Flamerule 12, 1387 Year of the Emerald Ermine - Valkurs Roar

[DM Hawk]

The opulent carriage came to a rest by the northernmost gate of Valkur’s Roar, the former city state of Redmist. The carriage door opened and a fine leather boot descended to the step. Its twin followed suit to the cobblestone as Costello exited the extravagant interior.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the scents that greeted him. The smell of humanity and the smell of smoke was heavy in the air. Grey eyes glanced about, taking in the dark, gloomy stone of the walls and a battered gate that had seen better days. The rolling of the Dragonmere waves reached his ear. The breeze from the sea had yet to cleanse the air of smoke.

A guardsman, clad in blue and green livery, dutifully approached from the gate. After glancing toward the magnificent draft horses and the luxurious carriage, the guard hailed.

“Well met and welcome to Valkur’s Roar, the seat of Baron Crownsilver. I am Sergeant Willy and I have charge of the gate. Might I ask your name and business in the Barony?”

Costello gestured with a gloved hand towards the cowled wagon driver and turned his back on the guardsman, to attend Lady Daxa, holding her hand as she descended from the coach. His gaze moved to the cemetery behind the carriage and west of the road.

The Coachman patiently answered the Sergeant’s questions and acknowledged a warning about dangerous times threatening the Barony and that the city was in mourning.

With Lady Daxa on his arm, Costello strode through the open gate, waving to his driver, “We’ll be staying at the Tipsy Imp, Tobias.”

“Yes, Master”


***


The room was dark when Costello opened his eyes. He lay in a large bed wrapped in the arms of two women. Mistress Amity Calah of the Baron’s Council and the owner of the Tipsy Imp had joined Lady Daxa and himself for a night of diversion.

Glancing at the two women as they slept peacefully the master merchant smiled briefly. They were deep in slumber and would not rise for some hours yet. Regrettably, the distraction had only lasted briefly for him and sleep had yet to arrive.

Costello disentangled himself from his lovers’ arms and rose from the bed to walk toward one of the room’s windows. Looking through the glass panes, his gray eyes determined the sunrise was a few hours away. He turned from the window and moved as quietly as a cat through Amity’s room.

Finding his clothing on the floor where it had been discarded during the night’s play, he dressed himself silently in shirt, breeches, vest, and boots. Lifting the richly embroidered coat and cloak from the floor, he set them across the back of a chair and smoothed out the wrinkles.

The room was only lit by scant starlight twinkling through the slight parting in the curtains but even so he was able to see everything inside. Glancing into Amity’s mirror, Costello took in his appearance and smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair.

Careful not to disturb the sleepers, Costello unlocked the door and stepped out of the chamber. The hallway was silent and empty. The other guests were quiet in their rooms. A nearby candle had burned out in its sconce and another was flickering.

The merchant made his way down the stairs and into the tavern. The room was empty at this hour, In the small span between patrons staggering to their rooms or out the door after a night of intoxicated carousing and the serving of morningfeast.

A fan of light spread out from beneath the kitchen door and Costello heard the muffled clanging of pots and kettles. The scent of cooking smoke reached his nostrils followed by the smell of breakfast on the stove. The merchant’s mouth watered but it was still too early for breakfast to be served.

He made is way through the empty tavern room and glanced towards the sleeping parrot. That bird probably had tales to tell.

Costello exited the tavern and stepped into the darkened streets of pre-dawn Valkurs Roar.


***


The city was quiet. Costello could hear his footfalls echo from the surrounding structures. The merchant stalls were closed. The hustle and bustle of the day would not begin until the sun had risen. In the darkest hour before the dawn, the merchant had the streets to himself. Or so he thought.

Amused and somewhat intrigued that the footpad had gotten this close before being heard, Costello continued along his way with his senses attuned to the approach. The scent of a dirty human came next, young by the smell, the sweat was pure, untainted by the vices of adulthood. The breath reached his ears, shallow and excited. Though barely audible, the child struggled to maintain control of his breathing. A novice.

Costello smiled as he felt is belt pouch lifted and its weight removed. The pouch was a trifle, a few coins to serve as a distraction from the true wealth the merchant carried in a vest pocket against his breast. He continued his stride, wondering if the small cutpurse was going to dare chance more gain using the rusty iron knife Costello could smell in the child’s hand. Instead, the footsteps, the smells, and the excited breath retreated into the darkness of a nearby alleyway, presumably content with the prize.

Placing another small pouch on his belt, Costello continued to make his way down the lanes of the city. As he walked, he made his way by memory, recalling the tour hastily provided by Calah the day before. The Mistress of Vineyards had a head for business and sensed opportunity when it presented itself. After dealing with shrewd Sembian merchant princes and Lady Daxa, Costello had found the coffers of Cormyrian lords easy prey to the wiles of his ventures. If Cormyr boasted more merchants like Amity, perhaps the kingdom’s mercantile potential yet had hope.

His path brought him before the expensive stone façade of the Gallery of Scarred Wisdom. The temple was a beauty to behold, both inside and out. When Amity brought them inside, Costello thought to find Baemarq there among the fine sculptures and stonework. The wealth and pride obviously poured into the structure appealed to the merchant’s vanity. Sir Baemarq was not to be found however and Costello did not care to fathom why these people whipped themselves.

Instead, they had found the Platinum Knight in the Barren of Retribution. Quite severe with a minimalist style, the temple of Hoar was a stark contrast to Loviatar’s. To Costello’s senses the foreboding temple of the Doombringer seemed more suited for torture and suffering than the lavish Gallery. Yet it was here that Baemarq found succor.

