One of my faults is that I find it difficult to accept compliments. I don't see them as being genuine, but rather as manipulative. Worse when I believe that the person in question wants something, I trust the compliment less. So, although I try my best when I do things, I don't accept the accolades of a job well done easily. The compliment I received was that I drew my friend's character out in a way that he did not anticipate; he felt that he had no choice but break his roleplaying of his character because the story compelled him to. I hope you like my retelling of the story:
The journey up the Traveler's Road was quite swift: the close fitting blocks permitted no plants, or water between the joins. The subtle heat permeating from below kept the road free of snow all winter long. It's breadth allowed wide caravans to pass easily without leaving the road. And mostly, it is quite clearly the largest artifact of the bygone era, as straight as an arrows flight on a calm day, lit at night through the year from regular lighting posts; it was a road lovingly crafted and consecrated to the Unconquered Sun by its most faithful priest several thousand years previous. Recent additions by the Syndics of Whitewall added to the overall safety of the trip. The Thousand Year Pact between the Sydics and the its principal foes that surround the city and the road compells all that would set foot on the road. The pact compells all who attempt to do harm to death, mortals are compelled to hang themselves on the lighting posts, Fae are utterly destroyed as are the undead that besiege the road on either side. People who die on the road go straight to lethe to be reenrolled into the souls of Creation, noone lingers in the Underworld. Further only those supernatural creatures who are invited into the city of Whitewall by a citizen, are permitted within its walls, all others are expelled forcibly at the city limits.
Travel was swift.
A single man traveling is not beggered by the delays of others. No tents need to be set, no early grumbling of the weather, no animals needing to be fed. The nighttime lighting extending the hours of travel into the night. A journey of five hundred miles was made in five days. In that last day, the Nameless, over took a caravan of twelve lumbering beasts with six hands to tend them and one caravan master, so few taking care of so much a testament to the power of the Pact of the Syndics with Whitewall's foes. The people were new to him as they were dark of hue, brown to be sure, but that of a darker complexion than he was used to. Their dress was particular too; they dressed head to toe in the trappings of Winter, heavy white furs. It was Spring and it was a warm Spring day too, the snow was melting and the frosts at night were light. The beasts themselves were in different to the temperatures in any case, they were covered with thick matted hair except on the pads of their feet and where their thick heavy tails dragged upon the ground. Their legs were short and stubby supporting the considerable of their bodies nearly half again as tall as a man and four times their length. Their bone covered heads could have easily have snapped a man in half if they had chosen to, but there eyes betrayed their dull intellect and their servile nature. Each carried the pacts of twenty horses and would have likely also hauled a large cart without slowing down a bit.
A friendly hail from the lead yedem, as he was soon to learn, stayed his eager progress forward a bit. Eager he was to end his journey, but the curuiousness of the beasts and their humourous garbed handlers was too much. Also he wanted to know how much further was Whitewall. He was Anwar of Yane but he was working for the Guild Banker set up in Whitewall, Jafar Darwish and this was his Caravan. He was a curious man from an exotic locale and the Nameless was had the charisma and presence of the Unconquered Sun's Champion and the conversation progressed faster and deeper than it would have had he been just another traveler on the road. The Nameless learned that the yedem were loaded with the prizes of the South: Firedust and Firewands, short range weapons of unparalleled devastation and that Jafar was going to trade these weapons for the bounties of the North, ice that never melts even in the hottest fires and other Northern goods.
Running the rest of the way took only a few more hours, but he was rewarded by arriving at the best time to enter the city, dusk. Sundown was the time that all the farmers and miners that worked close to the city and who lived in the city, came back in. Sundown was the time of day that the militia of the city that was outside the walls came back in from training and drilling. In addition to those there was the rest of the traffic that is associated with a large city, trade from the south, trade from further north.
As he made his last approach to the city he was struck by a vision. A curious vision that was two visions superimposed on top of each other. One from the daytime and the other the night. The one of the daylight was from when the city was brig and new, the Mandela shape of the city was as clear as day from his vantage point, high up in the sky flying in to the city. The other was a hopping and skipping flight far faster and closer to the ground followed by a great leap that sent to observer over the walls nearly ten men high and over and past the first few blocks of buildings inside the wall. The first was glorious in beauty and power, while the second showed the city in a state of loss: the Mandela ruined and rebuilt as a poorer brother of what was. The first was mint fresh, the second crippled with an injury a thousand years old. The airship glided over the city, a slow wheeling centered on the Temple to the Unconquered Sun, the second a building skipping dance towards a lesser building near the temple to the Sun. The first ended as the gliding airship descended toward its dock and the latter as the figure clambered into that lesser towers belfry.
