“I can’t do that in my full kit yet,” Emlyn explains, “but I think you can imagine it, with both my blades out.”
“That’s what you meant by running up a wall,” Atres says, shaking himself, “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anyone do that.”
“I don’t know that I’d want to face someone who came at me like that,” Benger says.
Nodding in agreement, Kethas adds, “It would certainly give me pause.”
Brarazo grins at Emlyn, “I think that deserves a toast. Come, let me buy you a pint.”
Everyone decamps to the tap room.
Deep in a cavern under the Clan Rune Axe Bank in Harito, a seldom-used door creaks open. Four men come through it, armed to the teeth. Heavy armor, shields, axes, hammers, and a spear complete their ensembles. Their wide stance, shorter stature, and flowing beards mark them as dwarves. The adornments in those beards mark them as some of the highest-ranking members of Clan Rune Axe. First to step through is Otrin. His dark hair and beard are oiled and adorned with wedding beads, clan beads, and multiple achievement beads. Dark eyes flash with a bit of anger as he takes in the state of the entry.
Broad-shouldered and square-jawed, Otrin wears coppery colored armor that gleams with a soft, polished luster. A layered copper plate, accented with a filigree of red gold, is etched with the tale of his bloodline from shoulder to heel. A mantle of black bear fur drapes from his pauldrons, and his high-crested helm is adorned with fire-ruby inlays. Across his broad chest is a golden clasp shaped like a rising forge flame, a symbol of Umir, the God of the Forge Fires. He carries a spear, forged out of what looks like gold, but engraved with a few of the artificer’s runes.
Gramin’s hair and beard are auburn, still un-streaked with grey. His hair is long and braided up with bronze clasps. His beard is lacking wedding beads, but his clan beads and achievement beads are on display. Gramin is tall, almost towering by dwarven standards, and barrel-chested. Gramin’s armor gleams with interwoven gold and electrum runes, each one a protective ward against blade, fire, and malice. His breastplate bears the insignia of Umir, and an axe, the size of a human torso, hangs at his back, carved with ancient script that pulses faintly in the dim light. He wears a circlet of silver embedded with a glowing amber gem, and a cloak of dusky velvet trails behind him like falling ash.
Vorlig’s hair is chocolate brown and plaited simply, tied off with a leather thong. His beard sports wedding beads, clan beads, and multiple achievement beads. A tiny thread of early grey threads through his beard, though it’s carefully hidden. Vorlig’s armor is the legendary mithril overlaid with runes set in frost-iron. His plate is trimmed with ancient bones taken from creatures of the tundra. His gorget bears the snarling visage of a winter wolf, and one of his pauldrons displays a cracked sigil of Umir, where blow broke through the armor and it was mended. The other pauldron is still whole. His cloak, stitched from thunderbird feathers, shifts with a breeze no one can feel. On his back is his war hammer, Silence, and artificer’s runes shimmer on its shaft and head.
Loket’s golden blond is hard to miss. Twin braids run down either side of his head, clasp in beads marked with the clan sigil. His beard is also adorned with wedding beads, clan beads, and achievement beads. Loket’s armor is embossed with golden runes that flicker faintly, as if lit from within. His breastplate bears the flame sigil of Umir, flanked by twin hammers. His cloak is deep violet with a border of rune-threaded silk, enchanted to shimmer like firelight on ore. His axe, named simply ‘Last Thing,’ hangs on his back.
Otrin thumps the butt of his spear dismissively and grumbles, “Can’t they sweep up once in a while?”
Loket laughs, “At least the door wasn’t blocked.”
“We’re not crawling over storage crates this time either,” Gramin points out.
“Who looked up the accounts?” Vorlig says, “Complain about the housekeeping later.”
Otrin checks the message, “Vadmeni.”
“Then let’s find this Vadmeni,” Vorlig says.
Otrin nods, and the men head out of the storage area, looking for the bank manager. In short order, the men are ensconced in the bank manager’s office. Otrin is leaning on his spear. Loket lounges against a wall. Vorlig stands with his arms crossed, waiting. Gramin has opted for the bank manager’s plush chair.
The bank manager hurries through the bank and finds Vadmeni in the middle of assisting a customer. “I’ll take over for you, Vadmeni,” he says smoothly, “while you go deal with that business in my office.”
Unsure of what’s going on, Vadmeni makes her way to the bank manager’s office and opens the door. She’s surprised to see four of the Clan Fathers of Clan Rune Axe. “Was that you who checked on some Cymry House accounts?”
Uncertain of why the Clan Fathers are asking, Vadmeni nods cautiously.
“Will you tell us what prompted you to check them?” Loket asks.
“There was a girl who came in - human,” Vadmeni explains, “She sold some jewelry, and the amount she received was fairly large, from one of our existing customers. I persuaded her to open an account with us rather than try to carry that sum through the city with only two guards. When she filled out the paperwork to open the account, I noticed that the seal she used to stamp her signature belonged to House Terfel. I offered to initiate the process to validate her tattoo and grant her access to the House Terfel accounts, but she declined. She asked me to check the other Houses’ accounts to see if anyone had claimed them since the Culling. I had the impression she was hoping for other survivors, so I looked.”
