Disclaimer: I don't own Magic: The Gathering, just my characters.
Chapter 25-Further exposition, OR Yet another chapter in which the author neglects to advance the storyline, instead preferring to provide further exposition in the hopes of justifying the actions that will eventually be undertaken by some, if not all, of the character or characters, at an indeterminate point in the future of the story which will most likely take a while to get to and then only slightly matter as the character's actions could easily have been justified by a flashback of some sort explaining why they are acting in a certain way by providing a snapshot of a moment in the past that would provide character development, but rather that resorting to that the author decides to further confuse his audience and muddle the already intricate plot instead of just getting on with the damn story already!
The sun beat down cruelly on the lone traveler as he advanced wearily down the dirt road. His tattered black cloak was a testament to his long journey; torn and sullied by the dust of the road. His hood was up, concealing his face, which did not help considering the heat. He was sweating profusely, but obstinately kept his hood up; he had his reasons.
Behind him, the peaks of the Mal-Tak Mountains were barely visible on the horizon. Even from this distance, they still seemed to loom over the landscape, dark and foreboding. Glancing back at them, he shivered and hastened his pace, eager to put as much distance between the mountains and himself as possible. On either side of the road the ground rose sharply into tall hills. Trees grew sparsely on their flanks, their roots spreading far underground, seeking rare nutrients in the rocky soil.
Peering up at the sun, the traveler saw it had reached its zenith. Sighing, he pressed on. It would do no good to still be on the road after darkness fell, and he had no idea how far the next village was. Coming over a rise, he was treated to a glorious sight: the hills flattened out into gently rolling plains, and beyond the planes lay a great body of water that stretched out as far as the eye could see; glittering like a sea of jewels. However, the traveler's gaze was drawn away from the shimmering sea to the tall spires of a city in the distance. He smiled for the first time in days; finally, a refuge.
Shamiral ("knowledge," in the tongue of the Olde Ones) was the last bastion of the Kalunian Alliance. Built by the Olde Ones long ago, it stood on the shores of the Bay of Kaldoon, serving as a base of operations for the Kalunian navy. The city itself sprawled along the coast, as if it was afraid to venture too far inland. Many legends spoke about how the Kalunians had come to live in the city. The generally accepted story was that the ancestors of the Kalunians had once co-existed with the Olde Ones in the city, and at some time the Olde Ones had left, leaving the city to the ancestors. However, not all shared this view: the cult of Loomis claimed they were direct descendants of the Olde Ones and that their city had been usurped by outsiders who had diluted their bloodline. They swore that one day they would re-take the city and rule as the Olde Ones did. The cult was viewed by the rest of the population as a bunch of lunatics, but the law still kept an eye on their activities. Some of the most influential members of the Council were suspected members, giving the cult much potential political and financial resources.
In the middle of the city stood the Great Library, a towering stone monument which contained the knowledge of the Olde Ones. Much of it was written in ancia, their language, and while scholars had been able to interpret and translate fragments of texts, the sheer amount of untapped knowledge was staggering. Most of the citizens of Shamiral had little interest in the knowledge of the Olde Ones, and the language barrier only further dissuaded them. Because of this few people visited the library, save a few scholars and the Keeper of Records.
The bookkeeper was currently precariously perched on a ladder, reaching for a scroll on a high shelf that was just out of his reach. He could almost grab it; his fingertips brushed against it. Just a little more and he would have it. As he leaned a bit further, his balance finally gave out and he fell, managing to grab onto the shelf, but the aged wood couldn't take his weight, sending him to the ground, an avalanche of books and scrolls tumbling down on him with a crash and a cloud of dust. Groaning in pain, he gazed up at the scroll; the crash had almost knocked it off the shelf and it was teetering on the edge, taunting him. As the Keeper of Records sat up, the damn thing finally made up its mind, adding insult to injury by falling squarely on his head. Grumbling, he picked it up and stood, walking out of the room; there would be time to clean the mess later.
The traveler advanced through the paved streets of Shamiral, glancing nervously around. The sentinels at the front gate had been easy enough to sneak by, distracted as they were with trying to control a peasant's herd of goats that had, for some inexplicable reason, become skittish and unruly in front of the gates. A most fortunate coincidence for him indeed; he was particularly weary of the law and would rather not have to answer a lot of snoopy questions. Of course, these questions could always be bypassed, for a price, but his purse was far too light to withstand such an assault.