The Nameless had no trouble sneaking into the city by just walking straight through. But as though in guilt, more of honour, he turned and presented himself to the captain of the guard at the gate. The conversation was brief, what is your name, where are you staying, what business do you have here and the such, however it was e appearance of the guard captain that was of more interest. She was tall and sturdy, chestnut hair wavy and unkept, with the smallest horns poking through her light green skin. She wore a breastplate of white jade alloy and a matching jade sword. She looked at once to be a Dragon Blooded and the opposite too. She did speak in both Realm Common and Riverspeak with the barest of accents.
His less answers were sesinct but not complete, he was here to trade, but he did not know where he was staying and saying that he had no name, was not easily accepted, but he promised that he would report any changes to the constabulary as soon as possible. There was a disconcerting feel in his bones from the moment that he entered it and it was beginning to unnerve him, but he could not put his finger upon the source of the feeling.
The Nameless quickly sought out his Guild Contact in the city, a banker that might honour his letters of credit. He was directed to a building and met with another very curious individual, another dark skinned man dress head to toe in white furs and fur robes, they were a sight more fine than the ones that the caravan hands were wearing, but still Winter had been over for more than a month and the weather did not call for such garments. The man greeted The Nameless happily in the guttural growl of the Northern tongue before switching to the Hello/How are you/Greetings of a man looking for a common language. The Nameless having understood both Realm Common and the speech of the Riverlands, responded to the language of the South. Jafar Darwish was his name and he was at his disposal until his caravans arrived from the South. The Nameless, in a gesture of fellowship, informed him at his caravan was only a day or so off. Pleased by the information and the considerable funds in the Nameless's disposal, Jafar invited him out for a night on the town which included a trip to Whitewall's famed hot water spring public baths, such was e smell that emanated from his new companion.
A quick repast on skewers of some dish of the South called Kebbobs, Jafar took the Nameless into the Under Town of e city, where the baths were located, but first The Nameless reported where his lodgings were to the local Guardsman. It was traversing the underground passages of the under town that he began sense there was more to this relaxing feeling that was overwhelming his persistent cautious mentality. Jafar admitted that the passages that he was taking were unfamiliar to him, in that the route that he usually took was different than this one to the baths. It was the Nameless that suggested that they take a different turn that led them directly to the baths. He confessed that he had never been to the city before, but the path he had chosen merely looked better travelled than the one Jafar was heading down, but the truth was that he KNEW which way to go and he saw no markings.
The Baths were remarkable: there was in addition to a mingling of ages in the baths, but a mingling of classes, professions and genders present. The baths were very hot and e steaming water loosened his muscles and slowly he began to relax, a feeling that he had never felt before, which put him on edge.
Upon reaching the Guild compound of Jafar Darwish, the Nameless was shown to apartments where he could sleep for his time in the city. He sat up with his host well after midnight talking about the sights of the city. He asked about the bell tower in the center of the city, where the vision of the midnight journey ended, but was told that Jafar knew nothing important about that location. He was told that the most glorious sight to be seen in the North was Sunrise in Whitewall: it was the only place in Creation where the Sun rose twice in the same day, once in its usual location and the second as its light was reflected off the Palace of the Sun in the center of Whitewall. The Nameless appeared intrigued and bade Jafar not to look for him in the morning as he would likely be out looking at the sights that he had described. After they parted, the Nameless waited half an hour until he heard not the least stirrings in the house before seeking sleep.
A few minutes before the sun rose, the Nameless was at the base of the bell tower of his vision and he quickly scaled it. Although it was indeed as glorious as Jafar had said it would be when the sun rose, at once reflected on the domes of e Manse Temple to the Unconquered Sun, the Nameless was engaged in discovering what was so important about the Belfry in his vision. He slid into its confines and was at once rewarded with the impression that the large single stone in its center was important. He realized that it was loose and that it easily shifted and easily lifted one corner. He understood imeadiately that there was an impression the size of a child's fist in the stone he had moved and that it was empty too. Carefully, he repositioned the stone and crept down the tower and wandered in thought. What was so important that he had that vision that was so vivid? What valuable bauble could fit into a cavity so small? Who could have retrieved the stash that was so clearly meant for him?
His wanderings had led him to the perch of a Tea House in the Mid Town region of Whitewall and the smells wafting out from it reminded him that he had not eaten since the night before. He was hungry. Stepping into the establishment he was assaulted by those same feelings of familiarity that he had felt in the Under Town region, but the feelings here were almost tangible. The establishment had been called the Dancing Sun Beam Tea House and other than the increased presence of off duty Gaurdians, the local constabulary, there was nothing really special to this place. The hostess was very pretty and exotic looking, dark hair with horizontal bands of gold coloured hair through it. She has a comely round face with full lips and sparkling eyes, but something more. His interest sparked and and the name Ginithra bubbled to his lips. She bowed to him and responded in the negative, Ginithra was her grandmother, whom she was said to take after. Her name was Betrôd Kawai.
