Glaehron Turaanen
Regular
Finders, Keepers.
Water rushed down in small waterfalls along the walls of the houses, following the curves and cracks worn into the old stone. The ground being one big soup of mud, water and dirt, stubbornly sticking to the boots and shoes of the soaked inhabitants of the city. The wind hunted through the narrow streets, howling like a pack of wolfs and cutting through the thick layer of clothing of merchant and peasant alike. It was fall in Talera, and nature shouted it out to every soul in Sea Haven.
Smoke raised from every chimney in the city, battling with the rain and wind, as the people tried to warm themselves and dry their clothes. The weather was a problem for everyone. The sailors, the merchants, the people. All were strangled by the forces of nature as trade was put to a halt. Only one sort of kind was benefiting from the weather; the thieves.
As Sea Haven’s honest folk rushed through the streets, quickly finishing up their tasks and duties, they weren’t as watchful and attend on their possessions as they would normally be. With some luck, they even dropped a denar or two on the ground, not thoughtful of the loosened rope closing off their purse. Yes, it was a fortunate time indeed Obai thought.
He quickly hurried across the street, sheltering under a worn and abandoned market stall. His long curly black hair sticked to his head, drown in the rain. He shoved two curls aside hanging in front of his eyes. Obai took a deep breath of the chilly air and looked around. Next to him stood a middle-aged female, probably about the same age as him. Slick blonde hair sticked to the cloak on her back. Her face was small, with shining green eyes. An attractive young woman, that was for sure.
But her appearance wasn’t what Obai’s brown eyes were drawn too. Hanging on the side of her silk robe with red patterns, held to her extravagant figure by a crimson sash, was a beautifully ornamented silver dagger. A golden hulk decorating the pommel on the back of the handle and the handle itself skilfully adorned with silver woven around it, Obai knew he would make it through the season with this prize alone. The only thing he had to do now, was to get it.
He coughed loudly, his breath forming miniature storm clouds quickly dissolving in the wind. He nonchalantly turned around, towards the stone wall of the building supporting the market stall. Obai leaned to the wall while keeping his eyes on the dagger. Suddenly, the relentless raining subdued as the wind lay down to the ground.
A moment as silent as the tread of a Planewalker. Then the young lady sighed and started moving from under the stall. Obai, in the trade since his birth, knew he had to act. He closely followed the woman, mud sticking to the shoes being the only sound. Obai listened closely and made sure his steps were perfectly synchronised with that of his fortune carrier while moving in closer. While increasing his pace he carefully moved out his hand, his nimble fingers a hair’s length away from the handle. Fingertip touched prize for less then a second and Obai disappeared in an alley with his new possession in hand.
He kept walking for a while. Until he arrived at one of his safe corners. A dark alley home to mud, some rats and rotten crates. He held his prize up in the few strokes of sunlight wrestling through the jaws of the roofs leaning towards each other. The light found the dagger, raced along it’s surface, and glistered back into the dark, showing the blade’s details to Obai once more. He grinned for a second, allowing himself a moment of joy before his mind wandered off to the question of which fence would fetch him the best price.
Fences. There where more of them in the city then in the worst nightmare of the magistrates. None of them could ever guess how much of the wealth acquired by the city’s trade would disappear into the hands of the subtle ones. Neither did Obai, being just one of the many small thieves and cutpurses who saw the city as their prized hunting grounds. But he dared to swear on the rebirth of Serathos that he was the only scoundrel who came across such a found this day.
After comparing the various fences in the slightly tainted domain of his mind, he found himself walking to one of the main streets, towards the harbour gate. Salfur would be able to fetch him a nice price, as he had both craftsman and nobility on his infamous list of potential buyers. He grinned at a beggar he passed. He was too good to bent on his knees to the grudges and hospitalities of other people. Finders, keepers, he thought.
His eyes quickly gazed over the crowded docks, piers and ships. Now the storm had subdued, merchant and fisherman were eager to go to sea and make up for their lost time. He nimbly slipped through the crowded masses, this time paying no attention at purses and other valuable possessions. He had a prize to sell.
Salfur was sitting on a bench outside, next to a table, mug in one hand and a sweet roll in the other. Obai moved into his direction, slightly raising his hand as a greeting when Salfur fixed his eyes on him. They knew each other since their youth. Salfur too was a cutpurse and thief like Obai before he went for a career change. A scoundrel he was still but now acted as a mediator and merchant between the thievery and corrupt layers of the population.
The smell of the sweet roll rode upon the ocean breeze towards Obai’s nostrils. The beast inside his stomach, slumbering because Obai was used to a lack of food, awakened and started growling. Nothing to do about it, yet, he thought. As soon I see food lingering around, finders, keepers. “Greetings to you Salfur, enjoying a meal I see.”
The red-haired man nodded and his beard came alive as he bit a piece off his sweet roll before addressing Obai with a filled mouth. “Hot food and fresh ale, nothing works better to raise the spirit. What brings you here Obai?”.
Obai laughed. It was good to know the man was still the same. His rude manners not much above those of an Elsgardian were a problem to most but an angel’s blessing to Obai. He felt comfortable and took a seat on the bench on the other side of the table. “Few exists that raises the spirit better than ale and food, Salfur. But what about this dagger.” Obai pulled away a piece of his cloth shirt that shielded the blade from prying eyes.
