Strangers in the Night

[Sentinel]

Closed

The hour was late. The setting sun smeared crimson and orange across the western rim of the sky, fading light robbing most shapes of their distinct impressions in the shadowy evening. There were no posted guards on the outskirts of Underwood, and why would there be? The town itself was well traveled, but though the occasional ruckus was raised by greedy thugs or drunken mercenaries passing through as guards for travelling caravans, Underwood was a fairly safe, quiet place. It was a reassuring thought to Sentinel, but hadn't been enough to get him to move from his perch in the concealing roadside brush for over four hours.

Sentinel was a sentient golem, though heavy robes covered most of his thick clay body. He had watched the comers and goers move in and out of Underwood for quite a while now, steeling his courage to himself enter the cozy Coronian town. It hadn't been long since he had left the house of his maker to see Althanas and all its marvels firsthand, but the golem had already learned to be wary of the fear that his foreign appearance created in most of the smaller, meat-based races. Adolphus, the mage who had created Sentinel, and Mordechai, his priestly teacher, had taught the golem about such things, of course, for the instructions would have been woefully incomplete had they failed to do so. Even so, experiencing baseless prejudice and hostility firsthand was something far more personal and frightening than merely knowing about it.

He could stay outside in the brush through the night, he knew, for the cold and the damp meant little to a creature made of clay, but Mordecai had always told him that "giving into fear on the little things would make it that much easier to give into fear on the big things; until your fear rules your life instead of you." Sentinel knew that he was young and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but he was determined that fear should not rule his life.

Brush rustled and groaned as the massive golem tore himself free of their restraining grip. Smoothing the plain wool robes that Mordecai had given him on his journeys start, Sentinel confidently, though cautiously, made his way into Underwood.

[The Phoenix]

Afternoon had settled into evening and the Peaceful Promenade was in full swing. As Underwood's foremost combination of tavern and inn, the Promenade had become renowned Althanas-wide as one of the best places to advertise for mercenaries, meet fellow adventurers, and generally start a career in either heroism or villainy. Like always, the tavern portion of the Promenade swelled almost to capacity as soon as the sun disappeared into the trees. The noise volume swelled with the crowd, until the entire Promenade shook with a chorus of laughing, singing, and yelling voices. Up in his rented room, eyes closed in a meditative trance, Elisdrasil let his mind drift on the currents of the future, oblivious to the raucousness in the tavern below.

The last of the Raiaeran sect known as the Phoenix, Elisdrasil had left his homeland with the burden of both wanting to forget his former life and bearing the burden of restoring the order to its former glory. An offshoot of the Raiaeran Bladesingers, the Phoenix shifted their teachings to focus more on honing their prophetic abilities rather than the bardic magic that was the heraldic legacy of their parent guild.

Knowing the future had benefited the Phoenix, but it had not been enough to save them. They had learned of the return of Xem'Xund long before the necromancer's rise to power, but had been so absorbed in training Elisdrasil to fight against the demi-god that they had failed to protect themselves from the undead horde preceding him. The Phoenix, like so many of their Raiaeran brethren, had fallen in fire and blood. Now there were none but Elisdrasil who even knew that the secretive cult had existed, and he would not let them die with him.

Cautiously, Elisdrasil cast his mind into the void of the things that were to come, using his Future Sight to navigate the turbulent waters. He had only been an apprentice when the necromancer's armies had come, and was not nearly as practiced in the prophetic arts as his mentors had been, but he knew enough to catch short visions of what was to be.

Shadowy grey wisps of the future slipped by the meditating Raiaeran, ghosts of potential that failed to catch hold of Elisdrasil's mind. Even the most unlearned seer knew that the things they glimpsed in their visions were not set in stone, only the most likely course of events to occur. Even so, Elisdrasil found the ability to see even the dimmest of futures a useful tool.

A vision flashed in the Raiaeran's mind, a single clear point in the flowing stream of uncertainty around him. It was only the briefest hint of a glimpse, and it lasted for less time than it would take the seer to blink, but it had been enough. Bright blue-green eyes snapped to precision and clarity. Elisdrasil knew what he needed to do.

