Chapter Two: The Unfortunate Life of Ozillan the Nasrad Merchant
The shop in Nasrad was a small one. It sold medicines as a constant source of income, but also dealt in other things, some of which were weapons. The merchant of this store was Ozillan. And he was feeling a lot happier than usual, sitting behind the counter and smiling to himself.
Ozillan looked at what was in his hands. He couldn't quite believe what his friend had given him. His eyes stared at the strange pieces of paper, unsure of whether he was dreaming or not. Upon the parchment was inscribed dozens of lines of Old World runes, most probably the Silvite holy language. But that wasn't the strange part. In Nasrad, pirates often sold off bits and pieces of encrypted ancient knowledge just to make a few gold coins. Ozillan had heard it all before. "This is from a temple in the desert, I heard from a caravan trader it was the beginning guide to Daccat's treasure. For you, my friend, I'll sell it for a thousand gold pieces." He had been fooled too many times with similar appraisals by those air pirates. Very rarely could any sense be made from those twisting runes, but upon the parchment someone had managed to scribble an incomplete primer. At least two dozen runes and their varying meanings were given, and this made Ozillan excited. He had never found something more comprehensive on the knowledge of the Ancients. Of course, this parchment couldn't have possibly survived the thousands of years in this pristine condition, no, not at all. It was clear from the state of the paper that someone had taken a piece of charcoal and made a rubbing from some ancient ruin, copying the exact shape of the runes without taking the trouble of trying to draw them. That must be the truth, Ozillan thought, for a lot of ruins had ancient inscriptions etched into their walls, did they not? There were rumours of a continent across South Ocean, where ancient buildings were in abundance, all of them adorned with such ancient scripture. The Silvites had been such a fascinating race and they held so much knowledge. Ozillan wondered if this primer in his hands were the first steps to unlocking that kind of power.
All of his life Ozillan had been the guy who finished last. By the time he crossed the line, so to speak, the winners were enjoying the spoils of their victory and he was left with nothing to show for his efforts - and it wasn't as if Ozillan didn't try. All his life he had tried. As a child he had been around at the very worst time in Nasrean history, the time of the Valua-Nasr war. His father had been a brute of a soldier, patriotic, proud and a firm believer in demonstrating one's strengths. How disappointed he had been when Ozillan told him what he wanted to be at the age of eight.
"I'd like to be a merchant, Dad." He had said, as his father was polishing his battle armour.
"A merchant?" His father had laughed in that bellowing manner few men could mimic. "Don't be foolish, Ozillan, you need to be a bright lad to be a merchant, full of ideas. No son of mine could be that smart, don't con yourself into thinking you're better than me. Start training, I'll put some muscle on those skinny arms of yours. Get off your backside and go to work!"
Ozillan had never been one to speak out against his elders, but he did defy his father by studying everything he could about the Nasrad economy. He quickly learned that ancient relics sold for a nice profit if you had the right buyer and that was when little Ozillan started to research the Silvites. He read every book he could lay his hands on, both Valuan and Nasrean. He listened to the rumours that passed through the dock as sailors exchanged their goods, rumours of ancient temples, weapons, even legends about the Five Giants that plagued the world before the moons put an end to their existence.
By the time he was eighteen, Ozillan had opened his medicine shop in the middle of Nasrad and the profits started to rise. Everyone bought medicine, especially the air pirate types, but it wasn't enough for Ozillan to rise high in Nasr society. He had enough money to pay for the occasional artefact from an enterprising Blue Rogue named Guilder, but asides from that Ozillan's knowledge on the Old World was nearly useless. That was until today. Guilder, that brash young sailor, had come into his shop in the middle of the day. As much as Guilder had conned Ozillan from time to time, Ozillan liked him more than most people. He was pleasant company, always in a good mood and always happy to share the latest rumours surrounding the Valuans, ruins or anything at all.
"Hey there, Ozillan," Guilder had flashed that playful little grin as he entered the store, dressed - as usual - in his armoured red coat and white gloves, "how's it going? Sorry I haven't been in Nasrad for a while, I got girl trouble." He winked. "You know how it is."