Salfur wanted to swallow the containments of his mouth but now the piece of food stubbornly stuck to the inside of his throat like a hedgehog to a wolf’s snout. Obai quickly reached him his ale to wash his doom away. Salfur hastily grabbed the mug, placed it at his lips and chugged down at least half of the fluid that was every man’s best friend. He coughed loudly, the sound carried abroad before being swallowed by the cacophony of different voices coming from the crowd.
“My old man would have said that it would have been a most dishonourable way to go… by a sweet roll. Do not show that dagger again, follow me, we’ll talk somewhere else.” He stood up and started walking towards a pier. Obai raised from the bench where he halted to pick up the half-eaten sweet roll. “Finders, keepers.” he mumbled and hurried to the pier to catch up with Salfur while devouring the sweet roll.
It wasn’t a surprise the pier was all but abandoned as soon Obai took a closer look. The planks that were partly rotten away didn’t exactly promise a safe landing for a ship’s crew and the wood seemed to make a protesting sound when Obai stepped on it. Salfur stood at the end of the pier, gazing at the water that was flowing around the wooden poles supporting the pier, like a horde of Ridlevar Bandits swarming around their prey.
“What do you know about the Brotherhood of the Hulk?” Salfur turned around and waited for an answer. Obai scoured his memory for any mention of the name but he did not recall anything. “Nothing.” he answered. “All the hulks I know about are either on the open sea or lay here docked in the city and I don’t think any of them have to do with some sort of brotherhood.” “Why do you ask?” Obai couldn’t help but be curious to more information. Information was important for a thief as one with good ears made double the profit one without would ever do, and his guts told him that what he was about to learn would be beneficial for his purse indeed.
“I ask because of the dagger. Few rob a Brother or Sister of the Hulk and get away with it. The hulk decoration on the pommel is not just for the appearance. They have a code and these daggers hold a ceremonial position in the Brotherhood.” Obai listened intensely. Many people thought Salfur was a dumb brute like the barbarians who’s manners he seemed to inherit. But as the saying goes, even amongst the barbarian tribes there are a few wise men. “The problem we, or rather, you, have now is that these daggers work like talismans. Every week an enchanter comes by the Brotherhood’s quarters on the Grandmaster’s order to give the positions of these daggers to him.” Obai blinked. He lost trace of Salfur’s story. “Hold on. Why would this Grandmaster be interested in the location of those blades apart from the fact they are precious and beautiful of course?” Salfur sighed.
“Let me explain it your way.” “The Grandmaster is like a Kingpin in a very wealthy and successful gang, this gang is the Brotherhood of the Hulk. Like the biggest gang in a city will run all the important scoundrel business there, the Brotherhood of the Hulk runs all the big merchandise and trade in the city coming from sea, but behind the screens. The only thing that betrays their members in open is the dagger worn by the higher rankings who have nothing to fear as the Brotherhood has deals with mercenaries and pirates for protection.”
A shiver went down Obai’s spine and a swat drop ran down his forehead. He didn’t realise that his little prize would steer his vessel into dangerous waters. “The magistrates, do they know about the Brotherhood?” Salfur laughed. “Are you serious Obai? Half of the council is Brotherhood! Their wealth and power makes them nearly invincible. Asaleth’s economics rely on Sea Haven to keep the war going and the mercenary vassals ran by the Brotherhood keeps the southern coast safe from any landings and a potential attack in the rear from the Feron Tribes.”
Obai swallowed. “So. My life is in danger right? What do they do to thieves anyways?” Salfur’s eyes twinkled like the lanterns in Sentinel. “They flay them with the very daggers like the one you carry with you.” A noxious feeling swept over Obai like the storm engulfed the city not long ago. He wanted to get rid of the dagger, but the potential profit he could make out of it was too big to ignore. “Can’t I sell it to you? I mean, you are a fence after all!” Salfur shaked his head. “No. I cannot. I’m afraid some of my customer are involved with the Brotherhood as well.” “There is however a solution to your problems my friend…”
Seawater spat up high in the wind like a hail of Shalerion arrows. Though the sailors did their best to level the ship as to cut through the waves, the hard wind made it a hard job as the sea was continuously battering down the side of the ship. The deck was slippery and Obai had a hard time keeping his feet down on the oaken planks while working his way to the back of the longboat towards the navigator and his contact on board. Obai had been helping the sailors rowing the boat forward, aiding them in their battle against the current and the wind. He doubted the grim looking and muscled oarsman would miss his strength though. You don’t need big arms to cut a purse or pick a lock, just nimble fingers.
Obai walked towards the man sitting on a sea chest, looking over a pair of charts on another sea chest. The man’s name he didn’t know as Salfur didn’t tell him. Obai knew better then asking it to this sailor. If Salfur preferred to keep information for himself, it was often better not to know. “Good Sir” he started the question he had asked every day. “How much further is it to whatever shore we are sailing to?” But this time, he received a different answer. “If the Gods want it, we’ll be there by nightfall.”
He nodded to the man expressing his thanks then looked over his shoulder where he saw another vessel sailing behind them, a vague shape in the distance. The old seaman had followed his gaze. “Do not worry, that are our allies, we always sail in pairs. It is an effective way to get more loot as well. We sail too far away from each other to be seen both by the same ship, yet when they move to assault our ship, they are too close to turn away when help comes in. A longboat is faster then a cog or a hulk.”
