The Golden King

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Open to Rogue, Mr Fox, Gum and anyone who wants to join via the recruitment thread

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Fallien.

The name itself demanded respect. It was a vast island nation, known for its harsh deserts and xenophobic citizens. The history books would show that its contribution to the world was a culture dominated by religion and a proud matriarchal dynasty, with a history flecked with strife and disaster not unlike Lornius. For anyone wishing to visit the island, a long and perilous voyage from the Tular Wastes would help temper their spirits and expectations but yet the brave and curious travelled with increasing frequency to trade in rare goods, explore ancient ruins, or to even glimpse mythical creatures.

Irrakam, Fallien’s capital city and the centrifuge of religious activity on the island, was the most attractive city for adventurers and tourists alike - with a wonderful view across the Attireyi river and the sands beyond to the grand temple of Suravani. Yet, even with its four thousand years of history, Fallien’s truest beauty laid buried beneath the southwestern glassy sands of Nirrakal along with a mystery spanning as many years as its own existence; one that even the Jya and her Matriarchy could not be aware of.

Fallien’s most important secret was the Temple of Ea.

There had been many deities reigning over the island;. Suravani, the moon goddess. Mitra, the sun god. Each of them had spawned their respective cults and divided the adoration of the people. But, all the while nestling among these legendary names and the factions that worshipped them, was the mythical home of the long forgotten king of kings; the mortal god-king Eiyuu Ou.

It was mythical no longer.

The beauty of the Blight, another name for the Nirrakal deserts, was wasted on Thomas Moorcroft. The heat of the sun beating down upon his face and the shimmering fragments of glass around him should have been a nice memory for him to take away after the treacherous voyage across the sea to Fallien, yet somehow the archaeologist couldn’t absorb it at all.

His mind instead wandered like a lost child back and forth between the significance of the entrance to the structure he had uncovered three hours ago, and the sickly anticipation of what this meant. Thomas’s eyes surveyed the front of the entrance pylon of the sandstone temple, where someone had carved the story of Eiyuu Ou and Enum Elish’s great battle in the Twilight Mountains against the Trinoxx, and remembered the tale of how the raging conflict between god-king and beast would eventually anger the gods and send Eiyuu Ou into exile.

An exile, it seemed, that ended here in Nirrakal.

Six huge statues of the mighty Eiyuu Ou constructed in front of the pylon seemed to further confirm this, along with two great obelisks - one of which was damaged.

This newly discovered temple was a strange bedfellow. For as long as he could remember, Thomas had always felt he had some sort of divine power driving his actions up to this point in his life. He had always known what to do, and known, rightly or wrongly, what he wanted. It didn’t matter whether it was exploring the ruins of Fallien, or investigating Raiaera in the aftermath of the Corpse War. Yet now, faced with a gaping maw leading to a chamber of answers that had eluded mankind for eons, Thomas was unsure of what to do, of what the implications of his discovery would be. Would he approach the temple’s entrance and hope to study the riches that had lay there for years, or would he seal the chamber forever and let the secret go with him to the grave? The risk of being branded a heretic was like a proverbial noose around his neck and he could feel the rope tighten with every breath.

Moorcroft found for the first time ever he was lacking answers, but the curiosity was unbearable. As he paced up and down the sands pouring over years of knowledge contained in his books, Thomas slowly came to the realisation that being the first to reveal the secrets of the Temple of Ea and Eiyuu Ou’s fate was the only thing that mattered to him now and everything else in his life failed miserably in comparison.

He moved slowly but smoothly along the wind carved banks of the dunes to the entrance below, proceeding with careful steps. Being an explorer, Thomas was used to travel in desert conditions and his legs and chassis were strong enough to cope with the searing heat rising from the sands and the scorching sunlight bearing down on him from above. Even if he felt ravaged at that moment, Moorcroft knew the day wouldn’t claim him before he reached the temple’s innards.

Thomas Moorcroft took his first step from sand to stone and felt relief at the having the solid surface of the temple’s floor firmly beneath his heels.

***

The temple seemed to be alive.

As Thomas proceeded deeper into the intestines of the legendary Ea, the wood and oil torches that flanked him spontaneously burst into flames and illuminated the path in front of the explorer. The hallway smelt musty and with the torches came the scent of burning dry wood, one that filled Thomas’s nostrils until he could no longer smell anything else. Though the flames were hardly adequate enough to eat into the cool darkness, His well trained eyes would ensure light wouldn’t be a problem for him.

