[2004/07] Treaties in Stone

[Ziv]

[turbine]

Event Page at Turbine

Leafdawning, 15 P.Y.

Quoted Fiction at Turbine

Thunder shook the hall. Niarltah paused mid-stride and looked toward the nearest window. Outside, trees bent toward the ground in honor of the wind that threatened to tear their roots from the ground. Further down the hall, Muldaveus' booming voice drowned out the roar of the wind. The Lugian was still howling about their defeat at the hands of the Isparians.

Niarltah was more concerned with how the Isparians had come to know that they were meeting with the Burun. They had taken several precautions in releasing the information of that meeting and still the Isparians arrived within moments of the treaty's ratification. The Burun had taken the assault in stride, leaving when called upon to retreat; then the ill-tempered Burun, Morgluuk, had taken his leave. Torgluuk remained behind to discuss the further implications of the treaty.

Torgluuk was proving a quick study of the languages of this world. He had learned the common tongue of the humans and was beginning to learn the intricacies of the Lugian language as well. However, the Tumerok language was beyond the Burun's capacity. Too often the Burun's inflection would make the words take on an entirely new meaning. Niarltah had asked Torgluuk to refrain from speaking the Tumerok language, as he had asked Muldaveus two years prior. They had all settled on the common language of the Isparians. Though they despised the creatures, the Isparian language was simpler. Plus, there was no loss of pride when someone mistakenly butchered such a base tongue.

At the moment, Torgluuk was on the other side of the door at the end of the hall, a patient audience to Muldaveus' childish rant. Niarltah glanced back to the storm and shook his head. How long can the tree bend before the storm shatters its spine?

He approached the door and pushed it open.

Muldaveus took great strides before the fire, his shadow dancing along the wall like a giant caricature of himself. Niarltah smiled in spite of the Lugian's ramblings and outbursts. Torgluuk was stoic in a dark corner, preferring to distance himself from the flames. A squat mushroom on the floor before him gave off a soft blue glow. Small trails of spores trailed from the fungus and made their way to the Burun's head. Torgluuk inhaled the spores into a series of holes on the top of his head and the side of his mouth. Niarltah wondered what the fungus did for the Burun. He had tasted the fungal bloom and was not aware of any changes in his own body. Priests and shaman had asked the spirits what the purpose of the spores was and learned nothing.

As he closed the doors behind him, Niarltah looked to Muldaveus and motioned to a stone slab that served as the Lugian's chair. Torgluuk scooped the fungus from the floor and hopped to the table where Niarltah was sitting.

"Where is your brother?" Niarltah asked, looking pointedly at Torgluuk.

"We look for other places where our race is trapped," Torgluuk replied in his croaking voice.

Niarltah nodded as Muldaveus began, "What now? How did they learn of our plans? I want answers and heads!"

Niarltah calmly turned to the Lugian. "We'll have answers when we all start to remain calm." He stared at Muldaveus for a long moment. The Lugian lowered his eyes and gave a resigned grunt. Torgluuk seemed nonplussed by the short disagreement. Niarltah wondered if the alien creature noticed the staredown at all. The Burun gave no indication that the temperament of the discussion had unnerved him.

Niarltah smoothed his bandoleer, leaned forward, and began the nightly conference.

****

Finn crested a hill and checked his pack. His food was running low and his water supply was nearly gone. The journey had taken him a great deal longer than he had planned.

"Well Finn, you're the one that said no using item magic," he chuckled at his personal joke and took a piece of bread from his pack, placing it on the back of his shield. The air whipped in from the north and the stench of death weighed heavy on the wind. "North of here is no good. That's the valley they keep talking about at the mansion. You're having a hard enough time finding your way through the Direlands, no reason to go looking for death there."

He looked up at the sun and removed his helm. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped his hand across his brow to clear the sweat before it fell into his eye. He turned the helmet over in his hands and placed it on the ground, using it as a makeshift seat. Scooping up his shield, he settled in for a light lunch and took a bite of the dry bread.

"At least it's a nice day, Finny." He said to himself as he munched happily on his food. As he swallowed he felt a tremor, minor at first, then growing in intensity until it knocked him from his helmet to the soft sand beneath. "What on Dereth?"