Obai grinned at the man. “No wonder you pirates are so prosperous these days.” The man grinned back to him “I recommend you to go back to your place and row the oar again. Time goes by as fast as a Feron raid when you put yourself to good use.” He nodded and walked back to his place between the burly sailors. He knew his strength meant little but at least the man was right and the time would go by faster.
It was a sound advice. Obai sighed in relief as the shore came in sight and slowly changed from a vague line on the horizon into sandy beach with a mountain range and a small bush-like forest in between, smoke raised from between the trees. “Obai! This is where you get off, it’s only the length of a knight’s spear so you can swim.” The hated laughing by the grim sailors thundering abroad told him otherwise, but the look on the man’s face made clear it was no joke they would stop here and go no further. Obai carefully repeated the instructions he received from Salfur to himself to see if he still remembered them all.
“Follow the path from the beach to the forest. Go to the burning pyre. Throw an azure coal in the fire. Wait for an escort to pick you up. Tell them you are a stranded sailor who seeks refuge. Make sure you don’t show them the dagger until they bring you to their leader.”
Obai repeated the phrase a few times to convince himself he would remember them then nonchalantly dived into the water. He was a good swimmer as the water always was a good place to hide when someone of the docks witnessed his nimble fingers in action. The water was chilling this time of the year, but the profit in sight awakened a fire inside him that all the water between Talera and the Central Continent could not douse. He felt the current was weakening, loosening it’s grip on his body, and saw the shore only a few yards away. After a couple of minutes Obai was able to feel the sandy bottom beneath his shoes sucking his legs down like a maelstrom swallowing ships, and he started stumbling through water in direction of the beach.
After confirming that the dagger was still behind the sash banded around his chest underneath the soaked layer of clothes, he walked to the forest and the smoke coming from there. After passing some kind of trees that he did not recognise he saw the pyre. Obai noted various baskets with some kind of coals in them in an azure, black and crimson tint. A beacon. Obai picked up an azure coal from one of the beacons and threw it in the fire. Immediately the fire turned into a blue haze as if Serathos’s ashes were used in some strange ritual to bring him back alive.
A horn echoed in the distance, stirring the leaves on the exotic trees around him. It seemed someone had noted the colour of the smoke changing. A moment later a group of men armed with spears glistering in the sun came moving toward the pyre from the base of the mountains. As they came closer, he was able to estimate their numbers, and to his surprise, he counted roughly hundred fully armed mercenaries marching his way! A drop of sweat rushed down his back. He forced himself to take a deep breath and stay calm.
As the group came closer Obai raised his hand as a greeting. Within a few seconds he stood in a wood of spears. One of the men stepped forward. “What brings you here? And speak honestly, or find your head burned in that pyre!” The man was taller then Obai, and he wielded his spear quite confidently. By his posture Obai judged he has been a mercenary for quite some time, he doubted about the man’s words for no moment. “I… stranded here.” his improvisational talent came of good use to make a believable story. “My ship went lost in the last storm along with most of it’s crew. It was a terrible day, we must have inquired the wrath of the Gods for some reason! As a piece of the mast broke off and dragged me into the water, I was saved from the claws of Serathos as I was able to drift along with it! Everyone else… died.”
The man took a close look at him the nodded. “I believe you. Your eyes sing the story as well. But tell me, how did you know to put a blue coal on the pyre?” Obai didn’t recall Salfur telling they would ask him this, but his guts told him he better couldn’t say. He looked at the baskets and to his fortune the basket with azure coals had fallen over into the direction of the fire, one of the mercenaries probably didn’t see it when walking backwards. “I didn’t. I accidently bumped into one of the baskets, one of the coals must’ve rolled in.” He pasted a think layer of drama onto it as butter on a noble’s bread. “Please spare me good Sir! I didn’t mean to invoke your fury or that of your companions!
The man laughed at him. “Whatever happened to you. May the Gods prevent it from happening to me. Come with us, we will shelter you until one of the supply ships comes in, they will bring you back to the Taleran shore.” Obai bowed thankfully. Like a beggar, he thought amused. After the man divided his patrol into two equal groups he left one half to cover their way back and together with Obai and the other half, started marching towards the base of the mountains.
This wasn’t just a simple customer, Odai thought while gazing over the wooden gates in the palisade, opening to let the group in. The gates were decorated with the same sign he had seen on the armguards of the mercenaries, some kind of rune he thought. It was a large encampment and the palisade effectively blocked of the only entrance in the pass. Obai counted a various dozen of tents, ranging from small huts to large domes where you could easily fit in a small house. All had one thing in common, the rune on their sailcloth walls.
After he ordered his man to stand down and take their rest he lead Obai to the largest tent, raising out above the others, standing on a slope. The tent was adorned with silver paintings and runes. At the entrance flap the man halted. “Inside you will find our Chief. He wants to meet all visitors in person, he has his reasons. Go inside.” Obai nodded and moved the flap aside. The interior was just as beautifull as the outside with dark wooden chairs and tables and stylishly woven rugs decorating the sailcloth floor layer. The camp’s chief turned around. It was an old man Obai estimated to be in his sixties. His eyes were red and bloody and the colour of his skin told him he didn’t have much strength to stay alive a year longer. He went pained under the burden of his armour.
