Music: Into The ffire

Nini Music:

RoH: Forming Up

It was several minutes later and Isabelle had returned to the palace when an absolute bear of a man strolled over and said with a wide grin, "So, you're our unwelcome addition? Glad to have you."

Remant turned, looked him over, then offered a smile in return. "Remant," he said "Magus Isabelle has me working with Serevan."

"Jacques Tocard, Sub-Captain of the King's Own." The man offered a hand, and Remant shook it. It was solid grip, firm but not trying to prove a point. "I make it a habit never to argue with wizards."

"What can I do for you, Sub-Captain?" asked Remant. 

"Word is we'll be headed out in just a little bit. You two will be riding behind the Princess's carriage, and we'll have men in front and behind."

Makes sense. Remant nodded immediately. "I believe we can manage that," he said drily.

Sub-Captain Tocard chuckled. "Captain Greenwell doesn't like having you along, but that's mainly because he doesn't like anything he isn't in charge of. Do your part, and he'll come around... eventually. Meanwhile, most of the men -- including myself -- are glad to have a couple of magi along, especially one who appears to be acquainted with blade and bow. I'd just ask you both to keep your senses open for any sort of sorcerous mischief; the roads we'll be taking aren't much traveled these days."

"That's why we're here, Sub-Captain," put in Serevan, and Remant nodded again. Even leaving aside the possibilities of bandits, hostile natives, and rogue warbeasts, there were still plenty of stray spells and enchantments left from the war. Most were harmless, but not all -- and even the harmless ones could cause delays or other trouble.

"Good to hear it," said Sub-Captain Tocard. "We'll talk more on the road, I'm sure, but for now I'll leave you to it." 

Music: Valerie Loves Me

Material Issue:

RoH: The Staging Grounds

One of the stable boys brought Peregrine over to him, and he took hold of the reins just as another horse stepped up behind him. 

"Vard," said Isabelle. "This is Remant. He'll be watching over Serevan, and contributing to the general defense."

Remant bowed. 

Vard, who was seated atop a massive warhorse and wearing a full suit of enchanted plate armor, scowled. "His Majesty mentioned that there would be a late addition to the expedition. I assume that's you."

Remant straightened and nodded. "I know of no other."

Vard sighed. "Well, your horse looks sound enough, and you've a bow and blade -- though no armor, I see. Can you scout?"

Remant nodded. "Scout, track, and forage as needed. Although..." He looked over at the assembly grounds. "...perhaps not enough for a group of this size." He'd counted twenty armored men and women, a carriage, two supply wagons, and a dozen spare mounts -- an expensive investment, in the post-war world. King Dorrin hadn't been exaggerating when he'd explained that he'd committed everything he could spare to this pilgrimage. That was three additional drivers, all climbing into place, plus a woman who was settling the spare horses and preparing to lead them out. 

"Good enough," Vard said. "I'm Vard Greenwell, Captain of the King's Own. If I call a formation, I want you to move to the carriage, and defend it with bow, blade, or knife as needed. Without armor or a lance..." 

"I understand," Remant said, carefully casual. "I'll stay out of your way."

"Do that," said Vard, "and we'll get along splendidly."

Isabelle rolled her eyes, and Remant managed not to react. "That's my intention, Sir Knight."

Vard hesitated for a moment, then nodded and rode away.

"Do me a favor?" asked Isabelle. 

"What did you have in mind?" asked Remant.

"When you get back, let me know what that arrogant prick looked like when he finally figured it out."

Remant chuckled. "Oh, absolutely." This was why he normally avoided Magi; they could see things about him that he preferred to keep hidden. But in this case, it seemed that he had a friend -- or at least an ally. 

It wasn't as if he didn't have friends among the Magi; it was just good to have another.

RoH: The Reluctant Mage

"Remant, this is Serevan. Serevan, Remant." She turned to look at the young man -- Vanil, but clearly with some Aesil in his ancestry -- who was trying to get his saddlebags balanced on what appeared to be a world-weary, biddable gelding. "Remant will be working with the King's Own to protect the expedition. Serevan was second amongst Aeristes' disciples, and is my acknowledged superior in several fields of study." 

"...Which is I should be staying here, and you should be going with the expedition," the young-seeming man grumbled. "I'm better with the palace wards, truth spells, detecting and deflecting poisons... You're much stronger with battlefield magics."

"I know," Isabelle told him. "That's why I'm introducing you now. If you get into a battle, I want you to follow Remant's lead and do as he tells you. He doesn't look like much, but that's to his -- and our -- advantage. Just... think of this as a chance for both of us to practice the magics we aren't as strong in."

Serevan stepped back and studied the saddlebags for another moment. Then he turned to Remant. "All right, all right." He was still grumbling. "I'll do my duty, you know that." He paused to study Remant for a moment, and his eyes widened. A moment after that, he made the sign of the First God. "What in...?"

Isabelle shook her head. "He's a friend of the Crown, and for good reason. He also knows more about battle magics than the two of us combined."

Serevan shook his head. "They're woven all through you. How is that...?" 

Remant said, deadpan, "It's better if you don't know. That way if you're captured, nobody can torture it out of you."

Serevan just sighed. "Fine. Be that way. But you'd better keep me -- and the Princess -- alive."

RoH: A Favor Returned

He was waiting outside the palace gates when they opened, and this time nobody tried to ambush him. The same lieutenant was on duty, and she studied him for a brief moment before offering a friendly smile and a baffled shake of her head. "I had a feeling we'd be seeing you again. More business with the king?"

"As it happens, yes," Remant told her. "My apologies, Lieutenant Daschelle."

He didn't elaborate, and she didn't ask questions. She just walked him back into the palace and passed him off to the King's Magus again. She did give him another smile on the way out, and he made sure to smile back. Manifold Gods, he was rusty at interacting with people.

Isabelle Binoche nodded as she looked him over. "You should try showing up in dress clothes, one of these days," she said. "Especially now that you're Viscount Durzen. That blade would pass for a dress sword, especially for a retired soldier or someone with a similar background."

Remant glanced down at himself. "I own three outfits," he admitted quietly, "and the other two are even more worn than this."

The King's Magus shook her head. "You should commission one or two more, at least -- for when you make a formal appearance at court. Personally, I'm looking forward to the chance to talk to your steward, the former Viscount, since the King asked me to make contact with him and assure him that he would be accepted as your representative at Court and accorded all his usual honors."

Remant did smile at that. "Learn anything you can from him. The man has an understanding of magical theory that I almost completely lack, plus some ongoing research that I'm sure he's dying to discuss with someone knowledgeable."

"I was hoping so," Isabelle said. "Come this way. I'll have your horse brought around, but there's someone I'd like to introduce you to before the expedition departs."

Music: Breaking the Chains

Nini Music:

Erilan: Bad Luck and Good Business

What do you do if you're a ship's wizard who just can't seem to catch a break?

Mad Dog Mulligan just can't win. The last three ships he was on all sank shortly after he joined the crew. 

The first one went down in a terrible storm after the snapping of the mainmast. Mad Dog survived by lashing himself onto a beam alongside the First Mate and the Bosun. and the three of them washed ashore and were marooned for six months with nothing but the clothes on their backs. 

The second was holed by Elvish cannon, but managed to limp away before sinking; most of the crew were able to escape in the boats, but most were subsequently killed by tribes of orcs along the shore. Mad Dog only barely made it back to civilization intact.

The third was a nice little schooner devoted to smuggling rather than piracy, but within a week it ran aground on a set of rocks on a moonless night. Mad Dog was forced to fashion a raft and his best attempt at a sail from the wreckage when he realized that he was, in fact, walking on the back of a dragon turtle. He drifted into Sneaksail Bay half-delirious with thirst, and by then it was too late: everybody knew his luck was bad. He couldn't even book passage on a ship, let alone join a crew. Instead, he did what any enterprising pirate-mage would do: he opened a shop. 

Castaway's Vest
Wondrous Item, Uncommon
Standard Price: 400 GP, currently only available from Mad Dog Mulligan

This item appears to a fine-quality vest of leather or cloth, the sort of thing any pirate or sailor would be happy to wear around. It even includes one obvious minor enchantment: while it will not change material or cut, it will alter its colors to match the rest of the wearer's outfit. The vest is equipped with two decent-sized pockets up front, and one wider, sealable pocked located at the small of the back, making it utilitarian as well as fashionable. In addition, the vest has several less-obvious qualities:

Buoyant: Any small or medium humanoid wearing this vest in water will find that it keeps them upright, with their head above the water. No more inconveniently having to tie yourself to a shattered beam from the wreckage of your former ship and hope for the best. 

Patches: Building on the basic idea of a Robe of Useful Items, Mad Dog Mulligan equipped his vests with a series of shaped patches that are only visible to the wearer, or to someone looking at it with True Sight. Castaway's Vests come with the following standard set of patches: 

• Utility Knife (can server as dagger)
• Hatchet (can serve as hand axe)
• 50' of hemp rope
• 10' of lightweight cord
• Firestarting kit
• Bullseye Lantern (filled and lit)
• Burlap sack
• Rowboat (12' long) with emergency sail
• Wooden Ladder (24' long)
• 5 days worth of rations, including fresh water
• Tent, two person capacity (and they'd better like each other, it's cozy)
• 2 Bedrolls
• Sling with twelve stones
• A deck of cards 

Each patch can be activated by removing it from the robe, which causes the patch to transform into the item it represents. Each patch can be used only once, and cannot be returned to the robe. The item thus removed becomes an ordinary item and remains until sold, discarded, lost, destroyed, etc. 

Mad Dog will entertain custom designs with alternate/additional patches, but such specialty items will require six to ten weeks to produce, and may cost more than usual (possibly a lot more, at the DM's discretion). 