[Sentinel]

Sentinel walked quickly through Underwood without any outward signs of hesitation, though the stares that he received made him rather nervous. It was dark by the time he reached the Peaceful Promenade, an establishment with a sign that declared it to be the exactly what golem was looking for, but even with the darkness of night draped around his shoulders, Sentinel felt like there was a bright light being shined upon him. As true as his supposition had been that the last crowds of the working day would be gone from the streets by the time he entered Underwood, it had been impossible to make it to the inn without passing at least a few of the lingering travelers and residents out for a stroll or a night on the town. Not everyone who passed took notice of the golem’s towering height and massive girth, but those who did stared with as open a curiosity as could be found. Not that Sentinel faulted their locked stares. He knew how different his appearance was and that it wasn’t every day that you could see a seven foot tall man made of mud walking down the street. Even so, the words of caution that he had been taught echoed in the back of his mind, reminding him that there were people who were frightened by differences and who hated anything that they could not understand. Desperately wanting to find a warm, dry place to shelter for the night with a minimum of attention, Sentinel made his way to the back of the inn and rapped on the Peaceful Promenade’s back door.

There was a moment of silence behind the door, followed by a muffled cursing that became much more distinct as it swung open. “Who the hell’s out here pounding?!” The speaker, whoever he was, was a short, stocky man with a gut just beginning to drop down and a hairline going the opposite direction. He also had a flushed face that was crinkled in anger until he saw how his question was answered.

“I must beg your forgiveness,” Sentinel said humbly, his earthen face somehow managing to convey embarrassment. “I’m not always accustomed to my own strength. I had no intention of causing a disturbance by, as you say, pounding on your door.”

The door answerer’s mouth snapped shut, and his eyes blinked several times while he listened to the clay golem’s apology. “Th – think nothing of it.” He reached out absentmindedly and gave the door a solid whack with the back of his knuckles, “see, it’s – uh – it’s pretty sturdy.”

Sentinel looked down at his feet grimly, and shuffled slightly, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging between him and the man from the Peaceful Promenade.

Finally, after remembering who and where he was, a hint of impatient anger returned to the door answerer’s face. “Well, did you want something of did you just come to disturb me and then apologize for doing it?”

“No, I was actually hoping to rent a room,” Sentinel started, keeping his voice low. Then, as if suddenly remembering, he added, “I have money.”

Sentinel’s manner of speech raised the man’s eyebrow, “you’re an odd one aren’t you?”

The golem’s head sunk even lower.

“I know I’m different …”

“You misunderstand me,” the man interrupted, holding up a hand. “Now it’s my turn to apologize. I meant to say that you’re not loud and braggadocios like most of the crowd we get in here.” The words brought Sentinel a little out of his shell, and the golem finally raised his head to look at the man.

“Is that enough for me to rent a room?”

The annoyance on the man’s face transformed into a laugh. “You said you’ve got the coin, right? Then that’s enough. The Peaceful Promenade takes in just about anyone who can pay and stick to the ‘peaceful’ part.”

Sentinel’s face flowed into a smile, but that only lasted a second as he dropped his eyes again, “I was hoping to remain as inconspicuous as possible.”

This brought another laugh from the doorkeeper, “I don’t exactly see how that’s possible. I’ve seen cattle that looked smaller than you. But we’ve got a stairwell in the back which leads upstairs without having to go through the common room, if that works for you?”

Muddy lips spreading in a wide smile, Sentinel said that it would and fished the amount of money the man stated out of the coin purse that Adolphus had given to him.

[The Phoenix]

Elisdrasil moved around the room in a hurried, though not frantic, manner. His vision had given him the insight that he had wanted, but even with the power of future sight the Raiaeran found that he had little time to waste. Quick hands shuffled through everything in his travelling pack, laying the items out expertly on the threadbare quilt which covered his bed. The bag itself, once empty, was tossed into a corner so that it wouldn’t get in Elisdrasil’s way.

