(Author's note: After finding and reading that short story fragment, I figured I'd try my hand at doing a little writing again. Rather than go back to the very beginning and tell Avouz/Athasen's story from the start, I figured I'd start at the beginning of the current campaign in Adventurer League D&D. Got two chapters done so far and starting a third. So far all of this is introduction, so if you're playing in the campaign, you'll find no spoilers here...yet.)
Saiah wrinkled her nose in disgust. She knew the smell well. Every port town had the same odor; a horrid mix of the refuse of humanity combined with the rot of fish and other foodstuffs brought in to support the population. The sweltering heat of Port Nyanzaru only made it worse. She had thought Calisham putrid and stifling. This place was worse.
She glanced to her side as she stood on the rail of the ship bringing them into the harbor. To her right stood Athasen, her commander, and Lortessa, her best friend. Neither seemed the least bit fazed by the heat or the smell. In fact, in regards to the former, they both seemed prepared and comfortable. Athasen’s robes were made of a light silk and the sea breeze blew them open periodically to reveal his muscular chest beneath. Lortessa wore armor, but as was typical of the Order of Sune’s Light, the armor was as much for show as it was for function. Lortessa’s breastplate and leather skirt left her arms, legs, and midriff all bare. Normally this was to entice the non-believer to Sune’s cause, but today it was also to Lortessa’s advantage in these muggy environs.
And speaking of unbelievers, Athasen made a gesture which Saiah recognized as the end of a prayer. A prayer to Istishia, the goddess of water. His glance turned to her immediately after; He’d noticed her attention. “A thanksgiving for safe passage.” He explained.
“Safe passage to this place?” spat Saiah with disgust. “Some of hovel of humanity’s cast-offs.”
Athasen shook his head. Saiah was barely 20 years old, a novice paladin in the Order of Sune’s Light, and had all the impatience of her youth. “I grew up in a town such as this. A place of thinly veiled civilization, barely one step above the savagery of the wilderness beyond. A slave in the gladiatorial arenas, bred to bleed and die for the amusement of lords and templars.”
“Is that so different from growing up an orphan on the streets of Calisham? Cursed with pale skin and beauty where such qualities make one stand out amidst the swarthy masses. A target for every slaver who would sell you to a brothel or seraglio for a hefty price.”
Athasen smiled. “No, not so different. We are more alike than you want to admit, Saiah. You should put more faith in yourself. Those blades at your side are proof that no man will try to enslave you again. Just as mine do.”
“Faith? In these blades?” mocked Saiah, fingering the scimitars on her belt. “When you delight in proving how inadequate my skills are whenever we spar?”
“And you think I should go easy on you?” retorted Athasen. “That does you no favors. I have decades of battle experience on you. The stronger the skill of your foe, the greater you will rise in the end. This is not about your ego, Saiah. It’s about making you ready to face a world made up of places like this.” He gestured to the port before them. “And worse still, what lies beyond them.”
Lortessa interjected impatiently. “We’ve had this argument a thousand times now. Is it even possible for you two be in the same place without sniping at one another?”
“Ever the peacemaker.” replied Athasen affectionately. “For you, I will keep silence on this matter.” He took her in hand.
Saiah snorted in disgust and marched off to another part of the deck.
“It’s less her ego than her envy, my love.” explained Lortessa. “I have you and she has no one, despite her obvious charms. That is why she resents you.”
“Envy or jealousy?” mused Athasen aloud. “After all, you are best friends and I’ve taken much of your time and attention these past months.”
“No, it’s envy. Saiah’s experiences have made her hard and fearful. She keeps people at arm’s length and always has. I try to loosen her up. Being in the church of Sune, we’ve all tried to loosen her up, make her more open and trusting. To no avail as yet.”
“She fears what she desires most.” said Athasen with an ironic chuckle. “As I once did. We are truly more alike than different.”
“What softened you?” Despite being lovers, there was much that Lortessa did not know about Athasen. He spoke little of his past.
“The kindness of friends and strangers. The love of women like yourself who were determined above all to hammer their way through my walls. One day, someone will come along who will not give up on Saiah no matter how harshly she tries to drive them away. One like my wife. Wives, actually.”
