HankTheMoose
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3.18 Expedition
🕑 Added 2024-12-13 18:22:53 +0000 UTCHi all, so the ink isn't dry on this one yet, I literally just finished drafting it. Buuut, I didn't want to put you guys on hold again while I edit, so you're getting the beta version. Feel free to drop issues into the comments. I'll run my own edit tomorrow and paste in the cleaned up version at that time :) Cheers!
Bernt tied a bit of string around the neat stack of folders on his table and dropped the packet into his bag on top of his bedroll. They contained neatly organized notes from Hallan explaining his portal to nowhere, the experiments he meant to attempt at the Pheonix Reaches, and a ream of haphazard notes on some of the finer points of diplomatic protocol that he might need when interacting with foreign priests and whoever might be sent to accompany them as legitimators from their home countries.
That done, Bernt sat down on his stone couch and nervously tapped his foot. Grixit should be here by now, shouldn’t he? He needed that robe. Raising a hand, Bernt traced out the spellform for a clock cantrip – the only scrying spell he'd ever practiced enough to cast reliably. A line of glowing blue light manifested in front of him, pointing toward the sun. It was nearly horizontal, which meant it was dawn. He still had a little time.
It had been nearly a week since the ceremony – plenty of time to prepare. Despite that, it had flown by far too quickly. Between packing, doing Iriala’s reading, preparing his experiments, and practicing Hallan's new portal to get in contact with Jori, there hadn’t been much time to keep everyone in the loop. When he’d gone to the Underkeepers’ headquarters to talk to Fiora about his upcoming journey, nearly everyone had been out working. Kustov had been there and promised to pass along a message, which was someting. The dwarf had also made him a stone teapot and a few cups to take with him, which Bernt appreciated. His own stone shaping wasn’t up to such delicate work.
He rose to pace around the room, and had barely managed a single circuit when someone knocked at the door. He hurried to open it, yanking the door open with a bit more force than was necessary.
“Morning!” Grixit said cheerfully and stepped inside, pulling a package out from under his arm. It was his new robe, folded up neatly. The goblin held up a hand to shade his eyes against the glare of Bernt’s bright lighting. “What’s going on in here, are you afraid of the dark?”
“How did it go?” Bernt asked, ignoring the question. “Is it going to be safe for me to cast manaburn?”
He didn't want to admit it to Grixit, but he was still concerned about having a shade come at him again. Whatever the warlocks said about the actual danger, it was a terrifying experience that he had no interest in repeating. He wasn’t going to be able to relax until he was out of this city and away from any remaining demons that might be lurking in the shadows.
“It should be safe,” Grixit said, shaking out the robe as if to show Bernt his work. “I treated it with cinder tree sap. It can’t burn an enchantment if it can’t reach the material, right?”
Bernt looked at the robe and then back at Grixit, raising an eyebrow. It looked exactly the same as before – not that he had expected any visual changes.
“So, you got the protective enchantment on it and it resists all kinds of fire? Do I have to activate it to use it, like the amulet? What’s it going to cost?”
Grixit smiled his best professional smile and held out his hand. “Fifteen gold marks and your keys as long as you’re gone, like we agreed.”
Bernt rolled his eyes and handed the goblin a small stack of coins and the keys to his house. He wasn’t sure what the goblin wanted to borrow his home for – maybe he’d try opening a shop in here.
“Right, Not what I meant,” he clarified, “what about the other price?”
Grixit’s enchantments were much cheaper than the work of conventional enchanters – but they came with an additional cost. The spirits he used to empower items always demanded something for themselves. Bernt’s amulet had to be recharged with drops of his own blood, while his mountain lion belt made use of his senses to recapture a sense of life for itself. He hadn’t noticed any significant side-effects from it so far, though Grixit had warned him that overusing the belt could influence him in unpredictable ways.
“You have to feed it herbs,” Grixit said, “about a pound per week. It’ll work continuously. Not much help against getting stabbed in the back if you have to activate it all the time.”
Bernt narrowed his eyes at the goblin, trying to decide if he was joking.
“Herbs?”
“Parsley, yarrow, sage, you know? It shouldn’t matter, though it might take a bit of hunting in the winter. The protection will weaken if you don’t feed it enough.”
“Okay, but why herbs?”
Grixit grinned. “Well. One of our tributary tribes, the nomadic Ibn-Dirin, follow a ram-spirit around the Urgan Highlands. According to the lore, he’s got an iron hide. We work with it for some of our own armor back in Vael Dirin, too. He likes herbs, so that's what he asks for. The leather isn’t actually iron, but it should work a lot better than any conventional leather. Also, it’s sort of alive now, so it’ll heal from most kinds of damage, though you might end up with scars on the robe.”
Giving the goblin a skeptical look, Bernt accepted the robe and opened it up, checking the seams. As far as he could tell, they were completely gone. Somehow, the entire thing had grown together into a single piece, with the leather in the middle.
“How do I, uh… feed it?” Bernt asked, fervently hoping it didn’t have a mouth somewhere.
Grixit shrugged. “Just wrap it around your greens and leave it overnight. Or if you’re wearing it, just stuff them up your sleeve or something. Ibn is a spirit, he’ll figure it out.”
That didn’t sound too bad, he supposed. And being able to repair itself was going to be incredibly useful while traveling – especially if they had to fight.
“Thanks,” he said. “Mind waiting for a minute while I change? I want to drop off my Underkeepers’ uniform on the way up.”
