A Devil's Bargain

Polished 3.1 — 59m00s — 2020/10/29

Polished 3.1 and 3.2 — 1h27m34s — 2020/11/01

Polished 3.3 — 38m06s — 2020/11/03

Polished 3.1 and 3.2 — 1h02m35s — 2020/11/03

Polished 3.1 and 3.2 — 20m14s — 2020/11/06

Polished 3.3 and 3.4 — 58m33s — 2020/11/07

Polished 3.5 — 22m26s — 2020/11/07

In the year 1119, Tallian refugees first arrived upon the shores of Lake Kundilae and found the fecund wilderness with all its beautiful ruins to their liking—but among the many ruins were said to be a serpent people, and these serpent people were said to like the taste of human.

At the time, a few Yak clans were brave enough to make this valley their home; and although they claimed to be happy, they had to admit the naga were known to cause troubles. People were killed and kidnapped. Livestock too. Once, an entire village disappeared.

But this was not a village worth of refugees, and some of the newly arriving Tallians wondered if perhaps these accounts weren’t exaggerated anyway. Besides, the dirt was soft, invited their crops, and there were fish aplenty in the lake. So it was that Ebertin was found; and the tunneling ruins incorporated, ignored, and sometimes destroyed as the building progressed.

For several years, there wasn’t much trouble from the naga—though they stole a number of chickens.

They even stole a child or two.

Every once in a great while; on a moonless night, or as the occasional storm broke over the valley; naga were even known to attack and kill full grown men.

But what were a handful of deaths to a people that just suffered the collapse of their empire, and a great exodus of a thousand miles, all while harried by their enemies? The majority thrived, and counted their lives to be good enough. Although it was a grim view, they recognized that something was always killing a few men and stealing a few children. Besides, there was such a rich bounty of resources, and few other problems in the valley. Ebertin grew, and as Ebertin grew, more and more of her men ventured into the tunnels of ol’ Beletrain, and began to fit them to their own liking.

Initially, the naga profited by their new neighbors. They were all too happy to have more chicken and children to steal. They dug their tunnels deeper and deeper into the earth to avoid the men and their clumsy scratching. If these men thought they could control the naga’s access to the surface, they were sadly mistaken, for the tunnels were vast and easily stretched for miles, even into the mountains both east and south. Indeed, it is said that the tunnels are deeper than the naga care to admit. In the deep and the dark, there are said to be things far worse than naga. Indeed, there are said to be massive caverns that run the entire length of the continent, and all sorts of wonders and terrors there, lurking about.

The stream of Tallian refugees continued to pour into the valley. Once they were outnumbered, the naga began to worry. They worried even more once there were twice as many men—and eventually three times as many—before the last of the refugees finally finished dribbling over the mountains. The fear of the naga boiled into anger, then blossomed into outrage. Eventually, too many of them agreed that something ought to be done

On a summer’s night in 1127, as a massive storm swept the valley, naga poured from their ruins and set upon the men of Ebertin, intent on slaughtering them all—or at least driving them away. But the naga did not find a soft and lazy people. They found a rugged and formidable lot; veterans of the Broken Legions of Tronde and Rigel, chiseled in the battles of the Great Betrayal, forged by an exodus of a thousand miles, now tempered by hopes of a new home. Needless to say, the initial attack went poorly for the naga, as the Tallians were quick to rally, and brutal in a row.

Incensed, the Tallians attempted to dig the naga out of Beletrain—and managed to clear a fine network of tunnels close to the surface. But the naga were too deeply entrenched and dangerous in their labyrinthine warrens. Even after years of hard scrabble fighting, the men could not penetrate the deeps of ol’ Beletrain. All too often, the combatants died for mere inches—only to lose their gains a day later. The men established their barriers and traps, and maintained constant vigil in many quarters—yet, the naga could not be denied the occasional murder or theft. There were a thousand cracks, crevices, and concealments still connecting the cites. To this day, chickens, dogs, and children still go missing. On occasion, naga are caught in the act. Many are caught alive, and even afforded a semblance of a trial—though it is hard to believe any jury is impartial. It is argued that naga must be sentient creatures, since they often speak the Trohl amalgamation of Tallian and Yak. Of course, one is forced to admit that despite their ability to communicate, the naga rarely have anything nice to say.

Even today, it is a fairly common to see a naga cussing and spitting, as it is dragged through the streets on its way to the nearest courthouse. At the very least, naga caught in the city are branded and banished, even if they have so much as a chicken on their person. But if a naga already has a brand, or if it has killed someone, or attempted to abduct a child, the creature will often be hanged until dead.

In this manner, the war continues.

– On The Bloody Shores of Kundilae, Wybrow the Wanderer, p.64

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Celesi glanced sideways at Toar as they followed Apulton and Andrus through the crowded streets of Ebertin. Often, when there was a break between the trees and houses, she could see Lake Kundilae, so she assumed they were in Edgewater and fast approaching their destination.

Since they first left the others, Celesi gaped at the crowds on the street, shocked to see so many of her people free, as if there was no war at all. At once, she was glad that so many of her cousins wandered wherever they may—and yet disappointed to see so many of them with petulant scowls upon their faces. Were they oblivious, or perhaps bothered by their freedom?

Or perhaps they were not as free as they appeared? As she considered the possibility, she thought this second view might be more accurate.

