Journey to the New World
March 15, 1885
Somewhere in the Wilderness, Evening
It’s been five days since we left Shrouded Hills. Our progress has been slow due to a disturbing encounter. We were only two days out from Shrouded Hills when we met three suspicious looking men dressed in black leather and armed with daggers traveling in the opposite direction. They asked us where we were going, and I let Virgil do the talking. If they were assassins, then my monkish disguise and Virgil's explanations must have deceived them, for they left us alone. Since then, we have abandoned the more heavily trodden paths and stuck as much as possible to the wilderness. As a result, we’ve had many encounters with wolves and other vermin. It is all to the good, I suppose, for I am getting some much needed practice with my knife. Fortunately, we have the healing salves I prepared back in Shrouded Hills, and Virgil knows some minor healing charms.
It’s funny. Here we are in the wilderness, fighting off ravening wolves and hiding from assassins. We have little money and I have no idea what we will do when we get to Tarant. You would think I would be frightened and miserable, but I am not. Indeed, I cannot remember when I’ve ever been so happy. A feeling of peace and lightness has overtaken me these past few days; I’ve never felt so at ease. At first I had no idea why I was feeling this way, but now I think I understand. We have left civilization behind. We have left it behind and we will not return to it for days or even weeks. There are no dark stares or venomous looks being directed at me from every passing stranger. I no longer have to endure constant insults, abuse, and humiliations. I no longer have to be forever on guard, constantly alert, always carefully watching every word that comes out of my mouth lest I say or do the wrong thing. For the first time since I was a small child, I have nothing to hide, nothing to protect, nothing to fear. I can be myself. I can breathe. I can rest. It is exquisite.
These past five days I haven’t had to deal with a single soul other than Virgil, and Virgil, for all his faults, is a gentleman, the only human other than Father Arbalah who doesn’t give a fig about the orcish blood that runs in my veins. I wonder why Virgil, almost alone among the humans I’ve met, has always consistently treated me with respect? Is it because he really believes deeply that I am the “Living One," the savior told of by his religion? Or is it simply that he is a rare soul, one whose eyes are not dimmed by the irrational hatreds that in one way or another blind all of the sapient races? Even after five days traveling alone with Virgil, I know little about him. It is easy to misjudge him, as I did when he first found me amidst the wreckage of the Zephyr. He is not well educated, and he has the mannerisms of an innocent uncouth bumbler. But he is no fool. Underneath his guileless exterior, I believe he is actually a rather shrewd judge of character; he is certainly far more familiar with the ways of the world than I. He hints that he became a monk to escape a sinister past, but he will say nothing more about it, and I dare not press the matter.
I, on the other hand, have been entirely open with him. I've told him the whole story of my past: my early upbringing in an orcish village, my childhood spent in a boarding school, my apprenticeship, how I was discovered, and how I came to be aboard the IFS Zephyr when Virgil found me. Frankly these are not topics I like to discuss with anyone; I do not wish anyone to feel sorry for me. But I had hoped by being so open with him he would gradually come to realize that I am not the divine being he believes me to be. It hasn't dissuaded him in the least, and while I am frustrated, I am also secretly gladdened by my failure, for I am grateful for his companionship and protection.
What will we do when we arrive in Tarant? After five blissful days on the road, I can hardly bear to think about it. The money we gained from Lukan will buy us lodging and food for a little while. I hope it will not be long before I can earn some money doing odd jobs. P Schulyers and Sons will be able to tell me to whom this ring belongs, and I will pass it on to its rightful owner who can then do whatever needs to be done. Perhaps after that, the assassins will lose interest in me, assuming they could find me at all in such a great city. Then, with patience, I shall convince the University of Tarant to take me in as a student, or perhaps some doctor will apprentice me. Virgil will be disappointed of course, but he must eventually realize I am not who he thinks I am. I have my own life to live, after all. At least, I certainly hope I do.
March 28, 1885
Somewhere in the Wilderness, Evening
“Great Torg, mighty Torg.
You know our bone and blood.
Great Torg, mighty Torg
Your fury like a flood
Old Torg, wise Torg,
Your children lost their way.
Old Torg, wise Torg
Their hearts the price is paid
Great Torg, mighty Torg,
I bring you rubies of red,
Old Torg, wise Torg,
My heart is yours until I'm dead.”
