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The cat was pretty good about it. Anna's hands wandered over it exploring everything she could. Head, paws, tail, tummy, even the ears. She sat cross legged on the ground outside the Inn she had decided to stay at. Some thing she had read in Ravensfyrd suggested that the easiest way to do a shape changing spell is to thoroughly know your subject. Taking the form of an animal was supposed to be a lot easier than trying to copy people. Anna wasn't really sure why. She was a people after all. Of some form or another.
"What are you doing to my Dolly?" The voice was female. Young. Curious and put off at the same time. Anna opened her eyes and looked at the 6 year old girl. The girl was the daughter of the main cook of the inn. Too young to be taught a trade, or go to a school if the parents could afford one. Too old to be kept in some kind of pen or cradle. Like the one she had in her hand. A small doll's cradle. In her other hand was a large serving spoon. It was tarnished, but silver.
"Are you supposed to be playing with that?" Anna looked pointedly at the spoon.
"Momma said I could." The girl spoke in a tone of voice that suggested mom said something to the effect of holding it but, children being people, the girl heard 'play'.
"Uh huh." Anna released the cat. The cat in turn stepped towards the girl and meowed at her. Girl and cat together wandered around the side of the inn, where Anna was sure the cat would be subjected to the indignity of being 'dolly' for while. Anna wondered what the cat got out of it. Perhaps the cradle was a very comfy place to for the cat to sleep.
She closed her eyes again. Ears picking up the sounds of the neighbourhood. It was a quiet place for the most part. Not poor, but not rich. The inn was more of a boarding house. Grandma Kay was a stern quiet woman who brooked no breaking of her rules. She was an old fashioned woman who believed that the sexes should be kept separate. At least in her house. It was probably one of the few 'women only' places in Provero.
Anna had picked it because it was fairly in expensive and it was quiet. Well unless the cook was yelling for her daughter.
"Renaeh! Where are you girl. What did you do with that spoon!" Mihrien came out of the back door. "Miss Anna have you seen Renaeh?"
Anna nodded. "She's around the side of the building playing with..." Anna was interrupted by the sounds of a child screaming and a cat yowling. In a flash Anna was up and around the corner, Mihrien close on her heels.
Rounding the corner Anna saw a couple of bullyboys holding the spoon and looking at it the same way a lecher looks at pretty much any woman. The cat was being held at arms length by another ne'er-do-well. Renaeh was trying to get the spoon back.
"What do you idiots think you're doing?" Anna stood there with fists on her hips. They goggled at her in surprise for a second.
"We're just playing around with the kid." One of them spoke. They were all more or less as old as Anna. Old enough to be out working or apprenticing at some trade. Anna knew their type fairly well. Even a place like Ravensfyrd had their share of lazy louts who drifted from one thing to another, often illegal, and would end up dead in a ditch for various reasons. Some would find their place and fit themselves into a spot where they survived.
"Give her the spoon back and put the cat down." Anna spoke in the tone of voice she reserved for drunks who should know better. Sometimes it was listened to. Sometimes not.
"Make me." Anna twisted her face in a frown and took two steps, landing a punch into the leaders face. With a solid thump of hurt and surprise he hit the ground, the spoon clattering to the ground. "You bitch!"
With a quick movement Renaeh got the spoon and in a flash was behind her mother. The cat could take care of itself. It got its claws into the arm that was holding it and started to seriously bite the bullyboy holding it.
It would have been comical in the way the boy was flailing his arm and squealing like a stuck pig, if not for the fact the leader was getting up with blood in his eye. And the other one was advancing as well.
The leader pulled a knife and struck forward, right into the shield that Anna had conjured around her. She was no dummy. Striking one of them pretty much insured that a fight would happen. The leader goggled at the glowing reddish shield that surrounded Anna.
"Why is it that idiots always bring a knife to a magic fight?" Anna stared at him, her hand raising and starting to glow in a whitish light. He took a step back. His compatriot took one look at the situation and ran off in a blur. You could hear his apology to his friend as he left the scene.
The leader stared at Anna. She stared back. If she said anything the boy would take it as a challenge. And then she might have to really hurt him. That may or may not cause the Watch to be called. Was it called a Watch here? In any case whomever was being paid by the city to enforce it's laws might be called. And frankly it would be best for all involved if that didn't happen.
His face twitched for a second and he rushed forward, knife swinging and arm pulling back for a punch. Even through the shield Anna knew that the force of the punch would probably hurt some what. The knife skittered off the shield and she blocked the punch. Her other hand grabbing his arm and forcing him to the ground hard. He hit with a good thump.
Behind her the other one, with the cat. Had finally gotten it off his arm and onto his face. His screams were muffled by the body of the cat,who was know gnawing on an ear. She sighed.
"Are you going to get the hell out of here now? Or am I going to have to get violent?" Her Left hand was glowing as her right pulled him up so his face was right in hers. She let him go with a thump and he scrambled up and away from the side of the inn.
"Can you get the cat off that poor boy?" Mihrien spoke for the first time since she rounded the corner. The girl giggled in the way of children watching slapstick violence.
"Dolly!" Renaeh called. The cat stopped gnawing on the ear and jumped off the head of his victim. He ran over to Renaeh and meowed. Then he sauntered around the corner towards the back.
Anna walked up to the boy against the wall of the inn. "Here."
He looked at her. Anna held out a small vial. He looked at the vial and then at her.
"Healing Draught. Drink it." The boy took the vial and drank it down. The cuts and scratches healed. His ear healed but was scarred a bit. He handed her back the vial.
"Th-thanks." He stared at her.
"Shoo." She waved her hand and he took off like a shot.
Anna shook her head, snagged the cradle and walked around the back of the inn. Mihrien was scolding Renaeh for taking the spoon out of the kitchen. Anna sat back down and was soon joined by the cat.
She had a good amount of money still. That didn't stop the fact that she was used to doing something during the day. Waiting tables, hauling boxes or barrels or bags. Looking after children. Helping in the Waltz's kitchen. Something.
She was out in the city seeing what was available. She wasn't really sure that she wanted one of her conventional fall back jobs. Garett had thought she was meant for something greater than being a waitress or laborer. The magic pretty much confirmed that, but she still needed to make money.
As she walked she thought back to a few months ago. A group of travelers came in. Hineta sniffed at them and said "Adventurers" before continuing on with her other tables. Anna took it upon her self to serve them. They were a varied group. Aateni, Barindi, a couple of Durindan and a Choyen. They had been out into Ravenswood, looking at the various ruins that dot the forest. They had found a few strange things, and had found some old gold coins that had been sitting under some very old broken furniture.
And now they were here spending a bit of it. After Garett had made certain it was real enough gold to be equivalent to a modern Crown, they settled into eating some good food and having some of Garett's Ale. They shared a few stories with Anna while she served them. They were friendly and fairly smart. The one thing they said they would have appreciated while in Ravenswood was some one who really knew the area or a mage.
The group stayed the night and after breaking their fast the next morning they were on the road. They had left a few silvers as a tip for Anna. Those had gone into her "for the future" bag in Garett's safe.
Now she was in Provero looking for something to do. She liked the idea of being an adventurer. Out on the road with only the group to be beholden too. Pulling her own weight. Now if only somewhere in this town was a place she could make contact with a group that needed some one with her skills.
In her wanderings she had come across the name of a Tavern. Travelers Tithe. It was a place that many of the visitors to the city ended up at. Full of unusual types. "Adventurers" one old woman spat, almost like Hineta. Sounded like a fun place to check out.
So she wandered down to the Tithe. Inside was a varied group of people. Mostly traveling types. She stood at the bar and talked to the tender for a bit. Had some ale. It was okay.
She told the bartender that she was looking for work as a guide to Ravenswood or as a mage for a group of travelers. He took in the information. Occasionally a group would come in and ask if he knew certain kinds of people. Such as a mage or a guide type. Occasionally some on of a quasi legal nature.
"I'm looking for work." She took a sip of her ale.
"Don't need any help at the moment miss." The bartender wiped a few glasses. She was pretty enough. Good tone.
"Well I'm not looking to be a waitress again, what I really want is a job helping a group that needs to go through Ravenswood. Or that need some one who knows something about magic." She smiled at the bartender.
"Magic is it? You look a bit young to be a wizard out on their own." He had seen a few wizardly types in his time. Most of them were in their mid 20's if they were going out on their own, so to speak.
"I'm not a wizard. I guess I'm what some scholars call a sorcerer. I've been doing magic since I can remember." She took a sip of the ale. Good solid stuff. "I've read as much as I can about it though. Every book I can get on the subject of magic and artifacts and things like that. And I've talked with as many people as I can."
"You can read then. That's a good skill to have sometimes. Many can't after all." the bartender poured a couple more drinks for the waitress.
"You get people in here often trying to get jobs like me?"
He nodded. "Often actually. And others looking for people like you. I keep my ears open. There was one time some kid came in looking for work. One of the street kids. He'd been doing some stuff that wasn't quite legal and needed to leave town. Fancied himself a pretty good thief."
"What happened to him?" Anna asked.
"Well I help set him up with a group that needed some one of quasi legal talents. He went out with them and then A few days later he was back. Something about the road being cold and wet." The bartender shook his head. "I found a few days later that the kid had no experience at all.. he was some merchants son who thought he was a street tough."
Anna and the bartender laughed. Then he looked at her. "This isn't that kind of case though is it?"
Anna shook her head and quietly spoke some words and moved her fingers and light popped between them.
"Nope."
The bartender nodded. "Good to hear."
