Chained - 5

“Why the trinkets?” Gaius asked the words weighted with resignation as he re-entered the courtyard.

Only once I’d finished the latest rune did I glance up from cutting runes into a broken flagstone. I found Gaius’ gaze fixed on the first rune I’d made his hands trembling as his breathing hastened.

[Embed Mana (7 -> 8)

Artificer: + 20 Experience]

“First-year novices could etch cleaner runes than that,” declared Gaius, as he snatched up the rune. “What game are you playing?”

The outthrust hand still clutching the rune emphasised his point in case I’d missed it. Still, it’s a foolish gesture and such a vague question.

“You really shouldn’t blame another for your own faulty assumptions.”

“What do you mean?” Gaius demanded as his trembling fingers sent the rune clattering to the ground, a momentary burst of fire blackening the stone. The taste of his desperation is sour across my tongue but sparks reactions of ecstasy in my mind. Despite my pleasure centres igniting, I keep my focus on his terror. I can’t feel it myself, so I’ve only his reaction to guide me.

“Are you able to make the weapon on your own?”

Questions, my life is full of them, and yet I’m back to asking others about their problems. With my focus on him, my mind pushes past the pleasure tempting me to indulge.

“The rift won’t stay open without the infernal chains,” replied Gaius “and even if it did, the work would take decades and equipment I don’t have.”

“I have the infernal chains, as requested in your contract,” I state as I meet his gaze. “Tell me why they’re important?”

Despite my impatience, I keep my tone calm, with no idea how the habit had survived.

“The elemental rift into the plane of ice will open in the North when Mars’ sword pierces the night sky,” Gaius stated. He recites it so flatly that I fight to my immediate response, as a Devil I’m in no position to question superstitious babble.

“Does this happen often?”

Despite the emotions I see surging across his expression it gets a response other than fear.

“Of course, it doesn’t,” Gaius replied disbelief etches the words as he spits them at me. “Once every 75 winters at most, though sometimes it’s more obvious than others. This year the rift will reach the heart of the frozen realm.”

“I’m a first level Artificer.”

My blandly spoken words have the expected effect, and it’s just as well he’s still crouched. His legs give out from shock, and he falls in a boneless heap. When his head bounces on a flagstone, I only wince from vaguely remembered sympathy. The faintest memory of what pain feels like is all I have left of it. As his hands clutched reflexively to his skull, he curls up in a foetal position, his heartbeat racing away and adrenaline filling the air. With relief, I taste only a trace of coppery blood in the air.

“Once you get over your shock, get someone to heal you. Head injuries aren’t to be taken lightly.”

A groan comes as his only response, and I taste more fear than pain. It has the sharpness of limes, and cuts through the coppery scent of blood in a lovely way. He doesn’t move before I’m done with the fragments I’ve been using. With a shrug I start digging up intact flagstones, yet the sounds of my smashing them draw no response.

“You really should push your Willpower higher; a simple fact and your world falls apart.”

Spiteful words, said so calmly, but he reacts as if I’ve slapped him.

“How is it possible?” Gaius asks finally when I start on a flagstone next to his ear.

“Flagstones are easy to dig up, you just have to get a tip into the slot.”

His open questions are so much fun, their carelessness highlights the danger he is in now. I set him in a box, a perfectionist within his field of focus and dangerously careless outside.

“For you to only be a first level Artificer,” growled Gaius, irritation apparently bringing out the fire in him that fear smothered.

“I just chose it after you told me you had expected me to be one. Mother had told me what classes to take, I was under order not to take another till I had left my initial service in Hell’s army.”

“Classes? You chose it? Who trained you?”

The questions firing off one after another make me smile more, and his baffled expression makes him appear so cute and helpless. A little kitten mewling that had wanted out into the rain and now its unhappy as its fur’s all wet. Poor little kitten, wet, cold, stupid, and still not learning about asking so many open questions.

“But you’re all thousands of years old, renowned in legends for forging the weapons that keep the Demons in the Abyss,” insisted Gaius. The rising tone of his voice makes me wonder how many pointless questions he asked while I’ve let him prattle.