The High Priest of the Temple, a bearded man in plain gray robes named Keofar, was attending the altar and escorted Costello, Lady Daxa, and Amity to the infirmary. There they had found Baemarq, sitting on a wooden chair, gazing into a fire in the hearth.

The knight looked at him and the grief in Baemarq’s eyes touched Costello. The merchant strode across the room and in a rare gesture gathered up Baemarq in a comforting embrace. Lady Daxa and Baemarq had found their way into a heart otherwise riddled with avarice. Costello knew the wisdom of avoiding attachment with humans but these two had made their imprint upon him. They would be gone in a blink and then it would be Costello’s turn to grieve.

The merchant felt Baemarq’s tears seeping through the collar of his fine shirt. He reached up and stroked the old knight’s hair. It was the gesture he had seen a human father grant to a grieving child and perhaps a kennel master to a wounded pup.

“She’s gone, Master, she’s gone” the old knight wept.

“I know.”


***


Baemarq had been wounded deeply in mind and spirit to an extent that he may not fully recover. The years left to the Platinum Knight would not be kind. At his age he had little time to spend in recovery so that his duty may be resumed. Perhaps it would be better to retire and spend his twilight in peace.

Costello considered turning down the street to visit with Sir Baemarq again. Perhaps he could start advising retirement. A glance eastward told him that the Sun still had not risen. If Baemarq had found temporary solace from his suffering through sleep it would be poor to wake him. The merchant continued on his way. He could visit with Baemarq after morningfeast.

He found the southern gate guarded by Sergeant Willy’s like. This time, they barred the way.

“I’m sorry mister, but the southern fields are off limits.”

“Indeed?”

The guard explained, “There was a dragon on rampage. It has been slain but we have not yet ascertained whether the fields are safe for return. Travel will not be permitted until the Castellan and Master Gruteje deem it safe enough.”

“Not a worry” Costello said, gesturing up toward the Sea Queen’s Due, the shrine to Umberlee overlooking the southern wall. These people loved their gods well, it seemed.

The guards nodded as Costello took the stair up to the shrine. Reaching into the pouch on his belt, he withdrew a few gold coins and placed them upon the offering plate. He then bypassed the altar and stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the harbor.

Taking one of the seashell chairs he kicked aside a crab that had grown too curious and scurried over his boot. He considered eating the crab while he was alone in the shrine but it would not be a wise gesture to devour the favored pet of a goddess, even a human one. Instead, he sat and leaned back, lost in thought until the sun began to rise.

Costello observed the play of the dawn’s light upon the distant waves of the Dragonmere. As the sun rose the merchant caught a glint of light reflecting from a dragon scale. Peering out over the water he could see the distant shape of a dragon on wing, making its way north to the coast. He saw the glint again and a foolish hope welled up inside him that would not be denied.

The hope however, was fleeting. The reflection was not the golden hue of the sun. It was darker, and less lustrous. Orange. Topaz. Kitangerlust.

Costello predicted the Topaz dragon’s course and estimated where it would make landfall, and beyond to the mountains which housed the valley. The valley which housed the Dragon’s Graveyard.

Rising, Costello moved to the southern edge of the wall and peered down. The gate guards outside were still in the shadow of night, not yet touched by the dawn. It was unlikely they could see him.

Costello vaulted lightly over the side of the wall and landed on his feet, well balanced and in stride. He gave the guards a wide berth then neared the wall again and followed its course.


***


He had found more guards watching over the slain dragon. From these Costello purchased an hour of privacy with the treasures in his vest pocket. With the guards out of sight and hearing, he walked a slow circle around the corpse as the rays of sunrise struck its scales.

The dragon was a young adult but large for its age. Its black horns were twisted and swept back. One had been broken. The frill was tall, rising from the base of the dragon’s skull and running its entire length to its tail. The talons were as dark as its horns. The dragon’s mouth was fixed in a grimace, its sharp fangs exposed. A long, forked tongue rested in their midst. The grass beneath the wyrm was burned, blackened, and scorched in all directions.

The merchant crouched and inspected the dragon’s wounds. Streaks of black blood had dried against the crimson scales. Numerous wounds were visible from blades, arrows, and the like. There were deep piercings. The hoof prints of warhorses were pressed into the ground surrounding the dragon confirming the use of lances. There was evidence of magical wounds as well. And something else.

Peering closer Costello looked over several slashes across the dragon’s belly and haunches, scrutinizing the magical burns that accompanied the wounds. His suspicious aroused, the merchant cast a spell to better attune his senses to the magic. His suspicion was confirmed. Feyrza.

Glancing up further along the dragon’s body, Costello saw wounds of another sort along the dragon’s neck and chest.

It looks like you gave as good as you got sveargith aurix. If he had survived, he would have felt these wounds for the rest of his days.

Costello rose up from the crouch and gave the draconic visage a long look, committing it to memory.

“Rhettskaar. It seems you will not become the successor to the red mantle of Mistinarperadnacles or Ixamarunmaughzeraph in Cormyr. Better that you had died young, but for the cost.”


A shadow fell across Costello and the remains of Rhettskaar. The merchant turned towards the east to witness the great expanse of Kitangerlust as he glided overhead, descending towards the valley.

The merchant’s gaze followed the Topaz dragon’s descent, then he made his own way south.


***


When Costello returned to the tavern he was greeted by the laughter of Lady Daxa and Mistress Amity.

The two women smiled and turned as Costello approached. They were both dressed in finery to greet the day with their beauty. They each held a glass of wine in hand.

Lady Daxa made her way to him, “Ferreous, you are just in time. We are having a toast to Mnomene and Amity has availed us to Mistress Miller’s finest vintage.”

“Would you prefer red or white, Master Costello?” Amity asked, smiling.

“Gold.”