Legends of Belariath

The Quest For The Baron's Silver

Du`Ghal Horishmet - Third Chalice

He heard of this quest like many others, as he was a frequenter of the town’s message board. Long ago he’d decided he would not be a pawn to such trivial games, but he was quickly growing bored. The monotony of daily life had begun to grow tiresome, and the fact that the reward would buy him new spells aided greatly in his enticement. Many items had gone missing, and many were far away, he did not want to be known to do this, so his choices were heavily weighed. He considered long the undertaking, and finally settled on the one that seemed to suit him best. While he was hardly a cutpurse, yet stealth and wit went hand in hand with his profession. He had long ago learned how to move so as to make only minimal sounds, and hardly was he apt to blunder, as he held his wits above all things. He chose to search for one of the missing chalices, but that was hardly that. There was more to this quest then simply selecting what it was he was looking for. He decided to go alone, to tell no one of where he went. The stigma of thievery was one you could not easily remove, even if some authority sanctioned it.

He slipped into the Unigo and stripped off his normal attire, hardly would his formal clothes be good for such a mission. The cape and robe of velvet cloth that he had grown so fond of now found their place on the dresser, neatly folded and all that. Matte black was that outfit, pure in color and leather in make. No gaudy or reflective buckles were on his person, and he looked a bit like an assassin. His dagger was sheathed behind he back, but he hoped to have little use for it; if it came down to that he was not likely to succeed, but that was a risk he had to take. Failure was part of success; the one could not exist without the other; as was the duality of all endeavors. Silent was that supple outfit, no creaking of new hide, he had picked well, though now was not the time, as the dying rays of light still shown clearly through the window.

The sun set that day was a spectacular event, the light gasped brilliantly as it gave way to night. Slowly it sunk beneath the horizon, and then there was darkness on the land. It crossed his mind that it might be the last one he might see. Another thought then came to mind, that the same could be said about almost any sunset, as the night held many dangers, this time he simply picked which ones might kill him. This knowledge gave him some kind of simple satisfaction, even in this quest there was more control over his own fate then most would ever know.

He had also time to think, he knew of many camps. Some were hunters, some were thugs, and some were simply tribes. Hed wandered long in those woods, sometimes for days on end. Only a few had the ability to perform raids, and of those only one he could be sure of. One of the larger camps, but it had a bold leader, one who sought to expand his power. The man was a brute most said, with a savage and cunning intellect, he rewarded his men well, but kept them in sharp discipline. He knew that if anyone would have what he sought, it would be that camp. He also knew that they were guarded at all times, with quite a few skilled woodsmen

Easily did the half elf locate the camp he had selected. The Lonely Inn. Long ago he had learned to avoid such places, on one of his many walks. Voices off in the distance that spoke of many things no one else should know of. Slowly he crept up on it, his elven blood more useful to him then ever could he know. Long minutes were he forced to hold still, afraid that someone walking off in the distance might be one looking for him. Minutes of that night had long become hours, and the night was wearing thin. Guard patrols that might have seen him, strolled slowly past him. The moon itself was on his side, as it was barely more then a sliver. Dim light and patience, that’s what tonight was, a test as much as anything else, though one with deadly consequences.

He had to be silent in this though, he could not cough nor sneeze. He could not sigh in boredom, and each sound on the wind was another indication to freeze. Many times some loud sound forced him to hold still, and many times the rustle of a rodent halted his progress entirely. His eyes he had to keep downcast, unable to peer up, those pulsing crimson orbs of light, would easily give him away. He had to listen, and he did, but he chose to err on the side of caution. Slow was his progress as he waited for his opening, moving like a snake that was stalking its prey. Careful, quiet, but without question, his motions were sure and precise.

One guard thought he heard something, and warily approached Du`ghals prone position. The mage thought fast and whispered so softly a spell, and then the guard heard something else. Off in the distance the man detected the sound of scampering footsteps, some little thing, more then likely a goblin or halfing, judging by the size of it. The sound, it ran fast, away from Du`ghal, but it came from very nearly where he was.

“Ya little bastard, get back here!” the guard roared as the footsteps sounded as though they continued to flee. A few more guards from the area joined the chase as the spell did its best to outrun them before it was dissipated. They gave chase with a vengeance though, and they were fast, little chance would he have to outrun them. This was there domain, not his, and he was better off to keep that in mind. Still, in that near miss, he had made himself an opening.