"I'm Anna. Anna of Ravenswood. I'm staying at Grandma Kay's" Anna finished her ale and plopped some money down on the bar.
"I'll keep my ear out for you."
"Thanks." She left the Tithe whistling.
Endrelkarit Tarik sat nursing his cheap but passable clarry wine as he studied the inn's patrons.
The Traveler’s Tithe was not exactly his first choice of tavern to frequent. He had already had to point out a number of small violations of local business bylaws to the innkeeper. And the place was noisy and full of all manner of people and races unlike the Dragon's Head, which was quiet, studious and orderly. But then Tarik wasn't here for a quiet drink. The Traveler’s Tithe was a good place to do the gods' work, to look out for any zealous heretics and to ensure any citizens flouting Poveran law were made aware of their misdeeds.
However those weren't the main reasons that Tarik was here. He'd been guided here by the Divine Ones' will over a week ago. When he'd been investigating the murders of three women, he had been granted a blessed vision of the cruel criminal, his past deeds and his frequent haunts. That vision had led him here to this inn.
Tarik took a small gulp of his barely adequate wine, remembering back to that day.
:''****''
That fateful evening Tarik had made his way into the bustling interior of the tavern and ordered a sweet wine at the bar. However, then Tarik had not travelled here to quench his thirst. That day, he was here on business.
He had already spent nearly an hour praying to the gods for their blessings and assistance before heading to the inn and, thanks to the gods, within moments he had spotted his man. Tarik's eyes - amazingly acute in the dark common room - noted that the man's hair matched the strands that they'd found in one of the murdered woman's hands and that scars down his left cheek were consistent with the blood and skin he'd seen under the last woman's long fingernails. But more importantly, the man's face, including his broken nose, small brown eyes, prominent forehead and flaccid chin, matched that shown to him in his vision.
As Tarik studied him, the man rose from his seat and headed towards the rear of the dusky inn. Tarik watched him as he headed towards a door there, barely visible in the gloom. Leaving his drink, Tarik crossed the common room and followed the man.
The door led outside to a small alleyway that ran along the backs of the buildings on this road. Tarik spotted the man marching down the alley heading towards its exit and started after him. As he walked, Tarik grabbed his holy symbol that hung on a heavy gold chain around his neck - a gift from his grandfather many years ago - lifted it high in front of him, a began to chant a prayer to his gods.
"Blessed be the Divine Gods", he began, his voice gaining strength from the familiar words. "Hear my prayer. Protect Thy servant from the blows of heretics and those who seek to harm others. Guide my actions to ensure Thy Will is done. Deus est lumen luminis. Dai nemici guardo io, dagli amici mi guardi Iddio. Fortius quo fidelius. Lex Dei, Lux Dei!"
The last words were practically sung in Auld Taoric, the rhythmic prayer echoing along the dark alley. As his prayer finished, a soft, faint glow surrounded the priest's robed form.
By this time the man had heard Tarik's prayer and had spun around. In his callused hand he wielded a long, thin dagger - the hilt and blade of which matched that found near the body of the last woman. This was indeed the murderer.
"Halt!" called out Tarik, walking towards the man. "You are wanted for questioning in regards to the death of three Poveran citizens, the murder of whom is punishable by execution. By the Divine right of the Mother Church and Poveran law, I ask you to drop your weapon and surrender".
"Piss off, priest!"
The man did not appear to be surrendering but Tarik carried on towards him anyway. As he did the murderer also began to take a few steps closer to Tarik, closing the distance between them.
"As stated in article 5 paragraph b of Poveran law, you have the right to protest your innocence whilst being judged by a court of Povero. However, if you remain silent this will be taken as a sign of guilt and used against you in said court. Now, surrender, beg forgiveness of the gods and disarm your..."
Tarik did not get to finish. The man leapt snarling towards him thrusting the slim dagger forwards. Tarik managed to turn and move out of the weapon's path as the man sailed past him only to turn and face him again.
"Then it seems it is my right to defend myself, evil follower of Gorum's ways. Arma in armatos sumere jura sinunt", Tarik exclaimed whilst trying to pull his broadsword from its scabbard. But the blade would not pull free!
"Die you stupid bastard", the man spat, lunging towards Tarik. Again, blessed by the gods that watched over him, Tarik managed to step back out of the way of the blade whilst also managing to free his sword from its sheath.
But the man seemed to have been expecting Tarik's move. He swung his booted foot round and caught Tarik's front leg, knocking it from under him. Tarik dropped to one knee, his sword still pointing towards the floor.
The man sneered and, sensing his victory, stepped closer. Moments later he brought his vicious dagger down in an arc to pierce the priest's body.
But as the dagger moved through the air, a crescendo of sound began to soar into the evening sky from nowhere. The faint glow around Tarik's body grew into an almighty corona. The light from this miracle appeared brighter than the noon sun; its warmth seemed more searing than a roaring fire and its rays seemed to penetrate everything nearby. As the dagger hit this heavenly halo, it and the crescendo abruptly stopped, releasing a single, pure metallic note into the air.
The murderer stared at the white light, his eyes wide.
Tarik looked up into the man's face, his eyes emotionless.
"Judgement has been passed. You are guilty of attempted murder. The sentence is death. Blessed are the Diving Gods"
And with those words, Tarik thrust his sword upwards into the man's stomach, through the murderer's chest and out of the evil one's back.
"May Ethrunay guard your soul to its final resting place", Tarik muttered as he pulled his blade free. The man dropped to the floor with a dull thud, his life seeping from his stomach into the alley.
By then, nearby guards had rushed towards the scene. As always, they were soon followed by the ever-vigilant Sergeant Thorvard, about the only one in the city guards who had any time for Tarik. The priest explained what had happened to the sergeant and, eventually, everything had been sorted out and brought back to order.
Of course, thought Tarik, now back in the tavern from where he'd followed the murderer all those days ago, the Abbot had found out about it and wasn't too pleased. Still, Tarik was only doing Arvessin's bidding and ensuring the laws were followed and order was restored. He was only following the House of Orders ways, albeit in a more hands-on manner.
Tarik sipped his cheap wine and watched the patrons of the Traveler’s Tithe go about their business. Someone had to ensure that law and order were kept in this city. And that was his divine calling.
"Kador, honey, let's get you to bed." It was his mother, Ave Emeny Ogyina Hutz Ryabatsev, coming to get him off to bed down in the wagon. He was eight years old, and sitting on a log around the fire.
The caravan was camped between towns, out where no city folk would dream of spending the night, and where the Vos called home. The Vos called everywhere home for a night or so. He was sitting perfectly still, eyes half closed, looking very much like a small boy who'd been up way too long and late. Around him, Vos played on a variety of stringed instrument and flutes, and danced and sang and laughed. Those too old or too tired to dance sat and clapped and watched appreciatively. The flowing skirts and narrow-waisted bodices accentuated the young women's hips to great effect, while the young men danced with seemingly limitless energy. The Edgedancers showed off and practiced their art a safe enough distance from everyone else but not each other, blades and bodies twirling through the air in time with the music in a dizzying display of violence and beauty.
Slan held still, and his heavy lidded eyes did not move to follow any of the frenzied activities around him. He was staring at a wide, shallow puddle between his stump and the large camp fire. He had been watching the flames dance in reflection there, and seeing how the occasional ripple of disturbance shattered and changed and finally danced with the reflected fire. As he watched, the puddle expanded, and grew, and surrounded him. Slan's consciousness was subsumed in a mud-puddle full of reflected fire. The reflected fire danced it's rippling shapes in front of him, shaking womanly hips and flipping young men's somersaults on an endless plane of mirror smooth water.
Ripples flowed across and through the fire, which shed no heat and did not frighten Slan. He was in a state of perfect calm, looking at the reds, yellows, and oranges dance around him. While blue and green and deeper purples slowly poked their heads above the glass surface of the water and crept down out from the black sky of night. The dancers and the deeper, cooler colors blended and mixed and slowed and shifted into swirling shapes that could not be understood.
The music surrounding Slan had faded to nothing. He was standing in a swirling sea of color and shape, struggling to focus on any one object. And as he struggled, it happened. The colors and shapes resolved themselves, snapped into focus like a bird landing. Slan was standing in a field under a bright blue sky. Golden grains and grasses surrounded him, discolored by the verdigris of green closer to the roots. At the horizon, red flags waved in a breeze in a large circle around Slan and his field. Atop a massive rock in the middle of the field, King Gan sat on a weathered wooden throne. Slan could not say how he knew it was King Gan, he'd never seen a picture of the long gone King who had generations ago put a bounty on the head of any Vos found in the Kingdom. The caravan still spoke of King Gan, and had named a succession of ponies in his honor, so that King Gan would forever be yoked in service of the Vos.
King Gan held aloft a royal edict in one hand, and in the other a mace signifying his authority. Slan knew the edict said that the wolves would be fed to the Vos, instead of the other way around, in spite of the distance, and his illiteracy. On cue, a great grey wolf, as big as a draft horse, ran across the field toward King Gan, his enormous tongue lolling out of his mouth between teeth like swords. The wolf leaped at King Gan, and the King held out his mace. The mace touched the Wolf, and the Wolf was turned instantly into a new regal cape for King Gan. The fur fluttered and settled into place on King Gan's back. The King slowly turned to bronze in front of Slan's eyes.
The golden grass grew tall around Slan. The sunlight shining off of it took on a reddish hugh as the wheat went over his head, and the deeper red hues waived and danced as the darkness overhead consumed the light. His mother's hand was on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
"Kador Slan? Wake up little one," she said. It was a mother's voice, one that contemplated that it might be disobeyed and didn't like the idea on bit, one filled with love and responsibility and seemingly endless work.
