View Full Version : Lands Less Familiar
This is closed to me, as a solo. Swearing/Alcohol are frequent occurrences, as a warning to any who mind their presence.
-1-
The first thing Callan Blacksnake had noticed when he stepped off the majestic ship Ochre Scale and onto the docks of the primary port in Dheathain had been the heat and humidity. He had felt the temperature slowly rising as he neared the shores, but coming up from below decks and exiting the ship had rendered him sweating in mere seconds. It seemed the wood of the docks sunk a bit with every press of his boot, as if the humidity had left it permanently permeable. The very air felt thick with vapor, just walking through it would be enough to wet one’s face if it wasn’t already drenched in sweat.
The second thing Callan had noticed was the open hostility of the drakelings populating the docks. The strange part-human and part-dragon creatures were almost all larger than the Fallien, and not a single one on the docks had shown a hint of friendliness. Workers made sure to “accidentally” jostle him as they passed, and some of the younger seeming ones called out insults like “smooth skin” or used the word human in a clearly derogatory manner. The captain of the Ochre Scale had warned any first time passengers not to expect any kindness from the drakelings, but Callan hadn’t realized they would be quite so antagonistic. One of them, standing guard at the entrance into the city, had at least seemed mostly indifferent to Callan's lack of scales when he perfunctorily questioned the swordsman's business in Talmhaidh, and that was the closest thing to respect Callan had encountered in the past hour.
After gaining access to the city, he had gone in search of a tavern to relax and possibly celebrate his safe arrival. He had heard that it was not uncommon for ships going to Dheathain to simply wander off course and never be seen again, or during the summer season to be swept up in massive coastal monsoons. It would have likely been both safer and less humid had he waited for a better season for travel, but Callan was not one for being overly concerned with safety. Furthermore, he had wanted to arrive as soon as possible.
Dheathain. It was in Dheathain that he hoped to learn more of his mysterious gift with metal. He had searched Corone extensively for a wizard who could teach him more about his mental magic, but he had found nothing truly useful. A few were able to bend metal to their will, but their magic was far different from his own and none were able to teach him as they could other students. However, several of them mentioned a race that was uncannily adept with the elements and might be able to shed some light on Callan's unique talent. The mystical beings they described were the Fae. Specifically, a couple scholars seemed to think those that resided in the deep forests of Dheathain would know the most.
It was clear that some of the men he had sought out had machinations of their own; many promised him gold and treasure for bringing back artifacts from the strange land, and it was an ignorant man indeed who had not heard of the dangers of Dheathain. Had only one of the magicians suggested a trip to the humid land he would likely have not listened, but the fact that multiple had singled out the Dheathain Fae lended credence to theory that they may know more about his magic. Deciding he would learn no more in his now native land of Corone, he got on the Ochre Scale to head for lands less familiar, helping to bring heavy crates of goods onto the ship and working as a temporary sailor in return for food, lodging, and passage.
The trip had been decidedly uneventful, but he had still wished to celebrate his arrival with a drink or two. However, in the first bar he had walked into he had been flatly ignored by the barkeep. A few of the scaly patrons had giving him harsh looks of disapproval, and a few muttered curses under their breath, but the bartender simply didn't even look up at him. After asking for a drink thrice unsuccessfully and getting no response even from brandishing gold at the drakeling, Callan decided to leave.
The next couple bars he visited treated him to similar behavior, but the fourth was decidedly the worst. He was met with open hostility, many of the dragon-men yelling at him to leave. The barkeep brandished a giant battle axe, retrieved from under the counter. The Fallien left in a hurry. In his rush he accidentally walked into a strange man a head shorter than him, but upon closer inspection it proved to be no man at all; the being had an oddly feline face and elvish ears. He was also missing a leg, but seemed to barely struggled at all in regaining his balance, using an oddly shaped cane to catch himself without much effort.
“Sorry, sir,” Callan mumbled quickly, turning to leave.
“I'd stay away from the Draconians lad,” the man remarked amicably.
“That seems like good advice,” the swordsman replied with a wry grin, turning back around. This was the first hint of friendliness he'd encountered in Talmhaidh, and he was suddenly quite against leaving the being's presence. “Pardon me, but I've only heard them called drakelings before; is Draconian the proper term here?
The amputee, or at least Callan assumed he was an amputee, smiled broadly but shook his head. “Not quite. I take it you're new to Dheathain?”
“Indeed. I arrived not much more than an hour ago and was merely seeking a place for refreshment,” Callan answered. Suddenly a thought dawned on him, and he asked, “I apologize for my ignorance, but are you a Fae? I don't mean to be rude, I've simply never met one before.”
“Why of course! I realize my kind is not quite as common on the other continents, but I did not realize we were so rare. Surely you've at least seen one of us before?” the Fae inquired with a furrowed brow.
“Come to think of it I may have passed some in Radasanth. That's a city in Corone,” Callan added hastily, not sure how much the populace of Dheathain knew of the rest of the world.
