Fable - Ask All the Stones and Kings of Old

[Rainer]

Rocks, rocks, where do they begin? Vehicles of inertia and energy? Perhaps a bit more. But how strange it seems that they mirror the energetics of life. Not unlike a child just torn from the womb, a boulder sits atop the mountain with as much potential as it will ever have. A strong breeze, a tremor in the slope, and like any catalyst, the potential is realized. Or it is not. It is a bit depressing when you think about it, I can’t deny.

That a creature never exhibits more promise than from the first moment their fluttering soul is plucked from the ether. And after a string of tumbles and disappointments, a life mired in the crack and clang of that down river tumble, what are we left with? A mountain withered to nothing more than a polished stone. A disappointment, veneered in the illusion that the trip down stream was worth the weathering.

Is that all that we are, you and I? And was it I that felt the misfortune of our collision, stricken down in reverence to gravity? Or was it you that suffered my presence, forever feeling the ripples of my guiding hand?

It’s a thing worth pondering…don’t you think?

It wasn’t any particular sensation that pulled him from the darkness. Rather, it was the rising amalgamation of different senses, converging against the fading tutelage of a would-be mentor, that drew in a sharp and abrupt breath. The semi-metallic pang on a predictable cadence, punctuated outwards from the ripples of a cavern-born water droplet against dimpled stone, stirred memories of a calm heartbeat. The distant crash of water in a tumultuous storm stood in almost perfect rhythm for the rise and fall of a chest. The warmth that flickered nearby, casting long shadows from stalactites against the wall, served as a cold reminder of something that seemed just slightly out of reach.

“Dat the plan, is it? Sleep all day while your old friend…” The sound of wood and coal shifting blotted out the noise of the nearby water droplet, falling to the floor. “...ah, I don’t know why I’m belly aching. It’s not like I can go anywhere anyway.”

Rain finally felt the weight of his eyelids after coming to and with considerable effort, the golden eyes lidded to a cavern, lit warmly by fire. It was a small but presumably protected cavern, having what appeared to be several stretches before extending to the entrance. It was there that the stone seemed to swirl in murky striations of obsidian and basalt as it stabbed outwards from the cavern mouth in jagged peaks. Based on the sound of the crashing waves against a shoreline, Rain assumed that it was a mild jaunt down from there and likely entirely vertical.

Across from him, a dark figure sat on rocks and tended to a humble fire. “You know how hard it is to dig a hole in a cave…hmm?” He pointed the smoldering stick at Rain accusingly, who was largely just a head with the remainder of his body buried under fresh wet sand. “Your kind has no business near water like this and you, more than most, should know better. With your recent...sensitivity.”

“I…” His mind felt addled, as if he were wandering through fog. “I’m not…I can’t remember why I’m here. Or what happened.” He was thirsty and the sound of the waves beating against the foot of the cave didn’t help.

“Oh.” The figure leaned back, free hand pressed against his knee. “Dats an easy one. I invited you.”

 

[Rainer]

We weren’t always this way, were we? I find the seams to be fading like grains of sand, slipping through my fingers. Where I end, where you begin, what parts will be left in the transition. Time, in how it’s measured, is now largely beyond me. But in my assumptions that such things still exist beyond the arterial prison you cast me in, I feel a silhouette take form from the body that once stood here.

I think I used to be a gambler, perhaps for leisure. If I still were, I would wager that when the dust settles on our little playground, it will be you that remains and my presence, all but vacated. But the fears. The fears I hope stay with you for all your nights. So when the strength of my offering rises within your chest, you feel the pang of all those doubts that held such power back. Otherwise, it simply wouldn’t be fair. To have my lineage’s benefit, absent the counterweights that contained it.

After all, life, and un-life, are always fair. Right?

Rain awoke to the sound of someone snapping their fingers repeatedly. As the world came back into focus, he realized it wasn’t snapping of fingers but instead the snap and pop of wet driftwood, warming in a cave fire.