“Aah. A stranger. My lookouts informed me the smoke turned azure.” And a hackling cough followed. He peered at Obai for a while before continuing. “Yes, the Captain was right, you are not one of the Brotherhood.” “That means you are welcome to stay here if you like and join us. We need all the help we can get against those filthy dogs only driven by greed!” His anger resulted in another volley of coughs and Obai thought he saw some blood spatter on one of the rugs. The man was lucky if he lived for another day!
“Tell me stranger. What brings you here?” the old chief asked. Obai gathered his courage and remembered the words of Salfur. “Forgive me for fooling your Captain but I’m here because of this blade.” Obai replied while he grabbed the dagger from behind the sash and revealed it to the old man. Suddenly, the Chief’s eyes widened as he stared at the blade. “NO!! They have succeeded after all this years?!” To his shocked surprise the man runs for a table to pick up a steel war axe from it’s surface. Just as he turns around to slay Obai a flaming arrow thrusts through the tent and hits the Chief in his chest! He ignites like a haystack in the summer and goes down screaming. “What by the Gods is happening here?” Obai asks to himself in shock.
Suddenly a whistling sound comes from outside and men scream as several more are hit by the feathered death. Steel clattering on steel follows as battle ensues between the surprised defenders and the mysterious attackers. Obai forces himself to think. He looks at the charred corpse of the deceased chief’s and his right hand reveals a signet ring on each finger. Obai’s scoundrel side quickly restores from the shock and pry the rings from the dead fingers. “Forgive me old man, finders, keepers.” He runs for the flap while the sounds outside come to a halt. It seems one of the sides has emerged victorious. Just as he wants to go outside to slip away, the flap gets moved aside, he is grabbed by the throat and a man holds him in the air. “My my, if it isn’t our little oarsman!” Obai opens one eye and stares at the grin of a bearded man. As he moves his gaze up he recognises him as one of the rowers on the longboat! “Sir!” the tall man shouts. “Look what I found here!” To Obai’s surprise, two men and a woman come in…
“Greetings Obai. May I thank you for your assistance, without you, we wouldn’t have been able to crush our strongest competition so fast.” a familiar voice greets Obai. Salfur looks rather odd in the armour, but it is him for sure. Obai looks at the other two and he nearly starts crying out of unbelieve. In front of him stand Salfur, the woman he robbed, the navigator of the longboat and his sailors.
“I am sure you want to know what is going on. You have always been too inquisitive Obai. But let me feed your curiosity for one single time.” “Your very first mistake was robbing Alahsia here. As soon she discovered her dagger was missing she contacted the Grandmaster. You might wonder how she did that so fast… You remember us talking about that enchanter? To be exact, it is more like an enchantress. Yes, I am talking about Alahsia. Without the dagger channelling her the energy she needs, she could only cast a minor spell. The Grandmaster received her magical cry and was quick to set up the plan. I was at the Brotherhood’s Quarters by then so the Grandmaster immediately set me out to the boarding house, where I was enjoying an ale and sweet roll when you arrived in the harbour.”
“You thought I still was the man I once was, but you have never been so wrong. I lured you into our scheme and everything was ready. I ordered Rhemtak here to prepare ship and take you on board. The vessel sailing behind yours was ours. We immediately set out to sea a few minutes after you did. On our trip over the open waters Alahsia had enough time to regenerate her energy. After we saw the black smoke change to blue she started scrying for the lost dagger, that is why it was crucial for you to carry it. We had a rough idea of the island their stronghold was on, but we didn’t know the exact location and we knew an open approach would take a lot of lives.”
“With help of the dagger’s signal Alahsia was able to lead us through the land, evading their war parties. And when you revealed it from underneath your clothes, we had already taken our position surrounding the valley, revealing the dagger intensified the signal though and then we were sure of the Chief’s location and we attacked. We only wanted to burn their camp and slay the Chief. All there supplies, loot and merchandise is stored here. When their war parties return they will find nothing but ash. Ironic, as it is the Ashrunner Covenant we destroyed.”
Obai couldn’t believe anything of what he heard. He felt betrayed. Tears rushed down his cheeks. He had been used much like he had used the hard work of Everwatch’s inhabitants. He didn’t want to die or anything. “Please Salfur! At least let me go, I did help the Brotherhood after all. Without me, you would still have the Ashrunners prying on your trade!”
“Poor Obai, so confident of yourself. You do remember what happens to thieves stealing from the Brotherhood do you?”
Time stood still for a second. Obai’s eyes widened and his heart missed a beat. He would die, and in a most painful way.
“Please, have mercy, by the Gods! Anything but that!”
“Forgive me Obai.” Salfur replied. “Finders, keepers.”
The wind battered the closed shutters. It searched for the smallest crooks and managed to sneak inside like a spy. It did not bother the Grandmaster. He seated in a heavy wooden seat adorned with leather to make it comfortable. A coat of arms pattern decorated the backside of the chair, showing a golden hulk. The wood crispers in the fireplace. The flames licking the blocks, leaving black trays on them before rolling back to raise up again. The light reflected on the golden goblet held in the black satin gloved hand. The wall was adorned with prices and trophies. All ordered at the best taxidermist in all of Talera. He gazed over the various animal heads and furs used as tapestries on the stone walls. His eyes focused on his newest trophy.
Obai’s skin would decorate the Brotherhood’s Quarters for years to come.