"King Gan killed a wolf," Slan said, still in a bit of a daze, and definitely ready for bed.
"Did he now?" His mother asked in the gently patronizing way that all parents do, and put Slan to bed.
It was not yet light when the commotion came. Slan and his mother waited in the caravan, as almost all of the Vos women and children did in times such as that. The edgedancers and archers would take care of whatever it was, and then the women and children would find out later what it was.
A starving she-wolf had crept into the camp, searching for anything that she could eat. She had found Gan, the pony, tied to a pigeon plum tree at the edge of the camp where he could graze and nibble on the bitter low hanging fruit. In what had to be a moment of freakish luck for the diminutive old pony, he kicked the she-wolf squarely on the top of the skull, mortally wounding her instantly. As she lay dying underfoot, in his panic he trampled her as he pulled at his tether, whinnying in terror.
Gan was given a wolf-skin blanket for the winter, which he never really liked. Slan's mother took him to speak with old Bany, the Ryabatsev clan's wise woman. She was a hedge witch in her way, skilled with herbs and poultices, a teller of fortunes and dispenser of hidden wisdom and abortofacients. Bany determined that Kador had the gift, and she agreed to teach him if he would care for her in her dotage. So Bany's chores were added to the one's Kador's mother and father assigned him, and Bany taught Kador to read the images he saw refelcted in a bowl of water. The rest of clan Ryabatsev knew about it, but did not hold Kador apart from the rest of them as a result. Some people of that clan of the Vos have the gift, and they accept this without question.
Kador Slan grew to be a teenager, and a fairly large and nimble boy at that. He wanted to be an Edgedancer, as the most socially revered men of his clan were. In addition to the respect of his clan, being an Edgedancer meant fewer of the more tedious chores of life. Kador had learned to treat hard work like poison, and figured the life of the Edgedancer would be easy, since it rarely involved scrubbing an old Dula's floors. He was eager to be regarded as a man, as all boys are out of ignorance and underestimation. Becoming an Edgedancer meant just that, and so he apprenticed to his uncle Bardo.
Being an Edgedancer meant earning a living, the better part of the livelihood of the clan. The Edgedancers were performers as much as swordsmen, and some days more so. Kador's chores now included mending costumes, polishing boots, sharpening and oiling swords, and collecting the tips and tickets that were donated or sold for performances. He learned how the Edgedancer's art, as well, and took to it like a fish to water. Uncle Bardo also taught Kador the rest of the arts a Vos of the Ryabatsev should know as an adult. How to move about without being noticed, and how to climb nearly any surface. He learned a bit about hiding things, hiding himself, and making a hasty exit when the locals got antsy.
: ''****''
And so it was that in his Fifteenth year, just two years past, that tragedy found Kador Slan Ugondoneva Hutz Ryabatsev. It was not the sort of tragedy that leaves one to bury family members and grieve with whomever is left, but to bury one's old life entirely and grieve alone.
He an Uncle Bardo were walking into Povero from the Vos caravan encampment outside the city's outskirts. It was just after dawn on a fine summer morning. Dew on the clover underfoot cooled their feet even inside their boots, and the bright yellow early sunlight warmed their backs, casting long shadows ahead of them. Around them, woods had given way to pastures, and the walls of Povero could be seen peeking over the low hills, copses of trees, and farmsteads that littered the countryside.
The morning was glorious, but Kador was troubled. "Uncle Bardo, I had a vision last night, and I'm confused."
Bardo glanced at his nephew. This was going to be one of those serious talks that men avoided with all but their closest male relatives and after too much wine, any girl who would listen. Bardo wasn't sure he wanted to know. Knowing something meant having to do something about it, and there were things he didn't want either of them to know or to have to do anything about.
"If you're confused, I can't see how confusing me will help. Are you sure this is for me to hear?"
"It was a vision, and I'm sure it included you, so this is for you to hear. From the gods through me to you."
Bardo sighed, a long exhalation through pursed lips. "OK, your dice, you roll."
Kador frowned briefly, considering how to express something so specific and yet ephemeral and dreamlike. He talked with his hands gesturing to describe what he had seen.
"You were gambling, playing a game I've never seen before with cards and knives. You were playing opposite a serpent, and a horse. The table you were playing on was an old breaking wheel, and there were bones still on it."
"Are your visions always so pretty?" Bardo was eager, even desperate to change the topic, but he knew there was no way to do it.
"Sometimes. The skeleton was wearing a curved silver dagger, with purple stones in it.. What do they call them?"
"Amethyst." Bardo knew exactly what Kador was talking about. He looked straight ahead, listening as though to a death sentence. Both he and Kador knew that that specific dagger was a symbol of authority in clan Ryabatsev. The chief owned that dagger, although neither of them were willing to acknowledge that out loud.
"Amethysts, right. You were bluffing, and well. The serpent bet me."
"It bit you?"
"No, it bet me."
"What did it bet you?"
"I was the pot, I was what the snake was betting." Kador walked on silently for some time. They were both not looking at each other, and not talking.
"Then what?" Bardo's voice had a tone of resignation in it, like he didn't want to hear it but that it had to be said anyway.
"You folded." Kador said it without looking at his uncle. He wasn't sure what it all meant but he knew it wasn't good.
:''****''
"Where am I?" Slan asked, rubbing the bleariness from his eyes as he looked at the old man. The old man was very old and unkempt, with summer teeth and fallen hair. Where he was, in the immediate sense, was a narrow alley between two wooden shacks, a surprisingly clean spot with sparse grass and dry sand. Whatever pee he lay in was old and dry, which was about as good as he could hope for.
Slan knew the reason he had come to be in that alley, if not exactly how and where. Slan hadn't known what to make of his vision then, but it was making more sense now. Bardo had been awfully friendly with the wife of the leader of their wandering little tribe, and together they were planning the murder of the chief. Murder within the caravans was all but unheard of, since the consequences were so dire. The grim necessity of revenge killings would eventually leave a group of wagons and ponies stranded in a woods somewhere with no one left to take them anywhere. But murder was what they had in mind, and Slan's vision had said as much, and so Bardo had ... Had done what?
"Welcome to Beggartown, me boy," the old man laughed and sat on the dirt next to Slan. "Glad you're done bein' moon-torn for the time bein'."
"Moon torn?"
"Mad as a rat in a shitter," the old man said. "Been wanderin' and ravin' for 'bout three days. Folks thought ye might be mad or ye might be sick, but no one's teched ye or yer things, as far as I seen anyhew."
Three days. His family, his whole life were long gone by now, three days gone in a direction he could not guess. And if he found them, then what? Bardo would surely have to kill him, and Bardo probably could. He was abandoned. Stranded in Beggartown, after a lifetime as a wandering Vos, a performing Edgedancer. No more shows, no more wagons, no more late nights of singing and dancing and wine and dark eyed women around a fire. Now he was Povero's resident Vos.
"Well, all right then good sir, I'm Slan, and I'm grateful for your care." He held out his hand to shake the old mans. He put on the bravest face he had, and let his broad smile do the heavy lifting for him.
The old man held out his left hand, after showing the stump where his right should have been with an embarrassed shrug. "Widdershins, they calls me, on account of my misplaced paw over here."
"Looks like you can show me how a man makes a living in this town," Slan said, gesturing with his chin at the stump. It marked Widdershins as a thief, and one who'd made a wretched mistake at some point. Or it marked him as a scarred veteran of some old war and Slan was being impossibly rude.
"That I can, boy. We can both use the help."
Even though he was expecting it, the knock on the door broke the concentration of Brianus Everstout, Povero's Abbot of the Divine House of Order, on the passage he was studying. He had lost track of time reading about the lineage of Prelates from hundreds of years ago and had forgotten he was due a visitor. He sighed, closed the large, leather-bound book in front of him and looked towards the door.
"Enter", he called out in a deep, booming voice.
A medium height, broad shouldered priest entered the room and closed the heavy, oaken door behind him. He took a few steps further into the Abbot's chambers, bowed his head momentarily and muttered a few words in blessing to the gods.
"Blessed are the Divine Gods", echoed Brianus, bowing his head for a second and then looking back at the man who had entered.
It was said that everyone found themselves in Povero at one point in their lives but, even so, some races and groups of people were rarer than others. The Silde, though not rare, were an uncommon sight this far from the Borderlands. Even less likely was seeing a Silde priest of the High Faith.
The man who stood attentively in front of the Abbot, his head held high and his face emotionless, was typical for one of the Silde. His skin was very pale, almost white, and his pale hair almost looked grey even though the man was only just 18 years of age. His eyes, which occasionally looked around the room studying everything they found, were a cold, pale blue. Eventually, those eyes settled on the Abbot still sat in a large, sturdy chair at his desk.
"Endrelkarit Tarik", Brianus began, tripping a little over the name, "I am glad you agreed to see me. May I call you Tarik?"
The Silde man's face didn't change. It remained seemingly emotionless, neither smiling nor frowning, his arms loosely folded in front of him. His eyes closed for a moment and he spoke up in answer, his voice strong and slightly accented.
"Yes, Abbot Brianus", Tarik agreed. "And may I say that it is a blessing to have a private audience with you".
The Abbot nodded, though he wondered whether the priest thought he'd asked him here to praise him. Unfortunately he hadn't.
"Thank you Tarik", the Abbot said smiling. He saw that the priest's mouth turned up ever so slightly into a smile though it was hardly obvious. "How are you settling in here in Povero?"
