Explanatory Note: While this fanfiction is in the D&D section, there is a wide array of worlds in which to set a story. This one is set in Eberron, which has a few unique aspects not found in regular fantasy. For now, I will describe the things that appear in this chapter.
Changeling: A race of shape-shifting humans, descended from doppelgangers, who have the ability to change the physical characteristics of their faces to disguise themselves with ease; kind of like Tonks, only more alien.
Warforged: A race of sentient, thinking constructs, rather like robots, only they are composed of steel, stone, and wood, and don't have any programming or anything. They are fully capable of thought and emotion, but were built to be warriors to fight in a long, hundred-year-war that has just ended, called the Last War.
Sharn: A city in the nation of Breland, consisting of magically supported towers. Rather like Coruscant (for you Star Wars folks), but only on a small section of cliff. In tone, rather like a bustling city like New York or Los Angeles.
Airship: A vehicle like a sailing ship, but can fly through the air thanks to the power of a fire elemental (an otherworldly creature made entirely of flame) that is magically bound to the ship, and under the control of the Captain.
House Kundarak, Orien, and Sivis: In Eberron, there are a number of families of varying races called Dragonmark Houses, so called because of Dragonmarks. These are magical designs that sometimes appear on people in the family, that look somewhat like light blue tattoos, and bestow a magical power that can be used for economic benefit. The Dragonmarked Houses control economic powers that fall under the domain of their dragonmarks. For example, House Kundarak is a dwarf clan whose dragonmarks help in warding and guarding things, so they control the Banking Guild throughout the land, House Sivis is a house of gnomes whose dragonmarks aid in bureaucracy, and they control the processes of documentation and messenger services, and House Orien is a House of humans whose dragonmark aids in transportation of goods and people, and they control nearly all modes of overland transport.
Book 1: The Trio of Troubles
Chapter 1: Lyr
Rain poured down like some colossal being in the heavens was pouring a bucket of water on Sharn, City of Towers. It dripped from thousands of balconies, bridges, walkways, and ledges, virtually unseen in the darkness of the night, with the clouds blocking the moon and stars. Even the everbright lanterns that lit the way only showed a few feet before the rain and gloom dimmed their light.
Along the Dura Walkway, a road going along the edge of Dura district, walked a solitary figure. It had a long spear, at least twice as tall as a man, over one shoulder, and it swayed as she walked. For the face that looked out of the hood of a dark grey cloak that protected its wearer from the rain was that of a female changeling. Her skin was pale grey, her eyes almost completely blank white, and her nose and mouth were barely distinct. Her hair, mostly hidden behind her hood, was white as well.
She was dressed in the clothing of a noble, using a style that could be considered acceptable for both men and women, so that she could be taken easily for both. Her cloak covered pale blue silk and embroidered cotton, with gold and silver thread worked in as well.
When she passed into a small patch of light, her features melted and changed, until she now had the face of a mustached, aging gentleman, with wrinkles and tired, pale blue eyes. When she left it again, she shifted back. There wasn't anyone to see Lyr; it was just a reflex when she might be visible. But in the dark, it felt better to use her own face for a time.
Lyr had spent about a year by now in Sharn, where even changelings like her could find some measure of trust and acceptance. But the most appealing aspect of Sharn to Lyr was that it was easy to hide, both literally and figuratively. It was also far from Aundair, though that wasn't as appealing to Lyr, as Arcanix had once been her hometown. Well, Sharn was her home now, so far as a changeling could call a place home.
So she walked the empty walkway, looking forward to get inside the common room of the Burning Brand Inn, where she could look forward to a warm fire and good, inexpensive fare.
Lyr was nearing the Bridge of Three Stars, a graceful, white structure that arced over the chasm between three of the large districts, when something caught her ear. The sound of heavy, routine footfalls, as of someone marching in leather boots, and the jingling of mail rings. Lyr did what came naturally; she crouched in the deeper shadow of a nearby building, squatting low and wrapping her cloak around her to hide. She preferred to see who was coming before they saw her; if it was the Sharn City Watch, then it was worth her time to avoid them. If it was someone else, maybe she could lighten the load in his pockets to pay for the night's meal.
As she slid into the shadows, two men came around the corner of the walkway in front of her, and looked out over the Bridge of Three Stars, and the walkway Lyr had just come from. They weren't guardsmen, but they were armed. Each of them had a steel helm, on which raindrops tinked and clinked on, and mail shirts, and shields. Over their mail they had a white hauberk, on which was emblazoned a green hand or claw, and the same device was painted on their shields.