 

Survivor's Knife
Weapon (dagger), Uncommon, requires attunement by touching it to salt water
Standard Price 350 GP, currently only available from Mad Dog Mulligan

These blades appear to be a fairly standard fighting or utility knife, with the addition of saw-teeth along the back of the blade. They are always paired with a purpose-built sheath that includes an exterior pouch containing fish hooks, fishing line, flint, and a small steel mirror. The knife gives no bonus to attack or damage in combat, but also does not require sharpening even if used with the flint to set fires. It has the following additional abilities. 

• At dawn each morning, the knife can merge with a walking stick (however crudely carved) to create a spear. (The knife does not care if this walking stick has also been carved out to double as a fishing pole, as long as it's a halfway decent walking stick.) Alternatively, at dawn it can be separated from a walking stick and return to its usual role as a knife. Separating the two does not damage the walking stick.
• Three times per day, the wielder can touch the hilt of the knife or the head of the spear and know which direction is magnetic north. 
• Once per day, when the wielder fails a survival check, they can touch the knife to make another attempt.  

 

Lifeboat Hat
Wondrous Item, Uncommon
Standard Price 500 GP, currently only available from Mad Dog Mulligan

This hat appears to be a perfectly standard, broad-rimmed hat of either cloth or straw -- the sort of thing one might use to avoid sunburn on the open ocean. However, when it is tossed into the water and a command word is spoken, it becomes a covered circular raft that can be completely sealed against the elements and is capable of holding up to eight medium-sized people, though it's only comfortable for about half that. Inside, it contains: 

• A pair of oars that can arranged through oarlocks, which is best done when the top is completely unsealed; otherwise somebody has to go outside and slide them in. They are absolutely hell to use in the open ocean, but could help maneuver towards an island or an approaching ship. They are also very easy to hit your head on if you sit up too fast, or try to move around without looking first.
• Enough rations (including fresh water) to comfortably keep four medium-sized creatures alive for a week.  That translates loosely to eight small creatures for a week, four small creatures for two weeks, or eight medium creatures on half rations for a week, which is... not pleasant.
• Fishing poles, hooks, and bait, enough to grant Advantage on a survival roll to get more food that way. Preparing the food to be eaten safely is trickier, but in reasonably still waters there's a heating table that can be used to cook. 
• Two scrolls of Purify Food and Drink. 

Once the hat has transformed into a life raft, it cannot transform back. 

Vlathor: Pirate Split

"She actually did it," Kiela marveled. 

Valthor nodded. "That was pretty much inevitable. I'm honestly more surprised that she did it without causing a major disaster."

Following the successful attack on the Elvish patrol ship, the second mate Vikke had declared that she would be taking the ship along with her share of the spoils. She recruited enough of the crew to make it work, and a recently-freed troop of orcs to provide protection in exchange for passage. Valthor had seen the trouble coming, but then again so had everyone else. He'd been no more able to prevent it than the Captain had. 

Some things just couldn't be avoided.  

No, this was just another one of those events, and he still needed tears from a mermaid to complete a spell. He kissed Kiela, then drew back. "We'll see you again soon."

"I know," she said. "Hurry back. And if you find likely crew, bring them to the captain." 

DCC: Scrapper

Damian settled back on the platform and started pulling up possible classes. The dungeon had selected a Top Three list of suggestions, just as it had for races, but he dug through the rest just in case. 

Barbarian Thief... no. He was not doing beefcake, and the group was already well equipped for melee and stealth. Pyromaniac... Possibly? It did make use of both bombs and spells to blow things up. But it still seemed off. He skimmed through a half-dozen more, then gave up and went back to the Top Three. 

Bomb-throwing Anarchist
The ruling class has to be reminded that they serve the people, and you're just the one to do it -- with dynamite and anything else that comes to hand. +4 to Explosives Handling, +3 Sense Traps, +4 Remove Traps, +3 Sabotage, and +4 Explosives Engineering. Includes crafting tables for traps and explosives, so you can get right down to blowing things up. Additional skills include +1 to Pistol, Rifle, and Sniper, plus Surprise! which allows you to hide yourself from other player's maps. Also includes the ability to walk away from explosions without looking back. 

Okay, that sounded pretty good. 

Bestial Berserker
You have at least one set of claws already, and you're really hard to kill. Why not round that out with even better combat options? Gain the Reinforced Bones and Power Slice skills at level 3, Enhanced Senses and Damage Resistance at level 2, and the Berserker ability at level 4. Add +4 to base Strength and Constitution, plus resistance to Poison and Disease. 

Now that one just wasn't fair. It was exactly what he'd said he wanted way back at the start of things, back before he'd started playing with explosives and looking for ways to disrupt enemies. It would have been so cool. But the group didn't need another meat shield right now -- they had at least five dedicated fighters who were all better suited to it than he was. Cedric and Puppy had the Enhanced Senses thing covered. And he'd figured out by now that they weren't going to make it through the dungeon on fighting ability alone.

He was still tempted, though.

Finally: 

Scrapper
Scrappers are down to fight, any place, any time, with anything handy. Dirty tricks, improvised weapons, hidden blades, traps, explosives, spells... Whatever you need, a scrapper can scavenge some supplies and make it work. Skills include: Dirty Fighting, Knife Fighting, and Pistol (+1 to existing skill level), Improvised Weapons, Improvised Armor (+2 to existing skill, and can be converted to Weaponsmith and Armorer at level 7), Dangerous Explosives Handling, Explosives Assembly, Remove Traps (+2 to existing skills), and Engineering (+1 to Existing skill). Also includes the Repair Item spell.

Omar?

Yes? 

You have a moment to look these over and give an opinion?

Of course. Let me finish up with Tourmaline, and I'll be back in a minute. 

Omar was as good as his word, and two minutes later he said, Hmmm. Okay, I'd recommend against Bestial Berserker. It's a good choice for you, but not for the overall group.

I thought so, too.

The other two are similar enough to make a choice difficult. Bomb-Throwing Anarchist is very focused on explosives and sabotage, but the Surprise! ability is a real bonus -- though, again, you're not exactly using a stealth build. Still, getting the crafting tables along with the class would give you a head start on making things. Scrapper is a little more versatile -- some similar fighting skills, and Engineering makes a pretty decent substitute for Sabotage -- and that Repair Item spell could come in handy. You don't get the big skill bonuses that Anachist includes, but you get a broader set of skills. I'd say Anarchist if you plan to focus on explosives, Scrapper if you want more options for building and fighting. 

Damian considered that for a long moment then said, Okay, thanks. That was a big help.

He touched the interface and selected Scrapper. 

DCC: Spellblade

Megan settled back to select her class. She'd already decided to remain human; she liked her body as it was. Plus, all her best fighting moves were practiced for her being this shape and size, and gaining a few ability points here or there wasn't going to change much. No, she'd discussed it with the other students and the general consensus was that they were going to remain human. None of them had asked Mr. Grey or Ms. Mills, and neither of their teachers had asked them either. She suspected that Mr. Grey was simply leaving them to make their own choices, while Ms. Mills was... probably exercising considerable restraint by not sharing an opinion. Two very different approaches, but they worked together when it counted and that had carried them all through so far. 

The dungeon offered a very wide selection, but it had selected a Top Three for her, as it apparently did for everyone else.

Flexible Specialist
Master melee combat at relatively close range, disarm or trip up opponents, and slash up opponents with whips, lashes, rope-darts, or flails. Use those same skills to tame wild beasts and possibly opponents as well. Adds the Disarm, Dodge, and Trip skills at +2 from existing skills, and generally pull off some Zorro-level shit by way of a +3 to Acrobatics skill and a +4 to Two-Weapon Fighting. 

She considered that, but only for a moment. It looked to be almost pure melee, and she was fighting with a mix of melee and magic. She wanted something more versatile than that. 

Spellblade
(blade not required) Mix melee and magic, and make them work together. Add one additional weapon at skill level 4, an unarmed fighting style also at level 4, and extend the range on your existing targeted spells. Learn to deflect incoming spells, starting with a level 3 ranking, and bind your existing spells to your melee attacks. Includes a free membership in the Spell of the Month club.

Okay, that sounded much better. Even the first two levels -- the so-called tutorials -- had convinced her that she needed to find a balance between having a focus and retaining enough versatility to survive. The Youth Unleashed was a large enough group that they could afford to specialize, but it was still within limits. The dungeon seemed just determined to pick that kind of setup apart. So they specialized, but cautiously -- making sure they could still take care of themselves, as well as each other. 

She looked at the third recommendation. 

Battlemage
Focus on attack, defense, and counterspells while retaining the ability to hold your own in direct, physical combat: +4 to Light, Medium, and Heavy Armor skills, Sword and Greatsword skills, +3 to Shape Spell and Extend Spell skills, and access to the Battle Spell Book Club.

She didn't need that. It was more magic than she was using, and the melee was obviously intended to be a fallback once the magics were exhausted. No, this wasn't really even a question. She selected the entry for Spellblade and locked it in. 

DCC: Night Elves

Hey, Tourmaline? 

Tourmaline Jones switched her attention from the menu in front of her, to the message from Damian Petr, who was maybe her boyfriend now. She wasn't entirely sure, and she didn't think he was, either. The Dungeon hadn't left them a lot of time to talk about it. But as they were drifting off to sleep the previous night, she'd asked him to let her know what he was choosing for a race, if he could. Hey, Damian. How's it coming?

I think I'm going to go with Night Elf for my race. Good stats, works well with what I'm doing, and looks pretty cool. You have that one available?

Tourmaline found it in her Top Three Recommended Races. Yes. One of my top three, according to the Dungeon. 

Mine, too. He hesitated, then sent, You know if you take it, we'll still be at risk of... 

I know. We'll just have use protection if we ever get that far. It's a good thing you keep getting those Perv boxes. She knew, all right. Omar the Djinn had told them: Crawler races couldn't crossbreed under normal circumstances. But if both of them became Night Elves, it should keep the possibility open. 