Since entering the city, he had been taking great pains to avoid any patrols. Even now, he saw one approaching and ducked into a nearby alley, pulling his hood lower over his face and turning his back to the street. As the patrol passed, he decided it was getting too dangerous to be out and about in daylight. He resolved to find a hiding place and wait for the cover of darkness before resuming his travels.
Leaving the alley he made a beeline for the nearest building, a tall stone structure at the end of the plaza he was in. Climbing the many steps that led to the engraved doors, he mentally cursed the architects. Taking one last glance around to make sure no guards had seen him, he pushed the heavy wooden doors open and entered the building.
The cool interior was a welcome change from the heat outside. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he gazed around: he was in a long room with a vaulted ceiling. Tall bookshelves were lined up in font of him more shelves lined the four walls of the room. Two doors on either side of the room led to more shelf-lined rooms. The bookshelves were packed with old, dusty tomes, many of them bound in cracked leather, the printing on the spines rendered illegible from old age. Out of curiosity, the traveler grabbed a nearby scroll, but the yellow, aged parchment crumbled under his touch. Nervously looking around, he quickly swept the pieces aside with his foot.
Trying to look nonchalant he strolled through the aisles. A heavy silence blanketed the room, thicker than the dust piling on the crumbling volumes. The pungent smell of mildew filled his nostrils; the place was a tomb, knowledge's final resting place.
The traveler suddenly heard a noise behind him. He whirled around instinctively, his hands wreathed in black flames. As he turned, the flames licked at the yellowed scrolls on the shelf behind him, setting the dry paper ablaze.
"What have you done, you fool?" shouted the man who had approached him.
The fire spread quickly, the dry shelves providing ample fuel to feed the flames. The traveler sprung back from the heat of the blazing inferno, looking wildly about for an escape. Suddenly, vines sprouted from the shelves, the vegetation quickly overgrowing the fire. At first, the flames simply devoured the plants, but more and more came, thicker and bigger, until the flames were smothered under the greenery.
"You idiot!" said the Keeper of Records. He had heard the door open and had gone to greet the visitor. Seeing as how few people visited the library, he wanted to give the few visitors they received a warm reception, but not quite this warm.
"You have it as well," said the traveler, astounded by what had just happened.
"What do you mean?" asked the bookkeeper. The vines had receded into the woodwork and he was sifting through the ashes, trying to salvage what he could.
"The gift," said the traveler, extending his hand. The black flames reappeared, enveloping his hand. The fire shaped into a small, elongated lump, one end sprouting a small, tentacle-like appendage. The flames began glowing brighter and when the glow had faded, a large grey rat sat in the man's hand.
"So there are more of us," said the bookkeeper.
"More?"
"The texts of the Olde Ones speak of beings capable of harnessing the energies of nature to invoke creatures that did their bidding. Ever since discovering my ability, I suspected there might be others."
The two men continued talking well into the evening, or more accurately, the bookkeeper did the talking. He talked at length about his studies of the Olde Writings while the traveler said little, merely nodding in agreement, keeping his hood over his face. The Keeper of Records though this odd but the excitement of having met another with the gift overpowered his curiosity about the visitor.
"Is there anywhere we could go for a drink?" the traveler asked, interrupting the bookkeeper's elaborate explanation of a passage he had been translating for the past month.
"There is a pub nearby," said the Keeper of Records, slightly disappointed at the traveler's lack of interest in his work. However, all the talking had made him quite thirsty; he could do with a pint or two.
Leaving the library, they headed down the darkening streets, soon arriving at the pub. The windows were brightly lit and the sounds of merriment came from inside. The door opened, flooding the street with light as four heavily inebriated men stumbled out, clutching to each other for support. They were laughing heartily and one still held a tankard in his hand. As they made their way down the street, one of them began singing and the others soon joined in. It was a jovial drinking song.
Tabard was a mighty lord
His rule was just and true
Let's be merry, no need to worry
Have a drink or two!
He was skilled in making ale
He had a mighty brew
Let's be merry, no need to worry
Have a drink or two!
He guarded his recipe
A man who stole it he slew
Let's be merry, no need to worry
Have a drink or two!
The singing faded as the men disappeared around a corner. The traveler opened the door and the two of them entered. A cloud of smoke assaulted them upon their entry. The air was thick with the haze of pipe-smoke. The room was long and square. A stage was at the end of the room, opposite the door; it was currently empty. Three-legged, wooden tables were haphazardly scattered around the room. Most of them were occupied, the patrons drinking and singing merrily. Serving wenches scurried around, carrying trays laden with tankards and food.