"It is not the same as at home in Bor Endria", Tarik replied. The Abbot wasn't sure whether Tarik considered this a good or bad thing. "Still, the accommodation at the temple is comfortable and suits me well. The city is interesting and the people here are many and varied. There is much to do to appease the gods and many unbelievers to convert".
The Abbot noted that this last statement was said as if Tarik was displeased that the church hadn't done more for the city in the past. And it seemed to Brianus that Tarik thought like they should count themselves lucky that he was here to help further the teachings of the High Faith.
Brianus Everstout nodded and steepled his fat fingers in front of his well-jowled face. "There are still many heretics in Povero because this city is open to all. But the gods still rule their lives, whether they believe or not, and will ensure that they see the Light in the end".
"Indeed", agreed Tarik.
"How about your fellow priests? Are you getting on well with them?" asked the Abbot, though he knew some of the answer. The other priests didn't much like this newcomer. He seemed to consider himself above and better than them, even those who had been priests for many years. Of course, this man never said actually mentioned anything regarding this. He never actually stated he was better than them. It was just his attitude.
"As the Lawbringer teaches, we must work together in order to bring civilization and order to the people", Tarik answered noncommittally. "The others are fine priests and our prayers together are heard by the gods. However, I spend most of my time when not praying or assisting during services out in the city..."
"Ah yes", interrupted the Abbot, for this was something he wanted to mention and discuss with the young priest. It was, in fact, the main reason for inviting the man here. "I have heard reports from the other priests that you spend much of your time with the Poveran Guard, erm... assisting them in their duties. And some of the acolytes say that you're trying to involve them in your Lawkeeping".
Tarik nodded solemnly and shuffled a little in his blue robes. "Yes, I am ensuring the laws of this city are followed by its people. As is written in the Scrolls of Holy Truth, 'Be strong and obey all the laws I have written; turn not from their order so that you may be successful above all'. I am also helping the guards keep order, helping in their investigations, curing their wounded, bringing lawbreakers and heretics to their attention and, of course, spreading the Word of the Mother Church amongst the common people. I'm hoping others of the Order will join me as Lawkeepers".
All this Brianus already knew. He'd heard about Tarik's assistance with the city guards and that, on occasion, he'd actually been quite useful. Certainly his actions had meant an increase in the number of guards and their relations attending the various services.
"And", continued Tarik, his eyes now gleaming a little, the only emotion he'd shown up to now, "it does state in clause 23 of subsection 11(b) of the Statutory Peacekeeping Bylaws that the city guards are entitled to request assistance from the priests of the local parish and that priests of the Divine Order of the Blue should assist the authorities in the keeping of the laws in all ways that they can".
'Ah yes', thought the Abbot, 'the man is like a walking legal tome. Sometimes I wonder whether he makes these laws up'. He looked at the pale priest in front of him and amended his last thought. 'No. He may be a little arrogant and pedantic but he's honest'.
"I've also heard that you helped solve some case concerning missing women in the Riverside district", Brianus inquired, careful to not mention that these women were most likely whores.
The young priest's shoulders tensed at this and he uttered a few words. "They were murdered (may Ethrunay guard their souls unto the final resting place). The gods granted my prayers and gave me insight regarding the crime. One of the guards then found the murder weapon and after seeking further divine council, I was given a vision of the murderer. And details of his various crimes".
"Oh", the Abbot declared, unaware of this detail. He looked up into the priest's stony visage and sympathetically said, "I hope the affair did not trouble you too greatly. It was a good thing that you did".
"He had broken the law numerous times and committed an array of evil acts. By Povero's laws he was trialed and punished by death", Tarik stated, though still he seemed a little troubled by his memories.
"Did you ascertain whether the man was a follower of Gorum?" the Abbot asked.
Tarik shook his head. "No, I do not believe he was. Though the Blackwolf was surely guiding his actions". Then he added, "May the Diving Gods protect us all from his Darkness"
"Arridin, Arvessin and the rest will protect us from His evil", the Abbot noted in response. But talk of the evil god led the Abbot to other thoughts concerning this young priest and his heritage.
"It is good that you are helping the city guard and promoting the ways of the Divine Gods", the Abbot reluctantly admitted. "Though I think you should perhaps spend more time within the temple and spend more time in prayer than diverting the younger acolytes from their duties. Am I sure the gods will guide you. Anyway, you are doing well after traveling from near the Borderlands, then? I have heard that you came from a privileged position there in Bor Endria. Your father, Viriant, was a bishop there and on the council advising the Mayor?"
Tarik's mouth turned back down into a slight frown and his folded arms tightened a little.
"Yes, that is correct", answered the priest.
"I have heard a little about your father", the Abbot said, watching Tarik carefully. "He is a... successful man. Apparently, you look a lot like him. Are you similar to him in other ways, I wonder?"
Brianus could tell that Tarik knew the meaning behind his words. Many of the Silde followed the Blagovite Church and Bor Endria was one of the outlying cities that followed that vile heresy. The Abbot was probing to see why Tarik had left that far away city and find out how the priest would respond about questions concerning his kin.
"My father and I... disagree on numerous things", Tarik replied, his eyes straight ahead. "We are not as alike as some might think" he added and said no more.
The Abbot tilted his head. It seemed to be an agreeable answer without fully addressing the unasked question. Clearly the man did not want to talk about his father. Brianus could understand why.
"Very well", the Abbot continued after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Keep up with your studies and your daily worship. I hope you stay and flourish here in Povero, young Endrelkarit Tarik. And if you have any concerns or need anything, please request a meeting with me".
"I shall, Abbot Brianus" said Tarik and then added, "thank you".
The Abbot nodded and grinned but unfortunately the young priest did not return his smile. 'Ah well', thought the Abbot, 'perhaps Sporenc will grant some humor to the grey, stony man'.
"I shall think of you in my prayers this night", Brianus stated. "Now go with my blessings and the blessings of the Divine".
"Blessed are the Divine Gods", said Tarik in return touching his right hand to the holy symbol that hung on a thick chain about his neck. After bowing to the Abbot, the priest of the Divine House of Order turned and left by the door through which he had entered.
The Abbot watched him go, whilst scratching at his thick red beard. When he could no longer hear the footfalls of the priest outside his room, the Abbot turned back to his book and continued reading.
Tarik wandered away from the tavern heading towards his chambers back in the temple district. As he walked along the dark roads and through the gloomy alleyways, he mused on the day’s events in the Traveler's Tithe and looked forward to the evening's prayers and contemplation back at the temple.
Suddenly, a strong, wiry arm reached around Tarik's shoulders from the left and an unfriendly right hand slipped around from behind him and place a sharp, slim dagger at his throat.
"Don't move and don't say a word, priest", a rough voice hissed in Tarik's ear. "Otherwise I'll slit your throat"
Tarik said nothing but glanced downwards at the blade holding him captive. Surprisingly, Tarik recognised the weapon. It looked to be the same as the knives the murderer had used. It had the same hilt and guard that looked a little like a snake's body. The blade had a silvered edge like the others he'd seen. Was it the murderer that had killed those women and that Tarik himself had killed just three days ago?
"Listen to me carefully", the rough voice continued, "and do what I say and I'll let you live. If you struggle or even pray to your gods, then you'll die".
Tarik gritted his teeth at this but did not retort, instead favouring a prayer to Ethrunay for protection in his thoughts. So he studied what he could of the figure behind him. Judging from the angle the man held him, Tarik reckoned the man was slightly taller than himself. His hands were lightly tanned and the hair on the back was dark coloured. The arm was strong but not well muscled. And the man spoke Barindi although he couldn't place the accent.
"You had to go and kill our agent, didn't you?" the man let slip, his anger obvious in his speech. "You had to stick your divine nose into things that had nothing to do with the Church. Stupid priest".
He said our agent, thought Tarik. So there's more than one. And it means this isn't the same man that I brought to justice. So at least he's probably not some unholy blasphemy risen from its grave. Not like that creature I faced on the way here from Bor Endria.
"The Blessed Gods shall punish you for your actions..." Tarik defiantly spoke out, but his words were quickly cut short, as the blade was pressed closer into his skin, drawing a bead of blood.
"Shut up, priest! I told you to be quiet", the man threatened. "Just listen, okay? Stop your meddling in our affairs", the man continued. "Otherwise it'll be you that’ll end up dead in an alley somewhere. Or worse".
Blessed Gods, why do these things always happen to me? Tarik wondered. He'd always encountered strange, and often dangerous, things wherever he went. In Bor Endria, he'd stumbled upon that cult worshipping some naked demon succubus. As well as that zombie warlock he'd encountered on his way to Povero he'd also come across the path of a small army of frog-like men. And here in Povero, he'd already investigated those murders, been puzzled by the lack of spiders and insects in the temple district and unearthed an acolyte who was more than he seemed.
In fact, just a few days ago, back at the tavern he'd met an orc and a small group of other unusual people looking for adventure. At first, Tarik had considered dismissing the barbarian as some despicable heretic. As far as he was concerned, all orcs worshipped false gods. And yet this one was different somehow. He was not like any of the Ormuz Tarik knew of, that was certain. Like Tarik, he was a stranger in a strange land, unusual compared to the others in the city.
His companions were similar. There was something different about them all. Unfortunately, one or two (or three!) did not quite see eye-to-eye with the law. Still, it was his calling to ensure these fellow newcomers to the city remained lawful citizens and try to convert them to the Mother Church.