"Oh, yes." Ozillan had replied amicably.
The conversation had started well enough with small-talk. Gilder mentioned how he had been around the frontier lands a lot more lately.
"The frontier lands?" Ozillan had asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed. "Why in the name of the moons would you want to go there!"
"It was either that or facing that crazy woman..." the Blue Rogue muttered. "You remember the one that was in here with me a couple of lunar cycles ago?"
"The one dressed in pink? She seemed nice, I liked her. I'm sorry, she told me, but I forgot her name...I'm sure I can remember."
Gilder had given him a warning glance. "Careful, if you say it she'll come running through those doors and drag me back to her ship. Let's just say she's a bit...well, a bit on the clingy side." A brief silence passed between them, then Gilder brightened up. "Listen, I got something here for you. I snatched it off a ship a few days ago and thought about bringing it here for you to examine. Tell me what you think?"
He had tossed Ozillan a few papers, all of them fastened together with a piece of string. The merchant had looked at them briefly before looking at Gilder disdainfully.
"Come, Gilder, you might be able to trick me with the odd carved stone or two, but this is obviously not from the Old World."
"I know." The Blue Rogue had replied. "It's nothing I want to sell you, it's something I want you to have a look at. You're pretty clever about all this ancient stuff, I thought you'd be able to tell me what it is."
Ozillan had sighed to himself, but proceeded with the appraisal, flicking through the pages of notes and examining the runes. He took less than a minute to feel the adrenaline begin to flow through his veins. Gilder had adjusted his spectacles and peered at the writings, his brow creased in concentration, as if trying to see what the merchant had seen.
"Guilder," Ozillan said quietly, "exactly where did you find this?"
"A man aboard a ship me and my men raided had it, I told you." Guilder explained. "He seemed quite upset when I took it from him, gave me a look I won't be forgetting anytime soon. By the moons, I can still see it in my dreams." He shuddered. "Terrible. Not as bad as Clara, but still..."
Ozillan looked up from examining the notes. "Who?"
"Don't worry, no-one important. Hey, listen, do you mind if I slip out and drop be again tomorrow? My men need to unwind from all the sailing in the frontier lands and I'm going with them to the tavern near the docks."
The merchant thought his dream had come true. "What? Oh...I mean, of course, Gilder. It's no trouble, you can come back tomorrow and I'll - "
"- That's great, Ozillan. Hey, I got to run, got things to sort out aboard the Claudia before I can let my men blow off steam. See you."
And with that he was gone. That had been four hours ago.
Now Ozillan held the papers in his hands and he sat at the counter, having closed the store two hours ago. He read through the pages, jotting down what he could translate using a combination of his own general knowledge on the Silvite's language and the primer. After an hour's work, the task was almost done. He set the quill pen back in the inkpot and started to re-read what he had written.
"'And from the worst of the worst powers came the ability to distil moonstone energy into new forms. As the keepers of life and death, we, the Silvites have sworn to seal away that which cannot be allowed to rise again.
"'The only moonstone weapon we were not able to contain rests at the heart of the continent under the yellow moon.' " He squinted at his writing, remembering that passage he was unable to translate. "'Firkor remdess terroidi...Many horrific powers and was the cause of the preceding wars after Yelligar was defeated. Men sought for this weapon for centuries after, even after the rains fell, and we have hidden it so that it might never be found again. To cast it into Deep Sky was too great a risk, for what effect would it have upon the creatures down there we were never certain. It is located - ' "
There was a knock at the door. Ozillan looked up, irritated that someone had disturbed him at this hour after closing time. Shoving his translation under the counter, he folded up the stolen parchments and went to the door. He looked through the peephole, but to no avail. His outside light had been blown out by the wind again, of all the things that could cause an inconvenience!
He opened the door. "Sorry, we're - "
The pistol shot reverberated around all of Nasrad. The last thing the merchant Ozillan thought of was an image of his late father, standing over him and shaking his head sadly. He pictured himself joining his father in the afterlife, or whatever it was that awaited him, the two of them together once more. And his father said, "You see? I told you that you weren't smart enough to survive in this business. You should have become a soldier, then at least your death would have served a cause."
