Fate - First Reply The Mask of Zarin Eviric

[Arnor Skuldsson]

CATACOMBS OF STAGKEEP, THE SPINE

ONE WEEK AGO...

​

The thieves were not from the Spine, far less from anywhere remote of Stagkeep. Stagkeep, of course being one of the smaller, but still bountiful holds in the Spine. Named for it's numerous game population, Stagkeep also had a violent and sad history, as most places in the Spine did. Hence the catacombs. But the catacombs were also not only where the foul ones were buried and kept, but also where their treasures supposedly lie along with their bones.

Enter, the thieves.

Two dwarves, a human and their leader, a long-lived Elf who had made quite a living off the thieving business, for quite some time. The Elf first discovered the existence in a dusty tome in a dusty tomb, and set out to find it. Stagkeep was the first stop, the band of travelers having a cover story of scouting for a new mining location from Belgrath.

They eventually found their entrance to the catacombs- after all, Stagkeep wasn't exactly a town bustling with life or industry, and only covered it up as best as they could. Their distance and their location off-the-beaten trail had been their deterrent, and most Empires and the like kept away from Stagkeep. No point in owning it, or claiming it. Too many mountains and not enough roads, and the tribute and tax wouldn't be worth the cost of garrisoning soldiers in the remote hold.

The Catacombs was exactly as described in the old tomes from a bygone era, wrack with skeletons and warriors of old wars. Stagkeep had been near a sight of a great battle, one of the earlier battles that eventually lead to the development of Belgrath. The Skeletons were mostly Dwarven, however, the adventurers were not stupid. Old gold and ancient relics usually brought more questions than answers, and questions brought authorities. It was helpful to have a specific goal in mind when plundering old tombs- and they had one. Far in the west where the forests turn to sand, mages sought magical items of a darker nature to research, possess, and possibly control.

One such thing was the mask of Zarin Everic. By all accounts that remained of Zarin Everic, he was a cruel, conniving, and vile man. Everything about the man was cursed, from the date of his birth to where he was finally slain by a now-defunct Templar order. The details were lost to history, and the tomes that the Elf found were at best, hazy on the details. First-hand accounts were mainly lost, and only hearsay and legends remained. But the legends did speak a truth- the mask that Everic possessed. It was said to be a deal with ancient demons and gods, that he would feed them souls and they would grant them their power through the wearing of the mask. All who came into contact with it were supposedly seduced by it's power, and thus the cycle of violence to obtain or possess it would continue to power it with their souls.

What exact power the mask gave the wearer was also a mystery, if anything. It could have been a tall tale told by Everic to frighten his enemies.

The Elf pondered all these things while his Dwarven companions used mechanical tools and explosives to pry open Everic's tomb. And there he was, clutching that mask still in his cold, long-dead fingers. The Elf was the first to grasp it, yanking it from his grasp. The Elf could only smile, glancing down at the mask, wondering just how much the bidding would start at....

It was a shame, however, that he did not feel or hear the human's blade leave it's sheath at that moment...

NOW...

"Here's your stop, Nordsman."
​

Arnor turned to the leader of the hunting party, extending his hand in a friendly shake, adjusting the reins of his great horse. The hunt had lasted quite a while, and the party had graciously lead him to a source of work in exchange for help tracking the larger game- bears.

Naturally, Arnor had some reservations about hunting bears, but they weren't exactly kin here. Back home, well... maybe. Potentially because you were hunting your cousin or someone out for a stroll and not an animal.

Pelts and teeth and bones were a valuable commodity to some, and bear fat was always used to some degree in cooking, alchemy, and building materials. Animal fat had plenty of uses, far beyond what Arnor was knowledgeable about. He had stopped in Stagkeep a few times- the tall walls and warm fires were a welcome change to the heavy snow and bitter winds after a long hunt or a long trek on the road. Only this time, Stagkeep's doors were closed. He kicked Rhi's side lightly, encouraging the great horse to approach the door.

A guard peered over the side.

"Gates closed, Nordsman."

Arnor frowned.

