When in Vjorica, do as the Vjoricans
The Never Ending Quest - Episode 23300
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The five gold pieces is worth the chance to eavesdrop on the richest mages
in Vjorica, Fred concludes. He gingerly drops five gold pieces into the man's greasy little palms. The man, in turn, nods approvingly and promptly shoves the gold into a pocket in his ornate russet shirt. The payment now secure, he looks Fred over with an appraising eye, his lips pursed in disapproval as he spots Fred's sword, armament, and tattered cloak. "We usually don't accept patrons outfitted for a bloody war…" the man remarks. "I'm afraid you'll have to check your weapons in at the front desk. Vjorica may still be a city of free trade and enterprise, but we don't just allow any weathered straggler off the streets into our fine establishment, especially after dark and armed to the damned teeth, no less!"Fred hesitates. Being alone in a foreign place like this is dangerous enough with a weapon. The man perceives Fred's hesitation and gently reassures him that his things will be perfectly safe under the inn's supervision. "I stake the very reputation of the Mystic Llama on it," he adds as a final assurance. Somehow, in a wild place like this, it doesn't seem to really ease Fred's worries.Then again, the inn looks friendly enough and obviously caters to the upper classes. In a fancy place like this all sorts of useful information could be obtained (probably for a price) concerning the Dark Heretic Castellan and the Mage's Guild that he controlled. "Alright," Fred finally concedes, "but if anything happens to them I'll hold you personally responsible.""They will be safer under our care than they've probably ever been under yours," the man replies. "Oh, and we can take thatoff of your hands as well." He points at Fred's tattered cloak with some disdain. "You've traveled far it seems. Allarian, yes?" Fred hesitates again. During his short yet famed career in Southern Allaria he had accumulated many a tally mark on his sword for the number of outcast mages and necromancers he had slain. Even if this isn't Allaria it's possible his reputation has leaked out. And since Vjorica is a haven for mages expelled by the Order of the White Hand, it's probably wise to create a new alias."Thuringian," comes Fred's short reply, "here on some personal business." The man gives an uncaring nod and pulls out a small parchment and quill pen from somewhere in his garments. "And under what name will you be checking in under?"Fred hesitates yet again. "Denom," he says with as much conviction as he can muster, "Denom LaPorte." After making a few scribbles on the parchment the man snaps his fingers and several attendants whisk into their midst from out of thin air, it seems. After Fred's weapons have been safely checked in (and his tattered cloak replaced with a new one, courtesy of the Mystic Llama) he retires to his lavish room. Several hours later, he awakens from a fitful sleep with a sudden start. Opening the curtains to a large window facing westward, he's able to make out distant flashes of light bursting through the fog to the west, followed by a thunderous roar. What devilry or sorcery is responsible for the disturbances is beyond Fred. After a minute or two the flashes subside and all is silent again. The thick fog clears for a moment and he is able to catch a glimpse of the massive Mage Guild located in the city's center dominated by the Tower of Sorcery, Castellan's seat of power. It's lurid silhouette is then shrouded by the fog and disappears as quickly as it came into view. Chills dance down his spine and he begins to shiver violently. He quickly comes to the conclusion that this city gives him the creeps, and that he craves the warmth of his bed and some good sleep. He shuts the curtains and is disturbed no more during the night. As sleep takes over his being his last thoughts dwell on a man he must find, an important ally.
"You seek Jernicus? Yes, the name sounds familiar," the old man croaks. "He was in high esteem with the Guild, was he not?" "Indeed," Fred nods. "He is a very powerful sorcerer. The King of Allaria held him in high regard, but the Order feared and envied him and the temporal magicks that he so proficiently wielded. The Order's influence in Allaria was strong, and he was forced into exile departing for the western reaches of Havnheim." The old man studies Fred a moment longer before continuing. "Hmmm," he finally replies. "Last I heard he had left Vjorica in fear of the Doom Squad"Fred arches an eyebrow at the old man. "'Doom Squad'? What manner of Squadron is that?" "They're Spirit Ninjas from the nethervoid summoned to this plane of existence by Castellan, may he live forever."Just then the stout, cheery woman Fred had noticed from the night before approaches the small corner table around which Fred and the old man are conversing, carrying two small plates. "Good bright and sunny morning, Sires," she says, bowing politely. "Breakfast courtesy of the Mystic Llama! Enjoy!" "So what brings a Thuringian like yourself so far west in search of an outcast Allarian sorcerer?" the old man queries as he cuts into a slice of ham."Well," comes Fred's dishonest reply, "I believe he is the only man who can help in my, uh, Quest to find some sort of Magical Egg or Arcane Golfball. Or something. Not to overthrow and destroy Castellan or anything, heh heh. Yep¦" Fred isn't very good at this role-playing business. "Oh, I see. Well, you won't find him in the city. There's rumors he either fled for the Carpathia Mountains or the Doom Forest. Sorry I can't be of much help"Damn!Fred thinks. Without Jernicus's aid getting to Castellan will be a much harder ordeal. The man had been his only link to the Mage Guild in Vjorica. But why had Castellan's forces been unleashed on him? Had the Dark Heretic learned of Jernicus's plot to overthrow the tyrant? "You okay?""Huh?" The old man gestures at Fred's cold plate. "You've been starring blankly at the window behind me for well over a minute now.""I'm sorry. I have much on my mind. You're a member of the Mage's Guild, right?" "For 50 some odd years, aye," the old man croaks proudly. "Why?""I mean to join the Guild myself," Fred says with solidarity. "I am proficient in resisting spells and magical attacks…" "Whoa now, lad. Joining the Mage's Guild isn't something to be taken lightly. Why, you've just come to the city and already you mean to give up your freedoms for a Cause you know nothing of?""Oh, but I do…" "No you don't! How could you, outlander? I can sense danger in you, and it's unsettling. Whatever nasty business brings you to Vjorica is none of my business, but keep your nose out of the Guild…if you value your life. Dark rumors float about the city like a plague, you best watch your step, Thuringian. We are far from your homeland. It may be wise that you learn something about our customs before you go galavanting about trying to get into the Mage's Guild."The old wretch has a point! Later that morning… Fred is garbed from head to toe in newly purchased flowing silk garments. If one didn't know any better, he would pass for just another average east-sider. The behemoth, looming spires of the Mage's Guild and Tower of Sorcery rise before him, casting a cold shadow over the distant west side of the city as the morning sun approaches it's zenith. Everywhere he looks murals and statues depicting the Dark Heretic Castellan peer out at him with almost living eyes. Propaganda posters on shop windows portray him as Hero and compassionate figurehead, many times surrounded by children or small, fluffy woodland animals. Or both. It seems he holds the entire east side under his iron fist of authority. Every mage he had talked to in the lobby of the Mystic Llama swore undying fealty to the undying Overlord and his Cause, whatever the hell that was. It had soon become apparent that he would have to go about this on his own."Well, here goes nothing," he mutters. He questions whether it's a wise idea to bring his sword (which is hidden under his garments along with his armament) along on the trek. Parting with it last night had been hard enough. After a minute or two, however, he decides it's worth the risk. "If I can make it into the Guild and become a member, I'll be that much closer to Castellan," he tells himself. During his arduous training to become a Knight in Allaria he had been put through trial after trial, conditioning him for magical attacks and preparing him to discern that which is real from that which is not. He's sure getting into this Guild can't be that hard.
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1/11/2003 6:38:45 PM
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