Disclaimer: spread legs slightly and slide feet back towards you to bend knees at the right angle. Raise buttox so the body rests on soles of feet and shoulders. Raise knees together and at same time contract abdominal muscles.
Dislexic: So, the machine breaks down and new stories as we know them are delayed for several weeks. What think you on this?
Irenicus: It could all be part of a terrorist plot to prevent literature from flowing freely between our peoples.
Dislexic: hmm, let's step back into reality for a moment, shall we?
Irenicus: Exactly what does reality have to do with this?
Dislexic: Everything! My story is greatly influenced by what happens in my life! Speaking of, I should like to make a note.
Note: Review! Damnit!
End note.
Dislexic: You see, I realize that Fanfiction.net has suffered temporary problems. However, even before it did, an entire chapter of mine was posted without any reviews being made on it! Believe me, that doesn't encourage me to continue with this attempt at authoring! I need FEEDBACK!
Irenicus: Well, I think you're good.
Dislexic: And if you were a real person, and not just an alternate personality, that would mean something too me, really it would.
Irenicus mopes off in a corner.
Dislexic: Anyway, here's chapter 10. You can expect the usual Author's note at the bottom, for those of you who like that. REVIEW! PLEASE! I'm going to get some tea.
Chapter 10
Upward and onward.
Jered Kincaid? Yes, I knew of the one you speak. A kind-hearted man with a mean streak. What puzzles me is why, after all these years, do you come to me about him?
Sylune Silverhand
11nth day of Hammer, 1377 DR
Keryn Vale. Afternoon.
Keryn Vale was one of those many hamlets that dotted the vast lands between the major cities of the Sword Coast. Little more then a village with a fort castle, the small town had enjoyed peace and prosperity for more then thirty years. despite the local goblin and orc tribes, as well as the occasional owlbears. Dangers had a way of inexplicably avoiding Keryn Vale.
Recently, however, the peasant farmers and woodworkers that lived within it's tiny confines had become uneasy. Only a scant four weeks after the death of their lord, Gravnis Ackidaber Keryn, the arrival of a Zhentish scouting party – Resplended in gleaming black armor – gave them cause for concern.
Arun Thatcher could hardly believe how quickly his luck had turned. Why, earlier this year crops had been coming in by the wagons out of his farmland, and profits from that high yield seemed promising indeed. The roof over several parts of his meager and meagerly built house would have the repairs they badly needed. New supplies as well! Yes, the earth had blessed his efforts and luck, as it seemed, was with him.
The Zhents had changed that with merely their presence. Now with a mug of long-since bitter ale, the poor farmer was content to drink his troubles away with his fellows, who were suffering just as greatly as he.
"With that… that was the last of 'em. At least some of you have still more you can hope to sell. Caravans may come this way yet on their way northward. You, you can sell your stocks to them." Spoke Tom Magmog, a hardworking and oft witty farmer who's lands where to the south Keryn vale, in between the Hills to the south and the fort Castle to the north. His was a narrow strip running east-west for a few miles. "Now for me, The labor I've put into the earth is enough for this ale!"
"Not ale enough, Tom. They took mine was well. Learn this, mind. Never become content under a kind ruler, for in a season or so, he shall be replaced." Said Arun.
"Bah! So true. And Chauntea mayhap is turning her eye blind to us?" Said the third of the group, Hroun Maywinter. Known as a pessimist, he is also known to be right.
"Have a care, Hroun." Said Arun. "For she did not send the Zhents here to plunder us. To rape Keryn Vale—"
"Yet she has not stopped it." Hroun countered. Meanwhile, Tom quietly emptied his mug, turned pale, then green momentarily.
Arun did not return a comment.
"Ye'll be the first, as is it always, to blame the heavens for our troubles." Said Tom. "Yer broken cart, leaky roof, the holes in yer coat…"
"It's more then coincidence! Misfortunes these bad 's orchestrated!" Came the stubborn reply.
Arun calmly drank, for no better reason then to drown out Hroun's wailing. At length he spoke, more to his mug then his friends. "And so it has come about, me hearties. The wind billows the sails of evil as well as good. Look now, we can go no farther. On our last legs, we are overtaken."
"Aye? What was that now?" Asked Tom.
"Hm? Oh, years back, merchants that stayed here would tell me of plays and theatre. That was a line from one, one I have not seen but can well identify with, look you. Just as we have worked hard for our goods, so have they for theirs. In doing so, they've taken ours for their own."