“Yes, I've heard of Radasanth,” the Fae replied cheerily. “I suppose my folk may not look quite like the Fae in the rest of the world. In any case, a quick lesson: our scaly friends are divided into castes based on the purity of their blood. The lower castes are referred to as drakelings, while the upper two castes – you'll pick them out by their wings or abnormally small stature – are called Draconians. Neither will likely give you the time of day, but I would hesitate to even look at the Draconians. They tend to be a feisty bunch.”
“Feisty might not be the first word I'd use to describe them. The barkeep in there threatened me with an ax taller than I am just for entering. But the Fae? I would hope the rest are as friendly as you?”
“In Talmhaidh I would hope all the Fae you meet treat you well. We don't mind humans. The deeper you head into the grand forests of our beloved Dheathain, the less trusting the my kind will be. That goes for almost anyone or anything you meet farther away from the coast of this land, I fear we're not the most hospital of countrymen. Speaking of which, I also fear I've failed to introduce myself. I am called Laidh Choim,” the Fae said, extending his hand and smiling amicably.
“A pleasure to meet you,” the Fallien replied as he grasped Laidh's hand to shake, “I'm Callan Blacksnake, and I suppose if half the stories I've heard of the dangers of Dheathain are true that you have reason not to be too trusting." Ever since realizing the creature's race he had been burning to ask about their magic, but had not wanted to be any ruder than he already had been. When the Fae did not reply for a moment, he took his chance: “I realize this might be an odd question, but the reason I've come here was actually to find the Fae. I've heard your kind is skilled with magic?”
Although Callan hadn't thought it was possible, the Fae's smile widened more, as if his face was shifting to accommodate a bigger grin. “Indeed we are! I fear that those of us in Talmhaidh are not particularly adept with most of the elements, however. Many of us give up some or all of our magic in search of a higher form of spiritual fulfillment. Others simply lose touch with the elements due to living so far from our home of Donnalaich and adopting a more human society. I myself have retained some of my bond with wood, and you will likely find a handful few others skilled with wood and water here in the city.”
Callan had assumed the Fae to be only a few decades older than himself at most, but in light of his former display of ignorance decided not to ask the elder his age. Instead he pressed him further about the Fae's elemental mysticism: “And are the Fae in, er, Donnalaich, more gifted with the elements?”
“You'll need to work on your accent a bit, lad,” Laidh suggested with an amiably wink. “But yes, there you will find Fae able to work wonders that would no doubt astound you. What is it that you seek exactly? I would imagine you would find plenty of magicians willing to teach in Radasanth... Or even the Outlander's Post,” he added with a sly grin.
“You're quite astute,” the swordsman said with a chuckle, taking the Fae's meaning immediately. “And more worldly than I had realized. Was it the accent or the eyes?”
“The eyes, lad. I'd name you a Coronian if I had not the use of my sight. Anyways, I would imagine you're still in need of refreshment. Follow me. The Lusty Draconian should be for more agreeable than any of the bars run by actual draconians, and you can finish telling me your purpose here on the way,” Laidh insisted.
“That would be terribly kind, sir-” Callan began before being interrupted.
“Laidh, please. If nothing else it will give you a chance to start working on adopting a third accent. You'll need to, by the way, if you plan to ingratiate yourself with the dragon folk or many of the Fae away from the coast.”
“Laidh, then. I'd appreciate it greatly, but I do not wish to trouble you if you're busy...”
“Nonsense, I'd welcome the conversation. You seem... different from most of the humans I've met, and I would enjoy hearing more of your ambitions with the Fae. After all, there are not many I meet who are so eager to brave the perils of Dheathain.”
“Lead on then,” Callan said with a smile. He liked Laidh already.
Laidh walked surprisingly quickly, and Callan quickly decided that the Fae's wooden cane was not being operated by physical force alone. Although held in the man's hand, he moved as easily as if on two legs. Laidh led him through the narrow streets without pausing, clearly very familiar with the layout of the city. Many of the paths were only spongy earth, but a few were mercifully cobbled with stone. Around them buildings primarily made of granite arose in various heights, some tall and others quite wide. Along one road many wooden stalls had been erected by merchants and rugs had been laid on the moist ground by hawkers. None of these wooden formations seemed permanent however, and Callan thought that most could be taken down within minutes. He'd heard the weather along the coast could be fickle and that during the monsoon season floods were common, and it showed in the city's architecture.
It didn't detract from the charm of the port, however. Callan was already growing a little more accustomed to the heat and humidity, although he could not wait to remove his leather jerkin and find a lighter cloak, perhaps made of vlince. He'd likely need to purchase some kind of wax or oil to keep his jerkin and leather scabbards in good condition, but he thought it would not be hard to find along the long stretch of market they had passed through. The air had a pleasant salty tasty and smell which managed to overpowered the usual scent of sweat and refuse that typically plagued large cities, especially ones as warm as Talmhaidh. The sky was wonderfully clear and the sun intensely bright, but Callan's tan skin was not like to burn. As they walked through the city at a pleasant pace, they discussed the Fallien's reasons for coming to Dheathain.