The armor went first, a dark matte grey body suit that covered Elisdrasil from his toes to his neck. It was a slender outfit, reinforced in key areas to absorb impact while still allowing him the best possible freedom of movement. He hoped that the armor would be unnecessary, as the fighting technique the old Phoenix masters had taught him focused on speed and agility over engaging in a static brawl. But, he thought as he slid the gloves on, it was far better to be overly prepared than to be a corpse.

His gentle curved Raiaeran blade went next, standing vertical in its sheath on his back. A small, light oaken crossbow went over that, locked back and loaded with one of the thin bolts that hung off Elisdrasil’s hip in a thin quiver. The bolts were packed tightly and secured into the foamy bottom of the quiver so that they wouldn’t rattle around and ruin any stealth endeavors. A simple oaken buckler locked over his off-hand wrist, and then it was time to put his hair up into a high-slung ponytail to keep it out of his way. All that remained was the white warmask which denoted his place as the last of the Phoenix Warriors.

“The Phoenix will once again fulfill their purpose,” he said to the mask, staring into its dark eyeholes, “we will fulfill our purpose.”

The mask hooked silently onto Elisdrasil’s belt and then, prepared for the night’s events, the Raiaeran took one last look around his room. Nothing was out of place and nothing was being left behind that was necessary to ensure that nothing was left behind. Seeing that it wasn’t, the Raiaeran slid the room’s single window open just far enough to slide out. Darting a look outside, Elisdrasil confirmed a sheer two-story drop from his room to the back alley, just as he had requested when renting the room. A rather large man was talking with one of the innkeepers at the other end of the alley, but given how focused they looked, Elisdrasil wasn’t concerned. It didn’t help matters that he didn’t have the time to waste on waiting for them to clear out either. Halfway out the window he paused one more time, as if remembering something major, and then peeped back into the room to make sure that the door was locked. Verifying that it was, Elisdrasil nodded and dropped out of the window, vanishing into the night.

[Sentinel]

Sentinel was pleased. He had not only achieved his goal of finding a place to stay, he had managed to remain relatively unnoticed doing so. It was going to be good to be out of the cold for a change. Though being out in the cold didn’t cause Sentinel any real harm, it did make him feel stiff and uncomfortable and he liked to avoid the sensation whenever possible.

The doorkeeper brought Sentinel the key to his room and pointed out where the stairwell in the back was that the golem could use to get in and out of the building with minimal attention. Sentinel took the key and diligently secured it in the satchel that he carried on his belt. He thanked the man and turned to head towards the staircase when his eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of something disappearing around the back of the building. Intrigued by what he had seen, Sentinel examined the area carefully, his eyes tracing the alleyway until it reached a partially open window on the second floor.

The light was on in the room that belonged to the window, and it was clacked just enough to make it look like the window had merely been opened for ventilation. It was a cleverly constructed disguise, but Sentinel knew what he had seen and was canny enough to connect the dots.

“Excuse me,” he said, grabbing the attention of the door keeper who had just been about to leave.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” the man answered, nothing but patient now that the golem was a paying customer.

“I was just wondering if it’s unusual for your patrons to exit their rooms from their windows.”

The man gave Sentinel an odd look, as if the golem had asked him what color the Queen of Scara Brae’s knickers were and then poked his head outside. He scanned the windows above until he caught sight of the same open one that had caught Sentinel’s. Upon seeing the partially opened window the door keeper shook his head ruefully.

“No, no, nothing like that,” he chuckled, talking slowly as if lecturing the giant golem, “our windows all open so that our patrons can get some fresh air or can enjoy a nice breeze if they want to.” He pointed at the bag where Sentinel had placed his key. “Yours will too if that’s what you want.”

Sentinel nodded patiently, understanding that the man had misrepresented his question but having received an answer all the same. It didn’t bother the golem that the man seemed to think him slow in the head. He was sure there were far worse things to have thought about him. The doorkeeper turned to leave once again and, when he was finally gone, Sentinel rushed down the alley towards where he had seen the shape disappear. It had looked vaguely like a person, though Sentinel hadn’t caught a good enough glimpse to be able to tell for sure. He scanned the open area that the alley led out into, hoping to catch another sight of whatever it was. Several moments passed and Sentinel was about to abandon he caught sight of it again. It was creeping quickly through the shadows two blocks away and it was human, or at least humanoid.