Water rushed down in small waterfalls along the walls of the houses, following the curves and cracks worn into the old stone. The ground being one big soup of mud, water and dirt, stubbornly sticking to the boots and shoes of the soaked inhabitants of the city. The wind hunted through the narrow streets, howling like a pack of wolfs and cutting through the thick layer of clothing of merchant and peasant alike. It was fall in Talera, and nature shouted it out to every soul in Sea Haven.
Smoke raised from every chimney in the city, battling with the rain and wind, as the people tried to warm themselves and dry their clothes. The weather was a problem for everyone. The sailors, the merchants, the people. All were strangled by the forces of nature as trade was put to a halt. Only one sort of kind was benefiting from the weather; the thieves.
As Sea Haven’s honest folk rushed through the streets, quickly finishing up their tasks and duties, they weren’t as watchful and attend on their possessions as they would normally be. With some luck, they even dropped a denar or two on the ground, not thoughtful of the loosened rope closing off their purse. Yes, it was a fortunate time indeed Obai thought.
He quickly hurried across the street, sheltering under a worn and abandoned market stall. His long curly black hair sticked to his head, drown in the rain. He shoved two curls aside hanging in front of his eyes. Obai took a deep breath of the chilly air and looked around. Next to him stood a middle-aged female, probably about the same age as him. Slick blonde hair sticked to the cloak on her back. Her face was small, with shining green eyes. An attractive young woman, that was for sure.
But her appearance wasn’t what Obai’s brown eyes were drawn too. Hanging on the side of her silk robe with red patterns, held to her extravagant figure by a crimson sash, was a beautifully ornamented silver dagger. A golden hulk decorating the pommel on the back of the handle and the handle itself skilfully adorned with silver woven around it, Obai knew he would make it through the season with this prize alone. The only thing he had to do now, was to get it.
He coughed loudly, his breath forming miniature storm clouds quickly dissolving in the wind. He nonchalantly turned around, towards the stone wall of the building supporting the market stall. Obai leaned to the wall while keeping his eyes on the dagger. Suddenly, the relentless raining subdued as the wind lay down to the ground.
A moment as silent as the tread of a Planewalker. Then the young lady sighed and started moving from under the stall. Obai, in the trade since his birth, knew he had to act. He closely followed the woman, mud sticking to the shoes being the only sound. Obai listened closely and made sure his steps were perfectly synchronised with that of his fortune carrier while moving in closer. While increasing his pace he carefully moved out his hand, his nimble fingers a hair’s length away from the handle. Fingertip touched prize for less then a second and Obai disappeared in an alley with his new possession in hand.
He kept walking for a while. Until he arrived at one of his safe corners. A dark alley home to mud, some rats and rotten crates. He held his prize up in the few strokes of sunlight wrestling through the jaws of the roofs leaning towards each other. The light found the dagger, raced along it’s surface, and glistered back into the dark, showing the blade’s details to Obai once more. He grinned for a second, allowing himself a moment of joy before his mind wandered off to the question of which fence would fetch him the best price.
Fences. There where more of them in the city then in the worst nightmare of the magistrates. None of them could ever guess how much of the wealth acquired by the city’s trade would disappear into the hands of the subtle ones. Neither did Obai, being just one of the many small thieves and cutpurses who saw the city as their prized hunting grounds. But he dared to swear on the rebirth of Serathos that he was the only scoundrel who came across such a found this day.
After comparing the various fences in the slightly tainted domain of his mind, he found himself walking to one of the main streets, towards the harbour gate. Salfur would be able to fetch him a nice price, as he had both craftsman and nobility on his infamous list of potential buyers. He grinned at a beggar he passed. He was too good to bent on his knees to the grudges and hospitalities of other people. Finders, keepers, he thought.
His eyes quickly gazed over the crowded docks, piers and ships. Now the storm had subdued, merchant and fisherman were eager to go to sea and make up for their lost time. He nimbly slipped through the crowded masses, this time paying no attention at purses and other valuable possessions. He had a prize to sell.
Salfur was sitting on a bench outside, next to a table, mug in one hand and a sweet roll in the other. Obai moved into his direction, slightly raising his hand as a greeting when Salfur fixed his eyes on him. They knew each other since their youth. Salfur too was a cutpurse and thief like Obai before he went for a career change. A scoundrel he was still but now acted as a mediator and merchant between the thievery and corrupt layers of the population.
The smell of the sweet roll rode upon the ocean breeze towards Obai’s nostrils. The beast inside his stomach, slumbering because Obai was used to a lack of food, awakened and started growling. Nothing to do about it, yet, he thought. As soon I see food lingering around, finders, keepers. “Greetings to you Salfur, enjoying a meal I see.”
The red-haired man nodded and his beard came alive as he bit a piece off his sweet roll before addressing Obai with a filled mouth. “Hot food and fresh ale, nothing works better to raise the spirit. What brings you here Obai?”.
Obai laughed. It was good to know the man was still the same. His rude manners not much above those of an Elsgardian were a problem to most but an angel’s blessing to Obai. He felt comfortable and took a seat on the bench on the other side of the table. “Few exists that raises the spirit better than ale and food, Salfur. But what about this dagger.” Obai pulled away a piece of his cloth shirt that shielded the blade from prying eyes.
