Month: July 2018

“Ive never liked this religion mumbo-jumbo. Causes more problems than it fixes you know?”

“Too right old man”

The official Vicetina book-club had been tentatively restarted after the tension and drama of the preceding days. Tonight, the entire bookclub were in attendance, and both men were reading a dark, heavily malted ale, with just a hint of chocolatey bitterness. It was a good read they had decided, a real page turner.

“Now then,” Belched Conan, wiping the foam from his moustache.

“Take this Namthar fellow and his accursed inbred god brother. Once upon a time, everyone was fucking happy, worshiping their favourite locally sourced organic spirit or wishy-washy gluten free deity, right? Then Namthar and his blasted brother Alastor come along and ruined everything!”

“Aye, The city of his, Kossos, is a real shit-hole I’ve heard. Really deserved the name “Salt in wounds,” chimed the blacksmith, eager to fuel Conan’s emerging rant.

Conan, stared at the blacksmith coolly, wondering if the man had ever been further than Caville. Probably not, these half-forged blunted peasant swords weren’t going to ruin themselves. He guessed the little fellow would likely have run all the way home if he knew what lay at the heart of Salt in Wounds. He cleared his throat.

“As I was saying, they come along, “bully” all the other wassits… deities, and insist everyone worship them instead. And if that wasn’t enough, they then decide they don’t like each other anymore, and go to bloody war! And who dies, we do! Not them, us! Brothers eh?!”

“Aye.. but that was hundreds of years ago right? Whats that got to do with this fine ale we got now, or the recent departure of young Lorenzo?”

They men clinked their glasses together at a mention of Lorenzo and downed the amber liquid with due respect. Conan refilled both vessels.

“Well.. hic.. you see my simple hammer wielding metal thumper.. its all happening again isn’t it? The church going around meddling in things, trying to raise its profile here, and puppeting this fine city, armies forming to soak the fields in each other’s blood. For what? For nothing! They will invent some reasons, but really there’s no point!”

“Well they say Kossos was being aggressive and burned down some settlements eh? And those risen that were killing everyone, they probably came from there, on account of them ghouls they have working for em and such”

“Dragonshit”

The blacksmiths blood rose. His courage was up, fuelled by ale.. his ale… wait, yeah! This was his ale they were drinking ale after all, and those Judges were good for business(Conan never seemed to buy the ale, only supplied the books!) He wasn’t going to just sit here and let Conan talk ill about his business, drink his booze and ruin his chances of making some coin.

“Look Librarian, You’re just bitter because you used to work for the church, and now you’re like a jilted lover, a maiden who’s lover has ran off after sowing the proverbial oats,” he chuckled.

Conans face darkened in an instant. The old man straightened as he rose from the chair, unfolding to his full, impressive height. The Blacksmith shrank back in his chair, trying to hide in the soft yielding cushion but finding no shelter from the burrowing stare of the librarian. Conan’s eyes flashed as he advanced heavily, each step seemed increasingly firm and deliberate, more sure and balanced, and the blacksmith could almost hear the old man wind up like a spring, humming with barely contained fury that boiled beneath the surface. His form seemed to grow beneath his robe the Blacksmith swore he could see those tattoos glowing with a malignant orange light, fizzing with a brutal, violent intent. Conan leaned in close, holding the Blacksmith in place with his gaze, pinning him to the chair like a brittle, breakable, miniscule insect. His face just inches away now he spoke slowly and deliberately.

“Your glass is empty friend, allow me”

Conan snatched the glass away and began to refill it, slowly this time. The ritual of pulling on the ale tap seemed to calm him somewhat, and his shoulders dropped. After a while, he spoke again, more softly now.

“I did a lot of traveling, I was something of a campaigner back in the day. A good one too. We were subcontracted out by the church during the “Days of the Risen”, it was before your time, but there was a bit of a problem with the dead walking about, eating babies and generally being a nuisance. That sort of thing.

