Chapter Five: Watch from afar.
19/5/997.
It was a pleasant day. Birds were singing outside, in the tree whose branches brushed the window. The sun was partially obscured by fluffy clouds - the perfect ratio of darkness and illumination to please a majority of people. In the bustling dwarven city of Korunda Gate, the citizens were happy to spend their gold in droves on such a day.
Which, in turn, meant that businesses would come to the fortress-like bank of House Kundarak to deposit their revenue lest thieves get ideas. Lord Morrikan d'Kundarak, the House patriarch, handled the affairs of the House as a whole and a handful of important accounts, but his position of prominence within a continent-wide banking system allowed him to watch out the window of his office and ponder things.
Splayed out on a desk of carved and polished granite were several accounts - namely those of national governments. Karrnath, Cyre - may the poor souls find rest - Aundair, Breland, Thrane...all these and more were arrayed for his perusal.
Lord actually was his name - Morrikan was his second name, but the humans found 'Lord' so pretentious a first name that the patriarch was all but forced to ignore it. Dwarves, over the hundreds of years that they had been vassals to human kings, had to make a lot of concessions to human sensibilities. Even the fashion which Lord Morrikan wore was human-influenced - a coif combined with a circlet of gold lined in gemstones, a thick coat of yellow gambeson over a tunic, breeches that tucked into boots. Dwarves were most at home surrounded by stone and metal, and even now that they were free to rule themselves, deference to humans had become a tradition.
Morrikan wished he could speak the words 'damn tradition' out loud, just once. But that would ruin his career as his House's leader. He scratched his beard - short and pale by dwarf beardly standards - and turned on his swivel chair to better see the birds flit about outside. A century and change old - and he led the richest dragonmarked House of them all. If he ruled well, he could stay in his position for centuries more. Perhaps his children would become the de-facto Lords-slash-Ladies Kundarak after his death, the start of a dynasty. Nothing which threatened that could be tolerated.
Least of all the kidnapping, torture, and death of identity that had befallen Morrikan's own grandmother by the Brelish government.
The news would reach their king soon, and then that king would send his ambassadors to find what had caused such a change in fortunes. Morrikan couldn't admit the real reason, Bornael couldn't admit the real reason - so a lie would need to be thought up to explain the situation to the gazettes. Something to explain the outright audit, and severe increase of war debt interest.
As Lord of House Kundarak, as the account manager for the Brelish government, there was no one but him who could have made the decision. It wasn't good business, but it was an excellent vengeance.
The birds flitted away, and so the patriarch had no distraction from his work. He leaned back and spun about to return to the accounts. "Breland's doing the best out of all the remaining big five," Morrikan told himself as he disdainfully cast the bear-marked folder aside. "If left unchecked, their economic dominance would lead to actual dominance. It's just a measure to ensure the overall health of the Khorvaire economy."
A measure that wiped out thirty years of economic growth overnight. That thought still made Lord Morrikan smile.
At night, when the fleshlings were asleep, the warforged in the settlement and the Keep would find things to pass the time. Spring would soon give way to summer, and the days would be longer. It was decided that a night-time activity would be arranged for the orderlies to spend their free time on, something that would scale up with time when winter nights were longer.
Janulerry had taken Merch, Septrippo, and Juln with her on an evening adventure to plant four hundred sapling trees that Medani had purchased as an investment for the future. This left Februhaha in charge, as Coolander was in need of repairs. Earlier that day, Miss Ide had brushed his head with her hand and caused extensive damage.
With seven other orderlies to see to, Februhaha decided that their best bet was to do something interesting - but everyone had different interests. Februhaha deeply enjoyed the literature available in the donjon library - but Apelel didn't, he enjoyed fleshling sports. In the acting head orderly's opinion, Apelel just liked that no fleshling sports player could so much as slow him down.
In the great hall, each of the warforged orderlies still actively engaged in some leftover work - and Februhaha observed them to find their after-work activity. Octulary, who alone among the orderlies had all-terrain spider legs installed in place of a normal lower body, mended holes in the clothes of the patients with thread and needles. Fleshlings unfamiliar with the spider-forged's unique role were surprised at how quietly the eight arthropod legs were as they moved. Equipped with clawed toes and spherical rollers, the all-terrain spider legs were meant to turn a warforged into a dangerous assassin which could strike from any angle.