“No, if I was thousands of years old, I’d no longer be wearing Mother’s chains. Well, not if I wanted to move about.”

“What do you mean?” Gaius questioned, and I enjoy seeing lively expression he makes as his mind appeared to whirl. “You said you control all your chains.”

“I have to. If I don’t, they’re too heavy to move in. It’s the reason my sisters eventually had to give them up.”

“Did their Powers over the chains weaken?”

“Of course not, but the metal of the chains is alive, so they’ll continually grow. At some point they’ve all found the chains outgrew their ability to control them. Though they’ve all had more than enough options as to use replacing them.”

Stepping back from him I release some of my control on my shroud, and the metal I’d been compressing with my Willpower uncoils across the stonework. I had constrained the links to the length of my pinkie but now release they’re each a hand’s length. I direct one chain to lift by its growing link, a clear flaw in my shroud. It’s as if a blacksmith had partly smelted one forged link into another, overlapping them.

“Each length of chain grows a new link each year, this one is about halfway done. When it finishes growing, it will be my birthday, and the weight will be so many lovely full links greater.”

As I motion to the hundreds of chains whose ends coil over the floor Gaius seems to understand my sarcasm. Reaching through the chains, I draw them back in again and they respond to my Will, yet the weight remains the same. All together they’re not even the weight of one of Mother’s links something at least to be thankful for presently.

“I’m doomed for no reason.” Gaius groans, and his self-pitying tone makes me snap.

“Enough!”

My chains lash out, and I shift the weights into spikes just before they impact the flagstones, showering him with stone chips. Gaius flings his hands up in time to protect his eyes from debris. Though the impacts still cause stone slivers to lace across his arms and face. Sharp lime fear slides through the air so invitingly as I step towards him, and he looks at the cuts on his forearms.

“But the contract says you can’t harm me or the expedition members.”

“Foolish boy, I didn’t harm you the rock fragments did that.”

“But you broke the rocks!” protested Gaius. When he draws a runic pattern on his arm with his blood, the wounds sealing gets my interest.

“So…semantics. Just like you asked for one of the Mother’s daughters with infernal chains to aid your work. Idiot, an even bigger idiot for signing, you should have just let him ruin them. You let them sell your Soul for what?”

“The sword still needs to be made, it’s in your contract. You can’t hinder the work, otherwise I’m freed from you claiming my Soul,” Gaius declared. At least he knows a clause that isn’t trapped or negated. Though he’s been foolishly giving me information, now I know there’s a sword involved.

“Good, using your brains instead of letting fear govern you. What do you need to get this sword made?”

“The rift only stays open a short while after the sword pierces into the sky’s depths. We needed infernal chains to hold it open till we completed the work. Vulcan’s High Smith says it is the only material that can withstand such cold and can force the rift to stay open.”

“How will the expedition members withstand the cold?”

“We’ll handle our own protections, all coming in will possess their own means,” stated Gaius.

“What tools did you expect me to have besides my chains?”

“You’re asking so many questions!” Gaius protested, and the smile give in response makes him swallow nervously.

His knuckles as he wrings his hands, and my smile stretches in ways I know show too many teeth. If he sends me back without reason I’ll drag his Soul to me when he dies, but it’s the last thing I want right now. Stupid, stupid boy, how could he sign it - far better ruin than going there.

“I’ve given you lots of useful information. Let’s figure out how to make this work. You want the sword made, don’t you? Do you have a runic pattern that can compel truth?”

“I know one that shocks the person if they lie, but it can’t compel.”

Gaius answer comes with suspicious hesitation, but he relaxes far too much when my smile becomes normal.

“Draw one that we can take turns using. There are things I need to make clear, and not have you doubting.”

My plan is a risk, but life is a risk and I have something to live for at long last. When he hesitates, I lay some cards out.

“You signed the contract. If you break it, I get your Soul, even if I provide no help. As long as I’ve not broken my side your Soul is mine. I want to make a few things clear and neither of us has a reason to trust the other. Do you trust your runic skills or not?”