Curiosity piqued, Sentinel hurried to follow, finally forgetting his fears about the town around him.

[The Phoenix]

Elisdrasil moved as quickly as he could while maintaining his silence. The lumber warehouse that he was looking for was on the edge of Underwood’s processing district several blocks away and he didn’t have a lot of time to waste on skulking about. Whenever he did see someone, which was rare given the area that he was working his way into, he would stop and pull deeper into the shadows until the danger of discovery had passed. What the Raiaeran didn’t know was that someone had already seen him as was close behind on his trail.

The large sliding door leading into the lumber warehouse was partially open, though a quick glance at the other warehouses in the district told Elisdrasil that this wasn’t uncommon. Even so, it would have been suicidal for him to just stroll inside without checking the building out, and Elisdrasil wasn’t quite ready to throw his life away yet.

Silently slipping up to the door with practiced ease, Elisdrasil put his palm against the smooth planks and closed his eyes to listen. Voices caught the edge of his hearing, though they were made from too far inside to hear them properly. But though there were voices coming from further within the warehouse, there was a certain sense of stillness just inside the door. Elisdrasil knew that it was at least safe to enter the building. He reached up to unsnap the fastening strap on his blade as he slid into the shadowy interior, knowing that things could change at a moment’s notice. Letting his hand rest on the metal surface of his warmask for courage, Elisdrasil followed the trail of the voices.

He never noticed the much larger shadow which entered the lumber warehouse behind him.

The smell of freshly cut and tilled lumber filled his nostrils; the sweet scent of oak and cherry vying for position. It reminded of his home, so far from the island of Corone, and his hope to one day return there triumphant. But there were a lot of steps to go through before that could happen, and the lumber warehouse in Underwood was the first.

The voices got louder as he wound his way through the stacks of cut wood. He could make out what they were saying now, and every word confirmed what his future sight had told him. The lumber warehouse was the headquarters for a local group of thugs and bandits who resorted to highway robbery when they were unable to pursue their primary interests, importing drugs and weaponry from Fallien. It was a small time operation at the moment, but the glimpses of the future that Elisdrasil had seen, glimpses which had led him here, told the Raiaeran that the operation would grow exponentially if left unchecked.

The Phoenix had been born out of the desire to use their future sight for the benefit of Raiaera and had died pursuing that goal. Elisdrasil, the last Phoenix Warrior, may have broadened his horizons, but he wasn’t about to abandon the goal.

[Sentinel]

The man moved unlike anyone Sentinel had ever seen. He slipped from shadow to shadow with an elegant grace that Sentinel could never possess. Watching the man made him keenly aware of the limitations that his body placed upon him. But for all the capabilities that his body lacked, there were those that balanced the equation out. He would never move as gracefully as the mysterious figure, true, but he was stronger and more durable, and as far as he knew he wouldn’t age. There was so much about everything, especially himself, which the golem hadn’t yet learned. He was so curious, so full of questions, but right now the only question he had was what the figure he was following was doing sneaking into a lumber warehouse.

Once inside the warehouse Sentinel realized that he had no idea where the figure had gone. If he had thought it was dark outside, the shadowy interior of the warehouse made him reconsider what darkness truly meant. On the plus side, he could now hear voices echoing softly from deeper in the warehouse, somewhere beyond the stacks of planes logs. Was it these voices that had summoned the figure from his room in the middle of the night? Sentinel believed so, and so he headed deeper into the warehouse. After all, he figured, it couldn’t hurt to ease his curiosity. Plus, there was no one who knew he was here, so what could possibly go wrong.

Sentinel wove through the wood piles, making his way ever closer to the voices. He walked carefully, trying to stay in the shadows as he had seen the figure do. He never thought to look around, to search the walkways and scaffolding above him for observers. And while Sentinel thought that he was being sneaky, his feet slapped like paddles on the dusty floor. It was almost too easy for the shadowy figure to follow the golem’s progress to the back of the warehouse.