--On a crude ancient altar in the middle of the wilderness
Well, that was exciting. This afternoon, we came face to face with a huge black bear! It charged us, and Virgil gave it a great clout on the muzzle with his quarterstaff. The bear ran away in one direction, and we ran away in the other.
In our flight, we stumbled into an open area in which there stands a crude stone altar. The words on the altar are aged and difficult to read, but I have transcribed them as best I can above. There are some old bones lying about, relics of ancient sacrifices I suppose. Virgil was nervous, but no one has been here for many years and I see no reason not to camp here.
Fascinating. I wonder who could have built it?
April 8, 1885
Somewhere in the Wilderness, Evening
We had a rather unsettling encounter with three orcs this morning. Evidently, these great brutes didn’t care for working in the factories of Tarant and had decided to make their living by robbing innocent passer-bys instead. They confronted us on the road, threatening us with their crude weapons.
“Stop, humans!” their leader cried. “Give us...” his voice trailed off, and his face split into a big grin as I pulled back my monk’s hood to reveal my face. He laughed, and clapped me on the back, saying “Sorry sister!” I bit my tongue, forced myself to smile, and we proceeded unmolested. I fear the human hatred of all things orcish is not entirely without foundation.
We are only a day’s journey from Tarant. Already my stomach is turning itself into a knot at the very thought of returning to civilization.
April 9, 1885
The Bridesdale Inn, Tarant, Late at Night
I have discovered something interesting concerning our “friends” with the strange amulets STOP I am off to investigate my theories regarding them, please accept my humblest apologies on my inability to meet with you in Tarant STOP When you have the means, travel to the village of Stillwater STOP I will leave word with the Innkeeper at the Bleeding Rose Inn as to where you can find me STOP Joachim STO
--A telegram from Joachim
We arrived in Tarant this evening, just after dark. As we walked over the bridge, we looked down into the city. It was lit up with electric lights everywhere; the sight was oddly enchanting. Tarant is a city like no other. This is where the millionaire Gilbert Bates resides, inventor of the steam engine, the assembly line, the locomotive, and a thousand other wonders. I could smell the aroma of smoke from distant factories. Tarant is the city of the future, and I suppose some day all cities will look like this one.
As we entered the city, I approached a guard. “What do you want, half-orc?” he spat.
Well, there was no doubt we were back in civilization. “Please sir, I am new here, and only wanted to ask for directions.”
The guard sighed heavily. “Very well, but stay out of trouble if you know what’s good for you. Now, what did you want?”
I got him to tell us the location of the telegraph office, P. Schuyler and Sons, Vermillion Station, and the local inn. I also meekly asked if he knew where a newcomer like myself could find work; he assured me there would be no work for a lady like myself.
As we walked into the city, an impeccably dressed young woman who had been watching me talk to the guard approached us surreptitiously. Obviously upper class, she wrinkled her nose in disgust as she addressed me, “Excuse me miss. I don’t usually fraternize with those of your…type, but I could not help but overhear your recent inquiry for work from the constable.”
Now what I meant to say, was “Really madam, that’s quite an ugly attitude for such a beautiful woman as yourself to possess.” Honestly, that is what I intended. But I was tired after over two weeks on the road, and angry after my encounter with the guard, and it came out, “Really madam, that’s quite an ugly attitude for such an ugly woman as yourself to possess.” Oops.
Her face turned bright red as she stammered, “You, you, you, you, you wretched horrible harlot!” With that, she walked off.
Oh well. I guess I shall never find out just what sort of work she had in mind for me. I’ll have to be more careful in the future. But it is probably no great loss. I got the distinct impression that she wanted us for some unsavory enterprise that I should not have been interested in anyway. Besides, it was satisfying to tell her off, even if it was an accident. Virgil could not stop laughing.
The telegraph office was not far from the entrance to the city, and we went there first. The operator took one look at me and said, “What are you doing here, half-orc? I’m sure I have nothing for one of your kind.”
Why did I ever come back to civilization, I wondered. “Excuse me sir, but we’re expecting something for my friend here. Do you have a telegram for Virgil?”
He shuffled through some papers, eyeing me suspiciously all the while. Raising an eyebrow, he drew out a telegram and said, “Surprisingly, we do. That will be 4 coins.”
I paid him the money and he practically through the thing at me. “Now please leave,” he said.
I have reproduced the message Joachim left for us above. My heart sank as I read it. Honestly, this is a hard man to get a hold of. I don’t even know where Stillwater is.