“As I've mentioned, and now seen,” the swordsman started, nodding at the Fae's cane, “your kind are quite skilled at manipulating the elements. I have a similar talent with metal, and wished to learn more. I've been told that some of the Fae are attuned with metals?”
“Not exactly. The four elements we can be aligned with are wood, water, fire, and earth. Within those four attunements there are various specialties, and I am sure that some or all of those aligned with earth would be able to manipulate metal. I wouldn't use the term manipulate though, Callan, especially if you do make it to Donnalaich. We have a very close bond with the elements, and they happen to do our bidding, just as we also do theirs. Manipulation has too strong a connotation of causation; we ask the elements to behave as we require, and they respond if they please. There is no force involved. If we tried to force the elements, I would imagine our powers would be much less impressive.”
“In what way would your power suffer?” the swordsman asked, interest now tremendously piqued. “I mean, specifically?”
“At the least we would not be able to move or mold the elements in elaborate maneuvers, or with as much strength and speed. Perhaps also we would not be able to affect them at all, or only with such items as we were terribly familiar. Just as every race is made up of individual beings, each element could be thought of as made up of the individual objects made of it. That's a bit simplistic, actually extremely simplistic, but it hopefully gives you a basic idea. Although the forests and other wood in the world might reject my commands if I were to try to manipulate them, I could likely still use my cane.”
“I think I've come to the right place,” Callan noted.
“And why is that, lad? Could not the wizards of your land, or I suppose I should say lands if I were to indulge my pedantic nature, teach you of their magic?” the Fae asked with interest.
“No. Not at all. They were rather surprised, as most claimed to be able to teach everyone at least a small bit of magic. But none could explain with gifts, and none could teach me theirs.”
“Gifts?” Laidh asked.
Even without turning to look at him Callan could tell the Fae sported a grin, and a rather knowing one at that. Callan extended his closed left hand, holding it facing his right shoulder. With a slight flicking motion he opened his hand and his dagger flew gracefully from its sheath on his right hip and into his hand, which closed around it with obvious familiarity. He turned his wrist a bit and the dagger slipped out of his grasp and glided around his hand in a circle, turning so that when it was once more in his hand it was pointed the opposite direction. Then he made a small pushing motion with his fingertips and the dagger quickly flipped around and floated back into to its place on his hip. He had been careful not to exaggerate his movements or do anything terribly fancy, as he disliked drawing the eyes of onlookers; as it was, it seemed none but Laidh had noticed.
“Bravo,” the Fae said appreciatively. “I might ask, however, if it is only with physical movements that you can cause your dagger to move?”
“I can manipulate it with just my mind, but the movements tend to help make it more... fluid. It helps if I picture doing whatever it is as I would if I was holding the object physically. I can do it with my sword too. Actually I can manipulate my sword even better, but I can't seem to affect anything else besides the two blades.”
“There you go again with your manipulating,” the Fae said in mock scorn. “I imagine you were correct in thinking my kind could teach you more, as I don't believe what you just did was truly magical, and neither is our communion with the elements to be completely precise. But I'm not sure you'll receive the training you've come for. I fear you wish for more power, but what you require is more restraint.”
Callan was a bit perplexed, but thought he might understand the Fae's meaning. Or, at least, part of it. “I don't think I'd be far off the mark claiming you to be more wise than any of the magicians with whom I've made palaver. Perhaps more wise than all of them combined.”
“I'm not in the business of boasting so I won't agree with you, but I might note that I've also likely lived longer than many of those you've met. Plus, the Fae tend to be more in tune with our spirituality than your folk, which I suppose may manifest itself in a form of wisdom. Tell me of your spirituality, Callan Blacksnake.”
“Are you asking after my religion? I fear I have none,”the swordsman replied, a little confused. Although he was rather intelligent, or at least had thought himself to be before meeting Laidh, it seemed his method of thinking was not quite in alignment with that of the Fae. He wondered if this was a racial difference, or merely a disconnect with Laidh specifically, but didn't voice his thoughts.
“No, Callan. To be blunt I am of the opinion that religion is a perversion of one's spirituality. Spirit comes from within, whereas... Goodness, we've gotten into a rather intricate discussion, haven't we? We've been acquainted scarcely ten minutes and we're discussing the nature of the world and its inhabitants, both physical and elemental. Come, the Lusty Draconian is around the turn, I think we should put aside this heavy talk for now and perhaps get to know each other a bit better first. I must say I rather like you. You are, as I said earlier, not quite like most of the other humans I've met.”