Unaware of how the roles had been reversed, Sentinel made his way through the warehouse with the patience of a living construct. He peered around the last pile of lumber, looking over the gathered men with a fascinated interest. There were five of them, gruff men who sat around talking and laughing. Three of the men sat by a small lantern, rolling something that looked to the golem like dice fashioned from the bones of some once living creature. The last two, cleaner and better dressed than the others, sat apart while they discussed some matter or other in a hushed tone. Ignorant of the ways of criminals, Sentinel had no way of knowing who these men were or what they represented, though the well used weapons they carried and the splotched stains on their dingy clothes filled the golem with an ill sense.

Curiosity be damned, he thought, realizing that he shouldn’t have followed the mysterious man into the warehouse, shouldn’t have followed him across Underwood. He should have taken his key from the innkeeper and gone to his rented room. Sentinel took a step backwards, intending to correct his mistake by leaving the warehouse without ever looking back. His retreat was cut off, however, by the sudden jab of a sharp point of metal in his back.

“Not so fast there, big man,” the thieves guard said, poking harder with his blade to emphasize his wishes. “I’d hate for you to leave without meeting the rest of the boys?”

[The Phoenix]

In one gigantic moment of blundering, all the careful threads that Elisdrasil had weaved came apart in his hands. He had noticed the watchman as he entered the warehouse and had maneuvered carefully to keep out of the man’s line of sight. Had the guard stayed at the entrance he would have been completely out of the way when Elisdrasil made his move. Now he not only had another man to deal with, but a hostage as well. The situation had become more difficult, but it wasn’t unmanageable. A good warrior adapted to survive the environment he was placed in, and though he considered himself just an apprentice, Elisdrasil knew that he would one day be a good warrior. Still, even an apprentice knew that he needed to bide his time perfectly.

“What the hell Joff?” all heads turned at one to look at the Sentinel and the guard.

“Who him? Just some poor unlucky sod I found poking around the stacks.” Joff nudged Sentinel forward with a prod from his blade. “Say hi to the gang, big boy.”

“I would say that I’m sorry to have caused you inconvenience,” Sentinel said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “But I have the feeling that you are not the type of people to accept such an apology.”

The thieves broke out in uproarious laughter at Sentinel’s words. “You don’t think much of us, eh, big guy? Too bad, we’re really a warm and caring bunch.” The leader made a dismissive gesture. “Kill him Joff.”

Knowing that this was the best chance he would have while still giving the hostage a chance to escape Elisdrasil stepped out of the shadows. “You’ve got better things to worry about.”

The brigands leapt to their feet with weapons in hand, facing the new intruder. Only Joff maintained his composure, keeping his blade firmly against Sentinel’s back. “Shit! Where did he come from?”

“Who the hell are you people?“ the brigand’s leader roared, waving his dented sword in the air as if it would cause everything to suddenly make sense.

“It doesn’t matter who we are,” Elisdrasil said plainly, his voice even and unafraid despite the trepidation he felt. “All that matters is that I’ve seen a future where you rise to power and sink this town into the depths of depravity.” One of the Raiaeran’s hands lightly caressed the war mask at his side. “I’m here to ensure that never happens.”

“You two against the six of us,” the brigand leader laughed. “And we’ve already got one of you.” He dropped the point of his sword into the bare floor and waved his hand dismissively. “Kill them both.”

[Sentinel]

Events unfurled too fast for Sentinel to process them. The kill order was given and the brigands around the lamp surged to their feet, weapons raised against the figure that Sentinel had followed into the warehouse. How the man had gotten around to the other side of the group without being noticed was beyond the golem’s comprehension, but he had somehow done so and was now forced to face the consequences of his actions by facing off alone against three brigands. Sentinel’s role as Adolphus’ guardian had been based solely on the golem’s size, strength, and durability, not on fighting prowess. But even an apprentice warrior knew that a man facing three opponents at once was a dead man unless he was either a very good fighter or had a trick up his sleeve.

All of Sentinel’s guardian instincts shouted at him to assist the stranger; to do something, anything, to even the odds. Unfortunately the blade at his back was too much of a deterrent for Sentinel to do what his instincts shouted at him to so. And then, when the blade pierced the back of his chest, he knew that he had far more pressing problems to worry about than a stranger.