If anything, Virgil was even more disappointed than I, as he had hoped to receive guidance from his mentor. He read the telegram and muttered, “I don’t understand, why didn’t he wait for us? What could be more important than guarding you?”
“I thought that was what you were doing, Virgil?”
“It is, blast it! I’m sorry…I don’t mean to get so angry. I just don’t have any idea what’s going on here. All I know is that Joachim showed me a better way, a new faith, and now I’m involved in something even I don’t believe.” Here he looked at me questioningly. “What do you think?”
Thoughtlessly I said, “Well, I’m no religious fanatic. I mean, I’m supposed to be the reincarnation of an elven hero, come back to fight the ‘evil one’ in the final battle? The whole story seems a bit contrived.”
Virgil gave me a wounded angry look, and I immediately wished I could have bitten off my own tongue. “So you think me a religious fool?” he said. “You think all of this is just coincidence? Perhaps a big misunderstanding? Why don’t you just go ahead and tell that to the next man that comes to cut your bloody throat! Want to know what I think? I’d say there’s nothing more contrived than a dead fool.”
I apologized in a rush, “Please Virgil, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I don’t think you’re a fool, religious or otherwise. It’s just hard for me to believe I’m the reincarnation of some ancient elven hero. I’m just myself. Please let’s not argue; let’s see if we can find out where this ring comes from.”
Virgil studied me silently for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, there is a particular wisdom in your words.” Here he smiled, and I was greatly relieved. “And crying about this prophecy gibberish isn’t going to keep a knife out of your ribs. I’ll shut up for a while, and we’ll concentrate on that ring. If we find the owner, maybe we’ll find out why those bloody assassins want it so badly.”
Really, that was terribly thoughtless of me to speak of Virgil's religion like that. I must be more careful in the future...
No, that's not right. I must be less of a selfish witch in the future. Virgil has been extremely gracious towards me. He has accompanied me all the way from the Stone Wall mountains, offering me his protection and companionship, asking nothing in return. He is literally my only friend in this world. And I have been taking him for granted. Well, I shall not do so any longer.
And so we walked to P. Schuyler & Sons. As I said before, it was after dark, but the streets were well lit by the bright electrical lights and we found it without much trouble. As I looked at the building, I couldn’t help but think it looked rather spooky. Above the names “P. Schuyler & Sons” was engraved something that looked like a bird with a snake’s head. Odd motif for a jewelry story, I thought. As I looked at the store, out of the corner of my eye I spied a dwarf watching us from underneath a street light down the road. He looked away when I turned my head towards him.
We entered the jewelry store just as the shopkeeper was getting ready to close up for the night. The man looked at me suspiciously, but evidently he addressed all potential customers with at least formal politeness. “Hello. Welcome to P. Schuyler & Sons, dealers in the rare and beautiful. My name is James Kingsford. I’m afraid we’re just closing, but you are welcome to come back tomorrow.”
“I do apologize for coming so late,” I replied, “but it is rather an important matter. I need to talk to someone about the owner of this ring.”
“What exactly can I help you with? Did you purchase the ring from P. Schuyler & Sons?”
“Not exactly. I was given the ring by, ...it’s hard to explain. I need to find its rightful owner.”
“I’m very sorry, but we don’t guarantee the quality of our products unless they were purchased directly from us. Now, if there’s nothing else, I really must be closing shop.”
“No, you don’t understand. I need to find out who originally purchased this ring. If I could just speak to Mr. Schuyler?”
“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,” replied Mr. Kingsford, with emphasis on the word impossible. “The Schuyler’s are extremely busy, and I know they can’t be bothered with something as trivial as your concerns with a product you didn’t even buy.”
“Wait, please!” I said. “I just need to find out...”
But Mr. Kingsford was pushing us out the door. “I’m so very glad you stopped by though,” he said. “I do hope you will come back again during our normal hours. We have many fine stones and jewelry that I’m sure you will appreciate. Have a good night, madam.” With that he shut the door and locked it.
I stood outside for a minute, thinking. I looked up the block, and the dwarf was still standing there under the streetlight. I walked over to him, and Virgil followed. “Good evening, sir,” I said.
“What? You’re bothering me,” said the dwarf.
“I’m sorry sir, we’ve only just met. What could be the problem?”
He frowned, and said, “You’ve gone and put yourself on my bad side. I think it would be in your best interests to leave this dwarf alone.”
“Please sir, let’s try to work this out.”