No more guards in his area, now he made his move, and move with great speed he did. He kept quiet still but he forwent some of it for his speed, needing to get much closer. Each foot was rolled on the ground, so as to avoid thumping, but still allowed himself to move with a wonderful rapidity. Under the supply tents flap he slipped, finding himself in a corner. He stayed still for a long moment, and allowed his ears to listen. He calmed his breathing and forced his body to relax, tension would only get him killed.

A great many people were snoring, and still there were some drinking, a few shuffled about, in a drunken haze; apparently there was some kind of party. Those on guard were alert, and the small patrol he’d distracted was already returning. They were well trained; they did not charge off into the night blindly, only enough to ensure the safety of the camp. He mentally cursed his luck in this, as the chalice might not even be here. So high were the stakes that he almost fled, but that would get him nowhere. He was in the camp, he could not easily escape it, so he might as well make the best of it.

He peeked out from under the tent, having carefully moved to the front, those elven eyes saw what no humans could, and still there was no chalice. What he saw was what he heard, both senses he had trusted equally, but what he did not hear was the two guards on duty in the middle of the small encampment, damn there organization. Maybe three score men were here in all, though it was hard to tell, but he could not take them all, and so the direct approach was out.

Soon though, he judged by the hour, the final shift would take over. This was when he would make his move, in the predawn hours, the no mans time. Fewer guards out and sluggish reactions of those on duty were his greatest asset. Fear crossed his face as he head the main flap of the tent he was in come up. His heart skipped a beat as he was sure he would now be caught. He could see only through ha few small cracks between the boxes, so well hidden was he What he was a slave come in, looking terrified as she huddled in a corner. She sat there; unaware of him and in her hands she held something shakily. It was food, a meat pie, something that was not for one of her station. He glanced between the cracks in the boxes as the woman consumed the food greedily. He watched her, turning over in his mind how this could be turned to his advantage. She was a lovely girl, when one looked past the grime and bruises.

She wolfed down that food, as if she had not eaten for days, and from her slightly emaciated appearance that might well be the case. All of a sudden she snapped her gaze as if by clairvoyance, and saw that gleaming red eye peering intently at her. She went to scream but then looked down, seeing her own indulgence. Slowly Du`ghal rose up and pressed a single finger to his lips. His face was calm as he slowly approached, not wishing to seem hostile. A gloved finger then slowly pressed then to her lips, and he nodded once, as if asking for understanding.

Scared she was, long had she been there slave, but she could still vaguely remember freedom. This was a chance to get them back; maybe that dark elf was some kind of hired assassin. She nodded after a time; no one would have to know. She would stay quiet, do her work, and no one would ever know. She calmed down slowly, that male’s eyes affecting her, that soothing, pulsing rhythm. He did not yell, he did not strike, and instead he let her choose. She sat there, and let him wait, wordlessly. Only once did she go to speak, but even as she moved the elfkin shook his head. She nodded again and lowered her gaze, now left alone with her thoughts.

Du`ghal then slipped that girl something, a small flask of something. Green in color, it was nothing great, but a gift to someone who was nothing, was more then what was needed. His favorite drink, the green fairy, the stuff most called Absinthe. It would help her pain, help to dream, it would help her find her own freedoms. No one had ever done that for him, but somehow he was glad for that. He had given her illusion to ensure his own survival, but that was what was needed. Readily she took it and stashed it away, hidden in some long unopened box of books, nodding to him in thanks.

“A pity,” He thought, “she looks almost familiar.” He said nothing though and waited. One watch left its post, the guards retreating to their tents; and without warning the girl bolted from the tent, scampering with all her might. He regretted his next action, but it must be done, and all of a sudden a she was making much more noise then she should have, all from that spell the half elf cast. The few people about the camp looked instantly to her, and in that moment when all eyes were on her, he moved. From that cramped little tent with hardly room to breath, he flew, nearly falling as he dove under the flap of the main tent, and again freezing when he entered.

