Blue Fire 2

Blue Fire 2 is an encounter in Kingdom Aflame.
==Enemies==
* Scavenger (Kingdom Aflame) (150 Gold, 150 XP, 150 Energy, 4 HP)
* Orc Scavenger (Kingdom Aflame) (180 Gold, 180 XP, 180 Energy, 3 HP)
==Transcript==
===Introduction===
Cold, crisp morning light poured through the windows of Ralmarthan's mayoral building. In most of that old, impressive structure's rooms it chased away shadows. But in Hortensia Tarringan's office it battled candlelight instead. The rival forces of illumination fought back and forth across immaculate bookcases, where leather-bound volumes stood resplendent in complex arrangements of subject, author, size, and color. They waged war on several side tables, clashing over stacks of parchment, unfurled maps, a pitcher of water, upturned glasses, and an empty, spotless decanter. The struggle even dared to intrude on Mayor Tarringan's desk. This lattermost battlefield was the room's sole concession to chaos -- a miniature landscape of inked paper mountains that had yet to be set in order. Hortensia sat hunched over it, staring down at two missives: one she was reading, another she was creating with a flow of pristine handwriting that belied the red weariness in her eyes.
The warring factions met before her gaze. She looked up and sighed, wondering where the night had gone even as her exhausted brain reminded her. A click of her fingers snuffed out the magic candles. They surrendered in the same split-second, yielding the chamber to the new day.
Hortensia put the quill in the inkwell and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. It offered a little comfort. She removed them after several seconds and cast a wistful glance at the decanter. A strong red wine would have been welcome, but she'd abstained ever since the fighting broke out. There was something unseemly about sipping wine while warriors fought and died across the kingdom. Besides, she needed her mind clear and alert. Ralmarthan's affairs demanded no less.
The mayor picked the quill up. There was a loud knock. Her hand jerked, and dark circles bloomed on a piece of parchment, expanding from each spilled drop of ink. She grimaced.
"Come in," she said.
The door opened. Taerwyn, her seneschal, stood there in a flowing nightgown, pulling unkempt waves of golden hair from her face and blinking what little sleep she'd had from eyes that mirrored Hortensia's own.
"I'm sorry, milady, but Magistrate Varnbrook says you're needed. In the square."
"I'll be outside presently."
"I'll get dressed and-"
"No. Go back to bed."
The seneschal nodded and closed the door. Hortensia pushed her chair back and stood. Her legs protested at the sudden exertion, after so long stuck in a sitting position. She looked down at her clothes -- the tunic and trousers she'd been wearing for a taxing day and sleepless night. Hardly a fitting ensemble for a mayor to wear while carrying out her duties in public. And the face she saw in the mirror, lines of middle age harsher and deeper than they were just a few months ago, crested by a short mess of grey-black hair, might have belonged to a hard-pressed soldier or fishwife. But so be it.
Hortensia put on her boots, went downstairs, and stepped out into the triumphant daylight. The magistrate was waiting for her. His back was turned, giving him the aspect of a small child in an oversized hat and doublet. Even by gnomish standards Varnbrook was short. The raised heels on his boots did little to grant him stature. It was only when he looked round that the illusion was dispelled. His round face and blob of a nose bore no similarity to the mayor's, but their worn and weary features made them kin.
"Hortensia," he said.
"Good morning," she replied.
He grunted.
"Again?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Don't they know what happened last time?"
He shrugged.
"They mustn't," he said. "They came into the square, went up on the stage, as bold as you please, and started trying to recruit."
"Here? In Ralmarthan?"
"Wanted us all to rise up and join the rebellion."
The two of them made their way through empty streets, Varnbrook's official hat bobbing at her side, almost at shoulder height. When they neared the square, a low murmur -- like the wind whispering through a cornfield -- told them where Ralmarthan's populace could be found.
"Mayor."
"Lady Tarringan."
"Hortensia."
Nobles and commoners greeted her alike, their voices polite and their faces grim. The crowd parted to let the two of them through. Together they approached the platform which occupied the middle of the square. Two men and a woman knelt atop it, arrayed beside a big wooden block, hands bound behind their backs. Guardsmen stood nearby, leaning on their halberds.
Hortensia cleared her throat.
"The three of you are accused of spreading sedition and-"
"That's a lie!" one of the men said. His ruddy face contained such genuine outrage that she wondered if someone had made a mistake. "I didn't spread anything! I was telling folk to help us fight the king!"
