Session 01: Epilogue -- A City Named Sainted Ark Report

General Summary

It had been a while since I’d been badly wounded. Other than that there wasn’t much good to say. My life had turned. It had become fek-grubbed and there wasn’t much I could do to change it.     Things had 'gone all Solember' on me, starting with when the bosses decided to get all saga-like and go and throw edges with Kelud. When the colonel told me about Osric and Maldon heading to the front, I think I said something clever like, “I hear Odek’s beauteous this time of the week.” As things turned out, I should have probably kept quiet. Whatever happened in Odek to make Deignghaul appear there – a casting I’m guessing – the fekbagg did show up. The colonel told me that the fight was over quick-sharp so I reckoned it was probably Maldon that got him. Osric liked a bit more back and forth in his fights and didn’t mind letting his opponent start to believe they might win, before he dropped them. So Deignghaul was bled and hung. Kelud's forces retreated to her cities to reckon out what it all might mean. So Spansis was saved from War. In Spansis, Godsend was in a real mood, took his selectors and started to break some heads. He might as well have waited as the city seemed to explode into action. It was like watching a fire start and then suddenly go out of control. In this case it was the cats that took the Cyan-fire Godsend had lit and fanned it into something greater than one Colour.     As the days dodged by and slid into a month, a couple of stories about Deignghaul started to circulate. The source for these droplets was the Den. Rakshahasa are a problem. They have strength, cunning, caste-power and confidence. They were our allies too. A deal struck by the bosses. Not sure if that was more Maldon’s or more Osric’s doing. It felt like Maldon’s kind of deal but then again Osric had a fair feel for the ‘pleasures of life’ that Maldon didn’t so it’d be hard to say for sure. The Rakshahsas were good at provideing those kinds of things. The cats and the League worked at similar purposes. Up to ‘Deignghaul’s Farewell’ things were as smooth as your favourite bed-partners’ thighs. Things couldn’t have been better really. I bet you’re wondering why I called the Rakshahasas a problem then? Well, apart from cats giving me hives, their leader, Taggadagga, had declared that with the bosses’ absence and Godsend’s selectors acting up, the pact was done with. The first few hours after that went by alright. ‘Round-about the fourth hour the fur started to fly -- bristled as well. There were pactless cats casting crap -- don’t say that fast -- all over the place. I’ll give them this, the rakshahasas are a handful. They tore us up pretty good. Warrgrowler, samazkhans and stripcasters... not much left when they were done. Scowline died pretty hard. That’s what having family about does for you. Makes your job your life and that’s no good. I mean, you shouldn’t take your work home with you, right? So what’s the sense in taking your family to work? I did what I could. I was left for dead near where he went down. When I came ‘round I managed to crawl to my kit-sack and grab a cure. When the potion took effect I was a little better, not great but walking. I smelled pretty bad though. Lying among the eviscerated will do that to a person.     It's only to be expected that I ran into the rakshahasas a few times right after that. They were going through the known places of the Blackguard. There was nowhere to hide. I’m alive thanks to the dead I had lain with. Rakshahasas are picky about cleanliness. Who knew? They left me alone as I was unrecognizable without the things the cats had stolen off my 'corpse'. It seemed effective, so I made it my new ritual to be filthy each time I woke up. Smelling and looking like shit kept me alive.     That’s how it was for a couple more months. Living in the streets with the rest of the muck of the gutters of Spansis. I could have left. The Able Mercenaries did. Something made me stay. There’s no way that both of the bosses could have been killed, I reckoned. One of them was bound to show. They’d be walking into a trap if not their death. Somebody needed to try to warn them. Blangg left with the advice to get out while I could. When I challenged his honour, he rebuked me. Told me that he was only going a short way out of the city so that he could try to arrange a caste message to Maldon. I never saw him after that. I guess you can count on the Profane to be chaotic. So much for the Courts. You could hardly blame the rakshahasas for breaking bond with Prince Maldon. Osric’s guys had gone down into Lowsis, I reckoned. Only one of the ‘chosen men’ had turned up in the streets. His sliced up body was as fancifully dressed as ever, even the plumed hat was there. Not the head that had worn the hat, mind you. The head was missing. It’s probable that’s what killed him.     