Lortessa knew of Athasen’s family. A whole grand lineage that nearly the ran the Zhentarim fortress of Darkhold by themselves. She knew he’d been married before and made a widower twice over now. She knew also that the first of those wives was, like herself, a Sunite priestess, a follower of the goddess of love and beauty. She knew also the second was a tiefling enchantress, the descendant of succubus with all the demonic beauty that came with that.
What she did not know was how long ago those marriages were. Had Lortessa tied together all the pieces of Athasen’s vast family, she would have been quite baffled. A son older than his father? A man in his late fifties with great-grandchildren in their 20s? The timeline would not add up.
There was, of course, a reason for that. Athasen was once known as Avouz, the Pereghost of Darkhold under the necromancer Haplo. A great hero of the Zhentarim who should have, by the typical lifespan of half-elves, died nearly a half-century ago. But here he was, still a healthy hale man just short of 60 years of age, rather than a frail ancient 150 years as he should have been. That was due to the intervention of the chaos demigod Falafel, who on a whim trapped Avouz and many of his friends and adventuring companions in a village where time did not pass for nearly a century.
Sadly, those who Falafel neglected to include in his little prank included Avouz’s wife and child, who continued their lives without him. Allichia, his tiefling wife, died of old age some 30 years ago. His son, Anaelar, now ran the largest mercantile guild in Darkhold at the ripe old age of 95. Anaelar’s children and grandchildren ran the guild with him, served in the Darkhold fortress guard, or were agents of the Zhentarim.
Upon returning to a world vastly changed, Avouz changed his identity and pretended to be yet another of Anaelar’s vast brood, rather than his father as he truly was. This was his great secret, one Athasen kept from nearly everyone outside his family. Beyond those who had been trapped with him who knew the truth, there was only one other who knew his true identity: the great diviner Alandar the All-Knowing, Athasen’s longtime mentor and dearest friend.
As was fitting for all men of power and influence, Athasen soon found himself a trophy woman to hang on his arm. Lortessa was a beauty, as were all priestesses of Sune, red of hair, lithe of body. But she too had secrets. Although working with Athasen as an agent of the Zhentarim, she was truly, along with Saiah, a member of the Harpers, an organization often opposed to the machinations of the Zhents. She was a spy and she’d gotten quite a catch, a captain in the Darkhold Guard who was tied to the strongest merchant house in that fortress city.
But despite his being a member in one of the most ruthless organizations in Faerun. Lortessa found Athasen to be kind, thoughtful, and loyal, a man of conviction and principle. She had fallen for him in spite of her mission and nearly every day prayed in secret that the Harpers would not order her to do anything to cause him or his family harm. In turn, Athasen had fallen for her, reminding him as she did of his first wife, Suna, who died in battle nearly a century ago.
The thud of the ship making contact with the pier drew all of their attention back to the present. They had come to Port Nyanzaru to investigate what was being called the Death Curse. Powerful magics could raise the dead, but now those who had received such a gift were falling prey to a horrid wasting disease. In addition, those same powerful magics had ceased to work. Alandar’s divinations had determined the cause to be somewhere on the subcontinent of Chult, far to the south of the Sword Coast where they all lived. So the Zhentarim ordered Athasen to investigate and he’d brought with him his two most trusted allies: Lortessa and Saiah.
The trio gathered their things and disembarked. The harbor was bustling with activity and it was clear that all the great factions of Faerun had sent their own delegations to investigate this terrifying curse. The Order of the Gauntlet, the Emerald Enclave, the Lord’s Alliance and the Harpers were all represented in the teeming masses of foreigners disembarking in this rough-and-tumble port city. Athasen also noted other Zhentarim present, which didn’t surprise him over much. His faction was notorious for covering all possibilities, so he never expected to be the only group of Zhents dispatched to Chult.
“With this many outlanders,” observed Lortessa, “it may be a challenge to find a decent inn.”
“On the contrary,” smiled Athasen, “The casual adventurer and opportunist here will likely seek the cheaper options: hovels, dives, and hostels. We need not worry when I have enough trade bars in my pack to buy such a place. No, we’ll rest in comfort and style tonight, my ladies.”