With surgical precision, the spider-forged made up for their three-digit hands. It was good that the viceroy had forbidden Octulary from ever seeing to Miss Ide on the rotations - an incident like what had happened to Coolander would be even worse for a specialty warforged.
The organizing warforged approached their spider-forged compatriot, and asked them directly: "What would you like to do tonight?"
Octulary paused in the mending of one of Weir's socks to think about their response. Up close, Februhaha was reminded that the spider-forged didn't have two large optics like themself and others - Octulary had four small optics clustered together in each of the sockets. The spider-forged returned to its mending. "I would like to make something."
Februhaha put their hands on their hips and would have scowled if their face was as articulate as Septrippo's. "I need a bit more detail than that. Is the thing you want to make a physical object or an experience?"
Octulary's sock repair didn't cease while it answered this time. "There really isn't a distinction between those two things. An experience requires physical objects - usually, those who experience it - and the creation of an object is often considered an experience too." The sock was repaired, set aside, and its twin picked up for repairs. Shifter finger and toenails grew toward points rather than human curves. "Fleshlings tend to use that description when they attempt to make new fleshlings."
"Well, we can't make more of us - none of us have the required expertise or the dragonmark of making to power a creation forge." Februhaha ground their hand against their chin as they had seen fleshlings do, with noisier results. "Though Miss Ide knows how to make warforged."
"I'm uninterested in warforged production, it was merely an example." The spider-forged gestured with their needle-holding hand. "I'm interested in textile production."
This was more reasonable and gave Februhaha an idea. "Hemp grown in the settlement can be used to make fabric - I will obtain some of the next harvest, and we can make textiles for you to work on."
A curt nod was all the eight-eyed, eight-legged, crawling metal people-minder gave in the way of a reply. A little rude, but perhaps it had been rude for Februhaha to demand an answer of them.
Regardless, the acting head orderly moved on.
Maize, the bizarre one, had found half of a hawk outside the Keep. Something had eaten it, and he wanted to find out what it was - so he hurried to plan the rotations for which orderlies looked after which patients. Februhaha was happy to see that Maize wasn't so distracted that he let the hawk's blood get onto the papers, at least.
"Maize," Februhaha said to get the male-leaning warforged's attention. "Do you want to participate in a group activity tonight? If so, what sort of activity would you like to-"
"Well," the black-eyed warforged responded, and held up a pen from the schedules, "I believe Weir will attempt to sneak out of his room tonight. We might observe him, and see how his escape attempts work."
The more conventional warforged disabled then re-enabled their optics to mimic the fleshling gesture of blinking. "If you suspected such a thing, why didn't you tell the viceroy?"
Maize shrugged and went back to scheduling. "I don't think he'll try to escape the facility, he is likely practicing for a bigger escape attempt later on."
Naturally, this was a wildly unsatisfactory answer, but Februhaha got the feeling that further explanations in the same vein would be even more so. "So, what makes you think Weir is going to sneak out?"
The creepy warforged tapped the metal surrounding his eye sockets. "I watched where Weir watched. When Juln and I changed his water, he kept his eyes on the keys - specifically the one for his room. He will try to use the key's shape to better pick the lock. Then he asked about Mr. Mankarr." Maize clanged his hands together in a series of short claps, similar to how Merch would behave. "I suspect he intends to have a romantic visit with Mr. Mankarr now that their confinement is less severe."
Februhaha covered their optics with their hand and sighed. "You're jumping to conclusions. Even if Weir was plotting to escape tonight as practice, why would he risk going to visit Mr. Mankarr? Mr. Mankarr's power could go off on him, and then we'd find out."
Maize took a moment to stare at his superior, then responded. "For a medically optimized unit, you don't seem to understand fleshlings very well."
Confused, and a little annoyed, the acting head orderly huffed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Do you know what the phrase 'bow chicka bow wow' means?" Maize patiently waited for thirty seconds, and kept his schedule work going during that time. "Then you don't know them well enough. Maybe we should all go watch, it'll be educational for everyone."
Februhaha, still huffy from Maize's impertinence, made a foolish decision. "Alright, we will! And you will see that you made rash assumptions about fleshling behavior too." The acting head orderly stomped out of the great hall and left everyone else to their work. Februhaha went to the security office to set up the viewing session.
