Open Chronicles Toil and Trouble

[Urberus]

Bayou Garramarisma

Crossroad Mire​

A portly man stood on one of the “roads” that led into Crossroad Mire from the docks. If you could call it a road. He snorted to himself and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. Gods it was hot here. The “road” was a set of wooden planks propped up on stilts driven into the silt so as to keep it above the swamp water below. Gerald supposed he should be thankful for the distance it put between his feet and the muck as he could only imagine the numerous, nameless diseases lurking in its depths. Still, it stank like a bloated corpse and he had to alternate between wiping his forehead of sweat, clutching his kerchief over his nose, and swatting away the absurdly massive bloodsucking insects incessantly seeking to get their overly sharp proboscises into the thick, juicy girdles of his neck.

At last he heard a thump, thump, thump. Wood on wood. A hunched figure hobbling on a knobby staff, its butt striking the wooden planks of the jetty as he ambled down one of the stilt-perched streets of Crossroad Mire.

“Thank the gods. Another minute out here and I think the bugs would have eaten me alive,” Gerald snorted.

The old orc looked at him with that curious expression he always wore. Equal parts mischievous, less-than-lucid elder and kindly grandfather.

“Ah, Gerald, it is good to see you again. Good to see you. Alliria has treated you well, I see?” Too-bright eyes took in the man’s white-ruffle sleeves beneath a floral patterned burgundy tunic and the floppy, large beret currently in fashion in the grandiose merchant republic.

Gerald opened his mouth to chuckle and almost inhaled a beetle. “Egadz,” he spluttered. Urberus only smiled and fell into a shambling step beside him.

The many satchels and pouches hanging from Urberus swayed with his steps. On his shoulder perched a strange, diminutive creature who seemed to be some sort of monkey species. No doubt a rare find from the Ixchel Wilds. It leered at Gerald with open malice. Gerald grimaced.

“I trust the visitors have begun to arrive?”

“Some, yes. I expect more are on their way. The invitations went out as you requested. Sealed and anonymous, but with just enough magic imbued in the pages to interest the receivers. By the by, the pages, I meant to ask-“

“Velum,” said Urberus simply, gaze straight ahead.

“I see, of course.” Gerald dabbed at his forehead, remembering the thick, yellowed pages that felt... not like velum. “Of course”

The monkey reached out a paw and tried to grab his handkerchief. Gerald swatted at it with one hand. The monkey screamed, mouth open wide, teeth sharp and vicious.

“Chime,” said Urberus sternly, “behave.”

The monkey went quiet immediately. Gerald took several flustered breaths while he planned the best way to drown the tiny bastard.

“Sorry, Gerald. The room is prepared?”

“Yes, Maester. Plenty of seating.” Gerald opened the door and Urberus stooped to hobble inside. The interior was still dim, even though a chorus of candles sat in braziers and chandeliers. A circular table sat at the center of the large room.

“May I ask-“

“Thank you, Gerald,” said Urberus, kindly, but with that glint in his eyes that made Gerald nervous. Then he shut the door behind him and in Gerald’s face.

 

[Mukbar]

The vast distance of corporeal reality was nothing to the vast oceans of time and Xarrall, High Priest of The Parting Rivers was no stranger to either.
His undead countenance preserved by the embalming rituals of his ancient long dead priesthood he floated above the walkways accompanied by his entourage of Shattermouth and Whisper.
His right hand held a sword of black stone on which were written many runes of pain and death and his right held the ritual box adorned with spells of banishment and hate.
The gold that decorated his neck and arms was luminous against the dull of the swamps grim colours.
Below the waist his robes of ceremony flowed to a point just about the level of his feet.

Gerald approached as much as he dared.
"The Master awaits Lord Xarrall. Please follow me to... Ugh... Agh!"
The fix of the ancient hollow eyes upon him brought the feeling of cold death to his lungs. Arresting his speech and was followed by a voice like wind on frozen sand.

"Don't ever speak to me!"

When Gerald was freed he gasped for life's breath and pointed, rubbing his aching throat towards a simple but neat hut allocated for Xarrall.
Without stopping to think on Gerald again Xarrall floated along to the small building.
He had never spent time in one this would be nice.
Shattermouth and Whisper waited outside while he entered alone.

Xarrall was greatly looking forward to this meeting.

 

[Urberus]

Urberus looked up from the candle he was examining to see the floating mummified remains of the first arrival. He did not appear startled by the sight, which only made sense, given the invitations he sent out.

“Ahhh, welcome. I am Urberus, I see you’ve already met Gerald. What may I call you?”

The old orc held up a finger.

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

He produced a rather large piece of velum from one of his satchels and spread it out on the table, then set a well of ink and a quill beside it. The ink well was red.

“Please sign in.”

 

[Seretha ibnat Rezhe]

For Seretha, Crossroad Mire was since its inception a place to dig through boring tomes for the exact research she wanted only to inevitably find that the writer of the "forbidden text" had themselves not done sufficient due diligence. And, moreover, the writer was typically on the deranged side of things.

She had been a few times, happy to have a safe fallback for when things went sideways and she needed to lay low for awhile. It was either the Mire or with her tribe in Amol Kalit, and she limited her time in the desert in an effort to prolong her waking life.

An anonymous message to meet at the Mire wasn't that out of the ordinary, though usually the letter was self-contained with whatever information she was in correspondence to obtain. This one... well, the letter hadn't been delivered by a carrier bird like one she would've sold.

Intrigued nearly beyond measure, she found herself at the appointed place well early to see if anyone came or went before the appointed time. It was nothing out of the ordinary, which was a positive sign. The Mire was a dangerous place for secret crusaders but such people typically had more zeal than sense.

But the first two arrivals made it clear it would be safe in any case. An elderly orc dressed as a scholar was a ruse no templar would attempt, certainly not with a fat man who looked like at best a porter. She couldn't say she was pleased when the third was such a clear and obvious walking - well, floating in this case - ancient lich of some kind, though. He reeked of magic in a way she had come to distrust.

She waited for the lich to enter before following suit, and made sure to apply an illusion to her face first. Her ears became human, her lips thin, and her eyes a dark brown as she approached Gerald.

"Ah, uh...," Gerald started, clearly unaware of her identity.

"Seretha," she said. "Seretha ibnat Rezhe."

"Ah, the master awaits you, Lady Rezhe."

She knitted her eyebrows, though the illusion didn't pick up on that, and frowned. If she had an half an ounce of silver for every time someone didn't understand a thing about Abtati culture, she'd be the wealthiest woman in the world. "Rezhe is my mother's name," she said. "I am her daughter. Seretha, daughter of Rezhe."

He recoiled as though expecting some sort of physical consequence, but instead she laughed. "You need to lighten up. But still, Lady Seretha will do if you're keeping formal."

She brushed past him, patting his shoulder as she did, and entered the hut.

---

Urberus Xarrall

 

[Mukbar]

Xarrall had many names.
Great Priest of the Living Waters.
The voice of Ashu.
Holy King of the Forgotten City.

"I am Xarrall."

His voice was death strained through a siv.

"I have travelled from the great desert."

His mouth did not move as he spoke but it was sound, definitely and not telepathy.

"For what purpose have you summoned me?"

Xarrall did not move, he only watched Urberus through empty eyes. The sword in his right hand lay dormant as it hung from his fingers but the box in his left screamed in silence as only the trapped spirits of the dead can.
To any of the Art it would be obvious.
Such a display of cruelty and disregard was the way of Xarrall and he wanted others to know this.

Urberus Seretha ibnat Rezhe