A gentler sort of story set in the Fighting Fantasy world, told through a one-on-one RPG campaign.
I was reading about the world of Titan and something about Zagoula caught my imagination - a city of art and culture, destroyed in a terrible war and buried beneath the sands. A place where terrible things have happened, haunted by innumerable ghosts, on the edge of an inhospitable desert, close to the Chaos Wastes, overrun by the goblins who once inhabited the area. It’s a great setup for a dungeon crawl.
But I thought, maybe the city has seen enough fighting. The people came and killed the goblins and chaos came and killed the people and everyone has been wronged, every street has been stained with blood. Beautiful as it was, the city’s carven stones were an act of colonial violence. But that was all a long time ago, and now everything is quiet. It has been quiet for centuries, and the peace has seeped into the stones. Nobody feels like fighting, not really.
And the silence draws you to it. Maybe you’ve been hurt, maybe you’re looking for something you can only find in stillness, maybe it’s just the sense that where there’s silence there might be a secret. You walk through the desert and through the echoing streets of this empty, beautiful, decaying city. Make a camp in one of the spires, in a more or less intact room, hang it with tapestries and rugs, make it homey. Learn the ways of the city—where the dangerous ghosts are, which ones you can talk to. Hunt for old books in libraries buried by the sands. Hang out with the goblins in the daytime; it’s not easy at first, maybe you get into the odd scrap, but you’re bigger and not unfriendly, so it’s not really worth it for them. They get to know you—you share some of your food, they bring over some desert delicacies. Lizard on a stick.
Maybe in an unguarded moment they wax philosophical. They’re living in a ruin with a desert on one side and an ashen waste of chaos on the other; the city was built to awe them with their insignificance, to make them feel less than the people who built it. The desert and the wastes show that both peoples are nothing in the face of nature, and even nature yields to entropy. They deal with it in different ways. Some want to learn to read the texts their conquerers left behind. You end up teaching them, sitting in the deep shadows of the towers during the long sweltering afternoons.
At night, the ghosts come, and tell you their stories. They’re all scholars, so they love stories, and being listened to, and the goblins avoid them. They died horribly in the sacking of the city, but it was a long time ago now. A lot of bad things have happened here, since the first stone was laid. But right now it’s quiet. Most days it’s so quiet you can almost hear the desert breathe.
It was a feeling I wanted to capture. So I tweaked the map to put the city between the desert and the wastes, for the stark contrast of white sand and black ashes, made up some characters for slice-of-life play with Chuubo’s Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine, and started a solo game with Unweaver.
A splash of red moves across the bone-white desert, fluttering in the wind that carves the shifting dunes. The shadows grow long as the cloaked figure treks across the sand. Cresting a dune, the traveller comes in sight of the tilting spires of a ruined city lit by the rays of the setting sun. Even in ruin the city is magnificent; weathered carvings decorate cracked domes and tumbled spires, tall statues line the sand-choked streets.
Emerald eyes take in the view. So many wonders she would never have seen if she’d stayed safe and pampered in her father’s palace. This must be it: Far Zagoula. Fair Zagoula. City of Knowledge, lost and buried for three centuries, ever since the end of the terrible Chaos Wars that swept across the continent. No ordinary book could tell her what it meant to catch a falling star, to feel it shining through her very skin; but the books of the library buried in the sack of Zagoula, the learned say, are anything but ordinary. In its glory days, this was a haven for scholars and artists and sorcerers from across the world of Titan. These days, it’s said to be home only to goblins, lizards, and terrifying ghosts.
The lanky woman crouches near the edge of the city, looking and listening for sounds of movement, civilization or danger. Her red tabbard flutters in the wind and sand kicks up towards her face-but she’s used to that. The red cloth covers her mouth and nose. Her emerald eyes squint, trying to see through the dust storm, flecks of sand sticking to her firepit-charcoal rimmed eyes.
Skitter says under her breath, “Amazing” as she looks around at the ruins of the city. Excitement creeps up under her, making her want to rush headlong to all of the toppled spires to climb upon them and feel the wind in her hair, but she must be cautious first-survival means water and shelter first.
Her keen gaze picks out a splash of bright colour amid the sunbleached ruins - fabric, tents or awnings, mismatched and stretched out over a city square. Further off, on the northern side of the city, she can just make out some sort of recently built wooden structure, perhaps just a pallisade. Maybe a bandit camp? It looks like she won’t have the city entirely to herself, though the camp is comfortably far off. Beyond the northern edge of the city the desert gives way to blasted black ash, marking the border of the chaos wastes, lands forever blighted by the forces unleashed in the chaos wars. To the west is a mountain range, and before its foothills she can make out the glint of water - a lake, perhaps a few miles distant.
The tents and awnings catch her attention first and foremost. They don’t seem to be in tatters, so perhaps there are people that live here. That brings comfort. She stands from her crouch and starts walking towards the city square, pausing now and then to look at a fallen statue or to scamper up atop it before jumping back down. She plays balance on the sword of a fallen statue, walking along the blade patiently, in no hurry to make it to the city square and generally taking in the atmosphere of the city. Her eyes stay peeled for danger even as she plays, and of course for any building that might contain a library.
The sun sets as she makes her way to the city’s ruined walls and plays in the streets. Fat lizards regard her with indifference from their perches, and waddle away when the sun’s rays depart. There are several impressive domed buildings - the city had no shortage of libraries, palaces, seats of government, courts, universities, museums and galleries. As she explores, something catches her eye: A light is on in one of the towers. Not a beacon, not bright enough for that; more like the gentle warm glow of firelight. The tower, silhouetted against the darkening sky, has three siblings, all surrounding a half-buried dome. Certainly a building large and majestic enough to be a candidate.
She makes note of the building but continues her passage to the city square, looking for a well or other source of water. She’ll drink from a horse or camel trough if one is available and a well is not. She’s interested in meeting the denizens of the fair city, to see who stays in such a place-to find fellow wanderers of the setting sun.
She passes fountains and ornamental pools, gardens and plazas, but all choked with sand, not a drop to drink anywhere. But she’s drawing close to the square with the awnings, and hopefully, inhabitants with water to share. She’s still two or three blocks away when she spies a man, wandering listlessly through the dusk, sometimes pausing to run his hand over one of the broken walls, and quietly weeping.
Skitter furrows her brow as she sees the man weeping. She doesn’t hesitate, parched as she is, to investigate. She gathers up a handful of sand in her left hand just in case and walks over to the poor sod. "Is the city so beautiful that it makes you weep so?“ she asks from behind her veil, stepping into his path and fixing her eyes on his.
His clothes are simple, a white shirt and leather vest, a cloak, neither very fine nor very common. He has a pack on his back, travelling light but not unprepared.
The man looks up with a start, jolted out of whatever thoughts consumed him. "I… I thought I was alone,” he stammers, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and trying to compose himself. “It was,” he replies after a moment, “It truly was. I weep for the city, and…” he trails off, “but what brings you here, wandering a dead city at nightfall? Are you here alone?”
Skitter tips her head to the side. “You’re not un-alone, yet.” She smiles, her cheekbones raising slightly behind the tattered red fabric. "My feet and the wind bring me here, searching for answers to questions best left unspoken. The city seems not at all dead, why there’s the two of us alive-living in it, surely there are others here? I don’t seem to be alone at the moment, I’m with you.“ She plays word games, hoping to at least pique the interest of the man and distract him from his problems. "I have naught to trade, but if you have water, share it and your troubles that we might both be rejuvenated?”
The stranger nods a little. “I understand. The city isn’t dead, not fully. They say it’s haunted. I say it haunts. It haunts me, perhaps it haunts you too? And it calls out to the haunted.” He sits on a fallen stone, with reverent care, and takes a leather flask from his pack, passing it to Skitter without hesitation. As she drinks he looks around at the city, as though seeing it for the first time. “I’m haunted by the city as it was. Once this street thronged with people. Right there - were the tables of a cafe, where one could sit and watch them pass for hours, earnest young men carrying scroll cases on errands, prim women hurrying to their administrative duties, groups of students and apprentices chattering, strangely dressed emissaries from foreign lands, all washing by like the currents of a river. Two blocks that way was the great bazaar, where you could buy wonders from all corners of the world. That large building, half fallen to ruin? That was a museum where they displayed the bones of creatures discarded by the gods when the world was young.”
Skitter ponders the idea of being haunted and concedes that it might be true. She lets the sand out of her hand and takes the flask with her left hand and carefully uncorks it and pulls her veil down just enough to drink a sip or two-not being greedy at all with the water, she’ll find another source shortly. She hands back the flask and pulls her veil back into place. She listens to him, crouching nearby, sitting on her haunches like she were a primate. She listens intently, but looks ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. "How is it you come to know these things? Are you as ancient as the city? You seem not much older than myself.“
He cracks a small smile. "I’m not a ghost, if that’s what you’re thinking. No, I’m flesh and blood, just a clerk from one of the merchant houses of Hyennish. I’ve never walked these streets before,” he chokes up a little and wipes his eyes once more, “save in dreams.”
He looks up again, saying, “my name is Torano. May I ask yours?”
Skitter sniffles with sympathy for the sad man. She wipes some sweat from her brow and sits down a little more relaxed. “Torano, a lovely name. I go by Skitter, though its more of a title than it is a name. You say your dreams brought you here? What glorious dreams they must have been. Weep not, for a thing that was is better than a thing that never was.”
“Certainly, it has the sound of a name earned, not given.” He pulls himself up a little, his countenance pale and thoughtful in the moonlight. “You speak the truth. And they were, the most glorious dreams a man ever had. It’s just… I thought to sleep my life away. I know not what to do with it if I must live it awake.”
Skitter gestures around. “Save lizards for company, the city seems ripe to be reborn. It is empty now, but not without hope. Perhaps you can breathe life back into the place? Perhaps you were given the dreams to motivate you into repairing and restoring it? I cannot say, the dreams were not mine, though I do envy you for having such vision.”
Torano looks up at the spires, “an enchanting thought. But… Terrible things happened here. Have you read the histories? I did, I couldn’t stop myself, though every word pained me to read. The war blighted the land almost to the city gates. The ghosts of the innocent walk the buried halls. But they aren’t the reason the city was abandoned.”
Skitter draws in the sand while she listens, her attention focused, and not wanting to interrupt. It’s a big problem, bigger than her, but she owes the man her attention at least for the water he shared. "You’ve told me more of the city than I knew when I sought it out. I came for answers about a fallen star-but I have only just arrived when I found you. My curiosity is a trifling compared to the burdens you bear.“
Torano rubs his arms absently and pulls his cloak around him, the night growing cold. "I learned everything I could about the city - as well as what I recall from my dreams, of course. I’m glad if that knowledge is of some help to you, and I’ll confess it’s easier than being alone with my thoughts. Tell me of this fallen star? I’ll entertain your curiousity if I’m able.”
Goosebumps rise on the tanned beauty’s skin but she makes no notice of the cold. "I saw it fall from the sky, two months past. I sought it out and grasped it with my fingers.“ She raises her bandaged hand, faint light glimmering from beneath the bandages. "I still carry it with me, though i cannot fathom the purpose behind it or the fate in store for me should I carry it. I came to a place of understanding to understand and a place of haunting to survive."
The young man’s eyes widen as he looks at her empty hand. "You carry it? The star is - within you? You’ve come to the right place, if not the right century. You’d be the talk of the city carrying a star under your skin. The wizards would be lining up to study and venture their explanations. I’m no wizard, but if I can help you to understand what’s happening to you, then I shall, you have my word.”
She shyly hides the hand back under her tabard. “I hesitate to show the star, for fear of those that would use it for selfish gain. I do not seek to be put under looking glass, but to understand for myself the purpose behind it.” She smiles as he offers his help. “And I will help you not mourn this city but celebrate it for what it is now-a mystery.”
Torano smiles, “I suppose I should make camp. I hadn’t thought about it - I was wandering in something of a daze since I reached the city, you have my thanks for bringing me out of it.” He looks up at the old building, “the upper floor of the cafe is intact, I think I’ll make camp up there. Away from the goblins, and… Well, I’m not keen to lay by head upon the ground, knowing what walks beneath it.” He stands and brushes off the sand. “You’re welcome to share my fire and flask, if you need a place to rest the night.”
Skitter bounces to her feet. She doesn’t bother to dust herself off. "I need to find my own water, but i’ll join you by your fire after.“ She smiles with pride, feeling the need for self reliance. She bows to Torano, perhaps too formal a bow for someone who looks as impoverished as her. She starts to scamper away only to scamper back and ask, "Have you seen water around anywhere, i don’t fancy a run to the lake at this hour.”
He shakes his head, “most of the city is dry as a bone. Maybe underground, though that isn’t safe. The goblins in the old bazaar have water, but I don’t know if they’ll share it. They’re not hostile exactly, but not friendly either. If you won’t take mine, you could borrow perhaps, and repay me with a trip to the lake another day? In any case, I’ll be just up there,” he points to the staircase, leading up to the remnant of a stone floor that covers half the upper storey of the building. The roof is gone, and it’s open to the stars.
Skitter nods her head, glancing at the bazaar and then back to Torano. "Borrowing is fine, so long as you let me repay you.“ She stretches some. "Well I guess I’ll accompany you then and explore more when the sun arises.”
The sun rises over the desert, painting the sky deep orange and purple, the ruins casting long cool shadows on the empty streets of Zagoula. Torano of Hyennish is awake already, making shakshuka over the fire, unwrapping the carefully packed eggs from his supplies and breaking them into the mixture.
Skitter wakes from dimly remembered dreams to the scent of cooking. Half of the stone upper floor of the coffee shop remains, and it’s here that they’ve made camp, a foot or two of broken wall forming a rampart from which they can overlook the street.
Skitter rises with the sun, uncurling from beneath her tabard that serves as her blanket as well. She does some early morning stretches and peers over the broken wall into the city below and to the town square. She’s got a goal in mind of bringing back water, which means a pair of buckets and a sturdy staff to attach them to. She skips breakfast and hops over the wall, skittering down the side of the building before leaping off and rolling across the sand in a streak of tan skin and red cloth.