The prod towards his pride in his skill gets him moving, and when he returns with equipment, I watch him set to work. The Runes that I’ve made were more a requirement of mana and focus than a challenge to draw. When he works, I see the difference, and his example alone is enough to make my Rune Lore increase. The runes are symbols that start alone, but he uses them to build a greater whole.

When he’s done, I’m looking at a plate engraved so elaborately it looks like someone carved out a Celtic knot. Yet instead of a single line it’s formed from runes smaller than my pinkie nail to create a shape the size of a dinner plate. He set the runes within a double circle, and I see the similarity with the Summoning circle. Instead of an entity it brings forth an effect dependent on the Mana shaped to the engraver’s skill. The taste of the Mana in the circle is clean and it’s delightful to taste the air, with it so close at hand.

“How does it work?”

Gaius licks his lips as his glances moved between me and the plate, obviously still wondering if I’ve lied.

“While it lasts the individual touching the circle needs to speak the truth, or they’re shocked. The more lies they tell before releasing, the greater the pain the shock causes. To activate it, nick yourself and touch the blood to the circle, breaking contact stops the effect. The more you lie the faster the runes wear out, every statement after you are in contact has to be a truth to avoid injury.”

I can just imagine someone strapped into a chair bleeding against a runic pattern carved into the back.

“Do you have enough Mana left to make another?” I ask since he clearly missed my intention to take turns.

“Easily, why?”

His tone is clearly baffled, making me wonder if his intelligence is all caught up in his craft.

“Well unless we want to keep cutting you it’s hard to take turn answering questions. I plan to answer questions but you’ll need to answer some as well.”

“Oh yeah.”

The lights finally come on, and he scrambles for more supplies

Crafting the second takes about the same time as the first, it’s hardly even an hour before the work is complete. A faint smile as the energy thrums across the second plate is all I need to know how much he enjoys his work.

Cutting my thumb on a spike’s tip, I set my hand in place on the one close to me.

“First, I’ll tell you one implausible truth, then a plausible lie, so we both know if it works. I fetched an egg for Mother, bursting my eyes.”

The runes show nothing as his eyes widen in surprise. Yet the next statement I have planned is more fun, as the runic pattern glows bright and the electricity crackling through flesh delights. A surge of pleasure rakes my body from my fingers to my toes.

“I’m looking forward to taking your Soul to Hell.”

His flinch lets me know I’ve reminded him of the stakes at play, but as he watches my reaction concern widens his eyes.

“It didn’t hurt you!”

“I don’t feel pain Gaius, only pleasure, and it certainly worked. Would you like me to lie to you again? Or for you? If not, then it is your turn,”

“Why aren’t you looking forward to taking my Soul to Hell?”

“I can taste your Soul Gaius, it's not one that belongs there. Your family’s stupidity is going to send you to a place you don’t belong. It may seem odd but I don’t look forward to it, I’ll still take it because you signed and I’ll enjoy the reward. What I won’t enjoy is seeing you damned to Hell, nor the process of taking or dragging your Soul to Hell.”

He keeps glancing between the plate and my lips as if he isn’t sure he’s hearing right. It’s long moments after I’m done before he sets himself ready with sure motions. The brush of a knife across his thumb and I enjoy the coppery aroma in the air as his words surprise me.

“My master didn’t want to take me as an apprentice.”

The pattern does nothing at his words, and I wonder at the story given he was honestly proud of being the youngest Master.

“I trust the others coming on the expedition to act in its best interest of our goal.”

When the runes light up, I see the effect they should have had as he grinds his teeth and pain makes sweat bead along his forehead. His words do one thing for me, they make me glad he’s got some common sense.

“The pain gets worse than that?”

My question comes out in a rush, and I wonder how skilled I’ll need to be to make this. Would it count if I’m telling lies with no one else around to hear them?

“Much worse,” admits Gaius with some hesitation. When he goes to lift his hand I shake my head, and reminded, he keeps it in place. I can’t help but wonder at how much I could make from my kin with such a fun toy. Why haven’t I heard of this before, too tame perhaps?

“Now I want to learn how to make these to use on myself. I’ll start with another truth, besides that one, then ask you a question. I don’t actually want to take your Soul to Hell.”