If there had been a drum beat in his head for the last hour, building up as he walked into the tea house, the beat would have stopped abruptly at her words. Sitting down at a table he ordered a large breakfast and asked to see the hostess at her convenience. It was she who asked the first question, "Did you know my Grandmother? She died when I was still young."
The Nameless had to admit that he did not know her, but oddly had memories of her from a different life and wished that she could fill in the gaps of his visions. The strangest thing was that she responded as if this was a common request and not the ravings of a madman. She bowed, you must have heard of my Grandfather, the famous Gaurdian of Whitewall, Artful Demise, or Kaenin Kawai. He was a powerful Gaurdian of Whitewall nearly seventy years previous and vanished during a secret mission known only to the Syndics of Whitewall, the rulers of the city. He had lived here for many years with her Grandmother and had established this tea house and since that time had been heavily patronized by the Gaurdians. The conversation attracted much interest from the rest of the patrons in the place, particularly one hatchet-faced woman, who left the establishment before the conversation was finished.
After breakfast, he rose and left the establishment only to encounter the hatchet-faced woman outside, dressed very differently, her solid six and a half foot frame muscle bound as it was now covered in Blue Jade lamellar armour and in her huge hands that were more reminiscent of blue hued cliffs of a sheer faced mountain she lazily gripped a goremaul half again as long as she was tall and made of imperishable White Jade alloy. While the massive hammer rested at her feet there was threat in every thing that came off her, even the breeze that came from here was as cold as a Winter storm. The entire effect was spoiled by her eyes that spoke of loss and silent pleading, her hair lay under her helm like a broken drift of snow in a sudden spring melt. "Come with me if you have information about Artful Demise, the Syndics will want to know."
The Syndics did not reside in the Golden Palace in the center of the city, but in a less grand meeting place called The Hall of the Syndics, not just a clever name. His guide had indeed introduced herself, if in an aside to her main purpose, as Staedywater Hammerhands, Commander of the Guardians of the Western Province. The troop of guardians that followed her were only for show, they did not act as anything more than a friendly escort and at that an escort to the Commander only. As they past the important places in the city, Hammerhands pointed them out. The Foundary, the University, the very finest of meeting places and eateries. Where the best baked goods and butchers could be found; she was giving him a tour of the city while she lead him to the city leaders. Upon reflection, later that night, the whole experience seemed to be an elaborate attempt to lure him in to staying in Whitewall, a place that seemed to welcome him like nowhere else he had been; everything felt familiar.
The entry way of the Hall of the Syndics was filled with grandeur, tall wide halls made of the finest marbles and intricate and yet subtle carvings depicting the glory of the Unconquered Sun. A fair amount of gold had been inlaid into the a few of the more prominent carvings of the Sun and there was a lot of work still being done to preserve the majesty of the entire complex. The full edifice had clearly turned into the bureaucratic center for the city with the exception of the lobby and the audience room he was gently being steered towards. Ahead there was a familiar figure in a long white fur coat making wild movements to accompany an assumed loud argument, but such was the design of the room that all conversations here were muted, even those only a few strides away.
Jafar turned and recognized the Nameless coming forward and closed the gap. The Nameless was greeted and grievously complained to that his meeting with the Syndics, arranged a season ago, had been cancelled and that indeed all meetings with the Syndics had been cancelled for today. The Commander cleared her throat quietly and Jafar seemed to recognize who was with his new acquaintance; he quickly abbreviated his conversation and Nameless promised to meet with him that night.
The mighty doors cracked open at his approach and swung open on its intricate golden hinges. Upon stepping into the room, the music that was filling the room hit him with all its force. The music spoke to him deeply. He was the Champion of the Unconquered Sun. He was His and brought forth to protect Creation and its inhabitants from all the dangers. Three figures descended from a dais in the centre of the room where three ornate chairs sat. The three were dressed alike in chrysanthemum gold robes that obscured their bodies completely. Their faces were covered by a silver mask that obscured all expression and emotion, there was not a slit to see through, nor one to breathe through. Their extremities were obscured within the robes and when they showed their hands, they were covered in. Long gloves that obscured their hands. Their tall ceremonial hats made them appear much taller and the headress covered the edges of the masks and their heads completely. When they talked, it was rare that a single thought came from one speaker, rather any sentence was started and picked up by a second or a third of the group before the sentence was finished. The Syndics were clearly not human.