Thinking back over the conversation, Callan realized it really was a bit odd. He had merely bumped into the elderly Fae (or at least Callan assumed him to be elderly), and within minutes was discussing the intricacies of magic and spirit. The Fallien often found himself able to engage his fellow man in intimate conversation without much effort, but this was unusual even for him. In part he supposed it was due to his eagerness to learn more of his magic – if that was what it was – but it seemed terribly coincidental for the first Fae he ran into to be seemingly equally eager to learn about Callan.
"First round is on me," Laidh offered, the pair having just taken their seats inside the tavern. "Actually, all rounds on me. My treat. I hope to repair any damage done by the Draconians to your first impression of Dheathain."
Before Callan could speak in either protest or acceptance, the bartender walked over, knife in hand, and spoke to Laidh, clearly familiar with the fae. "Now you listen here old man," the likewise aging human said gruffly, "I distinctly remember telling you to not to return without the company of at least three tourists! Three! Now I may not be a learned man, but I will be damned if I don't know my numbers to three." He held up three long, thin fingers one by one, the fingernails stained and grimy, then slammed the knife down into the table, leaving it quivering in the dark wood. "That right there," he continued in almost a shout, gesturing towards Callan, "is a prime fucking example of the number one. If I count your fairy ass, and I sure as hell wasn't planning too, I still only have two. Where's my damn third?"
The smile never faded from Laidh's lips. "Well," he said mildly, seemingly totally unruffled by the barkeep's outburst, "I suppose you could join us, young Tohm. I think you would make a terrific third."
The bartender cracked a grin and replied cheerily, "I thought you'd never ask," before fishing three clean -- at least visibly -- shot glasses from beneath the bar. He filled them with a dark, viscous liquid poured from an octagonal glass decanter then topped up each one with an off-white cream. With a practiced middle finger he flicked a glass to Callan, and then one to Laidh, leaving the finger extended for a moment longer than necessary and giving the fae a glare of mock distaste.
"To your safe arrival in Dheathain," the enigmatic purveyor of alcohol intoned, giving a nod to Callan, clearly no question in his mind as to how recently the sweat-drenched Fallien had arrived. The three raised the glasses to their lips and downed the frothy shot. Callan nearly gagged. It was not a horrible taste, in fact it hit his pallet like a sort of creamy licorice, but it was easily one of the most alcoholic things the young man had ever imbibed, and he was certainly no stranger to drink. "Taken like a man. May the Hunter provide you with some luck in this godforsaken jungle, son," the elderly man said solemnly, eyeing the bottle for a moment before taking a pull from it. It was unclear if the Hunter referred to some deity, the name of the drink, or both.
Even before the alcohol began to course through his blood, and despite his growing suspicion that Laidh was not quite what he seemed, Callan decided he was going to enjoy his time in Dheathain. Hell, perhaps his notion that the fae wanted more than he let on was part of the reason why. Here was a land of true adventure, of hard men and harder drink.
"So what's your name, lad?" Tohm asked as he cleaned a dirty mug with a dirty rag. The trio had all taken swigs of the dark liqueur, and the Callan had lasted scarcely a minute before the warmth in his stomach started to spread through the rest of his body. He welcomed the feeling despite the sweltering climate, though he had shrugged off his cloak between the two drinks.
"Callan Blacksnake," the Fallien said, extending his hand. Rather than shaking it, the bartender spat with expert aim onto the outstretched hand.
He quickly explained: "In Dheathain it's customary to taste a stranger's spit upon meeting them. A sort of display of trust."
Laidh chuckled at this and reprimanded the bartender. "Don't take advantage of the poor boy, Tohm, especially not after giving him your strongest spirit," he said with feigned severity. The fae reached into his back pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, handing it to Callan before the youngest of the three could embarrass himself in ignorance. Callan took the offered cloth with a mumbled thank you and wiped the phlegm from his fist.
"Give him an Lunar Blue ale, I think he'll develop a quick affinity for it," Laidh said in his knowing voice. "And a Hunter's Milk for me."
The barkeep set down the glass he had been purporting to clean, then grabbed another from a rack above the bar. He poured a healthy quantity from the octagonal bottle, then reached an arm back for a large tin jug and brought it up and over the glass, filling it the rest of the way with creamy milk. The drink looked exceedingly unpleasant to Callan. The liqueur had been sweet enough by itself; paired with milk the beverage could be nothing less than cloying. Nonetheless, as the bartender took the other glass with him towards some large barrels stacked against the far wall of the room, Laidh took a large swallow of the drink and then sighed in content.
"Not a fan of my drink, Callan?" the fae said when he noticed the human's look of apprehension. "I must say you've been rather quiet since we got here. Just a moment ago we couldn't seem to stop ourselves from mindless chatter; is the Lusty Draconian not to your liking?"
Callan smirked, and replied, "it is exactly to my liking, Laidh. I'm just a little overwhelmed, and perhaps a mite tired as well." Suspicious, too, he added in his head.
