11th day of Ransalacue, 5571A
The Long Whiskers Inn & Tavern
Talantier, The Divided Lands
"Ironic," Oliver Athraite said to the rest of the group as he finished packing his backpack around their table in the Long Whiskers common room. "We defeated the Talantier Farewell Wagon a week ago and now here we are, leaving Talantier."
"Only temporarily," Bjorn Sigmundson replied, frowning at the mage. "This is just to help us track down Caffrine's mother. We'll be back."
Caffrine Esslos, likewise checking her equipment, averted her eyes in embarrassment but said nothing.
The sequoia was truly massive; a good one hundred ten feet tall and nearly that amount wide, including the foliage, which was lit by multiple continual flames that changed color with the seasons. The trunk was at least twenty feet in diameter at the base and maintained that size even up to seventy feet in height before narrowing.
The tree, called Traiki by the natives, stood alone in a massive grassy field in the city's Lute Quarter. It featured narrow but sturdy spiral steps carved out of the outer bark itself, so people could ascend towards the shop which stood on a platform at about sixty feet in height.
This particular shop was called Traiki's Light. It sold magic items and spells for gold and was one of the smaller but more renowned shops in Talantier. It was here that Illumenatta had come earlier in the week and paid sixty nobles to have a continual light spell cast on a small, semi-precious stone that she carried inside a leather case.
Caffrine Esslos had an entirely different purpose in mind for coming here.
The young half-elf's first week as double-agent for the Light in the Darkness in Talantier's criminal underworld had been neither as nerve-wracking as she had feared nor as productive as she had hoped. She had finally managed to pay for her training. Johann himself had been her instructor, which was both a blessing and a curse; a blessing in that they were already friends of a sort and a curse in that Caffrine really did feel bad about deceiving the man for that very same reason.
Caffrine was of course not a member of the Nightsong itself, so she was kept out of earshot of any classified information, but she did manage to pick up that although the Light in the Darkness had captured Needles, they had since made no further overt moves to investigate the ratcatcher business, which had cooled off the immediate ire of the Guild, which continued to watch the group but was at present planning no direct action against them.
Of course, Caffrine did not mention to the Guild that the party had postponed their investigation of this matter hoping to achieve that exact same result. She did of course inform the Light in the Darkness of this immediately and felt pretty good about that overall.
Now the teenager approached the middle-aged human woman who stood behind the counter and delivered this week's Nightsong password, which she had managed to wheedle out of Johann despite his better judgement.
"Paragnostic."
Without expression, the woman bent down, opened up a trapdoor in the floor beneath her and descended down a staircase into the interior of the trunk that Caffrine knew led not to storerooms (such as people like Lumen believed), but to secret chambers deep within Traiki's trunk.
Caffrine licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. She knew she wanted an extra edge in battle, and this was the only place in town to get it, but…
Less than a minute later an older male elf, perhaps four to five hundred years old, ascended the staircase and gave Caffrine a penetrating stare that set the girl's knees to knocking.
The elf said nothing.
"I want to purchase some poison," Caffrine eventually managed to stammer out.
"Caffrine Esslos?" the elf asked.
The rogue hesitated but just as with her cousin a week ago, she knew trying to lie here was pointless. She nodded.
"You're on the No Sell list," the elf said and without another word vanished from sight as he descended the staircase.
Caffrine, seeing which way the wind was blowing, did not delay in leaving Traiki's Light.
"You all right, Seb?"
The draconic barbarian glanced over at his friend, embarrassed at being caught reacting to one of those muscle spasms that seemed to be occurring more and more frequently these days.
"Fine," he mumbled, looking down and making a show of shoving items into a large sack, as his stunted wings made wearing a standard backpack impossible.
"You're strong, brave, resourceful, and a hell of a lot more intelligent than most people give you credit for, my friend," Oliver Athraite said, the concerned look not leaving the transmuter's face, "but you're far from fine."
Sebastian, almost despite himself, raised his head to eye the mage, who knew how to read that face as well as he could any ancient scroll.
Sebastian Sanders was continuing to change.
There was no point in even trying to deny it. Even after only one week's time, his friends could see it. The scales on his skin were still very faint but more noticeable than they had been (Bjorn was reminded uncomfortably of his intended assassin that had attacked him on his trip southwards).
Nowhere was the change more evident than in the barbarian's head and face. The shape of his skull had changed, almost imperfectively; it was now lengthier by perhaps an inch, the nose pushing outwards. Two tiny ridges of the top of his forehead might be the beginnings of horns.
His face was widening as well, the cheekbones rising. It almost seemed as if one day a frill might appear there, complete with its own tiny horns.
Although less dramatic, Seb's fingernails had grown to about an inch now, the barbarian having given up on all attempts to trim them.
What his body and feet looked like now, only Oliver, who shared a room with Sebastian, knew, and there seemed little point in asking the wizard, so no one did.