Still, it'd been a long time since Celesi was around so many of her own kind, and her heart was glad. Yet, there was a distance between them. She didn’t know any of these people, and none of them knew her. She wondered who among her neighbors and friends might have evaded the sneaky Ministrians, and their Degorouth collaborators. Did anyone she knew make it all the way to Ebertin? Might she run into one of her old friends or neighbors? But the crowds continued on and on, and she realized anyone she might know would be lost to her in this sea of unknown faces. Even if she should see someone, what might she say to them? No, these were not her people. Celesi was a stranger among them. Indeed, who did she know anymore? Except for a handful of new acquaintances, there were only her enemies.

Celesi wondered if she was a touch too Ministrian for her people. A lump formed in her throat as she remembered what it was to be a Jay. There were many levels of Jay among the Ministrians, and she was the lowest of these. Her sisters, Alise and Karamina, made a point of reminding her of this frequently. To be the lowest of the Jays meant that she shared in all the niceties of her sisters profession; an appreciation for the arts, lessons in cooking, manners, and the like. She was well educated—after a fashion. They were even so liberal as to teach her letters and allow her to keep a personal journal—though she’d caught both Karamina and Meriona reading it. Still, she had far more privileges than the common slaves. But despite her elevated position, Celesi’s title of Jay was mostly empty. As a foreigner held in low regard, she had little understanding or access to the political cloak and dagger that seemed to dominate the sisterhood's true work. Admittedly, she never wanted a part in the Jays anyway, and had simply resigned herself to a life among that people; a stranger given some privilege simply because she was young and pretty.

And how long could she expect such privilege to last? How long could she expect her good looks to hold out, especially among such an ugly people?

For too long, Celesi was low on fight. After her village was ransacked and her friends and family rounded up and taken to the Invader’s Fort as slaves, she still managed to evade the blended forces of Minist, Wibbeley, and Ebertin—not to mention the bugbear—for over eight months. But the ordeal took its toll. Thin and emaciated, she was finally caught trying to fish a proper dinner out of a half frozen creek, late into winter. Her captors found her at the edge of the stream; frozen, starved, and nearly out of her mind. At the Invader’s Fort, when Meriona took an interest in her, Celesi complied and allowed the Jay to give her the “rudiments of a proper education”. More importantly, she missed few meals, and even had a warm bed. In many ways, it was much better than being stuck among the common slaves.

But not much. Celesi soon realized her plight. Indeed, Meriona was quite open about her plans for Celesi, and explained quite pragmatically how she expected the Trohl to handle the various embarrassments and inequities that were quickly coming her way. She revealed that she had recently returned from selling her last prodigy: another native girl of uncommon beauty. Yes, Celesi would soon be a concubine to some man of position, her virginity sold to the highest bidder, and her person hid deep within some palace grounds, behind curtains of lace and intrigue.

But before she could be sold, she had to be trained in the niceties of Baradha society. Still weak from running and hiding in the wilderness, Celesi allowed Meriona to mold her. She saw how the other slaves were treated and knew in many ways she had it good. She went along and built her strength as she studied her enemies. She made no attempt to escape. Not yet. Besides, she had no where to go. Her family was gone; dead, or sold down river, even before Celesi arrived at the fort. When she was first captured, she thought that at least she’d see her family again—but there were only a few neighbors left—among a great congregation of strangers in the slave pens. With such a wretched mass before her, she could not even be mad at her plight.

And so, her body healed, although her heart suffered. Instead, she focused on the training she was afforded. Learning the language, then the customs, even the habits of her enemies. So what if her life was hollow? There was no point in fighting. Her captors had already won, and could only make her life more of a living hell. Instead, she grew complacent, growing accustomed to the pins and barbs delivered by her senior sisters. There’d be more of them once she became a concubine.

If she became a concubine.

If she could not find an opportunity to escape.

If she could not think of a better place to be.

Wouldn’t any place be better?

A date was set for her departure to Tikatis. She wondered if perhaps she hadn’t squandered her opportunity. Then—only a week from the day she was to go west—the duke appeared in their house. The next day, a war of bugbear attacked, and suddenly Celesi was heading in the opposite direction. Once more, her whole world had shifted!

And that was not even the last of her shocks!

A week later, a rock smashed though the dome of the Great Court and killed the chimera, Kezodel. In the mayhem, Celesi found the courage to stand up to Meriona—and just like that the young Trohl girl was free! As free as the day was long! Now she couldn’t help but grin as they wandered the streets of Ebertin; among thousands, perhaps millions of her own people.

And a handsome and dour man next to her.

Celesi glanced again at Toar and fancied that the young explorer would make a fine anchor for her new life—a free life! All she had to do was win him over.

She eyed the prosaic come and go of traffic while the manic events of the last couple weeks played through her mind yet again. It seemed that no one among the commoners even knew or cared of the grand events that had all too recently happened. "They move around as if nothing is wrong," she wondered aloud. "Is it possible that such a lord should die, and the people won't even know it?"

"There's not much talking in this city," Andrus said. "Anything beside the official story must travel in furtive whispers. There are plenty of Degorouth and Ministrian spies in the city, and they won’t take kindly to such gossip."

Apulton shook his head in disagreement. "The secret is out," he argued. “Nothing stops the rumor mill. Indeed, when people appear quiet is usually when it is doing it’s best work.”

“For many of them, it won’t matter,” Toar countered. “Even if they know, they’ll assume the new leader will be just as bad as the last; and likely as not, they’re right."

“But the shaman promised a new day,” Celesi replied.

“And who is he to know the future?” Toar shook his head. “The hyperbole of a holy man, a best guess, a wild hope.”

"Will there be fighting?" Celesi asked.

