B I G: Session 13 -- Prologue

Watching a portion of a solid, stone wall fall silently and by falling, create an opening into a room beyond, never got old for Opailidictor. He stood ahead of his men with his back to them. His body stood easy. He removed the sword’s scalloped edge from the wall’s surface. The stones of the wall made no noise as they fell thanks to the Grey mist that billowed, out from the sword and across the floor, cushioning and deadening the sound of their descent.



In his right hand, his sword’s hilt rested comfortably, while the wider than seemingly practical blade, nestled against his right shoulder. Opailidictor had the sword’s broad tip pointed ceiling-ward making the sword look as though it were some kind of charcoal tinted standard. Surveying what the blade had just done to the broken and tumbled stones of the solidly built wall, perhaps the sword was held less like a standard and more like a sledge.



All his selected men could see well in the gloom of the under-passageway that they stood in. They had stood well back, some watching closely, some leaning against the two-wheeled carts they had brought with them. All had watched while Opailidictor used his chantried blade to first trace and then slice into the wall. What they witnessed was that the saw-toothed blade that their broad-shouldered leader used, was imbued in the colour Grey. The colour poured from both of the blade's edges, as though dammed water had burst from its prison. Most of the men were not concerned by this. Colour was magick and chantried things always bore some Colour or other to some extent. While most of the henchman were of this mindset, a few were more aware that while this was true, Grey as a Colour was another matter. Grey was the Colour reserved by the Profane. It might be folly to use an item that some Profane artifice had caused to exist -- foolish to brandish a sword that should not be wielded by a mortal. The small number of men who contemplated this knowledge were made understandably, a little nervous.




Among the henchmen there was one who wasn’t concerned and not because he had no understanding of the blade’s source of power. Jhantoraul wasn't a henchman and instead was Opailidictor’s rudderman. The term was used in Cradam. Jhantoraul knew this was the nation that Opailidictor and he called home. Opailidictor didn’t just live there. He was highly placed in the government of the country as well. Jhantoraul licked his lips. He needed a drink more than he’d realised. They hadn’t had time to fill their waterskins. Opailidictor hadn’t given them any warning that they would be busy for all this time. Jhantoraul counted back quickly on his ridged bracer. Five, six, six and a half ridges… That made it over twenty hours easily, since they had gone underground. He was a man for the open air or the open seas. Being under the city was no great joy. He knew two of the others had a very strong dislike for where they found themselves. It was a measure of what they all stood to gain that they were managing to control their distaste for the deep passageways they had had to travel through. Jhantoraul grinned remembering how Opailidictor had quashed the negative words of those of the men who had voiced their hesitancy to venture below-ground.



Opailidictor had said to them, “We won’t be going down there alone. We will have a mighty protector along with us. One who will forge your resolve and make an armour that no subterranean foe or devious mantrap can pierce. He will walk among you. He will give you strength. He has Loredly power over hearts and he will fill your own with this power. His name is, Greed.” Opailidictor had then outlined where they would go in precise fashion. Once there, they would aid in defeating any guards. Then they would assist in the hauling away of the treasure. Finally, he described what each man could expect to return to the surface with as their portion of the takings. Such a large sum, that each of them would have no need to worry about their future times, even if they should have their lives mightily extended by Green tincture. Jhantoraul continued to smile. You could afford a decent tincture with that number of Mirantian helms. He liked working for his captain. Opailidictor always had some idea that nobody else had reasoned through, ready to go. The situation they were in now, was such a suddenly started one, that Jhantoraul knew it was all Opailidictor’s creation.



Opailidictor motioned sharply at the men closest to him and the opening in the wall.


“We will need to go in and out of here several times each, to get all that we can. Remember how I trained you. Helms might rest lightly in your hand and seem to just float away but that is because money is just hard to hold on to on the surface. Down here you’ll learn that helms can be quite heavy. Once we get the chests up above, and you have your shares, you’ll find that the weight becomes less of an issue. I’d be surprised if you can hang on to all of it for more than a few weeks, eh?”



The men grinned at their leader’s manner. Even the few reluctant ones were emboldened by him and the promise of wealth. Wealth that was well within their ability to dream about but well beyond their station to achieve. Jhantoraul left the forward men to his captain. He motioned to the men nearer to the carts to check the wheels’ padding was securely fastened. He knew that moving as quietly as possible might be all that allowed them to evade whatever chase might be after them once the theft was discovered. Padded cartwheels! Jhantoraul shook his head in admiration. The captain thought of everything. When he looked over to the opening, he could see that the first group of three men had entered as they were no longer on this side of the wall’s opening. He returned his attention to the carts.