Something his grandfather had often said to him was that the Ways of the Gods were not to be known by mere mortals (except, Tarik had added, for the Blessed Prelate himself, may the Gods forever shine on Him). He'd also said that sometimes the Gods' Hands in things were obvious and sometimes they were subtle and mysterious. Tarik believed the Gods had guided these unusual citizens to him. He believed it was his divine duty to lead them towards the light and the true faith whilst assisting them in vanquishing evil and helping the city. And in that they would be a great help.
Still, the Gods must know how difficult it was!
"You listening to me, priest?!" barked the thug behind him, bringing Tarik's thoughts back to the present.
"You understand? Keep to your little prayers and services to those gods of yours and stop messing in things that don't concern you, right?" the man threatened. "Or death will be the least of your worries".
"One such as you shall not deter me from my divine mission..." began Tarik until he was roughly shoved forwards and down onto the ground. His smooth, pale face hit the road with a harsh thud and, for a brief second, Tarik's world swam.
When his head cleared enough to him to lift it and look around, the man appeared to be gone. Tarik gathered himself and stood up, gingerly holding his head, and gazed around looking for any sign of his fleeing attacker. But there was no one around.
Tarik muttered a prayer and a quick blessing to his Gods. Moments later, the Gods answered him, bathing his body in their power, shielding him from attacks and lighting the area around him. Still, it appeared the man was well and truly gone and no sign was left of the route he had taken.
He continued to rub his head, wondering what it was all about and what he'd gotten himself into this time. The encounter would not put him off of course - in fact it meant he'd probably investigate further - but the assault did inflame his sense of justice and pride. He'd find out who the man was, what "they" were doing in this city and why.
But first, it was time to head back to the temple for evening's holy service. Some things were more important than others.
The shutters were closed against the light of day, leaving the dusky interior of the Traveler’s Tithe in shadows but not drearily so. The angular shafts of light from a window’s edge or the half-open doorway to the street cut like yellow glass across the room, leaving long, narrow seams of daylight on the wall behind the bar. Otherwise invisible dust motes floating in air tinged with scents of wine, ale, and pipe smoke stood out like swarms of angry gnats in the beams.
It was mid-afternoon, so three was no minstrel and little conversation. Two men at a nearby table kept their voices low nonetheless.
“How many did you say?”
The long-haired Choyen’s right hand scratched at the dark stubble along his cheek while his left hand fingered the bronze hilt of a curved leather-encased saber hanging from his hip. Both seemed equally contemplative gestures, his mind on violent thoughts.
The older, smaller, and much less imposing Barind woman – a farmer if her story held up and her attire spoke true – answered with nervous haste.
“Just the one…or so I think. I only saw the one, but it was enough for me. My hands won’t return until the thing is dealt with, and we’re in the middle of harvest. If I can’t get my crops in I’ll be forced to sell my land. Please, I beg you…will you help me?”
The Choyen was giving it serious thought. He scratched at his chin some more and then turned to look at the window. When he returned his gaze to the farmer he was of a weighing and measuring mood for a long, pregnant moment.
“No, I’m sorry,” he finally decided.
He rose from his seat and finished his ale quickly before leaving the woman without further comment. She watched him stride out the door – truthfully, retreat was his only, best option given her likely response to his refusal. It didn’t take long. She stared down dejectedly at her warmed cider and then put her hands to her face and started sobbing.
“I’ll help.”
The unexpected offer from the next table startled her face out from its hiding place between her dampened fingers. She squinted in the dimness and then her eyes went wide when she realized who had spoken. Orcs weren’t exactly common in Povero. Barindi-speaking orcs offering help were downright odd.
She hesitated. The orc was large, not just physically – although he was certainly bigger than the Choyen – but there was also something about his posture and presence which communicated size. Maybe she’d chosen hastily with the Choyen after all, but this was still a barbarian…
She finally seemed to get over her hesitancy and moved to sit next to him at his table. She smoothed out her long wool skirt and folded her hands on the table in front of her, trying to regain some measure of composure.
“My name is Lowene Stonewright,” she started. “I –…“
“Know all that,” the orc tersely interrupted while gesturing at the tavern keep for another round.
“Heard it the first time,” he said, not looking at her but studying the inside of his mug before tipping it up to be emptied. That done he added, “I’ll take the job.”
She studied his face and seemed mesmerized for a moment by the two fangs which poked up from his lower lip. She shook herself out of it after a moment and leaned back with crossed arms and a suddenly skeptical wariness.
She asked with some seriousness, “How do I know you’re up to the task?”
His response was to finally turn fully her way and bestow upon her a challenging head-tilted look up through semi-raised, bushy eyebrows. With him fully turned towards her she could make out his heavily-muscled chest encased in fine chain. She caught on quickly after also noticing the tall, wickedly-tipped spear leaning against the wall behind him.
“Um…okay. Did you hear what I was paying?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he answered, returning to his previous position facing the table. His drink arrived and he dabbed at it with a thick, olive-colored finger before taking a large swill. When he returned the mug to the table he began his negotiations.
“Take half what you offered Choyen,” he revealed, receiving a look of surprise in return. “But want something else from you, too.”
The look of surprise on Lowena’s face rapidly turned to confusion and then horror at what she assumed he meant. Her hand reflexively moved to the neck of her cotte and she recoiled from him in her chair.
The orc caught this all in his peripheral vision. His mug still on the table, he closed his eyes and sighed, his head lowering and shaking slowly in consternation.
“Not what I meant,” he explained as patiently as he could. He detailed exactly what he had meant while she listened carefully. When he was finished she seemed somewhat confused, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Okay,” she finally said. “It’s a deal. When can I expect you?”
He finished another long pull on his drink and answered, “Tomorrow. I’ve things to do first.”
He stood up, drawing a few looks from the handful of other patrons as curious about this odd orc as they would be about an unexpected hail or a hole in the road. The third pull on the mug was the last, and he put the empty mug down before grabbing his spear.
“Wait,” she interjected. “What’s your name?”
“Melos,” he answered before heading for the door.
“Melos…that’s a Vos name,” the Barind farm woman pointed out.
“Yes,” he replied without turning back.
Lowene watched him leave and sat there, semi-stunned and not quite sure if she should be relieved or not.
“That was the strangest orc I’ve ever met,” she said absently to herself.
The tavern keep, busy clearing new cobwebs from the rafters with a long-handled broom, simply chuckled at the statement and resumed his cleaning. He’d seen stranger things.
:''*****''
Shak considered his own judgment while he tied Faith’s reins to the tall oak’s lowest-hanging branch. He’d been looking for something like this since his arrival in Povero six days ago. He hadn’t thought he was being picky, but he knew his limitations and he knew also that he was working without a net here.
The job seemed simple and straightforward, and more to the point it seemed achievable. Most people hiring for this sort of thing went to the Poveran Guard or the more well-known mercenary groups. Others, with less coin to spend or more need for discretion, found willing men in the taverns and inns known to be frequented by such people.
That was how he’d ended up sitting in the Traveler’s Tithe. He’d hunted opportunity for three days, and then decided to park himself in a place in which opportunity might find him instead. He’d all but given up until he’d overheard the conversation Lowene had with the Choyen.
It was as close to a perfect situation as he’d heard. Defending a farm from predators was something he knew well, and the threat seemed about right for him working alone. He’d asked around and the Stonewrights were well-respected in their community of fellow farmers. Word of mouth would be good.
Assuming he could finish the job, that is.
Shak took a quick inventory. Armor, helmet, spear, torches, bandages, an empty oilcloth sack…everything he’d thought of. He scanned around to get his bearings and started off at a light jog for the base of the nearby hill. If Stonewright was right, the thing came from that direction.
He pulled up short, his right hand dropping to his hip. Shak sank into a posture of frustrated agony and he looked back at faith tied up fifty paces away. The blade of his hand axe – just a hatchet, really – glinted in the sun as it poked up out of his saddle bag. It was the one tool from the farm which he carried, reminding him always of where he came from.
He took a step towards the horse, and then stopped. Did he really need it? He turned back towards the hill – it seemed so close. And he was impatient to get this job under his belt and behind him. He turned back to the hill and started off again. Then he stopped. Then he almost stated again before turning quickly and jogging back to grab his damned axe.
‘I’ll probably never take it out of my belt,’ he grumped to himself as he took it up in his hand. He threaded the short shaft through his belt loop and then made again for the hill, consoling himself along the way with the fact that you never know..
The large hole was dug out of the side of the hill, near a small, thin grove of wormwood trees. He circled into the trees and hung back to study it. When nothing moved for a while, he carefully stalked closer, spear out and ready. His hide boots made little noise as he made his approach.
A cloud of flies near the entrance drew his attention as he wondered if this was the place. The flies were concerned with something on the ground and he kicked at it. As they jumped and flew from the object he realized he was looking at the lower third of a cow’s hind leg. Instincts kicked in and he lowered his crouch another inch.
’Yep, this is the place.’
The hole was almost a cave. He got right up to the entrance and considered his options. He could try smoking it out. He could just wait it out and take it outside. Going into that hole wasn’t the smart play. He’d be able to walk in, but just barely. Maneuverability would be severely limited. Better to let it come out on its own. If he looked around he probably could find enough material to fashion a decent snare.
He thought about what kind of snare he might lay. It would have to be decent-sized. Stonewright’s description was a “big bug”, which probably meant one of those oversized stink bugs or maybe even a giant beetle. In his mind he trapped the man-sized insect, poked it with his spear a few times, and then collected his reward. Easy peasy.
His mental self was going over the non-monetary aspect of his reward when a clicking ruckus brought him back to the there-and then. He turned.
“Great Speargod…”
Shak leapt backwards, landed poorly, and stumbled to the ground on his back, dropping his spear. The claw had just missed him but its twin was coming right for his head. He swatted it away wildly and furtively kicked his legs to try and slide backwards and put more distance between it and him.