The rakshahasas were still cats so they preferred to get up high and watch their prey from above. That’s why I took to sitting ‘round on the main concourses. The only guys looking down on me up there were the Civitas-General’s troops in the towers. After a time, even they stopped bothering to pay attention to me. I ran out of helms after a few more weeks. The selectors that remained were all working for the cats so I couldn’t get work with any of them. Things were dire but it wasn’t the end of the world. No one would have seen me get soft. That is, until I broke my pipe. Why they’re made out of clay, I’ll never understand. It snapped clean through. That was my worst night.     The dawn came and with it my luck got brighter too. It was noon or just after, when I felt two people staring down at me. I took up less room on the concourse if I sat with my knees to my chest and my back against the stone balustrade. I couldn't have been interesting to anybody. That was my plan anyway. What could they be after? When I looked up at them, I thought they were Maldon and Osric. A trick of the bright sun behind them. It wasn’t them. Instead they told me they were Mr. Grey and Praetor Furius. I drenched my brief hopes.     They gave me the once over. Well, that is, I think they did. Kind of hard to tell with the sun in my eyes as I looked past the edge of my hood. I asked for helms. Just to keep up the ruse that I was a wretch you understand, not because I needed them... Looking up at people isn’t the best way to get their measure. Level footing works better. Looking up to people isn’t that great either. My issue with looking up was resolved by the nearer man. He  put a knife to my outstretched hand instead of the coin or two I’d asked for. What was a poor beggar to do? I didn’t know -- I wasn’t one. . . I did what any sane man would do in my position; I closed my hand on the knife blade and asked nicely if I could have it instead of money. Maybe it was my lack of fear that made Grey let me keep the knife? What else could have been? All I knew was I was in love. Not with the man. With the knife. Did I mention the cats had stolen all my gear and weapons too? Looted my dead body, I guess you could say. Whatever my situation at that time it was a crime to steal or loot a fallen soldier. If I ever caught sight of my gear on some rakshahasa there’d be a stripes ripped off alright... The least I could do was to get up and thank Grey properly. I might have been scum but I had standards. I stood up. I was only slightly shorter than the two of them.     A pair of proper prospects these two men. Mr. Grey all dressed up like he was headed to a funeral parlor and looking to buy a coffin. Praetor dressed as though he might sell him one. I looked them over again. I’d worked for a fair number of types in my career. There’s a point where you get the knack of knowing who has what it takes to lead. These two had it. I knew I couldn’t trust them, except when it came to being up for a move or two to get some helm action going. Being skint, I needed to know that. They might not even need money to look at them and travelling with them would mean I’d be able to take more than my share and not get skewered for it.     The face of Mr. Grey was kind of impassive. Controlled or hiding something, I reckoned. He was the one who looked more colourfully dressed of the two. He had all the gear of a businessman down to the walking stick and slick hat. I’d seen a few of the merchants of Kedge to know. Mr. Grey? He’d given me the knife but retained an edge to him, if you take my meaning right -- an edge of the danger about him. As for Praetor Furius, there was even less being revealed. Few wear a mask and a hood at the same time. One or the other is usually enough to announce to the world that you are not to be of interest and not to be trusted. Looking at him, I felt positive I could manage both of those emotions — almost. I couldn’t quite bring myself to grant him total disrepute. There was something about his stance that spoke of vanished places that were better than mine. His cape was not merely a night-man’s or a selector’s. It had a deeper impact. Maybe it was the strange edging attached to it. This was not the harsh black of the main part of the cape. The edging instead looked like someone had tried to put a band of stained glass upon it. I’d seen windows at the academy in Iorinth. The warlogues rate those windows as some of the most valuable parts of the place. Something about the tale the images in the windows’ sections told, appealed to the fighter in me and I was no pupil of warfare at the time. The thief in me just wanted to figure out a scheme to make off with a pane or two, such was their obvious value... I looked to see if Praetor’s cape’s edging had any imagery but it didn’t as far as I could tell.       