Some language...
x x x
Bezantur Port, Ancestral Tower of the Tulkarths - - -
--Ammon Jerro
The envelope even looked self important, sure that simple curiosity would tempt me. And, damn it, it did.
Still, it didn't seem too much a danger, exploding runes or most other traps would show their magic to my sight. Poisons were very little danger to me anymore, so I landed and picked it up. The weight of several sheets of parchment, and several seeking runes were part of the wax seals. The outside of the envelope simply said 'Jerro heir' in a spidery handwriting. As if the sender didn't quite know to whom it was going.
That confirmed it, I had not been using my own name, throughout my time here. These wizards expected no less, the names they'd admitted to me had ranged from grandiose to plain, but none had that ring of hope for the future, or soul weight, that a true name should have carried.
Closing my eyes, I took a breath before opening the envelope.
In the careful words of a born legal specialist from Waterdeep, I was loftily assured there was a substantial bequest for me from the estate of one Shandra Jerro. As if I wanted it, one more reminder. I was going to crush the letter, when I decided not to.
I wasn't sure why at first, perhaps it was still regret, perhaps it was boredom, or perhaps is was curiosity, but I didn't crush it or a even burn it to ash with a spell. Instead I finished reading it, the attempted seduction for riches inherent in the glowing terms of the bequest coming my nameless way. Offering recompense, plenty of time for travel, until next Shieldmeet, in fact. What caught my attention the most, was that the farm wasn't really worth that much, if all the buildings were destroyed. So what bequest would have been worth this much effort?
More simply, it could be a trap.
So I tucked the folded note into a pouch and forgot it. For several tendays I continued my little games of playing one wizard against another. A rival of the Tulkarths arranged for a particularly annoying vermin infestation, making most of the levels of the tower uninhabitable. I considered destroying the upper level for the annoyance of losing sleep, but simply stepped off the balcony and floated to the ground.
An inn would be less bother at this point in the evening. But instead I set out for the Tulkarth wizard who was supposed to be my contact and sponsor. Tonight Greylion just seemed rabbity, making his chosen name just that much more ironic.
"That tower is regretfully such a shabby domicile for someone of your skill and power. It is too sad, that you cannot petition for permission to build your own..." his nose was almost twitching with that veiled offer.
I steepled my fingers, and allowed myself to appear thoughtful, though I was now growing angry. This was no rival's work, and Greylion, or his seniors, had decided to try to play me, more crudely this time. That would not be rewarded.
"Yes, it is sad," I agreed, "truly tragic, in fact. Perhaps you have allowed your city officials far too much autonomy. They really should know better than to impede the wishes of one of the arcane brotherhood. You need to do something about that, you have a responsibility."
It was truly amusing watching his thoughts lose coherence from the persuasiveness I put into that argument. His weak will was one of my better amusements, but not for that much longer.
Enlightened, Greylion said, "Yes, yes, they have been getting a bit uppity. Why just last week, my sister, a fine young necromancer, got fined for using some minor spells. Hmm, hmm, yes, they need to be chastized again."
He wandered off, calling for assistance, while I repressed my smile. It would not be long until he remembered his purpose, but I had grown tired of this game. I now valued my sleep more than the play. Looking around, I realized I'd left nothing of any worth in the other tower. Summoning a small elemental with only a short set of directions for cleaning up, I scribed a worldgate to leave. Stepping into the gate, my water elemental was quivering to finish its clean-up task in a brief time and leave the Prime far behind. So sad about the flooding of these towers.
x x x
Jerro farm - - -
Stepping out, it was much earlier in the evening, and a much more decrepit location. Grasses were waist high, and the few remaining beams had vines growing up their charred sides. It seemed I would be following my curiosity, for I was back on the farm I had left so long ago.
Walking around in the gathering dusk, I saw the faint remains of some improvements made after I left. A granite statue, now broken, was in the middle of a overgrown cluster of trees and bushes. The well was still fairly clear, and had several reliefs set in between the other stones. The well-cover was gone, but there was a path still leading to and from the road, so travelers still stopped here. There had been a fourth barn at one time, but inside the remains had more mature saplings and bushes, than the other foundations.. It must have been a large one, by the still flat area inside the two remaining beams on the ground. The spring house was still against the hill, well away from the house and nearly intact. Looking inside, I saw a waterline from some springtime flood and rodent nests.
I still remembered when it was new, and freshly whitewashed.
Looking around without haste, I didn't find any skeletons or newer gravemarkers. Only weathered slate markers for my son and his wife, inside a low stone wall. Perhaps, I should have young Shandra's remains brought here. She seemed to have spoken so much of her home to the others.
It was obvious that no one had done any real maintenance, so I would need to seek elsewhere for answers. Summoning an elemental to repair and reset the statue, I invoked a shelter with a scroll, and left the elemental to guard the entrance while I slept.