Andrus nodded. "The Degorouth are bitter and petty. They’ll bloody somebody.”

"They're a rotten bunch," Apulton agreed. "There is likely fighting already—somewhere. The Degorouth will take their frustrations out on someone—once they get over the initial shock of it all."

"Do you think they'll maintain power?" Celesi asked.

"Without Kezodel?" Apulton shrugged. "With him in the lead, I'd say they were likely to break Ebertin—eventually. She's a tough egg, but Kezodel was something else. Among these other muckety-mucks, I dunno a single one worth his salt—but then, I haven't paid too much attention. I didn't see a reason. I assumed Kezodel would stay in command for another fifty years," he admitted. “Traust or Duboha would have a better answer. Maybe Aim.”

Andrus snorted. "It is impossible to pay attention among the sycophants and lickspittles that groveled at Kezodel's feet," he added. "Yet, we all heard the priestess yelling, 'you will be swept aside!' and what not. Who knows? Maybe it is a new day for Ebertin."

"Perhaps the loss of their leader will be enough to shake the parasites," Celesi noted. “The people deserve better.”

“Do they?” Toar wondered aloud.

"It shall be interesting,” Apulton speculated. “But I think Traust means to see us all go home. I fear we shall not get to see it.”

“I should like to stay," Andrus replied.

"You would stay, even with all the coming troubles?" Celesi asked.

"Because of the coming troubles,” Apulton corrected her. “These troubles will not affect us as much as these others. Our home is in Hearthstone, and we are supported from there. No matter how dire it gets, we are more insulated than most,” he noted. “And what of you two? Do you wish to go east with this Saot lord?"

Toar gave a quick nod. "I serve, and I am not taken with this city. Not in the least.”

"Didn't you grow up here?" Celesi asked.

"No,,” Toar answered. “But I did grow up among the Degorouth, and I should not like to be near them at all."

"How is it that Kezodel knew you?" Celesi asked—a question that piqued both Apulton and Andrus—as they were not in the main audience hall as Kezodel spoke to Toar. They did not hear the brief, yet familiar exchange between the two.

"I was raised in Kezodel's house," Toar noted. "I was about Claiten’s age when I escaped. Several of Kezodel’s men had kidnapped the daughter of a political rival. She was also young. Jealous, nervous—even out of genuine concern—some of Kezodel’s own harem colluded to help this girl escape. I was enlisted to go with her and help her find her people. The plan worked. Her family was rich and well-connected. When it came to light that Kezodel was behind the kidnapping, it was finally too much, and he was chased from his position. The locals rousted the judge and drove him to Ebertin.

“For years, it seemed the judge was forever out of our lives—except that he managed to take over the capital, and thereby, the tribe,” Toar continued. ”Then, with the help of his Ministiran allies, he began to ruin the western settlements and slowly sold their people off as slaves," he added with a sordid tone. “But I saw the troubles rising, and I struck out on my own. I was returning to the ruins of Saylst when I ran into the duke.”

“A man that has turned calamity into advantage,” Apulton said as he clapped the younger Trohl on the shoulder.

Toar huffed. "Sometimes, I fear my actions may have led to Kezodel taking over Ebertin. I wonder, If I had not escaped, if he was not confronted and driven away; might he still be the judge to some backwater county? He’d certainly be unable to ruin a whole tribe of Trohl if he were still in Fastwater.”

"Yet he failed,” Apulton shrugged. “And who is to say he wouldn't have taken over Ebertin that much quicker if you hadn't unwittingly destroyed his operations at home?”

“Besides, he has not completely spoiled the Bouge,” Andrus added.

“We are not as we claim,” Toar snorted. "I always wondered how we could call ourselves part of the freelands when I was born to slavery. The doublespeak of our leaders is disingenuous at best."

“Among the freelands, few are truly free—and most the people are willingly blind to the fact—even many among our own,” Apulton noted. “It keeps them from the discomfort of having to make their own decisions.”

"Hearthstone is free," Andrus noted.

"For now..." Apulton muttered under his breath.

"What is this?" Celesi asked. "I thought Hearthstone was the most beautiful city in the world?!"

"It is!" Apulton replied. "But there is no place in the world safe from the ruinous effects of stupidity! Even among the Jindleyak there are those that advocate for their own slavery. Indeed, there is no city without its troubles.”

“And it seems that most of ours come from Gramgoar,” Andrus complained, then turned to Celesi. "Now that you know it, do you still prefer to go to Hearthstone; or might you like to stay here in Ebertin?”

“Greatest of all Trohl cities,” Apulton added.

Andrus snorted. “It is merely the largest. It is in no way the greatest.”

“Being the largest makes it the greatest,” Apulton replied. “Now shush. We have asked the lady a question.”

"I am not attached to Ebertin,” Celesi began with a shrug. “I know nothing of it, and if there will soon be fighting, I'd just as well go elsewhere."

"Ebertin is a vast city," Apulton noted. "I should think there will be fires—and most people won't see them. There will be fighting in the streets—and most people won't hear it. A new order will establish itself—and half the populace will never look up from their doings long enough to notice," he waved at the varied crowd. “Even now, they take no notice.”

“It is not my home,” Celesi replied. “My home is gone, and my family with it. Now, the only people I care to know move on, and I plan to go with them,” she smiled at Toar. At once, she hoped she did not betray her interest in the young man—and yet she wondered, how was it possible that he had not noticed her attentions? She thought perhaps it was the stress of their situation—but stress brought it out of others. It certainly seemed to get his Saot friend, the tea-drinker with the lustful eye… Of course, that man gave the priestess the same look—and even looked at Meriona with such eyes—the lout!