“What did this girl look like?” Gramin asks.
“Red hair, green eyes, slender, tall-ish for a human. She wore gloves the entire time. As she was leaving, she allowed one of her guards to be far more familiar with her than a girl from any of the Great Houses would ever have permitted. He put his arm around her, and she didn’t object at all. I wondered if she was an impostor since she also refused to allow us to validate her tattoo.”
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“Did she say why she sold the jewelry or where she got it?” Otrin asks.
“I believe one of her guards mentioned something about buying a horse. I saw a transaction on that account from one of the horse dealers later on. As for where the jewelry came from, I couldn’t tell you, but I can provide you with the name and address of the jeweler who made the purchase. Perhaps he would know more. I can also arrange for a carriage to take you most of the way. The Street of Jewelers doesn’t allow anything but foot traffic for most business hours.”
“Did she mention where she might be staying or living?” Vorlig asks.
“She did not.” Vadmeni replies.
Thinking for a moment, Otrin nods, “Your offer of a carriage to take us to the jeweler would be most helpful.”
Pausing for a bit to give the Clan Fathers directions to the store once in the pedestrian area, Vadmeni exits the office and goes to arrange a carriage for them before returning to her duties. The four heavily armed men make a bit of a stir as they exit through the lobby area of the bank, but the bank manager ushers them out and into the waiting carriage. The carriage pulls up and deposits them at the entrance to the pedestrian area.
“Gah!” Loket says, “Human cities just spread out and out. Never up or down.”
Vorlig makes a shooing motion, and the four dwarves set off to find the jeweler. Using his spear as a walking stick, Otrin follows Vadmeni’s directions. The crowd parts, giving the heavily armed men a wide berth, and soon enough, they’re standing in front of the shop.
“Hmm,” Gramin says, “Look at the sign. This is a Clan Grim Beard shop.”
Otrin pushes the door open, and the shop girl’s eyes go wide.
“Da!” Astridir calls, “Some of the Clan Fathers from Clan Rune Axe are here to see you.”
Thorvar peeks out and goes to pull mugs of ale. Returning with five mugs of ale, the dwarven greeting ritual begins. Once the greeting is done, Thorvar tells Astridir to close the shop, lock the door, and join them.
“You bought some jewelry yesterday from a red-headed human girl,” Otrin says, “Can you tell us about that?”
“One of my contacts in the King’s Guard brought her here to sell it,” Thorvar says, “She claimed it was spoils taken from some bandits. She was delighted to find out that dwarvish here is the same since human language isn’t. We spoke in dwarvish most of the time, but she didn’t seem concerned about those with her overhearing. It seemed like she wanted to because she could. She was familiar with the greeting ritual and clearly understood our customs. She said she’d learned the dwarvish tongue in a Taig but got hedgy when I tried to find out which one, so I didn’t push the issue. We negotiated for a while over the sale and the pricing of some items she wanted to have made. She’s apparently under contract to the King’s Guard and plans to put her hair into the traditional Cymry war braids when they force her to wear their uniform. The only odd thing was that she kept her gloves on, even for the salt and the bread. Astridir chatted with her friends while we completed the greeting ritual. Perhaps Astridir knows more.”
“Did you get the impression that she might be an impostor?” Loket asks.
“Not at all. She carried herself like she was from one of the Great Houses. She spoke Cymry.”
“She said her name was Nia ferch Hayden ap Rhys,” Astridir supplies.
“That’s not right,” Thorvar says, “Not with that red hair. She was Cymry, but if that girl’s name is really Nia ferch Hayden ap Rhys, I’ll eat my boots. Who was with her?”
“Atres formerly of Clan Valkis, now of King’s Guard, one of the dragon-blood in the King’s Guard and a blond fellow, I don’t recall his name, but part of her cohort of paladins at the Temple of Morrighu.”
“Dragon blood?” Gramin asks.
“Some handiwork of the local mages long ago. For the mages to have dragon abilities in a more convenient form that could use doorways, ships, carriages, and the like, they created the dragon-blood clans by merging dragon abilities into humans. Atres’s clan, Valkis, is known for their amber-gold eyes and their abilities to sense the future - prophecy, predictions, and premonitions.”
“Hmm,” Otrin says, “I can see where that might be attractive to a Cymry girl even if he’s not Cymry. Those kinds of abilities would be considered an asset to the family line.”
Astridir laughs at this, “Atres would be attractive to most females, even without his abilities. When you see him, you’ll understand. I even find him fairly attractive, even though my tastes tend to run to shorter men with fabulous beards.”
Grinning, Astridir tweaks Gramin’s beard since he’s the only one of the four without wedding beads.
Gramin grins back and winks, much to the other three men’s amusement.