A few people laughed. Most simply glared.
"That's sedition," she said. "Traitors and criminals who wage war against our lawful king aren't welcome in Ralmarthan."
"Crenus is a tyrant!" the female prisoner shouted. She was young, perhaps half the age of the men on either side of her. But the rage, the hatred in her face was almost demonic. "Death to Crenus! Death to-"
A vast avalanche of boos and jeers crashed down on her. She looked around, eyes wide, anger seeping away. Her companions bore the same expression -- animals caught by a sudden shaft or snare. Hortensia understood. These idiot rebels might expect a noblewoman, a city official, to be their foe, but many of their kind believed the masses were ready to rise up and burn royal banners in the street. And in some parts of the kingdom perhaps that was true. But not in her city. Not in Ralmarthan.
"Your orders?" Varnbrook said. He had to shout to make himself heard.
"Execute the men. Send the girl home. She can tell her people that Ralmarthan remains loyal."
The magistrate bowed. He gestured at a guardsman, and in a few seconds the crowd parted again -- revealing a tall, hulking figure with a hood over his head and a huge axe in his hands.
Hortensia stayed until it was over. Two heads lay beside the block, and the girl ran shrieking through the streets. Soldiers flanked the rebel until she was beyond the city gates. Otherwise the mob might have torn her apart. Instead the citizenry dispersed, melting away in dribs and drabs now that the show was over and justice done.
"They won't come back after this," Varnbrook said.
"I hope you're right," the mayor replied.
***
"I'm not a thief," Yaealina said.
"Ten," Ryli said.
"No," Nevis said. "Eleven."
"I believe you've both miscalculated," Chumgrak said. "I make it thirteen, and I am, as you're by now well aware, something of a genius."
"What're you talking about?" the half-elf asked.
"The number of times you've told us you're not a thief," Ryli said.
"Of course, that's precisely what a thief would say," the orc said. "It's not a profession revered for the honesty of its adherents."
Yaealina glared at the three of them.
The sky was a cool grey, the hills deep green like emeralds. A lovely and lonely landscape rested around them -- promising untold possibilities. The cleric of Yydian was eager to explore the region that surrounded their new camp, to find more of the hidden places and forgotten treasures so cherished by followers of her god. And the sparkle in her bright black eyes, along with memories of their last adventure, filled Nevis with the same gleeful anticipation. The same thrill.
Each hill was a treasure chest. Walking its slope and cresting its summit opened a new vista, a fresh portion of the world in which infinite wonders might lie hidden. Perhaps the others felt it too. Chumgrak whistled a merry tune as they went, swinging his axe at his side. Even Yaealina, for all her cynicism, seemed to revel in scaling rock faces before her slower, less agile companions, or pulling herself into trees and springing from branch to branch like a squirrel.
"Ruins!" The half-elf was high up the trunk of a mighty oak when she called out.
Ryli's feline lips opened in a broad grin. Nevis couldn't decide if she was more pleased by the discovery or by the unconcealed joy in their friend's voice. They mounted the ridge -- the felpuur on all fours, Chumgrak powering his way up the rough ground with his thick orcish thews, Nevis scrambling as best he could to keep up. Yaealina dropped down from above. She landed beside them with the grace of a descending angel, and the superior smirk of a noblewoman.
The four of them stood in silence as they drank in the scene before them. Clusters of grey marble sprawled across the landscape, nestled within the stretches and clumps of foliage which had encroached on their dominion. Fluted columns, rough and weathered, rose to different heights, some little more than a few feet and others perhaps twice as tall as a man. A handful lay toppled, broken into cylindrical chunks and overwhelmed by flowers and greenery.
"Ancient Iulian ruins," Chumgrak said.
"Ee-oo-lee-an?" Nevis said. The word was alien but somehow alluring, foreign and exotic.
"Ah, thus do the mighty slip from the minds of men. They were an East Krunan empire, and conquered West Kruna over two thousand years ago. Their ruins and artifacts can be found scattered across the kingdom."
The boy let this wash over him. Two thousand years... He whistled. Even the days of the Dragon-Rider or the Red Prince had always seemed impossibly long ago, yet these ruins were from an empire that was already dust when those heroes performed their magnificent deeds.