Torano peers over the wall as she disappears. “I’ll, uh, save some for you, then?”
Skitter calls back as she runs off in search, turning around to smile up at the kind man. “Take your fill, I’ll find my own sustenance, kind Torano!”
She makes her way to the town center, eyes peeled for anything that will serve as a balancing stick, doesn’t have to be fancy, a broken flagpole, a broom handle, anything will do.
A couple of blocks north, Skitter finds her way into the shadows of a ruined building opposite the entrance to the old bazaar. A sleeping goblin with a spear guards the entrance, which is festooned with banners and flags covered in curious goblin symbols. Beyond the entrance the square is covered by colourful awnings stretched between the ruined buildings on all sides, layers and layers of them, with totem poles, ramshackle wooden houses, ladders and walkways beneath, like a town inside a tent. There are some sounds of movement within, but most of the goblins seem to be sleeping - goblins are not known for being early risers.
Skitter knows not to make of goblins, she’s heard stories to terrorize young children, but she is not a child anymore. The sleeping goblin has a spear, and a spear without a point serves her purpose perfectly. She lowers herself to her haunches but leaves her dagger undrawn for now. She looks across the ground making sure she’ll have quiet level footing before slowly creeping her way towards the sleeping guard, crawling on her hands and tiptoes, like a lurking spider. Her emerald eyes survey her surroundings looking for other goblins, relying on her ears to listen for the goblin she’s approaching, taking a step with each snoring inhale.
The inattentive sentry remains oblivious to her presence, dreaming goblin dreams, his spear, like him, propped up against the ruined wall.
Skitter grabs the spear and carefully lifts it away from the wall, she’ll remove the metal tip later. For now she’s going to to crawl past him towards the ruined buildings her nose sniffing the air for smells of dryed or salted meats and her eyes peeled for movement, but more importantly buckets!
Stealing carefully into the goblin village, she’s struck by the atmosphere inside. The shadows here are warmer than the deep shadows outside, the temperature stabilised by layers of trapped air. The sunlight is dim and takes on the colours of the fabrics above. The place is untidy and chaotic, but clean and almost magical, a cozy den in the midst of the ruins. And she’s in luck: In an area to one side of the entrance, there’s a pile of empty buckets, all stacked up or laying on their sides. Just then, however, she hears giggling and voices approaching from around the corner of one of the ramshackle wooden goblin-buildings.
Skitter carefully places her spear atop one of the buildings and grabs the edge and slinkily pulls herself up onto the edge of the building, laying flat on her stomach she listens and watches, her breathing slow and quiet, the rush of danger exhilarating.
Beneath her pass a trio of goblin maids, dressed in sarongs and beads, with little rings of cloth upon their heads. They’re chattering and laughing with one another - their language a kind of pidgin she can partially understand. One of them has a crush on Kulrun but thnks he’s out of her league, and the other two are making encouraging noises. When they reach the area with the buckets they each pick one up and set it atop their head. They hush one another as they reach the entrance, apparently planning to play some prank on the guard. There are still quite a few buckets left in the pile, and the area is quiet again, though deeper in the village can be heard sounds of other goblins waking up.
Skitter evaluates the timing. If they wake the guard he’ll notice his spear is gone, but she knows not how long it will take. She doesn’t know another way out of the warrens, but doesn’t want to risk an altercation with what may be peaceful creatures. She does a forward tumble off the edge and picks up three buckets as carefully as she can, holding their handles with one hand and the spear with her star encorcelled hand. She walks quietly deeper into the maze, trying to keep her bearings by the colored tapestry above her. She wants to reach the far end of the square and escape out that way-once she hears the clamour of the prank she intends to start running, letting her own buckets clank loudly.
She picks her way through the winding streets of the goblin village, peeking past sheets of fabric hanging across the way, sneaking around two or three sleeping goblins, past some kind of shrine with totem poles outside and smoke rising from its roof, and a patch of sunlight where some kind of salted meat is hanging out to dry, until finally she reaches the other end and an exit. There’s a guard just around the corner, but it sounds like he’s tucking into his morning repast with some enthusiasm.
At the spot of salted meats, she pauses to fill one of her buckets with what she hopes is just lizard meat, but she’s hungry and not picky. She smells it first before taking a few handfulls and stuffing it in a bucket. As she approaches the guard round the corner, she listens with apprehension before clanging her empty buckets together and throwing one down a pathway away from her hiding position, hoping that this guard has suffered the maids pranks before as well and will give chase to the bucket.
The guard rises and, still chewing on a piece of dry meat, enters the village and looks from left to right, while Skitter hides just out of sight. He wanders in the direction of the noise and kicks the fallen bucket as she makes good her escape. The street outside runs east-west, and the lake lies to the west.
Giddily she runs off to the west, sprinting as fast as her feet will take her and holding her breath till she’s well away from the goblin city. Nice folks, she thinks to herself and reminds herself to visit during hours they’re more sociable. After running herself ragged, she pauses to sit down and eat, picking at the dried meat and evaluating its tastiness before letting hunger take over and eating it all the same. It’s a few miles to the lake, so she wants to get going while the sun is low, so after her breakfast, she takes her two pails and spear and trudges off past the city into the desert off to the lake.
The meat is tough and salty but quite edible and fairly fresh. Probably lizard. She walks through the streets of the western city, amid silence and shortening shadows. The sun is pleasantly warm after the cold night, and a few blocks from the life of the goblin village the city feels dead again, or asleep and dreaming. Not far off to the south she can make out a huge dome, mostly buried by the sands, and nearby a tall tower with an observatory on top. There’s a glint of glass, suggesting a telescope, and what might be a figure up on the distant balcony.
She stares up at the tower and the figure for a long while, considering a change of plan, but she has things she needs to do today and the mysteries of the city will wait. It’s off to the lake for skitter to fetch water, try to fish and look for shiny stones.
Before long she passes through the broken city walls and into the desert, which itself gives way to scrub after a mile or so, with a rough dirt track leading in the direction of the lake. Ahead on the path she sees the three goblin maids, buckets on their heads. They have a good head start on her but her longer legs will catch her up with them before too long.
What luck! Skitter hurries to catch up with the maids, propping her buckets up over her shoulders with the spear so as not to appear intimidating. "Morning!“ She calls out as she skitters up beside them.
The goblins start a little, not having heard her approach, caught up in their own conversation - but none lose the balance of their buckets. The three look her over warily, but satisfied her demeanor isn’t aggressive and she’s obviously running the same errand as they are, they relax. "Hello, human,” says one. “What brings you all the way out here? Don’t get many humans in Zagoula,” asks another. “Well, until those soldiers showed up. You with them?” “She don’t look like a soldier. You one of Molly’s friends, miss?”
Skitter shakes her head at the rapid series of questions. “nope, nope, uh, no. I’m just Skitter..I’m not with anyone, well maybe Torano for the moment. I’m no threat, just a thief.” She smiles behind her veil and stoops to help them recover their buckets. "So who are these soldiers? Who’s Molly? Is there really no water in the city left?“ She rapid fires off a series of questions back at them. The goblin maids glance at one another, "don’t know any Torano.” “The soldiers just showed up one day and started building a big fort out of wood. Our people have kept clear of them, they don’t seem friendly. Sometimes we see them hauling wood back from the lake. They haven’t given us any trouble but I don’t like how they look at us.” The others nod in agreement. “Molly’s nice. She’s really big and her hair is pink and she helped our mum when she was pregnant with our baby sisters. She seems kind of sad though,” says the third goblin, looking thoughtful. The first picks up again, babbling a bit, “Kulrun says there used to be water in the city! He found a tunnel going all the way to the lake. It’s blocked up now but he reckons it brought all the water for everyone in the city, and nobody had to carry it or anything.”
Intrigued, Skitter asks, “do you think Kulrun would show me this tunnel if I brought …him? a gift? It would do my friend well to see the city blossom again and bringing water back seems the first step.”
The goblin nods eagerly, “Kulrun loves telling people about those things. He’s really smart.” One of the other goblins snorts a bit, “he spends too much time looking at stuff dead humans made. He should spend more time on the tribe, the shaman wants him to be the next chief and everything.” The third goblin asks, “you really think you could bring water into the city without having to carry it? Enough for everyone, every day?”
Skitter spins a yarn. "Maybe. Once I stole a star from the sky.“ She points upwards and nods eagerly. "Stealing back water for Zagoula shouldn’t be any more trouble. Besides, this is a long walk, I can only imagine how hard it is on your little legs.” … “No offense.” "Do you think I could meet this Kulrun safely? Or the other goblins likely to stab at me with spear and knife?“
One of the goblins pouts a bit, and another says "the boys like to threaten more than they like to fight. They might try something, see if you’ve got any food or coin they can bully off you, but they won’t attack you on sight.” The next goblin maid nods, “they’ll lay off if you let them know it’s not worth it, or if our shaman tells them to.” The third one is giggling a bit. “Maybe you’ve met some of them already? Is that Zugrub’s spear?”
Skitter grins. “I didn’t ask his name, he was still sleeping.” She fishes out a piece of meat out of one of her buckets and offers it up. 'I took a…few things as is my nature. I’m not afraid to scrap if I must, but I’d prefer to be friends when possible.“ Skitter leaves out the part that she considers friends people worth stealing from.
The goblins mull this over. "He was looking around like he lost something when we woke him up, but he wouldn’t say what, said it was nothing,” smirks one. “You should give it back when you’re done, he’ll never hear the end of it if the other warriors find out.” Skitter picks up plenty of goblin gossip on the way to the lake; the little village in the bazaar is these goblin maids’ whole world, and they’re keenly interested in the lives of their neighbours and how they’re going to fit into the little universe of the tribe. They share some dried meat with the human when they arrive at the lake and then bathe in the lake, fill their buckets, bid her farewell and start their journey back.
The shores of the lake are wooded and grassy, a far cry from the desert a few miles west. The lake itself is huge, an inland sea, and in the distance wreathed in mist an island can be seen. Beyond the lake rise the green foothills of the mountains.
Skitter stays behind to spearfish. She’s not interested in bathing, smelling like the dirt and the earth is better for stealth, and anyway she’s gotten used to being filthy. She’s never spearfished before but is intent on not losing Zugrub’s spear, so plays it safer than she normally would. She spends some time at the lake looking for another piece of driftwood, something that she can cut notches into so she doesn’t have to ruin Zugrub’s spear. Once she finds an appropriate piece of wood she cuts notches into it so the handles of the buckets can rest comfortably, and spends some time whittling it so it can hang over her neck and shoulders comfortably. Once that’s done she spends some time looking for some hard stones on which she can sharpen Zugrub’s spear or at least shine it.
Skitter doesn’t mind getting wet, she just doesn’t go out of her way to strip and bathe. She does take off her leather boots before wading into the water to spearfish though.
There’s something eerie about the lake, and the mist that hangs over it. Something ancient, perhaps more ancient than the dreaming city behind her. Maybe that’s why the goblins didn’t just build their village here, where there’s fish and water - though there are signs of other goblin settlements further along the shores. She finds a good flat whetstone on the lake bed, and has some success at catching fish - her reflexes are good, even if she isn’t practised. It’s well after noon by the time she’s done all the things she wanted, however, and the sun is still quite high in the sky.
Torano will likely be worried about her by now. She fillets the fish and piles them up on the point of the spear before filling the buckets with water and hoisting them up on her shoulders. It’s heavy, but she’ll manage. So many things to explore, but one thing at a time. She can only be in one place at a time. With her food rations and water she returns to the city with some difficulty, having to stop several times due to the weigh of the double buckets and her slender form. She returns to the cafe eventually with a spear tipped with fish and shoulders bearing much fresh water.
Torano is dozing in the shade of one of the walls. He stirs as she sets down her catch, and sits up. “Nothing again,” he says disconsolately, “I know I shouldn’t expect anything, but every time I close my eyes to sleep, I find myself hoping, maybe this time…” He looks up, focusing on her and the things she’s brought, “but gosh, you’ve been busy, haven’t you?”
Skitter is full of energy despite the long journey back. “Your dreams have eluded you?” She asks as she sets up the campfire to grill her fish. She hasn’t the salt to cure the fish properly so its best to cook them before drying them she reckons. She refills Torano’s waterskin as she listens to him answer her question.
“Yes, sadly,” he says, looking for something to cover the buckets with and preserve the rest of the water. “I haven’t dreamed for months now. Nothing but perfectly peaceful, dreamless, restful sleep."
"Sounds awful. No wonder you mourn. It’s not simply the city that’s missing, it’s your dreams of it. Something must’ve brought the dreams on to begin with, and something must be hiding them from you now.” She draws her dagger quick as a flash and says. “We should find it and end it-so that your dreams can return!” She giggles a bit and puts her knife away. “Or perhaps give you new dreams, I’m no fortune teller.”
“Maybe,” says Torano, starting a bit at the dagger. “It’s a mystery to me. I think perhaps I hoped to find the source of my dreams here - or whatever took them away. Or perhaps I hoped…” he trails off.
Skitter relays her day, stealing from the goblins before befriending them. She tells Torano excitedly about the goblin Kulrun who studies lost human texts, but leaves out the part about the tunnels, she wants that to be a surprise. "I want to go back tomorrow to try to meet with him, maybe you should come with me, I bet you two would get along like fleas in a ratpack.“
Torano nods, "all I have left are my memories of the city as it was. If those are of interest to someone I might as well share them.”
Skitter smiles behind her veil and nods. “Well we can wait to tomorrow or we can do it now. I’m eager even after my morning’s business.”
“I’m game if you are,” he replies, “I’ve done little today but eat and sleep. Where can we find this goblin?”
Skitter shrugs. “With the rest of the goblins I imagine. It’ll be an adventure! Come!” She hops back up and uses her shoulder stick to create a makeshift drying rack, hanging it inside the window of the half-cafe in a place where rats can’t get to it. She’s less concerned about birds as she hasn’t heard any since entering the city. She picks up the spear and two halves of one fish, replanting the cooked meat on the tip of the spear. "Come, let us find answers-or at least more questions to fill the silence of your dreams.“
Torano picks up his pack and follows Skitter down the stairs, looking more hopeful than he has since they met, her attitude infectious. They head to the bazaar, where Zugrub is sitting guard, wiry arms wrapped around his knees, looking sulky and a little paranoid.