He clamored to his feet and watched as the sand from a nearby peak tumbled down toward the flatter sand dunes. He could hear a bubbling sound, like water being displaced. He knelt and took his helm up from the ground, turned it over to empty the sand and then slid it onto his head. The ground shook again, less violently this time, and he grabbed his pack and strapped it across his back. A groan sounded about him like stone moving against the earth and then the world became silent save for the sound of rocks and sand sliding down nearby slopes. Taking up his shield he set about finding the source of the tremor and the sound.

"&and they said I was crazy for making my way around Dereth without the use of portals. Well this wonder is all Finn Skigg's, ladies and gentlemen. All mine, indeed." He began to walk to the south and east where he thought the tremor originated.

He hadn't traveled far when he caught sight of the valley crested between four spires. The interior of the valley was lush, green and verdant. Trees stretched out of the valley and supped at the edge of what appeared to be a fetid pond. But this was not as surprising as what stood in the water.

Stretching from the dull blue-green pond was a building like none he had seen before. It protruded twenty—perhaps thirty feet out of the water and bore a resemblance to the Empyrean buildings that were scattered across all of Dereth. He looked at the back of the building and was struck with a great sense of wonder. He took a step toward the valley and found himself looking for purchase on the shifted silt of the landscape. The loose gravel and sand failed to support his weight, and he tumbled forward. He came to a sudden crash at the bottom of the pit. The taste of blood filled his mouth and his head felt fuzzy. He struggled to right himself and stretched his legs out in front of him.

He undid his pack and placed it on the ground beneath a nearby tree and organized his thoughts. "All right, you fell in. Not a problem. There's bound to be a way out of this place." He began to scan the valley for signs of egress as he rose to his feet and dusted off his armor. Everywhere he looked, he saw steep walls that would allow no purchase, and his eyes kept sliding to the enormous structure that dominated the center of the valley.

"Well, Finn. What now?" He walked toward the structure. "I say we walk up those steps and see what this place has to offer."

He strapped his shield to his arm and withdrew his mace. Tentatively, he made his way to the steps that lead up the front of the building. Time had worn away much of the intricacy and stonework along the walls of the structure but it was still soundly intact. The smell of rot and swamp were unmistakable but he was beyond fear at this point. Curiosity drove him further up the stairs and to the crest of the first level. His eyes caught the glint of something shining on the edge of the structure, just at the top of the next stairs. He slid his mace back into his belt loop and started upward.

As he took his first step he heard a sound that froze his heart within his chest. It was the sound of suffering given voice, the sound of death claiming another victim and yet, not giving that victim absolute release. He wheeled and tried to draw his mace but it was too late. A leather bound hand cracked him across the jaw and broke teeth free. He crashed to the ground as a foot slammed into his ankle, snapping it as he fell backwards. His sight went white with pain and he fell hard against the ancient stone. As he looked up he saw a head, bound in leather swathing, lean toward him and breathe stale air from a vertical slit in what should have been a face. He felt something slip between his ribs and then the spiral whirl of portal space overtook him.

****

He rubbed at his arms as he made the final turn and looked inside his new home. Age was finally catching up with him and though he knew that his time was limited he wanted to make sure that he could still achieve the glory of his youth. He dropped the stock of the crossbow against his leg and pulled the string taught against the latch. He rested a bolt into the runnel and brought the weapon against his shoulder. In the distance, he could barely make out the silhouette of the target he had placed. He narrowed his eye and let the bolt fly.

He watched as the bolt sailed through the air and slapped into the dust a few feet before the target. He let out a grunt and wandered inside, disgusted at himself. At least he still had his secrets to share. Nothing to do now but wait. They'd come&he'd made certain that they would.

[Ziv]

[turbine]

Rollout Article at Turbine

Fanzen San walked quietly back into the Hebian-to library. He had spent the better part of a week traveling along the shores and inland areas of the Vesayen Islands. He was tired and worn out from a long, yet fruitful trip. The trip had been something that he meant to do for years now, but time had never been in surplus. But recent events, witnessed just outside of the city, had given him a reason to venture out into the wilds of the island.

He returned to the confines of the library a little wiser and little better worn for his efforts. He knew that others would follow his steps and would be pleased with his findings.

[Ziv]

[turbine]

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