His back came up against the rise of the hill ending his awkward retreat. He twisted sideways, hearing the point of it’s tail drive hard into the ground where he was. It backed off enough to pull its tail free and he managed to scrabble a hand along the ground toward his spear and pull it to him.
Shak was totally defensive and out of maneuvering room. It lunged for him again and he turned and dove – into the hole.
His rubbery legs shook as he moved as fast as he could further and further inside. After some sixty paces he fell into a large open space onto wet ground. He felt hard things under his hands and realized they were bones. There were lots of them.
His orc sight made the adjustment and he could see it was burrow or sorts. More to the point it was a dead end. His gasps for breath and thundering heartbeat were loud in his ears, but not so much that he couldn’t hear the thing chittering as it followed him inside.
’Are you satisfied you moron?’ he demanded of himself. ’Never occurred to you that it might not actually be inside the damn hole, did it?’
It was close. He turned and hefted his spear. At this point, options were limited.
First out of the tunnel were the claws, each almost as big as him. He jabbed with his spear but the chitinous appendages brushed the deadly tip aside. The beast forced its way into the cave and he was face to face with it. The claws waved menacingly. It’s tail rose high into the air behind it, ready to strike. Shak surprised himself by not soiling his underclothes.
It wasn’t a patient beast. Shak used his spear defensively as it forced him backwards towards the wall. The claws would snap at him from his sides, trying to pin him for the tail strike which would end his life by poison. The tip of his spear flickered in and out, probing for a soft spot on its armored hide.
It rushed him and he danced nimbly sideways. He stabbed at its lower parts from the side and drew an unsettling shriek from it. When he pulled his spear back, the tip was covered in ichor. There was hope. It was short-lived.
It pivoted surprisingly fast and Shak was broadsided by a huge pincer. He tumbled backwards and rolled, armor scraping on bone. It charged again, sensing victory. He backpedaled along the ground, hands grasping for a spear he no longer held.
He just made his feet in time to avoid another pincer slam, but in doing so he dodged right into the grasp of the other. Shak growled loudly in pain and shock. The crushing strength of it was brutal and it held him mercilessly. He saw the tail jerk back and whip towards him. His left arm was crushed against his side by the thing’s claw but his right managed to get in the way enough that the tip, slick with venom, only grazed his armor.
He put his strength into moving the pincer but as strong as he was, it was stronger. He looked up again just in time to see the tail whip forward. It struck his shoulder and he cried out in furious impotence at meeting his death like this. The curved deadly tip penetrated deep, but only managed to slide between the chain and the leather underneath.
It moved him, forcing him up against the wall of its den. Its face came closer, dead black eyes over a busily-working mouth. His flailing free right hand brushed against something cold and hard at his hip. The beast’s tail drew back. There was no dodging this time. Shak swung his arm as fast as he could in a high arc, aiming between those soulless eyes as the tail snapped forward to end his life.
:''*****''
Lowene Stonewright made her way outside to see what the commotion was about. The few hands who hadn’t abandoned her after the big bug started raiding the cattle were gathered up outside the farm house around that orc riding up on his horse, a large bundle across his saddle.
Could it be? She dared to hope as she wrapped her shawl around her and walked out to greet him.
“Welcome back, Melos. What news?”
In response he let the bundle slung across his saddle drop to the ground. The hands unwrapped it and recoiled as one. An ichor-covered pincer claw, hacked off at the joint, lay on the stained coverings.
“Rest of it in a hole, base of that hill,” he said, gesturing towards it. He took a deep, cleansing breath.
Lowene gave a whoop of delight and clapped her hands. “You did it! Oh, by the gods…”
Her sigh was full of relief. Only then did she notice the orc’s left arm, bandaged and slung against his chest.
“Are you hurt?” she asked with genuine concern for her new hero. “I can tend to you inside. I have clean bandaged and water.”
Shak shook his head. His visage was subdued, not quite troubled.
“Ciarrient Temple in Povero will tend my arm,” he explained. “Payment?”
She held up a finger and hurried back inside. His eyes were focused a thousand paces off as he waited. His thoughts were deep inside his head. His face was sober to the point of somber. The farm hands studied him and the claw in turns until Lowene returned with a pouch in her hands.
“Here you are, and well-earned.” She handed him the pouch. He took it without comment and stashed it in his saddle bag.
“I added enough to cover your tithe to Ciarrient for the healing plus a little extra for my gratitude.” Lowene was breathless with giddy relief. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
Shak didn’t respond right away. He looked down at Faith’s mane and stroked it for a few moments.
“And the rest?” he finally asked, not looking up.
Lowene stood straight and nodded once, strongly and affirmatively.
“You can be sure I’ll take care of it.”
He paused another moment and then nodded. Then he put heels to Faith and made for Povero. It would be dark before he arrived but he wasn’t caring much about that or anything else just then.
:''*****''
The ride did him good. He’d gotten past the shock but his mind kept self-flagellating over his near-death experience. He’d been stupid, rash, unthinking. He’d lived but only by the sheer luck that made him decide to go back for his axe. He’d driven it deep into the giant scorpion’s head a scant instant before it had ended his life.
Ensconced in his usual seat at the Traveler’s Tithe, Shak’s shoulders slumped and his head dipped low. Lowene would tell everyone she knew about him and what he had done. She’d keep the claw for a while and make a conversation piece out of it, so that she could tell about the orc Melos and how he defeated the big bug. She’d never know about how his lack of judgment almost got him slain – no, that part would get thankfully left out. His father, watching from the afterlife, was not likely pleased.
He wasn’t about to quit. No, that would really shame his father. He’d have to learn from this. He’d have to start thinking about what he was doing. He’d also have to break down and find others to do this with going forward.
But first, he insisted as his first ale of the night arrived at his table, he would get very, very drunk.
''A'nati'' is the native language of the Aateni.
''The Aateni'' are a race of humans native to the forested islands of the [[EasterSea Coast]]. They can now be found all along the coast, living in nearly every town and kingdom from [[Last Port]] to [[Calafia]]. ''Aateni'' are of medium height, averaging 5'7" to 5'9. Their skin is deeply tan; their hair ranges from light brown to blonde, with the occasional redhead. Black hair is almost never seen. Aateni eyes are either blue, green, or violet. Never anything else.
The ''Aateni'' who live in one of the kingdoms on the mainland are generally considered "civilized", while the ''Aateni'' still living in their own villages and under their own culture are considered backward and [[Barbarians]], despite the fact that ''Aateni culture'' is as ancient and noble as Imperial culture. The barbarian Aateni speak their own language, called [[A'nati]]
''The Aateni Horse'' originated on [[Tan Aaten]], one of the few areas of the [[Empire]] that never saw the importation of the [[Calafian Horse]]. The Aateni is used for heavy draft and farm work. It stands 15 to 16 hands high, and its endurance is almost legendary. The origins of this breed are the subject of debate among sages who specialize in horses and livestock. Some say that the breed dates back to before the [[Empire]] and others say that the breed originated as a smaller type of horse that were improved by the [[Aateni]] natives. ''Aateni Horses'' stand 15 to 16 hands high, and are universally bay in color. It is still used as a workhorse on small farms and seaweed gatherers.
The Aateni use a single, personal name combined with a patronymic and lineal name. The personal name is given first. The patronymic is then given, with "mac" being placed before the father's name if the individual being named is male, "fyrch" if the individual being named is female. Lastly, the lineal name (being the name of the paternal grandfather) is given, being preceded by the indicator "ui" if the person named is male and "inghean" if the individual being named is female.