In the morning, I left for Neverwinter. I doubted any villagers nearby would know anything useful, and Neverwinter was where the note supposedly came from. I could travel magically, but I was in no hurry. Passing, and passed by, trader caravans, some farmers moving between fields with their mule teams, and even a courier, it was a quiet day to walk. The farmers gawked at my robes, but none seemed to recognize me. I purchased some food from some of the farms, mostly bread, cheese, and late spring scallions. The fresher air made even the one simple hand pie taste good. In due course and in a few leisurely days, I passed through the gate into the city. Construction seemed to have slowed again, and the gate seemed sturdy enough, as I made my way to the more protected Blacklake district, looking for suitable inn to make my base.
I didn't expect any problems in the city. I had never really been in the city while I'd been associated with the Knight Commander, and none who'd seen me while seeking the shards would be able to identify me. While some of the soldiers may have transferred here, my clothing was now different and foreign. A new inn, the Purpled Griffin, was among the elite's shops, and I got a comfortable suite.
After a pleasant evening, being pampered at no greater cost to me than a bit of money, I slept deeply and well.
Once I had wakened, I hired a messenger to check the offices of... Tarielog and Maelielam, to see if they even existed and were open. A simple and cheap way to check on a potential trap. After a fine breakfast, and having a servant acquire and fit some new robes, the messenger returned.
After I sent the tailor away, the messenger reported, "The office is open, and well-appointed, Sir Tarielog is present in the office this morning, and has an assistant there as well. He stands ready for new clients."
I tossed him a few more coins than his fee, and sat back to think.
After lunch, I decided that arriving with foreign robes would perhaps cloud things a little. A short walk, and I arrived at the office, on the second floor above a jewelry shop near Castle Never. Once inside, I found a young man, perhaps with some elvish blood, copying out of a large tome.
"Is Tarielog present?" I demanded.
The youngster stood, nearly dropping his inked quill, bowed, and stammered, "Of course, sir. May I tell him who is calling, and on what business?"
"It is about wills and bequests, and the name is Areptir," I announced, aping pretension and a touch of menace, and trying not to smirk at his haste to hand me off to his superior.
It was less than a minute before he was back, and nervously escorting me to the other room. Inside, I found a middle aged man, human, and a bit over forty. No one remarkable in presence or dress.
He bowed unusually gracefully, and greeted me, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Areptir. It is wise of you to plan for your wife and kindred."
Curious, I asked, "What makes you think that I am married?"
"You are not the young and invincible one, whose kin force them to make plans before they run off to be eaten by orcs. Old enough to have been married for some time, and thinking ahead, it is only natural to plan. If you weren't married or have kin, you would not be very likely to need our services," Tarielog explained this without even the faintest of smiles.
Allowing myself a smile, I said, "True, but I do have some questions about your services. How confidential is your knowledge from outsiders, or potential heirs, from interference such as alteration?" I asked.
He gestured to some luxurious seats, "Please, sit, while we discuss this. It depends, of course on the contracts involved, but our discretion is assured, unless there is a relevant crime or challenge requiring disclosure."
I sat, considering my next question, as I did so. "What if I wanted to find the heir or heirs of a client like Caleb, once of the Nine, in order to proffer a deal?"
"If he or his heirs were clients of ours, we would contact them to allow a meeting," Tarielog said serenely.
"I really would need to meet with his hairs directly," I said with a bit more force, wondering if he was as suggestible as Greylion. "The offer I have to tender is quite urgent."
He blinked at me for an instant, before saying, "I am dreadfully sorry sir, but I had believed you wished to hire our services, not fish for free contacts. Any information I might have on heirs of the Nine is quite confidential."
Starting to rise, probably in an effort to encourage my departure, I waved a negation. "No, I merely wanted to learn of your stand on contracts and confidentiality. I have no interest in Caleb's heirs, who seem to also be clients of yours whether they know it or not."
Tarielog nodded.
If an ambush had been planned, there had been well and enough time to have sprung it by now.
I continued, "Merely, I wished to discover the meaning of a message I received recently while visiting with an acquaintance."
That got his attention, and as I brought out the message, he looked surprised when he recognized it.
"You're the Jerro heir?" Tarielog asked, and then began to smile more warmly. "We've been looking for you for years now. Where were you?"
Firmly, I said, "That doesn't matter. I expect this confidentiality, and I am not convinced I wish to accept any unknown legacy."
"Very well, sir. Accepting is not required, though the estate still has some value even after this time. Perhaps your wife may be interested in a country estate" he said carefully.
"I am not married, I have no heirs that need succor!" I said, only then realizing that I had clenched my jaws. This was only reminding me that all my kin were dead.
Making a calming gesture, Tarielog said, "That is not an obstacle, sir. You do not appear past the age of parenthood. Perhaps with greener pastures, you will be able to find someone here and have a more fruitful future."
He was a mercenary, this should not take long, so I said, not even bothering to hide my sarcasm, "I am perhaps fifty or a hundred years past that hope. Reconcile yourself to a short guardianship."