The security office looked like a dusty room, with furniture covered in cloth to prevent dust, and was located on the west side of the castle on the second floor. Sconces in the shape of hands holding candles provided dim light via everburning torches. However, there was no candle held in one sconce hand - this one was pulled upon by Februhaha. With a click and a hiss, the wall split apart and pulled forward. Obsidian mirrors perfectly cut into squares lined the inside of the wall, and the space they had hidden. At the center was a pedestal with a smoky-quartz orb on a cushion.
Unbeknownst to Februhaha, a small orb watched the warforged as they examined the crystal ball and the mirrors. It resembled an eye, about an inch wide, and floated along outside the balcony windows for the security room. The curtains hadn't been replaced yet - moths had gotten to them.
The eye watched as Februhaha set up the mirrors to all show three locations. The left mirrors showed Weir floating about in the pool which occupied most of his room, the right showed the hallway outside Mankarr's room, and the middle showed the inside of Mankarr's room.
Weir's room was once a nobleman's bath chamber, with some alterations. All of Breland blue tile, with faux gold for details. The pool, for what rich man would settle for a tub, was filled with water from the Howling River and drained perpetually so that the water would remain oxygenated. Alcoves around the side of the pool were filled with spaces for Weir's possessions. And the once ornate door had been replaced with a heavy, metal gate. Bars lined the interior and exterior of the circular window at the far end.
No doubt Mankarr would have loved such a room. Without a wheelchair to move around in his own, he had to stay where he was placed. While Weir floated around in his pool, Mankarr slept with his leg cushioned and a potion drip in his arm.
Behind the magical floating eye, the queen mother hmmed to herself in her carriage. It was quite larger on the inside than on the outside - magic was wonderful - and so she had plenty of space to herself and for her cats. "I don't recall the shifter having green pebbly skin on his extremities or webbed digits." Her eyebrows shot up when she watched the shifter yawn. "And he certainly didn't have chompers that a dinosaur would envy."
Meanwhile, Februhaha went back and gathered the remaining orderlies for their nightly escapade - they were going to watch Maize be proven wrong, and Februhaha right!
Novembem, a warforged scout, was the smallest orderly and yet the most physically powerful due to unique dwarven martial arts she had been taught. She was dwarf-like in stature, at two-thirds the average human's height, yet lanky like a halfling. Most of her construction was wood, though she had metal armored joints, digits, and as her skullcap. Because of this, she was light enough to sit on the cloth-covered bed, a much-desired spot among the other orderlies.
After Octulary had been squeezed through, the orderlies sat down for a long night of people watching. Februhaha sat on the floor along with the other main-production warforged, and held the crystal ball to maintain the observation.
Similarly, the queen mother's arcane observer watched them people watch.
Just as Shatzi was about to end her spell, something happened. Weir suddenly lept from the pool to the door, and crouched over the lock.
"Heh," Maize said, vindicated.
Februhaha ground their toothless upper and lower jaws against each other. "Alright, you were right about his escape attempt. But we don't know that he can get out, or that he will go to Mr. Mankarr's room."
In short order, Weir had his door open, though he had to brute force it a little. Adjustus, the one who had installed that door, sighed at the work he would have to do to fix it. After that, Februhaha changed the Weir's room view to the hallway outside. Sure enough, Weir had bolted so quickly that they needed to change views again.
The warforged watched Weir run through the Keep, up until he got to the hallway outside Mankarr's room. He paused there, at the T-junction. The queen mother and the orderlies both watched in exquisite detail the inner battle Weir was a part of. Weir rushed up to the door but stopped before he could retrieve his improvised lock-picks. The view zoomed in, and they watched as Weir took too fistfuls of his own hair and pulled, before he turned away with an expression of soul-crushing pain.
Februhaha turned and pointed at Maize, then exclaimed "Hah!" in their own vindication. The lack of reaction from Maize made Februhaha look at the viewing mirrors again. Weir had stopped running, and stood not far from Mankarr's door. The reason for that was because the viceroy stood at the T-junction.
The queen mother paused her spell long enough to magic herself some popcorn and opera glasses, so that when she started her spell again she could see in even better detail.
Weir knew he'd cocked it up. Again. He should have gone get Nishi - the kid's door wasn't as heavily secured, he could have picked the lock and they'd be gone. Instead, he'd wasted time debating about rescuing Mankarr first, and now he was caught.
