Private Tales Sanctum of the Arcane

[Nere Ashorn]

Ask any academic worth their pride in Alliria and they would tell you that there were no magic institutions in the archipelago swamplands of Bayou Garamarisma, nor had there ever been.

Ask the locals, and they'd tell you a different story.

Long before a sort of magical black market settled into the Crossroads, there was the Sanctum. A college of the magical and arcane, a place where brilliant minds could come and forge their own paths, outside the influence of kings and gods. Of course, that didn't take off. No one now speaks of the Sanctum, save as a backdrop to campfire tales. Some terrible accident had set the Sanctum adrift decades ago and cast it out over the ocean.

A convenient mist, or sometimes an unending storm, made it so that the Sanctum was impossible to find. All ships who sailed near it were dashed upon the shoals. All that valuable, revolutionary magic lost to time, unrecoverable. Or so the story went.

Nere wasn't sure what made her think of the old children's tale as she unrolled a beaten-up navigation chart. Must have been the scenery. Behind her, the shallow-bellied boats her father's men used were grounded ashore. It wasn't clear whether the terf she stood on was a swamp, or a shoreline. Either way, the predominant texture was a fine, silty grey mud. It was the sort of mud that proved firm one step, and then softened into a deep squelch the next. Some of the new recruits were having trouble navigating it, stumbling over the crates of supplies they were unloading from the boats as they tried to power through it.

A more experience crew member had already thrown down wood planks against the soupy ground and created a workable space in the mud. Table, stool, navigation charts and a swinging oil lantern hanging from a stark metal-tipped hookpole graced the space.

Nere took full advantage of these small luxuries as she poured over the map of of the southwestern curl of the Bayou. Her palms were pressed against the table, fingers splayed out to frame the chunck of islands she was surveying. The brackish waters of the map were riddled with inaccuracies, whole islands missing and hidden ports purposely left unmarked. Craftily made patches show where boundary lines had been drawn and then drawn over again.

"We're lost," Nere announced, breaking the bustling silence of work around her. It was not an uncommon occurrence in the Bayou. No one on the regular crew looked particularly disturbed, as they went about setting up camp.

The young merchant's daughter lifted a finger and waved over one of her men. He set down his load and trotted towards her, muddy boots squelching against the wooden platform. "Artrip, put together an expedition team. We'll go in the morning and scout a path back to deeper waters."

Artrip nodded dutifully and turned abruptly around, only a few steps away. "AYE, you heard the young miss!" he shouted out at the crew. Some gave miserable groans in acknowledgement. "We're needing some volunteers! Any you who can brave the swamps, step up!"

 

[Zakarias]

A pole dipped into the still waters and the long body of the shallow hulled canoe cut through the mucky mire. The pole came against the bog floor, sunk into the silt, and Zakarias pushed along. Bells of brass chimed soft, and soft, and bright as the jester worked long arms and long muscles in a steady row. Push. Lift. Drop. Row.

Frogs croaked, and chitin creaked out chirps as translucent wings beat hundreds time against the air.

Breath rushed through slits and seals opened in his garb, and all the smells that hung so thick along the surface filled large lungs that gave breath to a large frame. Out went Zakarias' breath, a whoosh, audible and loud against the natural din of life that sang around them. "Just lovely, isn't it?" He said, his voice high and sweet, as if caught in a fancy. "Such sounds, such sights, and" his voice turned low and rumbled with glee. "Such smells!"

Drop. row. Push. Lift.

Silver eyes burned bright as stars in that dark behind his mask, and Zakarias set his sights on his companion. "Tell me, Sin," he asked, menace there beneath the surface of his mask. "Have you ever seen a place so placid and pure?" he laughed small between his words. His voice came hot, bright in a flash. "They try! Sins, oh how they try," more little laughs, tittered hee and hee. "But this land will not let them," he rowed harder, not faster, but with more force. "It just..." his eyes grew wide and wild as he dipped the pole in the waters and bent down low from his knees, the canoe's weight shifted back, so deep was the ground he had to crouch to find its face. "Swallows them up!" he near shouted as he pushed the rod off and sprang straight up, set the craft to rock and splash.

A chuckle. Soft and warm. He slowed his row.

Push. Lift. Drop.

 

[Laico Zhu]

There was always a measure of regret whenever one took a contract as a mercenary. Laico had experienced it for a variety of reasons and the location was often one of them. He considered himself a well-traveled individual but he had only been to the Bayou once before; the reason for this had become very apparent. It was clear to Laico that he was not the only one that was having a similar experience. He was hardly a sailor but the mercenary had certainly fared better than some on the journey to the Bayou. Eventually they did make land, but it did not turn out to be where they initially intended from what he could tell.

