Valthor: Family Horrors

Valthor leaned on the railing and looked out over the ocean, trying to remember the dream. Sy, the cleric of the Harvest Maiden who had attached himself to their group, had suggested that the strange dreams he had in the darkness of the underground prison were likely to be significant, but...

His sister had come to him, he remembered that much. Darkness and mist... She'd spoken of the blade he'd taken from her corpse. Not his mother's work, as he'd initially suspected, but far older... it was a family blade, older than the Starfall, born of deceit, betrayal, broken oaths, and murder. To fully unlock its power would require him to follow in that family tradition... How had she put it? 

It will grow in power as you deceive, betray, and especially kill those to whom you are bound: benefactors, liege lords and loyal servants, friends, allies -- and of course, your kith and kin. 

If he was being completely honest with himself, Valthor didn't like the taste of that. He wouldn't mind killing some of his kin, and he certainly wasn't above a certain amount of artful embellishment when it came to certain kinds of facts, but if there was one thing he'd learned as part of a mercenary company, it was that he was strongest with trusting and trustworthy friends working together. Betrayal and Oathbreaking held no appeal for him... 

Well, mostly. As a jackalwere, his brother Vildern had always been stronger than he was, and his attentions were damnably hard to avoid.  He could see a scenario where he pledged his loyalty to Vildern with the intent of betraying and murdering him when the opportunity presented. So yes, he could probably work with this. 

More than that, though, could he change it? If it was a family blade and had taken its character from his family, could he afflict it with his own trust in well-chosen loyalties?

He'd have to see.

"Valthor?" 

He turned, blinking, to find Kiela standing beside him -- wiry, nimble Kiela who was frequently manning the crow's nest when she wasn't up in the rigging, inspecting the sails. "Oh. Hello." 

"Are you well?" she asked. "You looked pretty lost in in there..." She reached up and tapped the side of his head with a fingertip. 

"I was," he said. "I'm back now, though."

"Should I ask?"

"Probably best if you don't," he said. "I... A lot of my life is very difficult to explain."

"Oh." She hesitated, running a hand nervously through her short red hair. "Listen, a few of us were going to play cards down in the hold, and some of us would love to know how you and your friends managed a jailbreak out of that place. Would you--?" 

"I'd love to," he told her. 

DS: Companionship

It was just before dawn when Jalua slipped into the druid's pocket alongside Borgios. He had been dozing, but he stirred at her approach. "Wha...?"

"I found my father waiting," Jalua said, chittering in that way that only another wererat would understand -- though a good hunter could distinguish it from the sounds of ordinary rats. "He blessed us, said I could stay with you. He's worried by this demon -- there were stories, two generations back. We have to keep the clan informed, and they'll inform others."

"That's..." Borgios managed not to yawn. "That's wonderful." 

"Yes. For now, we get to be rats together."

"That was a quick decision," Borgios observed.

Jalua nipped gently behind his ear. "I told him about your clan. My father, he prizes survivors." 

DS: And the return

Borgios slipped back down the alley. It was nearly dawn, and the sounds of a woman's voice were clearly audible: 

"That young man said he'd give me to someone who could get me home, and instead I'm just lying here in the palm of some drunken lout. A dirty back alley is no place for a woman of quality like myself. Tivros? Tivros, you promised to take care of me. Where are you? How could you forget you were carrying me around like that?"

Borgios slipped the gloves into the druid's pocket, then dropped the pile of clothing next to its unconscious -- but still living -- owner. All in all, a good night's work. He thought of the time he'd spent with Jalua. All in all, a good night. The temptation to depart here, join her clan, and stay with her was strong, but... I don't know. Rune was stronger than he was, and likely didn't need his help -- but he'd been kind enough to take in a stray rat when Borgios had been in desperate need of shelter, and as much as the wererat hated to think of himself as honorable, he still felt a debt there. 

"So this is your druid?" asked Jalua, from behind him. 

Borgios nodded. "This is him."

"Oh, great," said the amulet. "Now there are rats. Merciful Yondalla, I beg you to get me out of this place. I have always been a pious woman..."

"Why is his face glowing?" Jalua had slipped up into human form again, and was looking down at Rune. 

"He has a demon trapped inside him," Borgios said. "The runes hold it in. Its power is trapped separately."

"That sounds... worrisome. Are you sure you'll be safe?"

"He thinks I'm just a rat," Borgios said. "And besides... I owe him." 