Laidh's jaw shifted downwards, his lower lip dropping slightly but not parting from his upper. The expression lasted less than a second before the smile returned, although the edges were harder and less natural. "Try to relax, lad. Dheathain can be a lot to take in at first," he said, adding when Tohm returned with a filled glass, "some things, and people, more than others."
"Would it bug you if I called you Snakey, Snakey?" the bartender asked as he set the beer down in front of Callan.
"I'd prefer you not to," he said as he raised the glass to his lips. It was a fairly light ale, with a distinct taste of orange. Rather similar, he noted immediately, to a popular drink in Fallien. Has Laidh been to the desert? No, he'd have burnt to a cinder. Probably was just told of the resemblance by one of the other 'tourists' he seems to bring by here.
"Good, Snakey it is," Tohm said with an obnoxious guffaw before turning to serve a few other patrons that had trickled in while the trio had mucked around.
"Now then," the fae said before taking a sip of his drink. "I believe we were discussing spirituality?"
"We were. I fear I've never really trifled with such matters. Growing up..." Callan paused, not wanting to mention that he had grown up as a bandit. "Other people in my childhood worshipped Suruvani, and I've met those who devote their lives to the thaynes. Is that what you mean by spirituality?"
"Not really, no. The fae believe in a different sort of spirituality, one we would say is purer than the worship of deities. A sort of inner divinity, formed upon your drive to empower yourself and become a better person."
"That rather appeals to me, in a way. I'm not sure I've ever strived to be divine, but I certainly try to improve myself in any way possible. Coming to Dheathain-" Callan replied before Laidh interrupted him.
"Come now, lad, you'll have to do better than that. Dheathain. Don't say it like a Coronian, say it like I do. Dheathain."
"Dheathain," Callan repeated, saying it a few more times before the fae nodded and waved for him to continue. "Anyways, I came to Dheathain to learn more about my abilities with metal, and to hopefully amplify them."
"That's good, Callan. But sheer power is not the only way to better yourself. The Fae strive to treat others well, and live a life worth living."
The Fallien nodded and paused, taking a deep drink of his ale. "And is deception part of treating others well?" he asked quietly.
He set his glass down and turned to look at Laidh, who was already staring at him. Their eyes locked for a few tense moments. The fae seemed to be peering into his very soul, and his face was hard and now bereft of the almost constant smile. Somehow, Callan had dismissed Laidh as an interesting, but harmless companion when he first met him. Even when he began to suspect the fae had more than just kindness as a motive to converse with Callan he had not thought for a second that he could be dangerous. But now, staring into his eyes, he felt a slight edge of terror gripping his bowels. The fae's face lacked all the former warmth it once held, the skin paler and the eyes darker. Callan could not stop his hand from slowly shifting towards his dagger.
"Oh, come off it," Tohm chided as he walked back over, "if you're not going to let me abuse his innocence I'm not going to let you have any fun either, Laidh."
Immediately some color flushed back into the Fae's face, his eyes lighting back up and his signature grin reappeared, this time lacking any signs of being forced. Callan hadn't noticed when the changes had happened slowly, but seeing the sudden jump now he was positive that the fae had somehow altered his actual appearance, not just his expression. His hand didn't move away from his dagger just yet, however.
"Tohm, my friend, I think I've found the man I need," Laidh said.
"I s'pose the Hunter will have to go on another expedition in that case," Tohm said as he picked up the octagonal bottle once more.
Callan placed his hand over the shotglass before the barkeep reached it and said, "I think there's something I'm missing."
"The particulars I'll fill you in on later. For now suffice it to say that I've a job to offer you. A job that could be rather lucrative," Laidh explained.
"And what was that trickery with your face? Some kind of test?" Callan asked, his other hand still close to his dagger.
Without warning small horns sprouted from the fae's forehead, followed by all color draining from his skin and both the whites and irises of his eyes turning pitch black. He parted his mouth to display enlarged fangs and a dark indigo tongue, lips curling into a toothy rictus. And the next moment his face was back to normal. "The Fae can altar their appearance to various degrees. I wanted to see how you'd respond, so yes, I suppose you could say I was testing you," Laidh said.
"People are starting to notice your hand on your butterknife, Snakey," Tohm said. "Let me poor you more alcohol before Laidh revokes his promise to pay for it."
With a shrug Callan moved both hands to his lap, clasping them together and twiddling his thumbs.
"There's a good lad," he continued. "I figure if you're the one he wants, Laidh won't be bringing as many travelers by, so I've got to milk him for all he's worth now."
They took their shot, and Tohm walked off to pacify some disgruntled patrons.
"I suppose I look like a fool," Callan said before draining the last of his ale.
"Nonsense. At first I was worried you were a bit too friendly, but you caught on that something wasn't quite right soon enough," Laid replied.
"So you've been looking for someone to hire for a while now I take it... And you decided to measure me up after I happened to bump into you?"
"You could say that... but considering I'd been tailing you since you stepped off the Ochre Scale it wouldn't be entirely true. I've been looking for a couple weeks now, waiting at the docks until I see someone who looks capable but new to Dheathain and trying to get them here to Tohm's one way or another."