Laico could only shrug as he stepped on the muddied shore. The contract had stated it was nothing more than a simple walk-along, even if it was down in a swamp. Probably soil his boots but the pay should make up for that. He had a good sense when it came to avoiding jobs that sounded better than they were. This caravan had a good rep for getting this done clean.

There would certainly need to be a bit more cleaning when all this was said and done.

Burnin might be more accurate, the mercenary thought to himself.

The call for volunteers came out not long after the landing. Laico looked around and saw the efforts to set up camp among other things. Being a mule was safe but also godsdamned tiring.

"Count me in," the mercenary called out.

 

[Sin Derage]

"Don't talk to me, clown," Sin hissed through his own misery.

He'd never liked boats, or ships, or water, or plants. He had been born in the desert, and that was where he belonged. Not in this shallow pit of hell that he'd found himself crossing with a strange, self-obsessed demon jester. He didn't know how a place could have air that was so thick and heavy. The heat didn't bother him, but the humidity stifled his ability to think. At moments along his journey he'd thought to simply catch the whole thing aflame.

Rid the world of this godforsaken swamp and its foul life. Of course, the strange companion that he'd found reveled in it. Sin had not yet ruled out the possibility that Zakarias might be the incarnation of eternal suffering. Sent from the gods to annoy him to death.

When landfall did come, it was neither soon nor solid enough for the liking of the mage. The mud hissed and sucked as he rid himself of the small canoe that they'd come here in. Perhaps the swamp would do him one favor and swallow him up, so that he could be rid of this terrible place.

He prayed to the gods that this lost college was worth it. When one of them asked for volunteers, all he could think was that there was the slightest opporitunity to rid himself of the clown for a short while.

As such, he volunteered, "I'll come along."

 

[Nere Ashorn]

Artrip blinked at the masked man who'd just arrived and the at-least-relatively-normal-looking sellsword who'd volunteered. Had that little dinghy been part of their fleet? Well, no matter.

"Ah, alright," Artrip responded, a light surprise tinting his voice. The dark-eyed sailor kicked his foot against slick planks and scrubbed his nose with a thumb. "Damn, easier than usual," he muttered far under his breath. He looked up at the two once more, recovering from his surprise and putting on an air of confidence. Other members of the crew avoided that hardened gaze, shying away deeper into their camp chores.

"Company will take care of the rations, and you get double rates for expedition time. We'll leave before dawn. Make sure any other gear you need is ready by then."

With a sudden focus, Nere looked up from her map and stared straight off into the distance. "Does it feel... mistier than usual this evening?" She asked Artrip, though with the small crew and her central location, practically everyone could here.

A thick fog had gathered around them all of a sudden, blanketing the water and ground alike with a dampening roll of grey. Air that had once been hot and muggy was now becoming cool and muggy, condensation forming on the coarse grasses that peaked out of the mud.

"Not unusual, this time of night," Artrip reassured his charge, but it was unusual.

 

[Zakarias]

The canoe struck soft squishy earth. No. Muck. Muck was more appropriate. It struck soft squishy muck, and Zakarias glared down at Sin. "Excuse me?" his voice burned low as embers. "Did you not hear my question?" he hopped after the man. "I demand answers! Oh," the crew moved about, weapons readied, packs strapped. "Oh, yes..." he kept the fairing pole, rested it against his shoulder as he leaned back, and squinted with pleasure.

He remembered this one. The one with magick knives and all sorts of other tricks stamped upon her flesh. Though he had made sure she had forgotten him. There in the dark, beneath the moon and the stars, he stood, staring at their party gathering forward.

He did not pronounce his presence, but he did step forward, smiling wide and hungry beneath his mask as the mist swirled about them and covered them in its silver shroud.

 

[Laico Zhu]

There was a commotion only moments after Laico had volunteered himself for the scouting party. The mercenary had heard another also put his name forward but quickly understood why it had been received by some scrutiny. Laico was not sure what to make of the masked pair, if they were even companions at all. He sensed a measure of menace from the one who looked to be a simple court jester. The mercenary had been in this business long enough to know that normal folk didn't wear masks, regardless of what they were about.

Laico thought it best to keep to himself regarding those two. Why tempt fate?

He had noticed the sudden change in temperature but otherwise said nothing. This was not his land, and he assumed if this was unusual that others more familiar would make note. Laico just needed to hope his boots would stay intact in the days to come.

 

[Sin Derage]

"You're excused," Sin replied offhandedly, as he moved forward, "Perhaps you should try to act... natural from here on out, though, Zakrias."

A few sidelong glances were thrown his way, but most rested firmly on the Zakarias. As it should be, the man was a mystery and he probably didn't mind the attention. It would be odd for a jester to be shy, of course. Although, odd would be a light term for his companion. From what Sin had witnessed, he was skilled in magics and that was what had prompted him to follow this fools errand.