“If you are looking for this girl,” Astridir says, “I believe that they’re staying at an inn called The Sleeping Gentleman since their Temple is not due to reopen for another tenday or so. If the girl is not there, you might ask for Atres. He was clearly besotted with her, and he would likely know where to find her. I’ve never seen him behave so with any other female. Since a retired King’s Guard owns that inn, it’s a popular place for the King’s Guard to gather, and any of them are likely to know where Atres might be found or be able to reach him. He’s rather well-known.”
Grinning at Astridir, Gramin nods, “Thank you for the advice. Once we’ve settled this business, perhaps I could come back here, and we might speak a bit.”
Astridir preens for a moment and replies, “I think I would quite like that.”
“Come on, lads,” Gramin says, “We need to get a move on if I’m to carve out some time for the lovely Astridir.”
Rolling their eyes at Gramin, the four men depart. Once again, the crowd parts for the heavily armed men, and the carriage driver pulls up. Soon enough, they’re standing in front of the establishment, which looks reputable. Otrin pulls open the door to a scene he wasn’t expecting.
A rather large man with amber-gold eyes, clearly Atres; a blond man who must be the paladin Astridir mentioned; a red-haired girl with her back turned; and a few others. One seems to be the inn’s owner.
Kethas looks up and sees the four battle-ready dwarves at the entrance and calls out, clearly in good spirits, “Oiy! What are you lads doing? Come to invade my inn?”
Suppressing a grin, Otrin steps forward as the red-haired girl spins around. “Umir’s Beard!” Otrin exclaims in shock, “Is that really…” then he notices her frantic hand signals and stops himself.
Switching to Cymry, she says, “Byddwch yn ofalus beth rydych chi’n ei ddweud. (Be careful what you say.) Dydw i ddim yn ymddiried yn pawb yma. (I don’t trust everyone here).”
A quick nod toward Brarazo, and Otrin blinks in understanding before asking, “Ble mae’r lleill? (Where are the others?)”
Emlyn sighs heavily, “Mae tri wedi marw. (Three are dead.) Mae tri ar goll. (Three are missing.) Nid ydym wedi gallu dod o hyd i unrhyw beth. (We haven’t been able to find anything.)”
“Ydych chi’n meddwl bod y rhai sydd ar goll wedi marw? (Do you think the ones who are missing are dead?)”
Emlyn shrugs eloquently, “Nid wyf yn gwybod beth i’w feddwl. (I don’t know what to think.) Rwy’n gwrthod rhoi’r gorau i obaith heb brawf. (I refuse to give up without proof.) Mae popeth wedi bod mor annhebygol, mae unrhyw beth yn bosibl. (Everything has been so improbable, anything is possible.)”
“Well, Girlie,” Otrin grins, “Why don’t you introduce us to your friends?”
“A bit of my old life has arrived in Harito,” Emlyn grins, “To meet the new life I’ve started to build for myself.”
“Kethas of Clan Rothe, Benger Bevis, Atres of Clan Valkis, and Brarazo meet Otrin, Loket, Vorlig, and Gramin of Clan Rune Axe.”
Emlyn hugs Otrin, “Gods! I can’t believe it’s really you.”
“We’re really here, Girlie,” Loket says, patting her on the back.
Brarazo, sensing a private moment, leaves with a promise to return another time.
Kethas flips the sign and locks the door. “Let’s start over, shall we?” Kethas says, “Maybe not Dwarven proper greetings, but better than that.”
Otrin laughs and nods.
Boltir's Atres Watch
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Current Count: 10 "Possessive Stares" and 1 "Jaw-Drop."
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Observation: "Atres’s jaw hit the floor when Nia ran up the wall. He said he’d never seen anything like it. Of course you haven't, you lanky guard! That’s Cymry grace! But notice how quickly he goes from 'awed' to 'suspicious' when Otrin shows up? He’s scenting the competition. He knows the dwarves have arrived, and he knows we’re much better at holding a tune—and a grudge—than he is."
Boltir's Paperwork Protest
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Official Entry: Entry Log #402: Unscheduled arrival of four armed individuals via the Rune Axe Bank sub-sector.
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Boltir’s Correction: "REWRITTEN: 'Four legendary warriors emerged from the depths like gods of the forge to greet the Star of the Storm Crow.' Also, why are we logging their 'wide stance'? It’s called a 'battle-ready foundation.' I’ve crossed out the guard’s description and replaced it with a drawing of a lute smashing a pile of paperwork. Much more accurate."
Boltir's Tip Jar
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Current Jar Total: 50 coppers, a wedding bead (stolen?), and a very small keg of ale.
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Boltir’s Plea: "Nia is hugging Otrin! She’s crying! My heart is in pieces, kin. If she’s going to be emotional, it should be over a ballad I wrote, not because some old friends showed up. Toss a coin in the jar! I’m saving up to buy a 'Cloak of Instant Appearance.' I can't wait eighty more chapters. I simply can't. Leave a review if you think Nia should have run up the wall and then stayed there until I arrived to help her down!"