"I can see that." He curtly replied, tightly gripping the reins of the horse. "What business have you here, Nordsman?" The guard asked suspiciously, and Arnor pointed to the rear of his horse and the saddlebags, chock full of... animal bits and pieces. "Trade." He said, staring up at the figures. "Alright, well. No funny business after the past week." Arnor raised a brow, and the doors slowly swung open on their large hinges, and Arnor dismounted Rhi, and lead the horse inside.

After stabling the horse and selling off most of the bear parts- Arnor took to the time to head to the local tavern, one of them at least. The Jagged Elk was more fitting to visitors and hunters, while at the other end, The Stag, was more for the locals. Both were happy to take your coin, but the Jagged Elk had more beds and more to offer. The Stag was where one went to drink, the Elk was where one went to stay.

Both were owned by the same family. The sister, Eritia, owned the Elk, and the brother, Almorus, owned the Stag. Eritia greeted Arnor with a warm hug after he entered through the door. "Been a long-time, Bearman. Good to see you're alive." She smiled at him, pecking him on the cheek politely. "Last I 'eard, you was captured after that awful raid on Belgrath." Arnor grunted, nodding. Not a pleasant memory. She patted him on the cheek. "Just missed my 'usband and the little ones. They'll be happy to see you." She said, beckoning Arnor over to the tables closer to the fire.

"Come at a bad time, Arnor. Strange things afoot. Things that no folk thought would happy to us, no sir." She said, shaking her head. Arnor took a seat by the fire, looking up at the woman as she fetched him a mug of mead.

"What you know about curses, Nordsman?" She said, half-pleadingly.

"Enough." He said, after taking his first long sip of the night.

"I think we got one o' 'em runnin' 'ound 'ere."

Arnor stood silent for a moment, before taking another long swig.

"Fuck."

​

 

[Bezza Kullgar]

Before, when the young warrior departed from Belgrath towards Alliria, he was unaware of the portal stones. Their convenience and brevity in shortening travel did not register upon the Sensate's mind. He endured the long and arduous journey by traveling with caravans, and it served him well in the long run. He developed broad knowledge and skills from fellow travelers through earning coin or keep. In turn he shared his findings with others, discovering a unique benefit in making acquaintances. He rarely wished to keep in touch beyond a brief encounter. Most cordial goodbyes were never pursued further. But when he did find that individual, letters were written in earnest and sent with haste. He did his best to pinpoint his whereabouts so return letters could find him.

The Adventurer's Guild had many Halls scattered about Arethil, and many cities gladly hosted their members. As unsung heroes for the everyday man, their penchant for justice and order was invaluable to many, rich and poor. And with portal stones conveniently placed in the most prominent cities, traveling from one guild hall to the next did not take serious considerations. It was never a smooth transition, and there was a lingering uneasiness in the teleported soul. But one could not deny how excruciating and dangerous some paths could be, if not circumvented by the stone's proffering. One simply had to see the wanted poster and allow conviction to stir, and the portal stone's proximity would be readily used.

It turned out to be the case for this wandering warrior, whose curiosity got the best of him as he perused the wood-carved bulletin. There were many troubles afoot in the locale, and they posted brief messages for aide. At times it seemed the dangers were overwhelming, with varying degrees of intensity. Yet there was security in the madness; guild-members would never be short of work and pay, unless fate stole their final breath.

At first, Bezza was not swayed by any plea. Golden eyes calmly brushing over wanted posters, prize money, and other various rewards displayed. None stuck out, none struck a chord within him and garnered deeper thought. Some jobs were steady and regular, being posted about once a week or so to any short of coin. Others were far beyond the warrior's pay-grade. He wasn't going to needlessly endanger himself. Then there were others where serious debate arose: were they truly looking for help, or was there a deeper reason to the posting? Perhaps he thought too heavily on the subject, but it deterred him all the same.

It wouldn't matter long, for the Sensate's last name sounded in the main guild hall. He turned expectantly, golden eyes sharpening as they landed on three vaguely familiar faces. Uncertainty deflated through a sigh as he recognized the approaching trio: the Annenvois sisters and their cohort, Meisu Dugan. The eldest Annenvois sister held up a wanted poster, waving it back and forth as she sent her fellow guild member a sly smile.

"Kullgar! I'm looking for a fourth member before departing to answer this poster. Perhaps you'd be interested?"