The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “A commendable attempt at reconciliation, but I just don’t think I can get over my grievances with you.”
Oddly, I found myself liking this fellow. I decided he was probably like this with everyone, and that I shouldn’t take it personally. “Please, if I’ve said or done something to offend you, I do apologize. Now can’t we talk about this civilly?”
I could see his resolve cracking. “You are quite determined,” he said. “Oh all right, I can’t help but forgive your obvious character flaws.”
“Thank you. Might I ask you your name?”
“And who might you be to ask a dwarf his name? Bloody ignorant outlander, I’d say. As if a dwarf would give his name.”
“Excuse me,” Virgil piped in. “You don’t need to take such treatment from this dwarf. Bloody annoying little runt, if you ask me…”
“Thank you, Virgil, but I...”
“I mean look at him! Putting on airs like he’s some sort of native dwarf…I’d be surprised if he’s ever been out of the city in his entire life. You can …”
“Oh please shush Virgil, I’m trying to have a conversation here. Now what were you saying, sir?”
“I was saying that it was bloody rude of you to be asking me, a dwarf, for his name. It’s not something to be thrown out and away like the day’s rubbish!”
“I do apologize, sir. I’m afraid I’m sadly ignorant of dwarven ways; perhaps you could help enlighten me?”
“Hmmm. I suppose you’re none to blame, stranger. Perhaps I’m a little quick-tempered myself. Please, forgive my harsh words. You may call me Magnus.”
“A pleasure, sir. I am Clarisse Vorak, and this is Virgil. Now, what were you saying about a dwarf’s name?”
So I got him to tell us all about dwarven names. It turns out he is quite the talker once you get through that thick shell of his. He must have gone on for twenty minutes or so. Virgil looked terribly bored, but I found it all rather interesting. It turns out a dwarf’s “true name,” his family name, is symbolic. It’s a reflection of the history of the dwarf’s family, and indeed, eventually of all dwarves. A dwarf who is casual with his family name is being disrespectful to that history. Finally Magus said to me, “A dwarf’s true name is a sacred thing, a thing of mystery and power. Magnus is my common name. If I knew you well, I’d also tell you my family name. But Magnus will do for now.”
“Thank you, Magnus. That was quite fascinating.
Here Magnus smiled, “It’s nice to meet an outlander who tries to understand our ways. Well met, my friend! Now, how can I help you?”
“Do you know what establishment this is?” I said, looking over at P. Schuyler & Sons.
“Yes I do. And I curse the day I ran across the devils who own it. Ungodly bunch, they are. I can only guess what goes on behind those doors. That building is the headquarters for the infamous P. Schuyler & Sons.”
“What can you tell us about P. Schuyler & Sons?”
“What can I tell you, you ask? Where would you like me to begin? P. Schuyler and Sons is the oldest business in Tarant, a trader in jewelry and the occasional rare or sought after trinket or bauble. Their business reputation is untarnished. Second to none.”
“And yet there’s something strange about them?” I said, looking back at the building.
Strange? Strange doesn’t begin to describe what they are. Do you know that no one has seen the supposed owner, Pelonious Schuyler, or his sons, in more than 15 years? And even then, the gentleman who saw them, a trader in gems from Arland, died a week later from what they could only describe as “consumption.”
“Really,” I said. “What else can you tell me?
“Have you heard about the eyeless five? Eight years ago there were five ruby pendants sold at auction through P. Schuyeler & Sons. All the ladies that wore them were murdered, their eyes plucked from their heads.”
“Why would P. Schuyler & Sons plot to kill their customers?”
“Why do madmen do anything? They’re bloody madmen, that’s why! If you’re not going to use the sense you were born with, then I’ll not continue. Suffice it to say that P. Schuyler & Sons is an extremely unusual company, and I’m not the only one to think so.”
“Oh?”
“Who knows what atrocities are committed within these walls? People swear they hear strange noises within the building when the sun sets. Clanking of chains, moaning, muffled screams. Do you see the symbol carved above their name? The bird with the snake’s head? Do you know what it is? The Derian-ka. The ancient Order of the Dead!”
“I see. And what exactly is your business with P. Schuyler & Sons?”
“I might ask you the same, my friend. You seem awfully curious about P. Schuyler & Sons. What brings you here?”
“I’m investigating a ring. It appears they were the sellers.”
“Interesting. I, too, am investigating one of their products. I saw it for sale in a pawnshop down in the merchant’s quarter, and it had their imprint. Would you like to see it?”