"I guess I'll take it as a compliment that you picked me. What was wrong with the others?"
"A couple wouldn't even talk to me, another actually lived here. A few wet themselves when I gave them the glare, and the last tried to attack me."
"Oh? And what happened to him?"
Callan tensed as a blade was pressed against his neck. Tohm leaned past him to grab the empty ale mug, hiding his dagger from the rest of the Lusty Draconian. "I don't take too kindly to those that try to harm my friends, Snakey," he said. In an instant the weapon was gone, so fast that Callan didn't even see where Tohm hid it. The barkeep walked around the counter to wash the glass before departing to refill it.
"So I take it you've known Tohm longer than you've been looking for the right man to hire," Callan said.
"Yes, I've known him almost as long as I've lived in Talmhaidh," he said. When Tohm returned, Laidh continued, "he was a lot younger when we first met."
"Fuck off, geezer," Tohm said with a wink, and set the filled mug in front of Callan.
"Has he always been so charming?" Callan asked.
"I'm fairly certain he came into this world already cursing."
"I'd believe it. Decent fellow though, near as I can tell," Callan said before taking a sip of the fresh ale. "So you said you were only looking for people new to Dheathain?"
"Yes, but I'd rather discuss the details tomorrow. For now, let's enjoy our drinks in celebration of the deal we shall no doubt make in the morning. I'll buy you a room - Tohm has some for rent up those stairs yonder - so there's no need to worry about accommodations. Let's see if we can't get Tohm to join us for one too many, shall we? I've never been disappointed watching him try to bartend drunk."
Callan shrugged and picked up his mug again. He'd come here to learn from the fae, and perhaps helping Laidh with whatever task he had would yield a useful connection. Besides, he had never been one to turn down an adventure. He clanked his glass against Laidh's and drank deeply.
-2-
Callan rolled over and raised a hand to block the rays of morning sun.
"Past time you were awake, lad," Laidh said.
Callan grumbled in reply. Forcing himself to a sitting position, he rubbed the crusty edges of his eyes before shifting his hands to massage his temples. He breathed out slowly, and accepted the glass of water Laidh offered. The water tasted wonderfully pure and cold. After swallowing a few big gulps, he lowered the glass to the nightstand at his side and looked out the window for a few seconds to steady himself.
"I don't think I've woken up this hungover since my voice lowered," he said, recalling the first night he had ever partaken in spirits of the corporeal variety. The young men of the raiding band that had raised him had convinced him to drink far more than he could handle, and he had scarcely been able to move the next day; Fallien liquor was nearly as potent as the Hunter with which Tohm had welcomed Callan to Dheathain.
"A few weeks ago, then?" the elderly fae replied with a smirk.
"Fuck off," Callan said, but the umbrage in his tone did not reach his tired eyes.
"I see Tohm has corrupted you with his ways already. At such a young age, too."
Callan merely shook his head and then reached his hand back to his forehead, immediately regretting the movement. When Laidh made no further jokes, the Fallien turned (slowly) to regard the fae, now sitting on the bed to Callan's right.
"Did you get all your potential employees this drunk?"
"No, I fear I always seemed to have a terribly important errand to attend to after paying for their first or second drink. Busy life, you see."
Callan sniffed in reply, then cursed. "By the sands, my head hurts something fierce. Part of me wishes you had had an important task to see to before you drank me under the bar."
"Apologies. I figured I might as well leave you in vulnerable state. This way if you don't accept the job you won't put up as much of a fight when I have Tohm dispose of you.
"You're not a convincing liar."
"Well now, you seemed rather taken in by my act the other day."
"In my defense, I was still getting over my final bout of seasickness."
"Really? I'm sorry, I wouldn't have led you straight to the Lusty Draconian had I known..."
Callan smirked. He had found on his first voyage at sea, leaving Fallien to sail for Corone, that he had surprisingly sturdy sea legs. "First lesson on lying is free, the rest I'll have to charge for.
"I do believe I bought you quite a few drinks last night."
"A gift's a gift. Don't give it if you want it back." With considerable effort, Callan swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood, holding onto the nightstand for balance. "But I do appreciate it nonetheless. Certainly made my first night in Dheathain memorable. Well, parts of it at least. In any case, hungover or not I'm eager to hear details of this mystery mission you've promised me."
"Aye. I had Tohm start some food before I came to wake you. Let's head down and discuss it over breakfast, savvy? There shouldn't be anyone else down there this time of day."
Callan caught himself before nodding, and instead signified his acceptance with a wave of his hand. Grabbing the glass of water, he finished off the last few sips and followed Laidh down the stairs.