Besides, Moorcroft felt he wouldn’t need to rely on his keen navigation skills to get to where he needed to be. He could feel the temple leading him, guiding him, almost as if there was life hewn into the rock of the temple that pulled him on spiritual rails towards his destination. The energy resonating all around him hit Thomas quickly, sharpening his focus and calming his nerves. He extended his own torch before him, a bright orange glow shining ahead. Though the majority of the ancient sandstone masonry was intact, dangerous footfalls and dangling vines emerged from the shadows to put an immediate end to his feeling of security. Thomas’s journey from then on involved treading lightly and darting over the pitfalls and traps protecting what he believed was the inner sanctum; the place likely to be Eiyuu Ou’s very burial chamber.

Keep going! Nearly there!

As the passageway opened up into a larger, elaborate and more ornate room, a stone rolled beneath Moorcroft’s eager heels which forced his balance to fail. There was a mighty crash moments later as the adventurer jarred his knees and hit the floor. As he spread his hands out to try and support his weight, Moorcroft realised he felt something smoother than the eroding sandstone of the prior corridor.

It was polished glass; ocean blue, smooth to the touch and covering every inch of the room's floor, save for a pedestal in the centre which was dwarfed by the sheer expanse of the chamber. Carvings in the ceiling sailing high above him seemed to depict the goddess Dryx sentencing a defiant Eiyuu Ou to death. The askew lid of the golden sarcophagus in the middle was decorated with runes which looked as if they were meant to serve as guardians over the body, keeping it sealed forever.

It appeared, though, that their duties had fallen short. The tomb was empty.

Thomas Moorcroft of Radasanth, Corone, had been on his feet four seconds before he felt it; the cold sensation of a blade tearing between his shoulder blades and punching through his chest horribly. The adventurer, caught so suddenly within death’s icy grasp, had not heard the footsteps tap lightly behind him as he had fallen. Thomas had not seen, from the corner of his eye, the flash of a golden pauldron reflecting the burial chamber’s light as its bearer moved with the stealth of a desert viper behind him. The hoarse voice that followed came too late and yet confirmed the fleeting fear of the events that had just transpired.

“...A mortal, daring to stand on the same level as me, on his own two feet? What blasphemy. You will kneel in my presence, mongrel.”

If the reaper had been kind to him, it would have perhaps allowed Moorcroft to look deep into the crimson irises of history itself. He would have been permitted to admire the golden blonde hair and boyish features of that which he had sought his whole life, that which had eluded even the greatest scientific minds and scholars for generations. As the bronze blade Mydisa retracted from the wound, there was no such respite from death’s agent; the cruel deliverer of fate it was.

Moorcroft would die alone without ever having laid eyes on Eiyuu Ou and would never know the honour his discovery would bestow upon his family name for future generations.

7 days ago...

“So Mr. Fox, why don't tell a bit about yourself?”

Jon Fox looked over at the tall, slender gentleman sipping some sort of cheap coffee from ceramic mug on the other side of the desk. The sun had only just risen on that warm day in Corone, the morning fog had not yet lifted from the ground and yet Jon was already wide awake, having been up since a little before sun rise. Always a morning person, he had been particularly eager to get up and going on this day and it was because he wanted to meet the man on the other side of that cluttered desk.

His name was Ryan Tarpaulin, and he was the captain of The Bejeweled Empress, a luxurious ocean liner that ferried people from the Royal Harbor in Radasanth, Corone, to the southern most coast of Fallien. Once they arrived in Fallien, the passengers of the Empress could (and most did) pay an additional fee to be guided safely to the Outlander's Quarters outside of the exotic city Irrakam, an increasingly popular tourist destination.

Tomorrow morning the Empress would be leaving the harbor on the five day journey across the sea and Ryan had placed a help wanted ad in the Radasanth Reader, a major local newspaper, looking for servers and dishwashers onboard the ship. Jon was simply the first of several young men looking for work this morning who would walk through the doors of the one room, white painted, brick and mortal building that Ryan rented for an office.

“Not much to tell sir. I'm meat and fur trader but lately people haven't been buying what I've been selling so I need the work.”

“I see. Have you ever worked in a kitchen before?”

Jon nodded. “Yes sir.”

“When?”

