1522
- Enekos
- Aug 15, 2023
- 11 min read
The Sands of Time whispered again. Bring me xGentleman.
He woke, sweat beading on his forehead. In a moment his eyes are fixed on a quiet piece of oak nailed carefully to the wall of his cabin. It read: Made by Eskilsdotter & xGentleman.
Many would assume them to be the original builders of the Behemoth, but the tall nameless ship once owned by Shady the Elf had no builders. It had simply come into being. One moment there was empty sea; the next a tall, dark, foreboding, nameless ship. Shady asked no questions and Captain Flint even fewer.
To those who took a moment and asked, Eskilsdotter transformed the future of the Behemoth by providing an island with multiple caves where cargo (obtained from questionable sources) could be hidden. She also rewarded pirates for sharing the fruits of their… um, holding pointy things and asking people to give them cargo before their ship caught fire. Those pirates may (or may not) have also been holding torches which flickered with said fire. And then, she was gone. Like so many others… erased from the world. xGentleman was here though. He knew this ship. Some imagined over a tankard of rum that he was the ship.
And now, xGentleman was preparing to leave for Spartan’s Cave. Winter storms had visited Veraku, so the order to sail for the warmer climes of Ghenu had been given. The journey to the cave would be far simpler, far greener. One knew you could only ignore the Sands of Time for so long before matters shifted out of your hands and into those of unseen forces.
The Behemoth arrived in Ghenu silently in the night and moored by the Ministry of Curiosity. Kaos rolled some dice as Fate and Destiny watched with widening eyes. Even the Sands of Time stood motionless.
The arrival of the Behemoth at the berth Balder Grimm and the hooded stranger needed threw a small revision into their plans. They would climb the cargo net, that was slung over the side of a very dark ship, silently cross the ship, jump down the other side, and make their way into the Ghenu Ministry of Curiosity, reach the seventh floor, find both keys, descend the steps to reach the vault in the basement, open the vault, find the artifact, leave by the sewer system and re-emerge four hundred paces to the east along the coast.
It was a good plan and worked perfectly right up to the moment they reached the top of the cargo net, climbed over and Balder Grimm stepped on a rope. The rope moved violently and whatever it was connected to let out a pained scream, while claws and heavy paws searched frantically for traction: Balder watched as pots and a candle were sent crashing before the owner of the rope turned once again, letting out a cute roar and leapt at the two men who fell backwards. Balder heard a drunken cry of, “Snuggles is that you?” before hearing the all-too familiar sound of swords being drawn. Mr Grimm took a deep breath and sighed “Jag är en stadsplanerare.”
The hooded stranger, known only as Voltumna to those who dared to say his name, said nothing. He was where he was supposed to be.
“Someone is coming for me.” Marc Wick seldom spoke, so whenever he did, Mearaithe paid attention.
“Dare I ask who, what, why and when?” Mearaithe took a small swig of whisky, looking briefly into the eyes of Mr Leaf whose sabre-toothed cat, Snuggles was curled up on his lap, and at Captain Jean Flint.
“Who is difficult. What is also difficult. Why is that he needs to be here. And when… is one moon after the arrival of a master thief. We will be in the In the port of Elsewhere and he will be in the ramshackle Dabbakins Alehouse. And he is known to your new fire starter…”
Jean Flint reasoned that anything Marc Wick said was worth listening to, even if the words made little sense. Afterall, this was a man who touched his ring and in mere moments you’ve left the warmth of an open fire in a Ghenu tavern and arrived alone in a blizzard somewhere in the Menavariyam. And he declined to refer to Horatio as a ‘fire starter’. While true, he had been aboard the wagon where a startled horse tore through the night with fire chasing them there was talk the Ordo Divitiarum was behind an attack on the temple of the blind monk. Perhaps Euph herself was involved and that may come back to haunt her. Jean Flint would pay his respects when next in Veraku and propose she take a small holiday away from prying eyes and ears.
Few on the Behemoth were aware of private meetings between Quietus Alpharious of the Golden Bank and three unlikely and relatively new crew members. Horatio, as a General (retired) from the Queen’s armies could have met Quietus before. But the lady with the snakes and the quiet Enekos seemed out of place. But as 1522 unfurled, and the lore began to be written, Enekos’ place in the search for the artifact became one of myth and legend – even if he did write it, himself.
The Stadsplanerarens had proven invaluable, despite one small disagreement that saw him briefly jump from the ship, consider his reaction, and decide the wrong person had probably jumped and came back aboard. Balder Grimm’s knowledge of the weakness of almost any fortress on the continent was impressive, as were the city plans, he was able to procure from unsuspecting clerks.