The platinum blonde held out the poster to the Sensate, who took it and skimmed over the demand. An experienced party (one slowly being formed, as it seemed) to look into a mysterious creature haunting a town in the foothills of the Spine. He could not help his eyebrows jumping at the reward stated below, split equally among the party answering the call. And the price was not cheap, either. In his particular case, the wares would last him a month in essential goods. The human women and the male elf waited patiently for an answer, one way or another. Kullgar handed the poster back.

"Are you and Vera going to last long in that sort of weather? Extreme temperatures are risky for you two."

"We'll be fine, Bezza, not to worry! Annelise and I have plenty of thick layers to wrap up in. Besides, Meisu's been practicing his pyromancy."

"Ah. Convenient." Bezza's gaze shifted to watch the elf shrug nonchalantly. Apparently he didn't mind it. Another brief pause gave way to his answer, "Let me gather my things and see if I have the appropriate gear. I may need to stop at a local shop to purchase thicker hides."

---------------------------------------------<<<<<

Going from humming warmth to stripping cold was as much a shock as the lingering nausea. The group shivered madly inside and out, and one excused themselves to eliminate their lunch. When all recovered enough to tarry on, they assessed their gear, snuggled into their animal pelts, and continued down the path. Dugan, the richest member of the party, used a map purchased from a close friend in the Cartographer's Guild, a fancy one which did not wear and tear with everyday use. He became their guide while Annelise appointed herself leader, delegating Vera and Bezza to dual guardianship. It was not uncommon for the elder Annenvois to take the reins, as she had experience to back up her actions. Bezza had no reason to oppose her anyhow. She informed the group about her findings as they traveled.

"We're looking for a place called Stagkeep. Well known, but well-hidden. They're one of many territories along the Spine which suffered heavy damages during the sieges and battles of Belgrath."

"Ah, right-" Meisu voiced. He was a lore-master in his own right, centuries of existence by his side- "I remember reading of it. One of Belgrath's foundational skirmishes took place at Stagkeep, if I recall correctly."

Vera smiled at their elven friend, enamored by his quick recollections. Bezza was focused on more practical and immediate knowledge. He wasted no time in replying.

"Any particular landmarks to look for as we near this place?"

Meisu pondered, folding the map between two long fingers to rub his chin with his free hand. "Well, there are catacombs nearby, but not close enough to link the two together. We will have to have fortune on our side."

Bezza let out a huff through his nose. That was the last thing he wished to hear. Eventually they located the gates to Stagkeep, closed and locked with guards stationed outside. Perhaps their string of misfortunes created paranoia, and the guards stationed at the gate were there for protection. They stood tall and firm, scrutinizing all who crossed their path. Boots trudged along packed snow as they witnessed a horse and rider enter the gates following a brief discussion. Vera jogged up to her sister and inquired a new concern.

"What if they don't let us in, Annie?"

"Nonsense, Vera. Once I brandish the wanted poster they'll open the gates wide. You'll see."

Her unwavering confidence was equally inspiring and worrisome. Greeting the gruff guards put them on edge. They were not too keen on the group's boisterous nature. However, Annelise's experience proved she had knowledge of the working world, as revealing the wanted poster dramatically changed the encounter. The guards seemed surprised and thankful someone had answered the call, even if the prospect seemed hopeless. The four man group was allowed to slip in, one of the guards staring down the younger Annenvois a bit longer than he planned. Oh, how Vera reveled in that.

It was by this point that the cold was sinking in, felt deeper than the skin. It permeated the bones and rattled the nerves of the group. Finding a nice tavern or inn to sit, rest, and plan would be good. Annelise and Vera were particularly frozen, a negative side effect of their bloodline's magic. Meisu garnered the attention of a local and inquired about a local in. With short exchange, the citizen recommended the Stag and pointed them in the right direction. Thanks and well wishes had the group on their way, and before long they arrived at the tavern and inched the wooden door open.

It was clear strangers were in their midst. The populace present at the tavern turned and looked with various intent. Some with judgement, others with curiosity, most with uncertainty. The vocals died down as the four took up an empty table near the back corner of the floor and sat down. They spread out their map and began discussing the next course of action. When one of the Stag's waitresses addressed the table, they ordered a round of warm ale and warmer soup. Something to ward off the lingering chill.