“As a boy sir. My dad and uncle ran one of the pubs. Had me earn my keep by washing dishes and serving dinners.”

“Why'd you quit?”

“Wanted excitement. Decided to get it by fighting in the war.”

Ryan seemed to perk up when Jon mentioned the war and that was when he noticed the glass case that was hung on the back wall just behind the older man. In it were several medals that looked as though they had been recently polished. He recognized a few of them as commendations from the Imperial Navy. Jon had been right to lie to this man so far about his history. The war may have been over but tensions were still high between some of the Imperial loyalists and the former rebels, the latter of which Jon had served. Worse, as unlikely as it was, if the wrong people found out that the oldest son of Timothy and Lucile Fox had never actually wondered off to die in the woods then they might have been considered traitors to the Empire and Imperial loyalist weren't known for their kindness towards such people.

"You served in the war?" asked the captain.

“Yes sir. I was an archer in the imperial army. 14th division. C company.”

“Good, so you know how to work hard and do as you're told then?”

“Yes sir. Had to do a lot of that while serving in his majesty's army.”

Ryan laughed and downed the rest of his coffee. “I bet you did.”

There was a slight pause in conversation as Ryan regained his composure. He looked over Jon one more time, then down at some paper work, then back up at Jon.

“I'll tell you what Jon,” continued Ryan “I hate hearing about another vet being down on his luck so I'm going to give you a chance. You're going to be sweeping tables and serving dinners again. Pay is ten crowns a day plus tips. If things don't work out I'll drop you off at the nearest port.”

Crowns were the official imperial currency. Silver coins, about an inch in diameter, with the royal seal imprinted in them on one side and a rough image of the imperial treasury building on the other. Ryan stood up and extended his hand. Jon stood up and gave Ryan's hand a good firm shake. The deal was made.

"Thank you sir," said Jon.

Ryan nodded and sat back down. He reached over and grabbed the ink quill on the far side of his desk. Then he opened one of the drawers and pulled out a couple of sheets of paper.

“I'll get the paper work ready. Be at the docks by 04:00 tomorrow. Show up on time or don't show up at all. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

***

1 day ago...

As expected great ocean liner, The Bejeweled Empress, arrived at port off southern coast of Fallien just before the harsh sun hit its peak. The port, as Jon had learned from the other staff during the last few days on the ship, was owned by the same company that owned the Empress. The armed guards the patrolled the otherwise lawless shantytown that had sprung up around the port were a private security force employed by that same company. They were paid explicitly to protect the paying customers of the Empress from thieves and muggers. They cared not the least bit about what happened to the street peddlers in their tent homes and makeshift stalls.

The staff of the Empress were permitted to go ashore for the day before returning to the ship bright and early the next morning so that they could take the next batch of passengers to Radasanth, however Jon had no intention of returning. He hadn't been lying when he told Captain Tarpaulin he needed the job because he was broke. Turns out adventuring was hard, and without the steady income he was used to receiving from the rangers he had quickly gone broke and had been living off whatever he could hunt or forage for in forests. The extra coin in his pocket was just a bonus though. The real reason he had been so eager to work on the Empress was so that he could get a ride to Fallien. Rumors had spread among the taverns goers and story tellers of mysterious ruins and great wealth to be found in the vast deserts of the region and it drove men such as Jon Fox to seek it out.

Jon was glad to get off the ship and onto the wooden docker where he could stretch his legs. He hadn't hated the job, the work was easy and his coworkers had mostly been nice, but he was not the kind of man who enjoyed being cooped up crowded spaces for days at a time. Unfortunately, the joy that came from finally being able to move freely about freely was short lived as he was quickly overwhelmed by the torrid temperatures of the region's weather. Even the hottest day in Corone seemed temperate by comparison. The slight breeze that blew in from the ocean was almost comically ineffectual.

Jon made his way off the dock and onto a roughly beaten foot path that took him among the various street merchants. Most of them seemed to be selling useless knickknacks and cheap clothing though he did notice the smell of some street foods which were made with copious amounts of local herbs and spices, the likes of which were more than a little bit tantalizing for an amateur chef like him. It was difficult for him to ignore the impulse to spend some of his recently earned coin on the delicious smelling spicy meats and fragrant pastries. At least until he found what he was really looking for. A local cartographer selling maps out of a large tent.