They wanted to see Finndo. That is, they asked if I knew where he could be found. Whoever had bent me over by telling them I knew Finndo would get my heel to the head just when he was getting to the best part... There was no point in pretending I’d never heard of Finndo or didn’t know how to get to him. It was a fact that Finndo had told me a month before the bosses had left that he’d always be found below the bank of the croupiers if things got out of hand. Seems he’d managed to improve the croupiers’ vault so that getting past its defences would be even harder. If I’d learned anything about Finndo it was these two items: he was no thief and he knew more about stealing than anyone I’d known. Put those things together and you can see why the Medallions-Croupiers jumped at the offer he made to make their bank vault impenetrable. In exchange he’d asked for some room below their headquarters. The bankers were happy to have such a figure in proximity to their vaults. Finndo did point out that he’d therefore be a further deterrent to any rash attempts to rob the place. For mine, I’d say the croupiers also knew he was getting a pretty easy go of obtaining property. They probably figured he’d defend the place if he had a personal stake in it. Bankers are like wyvyrms. They both fiercely covet the money of others that they’ve managed to pile up but they’d still rather have somebody else die defending it.       I took Praetor and Grey to the place. It only took twenty-five minutes to get there. We didn’t get spotted by any cats so all was good. As I sat down to raise the drainage grate, my nose caught a whiff of Strandling’s Choicest. My favourite pipe-smoke. I gave out the direction to take to get to Finndo’s rooms, once they had climbed the rungs down. When Praetor ‘s hooded head had disappeared and I’d closed the grate after them, I stood and went directly between two buildings, where the aroma of the Strandling was wafting from. A man and woman were leaned up against a brick wall. They seemed relaxed. They were fond of each other that was made obvious by their joint activity. They didn’t stop even when I greeted them. The man barely glanced toward me as the woman caressed him. I told her to keep it up and that got a laugh from both of them. I offered to give them each a taste. This made them look to me more sharply. They could not miss my brandishing my new knife. They looked relieved. A few choice words to give the false impression that the rakshahasas had left me armed because I was in their service and I was given the woman’s pipe and tobac pouch. I left them to their exercise and returned to the other side of the street. A few minutes later the men emerged from the shaft and we left the bank’s vicinity.       They discussed their course of action. Grey made up his mind to leave Spansis. Praetor insisted that I should join them. My poor condition and over-strong smell might have been putting Grey off. He didn’t want me along. It took more than one attempt for him to accept that I could come along. I owed Praetor a debt for that, I reckoned. I’d wait to see whether that is a debt of gratitude or otherwise, thanks for asking. That’s because where we went was so odd that I’m not sure if I should have been grateful. Getting there the way we did might explain the oddness, I reckoned. Grey did it. Took out a chain from beneath his shirt. There was a key on the chain. It was made of a black-silvered metal I’d not seen before. I’ve been ‘round-about some unusual types -- seen a fair bit of chantried gear. Not had much of my own. The key was older than the realm, I’d be booked. Grey reached out a hand to Praetor and Praetor reached out to me. Next thing I knew I was looking at a very different city.       We were in a park. That’s what I took it for. There were people strolling down the pathways. Some were alone. Others walked in pairs. All looked wealthy, clean and soft. Things were looking up. I managed to convince one man dressed in some kind of a uniform to give us money. He took me for a beggar even though I didn’t ask him for anything. The money he gave us was strange. Small beads that looked like spiders. These matched the spider necklace he wore over his uniform jacket. At one corner of the park, we could see a large, domed structure. We went there. It was filled with people in festive clothes. Well most of them, some men and women were less wearing and more requiring. I didn’t have a problem with nudity, not when the people nude were attractive. Everyone looked like they were without care and at ease. A strange place, this city. Praetor and Grey called it, Sainted Ark. Strange name for a strange city.       We approached a short, squat man. He was dressed in a shiny shirt and pants. A large belt kept the two separated. He had a decent beard that was forked in two. While he spoke to us, he had the habit of pulling at his beard with a hand going to each forked portion. When he was asked as to whether he had ever heard of a ‘Blaze of Amber’, he replied that he knew him well and knew where to find him. He seemed happy enough to escort us there but refused to walk. He had a ready-made solution for this. He wanted us to hire a coach. He took us through the domed building, to an entrance where a line of coaches sat waiting. Looked like the many revellers were expected to take these coaches home when they were done. Knowing that Grey had been reluctant to have me along, I sprang into action. Without a word, I took up the reins of an unattended coach and wheeled it so that they could get in. I learned to drive a six-in-hand when I was stationed in Taghnaleer. That was a long time ago but I’d never regretted the two years’ service I’d signed up for. Grey and Praetor got in, as did our squat guide. I will admit that the horses were encouraged a bit too much as we wheeled down the street in the only direction we could go. The horses were close to uncontrollable. Coach horses are usually trained to respond to easy commands. A team requires enough from the driver without using animals that aren’t easily ordered about. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said the horses had never pulled anything before. Strange horses for a strange city.       We reached the barracks of what the squat man kept calling, “the Quad”. As long as it was a barracks I was alright with it. Soldiering is what I’d spent most of my life doing. It was a fancy place to call a barracks as it turned out. Huge building with columns and massive sets of metal-strapped doors. Not a place you’d expect to go into and find soldiers sleeping on cots. Grey walked up to the sealed doors and touched them with his black-silvered key and they opened immediately. We were met by a quite surprised man. He looked about thirty-something. Let’s say the something would have made him, thirty-mad. It was his eyes that made me think he was unhinged. In every other manner he was normal enough but the redness of his eyes wasn’t right at all. Strange eyes for a strange city. He took Praetor and Grey through a door I wasn’t permitted to enter. There was no one around. Out on patrol, I reckoned. I sat beside the door and listened for what I could hear from inside. I wasn’t sure what had already been said but I was surprised that it sounded like Praetor and Grey were being interviewed for a position. The soldier was asking first one then the other, for their height, weight, age… that sort of thing. Praetor was reluctant to answer but Grey seemed alright with the questions. When it got to giving a name, Praetor gave the name, Lachrymose -- funny sort of a fake name. A little too important sounding. Then they were told to give a mark to the notes the soldier had made, by using their blood. I was glad I wasn’t in the room. No chance I’d have cut myself just for a soldiering job. There’s enough types trying to cut me on the jobs I’ve taken. I’m not going to make it easier for them to take me down by doing their work for them.       Grey, then Praetor, cut themselves and made their blood-marks in the Order’s ledger. Beside these marks I could hear the soldier scratching away with his charcoal. He indicated the notations he’ d just made. The soldier asked them their professions. This was a bit more interesting. Grey hesitated but then said, “Assassin”. The soldier didn’t write anything as best as I could tell. Then he asked Praetor for his profession. Praetor was more hesitant than Grey. I reckoned he was going to make something up. He must have decided that bearing such a large sword there were few enough believable stories he could go with. He finally said, “Executioner.” Figures, the mask and hood thing… I heard the ledger close with a thump. The soldier announced,       “That’s what I had decided that each of you were before you answered. Welcome to the ranks of the Armory of Arioch. That’s the full name of the cohort but the Armory is commonly used and is enough for most occasions. We are in dire circumstance and need all the help that two men like you can provide. The Order of the Quadrangle is comprised of four cohorts: The Armory, The Cornerstone, The Xiombarg Watch and The Avernalspawn. Blaze of Amber is the Grand Master but we’re not very happy with his taking over the Order. However, he’s not a man to argue with. We’d be happy to just leave if you’ve a means to get out of the city. The city’s name is, Sainted Ark to most here. In a previous time it was known by another name. In the old realm it was called, the City-State of the Invincible Overlord.”       If all this had an impact on Grey or Praetor I didn’t hear it. What I did know was that they didn’t protest the soldier’s assumptions that they had joined, nor did they disclaim the idea that they might have a way to get the Armory away from this Blaze. Blaze was a name I didn’t know but it sounded dangerous. Some kind of pyrocaster, I reckoned. My cloak was fire-proofed. I’d taken that precaution back when I was hired to deal with a couple of pyrocasters working for Ghostly. I felt I’d be alright to deal with this Blaze.       The soldier hadn’t finished. He outlined the history of the Order of the Quadrangle. He listed some odd theories about why the city was important and things about a separate cohort and a separate order that existed in the city and were already sworn to Blaze’s service. The cohort was called the Regulus and the other was the Order of the Black Lotus. He then told them his name was, Campaign and that his mother was a vam-pyre. More fiery talk. Sainted Ark must have had something to do with fire at its origin, I reckoned. A strange beginning for a strange city…

Rewards Granted

GREY -- 'The Key to the City' a gift of Absolom   LESSFEAR -- a knife   FURIUS -- Smoker Lessfear a gift of Grey

Missions/Quests Completed

Arrival in Sainted Ark   Knowledge of the Order of the Quadrangle   admission into the cohort -- The Armory (of Arioch)