Now, what they were going to do in this group of mercenaries was anyone's guess. However, he had a feeling that they could get closer to his goals with this group. Once they were no longer useful, they'd be easy enough to depart from, or dispose of. Whichever came first.

He wasn't very accustomed to the level of mist in these parts of the world. At this time of the evening, nor any other. However, it did seem like the temperature had fallen much quicker than he'd expected. A soft sprinkling gathered on anything that would allow it. He felt something uneasy on the wind, and he had a feeling that this was the correct path.

 

[Nere Ashorn]

The morning was dark, no stars shining through the thick mist that had settled in over the night and not yet left the Bayou shores. A handful of crewmates were milling about, groggily cooking breakfast on fires lit defiantly against the damp.

"Get up, get up ye vagrants!" Artrip shouted loud enough for the whole encampment to hear. "Volunteers, this away!" He had one boot propped up on a crate while the other sank a few inches into the morning mud. The old sailor waited until enough of the team had gathered.

Two of Artrip's fingers flashed up in front of his face. The second of the fingers was but a nub of flesh. "Two rules in the Bayou. One," he waggled his intact finger. "Don't follow any funny lights, especially away from the group. Two," he waggled the stump. "Don't get bit by anything bigger than a mosquito."

Nere was nearby. Hands were folded neatly behind her back, and she was somehow not sinking into the mud despite her heavy-booted posture. "Right then," she said, much of her spunk from last knight drained out of her complexion. She hated introductions like this, never knowing how much to say to hired men who only half knew her. "Let's get to it."

---

The young paladin strode ahead of the party, whacking her way through the thick underbrush. The 'expedition party' had been at it long enough for the sun to rise, though it hadn't gotten much brighter. The heavy fog and the twisting overstory of the trees ahead took care of any light that might have trickled down from the blue skies somewhere far above.

For the first time since departing, Nere raised a hand and signaled for them to stop. "Something's ahead," she said, low and hushed. "It smells like decay."

"Miss Ashorn, no offenses intended, but it always smells like rot this far South," Artrip replied much more casually from behind her.

Nere didn't budge. "Not what I mean," she whispered more frantically. "Decay like magick that's expired."

Far ahead, in a reedy clearing free of underbrush, something could be seen moving across a solid strip of land. A flash of blue in the distance. An eerie light rippling across the ground, moving in a way that a creature might, with many grasping limbs.

 

[Zakarias]

All bodies came to a halt, and Zakarias, who's red horns bounced and chimed with each of his long steps, walked on ahead, toward the front of their order, the faring pole rested atop his shoulders, like some yoke where his wrists did rest.

At the mention of magick, expired at that, Zakarias stopped, near to the older man with his missing fingers. His nostrils flared and he took in a lungful of stink. "Putrid," he said, happily. "Absolutely vile," he nodded and agreed. Bells tinkle tinked.

Dark was the wilds around them, and quick was the light which crossed in the distance. Blue and otherworldly. For what glowed blue in the world of men? Bog lights and wisps, the will of long dead and those who had been changed by the swirls of ley and magick that coursed through the lands.

Hungry still, Zakarias stood above them all, and watched for the flickers of light that danced along the reeds and the rush. "Maybe we send a scout forward, hmm?" he suggested, mischief behind each syllable.

 

[Laico Zhu]

The mercenary was especially groggy this morning, something about the swamp air. Fortunately, there were only a few words before they set off; quick and simple. Half the sellswords here wouldn't even remember that much. Most of his peers weren't exactly academically inclined, Laico included. He wasn't overly fond of being bit by some diseased insect so he vowed to remain extra vigilant.

There was much tedium in the initial hours until there was a signal to stop. Laico could make out the vague blue glow in the distance. The voice of the clown drew his attention back to those present.

"Thought old half-finger said not to follow the strange lights," the mercenary remarked. "But far be it from me to deny your curiosity," he added, gesturing casually towards the light.

Laico had decided yesterday to avoid the eerie jester if possible, so much for that. The mercenary suspected he was going to regret his words in the near future.

 

[Sin Derage]

The blue light that flared up caused an immediate firing of his senses. Sin had not the inclination, nor the subtlety to fully understand the breadth of the magical residue that lingered in these decrepit climes. It was something old, something far removed from his ability to unweave. He'd remembered an old memory of something that smelled similar. It may have been his own, but he wasn't sure.

Those memories were like snow in a pond. Lost to the greater body that it now possessed. Changed and distorted until they could not recognize their own essence any longer.

"Perhaps a light of our own would help," He muttered to his companions, as he tapped the end of his spear to the ground.