Not that she had any intention of having a baby. She wasn't even sure about having sex, honestly, even with Damian. Part of what had drawn her to him was that he was bold, direct, and outspoken where she was nervous, cautious, and quiet. On top of that, she was fifteen, and trapped with a bunch of her schoolmates in a dungeon that was trying very hard to kill them. But if they somehow survived all this and managed to reach adulthood, she thought Damian was the one she was most likely to want to have children with. They balanced each other out.

Night Elf, she decided, and made the selection. She just caught of glimpse of Damian confirming Night Elf before the world faded out around her.

Behind again...

This past weekend was a lot. Fun, enjoyable, but just a bunch of things going on. Which means, among other things, that it basically burned through the time I'd normally use to write stuff for the Blog o' Doom here and schedule it to go up. And, like, I knew this event was coming, I just hadn't realized it was coming Now until it landed on us. We also did our early voting -- which Firstborn drove back to town for and Secondborn kept insisting that she should vote in, even though she's still a minor. (I explained to her that no, we didn't do things like that; you only do voting fraud if you're a Republican.) Crotchstomper was so happy to see Firstborn that he nearly jumped up in front of me and lived up to his name. 

So. 

Yesterday wound up being a sick day, which then turned into a dealing-with-automobiles-that-don't-want-to-cooperate day, which then turned into an okay-I-got-that-much-done-go-home-eat-and-collapse day. Meanwhile I've been stuffy as hell, to the point where I'm wondering if I picked up a cold or something worse. (I am up to date on my shots, at least.) Today is my usual Work From Home day, but I've warned people that I'm taking it easy and may be a little slow to respond. 

We've passed the one-year anniversary of my Dad's death -- a while back, actually -- which was, y'know, fun. (NARRATOR VOICE: It was not fun.) Not sure how I feel about this. Dad's wife... my Stepmother, I guess? ...is still pretty raw about it, but no surprise there. (I went over on Friday and helped her set up a new work computer; the screen on the old one is in the process of dying and basically isn't showing the left half anymore.) 

All in all, there've been some frustrations, some definite rewards, and a certain amount of work that I hope will ease back off soon. Keep the faith, friends: it never rains but that it pours, but the storm does pass on eventually.

RoH: Aftermath of a Duel

Remant cleaned his blade on Sir Dominic's cloak, then sheathed it and came back over to his Steward. For a moment, he just stopped to study Talaric Reville; then he nodded. "Talaric Reville?"

 The undead former Viscount Durzen nodded. "Firstborn of his father, and now grown into an honorable man." He sounded proud. 

Remant sighed. "I wish this could have been otherwise," he told the young man -- who was younger than him, despite how much they looked the same age. 

Talaric swallowed. "I wish my father had dealt with you honorably," he said, "or merely conceded his ambitions."

Remant nodded. "You are your father's heir, now. Are you prepared for that?"

"Of course not," said Talaric. "First of all, it's at the King's discretion. Second, while you've slain most of his... loyalty-before-honor soldiers, I'll still have to sort out the rest. Third, somewhere in there I'll have to negotiate an advantageous marriage, and I have no idea how to even begin with that."

Remant laughed. "I'll recommend you to the king," he said, and watched as the younger man's eyes widened. "If you need help with some of the... troops... talk to Dirimant, here. He has experience that I simply don't, and seems inclined to help you."

The dead man nodded. "Indeed I am. If you had been born ten years earlier, I would have pressed for a match with my daughter, and much of this might have been avoided. As it stands, despite your father's... mistakes... I am still prepared to consider you a family friend. You would be welcome at the manor, and I can help you with the more troublesome remnants of your father's legacy."

Talaric swallowed. "Thank you, Sir. I am..." He looked at Remant. "You're certain you can have the king pass the knighthood on to me?" He shook his head. "I'm not even sure I want it."

Remant chuckled. "That's a very good place to approach it from." 

RoH: The Duel

Sir Dominic Reville rode into the dueling ground just as the sun was brightening the far horizon, and swung down off his horse with an easy movement. He'd brought only a single retainer, a younger man who might have been his son. 

"Hmph," he said, and Remant decided that was his moment to step out of the trees. 

"Ah," he said. "Sir Knight."

"You did show up," Reville growled, as his companion dismounted as well. "Will your Second discuss terms with my Second?" 

Remant had spent nearly an hour discussing that the previous evening; what with one thing and another, he was very glad that he could get by on half as much sleep as most Vanil did. "Certainly," he called back, and smiled as Dirimant Acklin stepped out behind him. 

"I'm very disappointed in you, old friend," the former Viscount said. "Treachery? Theft? Hardly worthy of a man of your renown."

The knight actually hesitated, and his companion -- son? -- flinched. Then Reville said, "You think any noble deserves their position? No. We get it because we are strong enough to take it."

"We accept that authority as a trust," said Dirimant, "and we try to do our best by the people we rule, because their prosperity is our prosperity, and ours is theirs."

"Enough," said Reville. "I will not be lectured by a dead man. Set the terms, and let us have this done."

The younger man came forward, and Dirimant Acklin stepped forward to meet him. "Talaric Reville," he said by way of greeting. "It's been a few years. I'm glad to see you again, though the circumstances could be better."

"They could be much better," Talaric said. "You should flee."

Sir Dominic locked eyes with Remant. "I can't believe even you would be so foolish as to bring him here with you." Then he shouted, "Take them!" and drew his sword. 

Remant sighed and came forward, stopped beside the former Viscount Durzen. "Betrayal," he said, "negates the formalities. Still, for the record, I will accept only one set of conditions: to the death, no quarter asked and none given."

Talaric Reville nodded. "Accepted," he said, and stepped aside.

"What?" howled Sir Dominic. 

Remant drew his blade and started forward. "Come, now. This is either a duel, in which case I shall limit myself to weapons, or else you forfeit your honor and flee, and I hunt you down like the dog you are."

It seemed Sir Dominic wasn't entirely a coward; he came forward, putting his shield in front of him and sword above his shoulder. Remant recognized the technique; it was a solid, cautious approach, especially against an unarmored opponent such as Remant appeared to be. Despite the shield, Sir Dominic had disdained armor, though he'd clearly been expecting his troops to step in and resolve the matter.  

The man was an experienced fighter. It took two passes for Remant to nick his sword-arm, another to open a wound on the side of his calf as Remant passed by. 

"Stop toying with me," growled the knight. 

"I'm not," Remant told him. "You're skilled, and the enchantments on that sword and shield are impressive." He took a step back. "But no, you aren't worth toying with."

He came in precisely, slapping a thrust from the sword aside and tearing it from the knight's grip, then twisted in past the shield and sank the tip of his own blade into Sir Dominic Reville's heart. The man regarded him with a faint look of surprise. 

Remant raised a foot and kicked him off the tip of his blade. Sir Dominic hit the ground on his back, sword skidding away, the life gone out of him. 

"Honorless," Remant pronounced quietly. 

Valthor: Elvish Warship For The Taking

If there was one thing Valthor enjoyed about sailing with pirates, it was their flexibility. Naval ships and merchantmen had very strict rules, procedures, and loyalties. Pirates, on the other hand, would cheerfully flee an engagement if it seemed to be going badly. Alternatively, if they were overmatched and knew it in advance, they felt free to set up ambushes, deploy dirty tricks, or wait for reinforcements rather than risking their ships. It was a perspective that he legitimately understood.

Which was, in a way, how he found himself fighting his way up through the decks of a Seravandrian sloop, the same one that had tried to hunt them down a few weeks earlier. It wasn't just that the Captain wanted to warn the wood elves away from the ring of islands and the lands beyond them; he wanted to take the ship for the pirates, and Valthor was entirely in favor of that as well. On top of that, his lover Kiela was part of the group that would be clearing the top decks and possibly fighting their way down, and if it got past them the warship was likely to take its frustrations out on Sneaksail Bay. Valthor needed both of them intact. 

 Sure, there was fire and chaos and a certain danger of gunpowder kegs spontaneously exploding, but that was what kept the job interesting. The cannoneers were easy prey, but the guards on the upper decks were more formidable. And the challenge was to take the ship while still keeping it intact, which was considerably harder than just sinking it. 

If they succeeded, there would be a new warship available to the pirates -- along with the cannons, powder, and shot. There would be Elvish officers that they could ransom. And Sneaksail Bay would hopefully be grateful enough to help them get to their next goal: mermaids tears.  

Remant: Pre-Dawn Preparations

It was still dark, but things were stirring on the western edge of the city walls. This area was mostly thornwoods, which was why it still remained wild aside from the dueling grounds. Thornwood trees were covered in inches-long spikes, nearly too tough to saw, and too knotted to be any use for woodworking. A light mist hovered just above the ground, and Remant's eyes picked out figures waiting near the trees: one, two, three, four, five, six. 

Sir Reville falls back on his favored tactics. He wondered just how much of the man's fame and fortune had been built on such methods. The knight himself wasn't here yet; he would need to make an entrance closer to dawn, so as not to arouse suspicion. 

Remant sighed, and slipped between the trees. There were times when he wished... but no, that would have been too much, even for him. He was swift and silent enough to do this as he'd been taught, direct and personal and with as much honor as his would-be ambushers would offer him. 

The first man died silently, and Remant eased the body down so that it lay in the leaves, behind the nearest of the thornwoods. 

The second man died with an arrow through the throat, and Remant brought himself forward in time to catch him and make sure he hit the ground gently as well. 

The third man was looking everywhere around him, and Remant would have thought that he'd heard something except that he hadn't called out a warning. After a long moment of observation, Remant concluded that the man was simply scared. He certainly was when Remant pushed the point of his dagger against the small of the man's back. "Say anything and you're dead. Make a noise and you're dead. You have one chance to slip away and go home, and this is it. Nod if you want to live." 

