Post by Paragon on Jun 19, 2008 9:53:28 GMT -5
Mstislav Dutov scowled at the hooded stranger in front of him. The Red Wizard never took his eyes off of Mstislav, but slurped down every spoonful of the watered-down soup in front of him. Of course, this stranger never said he was one of the witches' mortal enemies, but Mstislav was no fool. There was not the slightest hint of red in the clothing of this man, as if by banishing all traces of the color of the uniform, he could banish the thought from the minds of others. Indeed, the stupid berserkers who lived in the lodge upon the hill outside of Mstislav's shop, never suspected this hooded buffoon to be an imminent threat. Mstislav knew, but the coin was too good to pass up.
The wizard dropped his spoon with a clatter into the empty wooden bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, his eyes remaining trained on Mstislav's. "Where is your friend, Slava?" His voice lilted mockingly.
"He comes, be patient." The gruff trader hated being called 'Slava' by this fool, and was convinced that that is why he did it. Perhaps sensing his discomfort, one of the berserkers, a red-headed giant, looked over at Mstislav, eyes narrow. Mstislav lowered his head, and busied himself wiping the bar. It would not take much provocation to cause one of these drunken oafs to rough him up. They did not like him, and for good reason, for he had taken every opportunity to bilk them out of coin, including selling them overpriced sundries necessary for everyday living, and mingling their mead with cheaper and less potent liquors after they were already drunk. As a matter of fact, he already was rich enough to retire and sell the trading post, but pure spite kept him in business.
Suddenly the room brightened as the door flew open, the strong chill wind causing a few stray snowflakes to drift in. "...and here he is." All eyes were on the door as Mstislav's hireling forced it shut. Most of the warriors returned to their drinks afterward, except for one, the big one that was watching Mstislav earlier, stared with naked suspicion at the shifty newcomer. The man at the door, without pausing to stomp the snow from his boots, crossed the room, stiffly yet with good speed, eyes darting back and forth fearfully, and dropped a fur bound parcel on the bar in front of Mstislav.
"My debt is paid, right? This means you and me, we're through, right?" The man pulled back his makeshift fur hood, revealing dark hair matted to his head with sweat despite the cold outside.
Mstislav shooed him with one hand, and began unwrapping the package with the other. "We'll see, now begone!" He had no intention of releasing anyone from their obligations, but this had turned out better than he had suspected. He half expected that the thief would get himself killed and to salvage the situation he would have to turn the wizard in for the bounty, but here it was, the book that was worth twenty-five thousand gold pieces! A strange cold chill ran up his arm as his finger brushed the soft blackened leather of the tome's cover. As the thief fled the building, the nosy berserker approached the bar and Mstislav quickly concealed the book again.
The massive barbarian gave Mstislav a strange look, and clapped his cup down on the bar. "Fill it! And none of that cheap swill, or I'll punch you a new arsehole!" Several of the berserkers laughed at the comment, but the wizard had dropped his facade of amusement, and was beginning to look impatient. Mstislav filled the cup as quickly as he could, watching the the wizard stiffen as the berserker clapped him on the back repeatedly, making some loud jest at the smaller man's expense. He breathed a sigh of relief, as the berserker took his cup and returned to his table, bellowing a song loudly. The other patrons joined in, at least the ones that weren't too drunk to.
"Why can't they do this at their lodge?" He wondered, though not for the first time. The wizard stood, and leaned across the bar, his face just inches away from the bartender's.
"Show it to me!" He hissed loudly, a cry that surely would have been heard, if not for the loud ruckus created by the barbarians.
Mstislav leaned even closer to the wizard. "Show me the coin first!" He said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the noisome ballad. The wizard sneered and reached under his cloak, presumably to retrieve the coin, but the giant with the fiery hair turned suddenly and seized the wizard's arm. A couple of the more alert barbarians rose to their feat, brandishing weapons, as the song slowly faded out.
"What's this?" The berserker forced the wizard's arm out from under the robe, and back, revealing a wand clutched in a feeble hand. The wizard winced and struggled, using his second hand to pull on the fingers of the barbarian, but it was no use. The barbarian grinned, forcing the helpless wizard's arm further back, using only the hand that he had initially grappled him with, until a popping noise was heard. The red wizard screamed, but did not drop his wand, instead reaching out with his other hand and grabbing it. The fiery-haired hero grabbed at the wand, but was too late, the wizard pointed it, uttered a magic syllable, and the warrior was forever immortalized in stone.