''Example:'' //Diliter, who is the son of Feyrith and the grandson of Ches would be called Diliter mac Feyrith ui Ches. Diliter's sister Sherde would be Sherde fyrch Feyrith inghean Ches.//
|!Name|!Name|!Name|!Name|!Name|
|Aclunder |Ecern |Ithaluc |Plael |Teloale |
|Adwen |Elane |Jaceter |Plaemu |Tenader |
|Aerrie |Elemoa |Jalshen |Plaeorn |Tercaen |
|Agen |Elesc |Jantellon |Plaeorr |Teylae |
|Alerith |Eluda |Jarn |Plane |Teyrdil |
|Alesc |Enfer |Jelshire |Plattern |Teyrnae |
|Alluc |Enicern |Jenaeh |Plealin |Therde |
|Alorith |Eratern |Jerdego |Plealnus |There |
|Aluc |Erdan |Jerenta |Pleamoa |Tinervon |
|Arnil |Eren |Jetaluc |Plean |Tirmo |
|Arwunter |Erhaluc |Jezagen |Ples |Tofya |
|Ater |Errander |Joulame |Pliran |Tomanil |
|Athere |Eter |Joulesc |Ployl |Trane |
|Azelesc |Ezurr |Laelesc |Ployle |Trenan |
|Azurr |Faenoc |Laemu |Plun |Treval |
|Baregen |Fange |Laen |Puesa |Trien |
|Barhil |Farren |Laernoc |Puevai |Triern |
|Bealin |Feliran |Laminien |Quan |Ucern |
|Bearin |Felirnan |Lardis |Quaser |Ucorith |
|Blemenali |Fellin |Larmeshen |Quelin |Udecia |
|Bloyl |Fendila |Larn |Queno |Uren |
|Blur |Fenunzeal |Lealin |Raenoc |Vaemu |
|Blus |Fentaurn |Leglean |Ralorine |Vaen |
|Bolaemu |Fenter |Lendean |Raluc |Vaender |
|Bonie |Fesnan |Lorrine |Ratelin |Vaenoc |
|Bornali |Feyrith |Lurceant |Reclesc |Vandel |
|Cacrine |Feyrnae |Lurn |Redecia |Varnelin |
|Cadwelin |Feyrsale |Luscay |Redwen |Vealesc |
|Cael |Fezen |Maeg |Relande |Vealin |
|Caelon |Flaeorn |Mael |Relemoa |Veanus |
|Caen |Flaeorr |Maendego |Relfere |Vearin |
|Caendego |Flanil |Maenil |Rellesc |Vearith |
|Caenil |Flarcern |Maenoc |Relshen |Vearyon |
|Caenoc |Flaren |Marel |Renaeh |Velaemu |
|Caerdeite |Fleginali |Marndego |Renanil |Velinshae |
|Cealin |Flenan |Marnoc |Rendan |Vellaemu |
|Ceanlin |Flet |Meglean |Rendean |Venafer |
|Cearin |Flezin |Melarnil |Renshen |Ventern |
|Celian |Fliarn |Melay |Renta |Veoldan |
|Cenurien |Floale |Meldan |Rettern |Veolesc |
|Cerdio |Flon |Melerane |Reunali |Veolet |
|Cerien |Fluda |Melindan |Reundo |Veolia |
|Cernaeh |Fluncern |Mercern |Reus |Veollane |
|Cerriay |Galqueno |Merdean |Rhaen |Veolnan |
|Cervicern |Galuc |Merdecia |Rhaodwen |Veonan |
|Cirwirine |Ganter |Merdio |Rhas |Verine |
|Cesceant |Gardorith |Mesenan |Rheoldan |Verriay |
|Ceslo |Gelaemu |Meter |Rheon |Verser |
|Chaelf |Gelean |Mettaurn |Rheondan |Veslo |
|Chaenoc |Gemoa |Meun |Rherde |Vicerine |
|Chaern |Genali |Meunali |Rhidan |Vifelean |
|Cheder |Gendean |Meundo |Riarce |Virwernan |
|Chelon |Generan |Meunfane |Riarde |Visane |
|Chaodwen |Geral |Micrine |Ritaren |Vitaluc |
|Cheonan |Germelay |Mihrane |Sacluc |Volifere |
|Cheonlet |Gernan |Mihrien |Sadluc |Vorn |
|Cheor |Gerran |Millerine |Sanil |Vuder |
|Cheorn |Gethere |Mindarren |Scaenoc |Vurenta |
|Cherde |Giela |Misneline |Scean |Vuser |
|Chere |Gieldila |Mondernaeh |Scearr |Waen |
|Ches |Gielluc |Mordila |Seen |Wian |
|Cinfernan |Gierdel |Mununshae |Seengen |Wunien |
|Cirelin |Gilacluc |Murenta |Seenia |Wurder |
|Cirhae |Ginadis |Naleryon |Seenla |Wyel |
|Cirsane |Ginien |Negiela |Seenlia |Wyien |
|Citirmo |Haenoc |Nelande |Seervae |Wyient |
|Colaemu |Halquender |Nelean |Segiela |Wier |
|Conanil |Hant |Nendelesc |Selean |Wieth |
|Corsalluc |Haodwen |Netanil |Selian |Yeline |
|Cucanil |Haren |Nieryon |Selquarnil |Yelshere |
|Cudego |Hendarn |Nirenta |Selquerhen |Yendarn |
|Cues |Heolane |Nirsane |Sendean |Yenlin |
|Cuessane |Heolet |Norwerhen |Serdean |Yentellean |
|Curdego |Heon |Nuevai |Serriay |Yernan |
|Cuscay |Heonfane |Nyrallec |Sezen |Yersane |
|Cuspalfer |Heorane |Onurith |Shaluc |Yeslorane |
|Darverser |Herde |Orcelin |Shan |Yiela |
|Deag |Herne |Ornagen |Sharen |Yielesc |
|Dealin |Herriay |Orsunder |Sheol |Yierhen |
|Decia |Hesane |Orwunter |Sheon |Yietern |
|Deite |Hicerel |Othilande |Sherde |Yrdezahqu |
|Delqueno |Hirn |Pagen |Shere |Yrheraud |
|Denlemoa |Hirye |Paluc |Sherifere |Yrith |
|Denurhen |Hismalnil |Pamelon |Shimae |Yrwelande |
|Deola |Icern |Parder |Shire |Yudecia |
|Deolia |Icranil |Peclean |Soniran |Yuzahqu |
|Deorane |Idecia |Peimo |Sucellon |Zaldil |
|Derser |Ilarith |Peit |Sugato |Zeal |
|Dillane |Ilesc |Pelemoa |Sundecia |Zealin |
|Diliter |Illinaeh |Pelnaeh |Sunien |Zeando |
|Drane |Imerith |Penerdean |Tange |Zelemoa |
|Dreayth |Indego |Pelte |Tanil |Zelshen |
|Drenan |Iplane |Pendean |Tarne |Zeonpoe |
|Drenta |Iran |Pendel |Tealin |Zerdio |
|Dreun |Ircafer |Pender |Tean |Zerel |
|Dreusc |Ircelande |Perenta |Teanus |Zerinan |
|Drezen |Irceter |Pervon |Tearin |Zeruser |
|Dunaluc |Irdego |Pettaurn |Tearing |Zilaemu |
|Durien |Iryarser |Pezidan |Tecandis |Zilqueno |
|Duscay |Ispender |Piande |Tecalis |Zinugen |
In the hierarchy of the [[High Faith]], the Abbot is the senior priest in a given [[Parish]], and is given authority over the temples within that area.
The character is an extremely accurate shot, able to hit specific parts of a target (such as the parts not protected by Concealment or armor), with relative ease.
''Effect:'' +4 vs. Hit Location Modifiers
''Target/Area Affected:'' Character
''Duration:'' Persistent
''Range:'' Self
''Active Cost:'' 8
''Skill Roll Penalty:'' N/A
''Real Cost:'' 8
''END Cost:'' 0
//''Accurate:'' +4 vs. Hit Location Modifiers With Missile Weapons.//
Within the [[High Faith]], the Acolytes are the priests in training. Alonside the [[Deacons|Deacon]], ''Acolytes'' serve the church directly as torchbearers, incense bearers, and assistants to the clergy during services.
''Emperor Aderond II'' ruled the [[Taoric Empire]] from 3854 to 3877 [[IR]]. His twenty-three year reign was quiet and peaceful, with only one small "war" (an unremarkable month-long skirmish with a [[Rostok]] "king" who had managed to united several tribes under one banner in order to capture and sack several cities on the Imperial border). ''Aderond'' died when he slipped in his bath, fracturing his skull on the marble floor. Though there were some rumors of assassination, enough credible witnesses came forward stating that the emperor "just sort of went arse over teakettle onto the floor" to squelch them. The fact that ''Aderond'' was generally well-liked as an [[Emperor]] helped to end such rumors.
Despite being a well-known womanizer, ''Aderond'' never produced an heir of any kind, nor did he appoint one of his multitudinous first cousins. This created a crisis of succession known to sages of history as the [[Crownless Years]].
Adventuring bands are a fact of life in the [[Young Kingdoms]], and they have an effect on the greater world that is far out of proportion to their true numbers. Despite the tales and legends of their daring actions that grow up around them, adventurers are actually pretty rare. The average peasant farmer in the [[Young Kingdoms]] might meet an adventurer only once in his entire life, if at all.
Most people who live in the more settled and civilized regions of the [[Young Kingdoms]] are more than a little wary of traveling adventurers, and for good reason. Adventurers are powerful and unpredictable strangers of no fixed address and possessing mysterious and potentially dangerous powers and skills. When they come to a small town, they either bring trouble with them or manage to find some trouble to get involved with. While it is possible they can do great good, the opposite is equally true. More than one small village has burned down because the people who lived there offended some adventuring warrior band.
On the frontier, the story is entirely different. A village at the edge of the wilderness often welcomes an adventuring band in with open arms. People in such towns see adventurers as potential guardians who can possibly protect the village from the ravages of monsters, animals, and raiders while they sojourn there.
''Ahn Kuhn'' is an unarmed fighting art known only to the followers of [[Ahn Shaldo]]. It was originally developed by the [[Kuzko]] as a method for a person to perfect himself physically while he perfects himself spiritually. Most [[Laraar]] are long-time practitioners of ''Ahn Kuhn'' (though they are also the most reluctant to use it in combat), as are many [[Kuzko]] warriors.
|!Maneuver|!OCV|!DCV|!Effect|!Cost|
|Dodge | <nowiki>---</nowiki> | +5 |Dodge, Abort, Affects All Attacks | 4 |
|Escape | +0 | +0 |+15 STR vs. Grabs | 4 |
|Harmonious Balance | +0 | +0 |+15 STR vs. Shove, Block, Abort | 4 |
|Hold | -1 | -1 |Grab Two Limbs, +10 STR For Holding On | 3 |
|Joint Lock/Throw | +1 | +0 |Grab One Limb, 1d6 NND, Target Falls | 4 |
|Redirect | +1 | +3 |Block, Abort | 5 |
|Takedown | +1 | +1 |2d6 Strike, Target Falls | 3 |
|Throw | +0 | +1 |2d6 + v/5, Target Falls | 3 |
|KS: Ahn Kuhn | | | | |
|Weapon Element: Use Art With Blades | | | | |
|Weapon Element: Use Art With Staffs | | | | |
|Weapon Element: Use Art With Polearms | | | | |
''Ahn Shaldo'' (meaning either "spiritual perfection" or "spiritual balance", depending on the translator) is the primary faith of the [[Kuzko]] [[barbarians|Barbarians]]. It is more of a philosophy than a religion, and as such has no established church. Rather, it is up to every man, woman, and child in [[Kuzko]] society to seek a state of ''Ahn Shaldo'' on their own, at their own pace. There is no priesthood as such; rather the [[Kuzko]] look to learned sages, called [[Laraar]], for guidance as they seek their own spiritual perfection. There is no established training method to beecome a [[Laraar]]... an individual becomes a [[Laraar]] when he is recognized as such by another [[Laraar]] because of their spiritual wisdom and strength.