Salfur wanted to swallow the containments of his mouth but now the piece of food stubbornly stuck to the inside of his throat like a hedgehog to a wolf’s snout. Obai quickly reached him his ale to wash his doom away. Salfur hastily grabbed the mug, placed it at his lips and chugged down at least half of the fluid that was every man’s best friend. He coughed loudly, the sound carried abroad before being swallowed by the cacophony of different voices coming from the crowd.
“My old man would have said that it would have been a most dishonourable way to go… by a sweet roll. Do not show that dagger again, follow me, we’ll talk somewhere else.” He stood up and started walking towards a pier. Obai raised from the bench where he halted to pick up the half-eaten sweet roll. “Finders, keepers.” he mumbled and hurried to the pier to catch up with Salfur while devouring the sweet roll.
It wasn’t a surprise the pier was all but abandoned as soon Obai took a closer look. The planks that were partly rotten away didn’t exactly promise a safe landing for a ship’s crew and the wood seemed to make a protesting sound when Obai stepped on it. Salfur stood at the end of the pier, gazing at the water that was flowing around the wooden poles supporting the pier, like a horde of Ridlevar Bandits swarming around their prey.
“What do you know about the Brotherhood of the Hulk?” Salfur turned around and waited for an answer. Obai scoured his memory for any mention of the name but he did not recall anything. “Nothing.” he answered. “All the hulks I know about are either on the open sea or lay here docked in the city and I don’t think any of them have to do with some sort of brotherhood.” “Why do you ask?” Obai couldn’t help but be curious to more information. Information was important for a thief as one with good ears made double the profit one without would ever do, and his guts told him that what he was about to learn would be beneficial for his purse indeed.
“I ask because of the dagger. Few rob a Brother or Sister of the Hulk and get away with it. The hulk decoration on the pommel is not just for the appearance. They have a code and these daggers hold a ceremonial position in the Brotherhood.” Obai listened intensely. Many people thought Salfur was a dumb brute like the barbarians who’s manners he seemed to inherit. But as the saying goes, even amongst the barbarian tribes there are a few wise men. “The problem we, or rather, you, have now is that these daggers work like talismans. Every week an enchanter comes by the Brotherhood’s quarters on the Grandmaster’s order to give the positions of these daggers to him.” Obai blinked. He lost trace of Salfur’s story. “Hold on. Why would this Grandmaster be interested in the location of those blades apart from the fact they are precious and beautiful of course?” Salfur sighed.
“Let me explain it your way.” “The Grandmaster is like a Kingpin in a very wealthy and successful gang, this gang is the Brotherhood of the Hulk. Like the biggest gang in a city will run all the important scoundrel business there, the Brotherhood of the Hulk runs all the big merchandise and trade in the city coming from sea, but behind the screens. The only thing that betrays their members in open is the dagger worn by the higher rankings who have nothing to fear as the Brotherhood has deals with mercenaries and pirates for protection.”
A shiver went down Obai’s spine and a swat drop ran down his forehead. He didn’t realise that his little prize would steer his vessel into dangerous waters. “The magistrates, do they know about the Brotherhood?” Salfur laughed. “Are you serious Obai? Half of the council is Brotherhood! Their wealth and power makes them nearly invincible. Asaleth’s economics rely on Sea Haven to keep the war going and the mercenary vassals ran by the Brotherhood keeps the southern coast safe from any landings and a potential attack in the rear from the Feron Tribes.”
Obai swallowed. “So. My life is in danger right? What do they do to thieves anyways?” Salfur’s eyes twinkled like the lanterns in Sentinel. “They flay them with the very daggers like the one you carry with you.” A noxious feeling swept over Obai like the storm engulfed the city not long ago. He wanted to get rid of the dagger, but the potential profit he could make out of it was too big to ignore. “Can’t I sell it to you? I mean, you are a fence after all!” Salfur shaked his head. “No. I cannot. I’m afraid some of my customer are involved with the Brotherhood as well.” “There is however a solution to your problems my friend…”
Seawater spat up high in the wind like a hail of Shalerion arrows. Though the sailors did their best to level the ship as to cut through the waves, the hard wind made it a hard job as the sea was continuously battering down the side of the ship. The deck was slippery and Obai had a hard time keeping his feet down on the oaken planks while working his way to the back of the longboat towards the navigator and his contact on board. Obai had been helping the sailors rowing the boat forward, aiding them in their battle against the current and the wind. He doubted the grim looking and muscled oarsman would miss his strength though. You don’t need big arms to cut a purse or pick a lock, just nimble fingers.
Obai walked towards the man sitting on a sea chest, looking over a pair of charts on another sea chest. The man’s name he didn’t know as Salfur didn’t tell him. Obai knew better then asking it to this sailor. If Salfur preferred to keep information for himself, it was often better not to know. “Good Sir” he started the question he had asked every day. “How much further is it to whatever shore we are sailing to?” But this time, he received a different answer. “If the Gods want it, we’ll be there by nightfall.”
He nodded to the man expressing his thanks then looked over his shoulder where he saw another vessel sailing behind them, a vague shape in the distance. The old seaman had followed his gaze. “Do not worry, that are our allies, we always sail in pairs. It is an effective way to get more loot as well. We sail too far away from each other to be seen both by the same ship, yet when they move to assault our ship, they are too close to turn away when help comes in. A longboat is faster then a cog or a hulk.”