The shop in Nasrad was a small one. It sold medicines as a constant source of income, but also dealt in other things, some of which were weapons. The merchant of this store was Ozillan. And he was feeling a lot happier than usual, sitting behind the counter and smiling to himself.
Ozillan looked at what was in his hands. He couldn't quite believe what his friend had given him. His eyes stared at the strange pieces of paper, unsure of whether he was dreaming or not. Upon the parchment was inscribed dozens of lines of Old World runes, most probably the Silvite holy language. But that wasn't the strange part. In Nasrad, pirates often sold off bits and pieces of encrypted ancient knowledge just to make a few gold coins. Ozillan had heard it all before. "This is from a temple in the desert, I heard from a caravan trader it was the beginning guide to Daccat's treasure. For you, my friend, I'll sell it for a thousand gold pieces." He had been fooled too many times with similar appraisals by those air pirates. Very rarely could any sense be made from those twisting runes, but upon the parchment someone had managed to scribble an incomplete primer. At least two dozen runes and their varying meanings were given, and this made Ozillan excited. He had never found something more comprehensive on the knowledge of the Ancients. Of course, this parchment couldn't have possibly survived the thousands of years in this pristine condition, no, not at all. It was clear from the state of the paper that someone had taken a piece of charcoal and made a rubbing from some ancient ruin, copying the exact shape of the runes without taking the trouble of trying to draw them. That must be the truth, Ozillan thought, for a lot of ruins had ancient inscriptions etched into their walls, did they not? There were rumours of a continent across South Ocean, where ancient buildings were in abundance, all of them adorned with such ancient scripture. The Silvites had been such a fascinating race and they held so much knowledge. Ozillan wondered if this primer in his hands were the first steps to unlocking that kind of power.
All of his life Ozillan had been the guy who finished last. By the time he crossed the line, so to speak, the winners were enjoying the spoils of their victory and he was left with nothing to show for his efforts - and it wasn't as if Ozillan didn't try. All his life he had tried. As a child he had been around at the very worst time in Nasrean history, the time of the Valua-Nasr war. His father had been a brute of a soldier, patriotic, proud and a firm believer in demonstrating one's strengths. How disappointed he had been when Ozillan told him what he wanted to be at the age of eight.
"I'd like to be a merchant, Dad." He had said, as his father was polishing his battle armour.
"A merchant?" His father had laughed in that bellowing manner few men could mimic. "Don't be foolish, Ozillan, you need to be a bright lad to be a merchant, full of ideas. No son of mine could be that smart, don't con yourself into thinking you're better than me. Start training, I'll put some muscle on those skinny arms of yours. Get off your backside and go to work!"
Ozillan had never been one to speak out against his elders, but he did defy his father by studying everything he could about the Nasrad economy. He quickly learned that ancient relics sold for a nice profit if you had the right buyer and that was when little Ozillan started to research the Silvites. He read every book he could lay his hands on, both Valuan and Nasrean. He listened to the rumours that passed through the dock as sailors exchanged their goods, rumours of ancient temples, weapons, even legends about the Five Giants that plagued the world before the moons put an end to their existence.
By the time he was eighteen, Ozillan had opened his medicine shop in the middle of Nasrad and the profits started to rise. Everyone bought medicine, especially the air pirate types, but it wasn't enough for Ozillan to rise high in Nasr society. He had enough money to pay for the occasional artefact from an enterprising Blue Rogue named Guilder, but asides from that Ozillan's knowledge on the Old World was nearly useless. That was until today. Guilder, that brash young sailor, had come into his shop in the middle of the day. As much as Guilder had conned Ozillan from time to time, Ozillan liked him more than most people. He was pleasant company, always in a good mood and always happy to share the latest rumours surrounding the Valuans, ruins or anything at all.
"Hey there, Ozillan," Guilder had flashed that playful little grin as he entered the store, dressed - as usual - in his armoured red coat and white gloves, "how's it going? Sorry I haven't been in Nasrad for a while, I got girl trouble." He winked. "You know how it is."
"Oh, yes." Ozillan had replied amicably.