There was a brief pause, and then the man nodded. 

Remant tugged him gently around until they were facing each other, then nodded back towards the city. "Go silent. Go slow. And thank your gods for this blessing."

The man nodded, swallowed, then unbuckled his sword-belt and handed it to Remant. When he started away through the woods, well... it wasn't silent, but he chose his steps with care and it wasn't loud, either. Good enough.  

The remaining three were waiting silently, and died equally silently. Remant looked around but didn't see a sign of any more. He circled back around to the far side of the field, opposite the narrow cart-track that led from the city to the dueling grounds -- duels were still legal here, it seemed, and sometimes they had an audience -- to wait. 

RoH: Mansions and Masters

There were servants waiting when the carriage pulled up, and the nearest stepped up to hand Lariza Sundarin down from the carriage. 

"Thank you, Guillame," she said as she stepped onto the cobbled drive.  

"Will you be requiring your luggage, m'lady?" asked another servant. 

"Not this time, Auren." She smiled, and he flushed and ducked his head. The servants were, Remant observed, as pleased and familiar with her as they were with the former Viscount... who had appeared at the door, beside his butler. "I'm here to talk to my father, and say goodbye to you and the rest of the servants. I won't be staying overnight."

Remant didn't know any of the servants' names, but it was obvious he'd have to learn them. That would take time that -- thanks to his deal with king -- he wouldn't have for a while, but fortunately he'd have the former Viscount to keep things in order while he was gone.  

She turned towards the main door and approached, then rushed up and hugged her father.

"My daughter," Dirimant Acklin said. 

"I'm so sorry for letting Valeria throw killers at you. My husband and I need to leave town, and I didn't know what else to do." 

He pulled her close. "The young man has reminded me that I should not have put you in that position. I do apologize."

Remant turned away as she burst into tears. He wasn't, and couldn't be, a part of this. The... footman? ...strolled over to him stopped a few respectful feet away and asked, "Will you permit me to speak above my station? I'm sure there will be an announcement, but we're all desperate to hear how it went."

"I'm sure," Remant chuckled. "It's only your livelihoods, after all. So yes, there will be an announcement, but in the meantime you may reassure the entire staff that your jobs are secure. I am now the Viscount Durzen, and I am immediately appointing your former lord as my Steward. Nobody needs depart unless they wish it, and if they do then I will see them off with a letter of recommendation and a gratuity for their work." He hesitated, then added. "I have a rendezvous with Sir Reville scheduled for dawn tomorrow, and then I'll need to make sure everything is arranged fairly quickly -- I have business out of town that may keep me away for several months."

"I see, m'lord," Guillame said smoothly. "That is... most fortunate."

RoH: Moving Forward

"May I come back with you?" asked Lariza. 

They were standing outside the solicitor's office. Remant was reasonably confident that Valeria would file the paperwork for the purchase correctly; he'd informed her that he'd check on it before she received her fee, and she was going to need that fee. "Of course," he said. "I'm sure your father would be glad to see you before you depart."

She nodded. "That," she said, "and I'd like to say goodbye to the estate -- and the servants. I grew up there, after all. So you're essentially leaving everything in place, but taking a few rooms for yourself?"

Remant nodded. "I don't need anything more, but I've been appointed the Viscount Durzen and I can appoint your father as my Steward, since he can't be Viscount himself. That will settle income for the estate, and he can represent me when I'm away -- probably better than I can represent myself."

Lariza laughed. "That is... not a solution that Valeria and I ever considered."

Remant shrugged. "And it frees you up to move to... Foringelt, was it?"

"Yes indeed. Like everywhere else, it's still recovering from the war, but this will leave me with a comfortable fortune and get me out of the way of the politics shaping up here in Capital. I wish I'd known the true state of affairs before now, but... how did you get my father to talk to you? I was told he'd murdered a dozen or so hired mercenaries who tried to pry him out."

"Same way I dealt with Sir Reville," Remant shrugged. "I didn't die."

She laughed again, more gently. "You seem very good at that." She nodded at her carriage. "Shall we?"

RoH: A Simple Purchase of Property

Valeria A'Maris went pale when Remant entered the room. Her secretary had tried to keep him out, and was currently sitting paralyzed at his desk. The stairs hadn't been guarded, which was just as well. He had resisted the urge to kick the door open, and come in quietly instead. 

The tableau before him was revealing. Valeria was behind her desk, and the two seats in front of it were occupied by a Vanil woman in her mid-thirties in a lovely silk dress and a Vanil man in his late forties or early fifties, wearing a very respectable outfit which included a long coat and a dress sword. 

Remant dropped the four swords he'd taken from his attackers beside the man's chair, then leaned down and slapped him across the cheek. "Is the old dueling ground at the edge of the city still open?" he asked. "West, just beyond the walls?"

The man glared up at him. "Yes."

"Good. Then I'll see you there at dawn."

"You have no right--" 

Remant shrugged. "We could pursue this in a court of law if you prefer. The witnesses were very clear with the Watch about who started the fight and who tried to avoid it. And your men were very clear about who sent them."

The knight's face turned red. "What have you done with my men?" 

"Get out of my chair, and go find out."

"Valeria?" asked the woman. "What is happening? You told me..."

Valeria shook her head just as Remant straightened. "And you," he said, "were the only one who knew I'd be visiting that particular temple. So we're going to complete this sale, and then you're going to be looking for another career. When word of this gets out at court, nobody will trust you with their dealings."

"Valeria?"

Remant paused, gathered himself, and then turned to look at her. "You must be Lariza... Acklin?" 

She shook her head. "No longer. Lariza Sundarin, as of... well, quite a few years ago. May I ask who you are?"

Remant nodded, and watched as Sir Dominic Reville rose from his chair and moved hesitantly out of the room. "I go by Remant," he said. 

"Ah," she said. "Like the legendary hero."

He sniffed, amused. "I'm not so legendary," he said. "But I worked out a deal with your father and brought it to your solicitor yesterday. It's more money than Sir Reville would have paid, and doesn't require me to kill your father, regardless of what he's become."

"Oh?" she asked. She sounded... well, more interested than anything else.

He nodded. "Unfortunately, I mentioned where I would be retrieving the funds to Valeria, and she sent word to Sir Reville, who set four of his armsmen to assault me and take the letter of credit, essentially allowing him to purchase the property without drawing on his own funds."

Lariza considered that for the better part of a minute. "And what happened to his men?"

Remant dropped into the chair and glanced down at the swords on the floor. "Nothing good."

She shook her head. "I should have known, when he increased his offer. He was my father's friend, and kind to me when I was a child, but..." she looked at Valeria A'Maris. "And you. I trusted you." She sighed. "Get the contract out -- and there had better be nothing amiss. I assure you I will be reading the whole thing." 

Music: Try Jesus

 Tobe Nwigwe:

RoH: Another Ambush

Remant was well outside of the Temple of Rilique and the square in front of it, and heading down the street towards Solicitor A'Maris's office when two men stepped out of an alley in front of him. Their coats were heavier than they should be -- likely brigandine -- and they wore swords and had scarves covering the lower halves of their faces. 

He stopped and glanced back, seeing two more men coming up behind him. With a sigh, he spoke a Word and removed himself to the far end of the street. He almost managed to melt into the crowd, but someone behind him was exceptionally observant; there were shouts, and the rapid pounding of feet. Here at mid-morning, the street was only lightly crowded; still, there were a few shouts of protest as the men raced after him. 

It would be simple enough to remove himself further, but Remant was starting to get irritated. This couldn't be an accident; they were too persistent, and too sure of their target. No, these four had been sent. 

So he stood and waited, not even drawing his sword until they came closer. All four had blades out now, and Remant extended his empty left hand as he targeted the closest one. The bolt of magical force took him in the right kneecap and sent him face first into the cobbled street, causing the man behind him to stumble and forcing the other two to maneuver around him. 

Remant voided a clumsy stroke from the stumbling man, and stabbed him the bicep, twisting his blade before he pulled it back out and kicked the man into one of his companions. The man's sword hit the ground with a clatter, and the armored plates of his brigandine coat did nothing to prevent Remant's point from doing its work. 

The next man came in more carefully, and Remant smiled. No mere ruffians, these; they were armsmen, and well-trained. People were beginning to shout as Remant slid in past the man's attack, caught his sword-arm at the wrist, and punched him in the face -- once, twice, a third time -- with the abbreviated basket hilt on his sword. The armsman dropped like a rock. 

The first one was just starting to stir; the second had sunk down against the wall of a cobbler's shop, clutching at his arm in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. The last one had started forward, eyes blazing with visible hatred even with the lower half of his face covered by his scarf. 

"Are you sure?" asked Remant. "I haven't killed any of you yet, and I'd hate for you to be the first."

The man didn't answer; he just stalked closer, moving from angle to angle with his blade. 

"You're going to lose a hand," Remant warned him. 

He came in anyway, and Remant dropped back, keeping him at a distance and feeling him out. The man was good, trained and experienced both, doing his best to close in without over-extending himself. If all four of them had come at him at once, Remant might have been in trouble. 

There we go. This was someone who customarily fought with a shield, but hadn't brought one along because it would be too obvious on the street. A side-sword was one thing, and a coat of brigandine was close enough to a leather coat not to attract too much attention, but a shield would have been another matter altogether. 

Remant shifted to attacking his right side, forcing him to shift his stance and parry cross-body, then came in and twisted, cutting down. 

The man's blade hit the ground, his hand still attached to it. He screamed, clutching at his stump, and Remant sighed, reached into a belt pouch, and pulled out a bit of cord. "Stay still," he said, as he looped it tight around the forearm, then used a moment of conjured flame to cauterize the wound. 

The man passed out.

The first man had come to his feet and was trying to flee, but his knee wouldn't support him and all he could do was hop while dragging it behind him. Remant cleaned his blade on the unconscious man's shirt, stood, and strode after him. 