One of them, taller than the other, looked around, and as his eyes crossed Lyr's, hidden, the changeling could see that one half of the thin-faced man's face was hidden, with only an eyehole to see through. He didn't see Lyr, apparently, so he turned to his shorter fellow and said, in a hoarse whisper,
"The letter said she'd be here."
The other answered quickly,
"Don't doubt your superiors, Larek. She's here, or will be. Let's keep looking along this walkway."
They passed Lyr by, and continued down the way she had come. As they rounded the far corner, Lyr let herself relax, and stand up. What did they mean, 'she?' If they were referring to Lyr, she would do well to avoid them. Being indebted didn't help forthrightness in the slightest. If they weren't talking about her, it was none of the changeling's business, and she should continue on her way.
She emerged from the shadows, and started hurrying along the Bridge ahead. As she walked, she shifted her features to look like a watchman she had seen earlier that day, a naïve-looking young man. Across and to the right was the Burning Brand Inn, where she could find shelter, and a crowd to hide in. But before Lyr was even halfway across her leg of the Bridge, a man showed himself in the light of the street-lamp in the middle of the bridge. He was arrayed much as the other two had been, and the part of his face that could be seen was broad and rough.
He called out to Lyr, asking,
"Lyr the changeling?"
Startled by the man's sudden appearance and his knowledge of her name, Lyr forgot herself and answered,
"Yes? Oops."
The man by the street-lamp grinned, and pulled a flail from his belt, a weapon with a spiked ball shaped like a spined, clenched fist, and yelled,
"Then, in the name of the Blood, I sentence you to death!"
Behind him, and on the third leg of the Bridge, more helmed, mailed warriors emerged into the light, and drew various weapons of their own; swords, axes, maces, all made their appearances. Lyr thought of running, and turned around, and saw the men who had passed her running back up the walkway, cutting off her escape.
So, flight was out as an option. Lyr must fight.
Lyr cast her cloak over her shoulder, and pulled her hand crossbow from her hip. For emergencies, it was always loaded while she walked the streets of Sharn, and discharged when she was at rest.
She raised her crossbow, aimed carefully, and released the bolt. It sped with a clunk from the crossbow, and flew across to the throat of the man who had called out her death warrant. He collapsed, but his fellows took warning, and raised their shields to protect themselves better. Lyr would only get lucky like that once. Now she had work to do.
As she stowed the hand crossbow again and readied her long-spear, from the darkness came a sudden, rumbling sound, like a dozen explosions occurring simultaneously. Lyr took the chance to glance over her shoulder, and saw an airship beginning to descend into the canyon that the Bridge of Three Stars spanned. The rich, golden-brown wood and golden ornamentation of the elemental vehicle was lost in the murk, but the bound fire elemental, in the shape of a ring of crackling fire girdling the ship, was plainly visible, with a plume of steam rising from the rain falling into it. Maybe that could be useful…
Lyr was forced to pay attention to the warriors before her again as one raised a sword to strike her down. She deflected the blow with the haft of her spear, and brought the point down to ward her adversaries off. She thrust the spear at the man who had swung his sword at her, but he shunted the strike to the side with his shield and advanced. His fellows were closing in, and the roar of the airship was drawing closer. A risky idea struck Lyr, and she suddenly ran to the edge of the bridge, and hopped up onto the railing that protected careless people from falling off the bridge. She had to time this right.
Lyr's attackers surged forward, eager to take her at her precarious perch, but her long spear deterred several from drawing closer. The airship was finally going under the bridge, and it was time for Lyr to make her move. She whirled around on the bridge's balcony, and jumped off. If she had timed it right, she'd land on the deck of the ship. If not, she'd fall hundreds of feet into the chasm below.
As the cries of her assailants ringed with outrage and frustration above, Lyr plummeted through the air. She fell about twenty feet, and though she had taken care to roll with the fall to lessen the injury, the force of the impact was enough to wind her, and as she somersaulted when she landed on the deck she lost her balance, and rolled down the deck, taking buffets and splinters from the wooden floor. Lyr stayed still a moment, trying to fight down the pain and regain her breath. As she lay gasping, she heard heavy bootfalls heading towards her, but she couldn't summon the strength to stand up yet.