Skitter pulls the fish filets off of the tip of his spear and wipes it clean with the underside of her cloak. She approaches slowly, holding the spear pointing downwards. "Zugrub? Zugrub?” She asks quietly, trying to get his attention without startling him.
She motions for Torano to stay put, just in case.
The goblin jumps up warily, glowering and barking something in his own tongue, drawing a crude knife but making no move to attack yet.
Skitter puts the spear down on the ground in front of her, keeping an eye on the goblin. She takes a step backward and then sets down the whetstone she used to sharpen it and one more step back and sets down one of the fish filets before walking back to Torano and gesturing for Zugrub to take the gifts.
“We seek Kulrun. I’m Skitter. This is Torano.”
Zugrub looks from Skitter to the gifts and back again, before picking up his spear, testing the edge; taking the stone, and finally picking up the fish and chewing on it as he stares. He listens to her request, still chewing, before gesturing toward the bazaar with his spear. “You come. See shaman. You ask her, she decide what to do.” He speaks with a strong accent, and words in human language come less easily to him than they did to the maids.
Skitter agrees to this and looks at Torano with raised mischevious eyebrows. “nothing ventured nothing gained. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
Torano looks nervous but nods, and the two allow themselves to be escorted within the goblin village. Zugrub takes them to the shrine; sitting on a wooden platform before it is a hunched old goblin wearing a garish, leering mask. The eyes of the mask stare at them implacably as Zugrub introduces them in goblin. One of the maids is here; she shoots Skitter a grin and stifles a giggle as Zugrub speaks; perhaps he’s exaggerating his bravery in capturing these interlopers. The masked figure beckons to Skitter to approach the platform.
Skitter half stumbles as the pass the meat drying section, putting the other fish fillet to replace the meat she stole. Torano spots it, if only because he’s not yet seek Skitter be clumsy, so it’s very out of character. She straightens back up and resumes following Zugrub’s instructions till they’re brought before the shaman. She smiles back at the maid with her eyes before approaching the masked figure cautiously. Skitter crouches at the base of the platform. She’s like a coiled spring ready to pounce, but careful and measured in her steps, not willing to be the first to attack.
Torano moves to follow her but Zuglub bars the way with the haft of his spear. He watches as Skitter approaches. “There are signs and portents,” intones a frail voice, which nonetheless echoes around the courtyard of the shrine. “I have seen them in the flight of birds and the entrails of lizards. I have seen them in dreams. I have seen them in the stars, and in the spaces where there are stars-no-longer.” The figure looks up, revealing that it wears the mask on top of its head; beneath is the leathery face of a goblin crone, her skin weathered by decades in the desert, but her eyes sharp and alert. “What brings you to this place, human? To our land reclaimed?”
Skitter ponders her response tipping her head to the side as she listens to the crone and thinks about the gap in the stars and the star she holds with her. She keeps it secret for now, there’s no real knowing the danger invovled in sharing such knowledge. “My friend has dreams of this city re-vitalized, and I want to help those dreams come true. I believe one of yours, by the name of Kulrun may know the way to opening the waterways once more that the city can have water. I would see this task done.”
“This land was ours once, until the humans came and drove us from it with fire and sword, and built their city to keep us from ever returning. But their city fell to chaos, and when the fighting ended we had survived, and we returned. This city was never yours to build, only,” and here Skitter can’t tell, but she thinks the goblin glances at Zuglub and his spear, “borrowed.” She beckons to Torano. “Come. Tell me of these dreams.”
Torano approaches, looking nervous, “well, uh, I used to dream I was in this city before the coming of chaos. I saw it when it was alive, I walked these streets, haggled for fruit in this market.”
“And would you see this city live again?” asks the shaman, pointedly. There’s some hostility here, a sense of menace, and Torano can feel it. He flusters, “I, uh, no, I… I stopped having the dreams a few weeks ago. I just want my dreams back.” The shaman glowers. “Tell me the whole truth, young human. You came all this way for dreams - of what? For the architecture? For the fruit?”
Torano’s eyes are wet. He hesitates.
Skitter speaks over him, raising her arm in protection of Torano. “He dreams of lost love, and love lost to time. He seeks a way to relive and revive his dreams. It is I who seeks to bring life to the city again-not to bring more humans, but to bring some semblance of dreams back to this poor man. Your kind will benefit from the return of water just as much as we will.”
The shaman stares at him, her gaze piercing. “I see that he does. Very well. Speak with Kulrun, and when you have spoken, send him to me. I shall hear his counsel on this matter.” The decision made, the tension subsides, and the shaman makes a dismissive gesture. A group of goblins lead the pair away from the shrine.
Skitter puts a comforting arm around Torano’s shoulders and walks with him under the escort of the goblins. Her eyes remain alert, assessing danger each step of the way, still ready to pounce into action, but it seems they’ve gotten what they wanted for now.
The goblins escort the pair to one of the ruined houses. The roof is long gone, and the interior is now just a series of sandy courtyards where Kulrun has set up a series of pottery pots, holes in the ground covered in branches or scraps of sailcloth weighted with stones, and ramshackle wooden boxes. In one corner lies an impressive haul of freshly caught lizards. “Kulrun, guests for you. Merubz says you’re to hear them out and then talk with her. Shall we take your catch back to the village?”
Kulrun is a young, athletic goblin dressed in a loincloth, hunched over one of his constructions. He empties a trickle of water out of it into a wooden cup, and sips it before straightening up and looking the newcomers over with bright, earnest eyes. “Yes, yes, take it,” he says absently to the escort. “The shaman wants you to talk to me? What about?”
Skitter does her best to memorize the route in case of urgency of escape. She consoles her companion Torano, helping make sure he’s comfortable and relaxed. When they arrive at Kulrun’s hideout, Skitter perches herself on the edge of one of the holes, smiling to herself at the cleverness. She sits on her haunches patiently and addresses Kulrun after being addressed. "Water. Specifically the tunnels that used to bring water to the city. A lovely bird told me that you might know a way to the lake through the underground. I was hoping …well for many things, but for a start, I’d like to bring water back to the city.“ Skitter gestures to Torano. "My friend here has had dreams of the city as it was, we thought it would be of interest to you.”
Kulrun sets down the empty cup on a bit of fallen masonry and walks over to the wall of the old villa, placing a hand on the cool stones. “These walls cast deep shadows,” he says, turning back to his guests. “We live and die in those shadows. The others don’t feel the chill of it, but it haunts me like the ghosts haunt the ruins. Yes, I’ve seen the tunnel to the lake. Miles of worked stone, a ceiling so high torchlight barely reaches it. A river built beneath the earth.” Skitter asks, “Do you know what blocks it? Why the water no longer reaches the city?”
“I think the roof must have fallen, but I couldn’t reach the end. There were undead in the tunnel,” Kulrun replies.
Torano asks, “ghosts?"
"No. There were some apparitions but nothing dangerous. It was the skeletons that turned me back from exploring further.”
“That’s odd,” says Torano.
Skitter’s eyebrows raise. “Like walking skeletons? What drew them down there I wonder.”
Skitter ponders, “I can’t imagine many lived in the tunnels when the city lived."
Kulrun nods.
Skitter nods to Torano, who says, "right. And everyone knows Zagoula is haunted by those who died here, but skeletons aren’t a haunting. Nobody dies and just pops back up as a skeleton. Skeletons are raised by wizards, for a purpose.”
Skitter snickers. “Can you imagine if they did though? Skeletons freeing themselves of meat after we die to get up and wander around of their own accord. The freedom they must feel.” She clears her throat, stiffling her laugh and covering it with her veil. "So there’s a necromancer at work, raising the dead to guard something precious or secret. I grow more intrigued by the minute.“
"That’s not really an image I needed,” admonishes Torano. “I can show you the way,” says Kulrun, “I too would know what’s down there. But it isn’t safe.”
Skitter pulls her dagger from the sheath on her hip and studies it. "Have something a little more…club like? I can’t imagine this toothpick will do much to disuade a skeleton from…what is it a skelton does to you anyway? Bite? Scratch? I guess they’d be armed, maybe I can nick something off one of them.“ She hops to her feet and does a cartwheel and stretches out. "I’ll keep you safe.” She pats Torano on the back, “We’ll get you the images you need, if not more.”
Kulrun nods, “they carry old blades, rusted but dangerous. I can get us clubs and torches. They won’t venture close to the entrance, so if you get into trouble, just run.” He’s trying to remain serious and practical, reluctant to take these strangers into danger, but his excitement at finding what lies further down the tunnel is clear to see.
Skitter sheaths her knife and studies her left wrist contemplatively. "Skeletons are such a wonderous mystery. How do they see without light-without eyes? Do they just feel you’re there, like the way you can feel a storm?“ She ponders a bit but nods to Kulrun after a moment. "A torch sounds fine, I can probably work with that.” She stretches, always keeping her right arm covered by her tabard. "An adventure it is then. The three lost friends in search of the wizard’s secret and a way to bring water to a parched city!“
"But why do you want to bring water to the city?” asks Kulrun as he leads the pair away from the villa. “Your people abandoned it to the ghosts long ago.”
Skitter says, “Your people still need water don’t they? Besides, it’s a mystery and I love a good mystery.”
Skitter goes on, “I myself am here for answers about a fallen star, and have been led to believe that the answers may be amongst the libraries here.”
Kulrun nods again, “then I appreciate your help, and you’ll have mine in finding the answers you seek."
The group stop at the goblin village to collect the clubs and torches, before heading toward the edge of the city and down through a half buried archway into a network of tunnels. Kulrun hushes them at a certain point; "be very quiet; dark things dwell nearby. We won’t encounter them unless we disturb them. After a time he relaxes again, and they emerge into a vast vaulted room, full of pillars, arches on both the ceiling and the floor, so the explorers have to step over them to proceed.
Skitter resists the urge to call attention to themselves to see what the dark things are that dwell nearby, but she doesn’t want to endanger her allies. Skitter enjoys the climbing of the arches, and spends energy she should be reserving by playing on the arches, walking along them like a tightrope and climbing up as far she can along the wall with torch and club in hand.
Torano says, "I’ve been here before - up there.” He points to a doorway high in the wall; beneath it a number of holes suggest the absence of a platform or walkway. “This was the city’s reservoir. Look, you can still see the watermark.” The flickering torchlight touches the far wall of the chamber as they walk, and high in the wall a huge black hole yawns, neatly formed from brickwork. A rope ladder hangs from it, a recent addition.
Skitter points out the ladder, “Up there?” she asks curious.
Kulrun nods, “there won’t be any skeletons for a few hundred meters. But it’s a long walk to the lake, I hope you’re ready for this.” Torano says, “I’m not sure I am, but I’ll do my best. And I’ll admit, I’m intrigued, this is one part of the city I’ve never seen before.” Kulrun doesn’t question the way Torano talks about the city; perhaps he’s too focused on the goal, or perhaps Skitter’s explanation was enough. He snuffs out his torch and begins climbing the ladder.
Skitter lets Torano take the middle, she’ll take up the rear, snuffing her torch out last and climbing up the ladder with ease. Once up top she and the others relight their torches and continue their journey inward. "Perhaps its best if you wait here while I clear out the skeletons-I don’t want to have to watch your backs and mine at the same time.“ She stares intently into the darkness.
"But surely we can’t let you go alone,” protests Torano clutching his club tightly and looking ahead into the darkness, knowing that something ahead will try to kill them. Kulrun seems about to say something when something rushes by above their heads, blowing out the torches and almost knocking them to the ground with a buffeting of huge wings. The tunnel falls silent again and they stand in darkness; as their eyes adjust, a dim blue starlight leaks from beneath Skitter’s wrappings.
“What was that?” says Torano, urgently, looking around for the source of the wind. Then something rears up ahead of them in the tunnel; a creature out of nightmare, a three-eyed worm bigger than a carthorse, with needle teeth, a broad mouth, and huge fins, swimming through the air, its body luminous in the darkness.
Kulrun looks up at it in alarm, “something’s wrong. This wasn’t as powerful before. You could barely see it, just a shimmer in the darkness!”
Skitter’s eyes widen in excitement and danger. She drops her torch and draws her dagger, hunching down. There’s nothing to find cover behind, but Skitter pushes Torano towards the wall, the creature will not be able to swoop attack them if they’re near the walls. She spins her dagger around in her hand and calls out to Kulrun, “What is that thing? Is this a haunting or something else?”
“Yes!” he cries out, “some creature of chaos that died down here when the city fell. They’re the reason your people abandoned the city, and the reason there are parts of it my people won’t tread! But this one wasn’t dangerous before!” It’s dangerous now, though, lurching down to snap at Skitter and lash at her with four tentacles trailing behind its broad head. The needle fangers, though luminous, seem very real. The round tunnel provides no corners to hunch in; Torano flattens himself against the side where Skitter shoved him, and lashes out with his club, trying to fend it away from her.
Skitter whips into action. "My people didn’t abandon the city. I don’t have people. I’m just me! I’m not going anywhere.“ She does a backflip as it lurches down at her, leaping out of the way. Tentacles whip at thin air and one of them gets sliced open with her dagger. After her backflip she plants her feet, ready for the creature to lunge again, watching it in the dim light of the glowing arm under bandages. She prepares for it to lunge for her again and rolls to the side before leaping upwards, slicing open webbed wing flesh before doing three rolls down the hallway back towards the rope ladder.
The ghostly horror bleeds ectoplasm. She has its full attention now. It rushes down toward the cistern, chasing her, twisting in the air as its needle fangs seek her flesh. It seems to grow in solidity and ferociousness with every moment, as though being fed with unnatural strength. The others end up after them, unable to keep up with the flipping girl and the flying monster.
Behind them, drawn by the commotion, skeletal figures with corroded blades and helms stalk mechanically out of the darkness. Torano and Kulrun haven’t seen them yet as they draw implacably and silently closer.