But Sebastian Sanders was hurting; everyone could see that, despite the barbarian's best attempts to hide it. Overt expressions of sympathy generated only a stubborn snort and a scowl, so they were soon discarded, but the fact remained that Seb was experiencing some kind of painful, hyper accelerated growth and no one seemed able to stop it.
In between his own training as a transmuter and Qidarchios Sunleaf's initial training as a generalist (paid for, ironically enough, by Sebastian's share of their accumulated gold, as he said he had no need for it), Athraite had sought out the Talantier Wizards' Guildmistress, an elf named Peral and convinced her to examine Sebastian.
Peral, whose relatively tall height of 5'5", as well as her blue eyes and uncommonly curly blond hair that suggested human ancestry somewhere down the line, spent over an hour examining Sebastian in private, an experience that the laconic barbarian did not hesitate to describe afterwards as "uncomfortable."
"It's exactly what it looks like," Peral told Oliver afterward. "Your friend's father was a bronze dragon, and his inner nature is slowly coming to the fore."
"How long will the full transformation take?" asked the mage.
Peral shrugged. "Hard to say. Two to three years is the average once the first symptoms appear, but it's been known to happen within the span of three months in some cases. What do you know of his parents? He's not much of a conversationalist," she finished with the hint of a smirk that Athraite did not appreciate.
The transmuter hesitated but knew he wasn't going to help Seb out by withholding information.
"He's Roos," he began. "Born in Sarbas. We know next to nothing of his mother. She gave birth to him while she was passing through the city and left him in the care of the local orphanage. At ten he was visited by a Roos woman named Mariski who said she was his aunt. She told him only that his mother; her sister, had died a few years back, she was too poor to adopt him and that his father had been 'not human.'"
He grimaced. "Given his build and temperament, Seb always assumed she meant an orc or maybe even an ogre."
Peral nodded but said nothing.
"He ran away shortly thereafter," continued Oliver, who was thinking that orphanages must not be very nice places, as the only two individuals he'd ever known who had been raised in them had both fled. "Wound up in Three Falls and was there a few years before I met him."
Peral raised an eyebrow. "Was that also before you became Orin Mathos' prize pupil?"
Oliver Athraite's jaw dropped lower than even Sebastian's was currently capable of.
He gaped in astonishment at the Guildmistress, who was clearly enjoying his reaction. None of the wizards Oliver had met at this guild has ever indicated that they knew him or had even heard of him.
"I've known Lissandra for years. We talk," Peral said, now dismissing this bombshell with a wave of her hand.
She turned and eyed Oliver critically. "You're lucky to even be here. Mathos was brilliant but also a certified lunatic, stubbornly dabbling in insane and dangerous theories. Specializing in transmutation is one thing, but…"
She finished with a shake of her head that left no doubt as to her opinion of the late Orin Mathos.
"Do you think," asked Athraite, who figured there was no point in holding back anything now, "that the mishap outside of my house had anything to do with Sebastian's transformation?"
Peral shrugged again. "Possibly. Transmutive magic is often used as catalyst in both item creation and long-term enchantments. It may well have caused the metamorphosis to begin earlier than it would have otherwise, but I don't see it having any long-term effect on the overall transformation."
I hope you're right, Oliver thought to himself. By Boccob's staff, I hope you're right.
Illumenatta Duskwind descended the stairs to the common room and joined the others at the table. Dumping her own backpack out on the table, she began going through her supplies. The moon elf's greetings to her fellow party members were pleasant enough but it was plain to see she was distracted and most of her friends could guess the reason why.
Lumen's meeting with her grandfather Fidran had been a grand disappointment.
Mainly because it had never happened.
Lumen, standing in the lavishly-furnished foyer of the Blacklock Loreseekers' chapterhouse three days earlier, stood in disbelief at the note she held in her trembling hands, having reread it twice already.
The note had been handed to her by the concierge after he had returned from the upstairs chambers of the Guildmaster after Lumen had asked to see him.
My dearest Illumenatta,
I am most sorry to inform you that I am unable to rearrange my busy schedule for an impromptu meeting with a family member at this time. Harold at the front desk will be more than pleased to arrange a meeting, although I know for a fact that I am booked for at least the next two weeks straight. As an alternative, one of the other Blacklock members may be able to assist you.
I understand this may seem a bit abrupt, my dear child, but if I may be so bold without risk of offense, as an only child I daresay you have been used to getting your way for much of your short life and perhaps this small dose of reality may help correct your course. Your father Athtar has informed me that you abandoned your tutelage in wizardry and for reasons you have not confided in anyone else (or at least any adult), left your Evistar home at an age nearly a century before most responsible young elves would even consider. While your life's path is of course yours to chart for yourself, you cannot expect others to so quickly alter their own plans to suit the stubborn whims of your moment. Again, I do wish you all the best and please give my regards to Adorella the next time you see her.