“I’d not advertise your wealth so openly, Captain.” said Saiah cautiously.
“Can anyone even hear me in this din besides the two of you?”
“Can’t be too cautious in a place such as this.”
“Noted.”
Athasen began to muscle his way through the crowd. It was not hard. Although a half-elf, he was nearly a head taller than anyone else. And although his ruby red hair was now streaked with grey, his presence was still quite intimidating and people shrank from before him.
Once outside the harbor, the crowd thinned considerably. It did not take the trio long to find an inn suitable to their needs and their affluence. As they approached, Saiah let out a disgusted sigh. Right next to the inn was what was obviously a brothel.
“Wherever there are men, there are whores.” said Saiah. “Love and beauty should never be sold for something so cheaply as money.”
“Spoken like a true Sunnite.” said Lortessa with a small dose of pride.
“Slavery is everywhere in places like these.” said Athasen regretfully. “Worse, perhaps, is the fact that many of those women would likely starve if not for their servitude. Come. We cannot all the wrongs of the world at once. We must keep to our mission.”
The Lovely Pearl Inn was well named. The building was well maintained and clearly meant for a clientele who preferred luxury. Athasen strove to the counter and placed a couple of gold coin upon it. “Two rooms please.”
“Coming up, stranger.” The innkeeper turned and fetched two keys from the cubbies behind him. “We used to cater only to rich merchants who came here to trade for exotic goods from the jungles. Now, it’s adventurers of all types. The Death Curse has made our little town wealthy beyond the dreams of Waukeen.”
“What do you know of the Curse?”
“Only that rumor claims it comes from within the jungle somewhere. That’s why you’re all here after all. There’s a mercenary that’s coordinating expeditions into the wilds. You’ll likely want to talk to her rather than setting off at random. The jungle is harsh to those who enter it unprepared.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
---
Saiah dropped her backpack onto the lush bed in her room. With a few quick motions, she unsnapped the catches on her breastplate and let that fall to the floor with a loud clank. The sea breeze coming from the window felt good on her bare skin and she quickly doffed her boots and peeled off her breeches. All her clothing sticky with sweat and grime from the sea journey. “I desperately need a bath.” She thought to herself. “I’m starting to look like the urchin I once was on the streets of Calisham, covered in dust and shit.”
She went over to the dry sink and fetched the silver bell she found there. She cracked the door and rang the bell, summoning one of the inn’s servants to her. A young male halfling dashed up the stairs from below and came immediately to her door. She opened the door further to allow him entry.
His eyes grew wide when he saw her state of undress, but Saiah ignored it. Modesty was not a virtue among the Sunnites and she did not mind that this servant (or slave, more likely) saw her in the nude. “Draw me a bath,” she instructed.
The halfling shook himself out of his wide-eyed stare and set to work immediately. Saiah walked over to the looking glass on the far wall. This was a quality establishment indeed to afford those sorts of luxuries. She inspected herself in the mirror with a frown.
She was muscular, her arms and legs both well toned. Her breasts small, but broad, almost flat against her torso. Her belly firm, with the lines of her abdominal muscles showing clearly. That was the primary reason she did not care for Sunnite attire that bared the midriff. Compared to Lortessa, who was softer and curvier in all the ways men typically liked, Saiah was like a rock.
But in the face, she was as feminine as anyone. Her cheeks were flush, her lips full, her blue eyes sharp, and her black hair long and luxurious. She reached up and pulled out the thread that held her hair in its ponytail and let it fall down her back. As she stared herself in the eyes, her frown turned to a smile. She liked that part of herself.
“To each their own, Lortessa likes to tell me. One day perhaps I’ll find one that finds all this to his taste.” She grumbled to herself. “Still not sure why an ogre like me would be inducted into a church of beauty. I only seem to have that from the neck up. Too many years of hard living for the rest of me to qualify. ” She heard water pouring into a tub. “Then again, the halfling didn’t seem to mind what he saw. Perhaps I’ll find someone with similar tastes in this dingy harbor.”