All three Syndics bowed low to the nameless in a fashion that stated quite clearly that they thought the Nameless was Their superior. The Nameless attempted to recreate the bow in return. The center one started, "Greetings Nameless formerly of Deshan," the figure on the left picked up, "reborn an Iron Wolf in service to the Unconquered Sun," the third finished, "we welcome you to the Holy City, now Whitewall.". Together the asked, "How may we serve you?"
The Hunter of Creation's Criminals stood there with some confusion, but before he could start, the trio again took up the conversation, shared between the three. "We understand that you are the latest carrier of the Solar Soul Shard of the recent hero of the city, Artful Demise. When he did not return to the city some sixty years ago it was hoped that he still lived protecting Creation from its enemies, but alas it is not so. We offer you sanctuary from your travels and a place to regain your strength before you face your enemies again." Final Justice For Victims. "Please use the Solar Temple, the Palace, as your home while you are here. Use its Hearthstone while you are in the city, but we request that it stays here while you are on your duties." Slayer of Demons. "We will be at your disposal while you are in the city and we hope that you will help us, if we need your help."
Many more words were spoken but afterwards when he left the Hall of the Syndics he was again greeted by Commander Hammerhands and a full honour guard of one hundred twenty-five Guardians who marched with him to the entrance of the Solar Temple. The commander admitted to him that she had known Artful Demise when he was here. She said that she had been honoured to be his unit leader before he Exalted and for years afterwards a loyal follower. She was saddened by the proof of his passing. When they arrived at the gate, it was explained to him that the Palace protected itself and only the Solar Exalted could gain entrance and live, that and small children. It was explained that often challenges were made to the young and they often entered the grounds and if they were of pure heart, they were permitted one brief expedition into the courtyard, but only one. Those with less than pure intentions and second attempts were warded off with painful temporary lessons. Anyone else who entered, died.
As final proof, the Nameless entered and crossed the courtyard and passed the open doors to the temple. The interior was sheltered from the elements, but more emanated a warmth from every direction that provided a comforting warmth. The tall white walls redirected natural light from openings far above to create a bright ambiance within Manse. There were openings and windows along the lines of the city allowing grand views of the grand boulevards. The center chamber was round, vast and airy with a large pyramidal dais with altar. Resting upon the altar was a large clear gem. Climbing the steps to the altar, it was clear that from atop it he was in the very center of the city and that he could turn and see down each of the great roads of the city straight to the very walls. A great calmness came over him.
He explored the rest of the Manse in the largest part of the remainder of the light of day. And in a room that felt right, in a room whose balcony overlooked the Dancing Sunbeam teahouse, he found the personal effects of Artful Demise: a box that contained a book. The book appeared to be penned in a careful hand and seemed to be a log book, but alas, it was written in Airspeak, the common language of the North and a language he did not understand.
The dates in the book seemed to framed between the dates of 657 and 701 Realm Years. He quickly flipped though the book to find anything that he could read but found nothing. The book was only half used and the rest of the pages were blank as far as he could tell. He was about to rewrap the book, when he encountered a hollow in some of the pages of the book and found a small clear gem within. It was the perfect size and shape to have fit in the hollow in the Belfry that he had found. He gathered up the effects and left the Great Solar Temple and found Hammerhands waiting outside the gate. He had questions and told her that he thought the best people to ask would be the Syndics.
The great doors opened as before and he strode in. He was the Last the Unjust Saw Before Justice was Handed Down. Judge and Executioner of the Unconquered Sun. "Greetings, Nameless of Nowhere," his hosts droned as one.
The Nameless set the book in their possession, "I found this in the Temple to the Unconquered Sun, and thought that this must be a relic of Artful Demise and I bequeath it to the city as a testament to his life. I cannot read it, as it is written in Airspeak, which I am just learning, if you could, could I get a translation? On a second matter I found this gemstone, and I don't know what it is is, but I do know that I have memory of it being hidden in this city by a predecessor to me and Artful Demise." Dagger of Heaven
"It is a memory stone of a sort, but it is different. It may be tied directly to to a specific soul. It may not be readable by you, but that you found it in Artful Demise's possessions would hint that it was atleast partially readable to him." The Syndics then told him that if it can be accessed, it would require meditation and concentration to unlock it. The Iron Wolf, Nameless, thanked them and quickly exited the room. Protector of the Inocen…, the door closed and the music died. As the sun set he hurried back to the appartments of Jafar.
There were many large Yedims being unloaded in the courtyard and inside Jafar was organizing many ledgers and accounts. When the Nameless announced himself, Jafar acknowledged say that the caravan had arrived as Nameless had predicted and that was a cause for celebration, if he could wait another hour.