I remain your loving grandfather,
Fidran Duskwind
Her cheeks burning hot with rage, Lumen had crumpled the note in her hand, dropped it with great fanfare on the plush carpet, turned on her heel and strode out of the chapterhouse without a word.
Of course, while she had realized after the fact that her grandfather's suggestion of asking another Blacklock member for assistance was a perfectly logical one, the moon elf's combination of simmering anger and embarrassment made a return trip to the Loreseekers unthinkable.
But now a thought intruded into Lumen's brain with the force of a mace-strike to the head.
Am I really a spoiled brat?
Despite being couched in familial language, the implicit suggestion in Fidran's letter was not the first time Illumenatta had ever received that sentiment from other people regarding her temperament.
It hadn't even been the most recent one.
"I think going to the Sewer Workers' Guild is a waste of time," Lumen had said two days earlier around the table at their lunch meeting, "even after your training is completed," she finished with a nod towards Dark, Oliver and Caffrine. "Lieutenant Anderson told us that Bella hasn't been seen in almost a week. Now while she's officially listed as just another missing ratcatcher, I think we can all agree that she's dropped out of sight because she knows we're looking for her."
"There are in fact other possibilities," said Saito Takahashi, keeping his voice neutral but his eyes steady on Lumen, "but I agree that is the most likely one."
"Which means we have to go find her," put in Sebastian, putting down the roasted pheasant breast he had been gnawing at.
"Exactly," added Oliver Athraite. "And that means going down into the sewers, because that's where you go to find a wererat."
Lumen felt everyone's eyes turn her way.
The moon elf never even left the inn anymore without wearing a veil or scarf.
As the silence dragged on, she could almost hear their comingled thoughts aloud in her head.
Dainty, spoiled, stubborn elf brat.
Lumen knew she had to agree but the thought of being immersed in corrosive, disease-bearing, noxious sewage slime was so loathsome the moon elf felt like she was going to pass out here and now.
So she instinctively fell back on the familiar.
"Well," she said while turning her dazzling smile on her companions, "I'd be a liar if I said I was looking forward to this, but of course I'll go- provided I can secure some adequate protection."
Lumen stretched her arms and looked herself over as if seemingly noticing her own body for the first time.
"A tight-fitting, full leather bodysuit should do the trick, I think, to keep that rancid water off," she said while opening her belt pouch, "but I'm not sure if I have enough-"
The sounds of multiple coins being tossed onto the table from Qidarchios Sunleaf, Sebastian Sanders, Oliver Athraite and Bjorn Sigmundson drowned out the rest of her speech.
It hadn't been ideal, and it was certainly somewhat less than honorable, but Lumen felt it was a solution she could live with; at least for now.
Then she noticed the samurai and the rogue.
Saito merely stared disapprovingly at the moon elf with narrowed eyes, but Caffrine was actually looking at Bjorn with a hurt expression on her face.
Then she turned and glared at Illumenatta with a look, just for a moment, of the purest hatred.
It was the same look the half-elf had given Peck, the Swan Street Slicer, as she had plunged her dagger into the mad halfling's chest.
And now six of the seven members of the Light in the Darkness stood at the northern edge of Talantier in the late afternoon sun, looking at the road leading out of town.
About an hour on that road would bring them past the point where they had saved Henry the tinsmith from the still-unidentified four brigands. Here, the road branched both east and west, paralleling Samseed Wood while the main path proceeded north into the forest, forming the fabled Corridor.
Two day's travel on that thoroughfare would bring them to The Corridor Inn and it's owner Lathreda, who hopefully would direct them in finding the Druid of Samseed, the person who, according to the mysterious black-veiled woman, would be able to lead them to Caffrine's mother Alexania; or at the least to definitive proof of what had happened to her.
"Here he comes."
The others followed Dark's pointing finger to see Bjorn Sigmundson, leading his gray pack mule, trudging up the road towards them.
Caffrine, the only one of the group who had not yet seen the mule, seemed entranced for some reason by the animal.
"Oooh," the teenager said, the same look appearing on her face as if she'd seen an adorably cute puppy or kitten as she reached out and stroked the mules' head while the others began matter-of-factly loading their folded tents and other heavy gear into the animal's saddlebags.
"What's his name?" asked Caffrine as she turned to Bjorn.
The cleric looked baffled.
"Name?" he repeated, while looking around at the others. "Does everyone here down south actually name all their animals?" He shook his head in bemusement. "That's not really a Werold custom."
"But what do you call him then when you're trying to get his attention?" Caffrine persisted. "You must call him something."
Sigmundson frowned as he considered this, turning to regard the animal that had journeyed hundreds of miles with him.
"Stubborn, mostly."
"Hi, Stubby," Caffrine cooed over the mule as she fed him an apple from her rations while stroking his short coat.
Dark saw Saito Takahashi turn to face him, a rare smile (even if mostly suppressed) appearing on the wood elf's stern features.
"Looking forward, bard," the samurai intoned, "to your stirring rendition later of our adventuring sagas starring Stubby The Mule."