The breakfast was simple but good: spicy greens served with a meat that tasted faintly of venison. And more importantly, as much clean water as Callan could ask for. He piled the food into his mouth, ignoring his stomach's protests. Callan and Laidh sat at a table instead of the bar and Tohm walked around cleaning up from the prior night. No other patrons graced the Lusty Draconian this morning; though Tohm had grumbled a bit at first he had acquiesced to Laidh's request that he not rent out any rooms for the night and bar the door this morning while the fae spoke with Callan.
"Shall we begin?" Laidh asked.
Food still cluttering his mouth, Callan gave only a very soft nod.
"Terrific. I suppose I should ask first, do you care for the reasoning behind the job's necessity, or would you prefer I just give you gold and instruction?"
After swallowing, Callan replied, "I'd hear your reasons, first. I don't recall actually accepting your task, mind you."
"But we both know you will," Laidh said with his eyes fixed on Callan's, no threat in his words.
"Aye, I suppose so," Callan said. Breaking the stare to glance at Tohm, he saw the older man was scrubbing the blood from one of last night's fights off the planks of the floor. "Don't want the bartender to have to clean up my blood stains too. Speaking of him, am I to assume that Tohm may hear our discussion, or are we just hoping his old ears can't pick out our words?"
"Come now, he's not that old. Rather young compared to a fae," Laidh replied.
"And far more handsome, fairy," Tohm called out.
"In any case," Laidh said, "our friend the bartender is not one to carry idle stories of mystery men meeting in his tavern. Besides, as you may have guessed from the place's name, he's no fan of the draconians."
"So our business involves the scaly ones, then? Can't say I'm too fond of them either."
"Aye, they aren't the friendliest people. Not a bad folk though, just sometimes a bit misguided and overly hostile to strangers. Which plays into the job I have for you," Laidh said and then paused to take a drink of tea. "I'll give you a brief summary of the political landscape of Talmhaidh. It is a draconian city, but the fae have a strong presence here. At least, we usually do. The draconians are split into two castes, the Wing and the Flame. Both enjoy a better life than either of the two lower castes, the Claw and the Scale, but they often vie with each other for political power. The Flame - you'll note them by their smaller stature and, if you're unlucky, the flames bellowing from their mouths - tend to be a bit more intellectual and spiritually minded. Though they pervert their divinity with various deities and ritual sacrifice, they are generally more open to political discourse with the fae, and sometimes more accepting of other races, such as yourself. Unfortunately, the Wing caste is officially in charge of policy decision, and of late they have been less easily swayed by the Flame's religious advice. Though the Fae can be secretive and reclusive at times as well, we welcome or at least are not openly hostile to any who make the journey to Dheathain. The Wing, of late, are plotting to enact a ruling that no one that is neither Fae nor of a Drake caste may pass beyond the docks. Trading may continue, but essentially the city is closed to all foreigners."
"And what of the people already living here? I don't see Tohm leaving peacefully."
"For the nonce, those already here may stay. But it is rather easy to imagine that if this ruling holds that they may soon try to evict our beloved bartender."
"Scaly fuckers will have to evict my corpse," Tohm muttered.
"The Flame," Laidh continued, "are against the idea. They stare into flames for spiritual counsel, and warn that they've been advised that this decision could bring great destruction to the draconians. Whether this is true or merely a lie made up to sway the Wing matters not. The fae would see this city and country remain open to all. As such, we've been trying to increase the Flame's influence in any way we can - the fae do not have quite enough power to strike the ruling by ourselves, so we must turn to the Flame instead. However, if they were seen to be consorting with us in the matter, the Wing could likely paint them as traitors and enact the law with even less trouble. And so we act, I'm afraid, in the shadows."
Callan grinned. "You should tell stories, Laidh. You've a nice voice for it, and a bit of a flair for the dramatic."
"This is serious, Callan. If you do not wish to be a part of this, I'd ask that you leave now and forgot what you've heard."
"Sorry," the Fallien replied, letting the smirk fall from his lips. "Go on, I'm interested."
"Good. Recently, there have been a number of thefts from the Wing by a member of the Claw caste, one who identifies himself only by leaving his mark, a circle with three sharp triangles above it, at the site of each of his crimes. The Claw caste, normally strongly allied with the Wing and sometimes nearly as powerful both politically and physically, are treating this as a sign that their time has come. Nearly a century ago they sacrificed some of their strongest warriors in ritual, and have gained a great deal of influence since then. Some of the leaders of their caste are starting to fight for their kind to be elevated to the height of the Wing and Flame. This conflict may be what the Flame needs to regain their political prowess, and stop the Wing from banning other races from Talmhaidh. The Claw tend to listen more closely to religious advice, and the Flame might spread word that this in-fighting is a sign of what will come if foreigners are banished. It is in our best interest, therefore, that these thefts continue."
"So you want me to steal something and leave the Claw thief's mark, I suppose?"
"Exactly. It should not be a terribly difficult job, but should it go awry, the fae cannot be seen to be committing crimes. We also don't want to send anyone who is known to be living here. If they were caught, it is quite likely that all foreigners would be expelled from the city immediately, and the Flame might not even be opposed. If it's clear the criminal was a new arrival in Dheathain, however, it would only lend pressure to pass the ruling closing the city. A lesser of two evils, you see."