"Oy! What do you think you're doing, coming down from above like that? As if we don't have enough falling from above this night!" A deep, woman's voice said, from not so far above. Lyr shifted her face into a young, freckled woman as she rolled over onto her back to see who addressed her. A number of bearded dwarves, all in black and gold uniforms, were gathered around her, and closest was what looked like their superior, a burly dwarf woman with braided black hair, a heavy mace in her hand.
Oh, just great. This, on top of everything else. I hate dwarves. Lyr thought to herself, hiding a look of disgust.
She pushed herself up, and stood on her own two feet, using her spear for support. Using a frightened, high-pitched voice, she answered the dwarf woman.
"I'm j-just a servant of Lord ir'C-Candrell, miss. I fell b-because some men were attacking me! They had me c-c-cornered, and were going to hack me into little b-b-b-bits, but then your airship flew under, and I thought it would c-catch me!"
The dwarf raised her brows, and looked suspiciously at Lyr. In return, Lyr subtly lightened the tone of her face, to look more panicked, and shivered. Her legs seemed to be fine, though she could already feel places that were going to be sore later.
At last, the dwarf woman said,
"You say a fight? What did the men who attacked you look like?"
Lyr looked down, as if trying to remember, though she of course recollected every hate and anger-filled face. It was a habit when the face you saw three months ago might be the one you don in the present.
"There were too many, at least twenty of them. But they were all in uniform, like knights in mail shirts, with helms that hid half of their faces. Th-their shields were white, with a g-green claw, or hand painted on it." Lyr finally answered.
The dwarf woman thought for a moment, and then said,
"Well, I'm not from around here, but that doesn't sound like a Sharn under-city gang. I don't think the criminal element here goes for knightly garb. We'll be docking at the Kundarak Bank Tower in a few minutes, and then I'll have some dwarf guards escort you home, and I'll give a report to the City Watch."
Lyr broke in quickly. She didn't want a bunch of stubby, smelly dwarves following her, and she could hide easier in this city with no one tagging along.
"Thank you very much, miss, b-but my lord's apartments aren't t-t-too far from the Bank, miss." She stuttered humbly.
"Very well. But if you are in trouble again, remember the name of Captain Bregga." The dwarf turned around, and bellowed to her crew,
"Hands back to stations! We're in Sharn, dammit, not five hundred feet in the air with nothing to hit but clouds!"
The dwarves scattered across the ship, leaving Lyr alone. She sneezed to clear the stench of dwarf out, and drew her cloak around her against the chill of the rain as she limped to a bit of shelter near the cabin, and devoted some time to thinking.
What had provoked that attack? It was the first time Lyr had ever seen that insignia; she certainly couldn't have stolen anything of importance from them. All she'd been doing these last years was stealing enough to make ends meet; a bauble there, a purse of a few score silvers, nothing to get noticed about. She'd even taken enough care to avoid the attention of the tangled mess of criminal organizations that spread their roots through Sharn, so she wouldn't be pulled into it and working for somebody else.
Back to thinking. Lyr had to find out who it was who was after her life in order to think of the best way to avoid it. Well, she already knew the best place to find out anything in a big city like Sharn was to visit the place where a cross-section of the population had their tongues loosened; i.e, the inns and taverns, the feast-halls and the ale-houses. Getting information from the patrons of such places was much like finding a vein and feeling the pulse.
So, a plan of action having been set, Lyr waited. Eventually, the airship floated in front of an immense, broad building made of white marble, with an enormous gold statue of a manticore at the pinnacle. Lyr sneered at the grandness of the structure, the Kundarak Bank of Sharn. How'd they pay for such glory? Through the chains of debt from people like her, that's how!
The airship went through the docking maneuvers, delicately trying to get parallel to the loading dock without damaging itself, and when at last the lines were tossed to the dock (more for tradition's sake than practicality; the airship wasn't going anywhere unless the captain told the fire elemental to) Lyr quickly crossed the gangplank, and began leaving the tower as soon as possible.
After about an hour, Lyr thought that she had gotten far enough away, and far enough down, she began looking for a suitable inn to sift for information and rumors in. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she'd be able to hear something about a group of knights that were visiting Sharn who wore the green hand.
After only a short time, Lyr found a likely place. It was a dingy little place, built in a long, crowded space along a walkway, clinging to the outside of the tower it was attached to like a tick. The sign over the door, which had been kicked in and repaired many times, declared it as the Gargoyle's Gulp. Lyr changed her face to one as masculine as possible, with a stubble beard, prominent eyebrows, and a large nose, and made her way inside, tugging a little at the door to get it open.