RoH: Business with the Temple

"Your pardon, good sir," said the priest -- or possibly priestess; with the shorn hair, he couldn't be entirely sure. "Only those with business in the Temple may bypass the line."

"Good morning," Remant said, forcing himself to smile. "As it happens, I do have business with the Temple. Some years ago, I deposited some valuables with the Temple of Rilique in distant Sandovar, and I need to pull a letter of credit against that deposit."

The priest(ess) nodded. "Ah, I see. Very well, come with me." 

She led him into the Temple, making an almost immediate left out of the antechamber, and led him over to a row of desks, where another, older priest looked up. "Ah, Lesh. And a bit of new business, I see." 

She nodded. "He says he needs to make a withdrawal."

"I see. And your name, sir?"

"Remant." 

"And have you a token for your deposit?"

Remant nodded and fished the small coin out of his pouch.  

"A moment then, goodman Remant." The older priest rose from his desk and disappeared back into a sort of library, its walls lined with shelf upon shelf of identical books. He returned after a couple of minutes, carrying one of them, then opened it and began flipping through it. "Ah," he said after a moment. "Here you are. Yes, a deposit -- just at the end of the war. And in a rather large amount, at that. Very well. We can provide a letter of credit, or with a few days we could pull the sum together in coins. How much would you care to withdraw?"

"Six thousand," Remant told him, "as a letter of credit."

"Easily done," said the priest. He pulled a sheet of parchment out of the desk, filled in the critical sections but left the line for who the credit was to be issued to blank. He had Remant sign it as well, then made a notation in the book, and then on a scroll on his desk. 

"I thank you," Remant said, taking the letter of credit and rising from his chair. "A good day to you both."

"Likewise," said the older man, sliding the token back over to him. Remant bent down, took it, and followed the young priest(ess) out of the Temple. 

Music: Tear The World Down

We Are The Fallen: 

RoH: A Bargain

When Remant left the palace, he had a signet ring and a scroll proclaiming him the new Viscount Durzen -- which would likely anger Sir Dominic Reville, but that was a problem he could address later. He had what he needed for tonight, and could visit the temple in the morning; it shouldn't take long to collect the letter of credit. 

He'd taken a room in a rather squalid inn that charged either by the hour or by the week, and then used a variety of Expulsion spells to make sure the room was fit for habitation. He'd leave them in place when he departed; anybody staying there henceforth could count on being cured of most diseases, rid of pests and parasites, and  incidentally free of hauntings and other visitations. The bed wasn't comfortable, but he'd spent enough time sleeping on a thin mat laid atop stone or worse that he barely noticed. He sealed the door, laid himself down, and fell into the contemplative replacement for sleep that he'd learned from his Santu. 

The night passed uneventfully, and he rose in the morning, dressed himself, and paid the innkeeper another week's rent. He left his pack behind, and went to visit the temple. 

The Church of Rilique was a sprawling stone complex of connected buildings, with a line of petitioners in front of the main door. As the god of money and success, Rilique had become very popular among those rebuilding -- or profiteering -- in the wake of the war. The success of its priesthood had grown in no small part from their role as bankers, creating reliable ways to store money and providers of loans and investments with reasonable risks. 

Remant had opened an account with them when the weight of his captured treasures had surpassed the capacity of his magical storage. He should have found better things to do with them, he thought, but by the end of the war he wasn't even sure what money was worth anymore. You couldn't eat it; you couldn't fight with it.  In the twelve years since, it had returned to being a way of exchanging things and measuring how much was available of what, but... No, he still didn't really understand it. 

That wouldn't keep him from using it.

He bypassed the line and came up the temple steps, only to be stopped at the entrance by a priest.   

Music: In Plain Sight

 Winter In Eden:

Valthor: Kiela in Action

Kiela waited with the rest of the boarding party at the top of the stone pillar. She knew the drill: the explosions would be the signal. Valthor and his companions would board the ship from below, using whatever holes the mines had made, and work to disable the forward cannons. She was part of the group that would be dropping onto the deck, and trying to do the same from above.

She was ready for this. The shivering in her body was just anticipation, definitely not fear. No, she was going to go down there and do her best to keep the damned elves away from her lover. The captain wanted this galleon, and she could see why: it was huge, well-armed, and would be a boon for the admiral as well as a great loss for the  Seravandrian command. 

She checked her cutlass, but it was still sheathed at her waist, right where she'd left it. The same for her daggers. Her bow was slung across her back, ready to use, and her armor was still in place. She resisted the urge to adjust it. She was ready, damn it. The galleon was coming closer...

That's a cursed lot of ship, she thought, and then the explosions began.

She moved before she could think about it. 

Valthor: Shipboard Drama

"I saw you talking to Vikke," Kiela said. "I don't need to worry, do I?"

Valthor shook his head. "Not at all," he said simply. "I caught her in a friendly mood, but I'm already with you and she's causing more than enough drama already. She's frustrated, and looking for ways to further advance herself -- personally, politically, I don't think she much cares how. It worries me, because it's likely putting the rest of the crew in an awkward position."

"You don't need to tell me," Kiela said. "We're all happier now that we got some loot from that sloop and that merchantman, so it's harder for her to stir up trouble, but..."

Outside of the small, hidden enclosure in the cargo bay, someone cleared their throat. "Are ye decent?"

Valthor actually looked down to check, but yes -- they were both still clothed. "We're fine," he said. 

"Siman, is that you?" asked Kiela. 

"Aye. Meself and Tamra." 

"Come on back, then," she said. 

Siman was a human, tall, lean, and dark-featured. He came around the boxes, and Tamra followed, holding his hand. She was a sea elf, like the captain, equally comfortable on land or water. She smiled at Kiela, nodded to Valthor. "Gossiping?" she asked. 

"After a fashion," Valthor admitted, nodding back to her and Siman.

"We were talking about Vikke," Kiela said quietly. 

"Stirring things up," Siman said, sounding vaguely disgusted. "Trouble between her and the captain, I reckon."

Valthor shook his head. "She's... impatient. Bored. Frustrated, and causing drama because of it."

Kiela nodded at that, and Tamra shook her head -- in disapproval, not disagreement. "She wouldn't be satisfied if she was Captain herself," the sea elf said. "Fame and fortune all the way. Wants the glory, but not the responsibility. She might get it, too."

Valthor nodded. "I counseled her to patience, but I doubt she'll listen."

"Ye tried, though," said Siman. "Good on ye for it."

"Listen," Kiela said. "I think we're absolutely killing the mood. Why don't we leave you two to find it again? I think Valthor and I have sorted out everything we needed to sort."

Valthor nodded. 

Siman frowned thoughtfully. "If you're sure. We didn't mean tae interrupt ye, either."

"It's fine," Kiela said firmly. "We first met in the baths, you know? Might be time for nice, hot water." 

RoH: Quid Pro Quo

"So," asked the king. "What sort of favor did you have in mind?" They were all four sitting at the table, and the servants -- who, in Remant's experience, always knew more than they should -- had appeared with two additional plates and goblets, the plates containing a spicy noodle dish and the goblets a very good white wine. 

Remant sipped the wine, then swallowed. "I need you to appoint me Viscount Durzen."

"Oh?" asked Dorrin. "I was aware of the Viscount's incomplete demise, and the struggle over his estate and title, but since nobody had brought it to my attention formally I was waiting to see how the family handled it."

"So far as I can tell, they made a few demands and then started hiring mercenaries to go and kill the dead man. That was where I got involved; I was looking for work."

Queen Lorraine frowned. "You know you needn't do that, yes? You could live here, and we would keep you..." 

"I know," Remant said gently. "It keeps me occupied, and my mind off my memories. In any case, I was able to meet with the former Viscount -- without being killed -- and I noted several interesting things. First, the servants still worked the estate. Nobody had fled, nobody seemed concerned that their employer was no longer among the living. Second, Dirimant himself seemed primarily interested in being left alone to continue his work, pay his people, and generally go about his business. So instead of killing him, I decided to buy the estate from his daughter -- who, I'm told, wishes to leave the city for more favorable climes -- claim a wing for myself, and leave the rest of it to the former Viscount and his servants"

"Ah," said the king. "At which point you'd... what? Appoint Dirimant as your Steward, and leave him in charge of making decisions, watching the finances, and representing you at Court when you were traveling elsewhere?"

"Pretty much," Remant admitted. "The man clearly knows what he's doing, the servants adore him, and he's both magically adept and extremely knowledgeable. I'd hate to lose a resource like that."

"As would I," remarked Isabelle, studying Remant more closely. 

"...Very well," said King Dorrin, after exchanging a long look with his wife. "I have a few misgivings, but... as it happens, I have a favor I need to ask of you as well."

RoH: An Audience With The King

The dining room was small, meant for private meals, and tucked away well back within the palace. It contained only two occupants, sitting side by side at a table that likely wouldn't have seated more the four people comfortably. The painting on the far wall showed the former queen, Raquel the Just, who had courted scandal and very nearly been deposed for dissolving the high courts and turning even noble disputes over to the commons. 

"Your majesties?" asked Isabelle. "I beg your pardon, but I believe you know this man."

The King rose immediately. "Indeed I do." He came around the table, and the Queen was close behind him. "He was introduced to me as a young squire, and then returned to assist the kingdom with a... small problem, while you were still an apprentice."

Isabelle hesitated as the king came forward and hugged Remant; then the queen came forward and kissed him twice, once on each cheek. 

Remant flushed. The last few years had aged them both -- hair streaked with silver, lines around the eyes and at the corners of their mouths -- but Dorrin still looked to be in fighting trim, and Lorraine was still slender and beautiful. He was out of practice with any sort of intimacy these days, even between old friends. And those are the only kind I have left. 

"You haven't aged a bit," the king observed. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that."

Remant shrugged. "I don't know whether to call it a blessing or a curse." 