“You back again? Hmm?” A smirk formed on the dark skinned figure, obscured by the undulating trespasses of the stalactite shadows dancing in the fire light. “Ya know…you used to recover from this little ceremony of yours a lot faster. Old age, maybe? Wear and tear, hmm? You never really escaped the lattice. You know dat, right?”

Rain rubbed the back of his neck, feeling raw skin, tender the touch. He had a throbbing headache and his clothes had seen better days. It was as if he had been dragged miles down a gravel road and subsequently thrown into the ocean. “Fairchild...I recall asking you to not do that.”

“Do what?” The man smiled again, wider now. A row of gnarled teeth with a single black canine at the corner of his mouth greeted Rain without solicitation. It was like watching a once well established cemetery, now turned dark through years of dilapidation, frame itself by chapped and sunburned lips. When Rain responded with silence to the question, the smile faded as he leaned forward. “Dat’s not how it works, is it? You don’t undo a binding with wishful thinking and preferences. ‘Sides, it’s helped more than once. Can’t deny that.”

“Fine.” Rain replied sharply. “Just stop reminding me about…”
“You’re late.” Fairchild interrupted. “And it has bungled everything. I was banking on you getting here in a timely fashion. Now…” He shook his head as he pressed the fire again. “We are veering ever closer to proper fucked.”

Rain sighed in frustration and inhaled deeply. Patting his chest, he withdrew parchment that was pulled down from the board posting some moons ago. Carefully unfolding the damp note, Rain read it aloud. “Pensive thoughts towards…” He blinked steadily as he tried to read the note. “Accreditation. We must convene on the place of bygone gulfs, a jaunt from the Crobhear…” Rain stopped and tossed the note at the man’s feet. “I remember now. That…” He pointed a finger at the parchment. “Is nonsense.”

“And yet, here ya are. Right time, wrong place. But nothing more than a rock in the punch bowl. We’ll just have to get creative.” Picking up the note, Fairchild hovered it over the flickers of the fire. As the water receded to the corners of the note, eventually evaporating outright, red symbols formed along the orange tinted borders, pinched between his rough worn fingers. “The instructions were there all along and some part of you, clearly not currently present, understood it. But by the looks of things, we’ll need some help now. The scheme has changed.”

 

[Rainer]

“You know I work alone.”

“You work alone? Nah, ya used to work alone. But lots changed since your tumble in the shallows.”

Rain did his best not to wince at the mention of that place. Buildings erected in the muck and mire, raised upon stilts and smelling of methane and lingering death. If he concentrated, he could still taste the black water, erupting out from his lungs as a stranger pulled him from the stagnant pool. He recalled the memory, like moments of light, flickering through the overstory during an afternoon ride.

Tower folk…where ya going? You don’t sound like you’re from the east…you’re not from here, you’re not one of us.

Who’s gonna remember you?!?

Sorry lad, orders from on high is what that is. Tell ya what though, I’ll flip a bit of shine…heads and ya hold ya breath. Tails and well…you’ll thank me for the whetstone.

Ya know what they say…a blunted blade is far more dangerous than a sharp one…

“If I’m not working alone, doesn’t make much sense to go over the details. Unless there’s value in the repetition.” Rain uttered as he moved a burning coal to another side of the fire pit. Fairchild responded with a sage nod. “Right, that sounds fair enough. Many more pieces of parchment paving the way. Though I’ll admit they are a bit less secretive.”

“Good. Where’s the meeting location?”
“I think you know where it is.” Fairchild responded to the sound of Rain sighing.
“That outpost is defunct. Has been for years, largely because of you.”
“Ya well…consider dis my bid to re-open it.”

Several days passed along the trade routes that connected many small towns and villages to the northern coast. At every village there stood a wooden post. Propped against the post was a board, smelling of sour wood and showing the marks of many bygone bounties and requests. The imprints of parchment, residue left by the singe of sunlight, had transformed each board into a partially sheltered collage of the faded woes and ailments often prescribed to unprotected communities that stood just out of reach of more regal protections.