Late that night, after many hours of discussion with Jafar about the nature of the Sydics and the business of the city, where the Nameless spoke less about his day than he would have liked, the Nameless headed out into the city and climbed the belfry that he had entered early that morning. He sat himself down on the flagstone with the hollow in it and calmed himself. When calm he took out the memory stone and held it lightly in his palm and attempted to meditate. As often that happens when one attempts to meditate, the rush of the days events filled his mind and the lovely face of Betrôd Kawai. He shook his head and doubled down on his concentration and meditation.
The Stone's secrets were laid bare to him.
He pushed past the undergrowth around the building that was in the center of the hidden valley. The trees obscured the very building to everything but the light of the full moon once a month. His first and favourite bow rested on a shelf and his first set of armour.
He then saw two visions similtaneously, one superimposed on the other. A snowy pastoral scene of farms set in a very broad valley and a large copse of trees surrounding a tall gnarled building with a complicated and beautiful garden covered in snow. With a seen of darkness of the depths of water, the sky overhead far overhead coated grey, the depths filled with schools of fish, the same gnarled building, but this time obscured by a copse of seaweed with vibrant fronds and verdant foliage.
A hot Summer's day, the buzz of cicadas in the background, trees covered with flowers along the fields below the hills which you stand. Amongst the fields rests a beautiful village.
Again underwater, but this time near the surface and this time the water is bright and warm, the region filled with many plentiful corals and millions of brightly painted fish. The coral is arranged as a structure and from the top a black billowing water comes from the top, the light permeating the water turns the smoke brown, but the water around the coral feels almost uncomfortably warm.
A young woman with too large eyes, beautiful.
A building somewhere under overcast skies covered with vines, caryatid columns guard the entrance.
Then a very strong memory, very clear and crisp.
A view from a corner of a room, the sounds of creaming animals can be clearly heard, the screaming could be of pigs, they sound almost human. The crisp smell of blood fills the air to your sensitive nose and that of shit. A man enters the room and he looks right at you without seeing. His face is grim and his stoney features look warn from months of nearly no sleep. Guilt and disgust play across him all at once. Caution thrown to the wind he stumbles to his seat. The thick armour he wears is ornate and crafted with animal themes and is clearly white jade cased with bits of Orichalcum. His daiklave rests by the door and is even more ornate than his armour, the pomel and guard are made with a wolf motif and the serrations along the blade match the claws of the pack of wolves that run down the length of it.
The man hears something and gets up and turns. Perhaps it is the impossibly thin flensing knife that you have just drawn. A veil drops upon the room and conversations outside the room become tinny but are not interrupted by the screams as the Dragon Blooded is parted from his skin neatly, without a drop of blood being spilt, in one piece. You have donned his skin, his armour and go out of the room refreshed; his skinless form folded up in a closet. A reflection in a glass reveals a face stern with a determined feral grin.
Outside, cages in deep pits, wait the countless allies, progeny, and living creations of the most corrupt and abominable Solar Deliberative. They must all be made to pay for what happened. And pay they will . . .
The visions cut out, thankfully; the Nameless was covered with a thin sheen of sweat.
The next day the Nameless went back to the Dancing Sunbeam for breakfast. The usual mix of clientele were there again, of duty Guardians, merchants discussing future dealings and other people who he began to recognize as Thaumaturges getting ready for a day of learning and enchanting. A few of the Guardians recognized him and politely nodded or took note. The hostess also took note, but pretended that she did not. As hostess she had lots of duties to perform other than those specifically related to that of a host. The Nameless sat at the table for many hours, first eating his breakfast, drinking tea and later eating lunch. While he principally sat alone, others sought him out for news or information as he was clearly a stranger here. While he engaged in idle conversation with other patrons he dissuaded others from joining him, telling them that the seat across from him was for someone else.
Betrôd Kawai eventually came around to inquire. The Nameless, told her that the seat he had been saving was for her. He told her that he has memories of her Grandmother, only just hints though and nothing more, but that her similarity and the teahouse made him felt calmer and more at home than any place in the Creation. He reiterated that his memories were more like feelings and so he wanted to know more about Betrôd's grandmother. Betrôd retold to him the stories that she heard while at her Grandmother's knee when she was young in the teahouse. She told him the stories of how, Artful Demise was a Guardian of Whitewall and how he had met her grandmother. She told him how they together bought this Teahouse and opened the Dancing Sunbeam. She told him about the half myths of Artful Demise's life and disappearance.