Fear surges through her veins. This is the ragged edge of life, fighting for survival. She surges with delight as well. She locks into a dead sprint now that she has its attention, pumping her fists as she takes long strides, her red tabard whishing behind her, just out of reach of the tentacles that snap and whip at her. She can’t do anything about the skeletons and isn’t looking that way right now. She sprints towards the edge of the cistern and as she reaches the edge, without stopping she coils her foot around the rope and jumps up and out, spinning around and providing a juicy target as she slashes her dagger across the eyes of the chaos beast before letting herself plummet, leg entwined in the rope ladder. She braces for impact with the wall, it should hurt less than getting chomped in half anyway.
The impact knocks the wind out of her, but the apparition streaks by. It recovers and curls upward, turning around amid the vaults of the reservoir and locking its three eyes on her once more as she dangles upside down from the rope. It rushes forward with an unholy screech, coming right at her. Out of sight above she can hear the clash of arms as her companions begin to fight for their lives against the undead.
Her cut through the wing wasn’t enough to make the beast drop out of the sky as she’d hoped, but hopefully it’s enough to cause it to lose some mobility. Skitter coils her right arm in the rope ladder and untwists her leg, dropping another body length down the ladder as the creature shrieks at her. She’s countining on the wall to do the damage this time, but has her left arm free to slice at tentacles or anything that tries to grab onto her.
She hears the sounds of the skeletons and her companions fighting and needs to end this quick, if the collision with the wall doesn’t do it, she’ll have to improvise more.
The creature smacks against the wall and recoils back, stunned, floating almost within arm’s reach. Her heart pounds and the star beneath her skin shines fiercely, as though it’s trying to burn through her wrappings. She hears Torano cry out in pain from the tunnel above.
Skitter lets out a cry and uncoils her foot, bracing both feet against the wall she leaps off it at the creature, slashing away a tentacle with one hand while punching with the covered star fist. She punches right at the wing joint before stabbing into its neck with the dagger. She plants her feet on the creature and springs back off of it, a streak of red zipping between the wall, the creature and back up to the tunnel. She hits the ground running again, fist glowing with power beneath the bandages. She sprints breathlessly back towards the skeletons and her friends, cutting the bandages from her fingers to give her light to see by.
Her fist goes some way into the creature, as though it’s still partly immaterial, and she can feel it becoming more solid around her hand. She pulls it out dripping with ectoplasm as she plants her feet, and the creature shrieks in pain and rage behind her. Running up the tunnel she can see her companions; they’ve managed to light a torch which burns on the ground as the pair fight half a dozen of the undead. Torano is backing away from two of them, clutching a dark stain on the right arm of his shirt and swinging weakly as he tries to fend them off. Kulrun has already taken on down, but is being overwhelmed by three more.
Skitter sprints, not knowing if the creature is still chasing or not, but is prepared either way. She runs up the wall beside Torano, overtaking him before springing off the wall with a cross kick that kicks a skeletons’s skull and helmet clean off. She lands and follows it up with a butterfly kick, spinning with the momentum and kicking the ribcage out of the next skeleton pursuing Torano. She keeps her momentum and slides across the ground, her star fingers snatching one of the skeletons attacking Kulrun’s fibula and yanking it out to wield as a club against the next skeleton. Her power slide turns into a spring as she plants her feet and smashes the fibula against the head of the next skeleton in line.
The others look on in awe as the bones clatter to the ground, stunned for a moment, but there isn’t time to acknowledge her feat now; a dozen more skeletons are loping up the passage ahead, blades drawn, while behind with a frenzied shrieking and rushing of wind the spectral chaos-worm streaks toward her, jaws open wide.
Skitter doesn’t have time to explain the plan, she ducks underneath a skeleton’s swiping blade and kicks Kulrun squarely in the chest sending him sprawling against the wall before making a shooing motion to Torano to get back up against his wall. Skitter dives into the crowd of skeletons, blocking one strike with the fibula another strike with her arm, shearing off some of the bandages. More light glows in the hallway. The creature shrieks. Skitter spins and rolls across the ground before flattening herself out, letting the creature plow through dozen skeletons as its claws scrape across the ground, slicing open a spot on her unarmored back. She cries out in pain and aggression as the creature scrabbles through the skeletons, trying to regain its footing. She doesn’t wait. She springs up from her position, kneeing a skeleton out of the way. She cries out and punches her star-fist in towards the chest of the beast and waits till she feels it becoming solid before clenching her unwrapped fingers around what she hopes is a heart or something vital and tugging desperately.
The star sings beneath her skin, its pitch rising along with the brilliant light shining from within the creature as it thrashes on the ground, her hand deep inside its spectral flesh. Abruptly the light becomes blinding, and the creature explodes, leaving no trace of its passing but protoplasm dripping from the shattered bones of the skeletons and the walls of the tunnel. The light has died down and her uncovered hand now just glows with steady bright starlight. The other two pick themselves up, walking slowly closer, their faces lit by the light as they stare at Skitter’s uncovered hand, speechless at what they’ve just seen. Everything is silent now save for the dripping of slime and water, and the breathing of the three explorers.
Skitter pants, dripping with protoplasm. She stands on shakey legs and tries to catch her breath and says with a dry wit, "Is…that all of them?” Before collapsing from exhaustion, lightly bleeding from the cut in her back, multiple bruises all over, her fingers glowing softly.
She paws at the stone beneath her, her starlit fingers making scrapes in the cold stone as if it were soft clay. She flashes back to her days as a princess, getting a massage at an exotic mud spa. This is a lot like that, but a lot more thrilling. It hurts more too.
Kulrun helps her to a sitting position, “yes, I don’t see any more coming. I can scout ahead but I think our way should be clear now.” He helps to bandage Torano’s arm, where there’s a deep cut, and Skitter’s back. “We should turn back and see to your wounds. This was far more dangerous than I thought. We’re only alive because you were here, Skitter.” Torano winces a bit. “I’d… I’d like to press on, if you’re able, Skitter? Now we’ve come this far, I want to see.”
Skitter nods her head and smiles gratefully to Kulrun for helping her up. “Sorry I kicked you-there wasn’t time to do things politely. Please don’t think I dislike goblins.”
She looks at Kulrun cautiously, evaluating his response. She doesn’t think he intentionally led them to that beast, but can’t ever be too careful.
“It never occurred to me,” says Kulrun.
She pulls her veil back around her face and covers her arm up as best she can, looking shy. She shakes her head. “The fun’s just started, we can’t stop now. There’s probably a wizard and horrible traps ahead and at least a secret worth uncovering.”
Torano says, still looking at the light, “you told me you had a star under your skin. I’m not sure I really believed it until now. I mean, the idea of a star is one thing, but to see it shine…"
Kulrun nods, "whatever it is, it’s a powerful magic.” They relight the torches and walk for miles down the empty pipe, limbs aching, nursing their wounds, but eager to see what lies ahead. And they aren’t disappointed. Ahead of them, they see a light, and drawing close they can make it out better; a glowin sigil surrounded by intricate script, suspended in the middle of the tunnel.
Immediately behind it is a wall of water, as though they were looking into water through glass; and beyond an arched gate the brickwork gives way to silt and rough stone, lit by shafts of dim sunlight from above; they’ve reached the lake, and the tunnel isn’t blocked, but warded.
Skitter covers her arm shyly and lowers her head and has to brush the hair out of her eyes. She shrugs sheepishly. “I…I didn’t want to alarm or…I don’t know, it seems dangerous-and I don’t want to endanger anyone.” Other than myself, she thinks. She smiles at them as they relight the torches. She does her best to adjust the bandages, but her fingers remain exposed for now. She wipes protoplasm off her shoulders and raises up to rejoin the party, exploring along for miles. She gawks as she stares at the rune holding back the wall of water. Now THIS is magic. She oohs at it, and asks her colleagues for their insight.
Torano steps forward and pushes his hand through the barrier, into the water.
Kulrun goes to stop him, but it’s too late; he pulls it back, wet. “I knew it!” he says, “It stops the flow of water; but if it stopped people they wouldn’t need the skeletons. Do you think we could swim up to the surface from here? I don’t relish spending more time in this tunnel.”
Kulrun looks up at the surface, “it doesn’t look far. How good are you at holding your breath?” He stares fascinated at the script around the sigil. “Can either of you read this?"
Torano looks more closely, "bits and pieces - some of it the language of the city, some of it is in older script. There are questions? Some of it looks like a cipher even. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Skitter’s attention passes around the room from friend to friend. She brushes her left hand fingers through the water, in awe. "I can’t read it, that’s why I brought you two. Who would do such a thing. Perhaps during the war it was sealed to parch the city-i don’t know.“
Torano keeps puzzling over it, "obviously someone didn’t want anyone or anything using this passage between the lake and the city. I don’t think the forces of chaos did this - they overran the city with their numbers, from what I’ve read there wasn’t a long seige.” He looks a little sick thinking about it. Kulrun reaches out to touch the water, but when he pushes his arm into the surface, the script uncurls from around the sigil and wraps around his arm like a snake. Skitter watches with apprehension, her fingers clutched tight as she watches the script coil up her new friend’s arm. She’s worried the wall of water will collapse and crush them, but doesn’t know what’s going on.
As he pulls his arm away, the script twists and returns to its place around the sigil, but on Kulrun’s left arm black ink blooms beneath the skin; after a few moments the script has copied itself perfectly onto his limb. Torano looks on in fascination. “I guess that saves us taking notes - but why didn’t it happen to my arm when I put it through?”
Skitter looks between the two and asks, “Because you’re human maybe?” Kulrun stares at his arm. His mind teems with questions, but he’s obviously had the same thought Skitter has. “We should leave. The waters of the lake are calm, but if the barrier collapses we won’t be able to swim against the current. None of us understands this magic.”
Skitter nods her agreement. “Swimming comes with its own dangers, the walk back is a known danger and should be free of troubles hopefully. Dark, but Skitter likes the dark.”
Kulrun nods, “I think Torano would do well to be in the fresh air. I know the lake well, if you two go ahead I’ll follow and watch that you don’t get into trouble."
Torano takes a few deep breaths and looks up at the shafts of light far above. "Ready?” he asks Skitter, nervously.
Skitter shrugs and stretches out, not looking forward to get wet and washing off her layer of dirt, but there’s little that can be done. She takes a deep breath and jumps up into the water and starts swimming to the surface, shimmering green eyes alert for new dangers.
Torano steps through and starts swimming just behind her; he’s not as athletic but less weighed down by fabric, so he keeps up well. Kulrun brings up the rear, propelling himself upward with forceful kicks. Together the three of them swim up through the green waters of the lake, past the carved stone gateway leading to the pipe, and up toward the golden evening sunlight of the surface, where on the shore, overgrown with creepers, stand two statues of men with their hands resting on shields, guarding the entrance to the aqueduct. They swim to the shore, taking great gulps of air, and stop to wash and re-bandage their wounds before starting the long walk back. Kulrun peers curiously at the script covering his arm, hungry to understand it. He walks alongside Skitter, his arm swathed in ink, hers in starlight, each carrying a mystery within their skin. Torano relaxes considerably now they’re back in the open air, but as they draw close to the city he’s grown pale, and a cold sweat prickles upon his skin.
SKitter rolls in the sand and silt as she reaches the surface, remudding her features and staining her cloak. She lets them wash and rebandage her wound and takes deep drinks of the water and takes in the sights before starting the trudge back to the city. As Torano starts to look sick, Skitter whimpers in fear, “Torano? Torano? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, “I don’t feel good, I think I’m getting a fever.” Kulrun looks concerned, “those swords were old and rusty. Let me see your wound again.” Torano rolls up what’s left of his sleeve; the skin around the bandage is red and hot to the touch.
Skitter doesn’t know medicine and isn’t sure if it’s an infection or magical wound. She looks to Kulrun helplessly.
He sees her distress and says, “it looks infected. It’s a danger with any wound, but it won’t be the first our tribe has had to treat, we do our share of hunting and raiding. Let’s get him back to the village so that we can tend to it properly.” He helps to support the stricken young man as they make their way back to the city, and the sun slowly sets on the horizon, and their adventure beneath the sands.
Skitter frowns, fretting. “I promised to keep you safe and I failed, I’m sorry Torano. We’ll make this right. Thank you, Kulrun.”
The layers of the goblin village keep out the chill of the desert night; smoke from fires and torches rises through strategically placed gaps through which the sky can be seen, twinkling with southern stars. Torano and Kulrun are in the shrine, one under the care of the shaman, the other answering her questions about the newcomers and their expedition. There isn’t much for skitter to do than chew dried fish and wait. The goblin maids, Izzi, Etti and Sketti, have come over to sit and chew their fish with her in sympathy. The other goblins regard her with some wariness.
Skitter keeps an eye on the other goblins, they havn’t gone feral on her but she’s not letting her guard down. She hunches as she eats, looking more like a wild animal than the princess she is. "Is he going to make it?“ she asks, sympathetic. Torano isn’t really her responsibility but she said she’d protect him and didn’t and it’s weighing on her a bit. She’s not sure whether to cut and run or stick it out right now.
Etti has just got back from checking, "Merubz says he’s resting. She’s bandaged it and treated it with honey and herbs, but it’s in the hands of the ancestors now. If the fever breaks by tomorrow, you friend will recover. If not… I don’t know. Our shaman is a good healer, but…” Sketti puts in, “there are some things she can’t cure. Like when your little sister was born.”
Skitter resolves to stay, and climbs up high to sleep under the stars.
The other goblin maids nod to one another, “I don’t know what would have happened if Molly hadn’t been there,” says Izzi. As Skitter begins to climb they turn and wave, Etti saying “rest well Skitter, we’ll keep watch on your friend.”
Most of the goblins are still sleeping when Skitter rises. The shaman, however, is waiting at the door of the temple, and beckons her inside, into the gloom. Torano sleeps fitfully in a cot in one corner, and the grotesque faces of leering goblin ancestors and deities stare down from the walls. The shaman peers up at Skitter with beady eyes lined with the wisdom of age. “Kulrun has spoken well of you, child. He is convinced and I am satisfied that you and your friend are here for personal reasons, and not to steal our lands in the name of any human king. I extend to you our hospitality, our gratitude for the help you gave him, and our protection - though it seems you are well able to protect yourself.” She pauses for a moment, before asking, “may I see it, child?”