***
Bernt arrived at the docks a half-hour later, his staff thumping on the wooden walkway as he made his way out to the boat. Fiora had insisted he keep it – along with his robe – as spare equipment. He was still technically employed as an Underkeeper, after all. He didn’t really see the point, seeing as he could only use the staff with his left hand. His sorcerous investiture wouldn’t let him channel mana outside his body without simultaneously activating it as a spell, but he hadn’t had the heart to argue.
There was a small crowd of important-looking people standing on the dock in front of the riverboat, including several priests, Iriala and Branchmaster Ambrose from the Adventurers’ Guild. Bernt didn’t recognize the others, but they were all dressed expensively. Torvald was standing off to the side with Guard Commander Righmond and a middle-aged woman, probably his mother. They were both clucking over him, and Bernt could see even from a distance that the paladin was embarrassed. Still, he gave both parents a hug, and Bernt could hear him making reassuring noises at them as he turned to board.
“You have everything?” Iriala asked, stepping forward to intercept him as he approached. He nodded, and she reached into her pocket, pulling out a carved crystal coin – some sort of token. “Remember to keep me updated. Just present this at any Mages’ Guild you come across and they’ll be able to relay a message directly to me. Once you get to the Peaks, you’ll need to hike down to Norhold periodically. I need to know if anything unexpected happens, and I’ll update you with any news about your demon.”
Bernt nodded, accepting the token with a smile and a nod. He wasn’t reliant on Iriala – or Radast, for that matter – for updates about Jori and Ed, but keeping in contact with the guild here could only benefit everyone. Maybe he could send updates to his friends, while he was at it. Normally, sending messages via the scryers was expensive – the number that any one scryer could receive in a day was limited, after all. They had to scry specific message rooms in whatever places they were responsible for, find the subsection meant for their guild and then manually copy the messages posted for that day before sending them out to their intended recipients by messenger.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll let you know when we get to Fergefield.”
“Good luck.” Iriala said, clapping him on the back before turning back to her conversation with Ambrose.
Bernt followed Torvald onto the boat, noting as he stepped onto the deck how large it was. He’d expected something more like an oversized rowboat, designed to carry people, but this was a merchant vessel with a broad deck over a voluminous hold. Porters stowed and tied down goods while travelers bustled around, trying not to get in the way while they found somewhere to sit. Pulling his hood up against the chill, Bernt hoped that they’d leave enough room for them to get out of the wind belowdecks. Otherwise, this leg of the trip was going to be very uncomfortable.
Torvald sat down against a gunnel, and Bernt put his bag down next to him before settling down himself. He let the staff fall into the crook of his elbow so he could bury his hands in his sleeves as he pulled his hood down over his face. It was too damned cold out here.
Bernt didn’t think anything of it when he heard steps approaching them. At least until something kicked his foot. He flinched back and looked up to find Nirlig giving them a sharp-toothed grin. “Hey you two, I was starting to wonder if you were going to make it!”
“Nirlig? What are you doing here?” Bernt asked. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
The goblin scoffed. “Work is for people with jobs! I quit!”
Only then did Bernt realize that Nirlig wasn’t wearing his gray gambeson, like usual. Instead, he wore a similar-looking design in an undyed dirty tan color. His helmet was a bit rusty, but his spear and boots looked brand new.
“Torvald talked me into signing up with the Adventurers’ Guild. Turns out, there weren’t actually a lot of volunteers looking to join a low-ranked escort quest across the country in the middle of winter. Not ones that can actually fight, anyway. Both of us got in!”
“Both of you?” Torvald asked, looking around. “Where’s the other guy?”
“Uriah!” Nirlig called over his shoulder. “Come on!”
The other mage uncurled from where he’d apparently been napping on the other side of the boat and shuffled over. Bernt had no idea how he managed to get comfortable enough to sleep, but that was a trick he was going to have to learn. He looked much better than he had when Bernt had last seen him, with new robes and carrying a backpack with a thick blanket.
“Torvald, Bernt,” he said, nodding to each of them in greeting, though he eyed Bernt a little suspiciously. “Looks like we’re all going demon hunting together.”
Uriah had been a bit unfriendly when he’d first learned about Jori. Since his return from Loamfurth, though, he’d become oddly intense about it. It was a little unsettling.
“I hope not,” Nirlig said sincerely. “Fighting demons is awful with the burning blood and the rapid healing. I hope this goes smoothly. I’ve never been south of here before – it’s all going to be new.”
Bernt cleared his throat. “There are still spies lurking in the city. I… saw a shade a while ago. We should assume that they know what we’re doing.”
Uriah’s eyes flicked back and forth across the deck, as if he thought he might find one hiding in plain sight right in front of them. “I’ll be ready for them,” he mumbled. “They’re going to regret… everything.”
“Ehm, Uriah,” Bernt said. “I have a spell you might want to learn – banefire. It burns demons, including shades. I don’t think you can do anything about them with your hydromancy.”
Torvald leaned back against the gunnel. “I think Nirlig has the right idea. There’s no sense in worrying over an uncertain future, and a lot to be gained making the best of the time we have. Come on, there’s four of us. We can play a round of dice.”
Nirlig sat down eagerly, producing dice from his pocket as if he’d been waiting for this, along with a fistful of coppers for betting.
Hesitantly, Uriah followed suit, sitting down across from Bernt. As he dug for loose change in his pocket, though, he met Bernt’s eyes and nodded.
Comments
Stephen Pearson
Thanks for the chapter! :-)