DS: The Merchant's House

The merchant's house was protected, of course, but it wasn't too hard for a pair of perfectly-ordinary rats to slip inside during the hours just before dawn, when servants were drawing water and preparing for the day ahead. There were still plenty of shadows; evidently the merchant was a spendthrift when it came to candles or lantern oil. 

Jalua took the lead, and Borgios followed. She traced their way through long, expensively-appointed hallways, moved cautious across open intersections, and hesitated beneath a table at the bottom of the stairs while the servants carried heated water up for their master's bath. 

Their clothing was tucked away in a neat bundle just outside the back gate, which could have been awkward if wererats had any sense of modesty. Fortunately, they didn't; the transformation made nakedness far too commonplace to sustain any sense of embarrassment. 

It was a bare flash of nudity to open the door, and then they were both inside the merchant's bedroom. He snorted and rolled over, and they froze -- then dashed for the underside of the bed. 

He didn't rise, though. Likely he was used to servants coming and going while he slept. Servants would lay fires, prepare outfits, and who knew what else? Borgios certainly didn't.  

They rose up into their human forms, and Jalua glared down at the sleeping merchant with an expression that said she was considering smothering him with a pillow. With two of them here, it could be done, but... Borgios touched her shoulder, then mimed drawing on a glove. She hesitated, sighed silently, and then nodded, looking around. 

There was a pair of gloves on the table beside the bed, and Borgios raised his hands questioningly. Jalua grinned, then nodded. 

DS: Early Morning Adventures

"You left your druid behind," noted Jalua. "What is it you're looking for? Gold?"

Borgios shook his head. "No, he'd notice if that showed up in his pocket with me. I'm trying to figure out a way to smuggle some weapons for myself, and also stay in practice for the sorts of things we do. Something like a bag of holding, but smaller."

Jalua considered that, then grinned. "Gloves. Magical gloves. And I just happen to know of someone who has some. They'll only store one item each, but..." 

Borgios shook his shoulders out, tension dissolving into relief. "That could work. That could very well work."

He swept her up, spun her around, and set her back down. "Jalua, you're a genius. What do we need to do get these?"

"Well," she said, "We'll need to rob this merchant. The clan won't object; he keeps trying to stiff us, so an... object lesson like this might even help us. Come on, I'll show you where he lives." 

DS: Inconvenient Family Ties

"You're not one of our clan," said a voice from overhead. "One of us, but... outsider. What brings you here, Outsider?"

Borgios slowed, decided that this was interesting enough to justify postponing his plan. "A job went wrong some months back. I took shelter in the pocket of a drunken druid, who thinks I'm nothing more than a rat."

"And your clan?"

He swallowed. "Hunted by the guard and another band of adventurers," he said. "Father told us to go to ground."

There was a soft laugh, and then the whuff of impact, tuck, and roll behind him. He turned slowly, beheld a seemingly-human woman of roughly his own age behind him. A fellow wererat, of course; born into it, by her smell.  "You have a name?" she asked softly. 

"Borgios," he told her. 

"Jalua," she responded. "You're in our territory, so I can't let you do anything that might draw attention to us. I suppose I'll have to keep an eye on you." 

"Oh?" he asked, trying to sound suspicious rather than intrigued. "In that case, come along. Or lead me where you would." Yes, he was definitely prepared to overturn his plans for the opportunity of some seemingly-friendly company. Keeping himself hidden for the last few months had been more of a strain than he cared to admit.

DS: Friends in Low Places

"...Who? Where?" Borgios kept his voice soft. 

"Down here," said the voice. 

He turned, frowning as he scanned the mouth of the alleyway. 

"On the ground. Just over..." 

"I see you, I think," said Borgios, bending down to pick up a silver necklace with an unfamiliar amulet suspended from it. 

"Yes! That's me. Oh, thank you, kind sir." It was a woman's voice, despite coming from a piece of jewelry. "I do so hate being down in the dirt like that, but my husband Tivros... well, he was drinking, and forgot I was in his hand. If you could return me to him, I'd be most grateful."

What in the Nine Hells and all the elemental planes? A talking amulet was definitely going to be a liability for anything he did tonight. Borgios considered, then decided that the easiest way to handle this was to pass the burden. "I fear my time is limited," he told the amulet. "I must return to being a rat before too long -- a family curse, and no escape from it. But I will deliver you to someone who can see you safely back home in the morning."

"Well, I suppose if you can't do it yourself..." There was hint of... not exactly accusation, but definitely disappointment... in her tone. "...Then yes, please get me to someone who can help."

Borgios turned and retraced his steps up the alley, then set the amulet in Rune's unconscious hand. "There you go," he said, then turned and fled.