When the runes don’t light up, he looks from the plate to my face before he finally managed a question in his disbelief.

“What do you want then?”

“It my turn to ask a question, but I’ll give you that one for free. To stay on this world, and spend hours looking at the beautiful blue sky above us right now. Can you do all the runic work the sword requires?”

“Many but not all, I’ll need to increase my skill to complete all of them perfectly. That will mean more materials that can withstand more complex runes. Why don’t you want to take my Soul to Hell?” Gaius asked again. Even as he voiced the question the emotions are clear, his sorrow is sour across my tongue, even as his scent lights up with sweet curiosity.

I almost snort at his persistence in asking, and wonder if that is what it takes to make a Master Artificer so young.

“I can taste your Soul: it’s like a bright flame, fierce, hot and unsullied, it’s not a Soul that belongs in Hell. How long will it take to make the sword including time to improve your craft?”

It’s a question I asked with almost bated breath, and it’s with mixed reactions that I get his answer.

“As much as a decade or two, perhaps longer. It will depend on the material we can gather via the rift. How bad was the contract I signed?”

“It depends on how you want to rate bad. Say one is you got the best deal you could from Hell. While ten is-“

“The worst deal and my Soul is damned no matter what I do,” Gaius interjects.

Though his statement tells me something useful - how badly he’s underestimated things.

“If you think that earns a ten, I’ve bad news for you.”

“I signed a ten, didn’t I,” Gaius words are practically a groan, but I go on the moment he stops speaking, he really needs to not interrupt.

“No,” When Gaius sighs in relief I almost don’t go on, but I taste the Mana gathering in the runes and continue. “It was more like a forty, or higher, depending on the expedition’s size.”

“What?!”

Gaius’ goes as pale as a bedsheet, and it makes me roll my eyes in disbelief. I don’t understand how anyone entrusted him with the negotiations. Did they have no one else able to contact Hell?

“There are clauses in it that if they activate, I get to take the Soul of everyone involved. You formed a Holy Pact between your faiths to share each other’s fate, so none might be tempted to betray. One really needs to be careful in wording such things, since you then accepted an Outsider, me, as a member of your expedition.”

The emphasis I put on the keyword gives it a sibilate noise with my forked tongue, and I see despair in his eyes.

“Then we’ll have to make the attempt alone!”

Gaius' tone is strident before I verbally sweep his foundation away.

“Have they already signed on to take part in the expedition?”

Gaius forces himself to his feet and paces without answering. As he clutches himself tightly, it shows the muscles in his arms nicely. As much as I don’t mind the pacing, I’m not getting paid to provide therapy. Though after what I’ve been through, I wouldn’t trust myself to give it. I just know a Band-Aid is best removed quick.

“Haven’t they already agreed to the Pact?”

Each word of my question slaps the air, and he finally responses.

“Yes,” Gaius’ answer is barely a pained whisper, and I wonder at what reasons they have for taking part.

“Then it's too late. If they don’t go and we needed their help then they’ve impeded the work, which causes their Souls to become forfeit. Best-case scenario: we get there, get it all done, no one betrays us, and I go back to Hell.”

It’s not the absolute best case for him, because if I break the contract, I get nothing, and his Soul is free. Though I didn’t make him sign it, and I’m not paying the damn penalties. There are things that can be done to you even if you can’t feel pain, and I’ll not go through those for anyone.

“What happens in that case?” asks Gaius, but we both know he’s already aware of the answer. I can tell he’s hoping he’s wrong, or maybe he fears that there is even worse installed.

“When you eventually die your Soul comes to Hell, and I get credit from the recruitment division. They’ll decided what to do with you. Likely you’ll end up changed into a type of Devil to do your part in holding the Demons back. If you retain enough memories of your life you’ll likely end up working a forge somewhere, if you don’t you’ll be a grunt sent to training. Fodder for the defences.”

Gaius swallows and I know I should ask my own question, but I can tell he’s having to gather his courage, so I let him go on.

“Worst case?”