It was at a center point between the last landing of Thiria and and the Kingdom of Garacross, where the coastline road dipped to the high tide lines of an angry and jagged shore, that stood a blackened tavern and inn just beyond the footprint of some nameless town. It was a multi-story structure, clouded in a persistent storm beaten haze and washed in the orange glow of lamps on every other window along the first floor. The moss and ground cedar of the trade path came to bare ground at the shoreline edge of the inn, quickly turning to a basalt stone cliff that plunged into the raging water below.

It was hardly what Fairchild would have conveyed as a quiet place. While the inn stood atop a precarious location, it was evident from the surroundings that it had stood the testament of many times. The clap and smash of stormy waves beat to the rhythm of humble music, resonating out from a partly opened window. Plumes of smoke rose from the many chimneys jutting out from moss speckled slate shingles, filling the air with the smell of cooking meat. And inside, a hunter sat at a round table across from a man with a black tooth and magic to match it.

Gannis

 

[Gannis]

Gannis liked a good inn.

This was not a good inn. Fortunately he liked the bad ones too. The watered down ale, the banter, the cheap whores and the tension that often erupted into wanton violence.

Gannis stood in the doorway. The inn smelled so familiar to the traveller. It wasn't busy enough for fighting, nor to attract cheap whores. It still had that scent that told him it would be a reassuringly cheap and watery mug of ale. A stew that had once seen the ghost of real meat.

"No dogs inside!" called the innkeeper.

"Than Dog will go in the stables."

"He'll frighten the horses. If you're taking a room he can stay there."

"Good," Gannis replied. He stepped inside and shut the door. Dog stepped inside with him. "Go sit by the fire Dog whilst I pay for a room."

Dog padded obediently and curled up by the fire. The innkeeper wasn't wrong. Dog could be soft as shit with people, but being the size of a small pony he could spook horses.

Gannis turned his ugly gaze towards the innkeeper and waited for any protest. None followed, so he wiped his boots and strode to the bar to negotiate the price for a room whilst dog dried out. He spared just a single glance for an old acquaintance.

Rainer

 

[Rainer]

Following the interaction, the Innkeeper gave a long glance to the man sitting across from Rainer. Standing up, Fairchild scooted out from the table and approached the bar.

"Kilet, put his stay on my tab please."
"But yer tab is already tree months overdue! Not to mention all the grog!"
"I thought drinking the grog was to pay back da tab? Are ya actually charging for this swill?"

Fairchild leaned against the bar and smiled at the hunter. "This individual and his beast are going to help with tab. Just you wait and see."

Kilet gave off a big sigh and jumped off his box. The dwarf proceeded to move around to the other side of the bar, collecting dirty cups.

"Names Fairchild Labode..." A hand pressed over his chest, adorned with a single golden ring. "You can call me Fairchild." He held out the same hand and smiled. "I believe ya already know dis one at the table...begrudgingly drinking this grog. Care to join us?" Fairchild looked over just as Rain took another sip from a wooden mug. He got the drink down in one gulp but not without wincing.

Gannis

 

[Gannis]

" 'course," Gannis grunted.

He offered Rainer a nod as he walked to the table and sat down. The venari was suddenly preoccupied with his pack.

He drew out some parchment, ink and a quill. Most people could neither read nor write. Those that could almost never looked like Gannis.

"Gonnna draw up a note," he explained. "Explainin' that the stay is provided and not a payment for a job well done. Whatever that job might be."

Everything had to be neatly bound in writing. Especially when the individual paying seemed to have a cash flow problem.

 

[Rainer]

Gannis received a nod in response as Rain set the nearly empty mug on the table. Sliding his chair forward, the hunter pulled a wooden plate from near the center of the wooden table. It bumped and rocked as he pulled it along, running over the uneven boards of the poorly constructed piece of furniture. Rain proceeded to turn the piece of bread over on itself, inspecting it, before dropping it back down to the plate.

It plinked and bounced, coming to a wobbling end. It sounded like a rock hitting a piece of dry driftwood.