She turned to the halfling, who had just finished pouring the water and was now accenting it with rose petals and spices. “Will you require anything else?”
A tell-tale thumping began on the wall behind her. She listened for a brief moment and rolled her eyes. She then turned back to the halfling’s question. “Oil the swords and the armor while I bathe, please.”
“As you wish.”
An enthusiastic moaning joined the thumping sound. “Typical.” said Saiah aloud as the halfling began to work on her personal effects. The servant looked at her, as if expecting further explanation. She gave it. “My companions are often eager to get at one another wherever we travel. It’s almost ritualistic for them to make love upon arrival in a new place.”
---
In truth, it actual was a rite of the Sunnite church that Saiah was overhearing. Saiah was, of course, well aware of that, but simply didn’t bother to explain what was happening theologically to a lowly servant. Nor did she care to share her frustration and envy with him either.
But in the room next door, just as Athasen had himself thanked Istishia for their safe travel upon the waters, now Lortessa blessed their temporary abode by taking her lover to bed as enthusiastically and eagerly as possible. She and Athasen had quickly disrobed and got to it pretty much from the moment they were alone.
Although not a worshiper of Sune, Athasen certainly appreciated their approach to religion. Suna had been an equally enthusiastic lover, and she was strong and fierce as well. As quick to take him as he was her. She made love like she fought in battle, fearlessly, relishing every moment as if it were her last. In the end, that fate caught up with her and Avouz grieved her loss for many years afterwards.
Now he had Lortessa. She was more gentle, more nurturing, more passive. Part of it, Athasen wondered, was the difference in their ages. He, a man of middle-age with vast experience in all aspects of life, and she, a novice priestess barely the age of adulthood. But where Suna was fierce and courageous, Lortessa was smart and clever. He loved them both dearly.
“Let...this...place...be....where....love...and...light...flourish.” prayed Lortessa through Athasen’s enthusiastic thrusts. “May...it...keep...us...safe...for...your...service.”
Athasen had gotten used to this ritual, so he kept silent, focusing on his own part in their lovemaking. As Lortessa finished her prayer, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Best not...plant...your seed...where...it will...grow.” she gasped out.
Athasen frowned, but he understood. It was unwise to conceive here and then try to raise a little Athasen or a little Lortessa on the verge of a wilderness that had spawned a curse that now afflicted all mortals. As tempting as it was to have her bear him new sons and daughters, Athasen withdrew and sprayed across her bare back.
“I’m sorry, my love.” she said. “I know how much you desire children. But this...”
“No apology needed, Tess.” he replied, cutting her off. “We are here to battle whatever evil lurks in that jungle. Not start a family. I understand completely.” He leaned down and kissed her. “There will be other times.” He promised. He reached over to fetch a towel to clean up the mess he’d made.
Once done, Lortessa rolled over and faced him. He looked down to admire her. Her short red hair was damp with sweat, both from the heat and from their lovemaking. Her face flushed from the same. Her eyes were the color of the sky, a far lighter blue than Saiah’s. Her skin was fair and soft, marked with the fiery tattoos of her religious order. Tattoos that she would have first received in her childhood, marking her as one dedicated to the goddess.
As he admired her, she admired him in return. His long hair was not the same sort of red as hers, but had almost a ruby-like shimmer to it. His skin was tan like the sands of his desert homeland. His eyes were like gems, blue like hers, but darker still even that Saiah’s. All were marks of his otherworldly father, a genie of earth known as a dao. He had spoken truly when he talked about how he’d been bred for the arenas of his homeland, an unnatural mix of elf and elemental that could likely only happen when both were slaves to a powerful master. His skin showed another bit of his life of slavery as well, bearing many scars from wounds he’d received. Many were from the arena but some were from his many adventures after obtaining freedom. Lortessa ran her fingers along a particularly nasty looking one.
“Might be getting a few more of those here.” He commented grimly.
“Hopefully, not too many.”
“All part of the job. You may bear a few yourself in the months and years to come.”
“Hopefully, they won’t make me too ugly.”
“That,” he said with a smile, “would be an impossibility.” He leaned down to kiss her.
No comments:
Post a Comment