The tenets of the philosophy are few:
* ''Ahn Shaldo'' is not a god, but rather a state of being. It is the very essence of existence. To experience Ahn Shaldo is to realize our (humanity's) connection to the rest of the world. Becoming one with the World is not to lose one's self, but rather to realize one's self. It is this realization that all people are seeking, whether they know it or not.
* The primary obstacle along the path to ''Ahn Shaldo'' is man's propensity to make value decisions; that is, to proclaim that one thing has more inherent value than another thing. A person loves this, hates that, desires this, fears that, and thus is prevented from progressing toward ''Ahn Shaldo''. It is the nature of Man to make such value judgments; only by overcoming his own nature does Man attain Ahn Shaldo.
* The world is in a constant state of change. No man can truly know what will occur tomorrow, not even the so-called Oracles get everything right. The best way to face the ups and downs of life is with smiling acceptance of both, for the wise man realizes that imploring the World to favor him is pointless. Learning to patient acceptance of Fate is ''Ahn Shaldo'', while being proud of one's ability to "swim against the tide" goes against the values of ''Ahn Shaldo''.
''Aine'', the [[Goddess|Gods]] of Fertility, is commonly portrayed as a rotund, middle-aged, motherly woman with brown hair and weathered skin. Called [[Mother Nature]], she is considered very distant by common folk. The worldly doings of the people of [[Young Kingdoms]] are of almost no concern to Aine, as she busies herself with the whole wide world rather than any one part of it.
This bloodline add-on indicates that the sorcerer has a creature of elemental air (a djinn, a mephit, or perhaps even a storm giant) in their ancestral line.
|!Cost|!Ability|
| +3 |DEX +1 |
| +6 |//''Arcane Kinship:''// +3 With Interaction Skills (15 Active Points) - Only vs. Creatures of Elemental Air (-1 1/2) |
| +9 |//''Kin Mastery:''// +50 PRE (50 Active Points) - Only To Make PRE Attacks (-1), Only vs. Creatures of Elemental Air(-1 1/2), Extra Time (Full Phase, Delayed Phase; -3/4), Limited Effect (-1) |
| +6 |//''Inherent Spell: Airwalking:''// Flight 6" (12 Active Points) - 1 Continuing Fuel Charge Lasting 1 Hour (-0), Spell (-1/2), Gestures (-1/4), Incantations (-1/4) |
| +6 |//''Inherent Spell: Gust of Wind:''// Telekinesis (20 STR)(30 Active Points) - 1 Charge (-2), Spell (-1/2), Can Only Push Things Away From The Caster (-1/2), Affects Whole Object (-1/4), Instant (-1/4), Gestures (-1/4), Incantations (-1/4) |
|!Points|!Disadvantages|
| -10 |Physical Limitation: Cannot Cast Spells With Earth FX |
|!+20|!Air Bloodline Cost |
The Caliphate of Al'Aresh constitutes the western-most of the [[Young Kingdoms]]. It lies on the coast of the [[Sea of Horses]] on the edge of the [[Burning Sands]]. When conquered by the [[Taors]], the ruling Caliph at the time realized what side of the bread his butter was on and welcomed the "liberating" army with open arms. Thus, he remained in power as the new Provincial Governor. Al'Aresh is populated primarily by [[Jaris]], with a considerable [[Aresh]] minority and a smattering of other people from across the [[Young Kingdoms]].
''Al'Aresh's'' major products are fish, gemstones, and leather-goods.
Another name for the [[High Faith]].
This bloodline add-on indicates that the sorcerer has a creature of a divine nature (usually an angel, but occasionally a goodly-natured deity) in their ancestral line.
|!Cost|!Ability|
| +2 |EGO +1 |
| +3 |PRE +3 |
| +6 |//''Arcane Kinship:''// +3 With Interaction Skills (15 Active Points) - Only vs. Angelic Creatures (-1 1/2) |
| +9 |//''Holy Power:''// +50 PRE (50 Active Points) - Only To Make PRE Attacks (-1), Only vs. Undead Creatures(-1 1/2), Extra Time (Full Phase, Delayed Phase; -3/4), Limited Effect (-1) |
| +10 |//''Curative Touch:''// Simplified Healing 5d6 (50 Active Points) - Extra Time (5 Minutes; -2), 4 Charges (-1), Only To Starting Values (-1/2), No Range (-1/2) |
|!Points|!Disadvantages|
| -10 |Physical Limitation: Cannot Cast Spells With Darkness FX |
|!+20|!Angelic Bloodline Cost |
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<TITLE>Anna</TITLE>
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<tr>
<td width="102%" colspan="10" align="left" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">Player: Robert Lepard</font></b></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="102%" colspan="10" align="left" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" height="19"> </td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="5%" align="center" bgcolor="#0000FF" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>Cost</b></font></td>
<td width="12%" align="center" bgcolor="#0000FF" height="16">
<p align="left"><b><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF">Characteristic</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" bgcolor="#0000FF" colspan="2" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>Value</b></font></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" bgcolor="#0000FF" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>Roll</b></font></td>
<td width="65%" bgcolor="#0000FF" colspan="5" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>Notes</b></font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" height="16">
<font face="Arial" size="2">5</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>STR</b></font></td>
<td width="6%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="16"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">15</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="16"><font face="Arial" size="2">12-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial"><b>Lift: 200 kg; HTH Damage:
3d6; END: 3</b></font></td>
<td width="43%" rowspan="14" colspan="4" height="329">
<p align="center">
<font size="2">
<img border="0" src= "http://legendspbem.angelfire.com/noimage.jpg" width="200" height="300"></font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">6</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>DEX</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="16"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">12</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="16"><font face="Arial" size="2">11-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><b><font size="2" face="Arial">OCV 4 DCV 4</font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">10</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>CON</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">15</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial">13-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">4</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>BODY</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">12</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"><font face="Arial" size="2">11-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">0</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>INT</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="16"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">18</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="16"><font face="Arial" size="2">13-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><b><font size="2" face="Arial">PER Roll 13-</font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">0</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>EGO</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="16"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">12</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial">11-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><b><font size="2" face="Arial">ECV: 4</font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">0</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>PRE</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="16"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">13</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="16"><font face="Arial" size="2">12-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><b><font size="2" face="Arial">PRE Attack: 2 1/2d6</font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">1</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>COM</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">12</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"><font face="Arial" size="2">11-</font></td>
<td width="22%" height="16"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">1</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>PD</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">4</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"> </td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><b><font face="Arial" size="2">4 PD (0 rPD)</font></b></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">1</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>ED</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">4</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"> </td>
<td width="22%" height="16"><b><font face="Arial" size="2">4 ED (0 rED)</font></b></td>
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<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">8</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>SPD</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">3</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"> </td>
<td width="22%" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial"><b>Mental Defense: 0</b></font></td>
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<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">0</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>REC</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">6</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"> </td>
<td width="22%" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial"><b>Phases: 4, 8, 12</b></font></td>
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<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">5</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>END</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">40</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"> </td>
<td width="22%" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial"><b>Running: 6" (12" NC)</b></font></td>
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<tr>
<td class="statcost" style="width: 5%; background-color: #FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">0</font></td>
<td width="12%" bgcolor="#0000FF" align="center" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>STUN</b></font></td>
<td width="5%" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" align="center" colspan="2" height="19"><b>
<font face="Arial" size="2">28</font></b></td>
<td width="6%" align="center" height="19"> </td>
<td width="22%" height="19"><font size="2" face="Arial"><b>Swimming: 2" (4" NC)</b></font></td>
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<tr>
<td width="100%" colspan="10" height="19"> </td>
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<td width="5%" bgcolor="#0000FF" height="16">
<p align="center"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>Cost</b></font></td>
<td width="87%" colspan="8" bgcolor="#0000FF" height="16"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>Powers</b></font></td>
<td width="8%" bgcolor="#0000FF" height="16">
<p align="center"><font size="2" face="Arial" color="#FFFFFF"><b>END</b></font></td>
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<tr>
<td width="5%" align="center" height="19" valign="top" bgcolor="#FFFFFF">
<font face="Arial" size="2">28</font></td>
<td width="87%" colspan="8" align="left" height="19" valign="top" bgcolor="#C0C0C0">
<b><font face="Arial" size="2">Sorcerer Package With Dragon Bloodline Adder</font></b></td>
<td width="8%" align="center" height="19" valign="top" bgcolor="#C0C0C0"> </td>
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<td width="5%" align="center" height="19" valign="top"> </td>
<td width="87%" colspan="8" align="left" height="19" valign="top">
<font face="Arial" size="2">1) INT +8</font></td>
<td width="8%" align="center" height="19" valign="top">
<font face="Arial" size="2">0</font></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="5%" align="center" height="19" valign="top"> </td>
<td width="87%" colspan="8" align="left" height="19" valign="top">
<font face="Arial" size="2">2) EGO +2</font></td>
<td width="8%" align="center" height="19" valign="top">
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