"Come with me, we're going back to your room." The khoravar woman was ominous, even in a pastel yellow nightgown and purple cardigan coat. Her eyes were so piercing, Weir was amazed he hadn't been pinned to a wall by her glare. Faint lines of magic crisscrossed across her body and her clothes, and the holy symbol of the Silver Flame hung around her neck - it burned with white-hot divine magic.
He ran through his options. The hallway behind him ended in a dead-end with no window. Berlith was between him and the rest of the Keep. He could fight her - but she had prepared unknown magic, he would be going in blind. He didn't have a lot of gear on him - swimming pants weren't made to have pockets, too small. But he had his lock-picks and his improvised blade. His armored arms and legs wouldn't last long, they were drying out. Already he could feel his eyes return to normal a shifter humanesque appearance rather than the yellow with verticle slit they had been.
If he drew a blade on her and lost, he wouldn't get another escape chance. They would have a guard at his door, definitely. Still wet from his pool, the shifter felt the temperature change right away. He pieced it together that it was Berlith's doing when he saw ice crawl across the floor and walls.
When his own breath became visible in small puffs in front of his face, he had to face the fact that he was neither prepared nor equipped to fight a war-seasoned clerical witch. Not yet.
"Very well," Berlith said in an outright scary monotone. "If that's your preference." She advanced on him and rolled up her right sleeve. The ice grew thicker in response.
Quickly, Weir put up his hands like he was going to fight. But as she approached, he reconsidered and put his hands behind his head as he would if he were being arrested.
Berlith didn't slow down. But she didn't strike Weir when she got within range. Instead, she walked around him and pushed on his shoulder - the unspoken 'march' command. The ice melted as they passed, which was good for Weir as he had no shoes.
"You're just going to lead me back?" Weir asked her, suspicious. They soon came to the stairs downward.
"I have better things to do with my time than to search you for contraband or chastise you as if you're a child." Berlith seemed annoyed by the question. "The doctor made some notes about the two of you being affectionate for one another, but her records don't have you two interacting within the past nineteen months."
Weir grit his saw-teeth when he remembered the way the doctor had grinned when she pieced together how Mankarr and Weir felt about each other. The literal next day, she took Mankarr off his pain-killers and made sure Weir was moved to a room just far enough that he couldn't be heard by Mankarr, but he could still hear the gnome screaming.
Gods, how he wanted to rip that halfling's head off.
"We saw each other when you were moving us to new rooms." Weir almost smiled at the memory.
"I see. And you couldn't wait for a group therapy session to see him because…?"
Weir kept a tight lip on his intent - even if she had no dragonmark, Medani were all about ferreting out lies, he feared she would sniff it out if lied and couldn't admit he was going to break Mankarr out.
After nearly a full floor of silence, Berlith stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. They had stopped on a staircase, so it was too narrow for Berlith to cross around to Weir's front. She spoke to him again from behind, where Weir could hide his expressions. "Were you upset with him over his power activating on you or something? Did he steal something of yours, and you wanted it back? If there is some seed of conflict between the two of you, it must be corrected post-haste."
She hadn't picked up on it, Weir realized with astonishment. He had the opportunity to keep it that way if he could play the situation right.
"There's no bad blood between us," Weir growled. The cold had stopped to be an issue, and now the dryness in the air was the problem. His teeth had lost their serrations and, as always, itched terribly from the change. He used that to work his jaw, and turn his head slightly, to try and play up 'searching for words'. Thora, who had gotten away, had told him to stall like that. "I don't have a lot of friends… and I was afraid it would be another nineteen months before I saw him again."
Not a lie. Not even an omission. An alternate presentation of the facts - a different context.
Berlith sighed sharply through her nose and pushed on Weir's shoulder. "Alright. Back to walking."
Weir's mind swirled with thoughts of how this could play out in the future. He'd have to tone down the physical affection toward Mankarr, and convince Mankarr to do the same. The shifter dared not look back to see Berlith's expression, lest his ruse fall on its face.
Meanwhile, Berlith was lost in memories of her youth. Her mother had once said that she could spot the times Berlith hid the food she didn't want to eat because she had pulled those same tricks as a child. In the current situation, Berlith recognized how it felt without ever having children.
If Weir hadn't been an aberrant, she would have been almost compelled to teach the man how to lie better. But considering she needed to be able to spot the lies of the prisoners would tell, that wasn't an option. Her dour expression softened as she walked Weir back to his room. Berlith made a most displeased grunt when she saw how the door had been bent slightly. Still, she pushed it open, then snapped her fingers and pointed with the same motion toward the pool inside.