Queen Lorraine smiled at that. "Both those things can be true," she said gently. 

Remant found himself smiling -- genuinely smiling -- for the first time in a very long while. 

"Isabelle, it's up to you whether to stay or go. I assume you know who this is?"

"He is Remant, then," she said. "I didn't think he could be much of anyone else."

King Dorrin nodded. "Keep that to yourself, if you would." He turned back to Remant. "And you! What brings you to our table? I assume this isn't a social visit -- you were never much for those, even before you disappeared into the wilderness." 

"It should be," he admitted. "It should have been the first thing I did. But you're correct. I'm here because I need a favor." 

DCC: Show Some Class

Martha scrolled through the selection screen while Jakalak worked with Will on his choices. He'd turned into a dwarf, the kind you saw in all those fantasy movies, The Dungeon had made several suggestions based on her choosing Dragon for her race, and unlike most classes the choice made might affect her form even further. 

It was a relief to be able think clearly, to read through the entries and have them immediately make sense instead of having to puzzle over the words again and again. Was that what it was like for everyone else, all those normal people who weren't born broken? She kept reading, and for the first time in her life she was enjoying it. 

Frost Dragon looked like an interesting class -- plenty of ice-based spells and abilities, good ranged attacks, and still pretty formidable at close range. It wasn't one of the top three that the Dungeon had recommended, though, and she thought that might be because it meant she would grow in size as she leveled up. Easy to see how that could be a problem in a narrow dungeon passageway. 

Mist Dragon was one of the top three, and it had its appeal as well. It was obviously oriented towards stealth and ambush, with solid options for fighting at long distance or very, very close -- but not much in between. It would grow the way most of the other options would. Still, she was hesitant; stealth meant out-thinking opponents, and she still didn't entirely trust herself to do that.

Battle Drake looked more like what she'd initially envisioned: powerful, sleek, dangerous. It included some good resistances and immunities, excellent damage, and while it would make her larger as she advanced in levels it also included a spell to alter its size. It wasn't subtle, or particular versatile; it was a class for ripping things apart, breathing fire on them, and being hard to hurt. It sounded perfect, but Martha made herself read the last of the Dungeon's recommendations.

This one was called Dragonwere, and unlike the other two it took her a moment to figure out what it was meant to do. The dragon traits were a scaled-down version of the Battle Drake -- no size-changing spell, not as strong, a little easier to damage -- but it was supplemented with the ability to assume a human form, which offered greater versatility in both equipment and skills, and effectively restored the size-changing option. 

She giggled to herself. Scaled down.

Jakalak looked over. "You need some help, Martha?"

She shook her head. "No, I've got this." For once in my life, I've got this. Dragonwere might actually be a better choice, but she had always been other, outside, apart. She didn't want to go back to being a human again, ever. She scrolled back up through the selection screen and selected Battle Drake, then settled back as her body changed further.

DCC: Choices atop Choices

Martha lay back on the bed, and listened as Jakalak went over the possible choices for her race. She knew she was broken; her parents had driven that into her awareness for as long as she'd been alive and conscious. She also knew what she wanted now. 

No matter how horrible this place was, no matter how much everything here was designed to kill her, it could turn her into something else. She wanted that chance. She wanted to become something so strong, so smart, so wise, that her parents could never touch her again. "I want to be a dragon," she said. 

Jakalak nodded, slowly. "It's a strong race. Likely you won't be able to reproduce, or even marry, and it'll reduce your choice of classes. But if that's what you want..." 

"That's what I want," Martha said.

Jakalak sent her the selection screen, and she clicked on Dragon.

It wasn't pain, exactly. It wasn't unconsciousness, exactly, either. But when she came back up out of it, she could feel the shape of her new body. 

It had wings. 

It had claws. 

It had teeth. Oh, so many teeth. It stalked around on four legs, and balanced with a tail. And OH, she wasn't broken anymore.

RoH: Inside the Palace

The Watch Leader's name was Elaine Daschelle, and she brought him to the King's Magus -- a very sensible decision, he thought. "May I leave him with you?" she asked. "I have duties I should return to."

The Magus looked up from amulet, distracted. "It's genuine," she said. "Yes, leave him." She was a tall, willowy woman, raven-haired and dark-skinned, dressed in a simple dress of light blue that set off her eyes. It had the look of a favorite piece of clothing, something well and often worn. She had not yet given her name, but that hardly came as a surprise.

The Watch Leader  bowed and departed. 

"The wands are good work," Remant observed. "The ones the Guard are carrying."

"Thank you," she said, and handed the amulet back. Remant tucked it back into his pouch. Her eyes went cloudy as she looked him over. "You are positively layered in magics, and if it weren't for that amulet I wouldn't let you anywhere near the King. Who are you, really?"

Remant sniffed. "This is not to be shared unless the King permits it, but... Remant. Remant Ferrand."

"That... that explains some things," she said quietly. "I am Isabelle Binoche. I was first first among Aeristes' disciples, and the King selected me to carry on his work. I have striven, among other work, to pass as much of his knowledge and practice to the others as I can."

"I was hoping he would still be around." 

She shook her head. "The weight of the war, the weight of the years. He passed in his sleep some four years -- five years -- back."

Remant hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I knew him, too. Not so well as you did, but I admired him."

Isa sighed, then swayed with old grief as he drew his hand back. "Let's go see if the King is occupied." 

RoH: An Evening Meeting

The walls around the palace were old and worn, with gates of heavy wooden timbers at the top of the short causeway. The whole thing was set near the old center of the city, and a pair of bored-looking City Guards were standing outside. Gone were the days when the King's Own had held the duty; Alich al'Mera itself had been lucky in avoiding the worst of the war, but a great deal of its territory had been devastated, most of its army annihilated, and its resources were entirely turned towards supporting the survivors and rebuilding a nation for them to live in. 

The guards straightened as Remant approached and dismounted. "You've made a wrong turn, friend."

Remant frowned. "Is this not still the palace?"

"It is," said that same guard, "which is why you need to move along."

Remant sighed, feeling suddenly tired. Tired, and tempted to do something horrible. He bit down hard on the urge, as he always did. "Does Captain Tillard still command the Guard?"

The guard on the left frowned, but this time the guard on the right spoke up. "Did. Retired about two years ago."

Well, so much for that approach... Remant considered alternatives for a long moment, before deciding that he'd rather be admitted properly. "Could you send for your Watch Leader?"

The guard on the left shrugged and pulled on a rope. Overhead, a bell sounded -- muffled behind stone, but audible through the arrow-slits that were once meant to help defend this place.

A half-dozen guards spilled into the courtyard behind the gate, pulling on buff coats or coats of brigandine, juggling halberds as they did. They wore wands at their belts as well; the King's Magus, whoever held the position now, had been busy.  It was nearing dinner-time; likely they'd been eating, or preparing to. The Watch Leader was easy to spot: she was the one with ink on her hands.

"Stranger to speak with you, Lieutenant," said the guard on the left. 

The woman studied Remant just as intently as he studied her. "State your business, stranger," she said after a moment. 

"I seek entry, stabling, and an audience with the King."

She laughed, but it was more surprised than scornful. "Are you mad, or do you have some grounds for this?"

"Arguably both," Remant admitted, then unclipped a pouch on his belt and reached slowly inside, coming out with an amulet he'd been given many years ago. "I'm going to toss this to you," he said. 

She nodded, and he did. 

She caught it easily, studied it, frowned, studied it harder. Then she looked up at him. "Who are you?"

Remant sighed. "It's probably best if you don't know."

RoH: A Simple Purchase

The solicitor's name was Valeria A'Maris, and she regarded Remant's return with some surprise. "I take it our problem is resolved?" 

"After a fashion," Remant told her. "The former Viscount Durzen is still walking around, but we have come to an agreement."

"An agreement?" asked Valeria. "I didn't hire you to make an agreement, I hired you to either kill him or drive him out."

"Be that as it may," said Remant, "this agreement doesn't require me to put down a man who appears beloved of his servants, is doing valuable research, and simply hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that he is dead. It also provides your client with a guaranteed sale, at which point the presence or absence of the undead former Viscount is no longer your concern."

"I see," said Valeria. "Who, exactly, would be purchasing the estate, then? Surely not yourself."

Remant sighed. "A reasonable concern, I suppose. As it happens, I would be the one purchasing the estate."

Valeria laughed in disbelief. "You--? You own a horse, a sword, a bow, and some arrows. You do mercenary work..." 

Remant nodded. "Yes. Years ago, I came into some money. Until now, I hadn't seen fit to use it, and it has been sitting in an account with the Church of Rilique -- which has a branch here in Alich al'Mera. I could provide a letter of credit this time tomorrow."

He waited a moment, as the solicitor gaped at him. "I happen to know, because my client mentioned it, that she had discussed the matter with local friends and family, and Sir Dominic Reville had offered to purchase the estate from her for the rather generous sum of five thousand gold... I believe, and I'll thank you not to repeat this, because he wishes to improve his station with the title of Viscount."

"...I can see where that would complicate matters," Remant admitted. "I'd be willing to offer six thousand,  to smooth the waters and give your client an excuse for making a new agreement."

"I will contact her immediately," Valeria said. "If you would have the letter of credit here tomorrow afternoon, we can very likely conclude your deal -- and if my client refuses, well, you can always take it back to the church and disavow it."

Remant nodded. "It will be done, and I will see you tomorrow."

Valthor: a moment of quiet

The hold was comfortably warm, warmer with Kiela pressed against him. A single candle-lamp lit the space, and the half-full bottle of brandy was safely tucked between the bedroll and the wall. Valthor liked being with her, even if the hammocks in the crew quarters didn't allow them to sleep together. As a representative of the Admiral, Valthor could have asked for better accommodations, but he very definitely didn't want that kind of attention -- and whatever this was, he didn't want to draw attention to it and apparently Kiela didn't either. Very likely the crew knew, or at least some of them, but it wasn't something that either of them was talking openly about. 