Of course, what did Celesi know of men? The last good men she knew were several years in the grave.

Oh but don't think of home, she told herself. Instead, think of your newfound freedom! Think of the handsome man at your side! Such thoughts will keep the tears away, she noted as she wiped the gathering moisture from her eyes. I am free! Free in the freelands! Think on that! she reminded herself as she followed the others through Edgewater.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Aim carried the injured and unconscious Krumpus as the Oak and Beast militia led Creigal and his Saot guards through the dark corridors of Beletrain—but they did not walk alone. A host of ethereal creatures, beings of radiant light and love, swirled in the air about the shaman; all but invisible to the others. Despite their restlessness, beasts of the dark shrank and shivered from these angelic guards as the party passed—for the meteor that destroyed the Great Court and crushed Kezodel had sent trembling ripples throughout the area, and made many things uneasy. But the party was protected and guided. Indeed, even a priest of the naga attended in astral form, and warned away several of his own race. Under no circumstances were these trespassers to be disturbed.

Thanks to her venom, Meu was connected to the shaman's mind, and since he could see these creatures, she could also see these creatures. And what a sight they were! They were the most beautiful things Meu had ever encountered! They were perfect in their manifest forms with brilliant eyes, pristine smiles, and elegant dress—for those that cared to wear clothes. The love and power that radiated from these beings was pure and beyond measure!

Several of the attendant were human, though several had evolved into higher forms and wore wings of light. Their was a high dragon, and a couple of his lesser cousins crowding in from the edges. There was a naga with a long flat tail and stick-thin arms. There were also a couple of her own cousins—wyrms—though their coloring was strange to her. Their wings were dark, nearly black, and their body had a marbling of red and yellow, with amethyst highlights. She’d never seen, never even heard of such coloring—which made her wonder; were they even from this world?

A number of the crowd were too weird for the wyrm to name—though she might hazard a guess or two. One was sure to be a warhorse—or a nightmare—as some were known to call them. Another she thought might be a thunderbird. Yet, there were a handful more for which she couldn’t even hazard a guess.

Caught in the ecstasy of the shaman's visions, Meu couldn’t contain herself. She did not follow the shaman’s progress, as he was carried underground, nor did she notice that Wenifas had separated from the others and was now in a bad way. Instead, she studied this heavenly council from behind the shaman’s eyes and basked in their magics. She rose into the cloudless sky above Ebertin and spun in exuberant spirals as she basked in their potent love. The sun glared down from its zenith, and Meu danced in its rays. Despite its incredible heat and light, the sun could hardly compete for the wyrm's attention. Her amazement swelled as she beat her wings and climbed into thin air.

Despite the burns Krumpus suffered from the meteor’s lightning, Meu knew he’d be okay. Indeed, once he healed, she suspected he’d be more potent than ever—as he was touched by the strange magics of his ethereal visitors. But the shaman wasn't the only one to benefit. Meu could feel her own understanding and abilities stretch. She marveled at what she witnessed, baffled that these potent magics were not only possible, but seemingly easy! She realized many of her own magics were overly difficult and complicated in the manner she used them, made so by her own fear and uncertainty. The magics of these creatures were often incredibly simple—yet boundless in the various ways in which they grew and branched. She drew a number of valuable secrets from their words and thoughts, from their songs and dance.

Yet, Meu knew there was a good deal she was missing—as the creatures tailored their words and actions to the shaman’s needs, and not her own. She climbed higher and higher, and the city shrank below. Ebertin dwindled and the far shore of Lake Kundilae crept into view. She wheeled as excitement and strength poured through her, as the conversation between Krumpus and these others raced on and on and on. She would have sworn that weeks or months had past—if it wasn’t for the slow march of the ever present sun. Could it really only be a few hours since all this began?

Suddenly, the angelic council spoke no more. In their silence, they simply stared at the shaman and waited expectantly. No. This host of incredible beings looked through the shaman. They observed the one attached to his mind. They witnessed Meu.

She was discovered!

Meu gazed in from the edge of the shaman's consciousness, suddenly unnerved. Her heart skipped a beat. She leveled out and spiraled in a lazy glide as she accepted the fact that she was known. Was she in trouble? Would these beings of light turn terrible? Would they destroy her for her trespass? She was sure they could. She wondered what wrath might pour from them and hoped only that her destruction would be immediate. She could not hope to deny them.

But there would be no punishment, one of her wyrm cousins explained. Indeed, many of them recognized she was there from the start—how could it be otherwise? But it is not you alone, the distant cousin told Meu. You have brought another. Do you not hear her?

For several seconds, Meu hung in the air, unsure of what he spoke. Then, in a forgotten corner of her mind, she heard Wenifas plead and beg for rescue as she stumbled about in the darkness under Ebertin.

Wenifas!

Meu had forgotten and ignored the priestess—and now her friend was in danger once more! Meu’s heart lurched. I am here! She called to the priestess.

In a rush of relief, Wenifas told the wyrm what had happened to the Lady Yandira. Despite close proximity to soldiers all her life, Wenifas rarely witnessed such open and immediate violence herself. She was used to the creeping, secretive malevolence of the Corpus, hidden by the thick canvas of her own tent—justified by custom and rite. It was the violence of a dark night; fists and feet, bites and bruises, strains, sprains, and all sorts of various pains. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t death.

