The place the companions stayed
in was known as Ironmaster's Hall. It was an impressive stone complex built on
the south end of town. The rent was fairly cheap, but the room Cyrus was shown
was impressive. They stayed in what was known as the Adventurer's Quarters, a
large room forty feet long and wide. In it were six down filled beds, a private
bath, and a large cobblestone fireplace that was set in the exact center of the
room. Six chests lay at the end of each bed and a mirror, stretching across the
far wall, was mounted opposite the door. The room was moderately lit by a pair
of lanterns hanging on the wall, flickering now and then to cast dancing shadows
on the opposite wall. Looking out the window, Cyrus could see most of the town.
The buildings were lit all over the city, tavern hoppers staggering through the
streets in search of the nearest available bar. He hadn't realized until now
that they were on the third floor of the inn. It didn't seem like they had
traveled up two flights of stairs.
Avengard had taken off his
armor and sword, hanging the latter from the post at the head of his bed. He
rubbed his chin and grunted.
“I believe I shall bathe and
shave now. This stubble is unbecoming a follower of the code.”
Cyrus looked at him and smiled.
“You go right ahead, Avengard. I believe I will find the nearest tavern and see
if I can find out whether our friend has been here or not.”
Thordex, arm flailing wildly,
jumped over to Cyrus. “Can I go, too? I need a drink. All this riding mad me
thirsty.”
“Yes, Thordex.” Cyrus said,
rolling his eyes. “If you must.” He looked down at the halfling, the two
laughing as if in on a private joke.
“And what about you, McGowan?”
The rogue added.
McGowan, lying in comfort on
his bed, lifted his head to look at the two. His face had a look that told them
'Don't be ridiculous'.
Cyrus smiled. Nudging Thordex
on the arm, he headed for the door.
The two decided to take a short
walk to get a feel for the city, hoping they would find something that would
give them an idea on what Malkar could be looking for. They found several shops
selling magic items and antique curios, as well as a number of armorsmith and
weaponsmith shops. It was nearly two hours later, after a pleasant conversation
with the shop owner of Touch of Magic
that Thordex decided it was time to relax and began looking for a nearby
tavern. Just down the street from the shop, Cyrus noticed a sign over a tavern
that drew his attention. It was a
little red-stoned building called The Blind Dragon. The carving on the great
wooden door was that of a red dragon, wings spread, the talons gripping a huge
jewel in the shape of an eye. Something seemed familiar about the carving to
Cyrus. He pondered it for a moment before pointing it out to Thordex. The
halfling agreed and pulled Cyrus into that direction, ready to throw back a few
good mugs to quench his thirst.
The building was dimly lit, as
were most taverns, but the bar of this place was in the center, a large shelf
holding a keg of ale on each corner. The two friends looked around the room,
hoping no one was taking a particular interest in them. When they were
satisfied they weren't recognized, they took a seat in their customary spot
when frequenting taverns, a booth at the far wall facing the door.
A tall young man approached the
table from the bar. He was of medium build wearing a loose fitting red shirt
that was hanging nearly to his knees. His blonde hair was a tangled mess, but
his green eyes betrayed his innocence. Cyrus leaned back into the booth as he
approached.
“Good evening. What kind of
drink can I get you?” He asked politely.
Thordex slapped his hand to the
table. “My friend and I are passing through and the road was long. Get us a
round of Dwarven spirits, my good man. What say you Cyrus?”
Cyrus nodded and added, “I
noticed your carving on your door. It looks somehow familiar to me. Does it
have a meaning?”
The boy glanced towards the
door. “It has to do with an old story about a dragon my uncle told me as a
child.”
“What story is that?”
“It's quite a long tale. Are
you sure you want to hear it?”
“We have plenty of time. Why
don't you get those spirits, have a seat with us, and tell us the tale.”
The young boy peered around the
tavern for a moment before looking back to Cyrus. “I'll be right back.” He
turned and hurried to the bar.
“What was that about?” Thordex
asked him curiously.
“I don't know. There's
something familiar about that sign that I can't put my finger on.” He tapped
the table nervously. “Maybe what he tells us could help jog my memory.”
Moments later, the young man
returned with the drink tray. He placed the mugs on the table along with a
sizable pitcher of Dwarven spirits.
“I thought you might get
thirsty, so I brought a whole bottle. This is a fairly long story.”
“That will be fine. My halfling
friend here appreciates it. What is your name, son?”
“Jacob. Jacob Brightstar. My
friends call me Jake.”
Thordex smiled to Cyrus. “So
what's this story about the dragon, Jake?”
Jake poured Cyrus a mug of the
ale as he spoke. “The story begins about a thousand years ago, long before the
Clan Wars. Most of the local cities in this region were still quite small and
were debating over ownership of a strip of rock that was said to hold riches.