Pandemonium erupted. Several of the berserkers charged, only to be engulfed in flame. The wizard continued to struggle as he fought, his arm locked in the stone manacle of the great statue's hand. Mstislav instinctively grabbed the tome and ducked, just in time to avoid a stray throwing axe. Suddenly there was a high pitched whistle, and all the fighting stopped for a moment as everyone hesitated. Mstislav slowly raised his head from behind the counter only to see what he dreaded most, a woman had materialized in the midst of his establishment, her hair flowing as if she were underwater, and that crazed ethereal look that marked her as a witch! Just as she finished appearing a second whistle sounded, and on top of that one, a third. "Beshaba!" he breathed.
The Red Wizard was the first to break the silence, uttering some blasphemous incantation, sending the first witch hurtling backward and into a group of men, who all toppled, smashing a couple of chairs and a table. As the witches began their own incantations, Mstislav did not wait to see what would happened next, and began crawling along the liquor-soaked dirt floor toward the back door. He did not see the wizard level his wand at him, nor did he see one of the witches counterspell it, saving his life. Along the floor he went, quickly as he dared, avoiding the feet of stomping berserkers and panicked patrons alike, until at last he managed to get to the back door, and roll out into the snow. Immediately he climbed to his feet, running across the uneven ground as quickly as he could, not looking back until a great explosion rocked the ground, causing him to stagger, and nearly drop the fur wrapped bundle he gripped tightly to his chest.
"What in the hells...?" He exclaimed breathlessly, first looking at his burning trading post, and all the screaming fleeing patrons, then at the tome that he cradled in his arms like a baby. "What is so damned special about this book?" He would have to find out later, for, even though their berserker servants were mostly idiots, the witches were canny, and it wouldn't take them long to figure out that the appearance of the wizard, and the fact that the book was stolen from them were related. From there, it wouldn't take them too long to realize that he was involved, and he wouldn't be able to buy his way out of that: especially considering everything he owned was being consumed in flame right in front of his very eyes. He turned around and began to run.
A few weeks later an exhausted traveler arrived by merchant caravan in a Thayan outpost, his eyes pink and eyelids swollen from lack of sleep. He rubbed his eyes, climbed out of a cart, plopped himself down in the dirt alongside a weathered building, pulled a strange thick dark tome from his shirt, opened it carefully, and began to read...
The wizard dropped his spoon with a clatter into the empty wooden bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, his eyes remaining trained on Mstislav's. "Where is your friend, Slava?" His voice lilted mockingly.
"He comes, be patient." The gruff trader hated being called 'Slava' by this fool, and was convinced that that is why he did it. Perhaps sensing his discomfort, one of the berserkers, a red-headed giant, looked over at Mstislav, eyes narrow. Mstislav lowered his head, and busied himself wiping the bar. It would not take much provocation to cause one of these drunken oafs to rough him up. They did not like him, and for good reason, for he had taken every opportunity to bilk them out of coin, including selling them overpriced sundries necessary for everyday living, and mingling their mead with cheaper and less potent liquors after they were already drunk. As a matter of fact, he already was rich enough to retire and sell the trading post, but pure spite kept him in business.
Suddenly the room brightened as the door flew open, the strong chill wind causing a few stray snowflakes to drift in. "...and here he is." All eyes were on the door as Mstislav's hireling forced it shut. Most of the warriors returned to their drinks afterward, except for one, the big one that was watching Mstislav earlier, stared with naked suspicion at the shifty newcomer. The man at the door, without pausing to stomp the snow from his boots, crossed the room, stiffly yet with good speed, eyes darting back and forth fearfully, and dropped a fur bound parcel on the bar in front of Mstislav.
"My debt is paid, right? This means you and me, we're through, right?" The man pulled back his makeshift fur hood, revealing dark hair matted to his head with sweat despite the cold outside.
Mstislav shooed him with one hand, and began unwrapping the package with the other. "We'll see, now begone!" He had no intention of releasing anyone from their obligations, but this had turned out better than he had suspected. He half expected that the thief would get himself killed and to salvage the situation he would have to turn the wizard in for the bounty, but here it was, the book that was worth twenty-five thousand gold pieces! A strange cold chill ran up his arm as his finger brushed the soft blackened leather of the tome's cover. As the thief fled the building, the nosy berserker approached the bar and Mstislav quickly concealed the book again.