Before uncomfortable silences could come about the two, the Nameless was approached by Commander Hammerhands. She had been sent to find The Nameless, as the Syndics had something for him. The journey to the quick and direct this time as he knew the way quite well. He was stopped before the doors of the Great Audience chamber by the head page. He bowed deeply saying that the Syndics were busy managing the affairs of state, but they had this for him, as he presented him with a ornate scroll tube. It was the translation of the book that he had given them only last night.
He took the scroll case to the Solar Temple in the center of the city and from there to the rooms of Artful Demise. He read the scroll in one sitting:
The salient points in the scroll covered his birth and a general upbringing, how his parents were low in the hierarchy of a Patrician House in the Realm and had gone to Whitewall as part of the ambassadorial staff from the Realm by lucky chance. Upon arriving they loved the more eclectic nature of the region and the higher standard of living they enjoyed and when they were told to go home, they stayed. He was born a short while later. His life was unremarkable for the first seventeen years, no different from any other citizen, but that changed shortly after he joined the compulsory militia of Whitewall. During an attack be a behemoth, he exalted when his unit was destroyed. Everything was a blur, but when it ended the behemoth was dead at his feet and he was uninjured.
The scroll tells about the visions he saw, about the city and the hidden Memory Stone. He talked about the visions that he saw therein. He wrote about his many years service with the Syndics of the city and their guidance. He also wrote that they protected him many times from the Wyld Hunt when they got word of his deeds. A troubling aspect that he talked about were the nightmares that wracked his dreams. Dreams where he tortured men, women and children to death.
He talked about his love for his wife and how she was expecting their first child and that fact weighed heavily upon him when he made his decision to leave the city. The Wyld Hunt had been circling the city for over a month and they had even visited his home at the Dancing Sunbeam. He determined that it was best for all if he led them away from Whitewall for ever, even if it meant that he would never be able to come back. As a secondary motivation, he thought he would like to see if he could find some of the places he saw in the visions from the Memory Stone. That entry was dated 701.
The next entry is dated 704. It details a journey around the North leading down to the City of Nexus. He wrote about the hit and run tactics he performed to completely destroy his hunters. He talks about the sights he saw in the East and the Riverlands and that he thought he would like to see the South next, but a chance encounter with a God and a favour he performed for him, he was gifted with a fairly sizable load of Orichalcum. Only knowing a few Craftsmen who would be able to make something useful for him, and all of them in Whitewall he headed back. Hi was pleased to find that the Wyld Hunt had left him, but displeased that they were returning every Spring and and staying nearby throughout the Summer. So he spent time with his daughter and his wife and commissioned the forging of an Artifact by the Reknowned master smith Antdrin Meltyl Lightsteel.
He stated that he would go see the South and maybe the West and then be back in the Winter after, or the next.
There were no other entries.
The next day he had breakfast at the Dancing Sunbeam, the writings of his former self's love still in his mind. He chatted idly with Betrôd and he staff until the Commander Hammerhands happened by. He asked her directly if Antdrin Meltyl Lightsteel, was still Chief Smith of Whitewall. She said that he was in semi-retirement, but that still was active around the forge and taught upper level artificing at the College. The Nameless asked her to show him to him as he had some business with him.
Antdrin Meltyl Lightsteel was of indeterminate age, his long white hair sat knotted on his head, secured against stray sparks and the fires of the forge. His eyebrows, where they still exist, give a better clue to his age as they are long and bushy. His beard is shorn close to his face and generally he appears unkept. His clothing appeared well worn, even his apron has the appearance of many years of thorough use. His hammer and work tools seem to be a mix of White Jade alloy and Orichalcum. The anvil, hammers and tongs, instruments of the bluntest varieties are made of white jade, but the tools of precision, small chisels and files, deep in the work shop, glitter like only Orichalcum can.
There were many apprentices doing chores within the workshop from stoking the coals and working the bellows and finishing crafted pieces. The Great smith himself was noisily working his trade on a Diaklave that glowed a deep cherry red. He ignored the intrusion and continued at his work until the sword's glow darkened too much before he laid it to rest back into the hot coals. He greater Hammerhands with a brief subtle nod and cleaned off his hands. She retreated and left The Nameless in his presence, understanding his wish to be alone with him. The apprentices, pretended to go about their work, as they had seen the signs that this was not going to be an ordinary conversation from their Master's stance. Recognizing their attitude change he commanded them to take a half day off, as it was clear that they did not have the proper concentration needed for their task; he had guessed who this was and wished to continue the conversation in private.
When the last of the apprentices had left, he ignored the Nameless and began working the bellows personally. The coals began to glow orange then white hot and the sword thrust into them appeared to darken in contrast. The edges at first slowly changed colour and began to glow brighter. "I am not about to lose half a year's work on your account, if you have business state it or get out!" he commanded. The Nameless had not encountered his like before.