“Yes, very much so.”
Here Magnus held out a plain looking bronze bracelet. On the inside of the bracelet was the imprint of P. Schuyler & Sons. Barely visible along its outer surface were faded carvings; even holding the bracelet up to the lamplight I could not make them out.
“What are these carvings?” I asked Magnus.
“Don’t you see? There, a cross! And there, a sunburst! All of these are old dwarven characters, symbols in a lost language. These are landmarks in my people’s history, milestones for the dwarven age.”
“What do you think is significant about this bracelet?”
“Do you see these dwarven gauntlets I wear? They were given to me by my grandfather, who in turn received them from his. Do you see the symbol carved on them? It’s the same as the symbol carved on the bracelet! These gauntlets are the only link I possess to my ancestors, my clan, lost to my family since before any of us can remember!”
“Who was your clan? How was your family separated from them?”
Magnus bristled. “Never ask a dwarf the name of his clan! I’d sooner cut my beard than tell you the sacred name of my people! Such an action might be considered blasphemy! And as for my family, that’s none of your concern. We were lost to them, and I’ve spent the last 200 years looking for where they might have gone.”
“200 years? Just how old are you?”
Magnus looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, that’s another dwarven tradition. We don’t talk about our age with outlanders.”
“I do apologize. Have you spoken with the Schuylers about the bracelets?”
“That, my friend, is the point of this whole story. I’ve tried on multiple occasions to speak with the Schuylers concerning this bracelet and where they got it, but I’ve been stonewalled by their employees from the very beginning. They’re hiding something! I know it!”
“What could they possibly be trying to conceal?”
“The sources behind their inventory? The reasons for their reclusiveness? Who knows? But I do know that I’m going to find out where they got this bracelet, regardless of what is necessary to do so.”
“I see. Well perhaps we could work together?”
Here Magnus paused and took a long look at me. Finally he said, “No. I think you’re a bit green just yet. Come back after you’ve seen a little more of the world. A dwarf always chooses his companion wisely, and I just don’t know about you. I do wish you luck in your search, though. If I find anything out, I’ll share it with you.”
Well, I certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Thank you, sir. I shall do the same. Good night.”
By now it was quite late. Poor Virgil was yawning as we walked down the now empty streets, but I could not go to bed before running one last errand. We found him guarding Vermillion station from the half-orc looters, just as Wilhemina had described him. He bristled at our approach. “Move along, half-orc, there’s nothing for you here,” he said.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said softly, “are you Jared.” He nodded suspiciously.
“I’m sorry, I...” I swallowed. “I was a passenger aboard the I.F.S. Zephyr, with your fiancee, Wilhemina.”
His eyes grew wide. “Wilhemina? What happened? The Zephyr has been weeks overdue, is she in Tarant?”
I shook my head. It was very difficult to speak. “We were, ...the dirigible was shot down over the Stonewall Mountains. She died in the crash. I found this letter; I’m so sorry.”
He was devastated, of course. He took the letter, read it, and began sobbing as I stood silently trying not to look at him. After a minute, he composed himself. “I know I’ve no right to ask this of you, but, could you do me a favor,” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Could you stop by the stonecutter’s for me? I need a tombstone made for my…, for Wilhemina. It is very important to me. His shop is on the corner of Mulligan Bone Alley and East End Avenue. Tell him to come round to visit me, I can’t leave my post.”
“Of course.”
So by the time we found the stonecutter and explained things to him, it was very late indeed. It was almost midnight by the time we found the Bridesdale Inn. As we approached the inn, Virgil offered to make the arrangements. It was sweet, but I refused of course. How shall I live in this world if I’m afraid to talk to a simple innkeeper? So I walked inside, approached the door to the innkeeper’s office, and knocked loudly. She was not happy to see us. “What are you doing here, half-breed?” she spat. “We don’t serve your kind here. Get out before I call the guard.”
“Please madam,” I said, giving my best impersonation of a poor damsel at wit’s end. “It is dark, and we have no place else to spend the night. What am I to do? I promise I shall make no trouble.”
I’m sure she didn’t believe my helpless damsel act for a second, but it did not matter. As long as I played my part, the rules of polite society were plain. She cursed me, she charged us double the normal rate, and she promised to throw us out the second she caught me up to something. But she rented us the rooms. Check and mate.
It is really very late now, and I must go to bed.