Sensation was an odd thing for the golem. He registered the cold, sharp edge of the blade as it dug deeply into his clay body. It was an angry, scratching feeling that clawed at his mind. He had learned to associate that feeling as pain, but it wasn’t pain as the living creatures of flesh and bone knew it. And unlike a creature of flesh and bone, the sharp steel in his back was not fatal. It was, however, really, really annoying.

”Stabbed in the back before I could even get to my room,” Sentinel thought sadly as he rounded on Joff, tearing the blade from the man’s surprised grasp. The man mumbled some bit of surprise which was cut short by Sentinel’s massive fist crashing down on him. The blow crashed into Joff’s shoulder like a club, causing something inside to gave way with a loud pop. Joff’s shrill scream echoed through the warehouse, rebounding off the stacks of lumber until it built into a pained crescendo. As a guardian, a creature whose creation had been dedicated to protection, Sentinel winced at the sound of Joff’s pained cries. Something in him yearned for mercy but he also knew that there were times when a guardian was forced to hurt people in order to save others and that this was one of those times.

“I am truly sorry,” Sentinel said, contorting his arm to pull the blade out of his back. “But you brought this on yourself.”

Finally free to assist the mysterious figure, Sentinel turned, only to be blinded by a bright flash of light.

[The Phoenix]

”Spirits of the Phoenix guide me,” Elisdrasil thought as the three dice brigands surged across the empty warehouse back lot. He wasn’t really worried about a small rabble who couldn’t even manage a decent weapon amongst them, but the ritual helped calm him, ground him for what was to come. In truth, he was trying desperately trying to keep from grinning as he plucked the cool white war mask from his belt and placed it over his face.

Admitting he was anticipating removing this rabble from Underwood would have been unprofessional.

The war mask covered his face perfectly, shielding Elisdrasil from the world so that he could fully become the last of the Phoenix once again. This was it, his time to shine, to prove to his masters that their efforts hadn’t been wasted. Three steps out he drew his blade and with a simple command told it to flash.

The swordmage’s essence flowed through the blade and in an instant the entire room was lit with a brilliant burst of light. The three charging brigands stumbled back, stunned by the sudden brightness. Sentinel groaned and put his hands forward, stumbling blindly into the center of the room. Even the two leaders in the back, much farther away from the flash, had to rub their eyes to clear the spots that swam in them. But Elidrasil was untouched, the Phoenix was untouched.

Even if he hadn’t known to close his eyes the split second that his blade flashed, the special lenses in his war mask shielded him from the worst of the spell’s effects. The brightness faded as soon as it had come but by that time the Phoenix was moving, curve blade arcing around and through the three brigands. He was faster and better trained than the brigands and would likely have had minimal difficulty if slaying the three ruffians without the use of his magic, but there was no sense in biding his time dealing with them.

All three bandits were dead before they hit the floor, their jagged knives and crooked clubs bouncing in the steaming pools of blood around them. Elisdrasil wasted no time appreciating the surgical perfection of his attacks. Rather, the Raiaeran made a move for the two leaders, crossing the distance far faster than the brigands who had just come at him.

“Damn you,” the lead brigand hissed, pulling his sword from the ground and brandishing it before him menacingly. The other, who bore a heavily notched axe, raised it and leapt at Elisdrasil. The swordmage spun into the attack, using his sword and momentum to push the axe far to the outside. Defenseless, the brigand could do nothing but watch as the curve blade came back around and bit into his gut. The brigand fell to his knees in a pile of his own steaming guts, too shocked to even scream.

The last one lasted longer, but not by much. Perhaps he’d had some sort of training, Elisdrasil thought as the brigand’s sword slid off the back of his buckler. Given time he would have been good, real good. But then, that’s why Elisdrasil was doing what he was doing.

The last of the brigands died with a gasp, his windpipe severed by the razor edge of Elisdrasil’s curve blade. The only one left was Joff, who was even now struggling to his feet in an attempt to get away. In one fluid motion Elisdrasil had his sword planted in the ground and his crossbow up and at the ready.

He fired.