The massive barbarian gave Mstislav a strange look, and clapped his cup down on the bar. "Fill it! And none of that cheap swill, or I'll punch you a new arsehole!" Several of the berserkers laughed at the comment, but the wizard had dropped his facade of amusement, and was beginning to look impatient. Mstislav filled the cup as quickly as he could, watching the the wizard stiffen as the berserker clapped him on the back repeatedly, making some loud jest at the smaller man's expense. He breathed a sigh of relief, as the berserker took his cup and returned to his table, bellowing a song loudly. The other patrons joined in, at least the ones that weren't too drunk to.
"Why can't they do this at their lodge?" He wondered, though not for the first time. The wizard stood, and leaned across the bar, his face just inches away from the bartender's.
"Show it to me!" He hissed loudly, a cry that surely would have been heard, if not for the loud ruckus created by the barbarians.
Mstislav leaned even closer to the wizard. "Show me the coin first!" He said, just barely loud enough to be heard over the noisome ballad. The wizard sneered and reached under his cloak, presumably to retrieve the coin, but the giant with the fiery hair turned suddenly and seized the wizard's arm. A couple of the more alert barbarians rose to their feat, brandishing weapons, as the song slowly faded out.
"What's this?" The berserker forced the wizard's arm out from under the robe, and back, revealing a wand clutched in a feeble hand. The wizard winced and struggled, using his second hand to pull on the fingers of the barbarian, but it was no use. The barbarian grinned, forcing the helpless wizard's arm further back, using only the hand that he had initially grappled him with, until a popping noise was heard. The red wizard screamed, but did not drop his wand, instead reaching out with his other hand and grabbing it. The fiery-haired hero grabbed at the wand, but was too late, the wizard pointed it, uttered a magic syllable, and the warrior was forever immortalized in stone.
Pandemonium erupted. Several of the berserkers charged, only to be engulfed in flame. The wizard continued to struggle as he fought, his arm locked in the stone manacle of the great statue's hand. Mstislav instinctively grabbed the tome and ducked, just in time to avoid a stray throwing axe. Suddenly there was a high pitched whistle, and all the fighting stopped for a moment as everyone hesitated. Mstislav slowly raised his head from behind the counter only to see what he dreaded most, a woman had materialized in the midst of his establishment, her hair flowing as if she were underwater, and that crazed ethereal look that marked her as a witch! Just as she finished appearing a second whistle sounded, and on top of that one, a third. "Beshaba!" he breathed.
The Red Wizard was the first to break the silence, uttering some blasphemous incantation, sending the first witch hurtling backward and into a group of men, who all toppled, smashing a couple of chairs and a table. As the witches began their own incantations, Mstislav did not wait to see what would happened next, and began crawling along the liquor-soaked dirt floor toward the back door. He did not see the wizard level his wand at him, nor did he see one of the witches counterspell it, saving his life. Along the floor he went, quickly as he dared, avoiding the feet of stomping berserkers and panicked patrons alike, until at last he managed to get to the back door, and roll out into the snow. Immediately he climbed to his feet, running across the uneven ground as quickly as he could, not looking back until a great explosion rocked the ground, causing him to stagger, and nearly drop the fur wrapped bundle he gripped tightly to his chest.
"What in the hells...?" He exclaimed breathlessly, first looking at his burning trading post, and all the screaming fleeing patrons, then at the tome that he cradled in his arms like a baby. "What is so damned special about this book?" He would have to find out later, for, even though their berserker servants were mostly idiots, the witches were canny, and it wouldn't take them long to figure out that the appearance of the wizard, and the fact that the book was stolen from them were related. From there, it wouldn't take them too long to realize that he was involved, and he wouldn't be able to buy his way out of that: especially considering everything he owned was being consumed in flame right in front of his very eyes. He turned around and began to run.
A few weeks later an exhausted traveler arrived by merchant caravan in a Thayan outpost, his eyes pink and eyelids swollen from lack of sleep. He rubbed his eyes, climbed out of a cart, plopped himself down in the dirt alongside a weathered building, pulled a strange thick dark tome from his shirt, opened it carefully, and began to read...