Obai grinned at the man. “No wonder you pirates are so prosperous these days.” The man grinned back to him “I recommend you to go back to your place and row the oar again. Time goes by as fast as a Feron raid when you put yourself to good use.” He nodded and walked back to his place between the burly sailors. He knew his strength meant little but at least the man was right and the time would go by faster.
It was a sound advice. Obai sighed in relief as the shore came in sight and slowly changed from a vague line on the horizon into sandy beach with a mountain range and a small bush-like forest in between, smoke raised from between the trees. “Obai! This is where you get off, it’s only the length of a knight’s spear so you can swim.” The hated laughing by the grim sailors thundering abroad told him otherwise, but the look on the man’s face made clear it was no joke they would stop here and go no further. Obai carefully repeated the instructions he received from Salfur to himself to see if he still remembered them all.
“Follow the path from the beach to the forest. Go to the burning pyre. Throw an azure coal in the fire. Wait for an escort to pick you up. Tell them you are a stranded sailor who seeks refuge. Make sure you don’t show them the dagger until they bring you to their leader.”
Obai repeated the phrase a few times to convince himself he would remember them then nonchalantly dived into the water. He was a good swimmer as the water always was a good place to hide when someone of the docks witnessed his nimble fingers in action. The water was chilling this time of the year, but the profit in sight awakened a fire inside him that all the water between Talera and the Central Continent could not douse. He felt the current was weakening, loosening it’s grip on his body, and saw the shore only a few yards away. After a couple of minutes Obai was able to feel the sandy bottom beneath his shoes sucking his legs down like a maelstrom swallowing ships, and he started stumbling through water in direction of the beach.
After confirming that the dagger was still behind the sash banded around his chest underneath the soaked layer of clothes, he walked to the forest and the smoke coming from there. After passing some kind of trees that he did not recognise he saw the pyre. Obai noted various baskets with some kind of coals in them in an azure, black and crimson tint. A beacon. Obai picked up an azure coal from one of the beacons and threw it in the fire. Immediately the fire turned into a blue haze as if Serathos’s ashes were used in some strange ritual to bring him back alive.
A horn echoed in the distance, stirring the leaves on the exotic trees around him. It seemed someone had noted the colour of the smoke changing. A moment later a group of men armed with spears glistering in the sun came moving toward the pyre from the base of the mountains. As they came closer, he was able to estimate their numbers, and to his surprise, he counted roughly hundred fully armed mercenaries marching his way! A drop of sweat rushed down his back. He forced himself to take a deep breath and stay calm.
As the group came closer Obai raised his hand as a greeting. Within a few seconds he stood in a wood of spears. One of the men stepped forward. “What brings you here? And speak honestly, or find your head burned in that pyre!” The man was taller then Obai, and he wielded his spear quite confidently. By his posture Obai judged he has been a mercenary for quite some time, he doubted about the man’s words for no moment. “I… stranded here.” his improvisational talent came of good use to make a believable story. “My ship went lost in the last storm along with most of it’s crew. It was a terrible day, we must have inquired the wrath of the Gods for some reason! As a piece of the mast broke off and dragged me into the water, I was saved from the claws of Serathos as I was able to drift along with it! Everyone else… died.”
The man took a close look at him the nodded. “I believe you. Your eyes sing the story as well. But tell me, how did you know to put a blue coal on the pyre?” Obai didn’t recall Salfur telling they would ask him this, but his guts told him he better couldn’t say. He looked at the baskets and to his fortune the basket with azure coals had fallen over into the direction of the fire, one of the mercenaries probably didn’t see it when walking backwards. “I didn’t. I accidently bumped into one of the baskets, one of the coals must’ve rolled in.” He pasted a think layer of drama onto it as butter on a noble’s bread. “Please spare me good Sir! I didn’t mean to invoke your fury or that of your companions!
The man laughed at him. “Whatever happened to you. May the Gods prevent it from happening to me. Come with us, we will shelter you until one of the supply ships comes in, they will bring you back to the Taleran shore.” Obai bowed thankfully. Like a beggar, he thought amused. After the man divided his patrol into two equal groups he left one half to cover their way back and together with Obai and the other half, started marching towards the base of the mountains.
This wasn’t just a simple customer, Odai thought while gazing over the wooden gates in the palisade, opening to let the group in. The gates were decorated with the same sign he had seen on the armguards of the mercenaries, some kind of rune he thought. It was a large encampment and the palisade effectively blocked of the only entrance in the pass. Obai counted a various dozen of tents, ranging from small huts to large domes where you could easily fit in a small house. All had one thing in common, the rune on their sailcloth walls.
After he ordered his man to stand down and take their rest he lead Obai to the largest tent, raising out above the others, standing on a slope. The tent was adorned with silver paintings and runes. At the entrance flap the man halted. “Inside you will find our Chief. He wants to meet all visitors in person, he has his reasons. Go inside.” Obai nodded and moved the flap aside. The interior was just as beautifull as the outside with dark wooden chairs and tables and stylishly woven rugs decorating the sailcloth floor layer. The camp’s chief turned around. It was an old man Obai estimated to be in his sixties. His eyes were red and bloody and the colour of his skin told him he didn’t have much strength to stay alive a year longer. He went pained under the burden of his armour.
