Dust. We are as dust, all of us.
He could not help but think that the sands of Thanalan were to blame for such morbid thoughts. Perhaps he'd been sequestered within the Black Shroud for far too long. Perhaps he'd grown soft, or else accustomed to the peace and tranquility he'd come to know within the past few moons.
Perhaps he'd come to prefer the forest that teemed with life to the desert which spurned it.
A dust devil crossed his path a good hundred fulms down the road. He paused in his tracks and smiled as the small whirlwind split in two. One vortex carried on in more or less the same direction; the other came right at him until it closed the distance down to a mere half dozen fulms or so. As the cloud resolved into a man, Rotunda Crow resumed his journey. Soon enough, an old Elezen fell into step alongside him.
"Captain."
"Pierre."
The two walked in silence for a time.
"If I might inquire... how fared the Amdapor expedition?"
Rotunda snorted. "Poorly. 'twas a fool's errand. We unearthed no relics, recovered not a single tome. What few opportunities we chanced upon were not worth the risk. As abandoned civilizations go, the Lost City was rather surprisingly devoid of ancient artifacts, and the sole voidsent we encountered could not have yielded to me the answers I seek."
"Nothing to aid us in the campaign against Epinoch? Wasted time, then."
"Wasted time? ...I would not call it so. There is something growing now. A seed, perhaps. Portents of changes to come. Were I prone to optimism, I would claim to have struck up a rapport with Hearer Summerfield."
The White Needle looked taken aback. "The conjurer?"
"The same."
"She is anathema to our kind! The risks--"
"--are mine to take. We will need someone of her repute, with her standing, stature and renown. Until then, she may yet be of some use to us, for there is more to the Lady Liadan than she presents to the world. That much was made evident when she plucked me from a near reunion with the abyss."
That was not mere wind.
"...."
"Ah. You witnessed that."
"...I did."
"How did that feel, knowing that you could do naught but observe?"
"I was... uneasy. To stand idly aside... I wish you would not give such orders, captain. You are too important to lose."
"We had little choice in the matter. As you said, they are anathema to our kind. The resurrected might walk in their midst without fear of detection, but not so the damned." He scoffed. "Besides, Sarangerel stands ready to take up your leash, to assume the mantle of leadership should I ever fall... however fleeting a time that may prove."
The Elezen nodded in acknowledgement. The pair fell silent again as they walked on down into Camp Drybone. Half a bell saw them to the local inn and into Rotunda's private chambers.
The scene which greeted them upon their arrival was such that both men, given to decorum though they were, were too stunned to catch the door before it fell shut behind them.
Ortolf Forgehands, highlander priest of the Fist of Rhalgr, held Khuja'ya Zhwan, abhorrent poacher of the Shroud, aloft by the neck. The man's large hands were clenched tight over the Keeper's throat. A futile effort, that. Crows did not need to breathe. The Maw fought back with tooth and nail; fangs and claws sliced into the Gyr Abanian's accoutrements. Their struggle saw them tumbling from wall to wall as the monk slammed the male into the stonework again and again, as though it were possible to knock the dead unconscious.
Pierre Glaisyer cleared his throat. "Captain...?"
Rotunda stepped forward and snapped his fingers.
The two Crows flew apart to opposite ends of the room as though each had been shot forth from a cannon. The Keeper bowled through a pair of wooden chairs before disappearing beneath the chamber's sole desk; the highlander struck the stone above the cot and was held there, as though pinned against the wall by an unseen force.
"What is the meaning of this," the Voice hissed.
Snort-ridden cackling from beneath the desk. "One sun, two sun, task o' one, Zhwan got it done!"
"Shut your mouth, whelp!"
"Red stone, yellow stone, big man's blind, now he's boned!"
"Weren't my fault, I ain't given the bairn a second gods-damned--"
"HE HAS WHAT?!"
"--a stone, a second stone, don't know h--"
A second snap sounded out.
The highlander slid to one side and up into the corner, as though that unseen force sought to drive him into as tight and confined a space as possible, to grind his flesh and bones down into powder. Something shrieked, a loud high-pitched keening as Ortolf's jaws fell open and his eyeballs bulged with the pain. Onyx flames licked at his fingers, at his limbs, at his hair. The smell of brimstone permeated the rest of the chamber and leaked out from beneath the door into the hall beyond.
"I was quite explicit," the Voice hissed again as Rotunda Crow seethed where he stood. "One for each pawn. No more, no less. Certainly not him. ESPECIALLY NOT HIM!"
"--I don't know how--"
"You have been NEGLIGENT! You will RECTIFY this, Forgehands, or so help me yours will be the next soul I feed to the Void!"
"--yes, yes!--"
Rotunda Crow dropped his hand, and the air pressure dropped back to the usual. Ortolf Forgehands collapsed onto the cot below... which promptly broke beneath his weight.
"You have a fortnight to take this new stone from him," growled Tengri Geneq, "or I will visit each of your descendants in turn and purge them from the face of the earth."