"You have a commission from years ago, for Artful Demise. Years ago he asked you to build him something and I want to know if you completed it."
The smith worked the bellows again and took the blade out and began to work the metal again on his Jade anvil with his Jade hammer. He worked the blade for a length of time before inserting it back into the coals. "Aye, this was true, but it was two generations ago and his request was impossible for any other smith to complete. He wanted something worked that had not been worked in over a thousand years. I told him that it was impossible, but I would try.". The Nameless heard the pride in his voice and the hedge words he used and got their meaning, impossible for any other smith. So he waited. After he worked the bellows again for a time he continued, "There was much research to be done, mirrors made from Orichalcum and other fine tools.". He waved to the back where they lined the walls, "But who are you to come here and ask about them?"
"I am the Nameless and I am the inheritor of Artful Demise's Exaltation. He is dead and if there could be said to have an heir, it would be me."
"Prove it!" The Nameless let his Caste Mark glow upon his forehead, clear proof of his heritage. "Well, I had heard that you were around and that you were Artful Demise's successor, but I needed more proof. My commission was with Artful Demise alone and you have no claim on his stuff," he stated plainly. "But, they are taking up room in my workshop and I have no use of them." He made no move to get them and continued to work the bellows. "It was immense pleasure to work that metal and I wished to reforge them so many times just for the fun to work it again, but I resisted as Orichalcum resists being worked on more than once." He stopped working the bellows and went into the back and returned with a pair of fur covered boots and gloves. Under the fur they were pure golden metal. "The Syndics command that these are rightfully yours, so take them now," and then kindly he stated, "Treat them right and they will do you great service." As the Nameless left he saw a tear tack through the grime on his cheek.
The nameless took his new artifacts to the Solar Temple and left them in his room there. Before heading to the Dancing Sunbeam for dinner. He chatted with Betrôd late into the night and before he left he bade her to come for a walk with him. He walked with her in light conversation until they reached Solar Temple, where he had been guiding her. He turned to her at the opened gate and said to her,"This is yours, more than it is mine. Read it and know." he gave her the translated scroll of Artful Demise.
That evening, after leaving the Manse, he returned to Jafar's compound. Jafar was in a tizzy rushing around. When he saw the Nameless come in, he stopped and bowed deeply to him and begged his forgiveness. The Nameless baffled asked him what he was doing. Jafar apologized, because he was clearly a person of note traveling in disguise, as the people of the city and the Syndics thought so highly of him. The Nameless asked who told him that? Jafar responded that his meeting with the Syndics had been mostly about with his efforts to fill, the Nameless's order. The Nameless, for his part was deep in thought. Then he stated that he was no, foreign potentate, but he had just entered into a special arrangement with the Syndics. He then said that he wanted to come into another special arrangement, he had twenty-five talents of silver in balance and was expecting another twenty-five or so in another few months from an investment coming due, but he did not know what to do with it and he was thinking that since he was going to be doing a lot of business in the area that I might be smart to invest in a local business, specifically Jafar's trading company.
Jafar was floored. The sum was not particularly impressive, to him, but the one time cash flow would outfit an additional caravan heading North or South. Most of his dismay was that The Nameless, a clearly important figure within the Guild or person of interest to the Syndics of Whitewall, had chosen to invest with him personally. The question that was closest to his mind was whether this was a test by the guild to see if he had what it took to advance in his rank or whether it was a pleasant windfall that he could work to his advantage. In either case, he accepted the proposal enthusiastically.
The next morning, the Nameless, was installed back at the Dancing Sunbeam, in his now usual spot sipping tea and eating a light early meal, Betrôd was nowhere to be seen, however. When he asked the attendants stated that there were some issues involving the resupply of the teahouse that needed seeing to personally. Time passed, noon and later and still she was not back, but a note was presented to him in her finest script: an invitation to dinner, a few hours hence.
At the appointed time, the Nameless arrived back at the teahouse and was ushered into a back room where Betrôd had a small intimate dinning room with small plates of various dishes that Whitewall was famous for, and a charming hostess. They talked about various things far and near to their hearts and Betrôd admitted that the scroll was a grand gift, but that she had not had time to read it yet. Still as the night wore on they drew closer to each other and kissed.
The Nameless was not unfamiliar with sex, in the slave pens sex had happened almost every night for those that desired it; saved rations of drugs bought compliance and stronger slaves took a woman whenever they wanted to. Slave Guards owned some slaves and they had sex with them when ever they wanted to too. After freeing himself and other slaves, sex had been offered to him as a reward or because the woman wanted to gain power. So sex given freely, with no obligation, was foreign to him. The love making that he had with her was liberating and special.