"Powers rise and fall," Ryli said. "They leave their mysteries to those who come after. One day we'll be gone too, and a follower of Yydian may chance upon our precious things and treasure our memories."
They approached the ruins in silence, digesting her words.
***
"You ask me..." Hugh said.
"I didn't," the creature replied.
"...I say you blooming well look like a duck."
Rakshara reached down, picked the animal up, and inspected it.
"Oi! Stop that!" it said.
"I've seen ducks," the oroc said. "They have feathers. This has fur."
"Of course I have fur!" The animal scrambled around in her grasp until they were face to face. It tapped her orange nose with its bill. "Put me down."
"Sorry."
The oroc set the strange creature back on the ground, whereupon it transformed into Paxon Greengaze.
"I was a platypus," the gnome said.
"Never heard of it," Hugh said. "Sure you weren't a bloody duck?"
"I'm a druid! I know my animals!"
"What does a platypus do?" Rakshara asked.
"It doesn't really do anything. It just... platypuses around."
"Then what's the bleeding point of them?"
"There isn't one! I-"
"You should stick with the bear, mate. Unless you can turn into something better, like a sodding dragon."
"Can you turn into a dragon?" Rakshara asked.
"No! Look, it took me a year to master the platypus. Learning a new form isn't like putting on a new set of clothes. Otherwise every shape-shifting druid would become a dragon, or a wyvern, or-"
"Or a platypus?"
Paxon glared at the towering oroc. But her expression was innocence itself, and the scowl evaporated as suddenly as his curious animal form.
"Why a blooming platypus, anyway?"
"I've never met another druid who does that."
"Should have taken the hint."
"Shut up and give me the pie."
The Titaran held out a roughly oblong shaped hunk of meat-filled pastry.
"A deal's a deal," Hugh said. "It was a new one, even if it is bloody useless."
Paxon Greengaze snatched the pie, grasped it with both hands, and took a bite almost large enough to have been inflicted by his ursine form. As a druid, growing up in the wilds, he'd sampled all the bounties of nature. But nature was somewhat deficient when it came to steak and kidney pies...
"I liked the platypus," Rakshara said. "I thought it was-"
The others turned to follow her gaze, Paxon stopping in mid-chomp. A figure was running across the plain. And even at that distance, the distress written on her face was palpable.
"I've seen her before," the druid said. "At the celebration. She's a rebel."
The girl almost collapsed when she stopped, her body spent, lungs heaving in great gulps of air. Only the oroc's gentle grasp kept her up. Her head jerked left and right, looked at each of them in turn as though in fear or disbelief.
"Ral..." Her voice was a breathless gasp that half swallowed the word back down her throat. She panted and shaped it again. "Ralmarthan!"
***
Nevis clamped his hands on the rough, worn marble, gritted his teeth, and heaved. His arms and back strained. A cord flared in his neck. But the segment of column didn't budge.
Ryli laughed.
"You won't move that on your own," she said. "Let's find Chumgrak."
The two of them wandered through the ruins, amongst the broken stone and thriving plants. Nevis had stayed with the felpuur while the others split up to scour the place. Whenever she plied her trade, there was something about her. Something exhilarating. He loved being around her as she searched for forgotten things. Even if she hadn't been impressed by the dubious strength of his boyish muscles...
He found himself staring at her furry features and those ocean-deep eyes. They shone like jewels, as though already reflecting the precious items they sought among the masonry and foliage. Two magic orbs that drew in the world and sifted it for its lost marvels.
Nevis was still watching her when the toe of his boot caught the edge of a stone slab. Thus he ended up sprawling on the ground.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Nevis' face reddened.
He pushed himself up. Something hard dug into his palm. His fingers groped in the clump of grass and closed around cold, round metal. He picked it up and examined it. Ryli crouched down beside him, eyes brighter than ever.
"An amulet," Ryli said. "Not Iulian, but it's old."
It was a silver disc, its edges rough and chipped. Face tarnished. Whatever cord or chain had once passed through the small hole at the top was long gone. The image cut into it was obscured by dirt and age, but he could still make out the horned helmet.
"A good find," she continued. "Yydian must like you."
"Not as much as old Brough likes us," a voice said.
They stood up and spun round. Two burly men, a human and an orc, grinned at them from across the broken flagstones. They wore rough cloth and leather, torn and patched in several places. Both were armed. The human clutched a broad-bladed sword, the orc a big axe. Their weapons were pointed downwards, not raised or brandished. But their knuckles were pale around shaft and handle.