"Eh, not a lot of trust, I take it. I'm good for it." Fairchild said through a slim smile. Rain chuckled and pulled out a book as well. Opening it, he pulled some ink and a quill from the binding. "That's a good idea actually. Details are important."

The gray haired hunter narrowed his eyes at Fairchild. There was humor in the sentiment but a heavy serving of truth as well.

"Well, I hope ya both aren't 'tending to set up camp at this table." He flung a thumb over his shoulder. At a dimly lit distance, there stood a heavy oak door framed and crossed in wrought iron. "For da matter of business, I'd prefer we spoke at length down below."

Rain leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "You know as well as I do that I can't go down there."
"Ah, always worrying aren't we." Fairchild leaned in, his voice lowering for just the table. "I had that binding modified. I'll explain once we are down there but rest assured, it takes into account far more than just what ya are. Intention. 'Sides..." He looked between Rain and the other traveler. "Need one of dose fancy coins of yours to get in..."

 

[Gannis]

Gannis used his left hand to flick the loaf of bread as he fished out ink. He had eaten worse. He had eaten worse on the road but expected better at an inn.

He narrowed his gaze as he looked at the door. Gannis preferred business out in the open where possible. Any time secrecy was required it meant politics and human matters. He preferred to stay out of those.

There were always complications.

Gannis looked to Rainer and started to nurse some concerns for what he was walking into.

"Fine. Paperwork downstairs."

Quill and ink vanished, but he kept a rolled up parchment in one hand to make a point.

"Dog," he called as he stood up.

 

[Rainer]

With that response, they weren't quite off to the races. But for all intents and purposes, their time at the crooked round table adorned by age old globs of burned wax was done. Fairchild cleared his throat and stood, gingerly pushing his chair back up against the table. "Well..." He uttered as he fished around in his pocket. "Feel free to gather your various accoutrements..." After rummaging around, he pulled a piece of circular metal from his pocket. On it, there were several keys of different shapes and clearly different purposes.

Rain stood, stowing the ink and quill and resealing the notebook with a bit of worn out leather. Placing the items in the satchel that hung just above his right hip and held in place by a cross chest bandoleer, he tightened the brass clasp on the satchel and gave Gannis a momentary look. As he offered a glance to Dog, Rain followed Fairchild to the door.

"Now lessee here..." Fairchild lifted the ring to eye level and began fingering through the various keys. "Now if I recall correctly...ah yes yes, there she is." Pinching a finger around a rusted piece of metal, he let the rest of the brass and metal ensemble hang from his fingers as he maneuvered the key to the lock. With a hard turn and the ache and groan of metal, resting for far too long, Fairchild pulled the door open with a significant amount of effort.

"Come on now...I'll need to lock it behind us." As Rain and Gannis entered the threshold, they were met with a series of stairs descending further into the cliff. The walls were damp and once roughly cut, through now stood smoothed by the passage of time. At the bottom, another door stood shut. But where the door behind them, now being closed by Fairchild, resembled something just barely birthed from the sawmill and lacking any decoration, the door below them was white, ornately decorated in gold leaf and tree patterns. Rain had always assumed it was crafted by an elf mage.

And around the door, the lower threshold was framed with raised edges, about an inch across. And within the raised edge, as if ensnared by shallow walls, a series of runes formed a barrier around the door.

"When was the last time that door was opened?" Rain uttered as he allowed Fairchild to walk passed them and head downwards.

"Ah, good question. Not exactly sure - not since dis outpost was marked for default I 'magine."

 

[Gannis]

Gannis didn't trust anyone.

He especially didn't trust anyone who needed to own that many keys.

Each step took them a little further down. The rock was smooth underfoot. Gannis liked boots with thin soles. He liked to know what kind of terrain he was crossing through his feet.

"Been here before?" he asked Rain as they descended.

Gannis kept a hand on the handle of the knife at his belt.

 

[Rainer]

“To the tavern, yes. To the Den…no.” He replied as they descended downward. Lifting his hands to his neck, he pulled the braided chain up and over his head, proceeding to wrap the chain around his fist. Between his thumb and finger rested a medallion, gleaming dully in the low light.