Turned out to be the work of a rather impressive specimen, a higher vampire, perhaps the last of his kind. With a bit of luck and careful planning, we managed to best him and dragged him back to Namburg be executed. The Church had other ideas and locked him up, gave no explanation to us. I was pretty dumbfounded to be honest with you, but I was just a boy back then, had a bit more meat on the bones and in the head, so I presumed they knew what they were doing.”

“You must have plenty of adventures to share” asked the blacksmith, desperate to change the subject, the sticky sweat pooling uncomfortably around his lower back.

“A few… we parted ways soon after. Fundamental difference of opinions on role of a campaigner and the value of religion and so on. Also, some … some … erm… racial infighting and ill-advised romantic decisions were made.”

“Oh ho!! Ha, you old dog you! Now I’d like to hear about all them maidens you were bedding back in the day man!” chuckled the blacksmith.

“Oh, not me, I was married to the work. No, the others. Anyway…” he trailed off, staring thoughtfully out the window.

“My point is that this religion business ruins everything, and it’s almost certainly going to lead us to war and ruin, yet again, all because two Brothers can’t just bloody well get along”

“Aye…” mumbled the blacksmith.

The two glasses clumsily clinked once more, the foam sloshing over the sides like a storm wave, cascading onto the floor and joining the sticky puddles forming beneath the unopened books.

“What do they even want from us eh? Its fucking dragonshit”

“Who cares. Fuck em both, Its fucking dragonshit”

“I don’t get it”

Dave sighed and stared out the window, his back to the unfolding conversation. Mario massaged his temples slowly as he sat at his desk. Perhaps it was the sun – he had heard the people this far south became soft and distractible due to its influence, a heating of the vital humours, but even that could not explain this simpleton’s steaming quagmire of a brain.

“I will go over this one last time Ignatio, please listen closely, then pass the missive to the other guards” spat Mario.

The ruddy faced guardsman stared back blankly- his mind numbed to Mario’s cutting tone by years of monotonous guard duty and litres of weak beer.

“Our dear Lord Lorenzo was murdered by this foul group of individuals, these… Iron stars. Luca is their employer”

“I thought you said they worked for Lorenzo”

“That was a clever ruse of theirs, as they are cunning, unlike you”

“Right…so they worked for Luca… who… worked for Giovanni?”

“Exactly. The elf in the kimono would wear Giovanni’s ring and flaunt it around the tavern.”

“Right. Ok”

“And thus, we have motive, as Giovanni was a jealous man, everyone knew that. He coveted his brothers position. Now Sofia must rule with a heavy heart”

There was a snort behind him as the Dave cleared his throat and continued to gaze out into the blazing sunlight of the courtyard. Ignatio was scribbling onto his parchment as Mario continued

“The Goblin was the ultimate assassin. People hate Goblins, still much hidden animosity since the old wars, something that is easy to awake within them ,so the murderer is certainly very believable to most. His weapon was found at the murder scene, sticking from Lorenzos back”

“I thought we found that in the alleyway with those bodies”

Mario stared at the guardsman. Well well, Even porridge headed Ignatio could emerge from his stuporous haze every so often.

“He likely carried more than one scimitar Ignatio. Regardless it was found in Lorenzo’s corpse. This goblin was then seen running through the streets by multiple witnesses covered in blood, screaming his murderous intent! Such treachery by the Twins! Furthermore, we have a key testimony from the Doctor, our beloved Dr Max, that he broke into her lab, trashed the place, intimidated and threatened her, and worse, she suspects he may have been trying to spread some sort of foul plague which he himself had created. She is worked hard to find a cure, Namthar guide her.

“Shocking..”

“Truly. The also murdered those poor men in the alley way”

“The multiple suicides? They were armed though…”

“Ignatio please, I am the detective. This all occurred after they bewitched Baron, causing him to threaten a crowd against his will, The feral orc attacked him and removed his hand. Baron was due to be a great pianist”

“Baron plays piano?”