Jon walked into the tent and looked among the piles of maps of varying sizes until the found what he was looking for. A decent sized map that when unfolded was about a 24 by 24 inches and when folded was easily small enough to fit inside his rucksack. It was a map of the whole region but it was detailed enough that all the major cities and known land marks were easy for him to find and identify. Satisfied with his choice, Jon approached merchant who was a large, pot bellied, brown skinned man with long, thick black hair wearing what looked to be local garb.

“Do you speak common?” asked Jon.

“A little,” answered the merchant. His voice was deep and his accent was thick but Jon could just barely make out what he was saying.

“How much for this for this map?”

The merchant held up two of his meaty fingers. “Two crown.”

Jon fished into his pockets and pulled out the money which he tossed to the merchant. With the transaction complete he exited the tent. According to the map he just needed to follow the river to get to the Outlander's Quarters and ultimately into Irrakam where he hoped to find some better leads on some of the hidden treasures he head heard stories about. It would take him about a day to get there by foot which didn't bother him. If he stayed near the water he would be in no danger of him dying of dehydration and the hunting was sure to be good as the sources of water for the region's wildlife were few and far between. As long as he didn't get bitten, stung or attacked by anything particularly dangerous he would be okay.

In some ways he felt bad about lying to Captain Tarpaulin and the rest of the crew. They were good people who treated him right and he had known since the beginning that he wasn't coming back after the ship made landfall in Fallien. Oh well, he thought, he would make it up to them later after he became a world renowned adventurer. Maybe he would even dedicate a recipe or two to them in his sure to become world famous cookbook. And, if by chance, his sudden, unexplained desertion had any consequences then he would just have to deal with those as they came.

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. As you have no doubt read in my letter, the matter is quite serious.” The overdressed, overweight man leaned further forward over Shinsou Vaan Osiris’s oak desk, his chair groaning under the strain of his weight. He was Jonathan Woodheight, the brother of assassinated senator Franklyn Woodheight, and was what Shinsou Vaan Osiris would describe as the very epitome of a Radasanthian fatcat, someone he saw as a wretched creature with an ill-fitting grey hairpiece and terminally puffed out, bloated cheeks.

He was also the last person the Telgradian had expected to hear from, given Jonathan’s opposition to the Brotherhood and almost unequivocal support for the organisation’s outlawing in the senate, before the calamity, yet here he was. Luckily, he also seemed to be completely unaware that it was in fact the Brotherhood’s co-leader, Storm Veritas, who had killed his brother all those years ago. The irony of all of this was not lost on the Telgradian as he leant back and thumbed through the pages of Woodheight’s letter.

“You’ll have to forgive my surprise at your request, Senator, given your somewhat strong opposition to our operations in Radasanth,” Shinsou said, his tone shifting upwards as he shuffled to the second page of the slanted, scrawled prose, “…but even more surprising is what you are offering. Two hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces to find this Thomas Moorcroft, but yet you can’t tell us any details about what he was looking for?”

“Don’t misunderstand me; we do not approve of your activities, nor of your attitude towards the Assembly. However, me and you are both men of diplomacy. I am asking for your help because I know you personally have experience in Fallien, and the sum I am willing to pay is hefty because it will reflect the difficulty of a task that has so far eluded two other search parties. There will, however, be a non-disclosure agreement between us.” Woodheight’s voice was rough and raspy, result of the vocal cords constantly drowned down in finest brandy and cigar smoke. “Thomas Moorcroft is a national treasure, one of our best state archaeologists, and it is imperative he is brought home safely. Do not be offended, but what he was looking for in Fallien is a mututally exclusive matter to locating him, and is beyond your purview. That is a matter for the state.”

“Assuming, of course, I agree to this. You see, the offense is not my concern, Senator. What is my concern is whether what he was looking for is something I need to be factoring into in mine and my men’s safety. This is a lot of money for just a glitzed up search and rescue.” Shinsou replied, his white sleeved arms crossed across his chest as he looked down at Woodheight with a slightly annoyed glance. He didn’t trust the senator, but then again, that was nothing new. Trust always came in short supply, and dangling words like “non-disclosure agreement” and “beyond your purview” was not going to help Shinsou dip into that well of good faith any time soon.