The light that burst from the spear tip was bright enough to push back against the fog for some ways. It scattered and split amongst the fog, but oddly enough the fog seemed to resist the sudden conflagration. It seemed to become thicker after the initial burst, condensing around them to obscure a full view of what lingered ahead of them.

The stench became stronger, or so he thought.

"Old magicks, indeed," He muttered aloud, "I would not volunteer for such a venture, on my own."

 

[Nere Ashorn]

Both Artrip and Nere watched in abject horror as one of the mercenary men lit the tip of his spear up with magic.

"No, damn it!" Artrip called out, though it was terribly too late. "We'll be seen!"

In the forward distance, the wisp of blue stopped its path, lighting up the ground around it with deceptive clarity. It turned its head towards them - yes, it did have a head... too far away for its features to be understood, but the pinlight twist of movement distinctly neck-like - and flickered decisively. Then, it went out.

Artrip drew his cutlass, a curved and cold piece of metal. "Fool mercenary, now you've gone and volunteered us all," he growled out to the masked mage. "You just lit up a genteel invitation to every magicked spirit in this swamp."

With a calming hand, Nere waved his wrath away. "Enough, Artrip. He couldn't have known."

The old sailor nodded. He lowered his weapon, and his voice. "Stay close, ye lot! We're playing by the wisp's rules, now."

Nere pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her belt. Rolling up her sleeves revealed the dark latticework of runes on her forearms. "Ignis fatuus," she breathed as she stepped forward down the path a few feet. "Old sailors say they mark the spot of ill-gotten treasure, the ghosts of the robbed tattling on their thieves. Older sailors warn of ill-met deaths at the hands of mischievous spirits."

A dozen cloaked wisps alighted around them, in every direction. They each wavered and danced, cool blue licks of fire padding against the moss, begging to be followed.

"Only one will guide us true." That's what the legends said, anyway. She'd never actually outran a wisp circle, before. Nere kept that bit to herself. She tread a circle in the moss, taking a hard look at the lights, before turning back to face the group. Her hands flopped out in a helpless gesture. "Anyone care to guess?"

 

[Zakarias]

Eyes of silver starlight narrowed glad. "Oh, yes, I care to guess," out curled a long and gloved finger. "Pigeon come pigeon go," he did not hide the thrill that pulled tight the chords of his voice. "fly on high fly on low," each syllable of the old rhyme had his finger point to a new specter, to a new body that did glow. "When you perch, all should know," the bob of his long stretched point slowed. "Pigeon come," he looped his arm wide, "pigeon go," and his finger stopped on one of the faceless blue lights. He smiled wide as he swayed and jerked and moved about. "There!" his voice was a happy hiss as the blue specter went on jigging in his eye. "That's the one," he picked up the pole and stepped with long legs toward the blue light he had chosen.

Into the fog he went. Toward one of the twelve wisps.

 

[Laico Zhu]

The situation seemed to have gone from bad to worse in an instant. Laico watched as the old sailor drew steel and decided it would be best to follow suit. He his sword-staff was now ready at hand should there be any action. The mercenary was still hoping the older man was simply being paranoid, as sailors often were. Still, Laico was very much out of his element in this veiled muck; why take chances?

He was quick to notice the runes that covered their party-leader's arms. It would seem there was at least one among this group to whom he could relate. This reassured him to a certain extent but anxiety returned upon the summoning of the wisps. Laico generally preferred to keep a healthy, respectful, distance from the arcane. The gods clearly did not care for his preferences on this particular occasion.

"One in twelve," he muttered to himself. Laico was a poor gambler but even he did not like these odds.

Laico watched, nonplussed, as the jester chanted utter nonsense before making a confident declaration.

"Please tell me someone else has another suggestion?" pleaded the mercenary.

 

[Sin Derage]

"This whole place feels like a series of tombs waiting for corpses. How was I supposed to know which one I'd trip into?" Sin lamented as Zakarias made a series of confused gestures and chants off to the side.

The wisps display seemed like a grandiose and elaborate way to lure them into a trap. He had a feeling that no matter which of these trails they followed; it would undoubtedly end in ruin. This place didn't seem like some kind of riddle to be solved. It seemed like a street vendor trying to grift a few coins off of some ignorant pedestrians. His souls were worth more than a few coppers, though. He wouldn't succumb to the angry spirit of a restless occult without putting up a fight. He'd turn this whole continent into a pyre if he had to.

While he was tempted to suggest going a way completely distinct from one of the wisps, there was Zakarias with a suggestion. He'd been with Zakarias for some time, and though his methods may be theatrical beyond belief, there was some sort of method to their madness. He was reticent to trust the old fool, but he had no better plan.

"Well, I haven't the foggiest. This magics just giving me a headache." He begrudgingly put his staff in the ground to follow the clown as he added, "Plus, Zakarias might be odd, but he does have the nose for these kind of things."