I nod the moment the question comes from him, and I give him the penalty clauses that it would force me to enact and leave the rest alone.

“Everyone dies while we’re on the expedition and it’s because of an expedition member’s deliberate action. In which case everyone’s Soul comes to Hell when I return. You’ve been jumping in all over me with questions. It’s my turn. Why did you get excited when I lifted my chains? Did seeing me naked turn you on?”

The gulp isn’t from fear this time, but pure embarrassment, and his bronzed skin darkens in a lovely shade.

“You’ve beautiful scars, and muscles,” Gaius admits, and it seemed like it almost took him as much courage as asking about the worst case. It’s especially amusing because I can taste his honesty and he’s no longer touching the plate.

“You get aroused by scars and muscles?”

I’m getting concerned he might bat for the other team; I really could use a friend with benefits. The deepening blush provides me relief on those grounds at least, even if I’m left wondering at his sanity.

“I got aroused by yours. Your scars are pictures and your muscles looked perfectly proportioned.”

The smile I give him is perhaps a little too predatory and it makes him gulp again.

“Next time you should let me help you with that.”

When I flow to my feet and lift the chains high enough so he can see up to mid-thigh I hear him groan. His heated gaze taking in the vines I’ve carved into my flesh, and the flowering roses with an eye peering from their buds.

“Perhaps we can discuss how you might see more. We both have needs after all, and with where you’ll be going, I’m sure you have protection from cold.”

I raise the chains higher still, and when he flees the courtyard, my laughter follows.

He’s even more fun than teasing Julia; she at least admitted needing to get laid. He doesn’t even look back as I store the runic plates away, and wonder if it would be useful for developing other resistances. That could be why I’ve never heard of them, if their edge is blunted after too long a use.

It turned out to be a nice day for sun-bathing, hours spent relaxing in the sun and watching clouds drift through a lovely blue sky. When Gaius didn’t return before the building shaded the courtyard, I climbed to the roof to enjoy the last few hours of it there. Years of nonstop everything and suddenly my life is on hold, waiting for the rest of the expedition. I really want a cock inside me, and some proper orgasms. Instead, he went and left.

As the sun fades with him no where in sight, I pluck a roof tile up and begin carving. Since I know focusing on perfecting a skill provides the best advancement, I carve each known rune repeatedly. When I run out of Mana I watch the energy flare as I toss each to the courtyard below. By the time morning comes the stones have suffered from my night’s work, alternatively having been blacken by flames, or frosted by cold, while the empower runes cracked stones. The hold spell, and wounding runes do nothing to the stone but I tossed them down to break, I wanted to be sure I didn’t just leave them for someone else’s profit.

Gaius arrives as the latest flames erupt from the ground, and wincing he looks up from the entry way to where I’d tossed them down.

“The expedition will be assembling, if you’d come with me Sidero.”

His tone is so polite, and I want to slap him for every word. Stepping off the edge the weights on the chains turn to spikes, and I stab them into stone to slow my descent. A shower of fragments from the building’s ruined stonework precedes me, as I take my time, and break more than I need.

“Tell me one thing before we go. Why the big deal about making a sword?”

“It’s not just a sword, it’s Winter Heart, and the prophecy says Mithras will die if it’s not made,” Gaius blurts out, and I can tell from where he’s gained his focus to carry on.

Hell, no wonder Mother told me to bring the baby home.

* * *

The expedition is larger than I had expected to be heading into remote wilderness; I guess it’s not a complete surprise. A platoon of legionnaires led by an officer type is the obvious security of the group. Most of the troops are doing their best not to look at me, but sneak looks regardless. The officer is a different matter, it’s clear he’d prefer I didn’t exist and even when his gaze moves in my direction, he looks right through me.

The number of Priests coming along makes it seem as if someone told them there would be silver snowflakes and they could line their Temples’ coffers. Aside from the ones from the Roman Pantheon there is another that sounds Norse. Though at least we’ve not got a Priest for every Roman god - for that we’d need a theatre.

I catch their names when everyone is introduced, but I’ve already been studying their reactions to my presence. A quiet distrust is the calmest I taste, the tang of it the bitterness of saffron; through to a full-blown rage that forms an acidic bile thick across my tongue, and its just as well I can’t throw up.