But now, the Lady Yandira…

Pale faced and beginning to lurch, Elpis led the way through the dark of Beletrain. Wenifas followed with Evereste in her arms and Claiten clinging tight to the shaman’s cloak. Scurra followed close behind, resolute, yet seeming so small.

The commentary stopped. Wenifas heard Scurra curse as she threw her weight backward, rolled away, and lost her torch—though she managed to catch her feet. The priestess turned to see a mallet flash out of the shadows and smash at Elpis. The mace crushed against the handle of his axe, and since he only had one hand to wield his weapon, the handle of his own axe was forced back against the Jindleyak’s face. With an “oof!” he crumbled to the floor.

Wenifas screamed, a bloody pitch that filled the dark, before it ran and fled through a thousand dark and dangerous corridors. Next to her, Claiten waved the last of their torches as he yelled his defiance at the strange beast before them; long skinny arms, a wide flat tail, and scales all about. This naga was not kind. It was not like the one that sung to the shaman. This one had dark eyes, filled with malevolence, and a heavy mace held high, and ready to fall. Claiten swung his torch at the beast—but the creature brushed it aside—and the boy also. The torch fell and dashed on the brick flooring.

“Claiten!” Wenifas called as her boy tumbled into the darkness. She reached for her child—but the beast grabbed her face and shoved her roughly into the brick of the wall. A rude pain shot through her head as she bounced off the structure, and for a split second, her mind went black. She crumbled, and by instinct alone, cushioned Evereste as she fell to the ground.

As this violence occurred, Krumpus spoke to Meu. I cannot return yet, he told her. My body is weak, and my spirit is not yet prepared. Will you go and do what you can do to help her?

What can I do? Meu thought to ask. Is this not already over? Yet, as she spoke, a resolve filled the wyrm, and she vowed to do what she could. She pulled in her wings and dove. Wind rushed over her form as she raced for the ground.

As she raced on, Meu called to the priestess. In the dark, Wenifas regained consciousness—only to hear the sorrowful song of Evereste howling. She sat up and screamed as the naga tugged at her crying babe.

The panic caught in Meu too. She knew she’d never make it in time! She fanned her wings and halted her dramatic descent, as fear and impotent rage surged through the wyrm. She screamed at Krumpus and his heavenly council. Do something! She begged them. Do anything! Please! She continued. Please save her!

The council turned all eyes to Krumpus. It was for him alone. A knowing grin crossed the shaman’s face as he stared into the mind of Meu, and through it, into the mind of Wenifas. A searing burned from the shaman, through the wyrm, and caught hold in the mind of the woozy priestess. Wenifas screamed—and then the shaman was in her mind—and at the speed of thought, he showed her an innocuous little object among the many folds of his cloak; a thing of paper, flint, and black powder.

Not knowing what it was, Wenifas clutched at the small flash bomb, then thrust it at her attacker. Let go of it! The shaman commanded—but the priestess wanted to make sure it worked, so she pressed the slight object hard against the naga’s face.

Light and heat exploded from the flash bomb. The beast roared and let go of the screaming babe. With her free hand, Wenifas pulled Evereste back with one hand, and smothered the flames that danced upon her other hand in the rough cloth of the shaman’s cloak. Peels of agony ripped from the naga as it retreated. The crying ended as the creature dove into the aqueduct—and with the disappearance of the beast, the dark grew quiet enough for the priestess to hear her companions.

She still needs you, Krumpus told the wyrm. I am sorry, but I shall need my privacy, he continued, as his thoughts became overwhelming. A fire raged in Meu’s mind, and as it burned, a strange thing happened that the wyrm had never experienced. The connection of their minds was severed, and not just her connection to the shaman, but to the priestess too!

For several seconds, Meu wheeled in slow circles far above the city, as she tried to understand what had happened. She’d never met someone who could prematurely sever the telepathic connection of her venom. It always took its natural course and lasted as long as it lasted. But not this time.

The last words of Krumpus echoed through her head. She still needs you.

Resolved to find her friends, Meu tucked her wings and dove toward the earth.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Scurra brought up the van as she followed Elpis and the foreign priestess through the shifting dark of Beletrain. One moment, everything was fine—then a curious scrape caught her ear—and instinct took over. She pulled up and leaned away from the sound just as the head of a mallet swung past her and rebounded off the ancient brick of the wall.

“What…?” Wenifas began as she turned back to the militia woman.

Scurra pulled her knife and turned on the strange fish/snake/man amalgamation that attacked her in the low light. She struck below its guard, and cut across its form, but did not penetrate the beast’s armor.

Again, the heavy mallet crashed at Scurra. She flung herself back to avoid the strike, but was forced too far. She lost her footing on the uneven floor, threw her torch, so she might keep her blade instead; and rolled away from the naga’s long weapon.

The beast did not pursue her. Instead, it turned on the others. Elpis gave a yell and interceded between the beast and Wenifas. With his one good arm, he dropped his torch so he might raise his axe instead. The beast stood tall on its thick tail and smashed at the man with its mallet. Elpis caught the blow—but the strike carried such force, and he had just one good arm. He could not properly block the strike, and so the shaft of his own weapon smashed back and struck his face. The militiaman crumbled.

The naga turned on Wenifas. She screamed and clutched her babies as she tried to dodge aside. Claiten pulled his hand from his mom, swung his torch at the naga, and pulled his dagger. The naga brushed the torch aside and pushed the boy past him. Stumbling, Claiten dropped his weapon and fell to the ground.

The naga lowered his mallet, and as the priestess tried to move passed him, the creature pushed her bodily into the brick wall. She fell, her only thought was to cushion Evereste.