Skitter enters with a gloomy expression on her brow. Her sleep was troubled and she’s feeling like all would’ve been better off if she’d gone alone. She’s supposed to only look out for herself, she admonishes. She looks at the shaman with skepticism but keeps her opinions on the matter to herself. "My…arm?“ she asks timidly as the shaman asks to see it.
The shaman nods and holds out a wizened hand. "The arm, and the mark of what lies within. Be not afraid, child, I will not try to steal it from you. These old bones could never contain such a power. I wonder why yours can? And you wonder, too, don’t you?”
Skitter nods cautiously and slowly begins to unravel the ripped bandages. She’ll be able to get a fresh set of bandages now anyway. She slowly unwinds and the symbols on her tan skin glow vibrantly from within, making the skin glow and diffuse the light. She holds her arm out towards the shaman. "A star fell, I thought to fetch it, not knowing the price. I still wonder at the wisdom of the action and whether it was luck or misfortune.“
The starlight glows steadily, illuminating the masks that line the walls. All at once Skitter feels as though she’s actually in the presence of all those strange goblin gods and proud goblin ancestors, that they’re all looking at her, that she’s being silently judged, a focus of divine attention. The shaman feels it to; glancing around before nodding to the walls and taking Skitter’s hand. Her bony fingers trace the starlit symbols, and she begins to hum a tune. "This is the star I saw fall from the sky. I remember its song. It sings it still. A fragment fell from it as it passed over the city; you may still find it amid the ruins. Or perhaps it is stardust now.” She turns Skitter’s hand over, “this star was an omen, a harbinger of miracles. And you? I do not know what you are. The mightiest wizard might prepare for a century to seize a fallen star, and still be unable to hold onto it. Yet you plucked it from the ground as if taking an apple from a merchant’s cart. You are a thief, yes? Some of the greatest gods and heroes have been tricksters and thieves. It’s quite a treasure you’ve stolen, isn’t it?” Merubz smiles as she folds the ragged bandages again, partly stifling the light.
“You are wise to hide it. Show it only to those you trust.”
Skitter listens, somewhat …starstruck. She nods her head, wondering about the fragment in the city and how she’d find such a thing in such a vast city. “Yes..Yes maam, a thief is what I am. Skitter is who I am. I’m not sure that I’ve stolen this or if it was given to me yet to be forthcoming.” Skitter nods and fetches fresh bandages to rewrap her arm completely. The old bandages have burnmarks on them from the runes and skitter tosses them carefully into the brazier. "I do not know that I trust you yet, but you are helping my friend and I am grateful. I wish there was more that I could do.“
"Good,” says Merubz, “you know well enough to not know. That will help you.” She watches Skitter wrap her arm again, and says, “yes, we have spoken enough of the light. Now we must turn to darker things. Your friend’s fever has not broken. Even now he dreams dark dreams, swarms of locusts and sandstorms that cover the sun, streets filled with snakes. I fear his wound is beyond my skill to treat. But there is another who may have the skill. A human, a shaman of her tribe. She dwells in a leaning tower on the far side of the city, a spire with three sisters. She will help if you bring her.” The goblin watches the old bandages burn; weird faces form momentarily in the smoke from the ectoplasm-soaked rags. “You may wonder if she knows aught of the other matter; that I cannot say, but I believe she fears power, and does not covet it."
Skitter nods. "I’ve seen this tower and a light burning in it. I thought to investigate but, well, the wind brought me here, to your domain instead."
Merubz nods, and parts the curtain, letting some of the early morning light into the shrine. "Kulrun says you move like the wind itself. So go. Move like the wind.”
She listens and bows humbly to the shaman. "Thank you-for everything.“ And with that Skitter is off, dashing through goblin camp, stealing a piece of lizard meat as she goes to the tower, keeping an eye out for where the star piece may have impacted, but mostly parkouring and wallrunning on her way up to the tower.
She’s a streak of red darting along the walls and over the ruins, racing through the city toward the building with four spires that she caught sight of on the first day. As she runs along an area of intact rooftops, she looks down into the sand-choked street below. There’s a goblin there - Sketti, she thinks - and she’s being hassled by four large men in leather and brigandine armour. Two are pushing her around while one of them goes through a bag, which she reaches out for in pleading frustration.
Skitter curses into her veil and turns her direction, moving down the wall, scrambling across a broken piece of an old building and sliding down it and into the conflict below. She hates feeling responsible for anyone, and this isn’t making things better, but she’s not about to let one of her friends get harassed. She slides down, scrabbling on the sloped brick wall and lands on her feet after a short tumble. "What’ve we here then? Five of us and only one of her? Hardly seems fair.”
The men are surprised by Skitter’s entrance, but soon recover their composure, “we just wanted to see what treasures she’s got in that bag - but it just seems full of moss and lichen.” They drop it and Sketti starts gathering up its contents, “they’re important, I was out gathering them for the shaman!” she protests. The four men turn their attention to Skitter. “But what have we got here? What treasures are you hiding under that cloak, poppet?” One of them lifts her chin obnoxiously, trying to get a better look at her face, while the others try to grab at and tug at her cloak. It doesn’t help to dissuade them that she really is hiding something precious. Sketti finishes packing up her herbs and stares anxiously, wanting to help but feeling far too small.
Skitter won’t tolerate them touching her at all, not because she’s a princess, but because she’s Skitter. She slaps away the first hand that tries to lift her chin and does a spin kick into the knee of the next man. She snarls ferally and says, “More treasure than you’ll ever touch.” As the next one goes to grab her forearm, she leaps into the air and kicks him with both feet, planting her hands below her and doing a back roundoff off of him, landing a few steps away. She nods at Sketti and starts to run, not too fast, encouraging the men to give chase.
Sketti gets the message; she grabs her bag and runs in the other direction, as the men draw their blades and charge after Skitter, pelting down the sandy street with cries of anger and indignation, and no small amount of greed in their eyes. Skitter plays with them, pausing to let them catch up only to run up half a wall and leap across to a fallen balcony, forcing the men to go around the long way before she leaps up through an open window and crawls into a nearby ruined building. She snickers as she hears them swear and calls out, ‘It’s not too late to just give up!’ It’s a taunt. she doesn’t want them to give up. She runs through the building and dives out another window just as they reach her and two men collide in the window before shoving past each other. The other two have moved to the couryard down below to cut her off and she holds her hands up and bats her long black lashes, caked in thick charcoal freshly applied this morning. She looks around as the four men encircle her with their blades drawn and nods. “This is much fairer.” She waits for one to swing or try to grab her… The men are red-faced under their beards, and angry. They glare at her, but hesitate, expecting more tricks. Finally one lunges forward and tries to grab her by the upper arm.
“I’ll teach you to play with us, you little…”
She whips her left arm around the arm of the guy trying to grab her arm, spinning it like a corkscrew to twist out of his embrace. Her body spins close to his and she gives him a solid kneeing in the gut. The next guard rushes her with both arms spread open and she leaps up and catches him around the head with her thighs before spinning her weight and flipping him in a spectacular moon sault. The attack is violent enough that the other two swing with blades and she parries one with her right arm, pulling it out from under her cloak at hte last minute, a loud clank coming off of her bandages like her arm were covered in steel. The other blade she deftly avoids by pushing her weight into the first blade. She grabs the blade, fingers indenting it before she plants a foot on the guy’s head and kicks, forcing him to abandon the sword as he’s bodily shoved backwards. The first guard has recovered somewhat and swings at her and she ducks, rolling out of the way and kicking up a huge amount of sand into the crowd of men behind her. "You really don’t want to do this.“ She says, her tone ominously serious.
She’s having a blast though, this is so much less dangerous than chaos beasts, but knowing that she’s messing with human intelligence makes her think more and have to plan more in advance.
One of the men is crawling away and groaning, another standing back. The one she just taunted is squaring up to throw a punch, while the last is pulling on his shoulder saying, "come on, leave it, leave it. She’s some kind of assassin, this is bad business. Don’t.” The aggressive guy moves as though to lunge, but with a last backward glare turns and runs. They beat a hasty retreat, one limping and two staggering, leaving Skitter standing undefeated amid the sands.
Skitter looks down to the blade in her hands, fingers indenting the steel. She furrows her brow a bit at the unnatural nature of that. She drops the blade and kicks it away, looking back the way she came to make sure the goblin girl got away safely. She pulls down her veil enough to spit on the sword and re-hides her arm. "Come on Skitter, lover boy is waiting on you.“ She says to herself, put her mind back to the task at hand. She resumes her climb to the tower, moving with more urgency than before, adrenaline still fuelling her.
A few more blocks and there it is; a domed building with four towers, one at each corner, partly buried by the sand. Smaller than the dome with the observatory, but still impressive. One of the slenders spires is broken, while another stands at an angle. At the base of this sits a woman eating a meal of stuffed flatbreads as she looks out over the endless sands of the desert. She wears simple travelling clothes and a bright pink mohawk, garish amid the bleached shades of the desert. She rests her back against the sloping wall of the tower, not noticing Skitter’s approach.
Skitter walks slowly, hips swaying as she takes a relaxed pace. She reminds herself that this isn’t someone she wants to scare or play with but someone she is coming to to ask a favor. She walks close, but silently, unable to help herself from stepping with soft footfalls. She clears her throat when she’s close enough to speak, almond eyes peeking out above her veil.
The woman looks up, shading her eyes, and gives Skitter a lopsided smile. Still chewing a mouthful of her repast, she pats the stone next to her, inviting the newcomer to sit and offering some of her meal. Her movements are slow and relaxed; she shows no sign of expecting trouble.
Skitter moves cautiously and sits beside her. "Nice um, …hair?” She says, quirking an eyebrow, not sure how to start the conversation despite years of training in ettiquette. "I mean. for you, it’s nice for you.“
Skitter declines the food for now, she wouldn’t want to borrow when she’s already come to ask a favor.
Even without the mohawk she’s tall, bigger and more solidly built than Skitter. She first smirks, then laughs, but there’s no malice to it. "Thank you,” she says sincerely, “I guess it does look a little strange around here, doesn’t it? But it feels like part of me now, you know? I don’t think I’d recognise my reflection without it. Back in the city, when we were all young, we got into all these crazy styles, tried to outdo each other. It was all a provocation - like the clothes we’d wear, taunting the guards, doing petty crimes. It was our way of being free when we knew we weren’t free, you know?”
Skitter says, “I dare say it looks strange anywhere, where do you hail from?"
She listens to the story and nods emphatically as though she’d just found a mirror and saw her reflection for the first time. "Yes, there’s a freedom only to be found when you have nothing to lose….“
"Somewhere far away. A port city I crossed two oceans to put behind me.” A shadow passes over her eyes, but she shrugs it off and smiles. “Yes, I guess there is a kind of freedom in that. It’s the only freedom I could find, anyway.”
Skitter hesitates, “Actually I-well I hope you’re who I’m looking for. A friend of mine has been injured and the shaman of the goblins has done what she could but…“
She listens to Skitter’s request, and without hesitation, "let me get my things, and we’ll go see if I can help this friend of yours, then.” She makes to climb the knotted rope leading up to the tower’s window.
“Then what brought you here? It’s not exactly a welcoming place? Did you long for the solitude?” Skitter oohs at the rope to climb and climbs up after her, invited or not.
Her new friend looks back at her, “I guess I did.” She climbs more slowly than Skitter, but her arms are strong and she soon pulls herself up into the small upper room of the tower. It’s a cozy little nest, with a fireplace, hangings on the walls, and even a wooden bed, two legs propped up to compensate for the sloping floor. “It was the crowds I had to get away from. All those people - I couldn’t trust what was behind their eyes anymore,” she says, grabbing a waterskin and a leather case with a shoulder strap from one corner of the octagonal room before turning back to the window. “Okay, good to go. Lead on, uh..?” she trails off, realising she hasn’t asked Skitter her name.
Skitter nods her head, eyeing the room for valuables out of habit more than necessity. As her companion gets her things Skitter introduces herself, “I am called Skitter.”
The tall girl holds her hand out for Skitter to shake. “Molly. It’s good to meet you, Skitter. I’m… well, I guess I’m a hermit now. I guess we all are in this city. All hermits together, except for the goblins, and maybe those guys in the north. But I was an apothecary, so maybe I can help your friend. Tell me all about what happened.”
Skitter shakes with her left hand with some insistence, not bringing out her wrapped arm for fear of crushing her fingers.
She climbs back out with her new friend, relating the tale of the skeletons and leaving out the chaos beast part.
“You’re Molly? Someone said you were sad, are you sad? You don’t seem sad."
Molly raises her eyebrows a bit. "Who said that? I mean… I don’t really feel sad, no. I get up every day and I watch the sun rise and I walk these quiet streets. It’s all so peaceful here, and I’m thinking of that, and trying to forget what happened before, and far away, across the Sea of Serpents… Letting the sun bleach out my memories. It feels like another life, but yeah, I guess it all left me feeling pretty sad. Things… Didn’t go well.” She smiles again, but her smile is wan.
Skitter flexes her brow with sympathy. “Well maybe you can share that story with me and we’ll share a meal as well. For now, we must rush back to my friend. He has dreams of this city from when it still lived, and he’s…well the wound is infected as I said and I think you’re his only hope.”
Molly listens to the story with interest as Skitter fills in the gaps. “So… A wound, weapon was rusty so it wasn’t magical or envenomed, skeletons don’t carry disease, so I’m guessing regular blood poisoning. And it’s been less than twenty-four hours?” she says, mentally going through the contents of her bag. “Sounds like you had quite an adventure. I’m glad you cleared out the skeletons, these ruins have enough terrors.”
Skitter beams behind her veil. “Well I plan on clearing the cobwebs off this city and scaring off the terrors.” She jerks a thumb at her chest. “Skitter is here for answers and I love unravelling a good mystery!”
Molly beams back. “Well I can’t wait to see what you find next, so let’s get your friend back on his feet and let you get back to it!” she exclaims, breaking into a run. The two sprint through the empty streets of the city, toward the goblin village in the old bazaar, where Torano dreams of those same streets filled with serpents, running for his life, and for something more precious than life.