As the story goes, an old dwarf that lived near the strip was in possession of
a great gem. Blue as the ocean with a center of bright green, it was supposed
to be a powerful gem that granted immortality to anyone who possesses it. The
dwarf claimed to be over three thousand years old, much to the disbelief of the
local townspeople. The story, it turns out, proved true. In his possession, the
dwarf had documents and relics from ages past that scholars thought had been
lost to the ages. The idea of claiming this powerful gem he possessed was
enough to bring out the worst in almost anybody. The lords of the towns could
not pass up such an opportunity to become immortal, so they fought on, this
time using more than mere words. This time, they fought to possess the stone
the dwarf carried.
“Many months later, there was a
great battle on the fields outside of what is now Tiermane. The dwarf was
fleeing from a small army from Barlow when they unexpectedly ran into the men
of Enigma. The battle carried on for many days. On the last day of fighting,
the dwarf stood upon a hill to get a complete view of the death he believed he
had caused. Although the story gets unclear here, most people said the old man
held the stone high and asked the gods to rid him of it, so he could go back to
the peaceful life he once had and to finally die as he should have generations
ago. It was then that a great red dragon swooped in from the clouds and
snatched the gem from his grasp, taking the dwarf in its free claw and
rendering him limb from limb.
“The townspeople followed the
beast, but the dragon was never found. Some say a bard came here about thirty
years ago, recovering from grievous injuries that had nearly killed him. He
told a story of a great red dragon with a gleaming blue gem in place of its
right eye. He revealed how he and his friends had accidentally stumbled into
its lair, the only survivor being the bard. They had all tried to kill the
beast, but it seemed as if it was invincible. No weapon could cause any lasting
damage. When word got back to our council about what the man had seen, they
tried to force out the location of the dragon's lair, hoping the gleaming eye
was the gem of immortality they sought. Though they used all means to get the
information from him, it is said that the bard pleaded for protection from the
Peacekeeper force stationed there. The bard escaped, with the help of four
Peacekeepers, and made their way for Barlow. They simply vanished after that,
neither leaving the city nor found anywhere inside.”
Cyrus, brow furrowed in
concentration, asked, “Vanished? Could they have gotten out undetected and
headed for another location?”
Jake shrugged. “Story says no
one saw him leave. It is possible I suppose, but most of the high guard in
Barlow was on alert when they entered the city. It seems there had been a
number of gruesome deaths at the time. It was discovered that a demon called
Blaspherion was responsible for the murders because he was looking for someone.
During a final rampage, the guards had gathered to find a way to destroy the
beast. A mysterious Rune Mage arrived then and banished the demon to its own
plane. As quickly as he had arrived, the mage disappeared. Before it died, the
demon spoke a name. It was thought that the name the demon spoke may have been
the bard’s name and that the demon was somehow responsible for his
disappearance. No one knows for sure though. A rumor had gone around town that
a man, escorted by four Peacekeepers, had entered an inn called The Weary
Walk. If you ask me, I think that someone inside the inn knew who they were
and tried to get the location of the gem from them and had killed the paladins
and the bard. Or maybe they did eventually run into Blaspherion before his
banishment and were butchered. Either way, the bard was never heard from
again.”
“What was the name the demon
spoke?” Cyrus asked.
“I’m not quite sure on the
pronunciation. It has been a while. I think it was something like Terronsanish
or Terroshanith. Something like that.”
Thordex, quietly listening to
the story, piped in. “Quite an interesting story.” He grinned at Cyrus. “By the
smile on your face, I assume you know something.”
“You’re not searching for the
bard too, are you?” Jake asked.
“Not specifically, but we think
someone else is.” Cyrus nodded. “Thank you for the tale. It was very, ah,
educational to my friend and I.” He tossed Jake a gold piece. “This should
cover any lost wages on your part, as well as pay for the spirits. Let's go, Thordex.”
They walked down the streets
back to the inn, discussing the tale in hushed voices. Darkness shrouded the
city, casting it into the arms of its inky blackness. They passed several small
buildings along the way, the light from the windows throwing little
illumination into the dark streets. Thordex stopped for a moment and peered
around as if he had seen something that caught his eye.
“I think, my friend, that we
are being followed.”
He just got the words out of his mouth when a woman's
scream broke the silence of the night. Cyrus and Thordex ran towards the
alleyway the cry had come from. On the other side of a pile of refuse, they
could make out the figure of a woman, pinned to the wall by two cloaked
figures. Cyrus charged into the alley, slamming both cloaked persons to the
ground, rolling back up into a standing position. He placed himself between the
men and the woman, telling her over his shoulder to run. It was then that he
noticed Thordex had disappeared. He glanced around to see if he could see the
halfling, but he was nowhere to be found. Angrily thinking he had fled, he
began preparing himself for a fight. The two men stood at a distance, daggers
drawn, inching forward for an opportunity to rush him. Cyrus heard the girl
rustle behind him. As he drew his axe from its scabbard, he caught sight of
something coming towards him just out of his field of vision. Something slammed
into the back of his neck sending jolts of pain into his head. Just before his
vision blurred to darkness, he heard the woman's voice.
“In a town like this, it's best
to leave matters alone that don't concern you. That way, you don't lose your
life. Or your purse.”