“Fallien is a dangerous place in general. You know this, and I know your abilities are well beyond the average and more than enough to cope with the environment.” Again, a vague, uninterested reply in a tone that said that Woodheight had neither the patience or the inclination to explain further. But the Telgradian was unscathed by this, his eyes gleaming up at the man with a keen look that silently insisted on elaboration. Woodheight sighed deeply, shifting a little bit. “All I can tell you is that Moorcroft was in the glasslands, doing some field research.”

Shinsou seemed untouched by this, his stern ironclad face not displaying the annoyance of this revelation. “An archaeologist doing field research in the glasslands, huh? Let’s do some maths, here. The only people who willingly go into the glasslands are those who study the ancient Thayne. It’s the homeland of some of the most celebrated and worshipped, like Jya, and Suravani. Mr Woodheight, it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out from your evasiveness on the subject and deliberate lack of detail that he probably found something he shouldn’t have done. Or, more accurately, something he was looking for all along. The question is, what?”

“Look, Osiris. You and your men do your job and I’ll provide the payment at the end of this. It’s as simple as that.” Woodheight’s tone was definite, making it known that this was not a matter he wanted to discuss any further. Shinsou momentarily took this with a grim frown, before composing himself.

“For two hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces, I’ll find anyone you want. However, if we get over there, and something you could have prepared me for ends up endangering me or the men, rest assured you’ll be seeing me again. Are we crystal clear? ” and with that said, the two men shook hands before Jonathan Woodheight turned around and went away grunting something. Shinsou sat back further into his chair, who was shortly joined by his red-headed bodyguard Raine. She had, of course, listened to the whole conversation.

“They must think I was born yesterday,” Shinsou commented silently, his eyes falling on the alabaster skin of Raine’s pretty face, “Moorcroft’s found something there they want so badly that they have resorted to asking me for help finding him. It has to be something big.”

“Yeah, definitely,” the redhead said softly, “Did you see how jittery he was?” she paused, her smiling face cocked gently in an attempt to catch his eyes. “You’re curious, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t hold on to his strict visage at those words. “Yeah, on two things; what Moorcroft found for them, and on how they’re going to try to screw us.” he replied, his frown wiped away instantly and his worried face transformed into an uncertain smile.

Meanwhile...

Torchlight flickered through the gloom. Do Mugu's cracked fingertips emerged from the shadows, touching the sticky ink; to the shaman, the words were burdened with the malice of their author. "Demons," he murmured through his sour frown. A string of shrunken heads glowered from his chest as he reared back to squint at his rotten counterpart. Gum's troubled appetite had tightened his leathery skin over his protruding ribs. "Eh," he rasped, snorting over the crumpled contract, "death is nothing." His baritone words, to most, would be a cold, nihilist concession. "I could send you to the Underworld now," he explained evenly. "To do so," the shaman continued, "is no more than a handshake—do not misunderstand the spirits."

"Look," the sordid stranger sneered, cutting off Gum's burgeoning sermon, "I'm not converting to your cockamamey religion." He punctuated his disdain with a wad of thin, runny phlegm directed at the slate tile floor. "Are you gonna take the contract... or not?" The spit settled into the grout lines. "If death is nothing," he asserted, "then you'll have no problem working with us." He scratched at his itchy, patchy, uncomfortable neckbeard and sniffled. A moment of silence passed. "Riiiiight?" he begged.

Do Mugu found the stranger as foul as their dank surroundings, it was testing the shaman's equanimity. Nevertheless, he returned to the document and read it again. "Your masters believe that the death of this man will bring peace?" Gum do Mugu had seen the Underworld and its cast of ugly death gods. More than that, he'd seen the vibrant spirits ascend into rebirth. So, to him, death really was nothing. "Peace is good," he nodded. "Releasing spirits from their flesh can relieve their suffering and the suffering of their victims."

"I don't have time for this spooky shit!" the stranger snapped, his high pitched irritation echoed against the barren walls.

"The outcome is uncertain," the shaman mused. "If you block a stream with rocks," he wondered, "can we know the water's new path?" Do Mugu pulled the flaming torch from the wet wall and blinked at the living fire. "I must commune with the spirits before acting."

"Don't bother! We'll just get somebody else to do the job!"

But, it was much too late. Gum do Mugu had taken the sniveling character's offer as an omen from his gods, rather than a request from the conniving masters of Corone. "Wait," he beckoned the stranger.

The stranger, heading for the door, looked over his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Tell me, where will my hunt begin?"