Now a man who had not been seen entering asked this of the farmers with an oddly foreign accent. Foreign because it was quite articulate and grammatically correct. "Taken? Forgive me, good man, but I could not help overhearing. Of what do you speak?"
Now the three friends turned as one to the next table. There sat a most peculiar pair. One was a tall and dark with what appeared to be leather armor under his traveling cloak. Subtle bulges here and there suggested weapons, things of which Arun and his friends had seen far too much of late.
His companion was peculiar in her own way. She had a cheerful face framed with reddish-pink hair and bright smile to greet the farmers warmly. She wore neither the feminine attire of a noblewoman, nor the dusty garments of a slave or farm maiden. Rather, she was garbed in the robes of a mage, heavily altered here and there for better protection and maneuverability. A bow was slung over her back, along with several articles of mage paraphernalia.
"Only the worst of things, 'good man'. A thing that never fails to happen, mind you." Hroun was the first to address the strangers, being the most inebriated at this point. "A fortnight past – or maybe two or three, as no one ever gets a clear grasp of Zhent activities – a certain scouting party of the black network – or whatever – came to stay our li'l castle in the center of town. Not that we were well informed, or that we could do anything about it. Truth be known, they didn't come as a Zhent scouting party-"
"Or a Zhent anything." Arun put it. "Just a raggy bunch of riders."
"Raggy aye." Tom agreed "With nice, shiny swords and polished armor."
Not wanting to be cut off, Hroun burst forth. "I was telling the story!"
All conversation in the small pub came to a sudden halt.
"So they stayed at the castle. That being the last day we heard of, or from Tintigal Garila… something. Wizard with a long name-"
"It's Tintingaal Garlingard!" Rebuked Tom. "Not a hard name to remember. It almost rhymes!"
"Rhymes like Tom-mommom?" Hroun smiled mockingly.
"Magmog!" Tom shouted back. "An a better name it is then yours. Aye, a question! Maywinter. What! Some sort of a ship, or is it 'Mayhap winter will come this year?'"
Arun, being closer to the strangers then the other two, leaned towards them as Hroun and Tom continued with their bickering and informed them thus. "Tintin was the court wizard, under the service of lord Gravnis Ackidabar Keryn. Rather kindly as wizards go. Used his magic to protect the land - defenseless as it is – and nurture the soil, much to our gratitude. After the death of lord Keryn, Tintin served as the steward of Keryn Vale, look you. These past weeks…. three weeks."
"And as I was saying in the first place, Arun," Said Hroun with a touch of indignation. "We haven't heard a thing from him… or of him. Yet we who saw them enter, an waited all night, saw no signs of battle. No spell-battle between wizards would go so quietly."
"Indeed." Said the pink-haired woman.
Her dark-skinned companion nodded his agreement. "Go on."
"And so, without any announcement or fanfare, we are now under Zentish occupation. It just seemed to have happened that way. A wizard was among the scouting party, if you ask me. Look you, stay not long in this darkened valley. The sun has set upon us, and may yet, you." Another gulp of ale all around. "As for us, it is what it is. My crops seized for their foodstuffs in the castle. Hroun raises crops none too good regardless, so they let his alone." The burly pessimist growled at that through his ale. "Five or more of the lassies that ran errands or milk and such have been seized as well. Again, they let alone the Maywinter women." The last bit was well-timed, for Hroun was again taking a swig when it was spoken.
"Aye, he says 'All will go wrong' and makes him and his look like his future predictions, but the worst passes over him." Tom chided as an aside to the stranger.
"Enough jesting!" Exclaimed the pessimist (though in truth, all three were well far from optimistic). With that he wiped some errant ale foam from his upper lip with one dirty sleeve and addressed the dark-skinned stranger. "You have the whole of it-hey! Where…?"
Where did he go, was what Hroun started to ask, for in the moment it took him to wipe the foam of his face the two strangers had made themselves scarce. Arun looked just as helpless to provide an explanation, for he hadn't seen them go either.
"Tom, did you…?" Arun asked, leaning forward and whispering.
"Did I what? Wisk them away?" asked Tom.
"No fool, didja see anything?"
"I'm no fool, mark you." Tom was a little indignant at that. He was, actually, known for his sharp wit, mostly with back-talking.
"Fool of a Mom-mom, answer the question!" Growled Hroun.
"MAG-MOG! Here, I'll spell it for ye- Em-Aie-Jee-Em-Oh-Jee." –That took a little time and thought for Hroun to piece together.- "A Good name, sirs. More so then yours, as I'll point out again. And Yes, I did." With that, he offered nothing further for a solid three minutes as he nursed the rest of his ale away. At length, and after much burping (a favored method of procrastinating in such a circumstance) he said. "They disappeared. Mages! I was right."