The conversation had started well enough with small-talk. Gilder mentioned how he had been around the frontier lands a lot more lately.
"The frontier lands?" Ozillan had asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed. "Why in the name of the moons would you want to go there!"
"It was either that or facing that crazy woman..." the Blue Rogue muttered. "You remember the one that was in here with me a couple of lunar cycles ago?"
"The one dressed in pink? She seemed nice, I liked her. I'm sorry, she told me, but I forgot her name...I'm sure I can remember."
Gilder had given him a warning glance. "Careful, if you say it she'll come running through those doors and drag me back to her ship. Let's just say she's a bit...well, a bit on the clingy side." A brief silence passed between them, then Gilder brightened up. "Listen, I got something here for you. I snatched it off a ship a few days ago and thought about bringing it here for you to examine. Tell me what you think?"
He had tossed Ozillan a few papers, all of them fastened together with a piece of string. The merchant had looked at them briefly before looking at Gilder disdainfully.
"Come, Gilder, you might be able to trick me with the odd carved stone or two, but this is obviously not from the Old World."
"I know." The Blue Rogue had replied. "It's nothing I want to sell you, it's something I want you to have a look at. You're pretty clever about all this ancient stuff, I thought you'd be able to tell me what it is."
Ozillan had sighed to himself, but proceeded with the appraisal, flicking through the pages of notes and examining the runes. He took less than a minute to feel the adrenaline begin to flow through his veins. Gilder had adjusted his spectacles and peered at the writings, his brow creased in concentration, as if trying to see what the merchant had seen.
"Guilder," Ozillan said quietly, "exactly where did you find this?"
"A man aboard a ship me and my men raided had it, I told you." Guilder explained. "He seemed quite upset when I took it from him, gave me a look I won't be forgetting anytime soon. By the moons, I can still see it in my dreams." He shuddered. "Terrible. Not as bad as Clara, but still..."
Ozillan looked up from examining the notes. "Who?"
"Don't worry, no-one important. Hey, listen, do you mind if I slip out and drop be again tomorrow? My men need to unwind from all the sailing in the frontier lands and I'm going with them to the tavern near the docks."
The merchant thought his dream had come true. "What? Oh...I mean, of course, Gilder. It's no trouble, you can come back tomorrow and I'll - "
"- That's great, Ozillan. Hey, I got to run, got things to sort out aboard the Claudia before I can let my men blow off steam. See you."
And with that he was gone. That had been four hours ago.
Now Ozillan held the papers in his hands and he sat at the counter, having closed the store two hours ago. He read through the pages, jotting down what he could translate using a combination of his own general knowledge on the Silvite's language and the primer. After an hour's work, the task was almost done. He set the quill pen back in the inkpot and started to re-read what he had written.
"'And from the worst of the worst powers came the ability to distil moonstone energy into new forms. As the keepers of life and death, we, the Silvites have sworn to seal away that which cannot be allowed to rise again.
"'The only moonstone weapon we were not able to contain rests at the heart of the continent under the yellow moon.' " He squinted at his writing, remembering that passage he was unable to translate. "'Firkor remdess terroidi...Many horrific powers and was the cause of the preceding wars after Yelligar was defeated. Men sought for this weapon for centuries after, even after the rains fell, and we have hidden it so that it might never be found again. To cast it into Deep Sky was too great a risk, for what effect would it have upon the creatures down there we were never certain. It is located - ' "
There was a knock at the door. Ozillan looked up, irritated that someone had disturbed him at this hour after closing time. Shoving his translation under the counter, he folded up the stolen parchments and went to the door. He looked through the peephole, but to no avail. His outside light had been blown out by the wind again, of all the things that could cause an inconvenience!
He opened the door. "Sorry, we're - "
The pistol shot reverberated around all of Nasrad. The last thing the merchant Ozillan thought of was an image of his late father, standing over him and shaking his head sadly. He pictured himself joining his father in the afterlife, or whatever it was that awaited him, the two of them together once more. And his father said, "You see? I told you that you weren't smart enough to survive in this business. You should have become a soldier, then at least your death would have served a cause."