“Ironic, isn’t it…” Fairchild stood in a small alcove next to the door, arms crossing his chest. “To be welcomed to fight and hunt and nothing more.”

Rain passed him a glare as he approached the door. Along the right edge, where a door frame should have been, the recessed runes stood dormant. “According to Fairchild…” Rain began as he lifted the medallion and pressed against the recessed divot. “This protection spell has been modified. But back when this place was in operation…only untainted beings could pass this barrier.”

The door seemed to shift, dust falling from the seam between the door and the cavern above. Along the runic trough that bordered the door, lilac light poured out from the recessed divot as the runes began to fill and characterize. While it was obviously light, it had more of a fluid appearance, filling one rune to the brim before proceeding to the next. After some moments, the entire frame was enshrined in the purple hue as the doors groaned once more and opened. Orange lights came to life within, revealing furniture and alcoves and recessed rooms, gleaming with equipment. Without stepping inward, Rain got the impression that the underground room was much larger than what he had anticipated.

“I feel no resistance against the barrier…” Rain stated confidently, glancing at components and sigils nested within the runes.
“Neither do I…” Fairchild replied to Rain as he smiled, stepping through the passage.

He had forgotten that aspect of Fairchild. It was easy to assume the man was simply a merchant, steering political discourse to meet the goals of his trade. It made it even easier to underestimate him. Such was his preference, unassuming demeanor for a witch doctor who formerly served as Warden of Crobhear.​

 

[Gannis]

Untainted, Gannis thought to himself. In his travels he had seen small villages beyond the borders of kingdoms and the greatest cities. There wasn't a great deal of what he would call 'untainted' out in the world.

"Magic never lasts forever," Gannis muttered. "If someone hadn't changed it, would have ended on its own one day."

He glanced around the edge of the door. He could feel a sense of the magic, but it made itself fairly obvious with the eerie shade of light.

"Oh well," he muttered, stepping forwards.

He gave a shrug after taking two steps without being eradicated by a magical trap.

"Huh. What the fuck was all this for?" he muttered.

From the size and shape of the rooms it might have once been barrel storage. To his left one long corridor branched into alvoces on either side. The nearest table was covered in paper and small instruments. Some of them had been connected by the webs of spiders that had long since died.

"Fuckin' creepy."

 

[Rainer]

“It was once an outpost for the Noct Yaegirs. A staging point and resource for hunters chasing monsters along the Gulf of Ryt, when turning back to Crobhear was too severe a trek…” Rain replied as he stepped through the threshold.

“It was quite a bit more than that…” Fairchild replied as he found the wooden table at the entrance location to the den. By Rain’s estimation, this was what served as the strategic room and the alcoves, sub rooms, and halls formed by stacked boxes, led to various tools that may have been available to the Yaegir's at one point. “Quite a bit of research and cataloging happened within these cavernous walls. But a story for another time…”

Leaning over the table, he pulled a leather bound scroll holder off his shoulder that Rain was certain didn’t exist a few minutes ago. Pulling off the cap, he withdrew one large scroll which was filled with other documents. Rolling out the largest, it was a map that showed the major placeholders on the Gulf. From peppered locations related to small steepled villages on the coast, to locations like the Erca’Ryt trading company cavern extent, to the location of the walled city-keep of Garacross. Setting a few dusty items against the corners, he extracted another piece of parchment.

One that seemed a bit fresher than the map. Under inspection, it detailed a festive event occurring within a week's time at Garacross

“Several weeks ago, I contracted Rainer to intercept a shipment that was in a caravan between the seat of Thiria and Garacross…”
“You absolutely fucking did not!” Rain responded as he approached the table. “You left a stained parchment on a random board babbling about bygone gulfs and jaunts to Crobhear…”
“But we missed our window.” Fairchild interjected, seemingly ignoring the comment from Rain. “And now we are behind the tide…the things you were contracted to intercept are now deep within the belly of Garacross…”

Rain knew very little of the location beyond the fact that the city-state was well insulated from the outside world. Pressed between a mountain ridge and a tumultuous cliff, facing perpetually angry waters, it was located well and resilient against the surrounding politics and economic pinch points between import needs and export deficiencies. It also helped that it wasn’t particularly centralized in terms of easily acquired resources.