The hooded stranger, Balder Grimm’s constant companion seemed quiet save for one disagreement with Janna Steel. Some swore he began to rise in the air, but others blamed the rum and the sudden storm that had risen. And 1522 was the year they lost Janna herself: another disagreement that for a time threatened to tear the soul out of the Behemoth.
There was no ceremony when the Sands of Time took xGentleman. One moment he was stood in the Spartan’s cave smiling as ever; the next moment he was gone only a faint echo remained. The Sands of Time swirled once more. “Bring me Tryt.”
Not much is known from the archives about Tryt. He was a somewhat wealthy warlord whose path crossed with Mearaithe, and he awoke on the Behemoth. Coincidentally the Sands of Time took him from the same cabin.
In a quiet alley in Ghenu lies a simple shoppe. It sells matters for the curious – books and puzzles but sometimes ancient artifacts, but not those made in Denaviim. Real artifacts with their own stories. The shoppe is owned by former sea lord Planner who will, if you lend an ear and spend enough coin, tell you the story of the ghost ship of the Queen’s navy. Bristled with cannons it moved silently in the night, but none ever saw it in the day. Stories tell it sank beneath the waves only to rise again. Push him hard enough and he will give you the name: Specter. It so happened to be the name of his shoppe which gave him a certain influence over those of opened minds.
But when he tells the same story to one Mr Leaf and his strange looking cat, the story takes twist for Mr Leaf was once in the employ of the royal shipyards and he knows the Specter well. “There is a puzzle Lord Planner and an ancient artifact. There are the Sands of Time and rings of power. There are creatures we know little of, but all are coming together for an adventure, and perhaps your knowledge will be useful. If you are the Lord Planner of Specter that I suspect, then look for the Behemoth.”
For a moment we need to ask the Sands of Time to rush backwards to a lady sat drinking her mug of coffee as she sits on the window seat on one side of the Veraku Square. The rain is falling, and she has reason to smile. She sees the arrival of a wagon and one of the two men jumped off. The one who remained on the wagon threw something at the statue of the blind monk. She smiled again, but the temple guard also saw the man and went to investigate, torch in-hand. Swords and a bribe were likely to follow. The man on the wagon then disappeared into the back and she presumed it was a delivery for the Cider House tavern.
Her gaze was taken away from the wagon by the arrival of a white gas coming from the feet of the statue of the blind monk and it quickly found the flickering orange glow from torch of the temple guard who was shouting something at the man on the wagon.
The fireball was bigger than the young lady had expected. Through her eyeglass she saw a guard scurry away. She then returned her gaze to the horse and wagon near the Cider House, and it was startled… lurched forward, and a commotion broke out in the street. People were also spewing out of the Cider House and was that Gladstone’s? Oh no, she thought, Gladstone’s confectionary is on fire.
The wagon now appeared to be on fire too. She peered harder, wishing she was closer. Her friend Bubbli di Brescia would no doubt have a better view. Oh crap, Bubbli would be there in the Cider House. The young lady was shaken back to her senses as another, much larger explosion sent searing fire in all directions. She almost missed the statue of the Blind Monk teeter forward and smash to the ground heading straight for that poor man on the wagon. Wait! Where was the wagon?
Ah! There it was heading through the market; still ablaze with a large, angry wall of fire chasing it. Linen stalls were the first to ignite. “Oh, crap,” whispered the young lady.
The wagon was now clearing her side of the Veraku Square and was now heading for the tight city streets. She watched it disappear between two houses and the wall of fire followed. From her perspective, high in the Ordo Divitiarum, pretty much everything was on fire. She swung her legs down and ran for the stairs, mug of coffee in one hand, swishing from side to side with minor spills here and there. She climbed towards the roof terrace and opened the door just as a massive explosion ripped through the warehouse district. The flames were now reaching towards Brandy & Sons – and that’s when the real explosions began.
The rain helped douse most of the minor fires, but some raged for days, and questions were being asked. Gossip, the most reliable source of the truth, began to circulate that a young lady from the Ordo Divitiarum had been seen kneeling beside the statue of the Blind Monk for several consecutive evenings prior to the fire, but it was hard to say if she, or the Ordo were directly involved. There was only one thing the young lady could do, she visited the temple, greeted the guards, who regarded her with suspicion, and asked if she could pay her respects.
“Don’t think that’s a good idea, miss. Sorry miss.”
The statue was now merely rubble, with some features, notably the bald head looking up at her. She swore she saw sadness. Her eyes lifted up to see the shell of Gladstone’s confectionary and wandered across the homes that lined the square, now scorched. The Cider House had been spared, but windows had shattered. She slowly turned and felt the gaze of hundreds of eyes. Something needed to change…
The Games we Play
In a windowless office sits a man who smiles often. Usually.
