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Chapter I copyright Shawn Reed, 1997 Jaxom walked north along the small but frequently traveled road to Roug Wall. He smiled slightly under the thick hood that concealed his face. Few knew his name, my name. Yes, I am Jaxom, at the time, just a lowly wizard, age of twenty-six. But now, now I am one who has lived what seems like so many lives. How little did I know... My life was changed forever on that day. I can scarce remember what I looked like at the time, so concealed in my deep green robes. The robes were of a magical variety that were enchanted so as to be soft and velvety on the inside, yet harder than Behir hide on the out. My magic was the other feature I remember well of myself. I had both healing and destructive powers, although I generally tried use them beneficially. If a person needed help, I would probably try to do something for them. But enough of myself for now, and you will know the rest later. Let us continue the story. The sun clearly marked it midday, dominating the dead center of the sky. Yet still a few drops of moisture fell from the tree leaves above, the only remnants of the morning dew. Where trees did not grow other plants would, all seeking the sun-filled spots that filtered through the trees' canopy. The breeze was cool, Aitos being mostly highland. Mountains could be seen between gaps in the trees, a beautiful sight. Pleased by the sights I saw and full of joy, I bent over a small struggling flower and used just a hint of magic to straighten and add color to its petals, smiling even deeper still. The forest had a sylvan quality to it, but ahead one could find the makings of a bustling, robust community, Roug Wall. Its been called the fort gone to market. Oh, and did I mention that they were having a festival at this very time? The forest continued on for a while, giving way suddenly to a stretch of wheat fields. Farmers worked the fields and a few paused in their work to see who the shadowy, hooded stranger was. Alas, they were probably hurrying to finish their labors before the great feast on the 'morrow. Yet they did not concern me, and I continued along the road nearer and nearer Roug Wall with each step. By early afternoon, I stood at the summit of Kegnorn's Hill. (Kegnorn was supposedly the founder of the city) Before me Roug Wall stood in all its power, and its name fit it well. Roug is dwarven for tough, so its name means, literally "tough wall." Indeed, its walls are low, but thick, about thirty feet thick. The place was built by dwarven hammerhands (another example of dwarven terminology) four hundred years ago, give or take a few decades. Built to last, it maintained its job well, but not as a fort. Instead, it stood as a thriving center of trade. Coming upon the gates, the hawker's cries sounded like a full fledged battle. In a way it was, since the merchants all battled to sell their wares. The shouts from the market are said to be the loudest sound in Aitos. But I took no heed of this. Instead, I whispered rather loudly into a guard's ear something that made the guard step aside. Roug Wall is still defended by a hardy militia. After all, a vital economic city like this still needs defending. And the Aitos royal family, as well... Halted by several more guards for questioning, I remained patient and calm; this was only routine. Thieves, assassins, and the like were trying to sneak through during the festival. Aye, some made it through, but many were caught, too. Stepping into the sunlight from under the huge stone arch, everything snapped sharply into perspective. An explosion of color met my eyes; banners and flower petals were everywhere. Twice as many shops and stands lined the streets as normal, with people milling about everywhere you looked, as well. The southern Bazaar where I enter was practically bursting with stands of people trying to sell something. Multi-cultured parades trampled the flowers upon the streets, dancing to musicians of every instument. In many places along the streets shows of agility, strength, and skill drew in crowds of cheering spectators. Everything seemed to be alive and jovial and festive all at the same time. "Wares, sir, the finest." one merchant would cry out. "Aye, my blades be the sharpest in Aitos," cried another, trying to draw my attention. "Nay, do not be tricked into wasting your money on rusted metal, surely you would much more enjoy my fine cloth." Funny, though--that I saw no magic shops or stands. Apparently there would not be a guild of any sort then, either. In a city this size, though? Alas, no magicians would live here then, and I wondered how they would react if they found out my little secret. I would need to be cautious about any form of magic usage until I found out how the locals viewed it. I've been in places that view magic as a revered talent to places it is considered a black art. Even so, it was not to buy anything that I came here for. Nay, I had planned to just pass through. Still, perhaps I could stay, what with the festival and all. To think all of this was because Jala, the king's fifth daughter, was to be married here in a fortnight. But I had a troubled feeling about something I couldn't place. Something big was going to happen; I just couldn't tell what. It was a feeling in the air and the magic of the area. Definitely something big, very big. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I think that, to my knowledge, the rumors were flying about unrestrained. I learned of quite a few just asking directions to a tavern in the Bazaar. Aye, I got my directions, but only after much gossip. Tongues were wagging quite freely, it seemed. Rumors of Grimlocks attacking towns floated down from the north. To the south, it was raiding war parties coming from the east. I wondered at that one. The local talk of the town though, was that Jala did not truly love her suitor. Talk of her planning to run away and even wilder things were spreading at a frightening rate. Only after all this was I given directions to any one of several taverns. Three were on the far side of town, and one outside of Roug Wall itself! There were only a few even remotely close. I decided on Kegnorn's Might, a big stone tavern with heavy dwarfish styling. Around the corner, and I was there. A simple sign of bronze was nailed above the door. The place looked drab, but most taverns are. Single story, stone, kept clear of all merchant stands by a large sign posted in full view that read, "There shall be a 20 slip fine, per day, for the sale of items 20 feet from this tavern. Have yerself a nice day." The word day had been hastily scribbled out and replaced by hour. I stepped inside and pulled my hood back. And lo, I was not all weak and feeble, as you might have pictured me. I had I believe, somewhat blond hair, high cheek bones, and oh, so secretive and mysterious green eyes. Even so, I was somewhat lean, though not skinny, and with fair colored skin. Part of this was the effect of using magic, I think. Perhaps not. Scanning the tavern like a general a battlefield, I sat at the nearest table. It was made of strong cedar. It was also low and wide, definitely dwarven. Although wouldn't dwarves have used hickory? Close enough, though. Most of the sounds from outside were muted by the thick stone tavern walls. There weren't many people here. Not compared to the streets. A few suspicious characters kept to the shadows; a dark haired woman sat across the room, and my eyes came to rest suspiciously on a group of dwarves sitting near a small arena. They were half drunk, with beards wet from spilt ale and rum. All were noisy and could be heard above everything else. Some even wore armor, and during a festival! I venture to say they were almost uncivilized, and were not true dwarves. In fact true dwarves didn't even build this city. Nay, although they were truer then these shall ever be. Basically, there are three stages. These poor wretched creatures probably don't even know about the dwarves who were their ancestors, being the common, degraded type. The second type were the ones who built Roug Wall, the type that lives above ground, but still maintains dwarven culture. The first type, the true dwarves still live deep underground, and few have seen them, or even know they exist. My thoughts were scattered too much for serious thought, though, and I looked almost as wretched as them. I needed something to align my thoughts. |