Weir looked from Berlith to the hallway behind her, as if he was estimating his chance for escape. But he found the result too unlikely, for he stepped into the room and fell face-first into the pool.
Once he was in, Berlith closed the door and held her hand to it. Small cantrips of repair were useful for things like torn paperwork, broken quills, or making minor repairs to a door so that it would lock again. Once the bent steel door corrected itself just enough, Berlith locked it and went upstairs.
Meanwhile, back in the security office, the warforged orderlies had continued to watch the scene play out in silence, and the queen mother had, in turn, watched them. With Weir contained, the viceroy's progress through the Keep became their sole focus.
"Wait a minute," Adjustus commented suddenly. The shy warforged narrowed his optics and leaned forward a bit. "It almost looks like she's on her way here."
After a moment to process that, the orderlies quickly scrambled to leave the scene. Octulary and Novembem left by way of the balcony - the scout was small enough to ride on the spider-forged's back and scale the wall upward. However, the other warforged were left with the need to leave by the halls.
Februhaha, however, had to set the security station back to the inactive state. Once the mirrors were powered down, and the crystal ball returned to its podium, the acting head orderly struggled to close the swinging walls faster than their automatic gadgets would move them normally. However, the walls were simply too heavy for them to do so on their own. To their surprise, Maize stopped in the doorway and doubled back to help them push. Neither spoke about it - they were too focused on their task.
While the other orderlies fled, Februhaha and Maize struggled to close the walls and sighed when they finally clicked closed.
When they looked up, there was Berlith. Her arms crossed, her eyes piercing, and her foot repeatedly tapped against the carpet.
"I can explain," Februhaha said, and held out a three-digit hand in front of themself.
Maize stood slightly behind them, silent.
Berlith's foot continued to tap.
"Let me explain," Februhaha said, more confident than before. But afterward, they fell silent.
Maize looked between them and Berlith, his optic lights disabled so neither could tell what he did.
Berlith's right eyebrow arched dangerously high over the course of the silence. "Well?" She spoke, unamused after the silence stretched on for too long. "I'm waiting."
Februhaha held the hand outstretched position and said nothing.
Maize similarly said nothing.
Berlith sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "If I hadn't put alarms on all the aberrant's doors tonight, Weir could have gotten out. And all seven of you were here, watching it rather than stopping it." She took her hand away and looked at both of them, her gaze piercing. "Every time it rains, I want the both of you to get mops, go outside, and mop the battlements until they're dry." Her decision made, she turned to leave the room.
Maize, at least, spoke up when the khoravar woman had her hand on the door handle. "And how long will that order be standing?"
Berlith paused and looked at the creepy warforged out of the corner of her eye. "That's an excellent question." A silence stretched out between the three of them until Berlith broke it suddenly. "Bye." She opened the door and left without further discussion.
With the situation resolved, the queen mother ended her spell altogether and reclined in her seat. She popped some leftover popcorn into her mouth and reflected on what she had seen.
On a cushion filled with squishy beads, surrounded by kittens, Shatzi's cat meowed once.
"Yes," the queen mother replied, "I know it wasn't as entertaining as a fight. But still - got to watch a muscular man run around in wet swim pants, that was nice. And we learned more about the facility, also nice." Shatzi pulled open one of the seat bases near her and revealed a starry plane in the space beneath. She tossed the popcorn bucket into that space and closed it without fanfare. "Shame that man goes for other men, I could do things with him." Her regal expression became absolutely mischievous.
Her cat meowed once.
The queen mother huffed. "Why do you always have to 'voice of reason' my fun thoughts? Is it the kittens? Cause when I had kids all it did was make me stressed out."
Again, the cat meowed once.
Shatzi cupped her hand to her chin. "You know, that's a good point." With a snap of her fingers and a shower of sparks, the queen mother traded her regal garments for a fluffy bathrobe, a mask of green slime on her face, curlers in her hair, and a blanket. She laid out on the expansive seats of her carriage and got as comfy as she could. "G'night. Let's hope Boranel hasn't cocked it up while we were out looking at hot men and plotting."
She knocked on the wood of her floor to ward off a jinx. But it was too late.
When the cat is the voice of reason, things are not going to go well.