"I won't be caught."
"It is our hope that no one will be there to catch you. We want you to steal a sword that supposedly belonged to one of the first drakelings to help settle Talmhaidh, a member of the Claw caste. The sword is kept in the bedroom of a minor official for the Wing - their caste appropriated the weapon when they took over governing the city, much to the Claw's ire - and we expect no one to be there the night we're planning to send you."
"I'm guessing that 'we' is not referring to you and Tohm."
"No, Callan. Though I may be a bumbling, friendly cripple on the street, I'm partially in charge of the, well, shadier operations the fae are participating in. I fear I'd prefer not to give you more details on that until I know I can trust you more. As you no doubt see, I'm placing a fair amount of trust in you already."
"Yeah, I'm starting to feel your earlier mention of making me vulnerable through drink was not entirely jest."
"Perhaps I'm not quite as bad at deception as you claim," Laidh replied with a wink. "But, the fae are not murderers. I would do all in my power to simply sequester you on a ship back to Corone or Fallien if you did not want to go through with this, rather than leaving you for Tohm to deal with."
"Shame," the bartender called out, now taking stock of which ales and liquors he had to replace. "Human flesh fetches a fair price if you know who to talk to. They're no friends of mine, that's for damn certain, but I still do business with the scaly folk."
"That's admirable, I suppose," Callan said. "Of you that is, Laidh, not our friend the butcher over there. In any case, what's to stop me from taking what you've told me to the Draconians for a pretty penny? Or, suppose I go through with it, what's to stop the actual thief from admitting it wasn't him?"
"If you think you could finish explaining all of this to a Draconian before he takes your head off, be my guest," Laidh said and smiled. Reaching into a leather satchel besides his chair, he withdrew a scroll of paper adorned with a circle and three triangles and spread it on the table before Callan. "As for the thief? Well, strictly speaking, he doesn't actually exist."
-3-
The sun had vanished beneath the horizon hours ago. The winter solstice was an important day in all of Callan's native Fallien, even in the Outlander's Post. Especially if there was a full moon that night, the solstice was seen as Suravani's holy day. The draconians had a similar reverence for the shortest day of the year, and starting at sunset they dedicated the night to worship the God of Death, An Bás. It was likely past the middle of the night, and still they gathered outside Talmhaidh's main temple, rasping incantations and offering a tribute for bloody sacrifice every so often.
It seemed not a single one was still on the streets - as Callan walked through the noticeably quieter roads he tried to memorize the names of shops that were still open. He doubted a single one was ran by a draconian, and would hopefully take more kindly to humans. As he neared the destination marked on the map Laidh had given him, he moved off the main thoroughfares and took to the all but deserted alleyways. The moon was almost entirely eclipsed tonight - he supposed the Fallien in him should take it as some sign of Suravani's displeasure, but he had never been terribly religious to tell the truth - so reading the map was difficult. He paused near lit windows occasionally to keep himself on track, navigating the unfamiliar side streets as best he could.
He wore a dark gray shirt and darker pants, along with his black leather jerkin and wool scarf. When he finally reached the house, easily recognizable from Laidh's description and the gilded emblem of the Wing Caste over the door, he took off his scarf. He took glances around him to make sure he was completely alone, and then started wrapping the black cloth around his head, knotting it securely behind his neck. It covered his whole face save a slender gap across his eyes. He looked around again and located the small white house Laidh had mentioned, just barely visible by the moon's dim light. Now he took extra care to stay away from bright windows and other scattered sources of light, keeping his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of life.
This was a primarily draconian section of the city, so Callan did not expect to see anyone else. But it never hurt to be cautious. When he reached the house he circled around to the back, passed through a brick archway, and found a sturdy gate made of iron bars to his right. Just as Laidh had told him he would. So far, so good; if the fae's instructions were all this accurate then the job should go smoothly. Behind the gate two horses were penned in. The animals were not common here, and in his three days since arriving in Dheathain Callan had not seen a single draconian on horseback. Kept for slaughter probably, the swordsman thought glumly. The pair of beasts regarded Callan with sleepy eyes, and offered no protest when he began to climb the gate. The iron bars reached more than halfway up the white house, allowing him to easily pull himself up and onto the roof.
He moved slowly, trying to keep to the building's edge to reduce the sound his footsteps would make within. The brick archway stretched across the gap between the white house and the next building. Callan stepped down on to it and crossed it, then climbed over the railing of a balcony. He walked around to the other side of the building and continued to make his way across the rooftops and balconies. There was no one in sight, but he stayed crouched for most of the short journey. Hopefully he'd be nothing more than a dark blur in a dark night, unnoticed by any who happened to glance up from the streets or out from their windows. Of course, from what he had seen and what Laidh had said, there should be almost no one occupying the various dwellings.
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