sword? I couldn’t see anything else lying around.”

Shinsou shrugged. “Maybe it was hidden by him before he died? The ciphers allude to more we have yet to see for ourselves.”

Enpera was silent for a moment. “Tell me though, Shinsou…why do you seek the blade?”

Osiris suddenly straightened. His body language seemed closed and that was something that Enpera hadn’t seen since he had first met the former emperor of Telgradia. His response was hardly convincing and totally predictable.

“It’s a collectors item. That’s all I’m obliged to say.”

“So what?” Enpera asked, perhaps a little forcibly. “What does someone like you want with a simple sword? When did we start keeping secrets from each other?”

“The simple answer,” The Telgradian started, with a little fire in his voice, “is that I’m not sure of anything at this moment. I only know what the Brotherhood’s old archives told me, which wasn’t much, so I will be in a much stronger position to inform you once I obtain it. One thing I can say is that, from what I’ve read, I believe it is connected to Arius Mephisto,” Shinsou continued “The elf we see before us was Arius’s chief armourer. He built the special breastplate that the Brotherhood’s council kept in Whitevale to influence the people. Me and Veritas destroyed that. Now, the elf offered him the sword too, but Arius refused it. I want to know why.”

“Why, though? What’s so important about knowing?” Enpera asked.

“Knowledge is power.” Shinsou’s argument was barely convincing, but Enpera realised he was going to get no more from his master.

Suddenly, Osiris’s eyes caught something beneath the right leg of the skeleton. It looked soft, but didn’t seem to have rotted and was covered in a shell of chalk. He wriggled it between his hands to break the fragile white layer. It was a leather bag, lined with something that had kept the water out. Being careful, Shinsou teased apart the neck of the bag and tipped the contents into his hand.

“It’s a pendant. Bronze, maybe, or copper.”

Shinsou rubbed some silt from the face of the metal, flipping the medallion between his fingers as his golden eyes poured over the surface. The light was ever dimming now, but from the little that was available he could make out some unusual markings. At another time, on another day, they could have made a joke out of this whole affair. One of the glues that bound them to each other was their scorn of the gullible.

“Can I see?” Enpera said, leaning over his shoulder. “Those markings look like they have been scratched on with a nail or the point of a knife.”

Shinsou shook his head, cupping the pendant in his ungloved hand before lifting it once more to the light. Bane watched as the colour bled out of the Telgradian’s face.

“This isn’t the elf. This medallion has a crest on it which looks like the Raiaeran royal seal, which makes this an emissary’s pendant. The guy we’re looking for was no emissary.”

Shinsou dangled the pendant over his forefinger like a rosary and gazed as its shadow swept in arcs along the length of the skeleton. He eventually spun a circle on his heel, sending the dying light of his torch bobbing out into the darkness. As he did, he pocketed the pendant.

“I’ll keep hold of this for now. We’ll try to figure out who it belongs to after we find the Goat and it’s bearer.”

He swept his light up the length of the cataract and down again. Though disheartened by the discovery that the Goat had yet not been found, Shinsou was also buoyed by the fact that the sword’s absence by that body could now be explained.