Inside, it was murky and dark, with a pale candle at each table, and a lantern by the bartender, a tired-looking old man. Most of the patrons had already gone home, but a few were still talking, eating, and drinking, in a hush as though they were giving respect to the dead.
This wasn't optimal, Lyr had to start somewhere. She sat on a stool by the bar, and said in a Karrnathi accent,
"Beer, please."
The innkeep grudgingly gave her a glass, and she sipped the bitter stuff as she covertly studied the clientele. Couple of humans in the corner, probably new at this; never go to the shadowy corner unless you want to be noticed. There was also a gnome, perhaps a Sivis scribe by his grey and red-banded tunic, and drinking heartily. Lyr didn't mind gnomes very much; after all, they had been responsible for crafting her airship. But when the gnome decided to get up from his table and join her, she could tell that he was very drunk, and unlikely to be very good company. As a source of information, however…
She smiled at the gnome as he climbed clumsily onto the stool beside her, the big, beefy grin of a burly Karrnath. As soon as he was perched successfully, he grinned back. He was a young gnome, probably only fifty, and probably just beginning his service to the Notaries Guild.
"Hullo," he said, slurring. "I shay, have you heard about the break-in? Shome knight chapsh tried to break into the Houshe Shivish Archivesh!"
"You don't say?" Lyr asked dully, but her curiosity was piqued. The gnome continued,
"Yeshir, nearly got a really, really important, wossname… Doccament, a will it wash. A will from Profeshor ir'Darbun, up in Morgrave University." The gnome pointed to the air, although Sharn's most famous center of learning was probably more to the south. "But we shtopped them! Our wardsh were too good for 'em! They got away, though."
"Why do you think they wanted that will so badly?" Lyr asked, looking down on the young gnome.
"Well, I really shouldn't be tellin' you… I'sh Guild bushinesh." The gnome said, though he looked longingly at Lyr's beer glass. She took the hint, and ordered a beer for her new, 'little friend.' He smiled, and raised his small-folk sized glass to Lyr.
"Sheersh!" He said incoherently, and took a few gulps. Lyr waited patiently, watching intently.
"Y'anywaysh, the will. It was from Profeshor ir'Darbun, up in Morgrave Univershity. Tought Divination, I think. Anyway, he up and diesh, and leavesh thish will, right? Well, he don't leave all hish shtuff to hish shishtersh or daughtersh or whatever, but he leavesh all his houshe and posheshionsh to theshe weirdo shtrangersh! People he'd never even met!"
"Who were these strangers?" Lyr asked, prompting him on. He paused to take a long pull from his drink, and then the gnome continued.
"Leshee… There wash thish wizard, from Houshe Orien, named Loressin d'Orien, who mighta been a cleric too, a warforged warriorior, who washn't named in the will, but they shaid she had a big flail. An' the lasht wash called Lyra, or Leer, or Lyr, or shomethin' like that. A changeling, to boot! Changeling with a weird name. What kind of man leaves his stuff to a changeling?"
Lyr was stunned, and for a moment fell silent, trying to take it in. Someone Lyr had never met had left her a house? The moment was the one needed to lose her opportunity to learn more, though. The gnome took another long draw from his beer, and the toughness of his race failed him, and he passed out. Lyr caught him from falling off of the stool, and set him on the floor. She didn't even pick his pockets, she was so overcome with surprise. Besides, every man in the tavern would see.
She straightened up and finished off her drink, and addressed the patrons of the inn.
"Money is indeed a horrible thing. People steal it," To herself, she added, "No one I know", "People get placed in debt for it, (again, no one I know), and people kill for it. What I wouldn't give for a world without money!"
The clients of the Gargoyle's Gulp lifted their mugs to Lyr and cheered half-heartedly, then turned to their own business. At last, having a lead to follow, Lyr left them to their own. Once outside, it was still raining, but somehow, something had lightened. Now Lyr had a direction to go in; to find these other heirs of this Professor ir'Darbun.
Lyr washed the beer from her mouth with the rainwater, and thought as she wandered through the streets. Wherever they were, these heirs were probably in the same predicament as she, and there was safety in numbers, especially for her. If the knights who that gnome scribe mentioned were the same green-handed thugs who had attacked her, then perhaps they were after the other two heirs. Perhaps, if they weren't in Sharn, the other two would be driven to the City of Towers.