In the cool shadows of the goblin temple, Torano languishes in his fever. The shaman, Skitter and Sketty look on while Molly crouches over him, unbandaging the wound to examine it, prodding at the flesh to see how it recovers its colour. “Looks like Merubz has done the best she could for him with the herbs that grow around here. I couldn’t do better.” She looks up and gives a lopsided grin, “fortunately, I have an unfair advantage.”
Skitter paces anxiously as she watches, not having a role to play she lets Molly do her work with a furrowed brow. "Is there something you need? I can go fetch it. This waiting does my heart no good.“
Molly snaps open the fastenings on her leather case, opening it to reveal neat rows of little glass bottles. She runs her fingers along them before picking out a bottle full of yellow powder. "This is what we need, and you’d have to go a long way to fetch it. But I’m from a port city; eventually the whole world comes to us.”
She takes the powder and sprinkles a little onto the herbs Sketty fetched earlier, grinding them up, and spreading it carefully onto the wound. It fizzes oddly and Torano stirs in his delirium. “Yeah, it’ll sting a bit.” As she works she tosses a bottle to Skitter. “Make some tea with a couple of leaves from here? It’ll help him sleep and bring down the fever. This dressing will purge the poison from the wound."
As she’s re-applying the bandages, Kulrun enters the tent, bowing his head respectfully to Merubz before turning to Skitter. "Good news for your friend?” he asks, hopefully.
Skitter catches the bottle deftly and nods her head attentively and goes to find a kettle or something to brew tea in. Something her palace time taught her is how to brew tea well, she oft had to do it for diplomatic meetings. She gets to it promptly. She nods tenatively to Kulrun. “The healer-Molly-she’s got magic powder that will purge the poison from his wound. How fares the research?”
He shakes his head, “none of the tribe recognise these symbols. Some look like those writings found in the human ruins; others like nothing we’ve seen before.” Molly finishes her work and comes over to take the tea. “Mind if I have a look?” she asks, and Kulrun replies, “I was hoping you would.” He holds out his arm, a little nervously, as though unsure of the secrets it might now hold, and Molly looks at the symbols spiralling across his skin. “I recognise these, here and here - that’s alchemical notation. Everyone uses it - I mean, every alchemist. It dates right back to the age of wizards. Anyway, this one is a formula for a powder that burns with a green flame, and this is… A dye I think? And some of these other scripts are mathematical notation - a bit advanced for me, I’m afraid, we mostly covered measurements and ratios in my studies. Does any of that help?” she asks, cocking her head with a slightly puzzled look.
Skitter tugs on her scarf, covering her nose and mouth as the two speak of wizardry and alchemy. She was tutored very little in the alchemical ways and remembers none of it. "What does that mean for the gate then? We need to throw powder and dye at it?“
Molly scratches her shaven scalp. "There’s a lot more here, in languages I don’t recognise. And I’ve seen a lot of modern script, so I’m guessing these are all ancient. You think this is some kind of a clue about the gate you found? If so those formulae are just part of it. If it’s any help I could mix you up a little bit of each compound.”
Skitter defers to Kulrun, a bit wide-eyed and out of her element.
Kulrun nods, “I don’t know how yet, but it might help us solve the mystery. Thank you, Molly, we owe you our gratitude once again.” Molly smiles, absently mixing up the compounds as she replies, “just being a good neighbour is all. Now, we should probably clear out and let your friend get his rest…” She olds up a tiny phial with a thimble-full of one of the mixtures inside it, shakes it a little. It rapidly turns a bright orange. “Right, orange. I knew it was either orange or purple. Don’t get this stuff on your hands, it won’t wash off,” she says, turning over both phials to Kulrun and packing up her things, before emerging with the other two into the totem-crowded courtyard of the ramshackle temple, the harsh desert sunlight muted by layers of brightly coloured cloth overhead.
Skitter administers the tea and rejoins Molly and Kulrun as they exit. She holds up her left hand to shade her eyes as they step outside into the light. "How can I repay you Molly? Were it not for your assistance I’m not sure Torano would have survived.“
Molly presses a fist to Skitter’s shoulder in a playful punching gesture. "Aw, it’s just good to feel useful. I miss my shop sometimes, talking with the customers, helping people with their problems… It’s nice and quiet out here but I’m glad I’m not all alone.” She smiles, “so what’s next for you? Which of the ruins’ mysteries do you have your eye on today?”
Skitter smiles behind her veil and nods, understanding. "A star-part of it, fell into the city. While Kulrun uncovers the mysteries of the waterway and finds a way for me to open it to bring water back to the city i intend…“ Skitter’s eyes trail off to the observatory to where she points. "To climb that. See if I can find the fallen piece of star or at least get a clue as to who had recovered it.” She turns her attention back on Molly. “You should consider re-opening your store here, I’m sure there’s need for your services.”
The pair are outside the village now, Kulrun having stayed behind to speak with his shaman. Molly shades her eyes and looks up at the distant observatory. “I don’t know about running a store, but at least I can make house calls. I’ll come by and check on your friend again tomorrow. Oh, and here’s something you can do for me - next time you’re going on an expedition somewhere exciting like that buried waterway, take me with you? I want to see what you find, and if you get yourself injured it’ll save me a walk,” she adds, with a grin.
The pair are outside the village now, Kulrun having stayed behind to speak with his shaman. Molly shades her eyes and looks up at the distant observatory. “A star, gosh. I guess that’s the place to go if you’re looking for stars.” She turns back to Skitter and listens to her suggestion. “I don’t know about running a store, but at least I can make house calls. I’ll come by and check on your friend again tomorrow. Oh, and here’s something you can do for me - next time you’re going on an expedition somewhere exciting like that buried waterway, take me with you? I want to see what you find, and if you get yourself injured it’ll save me a walk,” she adds, with a grin.
Skitter bows deeply to Molly. “You have my word. Next adventure I’ll share with you, as Kulrun can attest, I’m a sight to behold in action.” She nods to Kulrun and off she goes, parkouring through the goblin territory like the obstacles were nothing and she were made of naught but liquid shadow and red scarf. She sprints towards the observatory, stealing a drink of water along the way to pause and decide if the exterior is safe to climb or she’s better moving through the inside. She’d prefer the outside, but unnecessary risks aren’t the plan for today at least.
“And humble, too!” says Molly after her, grinning. Her footsteps echo down empty streets as she leaves the relative hubbub of the goblin village for the crumbling beauty of the ruins. The observatory tower rises on one side of a dome partly buried by dunes; the sides of the tower are sloped slightly, and weathered enough to provide many handholds, though these might be treacherous. Not the hardest thing to climb, but the sheer height makes it a challenge.
Outside it is. Skitter spits into her left hand and then gets a running start and scrambles up the dome before leaping to the tower and gripping onto it with one bare hand and one covered hand. She begins the climb, the wind whipping at her scarf as she climbs up the tower, her eyes narrowly focused on the task before her, not the beautiful sights of the city. Each brick is assessed, determining how stable it looks, and how it might further her path forward. It’s a challenge, to be sure, but one that Skitter relishes, her heart racing the higher she climbs.
The dunes recede beneath her, her scarf fluttering like a bright pennant high above the city. Soon the climb becomes a meditation, just one handhold after another, the rest of the world falling away as she focuses on her task. Some of the stones are loose, but she spots them easily; her limbs begin to ache before she’s halfway up, and the sun beats down on her, but still she climbs, until finally the underside of the balcony surrounding the upper level is close enough to touch.
And a pennant it is, or was before she stole it upon leaving her kingdom for good. Those well versed in heraldry might recognize the serpent in white that graces the banner between the bright streaks of red. She sweats under the heat, and breathlessly looks up at the balcony above her. Now for the most dangerous part. She closes her eyes, feeling out the breeze, her life in the wind, the freedom of this moment. She jumps outward from the wall and swings her bandaged hand around to grab the underside of the balcony, the stone crunching slightly as she grips it firmly with the one hand and dangles for a moment, panting, in a bit of disbelief that she made it. She looks down at the dizzying display below and decides climbing up and looking from atop the balcony makes more sense.
She pulls herself up, muscles protesting at the last effort, and lands atop the balcony. A hooded archway leads into the uppermost floor of the tower, and within she can see an elaborate orrery, rusted and partially dismantled, components laid out neatly on a rug on the floor; and several telescopes, some in disrepair, others brightly polished. Beyond the railing the dizzying view stretches out below, the crumbling majesty of the dead city, and beyond it, to the north the terrible black ashes of the chaos wastes; to the south, the bleached bone white of the desert.
Unwisely she doesn’t look around the inside for the possible occupants. Breathless and muscles aching she leans on the balcony and surveys the city, blocking the light with her hand to see if she can see impact marks or a crater like the one she stumbled into the night she captured her star.
She scans the ruins carefully. The goblin village is the most obvious landmark - and there’s Molly’s tower, lost in the haze on the far side of town; the stockade to the north, with wooden scaffolding inside, like someone is building a fort. There’s no crater in the sand that she can see; there are many damaged buildings, but it’s hard to say from this distance whether they were struck by a falling star or just crumbled under the weight of time. She feels a prickle on the back of her neck, as though suddenly someone were watching her. Her star brand throbs faintly beneath the fresh bandages.
Skitter draws her knife and spins around, but in her tired state, the wind catches the side of the dagger and it flies out of her grasp, whistling through the air till it thunks on the dome below. She blushes a bit under her veil at the uncharacteristically clumsy action. "Who’s there?“ she asks, her voice cracking with lack of authority.
She turns to face only the wind, blowing across the balcony, and the shadows of the ancient observatory’s interior. She sees no-one, but still feels the maddening sensation of being watched - watched, and judged?
Skitter doesn’t like being judged. She’s her own person and holds to no authority but her own. She thumbs her nose and strays into the building, sparkling eyes looking around for the source of the uneasiness. Her bandaged fist clenches, ready to strike. "I’m going to steal something if you don’t show yourself.” she says, picking up a lens with her left hand.
As her hand closes around the glass a cold wind blows from the balcony, and dark stormclouds rush in to hide the noonday desert sun. “WHO DARES TO INTRUDE UPON MY SANCTUM?” booms an echoing voice behind her, and there, on the balcony, hovering just above the tiles, an imposing figure has appeared. He wears ornate robes and a cape over one shoulder, clasped with a brooch inscribed with arcane sigils. His face is hawkish, with a sharp nose, and covered by a tight-fitting skullcap. Around the edges of his face are tattooed or painted sharp lines, like thorns or claws converging inward on his severe features. The largest of this is a triangle coming straight down from his brow, with a negative space in it depicting a third eye. His real eyes are blazing with occult power, and the very stones of the tower seem to shake when he speaks. Skitter’s star brand throbs in resonance with the magic that hangs heavily in the air.
Skitter spins the glas on the tip of her finger as she turns, this from the girl that just dropped her dagger is a…intentionally taunting sight. She pivots on one foot and looks up at the man, spinning the lens on her fingertip with expert dexterity. "Skitter intrudes. Though I don’t know who you are.“ The lens slows and falls and she snatches it out of the air and it vanishes somewhere into her garb. She leans on the table. "Were you going to do introductions or glower ominously-cause i can just let myself out the way I came in-if I’m unwelcome.”
The wind dies down as quickly as it whipped up. The stormclouds fade and the desert sun shines down as relentlessly as ever. The fire in the figure’s eyes fades, and he sinks to the floor, stepping into the shade of the interior and out of the sun’s glare. “Good, I can see I don’t need to waste my strength trying to impress you. It’s a relief, frankly. My name is Valinard, and I am a wizard, of great power,” he says matter-of-factly, a businesslike intensity to his manner, as well as an impatience. “And you are a thief. But no common thief. The timbre of your confidence indicates a noble birth, a bored aristocrat from the city of the white serpent, seeking thrills in the wilder world beyond the city walls, am I correct?” He pauses for a moment. “That was rhetorical. I am very nearly always correct. Come, I have tea, and you have climbed long in the hot sun. If you are going to help yourself to my components the least you can do is accept my hospitality, as well.” He walks past her without looking back, toward an area of the room set with rugs and couches, a comfortable living area in amidst his intricate work.
Skitter is taken aback not by his nonchalance, but by his accuracy. She slight of hand returns the lens to where she snatched it from, suddenly afraid-not that he’s great and powerful but that he knows she’s nobility. She bows her head as one would when impressed outside of expectation. “th-thank you.” She says and follows him to have tea. "How could you…know those things?“ She peers after him, curious. "Do you see futures? Do you know all pasts? Is there part of my past that clings to me like a blanke—-” skitter trails off looking down at her tabard. She clears her throat. “I’m just Skitter now in any case, and tea would be lovely.”
He notices her replace the lens, and says, “thank you,” a little testily. As she begins to ask about his powers, he turns and fixes her with his gaze, “I don’t just see futures, I create them.” There’s passion in his eyes now, not the theatrics of his entrance. "But you touch on why I am here. To gaze into time. There is much I would yet know. But your past? It’s written on you. You wear the flag of your home - some kind of taunt, or a reminder? But it matters to you, in any case. Your confidence in the face of power? That only comes from being accustomed to power yourself, and you’re no wizard,“ he says, pouring the tea, "to be sure, a brave peasant-warrior can face down a sorcerer, birth is no predictor of courage - but they would have to steel themselves in a way that you did not." There’s a nervous energy to him, he pours the tea with quick, precise movements, and when he sits back he drums his fingers, there’s never a moment when there isn’t some part of him in motion. Wizards are supposed to be old and wise, but close up and without the storm behind him, he looks to be about 30, and impatient, hungry. The thick, well-wrapped bandages seem like a paltry covering now, like he could see right through them to the secret brand throbbing beneath.
Nonetheless he makes an excellent cup of tea, brewing it for just long enough, and passes it to his guest, before sipping from one himself. "So did you climb my tower merely seeking thrills, or was there something else you sought up here?”
Skitter listens, spellbound by his narrative, whether it’s true or not. She nods her head with his words, in total agreement. She sips the tea and considers her response carefully. She was warned about wizards and that they might seek to control the star for themselves or harness it’s power. She can’t be bluntly honest, but at the same time, this man seems to see through all of her veils and into her core with ease. She carefully sips the tea and says after a long breath. “I need help lowering a ward.”