Wenifas blinked away stars of pain as she cried out. She felt the naga pull at Evereste. Torment and rage shrieked through the priestess as she felt her babe slipping from her hands, while the toddler bawled. Although she knew the wyrm could do nothing, Wenifas cried out to Meu, help me!

Suddenly, a cold and calculating presence infused the priestess, and she felt the reassuring mind of Krumpus ring through her head. With his guidance, she reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled a small wad of paper from a hidden pocket. With a scream, she shoved the slight object in the beast’s face—though Krumpus urged her to let it go. She felt the tiny bit could not possibly deter the beast, and only hoped the added pressure of her hand might frighten it. She had no idea that a fire would spark, flash, and burn her palm. Indeed, she did not care, so long as it drove the naga away.

Heat and light exploded from her hand. A searing fire ripped at her fingers and palm as Wenifas smashed the black powder flash bomb into the beast’s face. She screamed, and the beast roared in agony. The naga let go of Evereste in order to cradle its own face instead.

Wenifas thumped her hand against the shaman's thick cloak and managed to put out the fire as she held her baby close. Once again, the room was consumed by darkness; yet, she could hear the beast as it scurried away and slipped into the aqueduct at the far side of the room—and then she could hear nothing but her own ragged breath, and the fuss of her babe. She rocked the child as she shushed and cooed and tried to reassure her that everything was all right. “Now now, darling...” Wenifas said with tears in her eyes, and wondered if indeed, things might possibly be all right.

"Sweet Jeiju," Scurra muttered in the dark. "Is everyone okay?"

Elpis gave a weak croak as he slowly propped himself against the wall.

"At least you drove it off," Scurra noted. She struck her knife against a flint. "How did you do that anyway?"

"The shaman," Wenifas began, though she didn’t know how to explain.

“Don’t tell me my brother is here in the dark too,” Scurra snorted—though her tone suggested she would believe such an incredible thing had indeed happened.

“No,” Wenifas shrugged. “In his cloak—I thought it was a stone.”

Scurra huffed. “Leave it to my brother to stash firebombs in his pocket,” she noted as she lit her torch. “So much for never seeing nagas. Damn thing moved quick too!” She raised the torch and assessed the scene. “Holy Tronde, Elpis! Now your face is bleeding!”

More bloody than before, Elpis snorted and tried to wave her off. With a muttered curse, Scurra helped him to his feet. She gave him his torch and lit it with her own.

"There," Scurra smiled and gave the last torch to Wenifas.

Wenifas dropped it. “I cannot hold it,” she said and held out her burned hand for Scurra’s inspection. She cursed and kicked the dropped torch, and sent it rolling into the dark.

Scurra gave a nod. "Well then, let's get out of here," she said, as she helped Elpis from the room.

As the others left, Wenifas turned toward the dark of the room one last time. She stared off in the direction she last heard the naga and begged her child to be there. “Claiten!” She called into the shadows. “Baby, are you out there?!” Tears rolled down her face as she stared into the pitch dark of Beletrain. “Claiten!” she screamed—only to hear her own voice bouncing about in the darkness.

The priestess felt the kind hand of Scurra rest on her shoulder. “It’s probably best if you don’t do that,” the Jindleyak said in a resigned tone. “Who knows what you’ll attract….”

Wenifas knew she was right. She cradled Evereste all the more closely, and feeling her mother’s distress, the babe whimpered and groaned.

Scurra wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently along. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but we have to go.”

Barely able to see for the tears and the darkness, Wenifas wiped her face and slowly followed after the Trohls.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 3.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meu spotted clothes hanging on a line and swooped into the yard. She shifted into human form, grabbed a thin sundress, and let herself out by the gate. Still barefoot, she made for a nearby market. She knew that Wenifas and her companions were somewhere under the city, among the tunnels of ancient Beletrain, and meant to find the nearest entrance. How difficult could it be? She thought, brimming with courage and confidence.

Meu stepped into an eatery and sidled up to the bar. It was a fine place with fancy decor and a gallant air. The barkeep stared at her for a full second, momentarily astounded. He closed his mouth and formed it into a smile as he stepped close. "Welcome the Fatted Calf,” he began. “Would you like to hear what Branson has made in the back, or maybe just a drink on this warm summer’s day?” he asked, a chipper and amiable fellow indeed.

Meu did not speak. She found human language difficult to mimic and could never make the sounds to her own satisfaction. She thought to lick her lips and use her venom—but instead she tried a trick used by several of the shaman’s council. She leaned toward the bartender and stared into his eyes.

After a long second, the barkeep leaned back and shook his head with a tsk. "Beletrain ain’t no place for a lady! Let me get you a tonic and a dram of my finest gin! Then, perhaps one of these strong men will regale you with the misfortunes of ol' Beletrain, that legendary bitch of a hole!"

With a frown, Meu shook her head. She gave a pleading nod as she continued to stare.

“So be it,” the barkeep shrugged. He leaned close and whispered low. "Two blocks down and one block over, there’s a tanner. For the right price, he'll let you down into that snake pit—but I tell you, miss, you don't want to go down into ol' Beletrain. It's a nasty nest of slow and painful death,” he shook his head. “Or maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll only lose a limb...” He pointed at a man at the end of the bar that leaned precariously over his drink. It took Meu a second before she realized he only had one leg.

Touched by his concern, Meu smiled. She pulled the barkeep close and planted a kiss on his cheek, as he’d given her what she wanted.