The bar stood to the right of the door. The barmaid, a large, buxom woman with fiery red hair was busily pulling pints for the wenches to take into the crowd. As the two approached, her face lit up with a large smile.
"Welcome back, Hun!" she told the bookkeeper. "You haven't come to see me in a while."
"I've been busy."
"You work too hard, dear. You need to find yourself a nice girl and settle down."
"I'm not that old, Abby," chuckled the Keeper of Records, accepting the mug she handed him.
"And who's your friend there?" asked Abigail. "Take off your hood, luv, you must be dying of heat under there."
"I'd rather not," said the traveler.
"Go on, show us your face," she said, going for his hood. The traveler's hand snapped up, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip and wrenched it away from his hood. "Don't touch me," he hissed.
"What are you doing?" shouted the bookkeeper.
Momentarily shaken by the traveler's response, Abby broke free of his grip. "All right, all right," she muttered, rubbing her bruised wrist. "No need for that. I meant no harm."
"I don't like to be touched," said the traveler.
"Strange folks have their strange ways and it's not my place to criticize them," said the barmaid. "If you want to get a spot by the stage, the show should be starting soon."
"I don't picture you as a drinker," said the traveler as they sat at a table to the left of the stage.
"I love my books, but I also love a good brew," said the bookkeeper, taking a deep draught. The traveler said nothing, and took a gulp of his own. He happened to glance up at the stage and nearly choked at what he saw: a woman had just stepped onstage, however it was not the woman or the revealing outfit she wore that startled the traveler, it was the brown fox's tail that hung behind her and her brown, black-tipped, furry, fox ears.
She's a half-breed!
Half-breeds were the offspring of a human and a demon. While many of the demon lords had been destroyed in the last great exorcism, a handful of them were still at large; it was rumored they had all taken human form to avoid recognition and were living among mortals. Half-breeds were uncommon, but not unheard of. They were generally ostracized by society; they were reminders of darker times, when the demon lords ruled. However, the fox on the stage didn't seem shy about her parentage. As the men in the room began hooting and whistling at her she strutted along the stage, flaunting her features.
The traveler was unable to tear his eyes from the woman. He had never seen such beauty and was completely hypnotized by her as she danced about the stage, her tail whirling along behind her. He felt desire flare up within him upon catching a whiff of her scent. He was overcome with lust for the beautiful fox dancing on the stage. Her dance over, the fox blew a kiss at the audience before leaving.
The traveler sat there, still dumbfounded, staring at the empty stage, replaying the fox's dance in his mind. Who was this creature that had bewitched him? Their eyes had met for a brief second and that moment had seemed to last an eternity.
"Are you all right?" asked the Keeper of Records, shaking the traveler out of his daze. "The dancer's gone. You've been staring at that stage for a while now."
"Who was that?" asked the traveler.
"Who's asking?" said a female voice behind them. Turning, they saw the fox coming towards their table.
"I'm going to get a refill," said the bookkeeper, standing and walking off. The fox took his seat and the two of them sat in silence.
"You were staring at me during my performance," the fox finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"As was every other person in here, I assume," said the traveler.
"Yes, as a piece of meat; something pretty on display, but your gaze was different."
"If you don't like being viewed as an object, why do you do what you do?"
"I never said I minded the perverted stares. I have no illusions about what all those men think about when I'm on stage," said the fox.
"Don't you feel exploited?"
"I don't need to do this to live," said the fox. "I do it because I enjoy it, and if parading onstage for a few minutes is all it takes for men to empty their wallets, who's really being exploited here?"
The traveler nodded and took a sip of his drink. The uncomfortable silence returned. What was taking that damn bookkeeper so long?
"What's your name?" the fox asked. The traveler gave her a name. It wasn't his real one. At his request, she told him hers. The two of them continued to exchange small talk, but soon the fox's questions became more personal and the traveler found himself opening up to this strange woman he'd met only moments ago. He didn't tell her everything, of course, but enough to satisfy her curiosity. He did lie, especially on the questions regarding his past. That subject was not open to discussion with anybody.
Suddenly, a booming voice rang out through the pub, "What do you think you're doing with my woman?"
To be continued…
Author's note: Well, it has been a while, hasn't it? I'd hoped to make this chapter extra-long (it currently sits at around 5,000 words), but I don't seem to be going anywhere with it, so I figured I'd upload a chunk of what I do have, let everyone know I'm still alive and haven't given up on this story.