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: he was the one with ink on his 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 Reman't 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, exactly? 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.