“Well not yet, and now, not ever”

“But… erm….Didn’t they… stop the Skoll from attacking us… and the dream monster, people are saying that was them too?”

“The Judges removed the dreameater from its lair, praise Namthar. The Skoll seem to have migrated south of their own accord  – how could a small group of ragtag campaigners shift and army of those beasts?”

“I suppose…”

“Worse again Ignatio, the incited a riot” Mario flexed his bandaged hands and grimaced at the thought of the javelin the orc had fired through the crowd, the weapon ripping the air and screaming towards him in a flash. He hadn’t slept for days afterwards and his hand throbbed every time he thought of it.

“They had fled to the sewers, and only hours later, the city was almost over-run by undead, pouring from our sewers, likely their hideout! Their thralls! The good fortune to have the Judges and priests of Namthar in the city, by pure co-incidence, was all that saved us.”

Ignatio continued to scribble.

“And when we needed him the most, our kind, gentle alchemist was nowhere to be found to help combat the undead plague, his apartment was trashed and a huge orc shaped hole was in the rear wall of his house. He is almost certainly murdered, and perhaps raped- we will endeavour to retrieve his corpse during our investigations.”

“Ok. Right. That’s obvious I suppose then. And you think they work for Kossos?”

Well that is a leading theory, isn’t it? Kossos loves foul antics and shadowplay, and would love to take a city like Vicetina before the war starts! A foothold just on the southern border of the empire. They likely wanted to destabilise us with this assassination and install a puppet or somesuch. But with Sofia in charge, things will be right, we are safe from such agents of chaos. Strong and stable Ignatio.

“Right, I think I got all that. Phew. Thanks Mario. I’m Glad youre around.”

Ignatio scuttled out of the room clutching his parchment in his pudgy fingers. Mario glanced at the assorted reports on his desk. Creatures emerging from Grave lake, witchhunters successful further south requesting further funds, the Kruraltai of the Great Khan would follow the great hunt on the steppes. His agents moved fast.. already they had uncovered reports of the herald passing through Selegina. Then there was the South-Hallow “issue”. Karn was pressuring him to clean it all up. Karns mess. He had much work to do in the coming days.

Dave strolled from the window glanced over Mario’s shoulder at the missives.

Dave spoke slowly, lazily, dragging himself through each word until it was stretched to breaking point.

“Well the trap is laid, and the bait clearly irresistible. I look forward to watching them swinging in our courtyard. I will rest easier knowing the necrophage project will remain a secret. More importantly, your employees are idiots, how do you stomach it?”

“It’s a temporary position. I must say, I’m impressed. You assumed the position of a guard quickly old friend even for you, but the Goblin idea.. that was…was an inspired idea”

As Dave bowed politely, Mario listened to the familiar wet sounds of reknitting fleshing and cracking bone. As the figure straightened back up, he gazed now at Mario through milky white eyes, two empty slits flared gently where his nose once sat, and his mottled skin was the dull grey of a cold winter har. The doppler smiled at Mario, an unsettling façade of a smile, full of deceit and cunning.

“Childs play,” he began,

“Dave greeted me on the road by the southern bridge on his patrol. The only thing slower than his wits was his spear. I hid the body under the bridge and assumed his role. In the tavern that evening, I wondered who the perfect scapegoat would be. Giovanni, clearly, but he stil had some political support surely? Then, the perfect candidate just wandered in…”

I thought you needed to physically touch a creature before you could assume its form?

The room filled again with the deep muffled squelches of organs folding, punctuated by clicks of cartilage as joints shrank and realigned. Within a minute, a perfect likeness of Gritgoz stood infront of Mario. He held his hand out, as if to shake hands with an invisible figure, perhaps in bar, perhaps after a simple, well aimed apology.

“Pleazzed to meet you .. Daave” he hissed at Mario.

Mario laughed.