Johnny Sacks wrestled with his own problems. There’s nothing like a fire, explosions, distractions, and panic for a master thief to take full advantage of panic. Not just silver and time pieces, but gold and jewels became openly available. He’d been tucked away behind the Cider House when the first explosion happened. People poured out of the Cider House to get a decent look, so he did the decent thing, entered the tavern and helping himself to a premium bottle of the potent apple juice, various silver coins from card games, and an odd dagger too. And as drunks watched fire, he weaved between them and soon had more his fair share of gold pocket watches.
But in his windowless office, where new laws are drafted this sudden influx of wealth was bound to cause problems. Those tucked away patrons who acquired the ill-gotten gains and exchanged them for usable coins weren’t helping with his excessive silver and gold collection. There were eyes everywhere for the man in the windowless office. Perhaps it was time to leave Veraku behind and begin a new life in the furthest reaches of the continent? But why? He liked Veraku; he liked his home – even his job.
The door of his windowless office opened and in walked a young lady, dressed in a warrior’s armour. With rumourmongers came mis-directed anger. Euph was clear in her mind: the statue of the Blind Monk was her doing: everything else... oh, so much destruction… no, EVERYTHING ELSE had been the fury of the gods and especially the Blind Monk.
“Scribe I need you to write a decree for the Queen’s court and the Golden Bank to consider.” Johnny Sacks grabbed a quill and began to write.
The decree set the blame for the great fire on the temple of the Blind Monk being built over a natural gas pocket, ignited by a temple guard (not deliberately) and the ensuing chaos centred upon a startled horse where potent apple juice was being delivered. While not (definitely not) to blame, the Ordo Divitiarum is friend to many parties and friends take care of each other in stressful times. The Ordo Divitiarum shall set aside funds for the rebuilding of Gladstone’s Confectionary, associated dwellings, and a new market within the Veraku Square, giving each trader the equivalent of one month’s payments according to treasury records (this was genius because no trader declared all income) and seeks that the Golden Bank and the Queen’s Council make similar gestures for other affected areas of the city.
The decree made no provision for the temple of the Blind Monk, although the guards received their favourite cookies each night for the month that followed.
The fire had produced many reports for the commander of the city watch but aside from the fires, explosions and general destruction, there were reports of many acts of thievery. A man had been seen entering the Cider House tavern as patrons left and it was from there many of the reports began.
Normally such reports are ignored because there’s usually no description and – more importantly – no one to execute. But these acts of thievery came from the Veraku Square district and no thief in their right mind travelled into the Veraku Square to commit nefarious acts. Yes, it was a wealthy area – a magnet for any thief, but it had both private security provided by the Ordo Divitiarum and the temple guards. So, anyone taking an opportune moment would either be mad, calculating or local. And here the commander chose the latter options. He couldn’t send city watch into that district – laws prevented that – but he could send spies. He sent many and the suspects began to gather.
One was a scribe with a windowless office.
Johnny Sacks was becoming aware of new eyes upon him. Shadows in alleyways, new scribes seeking friendships, drunks who seemed to target him. Even a dog that followed him almost everywhere. He had taken to avoid the area around the Cider House for concern that someone had seen him against those fires. He’d been careful of course, but even careful people make mistakes. Perhaps it was the odd-looking dagger?
It was time to visit Ghenu and find his old friend Tsar IYI who could make discreet arrangements to return someone to Veraku and deliver Johnny Sacks a simple traveller’s chest with untold gold and silver coins inside. Tsar would insist, of course, that Johnny Sacks find a ship and head to Whenutoo or beyond.
A decision was made, and he feigned a letter delivered by a goose (not an unusual thing) that determined his presence be required in Ghenu for a friend who was gravely ill (also not an unusual thing). He’d request (and be granted) a month away to travel by carriage on a low pass through the Menavariyam mountains. The journey would be uneventful, save for the mundane stories that fellow passengers wished to tell. The journey would be five days and the shadows wouldn’t follow. He suspected the commander of the city watch would send a goose to alert the commander of Ghenu about his arrival and begin his cycle of paranoia again. So, Johnny Sacks did the unexpected and three days into his journey the carriage stopped in Menbara, a small town with cobbled lanes beyond the Menavariyam. There he abandoned his luggage, borrowed a horse, and made for the port of Elsewhere, taking lodgings at the Dabbakins Alehouse. A dark ship was moored in the harbour.
Time to make new friends, thought Johnny Sacks.
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