"You pay with the finest coin," the barkeep blushed. "Before you go, take this refresher," he lifted a bottle from under the counter and set it before Meu. "Please, take it so that I might beg more payment; another kiss to the lighten the other cheek?" he said with a wink.

Meu took his face in her hands and obliged the barkeep.

“You come back ‘round and give us a visit, now,” the barkeep winked. “I’d love to hear of your adventure.”

As quick as she entered, Meu ran out of the bar. Still barefoot, she ran until she found the tanner's door, then banged against it repeatedly as she held the dram of tonic.

"Keep yer pants on!" a gruff and irritable voice roared from the other side of the barrier. Meu stopped banging. Seconds later, the door ripped open. A disheveled face glared at Meu. “Where’s the fire?!" snapped the angry tanner.

Meu gave him a beguiling smile. She stared at the tanner the way she stared at the barkeep, that he might read her intent.

"Beletrain?! In a sundress?!” The tanner snorted as he stared her up and down. “You ain’t got no shoes… you even got a knife?!” he roared. “You won’t last an hour!"

Still, she stared at him.

The tanner huffed and shook his head. "It's your funeral—but I don't unlock the cage for anything less than a lune!"

Meu frowned. She had no coin. Of the three purses she stole from Fedring; Wenifas had one, Claiten had another, and Krumpus had the last. Not that it mattered. There was more than one way to purchase a thing—and this tanner seemed the type to take advantage. Meu’s hand touched the collar of her dress and she pulled gently to expose more skin. She put her other hand on her slight breast and gave the tanner a suggestive look.

The tanner snorted as he stared at the smooth skin of her chest. His mouth twisted into a wicked grin and he pulled the door wide open. "Well, missy, I ain't fucked a crazy since the last one ran off, but I do like the looks of you!" He said as he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the shop.

The tanner whipped Meu into the room and slapped her ass as she wheeled past him. She braced herself for impact and bounced off a table with an indescribable accumulation of junk and dross piled high on its rough and dirty surface. As she slowed to a halt and regained her balance, Meu glanced about the dingy quarters. Thin paths cut between massive jumbles of a cluttered and messy life.

The gruff tanner swiped at the door and it banged shut with a violent shudder. Various objects and mess clattered to the floor. The greasy man turned on Meu expectantly, as he purposely blocked the door. She'd made the offer and he meant to collect.

Meu hesitated—which turned out to be a mistake. The tanner rushed forward, grabbed at the front of her dress, and almost yanked her off her feet. "No need for clothes!" He roared with the smell of stale cheese heavy on his breath.

Instead of resisting, Meu lunged at the tanner with a lusty look, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She couldn’t convince him with just her eyes. She needed in close, and quickly, before he had time to do any real damage. She buried her face in his neck and planted her teeth.

With a yell, the tanner threw her off. Meu landed heavily on a table and tumbled to the floor amid a clatter of mess. The tanner charged her as she stood. He wrapped his meaty fist about her neck.

Meu jerked and grappled with the tanner—though she could not keep him off. Her breath caught, and for a split second, she wondered if the venom would work—then fetid thoughts of sex and violence poured into her head. Her world began to spin, and if it wasn’t for the rough tanner holding her up, she would have crumbled to the floor. Instead, she forced him to hold her up, then made him loosen his grip.

The tanner's eyes went wide as he realized he was no longer in control of his own body. He thought to back away—and Meu allowed it—as he breathed in ragged huffs.

I take back my invitation, Meu spoke in his head. I apologize for the ruse, but you must let me into Beletrain nonetheless.

Unable to resist, the tanner turned, and led her into a dingy basement. The rest of his dwelling proved to be just as cluttered and messy as the workshop.

There were several barriers that had to be removed and unlocked in order to get into Beletrain. There were massive chains and locks, even multiple doors to open—and when the tanner was finished, there was simply a dark corridor with nothing beyond it—just a sucking void of pitch black, stale air.

"I won't let you back up," the tanner glared.

You'll do whatever I ask, Meu replied as she ran a hand down his gruff cheek. She gave him a slap and the man flinched from her. I admit I never meant to sleep with you, she continued. And normally I would return the insult and injury you meant for me.

In his mind, the tanner saw the punishment Meu thought appropriate. He saw himself run headlong into the brick wall behind him. Such a blow would surely knock him unconscious—if it did not kill him outright.

However, I am blessed today, Meu continued. I will not sully the grace I am given. Go. She ordered him. Go upstairs, and use your vicious anger to scrub your hovel clean. You might not have much, but it is yours, she lectured. To care for your stuff is to care for yourself.

"What is it to you?" The gruff tanner snorted. Despite his belligerence, Meu could sense pain, fear, and abandonment under thick layers of resentment and hostility.

It is little indeed, Meu smiled. But you have given me access to Beletrain, and I would yet pay you—if only after a fashion. She said, as she stepped backward into the darkness.

The tanner stared after her—and then he was no longer before the entrance to Beletrain at all. He was far away, on a small beach, naked and wet, as he fought the grip of the ocean. With ragged breaths, he swam for shore, then stepped from the surf with a sponge he'd retrieved from the chill waters. His chest heaved as he regained his breath.

On the beach, the tanner took the time to study his surroundings. The sun drifted at the edge of the horizon, far over the ocean, and colored the sky orange. A massive tower sat atop a cliff, and overlooked the crashing waters. There was a trail that led from the beach, up the side of the hill, and to the tower atop the cliff.