He slept the sleep of those without cares and woke late in the morning; the tea and breakfast at the bedside was cold. He slipped down the stairs into the teahouse to break his fast with warm food and hot tea, but was instead greeted with the presence of a very cold personage: Commander Hammerhands was waiting for his attendance. He chewed on the bread that Betrôd had given him as he was hurriedly escorted to the Hall of the Syndics with twenty-five guardians in tow.
He entered the Audience chamber and the music wafted over him. Protector of Innocents. Punisher of Transgressors. "Greetings, Iron Wolf," "we have need of your services.". The Nameless bade them to go on. "There is a fortress Manse on the Western side of the valley," "that we use to protect the mines and logging operations nearby." "The Fair Folk test us continually," "and they have sent a foe to attack," "it when it was poorly manned." Freer of Slaves. "We request that you help us clear out," "the Wyld beasts that have infested," "the fortress's halls." "We reward you in advance with the Hearthstone," "from it that we had here." "Please make all haste," "to get there and remove this threat," "so that our Western flanks will remain," "safe.". With that they handed to him a solid white gem and signaled for him to leave. Retribution of the Unconquered Sun. The Bloody Hand of…
The music stopped with the closing of the door.
Commander of the Western Province and the Nameless ran to catch up with the wing of guardians already marching to the distant Manse. The caught up with ease in a couple hours and passed them by, the idea that the fighting would be done before more soldiers could die had passed between them while they ran to catchup. The Nameless was confident that the complimental nature of his fast ranged style and her heavy handed melee capabilities with her heavy Jade Sledgehammer, he felt that it would be over in no time.
And it was. The Ice Hollows which resmebled fleas, made of ice and scaled up to the size of a team of horses, fought as animals: alone and by instinct. Bites and terrifying screams that would turn mortal's bowels to jelly had no effect on the Nameless. The blast three inch ice shards that peirced so many mortal's armour passed harmlessly by the nameless as he skewered the final beast with two arrows fired from point blank range. The mated pair had been using the manse to rutt and the fruits of their coupling were scattered through the hall. Nearly an hour was spent moving corpses of the Western Province and crushing eggs. When it was done, the Nameless helped arrange and bury her command.
While they waited for the new troops to get to the fortress, he attuned himself to the energies of the Manse. When the troops began to file into the fortress towards midnight he and Hammerhands began the journey back. Words were wasted in the night air, the wind had picked up and both had a long run ahead of them, but at the gate, the Nameless turned and told Hammerhands that she should have the Hearthstone for the manse as he flipped it to her. He bade her fair well until they met again and they parted company. The Nameless stole into Betrôd's bed and she curled up next to him.
In the morning, he spoke briefly to his love, and told her that it pained him to say that he would soon have to go, but he hoped that they would have as much time together before he had to go. With that he went off to find Jafar to find out when that would be. Jafar had been busy and had large piles of good piled in e marshalling yard of the his compound. He stated that he was ever surprised at the quality of goods that Whitewall produced as a matter of course, but they had out did themselves for him this time, gathering the goods that the Nameless had requested. He was in the process securing the appropriate mounts for crossing through the wilderness that he would need to cross to get to Nowhere unseen. He would be ready tomorrow morning.
When he saw her, Betrôd told him that she had taken the time to read the gift that he had given her and that she could not wait to give it to her mother, who was Artful Demise's daughter. He told her, that he wished to one day meet her. Later, after rigorous exercise, they fell asleep in each others arms. The Nameless dreamed. He dreamt of a room that smelled of shit and piss even though the room was clean and neat. The smell wafted in from under the door from outside. He stood up, flexed and stretched. Opening the door to the outside the smell nearly bowled him over with its intensity. But he inhaled deeply as if it were fresh air. Beneath the pungent smell of loosened bowels was the unmistakeable tang of fear and the undertones of blood. He crossed to the wide building next to the corrals and entered the room to the side. He tsked. The Sunchild slaves had not cleaned the room sufficiently there was the recognizable stain of blood from the night before still lingering in the blood trough. A lesson needed to be taught here. He summoned the night slaves in. While he whipped out his flensing knives, checking them for their edge.
After a couple of hours of work, he was sure the lesson had been ingrained deeply on the last of the ten slaves, sloppy work would not be tolerated. The lifeless bodies of nine Sunchildren hung from hooks, befret of skin (which lay in a piles off to the side), with their faces intact. Each face looked the same. Each had the face of Betrôd.
He woke screaming.
The journey to nowhere took more than a month through the wilderness, but at last he got near. The nightmares came and went through the journey, but never were they as bad that first night in Whitewall.