He could not help but think that the sands of Thanalan were to blame for such morbid thoughts. Perhaps he'd been sequestered within the Black Shroud for far too long. Perhaps he'd grown soft, or else accustomed to the peace and tranquility he'd come to know within the past few moons.
Perhaps he'd come to prefer the forest that teemed with life to the desert which spurned it.
A dust devil crossed his path a good hundred fulms down the road. He paused in his tracks and smiled as the small whirlwind split in two. One vortex carried on in more or less the same direction; the other came right at him until it closed the distance down to a mere half dozen fulms or so. As the cloud resolved into a man, Rotunda Crow resumed his journey. Soon enough, an old Elezen fell into step alongside him.
"Captain."
"Pierre."
The two walked in silence for a time.
"If I might inquire... how fared the Amdapor expedition?"
Rotunda snorted. "Poorly. 'twas a fool's errand. We unearthed no relics, recovered not a single tome. What few opportunities we chanced upon were not worth the risk. As abandoned civilizations go, the Lost City was rather surprisingly devoid of ancient artifacts, and the sole voidsent we encountered could not have yielded to me the answers I seek."
"Nothing to aid us in the campaign against Epinoch? Wasted time, then."
"Wasted time? ...I would not call it so. There is something growing now. A seed, perhaps. Portents of changes to come. Were I prone to optimism, I would claim to have struck up a rapport with Hearer Summerfield."
The White Needle looked taken aback. "The conjurer?"
"The same."
"She is anathema to our kind! The risks--"
"--are mine to take. We will need someone of her repute, with her standing, stature and renown. Until then, she may yet be of some use to us, for there is more to the Lady Liadan than she presents to the world. That much was made evident when she plucked me from a near reunion with the abyss."
That was not mere wind.
"...."
"Ah. You witnessed that."
"...I did."
"How did that feel, knowing that you could do naught but observe?"
"I was... uneasy. To stand idly aside... I wish you would not give such orders, captain. You are too important to lose."
"We had little choice in the matter. As you said, they are anathema to our kind. The resurrected might walk in their midst without fear of detection, but not so the damned." He scoffed. "Besides, Sarangerel stands ready to take up your leash, to assume the mantle of leadership should I ever fall... however fleeting a time that may prove."
The Elezen nodded in acknowledgement. The pair fell silent again as they walked on down into Camp Drybone. Half a bell saw them to the local inn and into Rotunda's private chambers.
The scene which greeted them upon their arrival was such that both men, given to decorum though they were, were too stunned to catch the door before it fell shut behind them.
Ortolf Forgehands, highlander priest of the Fist of Rhalgr, held Khuja'ya Zhwan, abhorrent poacher of the Shroud, aloft by the neck. The man's large hands were clenched tight over the Keeper's throat. A futile effort, that. Crows did not need to breathe. The Maw fought back with tooth and nail; fangs and claws sliced into the Gyr Abanian's accoutrements. Their struggle saw them tumbling from wall to wall as the monk slammed the male into the stonework again and again, as though it were possible to knock the dead unconscious.
Pierre Glaisyer cleared his throat. "Captain...?"
Rotunda stepped forward and snapped his fingers.
The two Crows flew apart to opposite ends of the room as though each had been shot forth from a cannon. The Keeper bowled through a pair of wooden chairs before disappearing beneath the chamber's sole desk; the highlander struck the stone above the cot and was held there, as though pinned against the wall by an unseen force.
"What is the meaning of this," the Voice hissed.
Snort-ridden cackling from beneath the desk. "One sun, two sun, task o' one, Zhwan got it done!"
"Shut your mouth, whelp!"
"Red stone, yellow stone, big man's blind, now he's boned!"
"Weren't my fault, I ain't given the bairn a second gods-damned--"
"HE HAS WHAT?!"
"--a stone, a second stone, don't know h--"
A second snap sounded out.
The highlander slid to one side and up into the corner, as though that unseen force sought to drive him into as tight and confined a space as possible, to grind his flesh and bones down into powder. Something shrieked, a loud high-pitched keening as Ortolf's jaws fell open and his eyeballs bulged with the pain. Onyx flames licked at his fingers, at his limbs, at his hair. The smell of brimstone permeated the rest of the chamber and leaked out from beneath the door into the hall beyond.
"I was quite explicit," the Voice hissed again as Rotunda Crow seethed where he stood. "One for each pawn. No more, no less. Certainly not him. ESPECIALLY NOT HIM!"
"--I don't know how--"
"You have been NEGLIGENT! You will RECTIFY this, Forgehands, or so help me yours will be the next soul I feed to the Void!"
"--yes, yes!--"
Rotunda Crow dropped his hand, and the air pressure dropped back to the usual. Ortolf Forgehands collapsed onto the cot below... which promptly broke beneath his weight.
"You have a fortnight to take this new stone from him," growled Tengri Geneq, "or I will visit each of your descendants in turn and purge them from the face of the earth."