They'd sparred on deck, of course, she with her cutlass and he with his rapier; but then, Valthor sparred with anyone willing, and on a ship full of pirates there were plenty who wanted practice. Rapier, cutlass, saber, belaying pin, even a loose section of rope; he'd practiced against all of it. 

No, this was a delicate shelter, private moments stolen away from shipboard duties, fragile and probably temporary. They both knew it; perhaps that was part of the reason they treasured it. 

She stirred against him, and he said softly: "If we keep this up..."

She rolled over so that she was facing him, a small but unwelcome separation. "There's a tincture to prevent children," she said. "I haven't been taking it. Do you want me to?"

"Do you want to?" he asked. "I could be gone at any moment."

She shook her head. "I don't think you will, though. And I might like to have your child, if the gods see fit."

He nodded slowly. He had never considered being a parent himself; it was enough difficulty to deal with his own parents. "I might like that," he admitted. 

"Our child, should one come," she said slowly, "would not be the first born at sea, nor among pirates."

Valthor considered that; considered the secrets he was holding, and the things he had and hadn't said.

"When we first met," he offered cautiously, "I told you I wasn't a vampire. That was true, but not complete. My father was a vampire, long ago human, and my mother was an elf."

"What?" She didn't pull back, but the shock on her face struck him like a blow.

He nodded. "Were we to have a child, I suspect it would be only human, with a touch of Elven ancestry. But if we're considering this, well... it's something you should know."

"But how is that even possible?"

"Vampires can be fertile, under certain circumstances. It's most common among the newly-turned, but there are rituals for the elders, a temporary lessening of power in exchange for the chance to bear children -- or father them." 

She considered that, but didn't draw away. "I knew there was something strange about you. You have fangs?"

"I can," he admitted. "Even full vampires don't always have them -- not visibly, not all the time. But that's why I don't really need to breathe, and why I can walk on walls."

Kiela hesitated a moment longer, then rolled him over, stroked him, mounted him. "Come on," she said, quietly fierce. "Put a baby in me." 

Music: Collateral

The Midnight

Book Recommendations

I just finished reading John Wiswell's The Dragon Has Some Complaints which was an absolute delight. I'm not sure how best to describe it without spoilers, because "injured dragon hooks up with dragonriders in order to get food and possibly revenge at which point hijinks and battles ensue" just doesn't seem to cover it. I highly, highly recommend that you read it and see for yourself.

I'm now starting the second of the Shadows Over Ravenkirk books, which a fun, quirky take on cosmic horror in a small town where absolutely nobody is normal except for possibly Samantha, who is a tarantula. I highly recommend the first book, and the second one looks set to match.

Lost Track

You know, for a while there I was actually ahead with blog entries. Had a solid week or more ready to go in advance. Then September hit...

Short version: we're all doing all right, we just have a lot more going on -- constantly -- than we'd prefer, and this is a year where it's critical to make sure certain things don't spin out of control.  

Also, I finished up the current run of Dungeon Crawler Carl books, and they kind of crawled into my head and squatted there. I have actually been writing fan fiction, and let me tell you that has been a few years. 

I keep thinking that things should settle down and we can find some kind workable rhythm, but here in the Year of Our Lord 2026 I'm probably kidding myself. 

Still, on the whole things could always be a whole lot worse.

And it's pretty good fanfic. 

Friday at last!

You know, this was supposed to be the week where things calmed down and started settling into a rhythm. 

It... wasn't that, but in ways both irksome and awesome. We have a big project coming up that's going to shut down our financial software for a day, so I've been doing my best to coordinate a time for that. I think we got that settled, which means we can fix some things that are borderline-overdue. A friend and I got to go have dinner with another friend who was in from out of town. 

Secondborn is studying the American Revolutionary war (among other things) and I have to say, it sure seems  like there are some very obvious lessons there that correspond to our current fecklessness with Iran. And yes, in this comparison Iran is playing the role of the Colonies. 

Not much to add to that, really. The world is a scary place, so remember to be your best terrifying selves, my friends. 

Keeping up...

You know, for a while there I was actually ahead on posting things here. This week, I suspect I'm just going to miss some entries, and I'm fine with that. We're getting Secondborn caught up (slowly), I'm trying to get my sleep schedule under control (which would be easier if I didn't keep needing to do work-related things off-hours), and I'm trying to pitch in more with just generally keeping the house clean so we're not all driven to distraction and having allergy attacks. So I'm not going to worry too much if I miss a day or two here and there. Call it triage. 

So, instead, you get a spot of David Allen Coe. 

Ah, Monday....

I have finally, finally gotten enough sleep -- though I still need to work on regularizing my sleep schedule. So, naturally, we have other things we now need to take care of. Still, I can go into this morning with some confidence that I'm reasonably well-rested and firing on most (maybe even all) cylinders. We're still sorting some things out with Secondborn, who's already managed to get behind in her online school assignments -- though in her defense, she's taking both Geometry and Algebra 2, and she is trying. 

I have a bit of final editing-and-polishing to finish up this week, but I'm waiting until I've got all my brain cells in working order for that. Which, I mean, after this last little bit of getting Firstborn out the door and Secondborn settled into school I'm amazed I had anything left at all. So I'm basically taking the win on this bit. 

Depending on how the schedule shakes out, I may spend a few extra days in the office this week instead of working from home. I've done a lot of working from home the past two weeks, and it's good to show up and be seen, plus I have some things to follow up on that I'd rather just go ask about in person. 

All in all, the goal for this week is just to find a decent balance between Get Things Done and Take It Easy, with a side order of Run All The Laundry. I will also be considerably relieved somewhere around the end of October, when the weather finally drops back down into sensible temperatures, but some things you just can't force.

 

The Emptying of the Vault

We got Firstborn moved into his dorm room. 

Again. 

Left our house. 103F in our area right now. 

Arrived at the college some time later. 104F there. Checked into the hotel, rested up a bit, and then went and got some truly excellent Chinese food for dinner. 

That was when the storm blew through. Big storm. Massive storm. Huge amount of falling water, amazing display of lightning. Just absolutely a blowout. Dropped the temperatures by... I'd say nearly thirty degrees during the night. 

So the next morning we got up, ate the hotel breakfast, and then zipped off to get the key to Firstborn's room. Gave the room a quick check and filled out the preliminary survey on what was already damaged, then headed over to the storage unit and emptied most of it. By now it's gotten thoroughly, painfully sunny -- but the air is still in the mid-eighties.

We get everything unloaded into the room, then go for milkshakes -- or in Secondborn's case, a banana split. 

Went back to the storage unit and emptied the last four items, then got them up to the room and started assembling things. Got the whole thing done was it while still relatively cool, before 2:00 p.m. Secondborn was a huge help with both the lifting and the unboxing, and after that we were able to go back to the hotel room and just collapse for a bit. Firstborn elected to stay behind in his room, I think just settling in and feeling smug about having it all set up. 

Then it rained again. So we got up the following morning and had breakfast while watching the rain and savoring the comparative chill. Secondborn attended a class online from the hotel room, and that gave Firstborn -- who had slept in a bit -- a chance to catch back up with us. So then, before we left, we went to visit a Cat Cafe. I had a nice latte -- something with dark chocolate, cinnamon, and vanilla, and probably also the most concentrated caffeine I've had in the last couple of years, and got to sip and sit while kittens climbed on me and ran around and swatted at things. 

It was healing on an existential level. 

Even more impressive, we managed to leave without any new cats. 

The trip back was overcast, drizzly, and cool for the first half, and then reverted to crazy-hot as we got back into Texas. But it was done, everything is finally settled, and I can return to my ongoing project of learning how to be Normal About Things again.

Writing Projects

I pulled the Monsterville posts because I think I'd like to actually make that into a novel. I've been filling in with Remant, who I mostly write as an episodic adventurer with really bad PTSD. I'm also in the process of proofing something I wrote back in 2003 -- the pulp Wuxia Cyberpunk Fantasy Adventure -- with the goal of at least getting it self-published. It was a fun project, and very much representative of where my mind was at the time. 

I also have the Gravedigger project, which I'll come back to at some point. I need to take a better look at its pacing. 

Finally, I just caught up with the most recent book of the Dungeon Crawler Carl series, which is the first thing in a long time that's actually got me writing fan-fiction. Not sure how far I'll take that, because if I stay true to the timeline of the source material it either becomes tragedy or it comes to an unsatisfying conclusion where the protagonists depart the battlefield before the battle is done. That's the ending I'm leaning towards, but it's... I don't know. Open to change. The teenage students might force it into becoming a tragedy. 

Anyway, I hope all my readers are doing well, and I'll likely pick back up with Remant next. He's a blog-project, not a book-project, so he gets some slack. 

Now We Burn It All Down

Last week was... fraught. Secondborn started school. Our Internet went out on Thursday. Various other issues came up, some work, some personal. Some weeks are just one damned thing after another, and that was one of them.

This week we'll be back to having one kid left in the house. She's doing classes and assignments, some synchronous and some not, online -- which seems to be working better than whatever trainwreck her former school was inflicting. So we're cautiously optimistic, there. Firstborn is back at college, ensconced in his dorm room, and given firm instructions to quit pushing people away. He could have friends, he's just chosen not to, and we're doing our best to steer him back to making connections with people or at least be open to them. A lot of that is just him (he gets it from me, sort of) but I feel like Covid isolation also robbed him of some critical socialization experience. 

Anyway, I've taken some time off from work and I'm generally trying to have a normal sleep schedule and not be crazy, but I swear to all the gods, known and forgotten, that the world is trying me right now. 