“I need help lowering a ward.”
Valinard sips likewise, regarding her with hawkish eyes. A gentle breeze blows through the observatory from the arched balconies, warm with the midday sun.
After a moment the wizard replies, “I’m listening.”
Skitter is careful with her words, taking time to sip at the tea as she watches the Wizard. She never liked the court Vizier and this man reminds her of him. "Beneath us lies a ward of unknown origin that starves the city of much needed water. We’ve transcribed some of its runes and it appears to have something to do with… a dye, and a flashing powder.“ Skitter searches her pockets, not sure if she took the items, but it seems she left them with Kulrun.
Valinard strokes his beardless jaw, the painted eye on his forehead seeming to regard her with the same attention as the other two. "I knew there was once an aqueduct, but I assumed it had simply fallen into ruin. You say it is magically sealed? A piece of seigecraft from the chaos war? But to my knowledge the invaders overran the city too quickly for any such measures to be necessary. Unless… The ward was designed to keep something in, not out.”
Skitter shakes her head. “I’m not someone who knows of such things, which is why I came to seek your council. If you cannot help or express no interest in it, then I shall look elsewhere.”
The wizard waves his hand airily. “Merely thinking aloud,” he says, a little hastily. “I would examine these runes; do you have a transcription of them?”
Skitter nods her head. “At the Goblin Camp, but you would need to present yourself a little less ..mightily, than you did towards me less they scamper and hide.”
Valinard rises, picking up a cowled desert cloak draped over a chair.
“Understood. Then let us not keep our small friends waiting, yes? Do you intend to take the stairs this time, or will you make your own way back to the ground?”
Skitter tips her head side to side considering. “Stairs are fine enough, are they trapped?” She asks with mirthful hope.
“Somewhat,” says Valinard, “I can leave the alarms and wards active, if you’re so keen to show off your skill.”
Skitter eyes the room, looking for signs of the sparkling fallen star piece. She’ll have to resume later, using a different tower to be sure.
The room is full of books, scrolls and talismans, astronomical equipment, charts of the heavens and other, stranger realms; a map of the city is fastened to one wall. Notably there are few flasks of liquid, and none of the complex glassware so often seen in wizard’s lairs. Valinard begins down the winding staircase that hugs the inner wall of the tower. The two floors below were once a library, and there are signs of activity here; crumbled shelves have been righted, salvageable works removed to the top floor, ruined books piled up in one corner. Below that is a dusty room with stained stone counters and round windows, that might once have been a laboratory. Below that, several floors have fallen through, creating a dark void shot through with shafts of dusty sunlight from the windows, with jagged promontories of stone floor jutting out from the walls, and the staircase winding perilously around the drop. Soon there’s a break of about 20 feet in the staircase where it’s fallen from the wall, and the cowled wizard with a gesture levitates himself across the gap, before turning and looking at Skitter, silently offering his help in crossing the gap, but somehow doubting it will be necessary.
Skitter follows after, in no mood to test her skill against the Wizard’s wards and alarms. She tries to make small talk as they descend the tower, “What brought you to Zagoula? It is a place for lost souls I’m told." When they reach the gap, Skitter backs up a few steps and takes a sprinting start at the gap before running up the wall to the side and sliding down to the lower set of stairs deftly.
He gives her a small nod of approval, one individual of great talents to another, and continues down the stairs. "Knowledge. The greatest scholars and sorcerers of the Age of Wizards all gathered here. Their works are assembled within the city’s libraries, protected from time by the dry desert air, and from thieves by terrible phantoms. The observatory was built with a precision and understanding men are no longer capable of; I’ve learned much from it already, even in ruin."
Their voices echo softly in the great space of the tower.
Skitter continues along, resisting the urge to do more tricks to inflate her ego. She nods a bit as the Wizard talks, eager to keep him occupied and thinking about himself. "What has the observ-observatory shown you? Do the futures lay in the stars as I have often heard the prophets say?”
“All things lie in the stars,” he says without looking back, as he walks down the winding steps. “For the stars are the children of the sun, and sunlight and starlight do more than illuminate the world. They make it real. Not moonlight, though. Moonlight is different.”
Skitter wipes her left hand along the wall, picking up dust and smelling it. "What does moonlight do? Make things unreal?“
It smells of centuries of sun and desert winds blowing through the empty windows of the old tower. "Somewhat. The moon changes things. It softens reality, turns it a little fluid. Hedge magicians leave out love potions under the moon to brew. Werewolves howl at the full moon. But starlight… Have you ever wondered where magic comes from?”
Skitter ponders the question for a bit. "I hadn’t until you asked that. I thought it came from words and markings and the deeds of those like you?“ She follows the Wizard further down the tower, marvelling that the structure still stands, and is glad to have had the opportunity to climb the outside.
They reach the ground floor, walking across cracked flagstones toward an entrance recently cleared of sand. "Not a bad answer, but it’s the question that is wrong. The better question is, where does not-magic come from? The gods are magic. When they made the world out of clay, that was magic. Why, then, is there anything that we don’t consider magic?”
He lets the question hang in the air before answering it.
“It is because of the sun, and the stars. All that their light touches becomes real, fixed to a particular form and to slow, predictable change. Wizards such as I are merely men who have learned to cast small shadows over the world - to let in a little of the primal chaos that existed before the sun rose in the morning and the stars wheeled above at night."
Skitter counters, "There is naught that I don’t consider magical in its own way. Even the wind as it blows across the sand has its own air of mystery and its own wonder to it. The world is touched, even when it is fixed, by the subtle and wonderous. How we survive such harsh conditions, how we struggle against entropy. This is the real magic I think.”
Valinard pulls up his hood as the pair step out into the bright sunlight of the abandoned city. He looks back at the great half-buried dome beyond the tower, glowering with a faint look of frustration at it, before turning his attention back to their conversation.
She glances at the tower as he does and asks, “Does the dome have some significance to you?“ She takes the lead, heading towards the goblin camp.
"That,” he says, “is the dome of the great library of Zagoula. Beneath lies the knowledge I seek. But there’s no way in from up here. Piercing the dome could cause part of it to collapse; and then there’s a drop of hundreds of feet into treacherous darkness prowled by some of the most dangerous phantoms in the city. It’s so close… but I must find another route.” The day wears on as they walk to the goblin village, the sun beginning to fall in the sky.
Skitter offers, “Well there are underpassages beneath the city, for the water, it’s possible that one of them leads into the library. I might look into it for you if you are able to bring the waters back or at least offer assistance. Favor for a favor.” Skitter boasts, “I fear no phantoms, ghosts of the past are just dust that hasn’t settled yet.”
“Hire a thief to find a way in?” says Valinard, “very well. You shall have your water. If this seal can be broken, I shall find a way to break it.” As he and Skitter approach the village, the guards eye the newcomer warily, but step aside for Skitter, one of them escorting the pair to the temple. Merubz is sitting on the temple steps. “Your friend’s fever has broken. He’s been sleeping these past few hours. But who have you brought to us now, young one?”
“I am relieved to hear it. We need to see Kulrun. This is …uh” she pauses, smirking up at the wizard, offering intentional, but playful insult. "a great wizard who may be able to help us with the runes on his arm and the mystery below.“
Kulrun emerges from the curtained entrance to the temple; his arm is around Torano, who is weak and shaking, but agitated and wild-eyed. "Merubz said you need rest, Torano,” says Kulrun. “You shouldn’t be up.” Torano sits on the steps and stares up at the bright awnings above. “I know, I just couldn’t bear to lie there anymore. I don’t want to sleep… I’m afraid of what I might see,” he says, meeting Skitter’s gaze with haunted eyes. Valinard remains hooded and silent, but peers curiously at Kulrun’s arm, trying to make out words.
Skitter looks at Torano sympathetically and moves to sit beside him. "Glad to see you survived, though it leaves you haunted and not haunting.“ "Kulrun, meet Valinard, the wizard who has taken residence at the observatory. Valinard, this is Kulrun, my friend I think a scholar of similar interests to yours.”
Valinard raises an eyebrow, but holds out his hand. “May I?” he asks, and with a glance at Skitter Kulrun holds out his arm so that the wizard can read it. Valinard strokes his jaw and mouths words under his breath as he reads. “Alchemical and mathematical notation - and this is the written tongue of the Age of Wizards, Zagoula would have used this at its height. ‘Find three leaves the colour of the flame’ - fireroot, I assume. And more instructions - this isn’t a warding spell, it’s a puzzle.” He frowns, “and it tests even my knowledge. This language here-” he prods Kulrun’s arm, “is truly ancient.” He mumbles a few words, and Merubz’ long wrinkled ears prick up. “I’ve heard this tongue. The ancestors spoke such words, in times long past. The eldest of our ancestors tell their tales in it, and even our shamen know little of their meaning. Speak the words again.” Valinard gives her a skeptical look but reads out loud. The old goblins squints, “it says to smear or paint the eye - or the glass? - and to behold the trickster’s star when the night is deepest.”
They keep talking, going back and forth, Valinard writing down the runes on a scroll and translating them as he goes. He has a patronising air when dealing with the goblins, but Merubz clearly has knowledge he lacks; he can only read the words, while she only knows them by their sound. Torano droops a few times, sitting hunched on the steps, but won’t let himself sleep. He speaks up, distracted from whatever haunts him by the sight of certain ruins that puzzle the others. “That’s the trade language! I’ve seen it in the bazaar. It’s easy to understand once you know it’s all about quantities, quality, and trust…” he says, and begins explaining another piece of the puzzle.
The sun sets as they puzzle over the secrets of the writing, and as darkness falls there’s a commotion in the rest of the camp. Horns are blown and weapons seized. Zugrub comes running into the temple square, “we’re calling in the hunters and fortifying the walls. There’s a chaos beast abroad!” Behind him come running a crowd of goblin children, rushing up the steps past the group, drilled to take shelter in the temple at the heart of the village.
Skitter helps prop Torano up, leaning against him with her arms folded. She looks up in confusion at the Horns being sounded. She curses under her breath. "Stay here.“ She instructs the others, "Keep working on the riddle or whatever.” She scampers up the wall and peels herself out from under the tarp before climbing up a tent pole and taking a look for signs of the beast, her heart beating in her chest.
The camp is on high alert; spear-weilding goblins man the walls nervously, all eyes trained on the city around them. A shout goes up; a spear points. A few blocks away Skitter can make out the chaos beast, a luminous, translucent, four-legged shape like a cross between a bear, a reptile and a spider. It falls upon a lizard and shakes it to death in a split second, carrying it in its mouth as it resumes prowling through the darkened streets.
Skitter slides down the tentpole back to the insides of the Goblin City. She quickly grabs a stick and cloth and wraps up a torch. She sprints through the camp till she finds a dimly lit fire and lights her torch before running out of the city in the direction of the beast, running up the broken walls and leaping from rooftop to rooftop as she waves the torch in her left hand, trying to draw the attention of the beast away from the fragile goblin camp.
It works. The creature raises its head and lopes after the light, still carrying its prey. The size of a bull, it runs like a dog or an insect, racing down the streets and skidding around corners after the flickering torch. She has its full attention now.
Skitter makes it to a corner of the old city where there are buildings still mostly standing. She runs up the left wall and throws the torch to the street to the right, tossing it around the corner. She makes the left corner by spinning and grabbing hold with her right hand, punching through the stone to hang 10 feet in the air on the side of the wall and wait, her red scarf whipping around the corner one way as the torch bounces and rolls the other direction. She’s not sure if it’ll work, so she’s braced her feet against the wall and is ready to jump if the creature turns her way instead of away from her.
From her vantage point Skitter can see a group of torches approaching a few hundred feet away down an adjacent street. The monster hasn’t seen them though; it’s focused on the torch. It kicks up sand as it comes to a halt, digging its front legs in. It paws at the burning torch, stomping it out, and then leans down to pick it up in its jaws, still carrying the dead lizard as well. It looks around and then makes to lope around the corner.
Skitter’s trap works well enough for her purposes and she’s not eager for the other torches to draw the thing’s attention. She pulls her fist out of the wall and leaps, the bandgages around her fingers ripped from the friction with the brick. Her fingers glow and she leaps off the wall to land on the creature’s back, her fingers outstretched to grasp onto it behind the head with her star laced fingers. Her hair swirls in the breeze and her cape flutters behind her.
The star blazes through the bandages as she lands on the spectral creature’s back; the phantom becomes less translucent at her touch, more solid, more real. It tries to shake her off and takes off at a run.
She was never allowed to ride a wild horse, and this is more like a bull, but her fingers dig into the creature’s back, making it sold enough to hold onto. She laughs despite the danger, delighted as it bucks and starts running, crashing into walls and cracking them. Her left hand reaches for her dagger and she realizes that she’s lost it. She curses under her breath behind the veil and holds on tight, waiting to see where the creature runs before taking further action. She’s bucked up into the air several times, but lands back deftly with boots each time, her left hand hanging out behind her as if she were a bull rider.
It lopes down the street, barreling past a group of soldiers - like the ones she ran off from bullying Sketty earlier - who barely have time to get out of the way. It runs tirelessly through the city, bucking and trying to shake off its rider, before reaching a fallen building and abruptly turning down a sandy slope into the collapsed ruin, running into a dark space under a lintel too low to admit a rider as well. Skitter has a split second to react before she’s smacked against the ancient stone.
Skitter hopes this works, she plucks her star encorcelled hand out of the creature and holds it high above her head, hoping that the creature will become more insubstantial again and she can slide right through it. If not, she’s gonna hit the wall hard.
Skitter wakes with a headache and a steady dull pain in her shoulder. She doesn’t remember the impact, but it looks like the influence of the star takes longer than that to recede. She’s learned something, at least. She feels a boot nudging her in the small of her back, checking if she’s alive, or awake.
Skitter looks up, wincing, feeling the bruise on her cheek. She’s relieved at least that she was able to take the impact with her star arm primarily. She looks up slowly, rolling onto her back, staring up to see who’s nudging her. She hasn’t had a hit like that in some time, is hoping it’s Molly to tend to her wounds. She blinks slowly. "Is it gone?“ she asks hoarsely.