"These are our ruins," the human said. He scratched the edge of his thin moustache. "We were here first. That trinket there belongs to us. And we'll take everything else you have."
"Give them to us, and we'll kill you!" the orc said.
The human sighed.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Don't say you're going to kill them. Take their things without a fight, then kill them."
"Sorry, boss."
"Just get on with it."
Ryli hissed. Nevis reached for his sling. But they were too close -- he'd never get it out of his belt and ready in time. He drew his dagger. It looked like a child's plaything compared to the sword and axe coming towards them.
"Run!" the cleric said.
===Conclusion===
"The mayor came," the girl says, "and told them to kill Murgh and Warred."
"Hortensia Tarringan," Tessa says. "Her family's always been loyal to the Seluthas. What in the name of all the gods possessed you to go to Ralmarthan?"
"Murgh said... He said everyone hated Crenus!"
She bursts into tears. Carolyn puts an arm around her and passes her a handkerchief. The girl presses it to her face like a mask and weeps into its folds, looking like the world's most miserable assassin. Everyone else in the tent, all of you stood around the table and its ill-drawn map, exchange glances.
"We should attack Ralmarthan," Theadric says. "If we bring Tarringan down, everyone will know what happens to Crenus' friends."
"We can't. The whole city supports the throne," Tessa says. "Will you put all of them to the sword?"
"They've only heard the king's lies. When they see the Kasan, when they hear %him% speak and know the Dragon-Rider's kin has come to liberate them..."
You meet Tessa Tullian's gaze, and can't help rubbing it in with a smile. This is what she wanted -- for your name to lead worthy warriors into battle, to inspire West Kruna's people.
"Tessa's right," Carolyn says. "We can cut off all trade to and from the city, but we can't attack."
"Our position here isn't even secure," Tessa says. She runs an index finger along the map, near the pitchfork icon that marks your present location. "There are still royal patrols in this region."
"Tarringan killed rebels," Theadric says. "Our people! She has to pay."
"And she will. In time."
The young warrior looks to you.
"Kasan, what would you have us do?"
"I'd take the city. Having Ralmarthan's walls around us would secure our position better than forays in the countryside. And Theadric's right. Mayor Tarringan has to be punished."
They exchange more glances. And if you're any judge, many of your allies agree with you. But others shake their heads.
"We'll send spies into Ralmarthan," Carolyn says. "They can find out how loyal the city's people are. If enough of them would side with us..."
"That'll take days," Theadric says, "maybe weeks."
"This is a war, not a battle," Tessa says. "We can't rush in like a band of berserkers."
Theadric grunts.
***
"Nevis likes her, doesn't he?" Yaealina said.
"Disappointed that you're no longer the object of his ill-judged and unsolicited affections?" Chumgrak asked.
The half-elf rolled her eyes.
"He's just a boy," she said. "And-"
"Aaaaaarrrrrrrgggghhhhhh!" The shriek echoed across the ruins.
"And he screams like a girl," Chumgrak said. He leapt to his feet and raised his axe.
Yaealina drew her blades and peered round the broken mass of masonry she was leaning against.
"They're running this way. Two enemies behind them. Human and orc. Sword and axe."
Chumgrak began to move. She held out a hand to stay him.
"They'll make it here," she said. "Look."
He leaned around his own fragment of stone and saw that she was right. Their friends had enough of a lead.
"Which do you want?" he asked.
"The one with the axe. I've always wanted to stab an orc."
Chumgrak grinned.
"Help!" Nevis cried. "Help!"
The boy and cleric shot past without seeing them, and carried on sprinting.
"Get back here!" their human pursuer shouted.
Chumgrak swung his axe. The man's upper body flew by, hit the ground, and rolled. His legs fell where they were.
"Chumgrak kill," the orc observed.
Their other foe roared and tried to stop. But his momentum carried him a few more paces, and a green foot slid on a tangle of intestines. Yaealina stabbed him half a dozen times before he could recover.
Chumgrak let out a loud, shrill whistle.
"Nevis! Ryli!" he said.
The two of them looked back over their shoulders, gawped, and came to a halt.
"I hope we didn't ruin your footrace," the orc said, "but I was in the mood for a modicum of brutal violence. A personal failing, perhaps."
Category:Kingdom Aflame