Keryn Vale had become ominously quiet with the Zhentish occupation. Most who walked its dirt paths (few were paved) remained silent. Yet a pair of voices, along with two pairs of quieted footfalls plodded a path in the general direction of Keryn Vale's fort Castle, Valehold.
"It's not that far out of the way, and we have no time limit to speak of." Spoke a cheery, girlish voice.
"I know, Imoen, and of course I'm always inclined to help those in need…"
"But what? Oh, I see. You find the possibility of another wizard battle souring, hm?"
"What the farmer said. No sign or sound of a spell-battle. Wizards go with quite the fanfare when they do."
"Tcheh. It could be no more then a silence trick. Properly cast, a wizard can make a rather large globe, mind. I'm not too worried and you shouldn't be either, Valygar. Come on! We're doing something to help out people in need, and I imagine it would only take a moment. Not even half a day's work for fearsome creatures like us, eh, love? I'll make you some fresh cider."
"Alright. You don't have to go on. But if this somehow backfires very badly in our faces…"
"Yes yes. A pre-emptive 'I told you so'."
Southern Icewind Dale. A blizzard.
"It's not really that bad." Kincaid shouted over his shoulder. The howling wind drowned out his voice long before it could reach the ears of either Viconia or Mertallo. After a second repetition, this one louder then before, he was greeted with a response.
"Aside from the three-thousand foot plummet to the ground, should this spell fail, I agree." Said Mertallo as he eyed the ground nervously.
"For such a short-lived race, you humans are just too frightful. It's so terribly wonderful to watch." Spoke Viconia's mirthful voice.
"That's a cause, dearie, not a coincidence. Should you come to know that you would be dead in mere decades you would want to savor every day, not to put your life in unnecessary risk."
"Flying through a blizzard is hardly unnecessary." Kincaid laughed reprovingly. "It's fun. Quite necessary fun at that. .
"Kids!" Said the old mage with a resounding 'Harumph'.
Kincaid and Viconia laughed at that, both taking it as a compliment. It had been far too long since either of them had felt as such.
Amendment.
It should be noted that in the official records, very little is said about the journey south from Icewind Dale to Waterdeep by Jered Kincaid and company. This unusual lapse of historical record-keeping cannot be explained for, save for the most likely scenario; The records are lost.
What is known for a fact is that Kincaid Flew through the ongoing blizzards on his journey south. He did not gate, teleport, or travel by foot. Many historians question the logic of this, knowing that, as a wizard, Kincaid would have been thoughtful and logical – despite the popular belief in Tethyr that is quite the opposite - while weighing the risks of such a course of action. However, we can determine that extra-planer travel was not an option for one particular reason; namely, a disjunction spell.
While that is not exactly the spell's name, it's a proper description of what took place during the brief period of time between the fall of Valehold and Kincaid's arrival at Waterdeep. Wizard's know it as a field that disrupts any means of extra-planer travel through it, causing the one teleporting to re-materialize in not quite the same shape as he was in before. Not quite alive either.
Suffice it to say, it appears that such a field was put in place long enough to disrupt Kincaid's journey, but briefly enough to avoid the attention of nearby lords.
---Ahlzamar.
Scribe, Historian. Candlekeep 1384 DR.
There's something wrong with the milk I've put in my tea, maybe I'll switch to honey. Yeah, I've been reading other books. Tolkien and Morgenstern among the most notable. Did you know that the original book 'The Princess Bride' was well over a thousand pages long? I found that I discovered more about Florinese history and William Goldman's personal past then any relevant information about the story itself from reading this book over here. Oh well, Down is down.
Now I realize that Me and my story has pretty much cycled it's way to the second page of the Bauldar's Gate list. It has been over a month, I know, but know that I've been busy. First off, I'm memorizing a three-thousand page book on PCs. It starts with Stonehenge and ends with Ata-5's and SCSI-3's and all those wonderful numbers that we really don't pay to much attention to except to make sure that it's a higher number then the one we currently have before we buy it.
Did you know that proprietary computers are crap? It's a fact, a proven and excepted fact. They really are crap. Non-upgradeable crap. If you own one, that was a crappy choice on your part, man.
Now I am pretty tired, y'know. I was going to go into another rant about rotten lemons (I think we should purge all sucky lemons from fanfiction.net so that when you go to read a lemon, you'll know it'll be a good one.) but I'm leaning towards saving it for next time. Yeah, I'm leaning a lot. Nodding too. Kinda….. falling….