But it was a place of rumored debauchery, overtly decadent customs, and seeming excess. At least, that was the case for those of the upper class.

“The fastest route between two points is a straight line…” Rain uttered, irritated with how Fairchild was going about this conversation.
“Based on my intelligence, that caravan was transporting a batch of Purson’s Apples…ferried by an Archmage from the Tundra across the blighted sea and blightlands.”​

 

[Gannis]

“Quite a bit of research and cataloging happened within these cavernous walls. But a story for another time…”

"Hmm," Gannis made a small noise that didn't give much away. He would have been interested to know what knowledge they held that was not in the collections to Venari kept.

“And now we are behind the tide…the things you were contracted to intercept are now deep within the belly of Garacross…”

"Hmm."

This time the noise gave away far more. He had strong opinions on contracts and letters of work that were unspecific in their requirement. Chaos led to disappointed customers and - more important - less coin for him to spend on ale and whores.

“Based on my intelligence, that caravan was transporting a batch of Purson’s Apples…ferried by an Archmage from the Tundra across the blighted sea and blightlands.”

"Garacross is a big fucking set of walls against a cliff with guards who don't like ugly cunts like me walking around with swords. You want to grab a bag of apples from the city you might want a merchant. And yeah, magical fuckwittery normally counts as something I end up cleaning up, but after it's got loose and not when someone is deliberately moving it around."

"So I'm figuring you got more to a plan than this to work up?" he asked, almost hopefully given Rain's description of the last letter he received.

 

[Rainer]

“A big fucking set of walls…” Fairchild repeated somberly as he nodded. “That’s an apt description if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Oh I’m sorry…” Rain piped up, standing up straight and crossing his arms. “Have you not met Gannis? He’s nothing if not full of apt descriptions.”

“I’m seeing that now.” Fairchild nodded again as he looked towards the map. “I can’t speak to the intentions of Archmage or his predilections. But…”

“But you’re worried that they’ve figured out a way to activate the homunculus seeds hidden within Purson’s apple and you want our help to avoid finding out whether that’s true?”

“Hmm…yeah, that’s close enough.” He pulled out another scroll and uncoiled it. “The Erca’Ryt trading company was contracted for a delivery of rare seafood for the festivities. Mostly shellfish, caught fresh and delivered on ice. However, they have agreed to sell the writ to us and any delivery clearances associated with it.” Fairchild slipped the scroll over for Gannis and Rain to inspect.

“You two are a bit too…scar ridden to pass for standard accompaniment for a festive party like this. However…I think you’ll do just fine as contracted help for preparation of…” Fairchild seemed to be conjuring words from the ether. “Emerald abalone. Uhh, tell me Rain…how are your chef skills with preparing a cream linguine?”

Rain side eyed Gannis before turning back to Fairchild. “This seems like a shit idea. But the Archmage changes the conversation. Is it true that those seeds can be used on the dead?”

Fairchild shrugged. “Better not knowing if you ask me.”​

 

[Gannis]

"Apt descriptions," muttered Gannis. It wasn't a phrase anyone had used before. Foul mouthed and disrespectful were the usual suspects, but he appreciated the turn of phrase.

Fairchild shrugged. “Better not knowing if you ask me.”

"Always another fucking archmage who wants to try and end the world, in a stupid way," Gannis grunted.

He turned the writ around and skimmed through it. When so few people could read and write, mistakes were apt to happen. The stamp was either real or a remarkable forgery. Either would do for the guards.

"Fish means the guards won't go digging around to find our swords," Gannis reasoned.

"Sword might not be enough. We get to the shipment. Which I'm hoping ain't so big. Them we dispose of em quick. But are we dealing with the arch mage just to make sure or only if he's already got the apples?"

"Wizards cost extra. Always a fucking headache."