She finds herself looking up into a night sky lightening in the east, and the faces of the soldiers, half a dozen of them gathered around her. Two of them she recognises from earlier, and they’re scowling down at her.
One of the men leers nastily, “‘allo, darling. Not so quick now, are we?"
Skitter sneer/winces as she’s taunted.
Before the man can say anything more menacing, he’s brusquely shoved aside by a serious looking woman with shortish, slightly curled dark hair. "Do you think you can stand?” she asks, offering Skitter a hand to help her up. She gives a wry smile, “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone try to ride one of those before.”
She takes the hand with her star-hand, still suffering a bit from her head injury and not thinking clearly. She stands back up and looks past her shoulder towards where the creature retreated. “Have your people done much about one of those-ride or otherwise?” She snarks, pulling up her scarf and hiding her arm under her tabard for the moment.
The woman takes her hand, and seeing the light spilling from it, she deftly tugs the bandages down around it, and lets her gracefully retreat it into her tabard. One of the men standing near her opens his mouth to speak, but she shoots him a dark look and he falls silent. The skin around her dark eyes wrinkles slightly as she considers Skitter, but she continues speaking smoothly as though she noticed nothing. “Certainly not. We prefer to leave dead things to their rest, unless our contract says otherwise.” She steps back a little, and indicates the soldiers. “Well met, I am Captain Moretti and these are my Crows, though you may think they better resemble dogs.” There’s some good natured protest from most of the soldiers, though the two Skitter recognises from before remain silent, and she can feel their bitter glare on the back of her head.
Skitter looks around the group as the Captain speaks. "I don’t judge, but your men lack discipline, so they’re less like dogs and more like hyenas.“ She looks back to the captain, "So either you’re terrible at your job, or you’re intentionally training them that way.” Skitter winds bandages back around her hand. "So am I your prisoner now, or is this just a friendly welcome to the neighborhood greeting?“
Moretti gives Skitter a glare, the same glare she gave the curious soldier a moment ago, which is not a comfortable gaze to hold, especially with Skitter’s head pounding like it is. She feels sick and increasingly dizzy. "The latter,” the captain says coldly, “we’re not at war, so we’ve no need of captives. Have we, men?” the question is almost an accusation, and there’s a murmur of obedient agreement from the Crows. “You rode right past us on that beast; we followed to see if you needed help - and whether you survived. I’m impressed that you did.”
Skitter drops her gaze and dips into a bit of a curtsey, “Then forgive my sharp tongue, I hit my head harder than I’d like to admit-and suspected ill will. I’m grateful that you came to help. I’m sorry that I could not vanquish the thing, but I’m grateful I could keep it from hurting anyone on its run.” She dusts herself off and holds her head, swooning a bit. "Thanks for the concern, I need to see a medic.“
The captain nods sharply, not at Skitter but behind her. One of the Crows comes forth, a leaner man than the others, with shoulder length, messy hair and an interesting, weathered face. There’s something very concerned and vulnerable about his demeanor. "May I?” he asks, reaching out to touch Skitter’s neck and jaw.
Skitter turns aprhensively and nods faintly. “I have a friend who can treat my wounds, I don’t -” She halts as he reaches out to touch her, staring at him with her charcoal smeared emerald almond eyes.
“I’m just going to make sure nothing’s broken, and it’s safe for you to be up and about,” he says in a gentle voice. He turns her head to one side then the other, testing the range of movement, and feels along her spine. “Tell me if it hurts,” he says, and moves on to feeling the muscles of her neck and shoulders, before finally examining the bruise itself. He looks to his commander and shakes his head. “Nothing broken. She’s likely concussed, she’ll need rest and water.” “Thank you, Corporal,” says the captain, “we could help you find your friend, or if you’ll accompany us back to our camp, you’re welcome to rest in my tent until you feel better. But you still have me at a disadvantage. Who are you, rider-of-chaos-phantoms?” she asks, giving that wry smile again.
Skitter keeps her face masked with her scarf and nods gratefully to the corporal before swooning against slightly. She looks towards the Captain and says, “I am Skitter. I think considering the circumstances I would be foolish to turn down your offer.”
Moretti nods, “pleasure to meet you, Skitter. Rhys, let’s get a stretcher for our guest.” The medic gestures to the other soldiers, who quickly unroll a piece of fabric and secure it between two spears. Four of them take the corners and set it down on the sand for Skitter to lay down on. They’re obviously used to transporting wounded.
Laying down and feeling the give of the cool sand through the fabric feels good. The soldiers lift her into the air with barely a jolt, and begin carrying her through the ruined streets in the twilight of early morning. One of the soldiers from before is carrying one corner, and though he glowers at her occasionally, he carries her just as carefully as the rest, and doesn’t jostle her even slightly. She drifts in and out of consciousness a few times, as she’s taken north, into parts of the city she hasn’t seen before. Soon the wooden stockade she saw from afar draws near; it’s an impressive fortification, high walls, a deep ditch, spikes before the ditch to slow the advance of enemy troops, a watchtower… too impressive, really. Who is going to assault this nothing camp in the middle of nowhere? The logs are fresh, and must have been dragged from quite some distance away, maybe over by the lake… From the watchtower and the gate and the tents within flies a proud red banner, bearing the image of a black crow. Inside the compound are racks of weapons, galley areas, latrines, barracks, everything very regimented and organised. The soldiers take her inside the grandest looking - though not the largest - of the tents, and set her down on a bed of furs, sliding the spears out of the stretcher and leaving her alone with Moretti. The glare of the morning sun had become uncomfortable, so the gloom and cool of the tent is welcome. The Captain pours her a glass of water from a covered jug by the camp bed. “Here, drink. Rhys says it will help.”
Skitter turns her head to pull down her scarf and drink, keeping her identity secret. She sips carefully, the room spinning. "Why offer this hospitality to a stranger, and what …what war are you here to fight? The chaos?“
"We’re mercenaries, Skitter. Our honour is our livelihood. Who’d hire us if we behaved like bandits? Who’d trust us to put our lives on the line for their cause?” Captain Moretti shakes her head sadly. “No war. That’s half our problem, fighting is our business and we’ve no-one to fight.” She pours some water into a washbowl on the dressing-table and splashes some on her face, talking to Skitter in the cracked but quite fine mirror.
“Explains why your men are eager to find trouble-but you never answered why -here-.” Skitter reclines a bit letting her guard down as she looks up at the roof of the tent, feeling odd to feel such luxury in so far away place from home. "I doubted your honor earlier and I’m sorry for that, but it’s hard to see what employment would bring you here-and considering how some of your men have behaved towards me and -the goblins- well, you seem like tinder ready to ignite.“
Moretti’s eyes narrow as Skitter mentions the goblins. "Tinder. Yes, exactly. That’s how I feel. I spend all day every day trying to stop the spark.” She turns around to look at her guest again, and slumps a little in her chair, letting her guard down and revealing the deep weariness beneath. “Yaziel and Hyennish had a conflict, oh eight years ago? We got to be the scapegoats in that one, when they made peace. So we went east, to the inland sea. We did some good work for Lagash, until a religious edict banned mercenaries from the city. Marad paid well, they picked fights with the other cities a lot. Good weapons, too. But in the end we had to take up with Tak, and the last war they lost hard. After that there was nowhere for us to lay our heads, so we came back west, crossed the desert again. Now we’re here, stuck in the middle of nowhere, with cities on all sides who don’t appreciate our craft. And the men - well, you can imagine how the men are taking it. No work, no pay, no end in sight. It’s all I can do to keep the company together right now.”
Skitter ponders the problem. "Well…“ She isn’t good at planning and it takes her a while to speak again. "I’m going to get the aqueduct working again, soaked tinder is much harder to burn. I can make the chaos beasts into flesh, though fighting them alone is …well a fools errand. I can’t pay, I havn’t a thing on me besides my bandages, my injured pride and a startouched arm…But maybe the promise of fresh water will be enough to motivate your men to work with me?”
The Captain gives a warm, but wan smile. “My men will do as I tell them. For now. Look, I’ve been having them build up this place to keep them busy, and if I keep going I’ll end up with a castle - or a mutiny. If you’ve got something else I can use to keep their minds and hands occupied, I’m listening. Water might be a mixed blessing - keeping them trekking back and forth from the lake is part of why I set up here and not on the shores of the lake. As for the beasts - well, there’s risk there. Busy-work is one thing but I’m not going to risk their lives unless there’s something to be won. Give us a reason to fight one and we’ll be right there with you. But… thank you. Even if there’s nothing you can do, it’s good to just talk about these problems. I certainly can’t talk to the men about them, I guess I needed a stranger.” She looks aside though, “I feel like I’m letting them down, though, when I talk about them like this. Like they’re - I don’t know, wayward beasts. They’re better than that.” She looks up again, “I know they are. That’s why I’m still here.”
Skitter nods, though it’s not a feeling she can sympathise with, being the loner that she is. She says, “I fight to make the city safer, I’m going to kill the chaos beasts, and I don’t think your reputation will tolerate a simple peasant thief killing all the chaos by herself.” She smirks a bit behind her veil. "I have a goblin friend working with a …sketchy wizard to try to disable the spell that’s keeping the lake water from running to the city.“ "Say, you haven’t found a fallen piece of star anywhere in your construction of your fortress have you? I heard it landed somewhere in the city.”
Moretti shakes her head, “no, the men have been without excitement for weeks, I think I’d know if they found a piece of a star. We run a lot of patrols though, I can have the men search for it easily enough.” She frowns a little, “when I took your hand, it shone like starlight. And you said you could make phantoms solid. You’re a little more than a simple peasant thief, aren’t you, Skitter?”
Skitter sits up and rocks a bit. "I’ve been startouched, or …touched a star-changes what I’m capable of, but not what I am. I’m just stealing something greater than coin, just like you’re protecting something greater than a band of dogs.“ She hitches her shoulders in a shrug. "I want to take back this city for the people who still live here, steal it from the edge of destruction, steal it from the spiral of entropy.”
She holds up her bandaged hand and snatches at the air as though grabbing something ephemeral.
“But not because I …I don’t know, owe those people or have responsiblity over them, but the opposite. I have no responsibility, I can do what I want, and what I want is to turn this city back into something that lives.”
Moretti smiles, a deep smile, her spirit warmed. “Maybe there’s not so much difference. Responsibility is a choice, just one most people don’t want to admit they’re making. Pretending it’s not a choice makes it easier I think? I know I could leave, let them figure it out, become bandits, whatever they’d do without me - but I’m not going to. They’re my men, my Crows.” Her expression has turned serious again, but breaks back into a smile, “stealing a whole city? That would be an even better trick than riding a phantom. I can’t wait to see it. I’ll help you if I can, Skitter. Just keep that hand covered around my men. I don’t want them getting it into their heads to sell you, or your arm.”
Skitter nods. “I know well enough to keep secrets when I need to, and I’d hate to break their noses for trying.” She grins again and slumps back down feeling woozy. "I’ve killed one. a phantom or whatever-already. I guess I got too into the thrill of riding to focus on killing the last one. You’ll see, I’ll steal a whole city. A whole city.“ She drifts off.
It’s afternoon when she awakes. The air of the tent is thick with the second-hand heat of the day outside. Moretti is sitting on the rug near the foot of the bed, slumped against it, her head leaning back onto the mattress, fast asleep. It’s hard to say how much older she is than Skitter - ten or twenty years? - but she looks younger asleep, just a tired girl worn out by her cares. She seems smaller, somehow, without the air of authority and presence she projects when awake. The tent is full of her personal things - a few books, mostly on tactics, some tales of great warriors and battles. Three volumes of poetry. Swords, armour, scabbards, cloaks. Creature comforts. Battered, portable, but fine furniture. Skitter’s head still throbs a little, but the dizziness and nausea has mostly passed.
Skitter frets, looks about the tent and picks herself up. Sleeping indoors even if its a tent makes her uncomfortable. She stealthily rises and wipes some charcoal from her eyes to write on the mirror 'Thanks’. She looks herself in the mirror and barely recognizes herself. She smiles contentedly at that. Quietly she makes her way out of the tent and prepares to leave the fort to go back to the goblins and make sure they and her other friends are alright.
The Crows let her past. She passes Rhys, who gives her a friendly nod as she goes. Skitter pauses in front of Rhys and pulls him aside and pulls her scarf down to give him a bold kiss before pulling her scarf back up and leaving the encampment wordlessly.
Rhys blushes, and the tips of his long fingers linger on his lips, a picture of surprise as he watches Skitter go.
She doesn’t see any of the soldiers from the other night; maybe they’re out harassing the goblins again. The ruined city is peaceful under the afternoon sunlight, long shadows cast from broken walls, the warm sand beneath her feet. She feels something inside her untense. Fearing for Torano’s life, confronting the wizard, riding the chaos-beast, the encounter with the Crows - it’s been quite a couple of days. The beast is still out there, and she still has a city to steal, and she needs to check on her friends, but for now the quiet is blissful. Soon the stretched, colourful fabrics of the goblin village can be seen above the rooftops, and then, just ahead, she can see Molly and Torano walking together. The both smile excitedly when they see her, and Molly breaks into a run. Torano keeps an even pace, still weak from his fever, but steadily catches up.
She takes to the rooftops and starts parkouring her way back to the goblins. When she sees Molly and Torano she breaks into a full sprint, rolling over the edge of a wall and falling off a rooftop, disappearing out of sight for a moment before leaping back up and into the street in front of the two. "Molly! Torano!” She rushes to Torano and hugs him tightly. “You look well!” Skitter is stinky and sweaty, but is overjoyed to see Torano on his feet again. She turns to Molly, “You work miracles.”
Torano hugs Skitter close with hand still shaky from his ordeal. "Skitter! It’s so good to see you, I thought - We didn’t know if…“
Molly grins, hands on her hips, striking a pose, "damn right I do. I’m pretty much a big pink goddess.” Then she starts snickering and hugs Skitter too, “we saw you ride off on that thing, we’ve been looking for you all day! Glad you’re still with us.” She hugs a little too tight, and in the very warmth of her embrace, beneath the laughter, Skitter can feel a deep scar.