Raven Lake University

Raven Lake University is a sprawling, unlikely institute of higher learning set atop a plateau well back into some of the most ancient mountains in the world. Chase Grimwald has no idea what he just stepped into: he applied late, accepted late, and arrived too late for the Orientation sessions. The campus itself is a set of ancient stone buildings, his dorm room is hidden away in a back corner of the uppermost floor of his dorm, and some of the other students are sleeping outside in tents. And who anchors their tent to a slope on the edge of a rocky cliff?

Strange things roam the halls at night -- and at least one of them has already tried to kill him. But was that because he hasn't yet learned the elaborate rituals that the other students use to protect themselves? Or does someone genuinely want him dead? And what about the lamprey-things in certain parts of the stream? Where are they coming from? Why do they drop off these weird, fleshy lumps before swimming back into tiny holes in the rock? And what was that bigger one behind them? 

A sensible young man would have opted right back out, but the students are friendly, the food is plentiful, and the education is top-notch... Oh, and the road is gone. The professors may be a little idiosyncratic, but Chase finds that enjoyable. Then a chance encounter with the Fenwick family who run the University leaves him wondering if he might not have some sort of connection to them, and he begins to realize just how far he's in over his head. He'll have to untangle old enmities and alliances, uncover secrets, and possibly negotiate an unexpected marriage if he expects to survive the school year with his grades intact.

RoH: Dinner in the Darkness

Remant stepped into the palace cautiously, though with Kalla and her family leading the way he didn't think he was in danger. The place was all high walls and stalagmite towers from the outside, dim light spilling out from the open doors. Everything here was stone and metal, or else an unfamiliar sort of cloth or leather. Limestone had been smoothed and shaped, ceilings carved into arches and set. There were no guards in evidence, which could mean any of several things. He hoped the Presbyterium realized that he came peacefully among them this time.

The light came from soft flames, set atop metal cones; similar to and different from the light-crystals the upper world had once produced. He would have loved to stop and examine their magics -- there were thing here that would be invaluable if he could reproduce them -- but this was not the time. Still, if he survived this gathering then he needed to return at some point simply for this. 

The scene inside was chaos struggling to become order: a double-dozen Undergray spreading out to find their seat at the carefully-arranged tables. 

"Honored Elders," Kalla said, her voice filling the space. "I present Remant of the Sunlit Lands, who is heir to our former master Huoron and also our savior from that mastery. We welcome him to Shadowguard, and give thanks for his company."

Remant was fairly certain that he'd never seen a room settle down so quickly. "I'm honored to be here," he said, forcing the words out but making them sound natural. "I regret that we were once enemies, and hope that we can be friends." 

One of the Elders raised his voice and lifted his glass. "Likewise," he said loudly. "We welcome you, and offer you hospitality."

That was binding, and with that reassurance Remant came forward into the room. "It is my honor and pleasure to accept," he said, raising his voice to make sure it carried. That was binding, too. It meant that he would be equally bound by the laws of hospitality. Any violation on either side was likely to be punished by the gods, even down here. Until very recently, Shadowguard had been hidden away from the eyes of the gods, but that was no longer entirely true.

"Then come and dine with us," said another Elder, and Kalla led him forward. 

RoH: Introductions

Remant had never been below the Grand Hall. When he'd come in here with the heroes, he hadn't needed to. Now, with Kalla leading the way, he found himself looking out into a sprawling underground city, scattered around the bottom -- and top -- of a massive underground cavern. A river rushed down the center of it, wide and shallow as it washed over the limestone floor. A few lights flickered here and there, some glowing faintly like distant stars, but mostly it was dark.

The structure she led him to was not far away, and he could see faint light within it -- not as bright as flame, let alone the sun, but some small glow to ease the way. Zara followed along, and as they walked another of the Undergray fell in beside them. "Durken," the man said, and offered a hand. "Kalla's husband, and Zara's father."

Remant nodded and clasped his hand. "I'm glad you're both happy." 

Durken grinned, squeezed firmly, and then released him. "I'm glad I finally get to meet you. I always wondered what sort of man you were."

"At the time? Desperate. I don't know how much your people knew of it, but up on the surface we were losing the war. Huoron's armies had wiped out most of the cities, burned out smaller settlements wherever they passed, and were laying siege to the last real source of organized opposition. The Gray weren't in much better shape, but my people had reached the point where even if we did defeat them, we'd have nothing left. Or if they won, neither would they."

"Ah," said Durken. "So they sent their greatest warriors away from the siege, to come here and slay Huoron himself."

Remant nodded again. "Exactly. Five champions, and the squires they accidentally acquired along the way. Two of the champions made it into Shadowguard; the rest of us were squires, replacements for the other champions: rich in magical blessings, but inexperienced, only partly trained, and utterly terrified."

"And only you lived," observed Kalla, sadly. 

Walking beside her, Zara gave a startled squeak.

Remant huffed. "Even so, I was much changed." He swallowed, then changed the topic. "What can I expect inside?"

Kalla hesitated, then said, "Reactions will be mixed, but not actively violent. Your intervention freed our people, but some of the Presbyterium still lost family -- close family -- to you and your friends." 

RoH: A Dinner Invitation

"I'd hoped to have you join us for a quiet family dinner," Kalla said. "Instead, I need to offer you an apology. As soon as word went out of your return, the entire Prebyterium began lobbying for a chance to host our savior."

"They're probably going to be disappointed," Remant predicted. "Still, I'm grateful for their hospitality -- and yours." 

"You'll do it, then?" She frowned. "You could just turn away. With a little effort, you could travel through this darkness like we do. Nobody would stop you."

"No, I..." he sighed, because to the left he really didn't want to do this, but to the right he was genuinely curious. "I'd like to meet your people."

"Don't sound so enthused," Kalla answered, gently ironic. "But okay, if you're still willing, come with me. They've been preparing for over an hour now."

Remant followed, making an effort to hide his reluctance. Zara followed them, holding on to a corner Remant's cloak.

RoH: Childhood Wisdom, and Wisdom Grown

Zara studied him closely. After a moment she said, "You look funny, not scary. Why is your skin like that?"

"Pale, you mean?" asked Remant. 

The girl nodded.

He shrugged. "Born this way. Among my people, it's pretty normal. Among yours, it may be funny-looking."

"Oh." The child looked thoughtful. 

Kalla knelt down as well. "Go and find your father, Little Curiosity. We need to finish talking about grownup things."

Zara considered that. "I can be quiet."

Kalla looked at Remant. He shrugged, rose. "All right. Walk with us, then."

Kalla said, "Back here," and led him in a wide circle around the altar. It was good to see that it was smashed, but what waited beyond was... wholly unexpected. 

The Undergray had emptied the niches of Huoron's visages, and used them to create shrines to each of the fallen heroes instead. Here lay the bones of the Aesil mage Elendor, surrounded by his robe, staff, and sword. The niche beside it held the last remains of Darik, the Vanil champion, the bones still encased in his gleaming golden armor, mace and shield set to either side. Next was Lisla, the Vanil squire who had taken on Winstala's blessing and equipment in a desperate bid to help win their battle; she was set between her daggers, and still wore her cloak. Her bow and quiver of arrows was set behind her. Last was Shima, who had boldly taken up the blessings and weapons of her Santu, the Mordil champion Gairlos. 

Remant found that he was on his knees. He could feel his eyes prickling.

"It pleases you?" Kalla asked. "None may touch the sacred weapons save the Presbyterium, and none may take them up save yourself. It is... taboo."

Remant swallowed, and forced the grief back. "It... Yes. It pleases me, that you honor them."

RoH: The Temple Revised

"I only came here to retrieve some gold from Huoron's vault," Remant said quietly. 

"I understand," Kalla said. "We haven't touched that. We bargain with the Cobalts by offering late-night help with traders and would-be conquerors, in exchange for the food that helps sustain us more... naturally. So far, it's been enough."

Remant nodded. "If you need it, though..." 

"I'll keep that to myself," Kalla said. "Otherwise, my fellow Elders will find reasons to need it. But while you're here..."

She stepped back through the doorway to the temple, and a voice called, "Mama!" and soft footsteps rushed forward. 

Remant followed her through the doorway and stopped. The Great Hall had changed subtly. The Temple had changed dramatically. It was lit, for one thing, though the flickering light of the flames didn't pass outside the doorway to the hall. The sacrificial altar at the far end was broken, and a slow trickle of blood was seeping out of it. The dagger lay atop the shattered altar. 

Shocked, Remant came to a full stop as a small Undergray threw herself at Kalla's leg. She clung there, looking for a long moment, then looked up at Remant. "You didn't come back here to kill us?"

Remant smiled and knelt. "No. No, I did not. I'm actually glad to see that your people have survived."

"There were some concerns," Kalla admitted. "Mine were not among them, which is why I was the one who went out to meet you."

"Well you did," Remant admitted in return. "I'd have listened and dealt fairly with another, but it helps that I remember how you dealt with me when I was still wounded and far more vulnerable."

"Still dangerous, though," Kalla pointed out. She gestured towards the altar. "And that thing was still on the floor at your feet." 

Remant scowled. "It was. How did you get it onto the altar?"

Kalla's face went flat, then sorrowful. "A dozen sacrifices. They lifted it, moved it, and they died. After the first one, they were throwing it, even knowing what it meant to touch it."

Remant paused. "I'm so sorry. It should have been caged where it was."

Kalla shook her head. "No, the risk there was even worse. Here, with the altar broken, the dagger calls out the blood and lets us feed. Their sacrifice was needed so that we could survive in this." She paused, then motioned to the child at her side. "This is Zara."

Remant nodded. "Your daughter."

"Some time after you departed, I married Lorran -- whom you don't know -- and gave birth to Zara, who is the center of my world."

"I still want a sister," said the girl. "I know you have politics to do, but I haven't forgotten."

"How old?" asked Remant. 

"Four."

Remant rose, came forward, and knelt again. "Hello, Zara. I'm honored to meet you."