“Aah. A stranger. My lookouts informed me the smoke turned azure.” And a hackling cough followed. He peered at Obai for a while before continuing. “Yes, the Captain was right, you are not one of the Brotherhood.” “That means you are welcome to stay here if you like and join us. We need all the help we can get against those filthy dogs only driven by greed!” His anger resulted in another volley of coughs and Obai thought he saw some blood spatter on one of the rugs. The man was lucky if he lived for another day!
“Tell me stranger. What brings you here?” the old chief asked. Obai gathered his courage and remembered the words of Salfur. “Forgive me for fooling your Captain but I’m here because of this blade.” Obai replied while he grabbed the dagger from behind the sash and revealed it to the old man. Suddenly, the Chief’s eyes widened as he stared at the blade. “NO!! They have succeeded after all this years?!” To his shocked surprise the man runs for a table to pick up a steel war axe from it’s surface. Just as he turns around to slay Obai a flaming arrow thrusts through the tent and hits the Chief in his chest! He ignites like a haystack in the summer and goes down screaming. “What by the Gods is happening here?” Obai asks to himself in shock.
Suddenly a whistling sound comes from outside and men scream as several more are hit by the feathered death. Steel clattering on steel follows as battle ensues between the surprised defenders and the mysterious attackers. Obai forces himself to think. He looks at the charred corpse of the deceased chief’s and his right hand reveals a signet ring on each finger. Obai’s scoundrel side quickly restores from the shock and pry the rings from the dead fingers. “Forgive me old man, finders, keepers.” He runs for the flap while the sounds outside come to a halt. It seems one of the sides has emerged victorious. Just as he wants to go outside to slip away, the flap gets moved aside, he is grabbed by the throat and a man holds him in the air. “My my, if it isn’t our little oarsman!” Obai opens one eye and stares at the grin of a bearded man. As he moves his gaze up he recognises him as one of the rowers on the longboat! “Sir!” the tall man shouts. “Look what I found here!” To Obai’s surprise, two men and a woman come in…
“Greetings Obai. May I thank you for your assistance, without you, we wouldn’t have been able to crush our strongest competition so fast.” a familiar voice greets Obai. Salfur looks rather odd in the armour, but it is him for sure. Obai looks at the other two and he nearly starts crying out of unbelieve. In front of him stand Salfur, the woman he robbed, the navigator of the longboat and his sailors.
“I am sure you want to know what is going on. You have always been too inquisitive Obai. But let me feed your curiosity for one single time.” “Your very first mistake was robbing Alahsia here. As soon she discovered her dagger was missing she contacted the Grandmaster. You might wonder how she did that so fast… You remember us talking about that enchanter? To be exact, it is more like an enchantress. Yes, I am talking about Alahsia. Without the dagger channelling her the energy she needs, she could only cast a minor spell. The Grandmaster received her magical cry and was quick to set up the plan. I was at the Brotherhood’s Quarters by then so the Grandmaster immediately set me out to the boarding house, where I was enjoying an ale and sweet roll when you arrived in the harbour.”
“You thought I still was the man I once was, but you have never been so wrong. I lured you into our scheme and everything was ready. I ordered Rhemtak here to prepare ship and take you on board. The vessel sailing behind yours was ours. We immediately set out to sea a few minutes after you did. On our trip over the open waters Alahsia had enough time to regenerate her energy. After we saw the black smoke change to blue she started scrying for the lost dagger, that is why it was crucial for you to carry it. We had a rough idea of the island their stronghold was on, but we didn’t know the exact location and we knew an open approach would take a lot of lives.”
“With help of the dagger’s signal Alahsia was able to lead us through the land, evading their war parties. And when you revealed it from underneath your clothes, we had already taken our position surrounding the valley, revealing the dagger intensified the signal though and then we were sure of the Chief’s location and we attacked. We only wanted to burn their camp and slay the Chief. All there supplies, loot and merchandise is stored here. When their war parties return they will find nothing but ash. Ironic, as it is the Ashrunner Covenant we destroyed.”
Obai couldn’t believe anything of what he heard. He felt betrayed. Tears rushed down his cheeks. He had been used much like he had used the hard work of Everwatch’s inhabitants. He didn’t want to die or anything. “Please Salfur! At least let me go, I did help the Brotherhood after all. Without me, you would still have the Ashrunners prying on your trade!”
“Poor Obai, so confident of yourself. You do remember what happens to thieves stealing from the Brotherhood do you?”
Time stood still for a second. Obai’s eyes widened and his heart missed a beat. He would die, and in a most painful way.
“Please, have mercy, by the Gods! Anything but that!”
“Forgive me Obai.” Salfur replied. “Finders, keepers.”
The wind battered the closed shutters. It searched for the smallest crooks and managed to sneak inside like a spy. It did not bother the Grandmaster. He seated in a heavy wooden seat adorned with leather to make it comfortable. A coat of arms pattern decorated the backside of the chair, showing a golden hulk. The wood crispers in the fireplace. The flames licking the blocks, leaving black trays on them before rolling back to raise up again. The light reflected on the golden goblet held in the black satin gloved hand. The wall was adorned with prices and trophies. All ordered at the best taxidermist in all of Talera. He gazed over the various animal heads and furs used as tapestries on the stone walls. His eyes focused on his newest trophy.
Obai’s skin would decorate the Brotherhood’s Quarters for years to come.
Thank you!