Opailidictor watched the trio of men move through the darkness. It had taken him some months to assemble the fifteen men who had joined his rudderman and himself. Each one had the ability to some degree to be able to see in the dark. He believed that most of these were likely to have had some cleftyck blood in their family line. A few might just be gifted, born over a lucky cord. One man had caught his attention named, Skratture, and this by fashioning a spectator mask, minor chantried with Silver to allow him to penetrate not only darkness but fabrics and thick wooden walls as well. A man to consider, that Skratture. Opailidictor had bought him, with some haggling required from a man of the Bronze League. Scowline was the man’s name. Skratture had seemed well-relieved to be away from this master. Skratture spoke only of the hollowness of Scowline’s leadership. That he cared almost nothing for those he commanded, expecting unswerving loyalty for what amounted to a basic room and two meals a day. Opailidictor had easily bettered the man’s living conditions. He wondered briefly at this. Keeping your followers contented, went a long way to keeping them trustworthy. He had been able to learn that the group that Skratture had left to join him for, was called the Beleaguered. Skratture had informed him that they were akin to the selectors of Spansis or the Cloistermen of that southern city. Specifically, the Beleaguered were expert at using ropes for descending on the unwary, for scaling tremendous heights and snaring boats and ships. They employed this versatile skillset alongside their martial prowess with their severance blades. That the Beleaguered were cutthroats was clear. That they were a cut above average was just as obvious. Opailidictor pondered this as he watched the three men place the first of the chests on the heavy fabric litter he had had made. This was more or less a hammock, though too short for a man to rest in and much more heavily stitched canvas than would be considered normal. Then again, what they were doing was far from normal. The padded litter was perfect for its intended purpose of transporting the heavy chests to the carts beyond the breached wall. The thick canvas had the added bonus of muffling any smaller noises created by the shifting helm coinage inside the chests. All seemed to be going well. No guards – if there were any – had appeared to attempt to stop the theft.



Opailidictor didn’t know whether to expect any alarms. The reason for his swift action arose from events in the city. A parlay between the potential new leader of the city of Spansis and the Army of Baytow representing Iorinth, was commencing. Much of the city’s citizenry would find their attention directed to the peninsula next to the city where this meeting would take place. As well, in Lowsis – the undercity of Spansis – there had been a change in the commander of Belringer’s Legion. Where Belringer had gone wasn’t clearly known but Colonel Turbulant had taken control of the troop and presently marshaled it to leave Lowsis and Spansis for the borders of the nation of Kelud. It created the perfect set of distracting conditions to allow his plan to potentially be executed without his being revealed. One thing about using these local men was that none of them would have ever been considered capable of what they were doing. Jhantoraul had trained them well in their simple tasks. Three sets of three men to do the heavy lifting of the chests. The other three sets of two were nimble and fleet of foot, ideal for steering the carts through the tunnelways of Lowsis. Jhantoraul had seen to it to deposit his Cyan plaits at regular intervals that the men knew to look for, as these were marker-guides to the secret exit that Jhantoraul and he had made some months before. The exit remained secret despite the interference of the scarlet tunic wearing swordsmen of Lowsis. Opailidictor hadn’t had time to investigate these newcomers to the undercity. One of these fighters had shown their ability to overcome decisively bad odds in a fight with four of his stronger men. Opailidictor had intervened and not because he wanted to beat the swordsman himself, but because he knew how much effort and time it took to become so skilled. He could only appreciate the man. His four men were simply tools in his plot. They weren’t vitally important long term. This swordsman needn’t die fighting and to be taken prisoner would only make Opailidictor have to make a tough decision regarding his fate. That was why he had intervened and driven the scarlet swordsman away. The secret exit had been secured and the swordsman hadn’t realised how close he had come to learning of it or experiencing his own exit, from life.


A little more than an hour passed and with all the carts securely loaded, the seventeen men moved confidently through the passageways of Lowsis. There was a pursuit. Opailidictor wasn’t caught off-guard by this. He had expected that the Croupier bankers would have some way of eventually realising they had been stolen from. His magicks weren’t that strong. He smiled to himself. Not that strong, but strong enough for his final part of his plan. Soon they would be at the secret exit. Jhantoraul knew the plan well. The lakeship was concealed by nets. Once the chests were loaded on board, the well-paid crew would set off to the opposite end of the lake. With the various armies so preoccupied with each other and the rest of the city distracted by the armed forces, one small ship would go unnoticed as it departed the city’s shores. There was no need to worry about the men he had used. They were likely to disperse, spending their helms as they travelled. That suited him. The men would serve to confuse and consume the efforts of the men sent by the bank to reclaim their money.



Opailidictor didn’t care about the helms or their recovery. The theft was more important for the fact that people would learn about it. That would lead to the Croupier bank being distrusted and weakened. Cradam owed the bank a great sum of money, loaned over the last few years. The loans were used for a large-scale project that Opailidictor had only recently been told about. If all went well, the loans would not need to be repaid and at the same time, the Croupiers who were aware of the project would no longer be protected by the bank's now compromised defences. Opailidictor would see to it that these bankers would be silenced and then the effort Cradam was going to would be secured. None would be able to guess that Cradam’s forces were being greatly expanded upon. Opailidictor motioned to Jhantoraul to hurry the carts forward to the exit. He wanted to be off the lakeship before dawn. They had a rendezvous on the Iorinthan coast, scheduled for a week from tonight with the first of the secret project’s new vessels. Opailidictor was looking forward to his first trip aboard the submersible ‘neathship, named the Scafyre. He was interested in learning what the name referred to.