This is mine, the tanner thought as he stared at the tower. He followed the path from the beach and stare out over the ocean. He could not believe the beauty of the landscape and the peace of the birds as they wheeled and called and played above the surf.

The tanner approached the tower and saw Meu standing at its top. She wore the same slight dress as she smiled down at the man—but she was younger and more beguiling. With a smile, the tanner went up the trail. He approached the massive door and pushed it open. Meu stepped down a set of stairs and smiled at the man’s nakedness—which caused the tanner to blush. She took the tanner's free hand and pulled him into the tower, then gently shut the door behind him.

In a corner of the room was a small pool filled with steaming water. Meu approached the large tub and shrugged out of her dress. She turned and beckoned for the tanner to join her. Still naked, he stepped over the rumpled cloth of her sundress and into the bath. With sponge in hand, the tanner washed Meu’s arms and legs, her back and shoulders.

There was a persistent grime over most of Meu’s skin that required soap and fair bit of massaging. As he washed her, a constellation of freckles appeared on her back, shoulders, arms, and up her legs.

"I shall handle the rest," Meu smiled and took the sponge from him. "Will you see to my hair?" she pointed to a brush on a small table. Her voice was as rich and sweet as any he’d ever heard, and he realized he could not possibly deny her.

The tanner stepped out of the pool and retrieved her brush, then sat behind her on the steps of the pool and brushed out her long strawberry hair. As he brushed, she sang a song of heartache and longing. The tanner barely breathed as he listened to the sweet lilt of her voice echo among the stones, his heart full to bursting, his little man thick with longing.

After several silent breaths, Meu turned her loving eyes on the tanner. "A towel, my darling."

The tanner turned to a fine cupboard filled with clean linens—indeed, everything about the tower was neat, orderly, and begged to be appreciated. Slowly, Meu stepped from the pool and took her towel. He smiled at her as his longing continued to build. He knew the only way to get what he wanted was to remain patient. He knew he had to let her give in. If he should try to force her, she’d surely slip away.

With a playful smile, the tanner wrapped his arms about her legs and lifted Meu off the ground. As he picked her up, Meu laughed and ran her fingers through his hair. His face was just above her navel as he carried her up the stairs, to the top of the tower. He reveled in her scent as he carried her; a faint citrus zest—a warm, fertile, earthy smell.

On top of the tower was a large canopied bed with heavy weatherproof drapes, made by the tanner’s own clever hands, tied back to reveal soft. inviting covers. A warm wind blew out to sea as the sound of crashing waves and seabirds drifted up the cliff. The tanner set Meu on the bed. He ran his eyes over her alabaster skin, broken by a fine smattering of freckles; tan stars against an ivory sky. Out to sea, the sun settled to the horizon, and the world turned a warm red.

The application of a fine scented lotion turned to touching and kissing. Emerald green eyes shined with mirth, thin lips curved in a playful smile. Meu pulled the tanner close. The tanner could not imagine what good he had done to deserve such a woman—and yet she begged for him! She wrapped her arms around his neck and for a second he feared she might bite him again. Instead she took him in and sang a song of pleasureful moans and heavy breathing, with the tumultuous sounds of the ocean, and the shrill cry of seabirds in the background.

As they finished, as Meu wrapped her arms around the tanner and cradled her face against his chest. She whispered to him in the growing dark. "You can have these things," she said. "But you must remember your passion. Do you not lust for such a life?"

The tanner settled next to this slip of a woman as tears of joy and ecstasy clouded his vision. He could not reply as he had no interest in making excuses, and he felt that nothing but sobs should issue from his throat. This creature knew everything about him—and somehow still found him worthy!

"There, there," she whispered as she ran her hands over his gruff skin. "You deserve such love! We all deserve such love! But you will not find it the way that you are! You must make yourself the way you used to be. Remember who you were when you cared, before hate and lies took hold, and began to terrorize you? Before selfishness and small comforts consumed you?" she lectured.

Meu filled the tanner’s head with memories of years gone by. He was a young man with ambition; a thousand dreams caught in his eyes. His deepest regret was that he could not chase them all.

"These dreams are meant for you," Meu whispered. "What will you pursue? The riches of the world beg to be claimed, and our reward promises to be more than we need. Certainly, it is more than we deserve!" she smiled. "But we must be worthy! Be worthy once more, my fine man!" she said as she kissed him one last time. Then, Meu and the tower receded into shadow, and the world was dark before the tanner once more. There was only his basement, and the sucking hole of Beletrain. “Remember yourself,” she urged as she disappeared from his mind.

And just like that, the vision was gone. The tower and the woman faded into memory as the gaping black nothing of ancient Beletrain stared back at the tanner. Yet, if he closed his eyes, he could almost see her, smell her, and feel her still—but he could no longer hear her. He leaned into the darkness of the tunnel. His heart longed to see her come out of the shadow and wrap her arms about his neck once more. He promised to be gentle, to care for her as only a real man could.

But she did not return. He thought to follow after her—but he knew she would not be found. She would not allow it.

For several minutes, the tanner stared into the pitch black of Beletrain as the conditions of his life crashed in upon his consciousness once more. He stared down at the dirt on his hands and the mess of his clothes. He reeked. His filthiness was suddenly obvious and overwhelming. Seed soaked his pants. A deep and profound longing filled his heart to bursting. Slowly, reluctantly, the tanner shut the door to ancient Beletrain. He replaced the chains and the heavy locks—and when he was done, he sat on his haunches and put his face in his hands. Then he wept—not for his squalid conditions—but because he had abandoned his dreams and sold himself so very cheap.

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