Passed out was the leader of this band, so loud were his snores that the half elf could have screamed without being detected. He stunk of booze, sweat and blood, so pungent was that odor that Du`ghal nearly gagged. In his hand there was his mark, an ornate and lovely chalice. He rolled his eyes and hung his head; of course it was this way. The man had a death grip on that thing, and no amount of prying would release it. He thought hard for a long moment, and then shrugged his shoulders. Off in the distance the sounds of that poor slaves screams for mercy were heard, apparently she was being punished. She would never know what caused that noise, and had no reason to betray him.

He then did what any reasonably bright person might do. He quickly reached behind him and drew out his dagger, the well-oiled metal not making so much as a whisper as it came free from its sheath. Silently he crept behind the man, and without a moments hesitation he dug deep that knife into the brute throat, severing the windpipe completely. From base to point that blade passed through the humans neck, his eyes snapping open as the smaller half elf held him down. He tried to scream, but had no air, and his struggles quickly faded. The brutes brown eyes went livid, flared with life, his mind pounding as that adrenaline hit him. He tried to rage, his blood it poured, and all he felt was anger. Quickly though, within 15 seconds, he was already out of air. That’s all it takes, once your choked, before you begin to succumb. Within 30 he was gone, that anger that had so brilliantly been a part of his eyes, now was gone. Listless were his eyes, hazed over with the fog of death. His body went limp, his hand dropped the chalice and Du`ghal quickly snapped it up. His dagger went back into is sheath, but he’d need to clean it soon. The job was nearly done, but he did not allow himself to relax, as he was still not out of this place yet, and if he was caught, surely his life would be forfeit.

Off on the other side of the camp the slave girl cried, the half elf’s keen ears did detect that they were raping her now. As the pitiful sounds of her sobs were now mixed with moans of pleasure and delight that the men issued forth. Another would take this ones place, but for now, one less would have a turn with her. Dawn threatened to begin and the elfkin was almost free. He summoned forth the energies for one final spell, the last he knew he would need. From his fingers energy flew, his words whispered but clear, as the spell needed its proper verbal component in order to be at full power.

“Corp Por” was that sound, and a bolt of energy streaked through the camp. None saw it fly, either asleep or in the middle of a rape, so when it connected with the healer’s tent and caught flame, none knew of its origins. The chemicals in there were easy to ignite, and they burned quite nicely as the camp exploded in commotion, no one seeing the thief as he slipped away. Chaos was that place, and calmly did he leave; grinning to himself, he had done well indeed.

He wasted no time in getting back to the town, and returning it for his reward. The Chalice had a few flecks of blood on it, but no one would ask any questions. A camp was in chaos, some bandits disrupted, if anything he had done them a favor. While those men vied for leadership, they could not attack, not that they knew who to attack, as he had left no trace. He doubled back a few times, and walked across some streams, just to make sure that the trackers they had, did not suspect a thing. He was done, and the chalice was back, now all he had to do was await his reward, which he did, the devil had earned his due.

Not long after he reflected, on just how easy it had been. The task itself was not that easy, but the killing of that man. Mortal life was so frail, despite the power one does wield, and it seemed as though no matter how much power one did have, there was always a fatal weakness. For a warrior of the blade he could hardly stop an arrow coming at his back, for one of magic arts, there was fatigue that quickly set in after only a few casts. If one preferred stealth, then light was there bane, and should one try to learn them all, then they were a jack-of-all-trades and a master of none. He thought long on this, on his own choices, to study the art of death… was it enough to learn the magic alone, or was there more to death then that? This troubled the mage, had he erred so badly? What other options did he have, should he desire more knowledge? A thief lurked in the shadows, something he was well accustomed to, and on this voyage, his skills in stealth, had proven his greatest ally. But what could being hidden in the shadows teach that man of death? No more could he find his answers then in the ranks of the cleric knights. Each person, each profession, knew of its own means to kill. But killing and death was not the same things, though they often went hand in hand.

He still did not know, should he focus solely on magery? What was the proper path, the conclusions remained a mystery. To know how to move without detection would be of great aide to him, but magic could do that. A knife could kill as well as a spell though, on much the same token. Still, he had to collect his due, so off he was to that, the money was owed and he would collect, after all, he’d done his part at least. He moved with a silence, his nature was clear, only he could not easily see it. In time, he would realize what others saw, and in that he would find his freedoms.

With thanks to Du`Ghal

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