Seven Gods turn out to be represented and I wonder if someone was going for a mystical prime number. The Priests for Mars, Mithras, Mors, and Minerva are introduced in short order, making me wonder if every God will be an M. Then Vulcan and Janus break the streak. I’m surprised though when a Priestess of the Norse Goddess Skaði, turns out to be among them and I wonder who convinced her to join the fun.

This expedition looks like it’s going to be almost a complete sausage fest, there will be lots of unhappy troops learning it might take decades now. Heck, it almost feels like I’m in one of Julia’s IT teams, and the thought of her makes me frown. I’ve held off thinking about her or Rachel in years. Rachel, what a mess.

Was it Rach screaming in that place? Why haven’t I thought of her in so long? Why now? Please let it have been my imagination, please let Rachel at least be safe. I’d ask the same for Julia, but I know she’s dead. Is this the afterlife I earned? No, those messages that I remembered at the forge. Something about being cursed, but no idea why?

“Before we have the briefing, I’d believe the Priests and I should speak alone. We have a few matters to consider and plan before we depart,” Gaius said, gesturing to a door adjoining to the chamber he’s brought me to.

The acidic stench of rage is even thicker in the smaller room and it’s easy to confirm it’s coming from a single source. I flick my tongue at the taste, but I can’t yet tell who has their rage going hard on. Once everyone is settled in a circle of chairs and the door is closed Gaius stands to speak.

“The information we received was faulty, while Sidero has the infernal chains to hold the rift open she is not a skilled Artificer. I’ll be able to complete the work, but it will take longer than expected. Perhaps a decade if not more, as there will be wastage in materials we gather while I work out the proper empowerment of the runes.”

Gaius’ statement is so coldly factual I can’t help but be impressed; yesterday he was falling apart, today he’s got his act together. The rest took the news better than I had expected, though it still sets a gloom over most, and the rage grows thicker still.

“We should release the troops they’re not part of the official expedition, a decade away from their families is well past any of their terms of enlistment,” Titus stated. The Priest of Mars having jumped straight to the concerns of the men makes me smile. With his eagle features and square chin, he cuts the figure of a heroic noble from long ago. Most impressive of all, he speaks with conviction, and without deception, only genuine concern.

He’s a military man through and through, the others relaxed into their chair not so with him. Since he’s wearing Legionnaire armour, he can’t exactly relax, but I feel he’d still sit with rod straight spine even if he could. The dust of grey in his stark black hair gives him a distinguished look that’s aided by the angularity of his checks leading to a solid chin. While the brown of his gaze is normal enough, there is a will within them I can admire. A High Commander, an interesting name for a Priest’s Prestige Class, though it makes sense given he serves Mars.

“What about camp security? With this thing in our midst we’ll need more security not less,” objects Martialis, but at least I know why the scent of acid is so strong. With every word he spits in my direction, I lick more acidic bile from the air.

Pretty boy is the first words that came to mind when I saw Martialis, and his pompous tone doesn’t disappoint. His hair is all curly and looks as if someone styled it, making me wonder if he used magic or just a ton of some sort of gel. Especially since the ends of his locks make it clear the curl isn’t natural. Brown hair so pale he’s a dirty blond, and it certainly suits. He should be the Mithras Priest as his Soul tastes as if the sun shines out his arse. Analysis says he’s a High Priest, but compared to Titus he tastes weak I wonder why he’s involved?

“You’re not fit to decide matters of safety Martialis, I was told this expedition was vital so why is the Church of Janus weighing us down with you? The only person worse I can think of is your twin, at least his novice got brought back to life by someone.”

The edge in Horatia’s retort feels oh so personal. I can’t help but wonder if there are snacks around, or if someone would at least be kind enough to fill me in. The hatred from her spices the air, a rank, sour taste, so close to the acid of rage yet distinct.

Minerva is the Goddess of the Arts and from Horatia’s appearance I wonder if they pick novices for their looks as well. Her rounded chin goes well with her curved cheeks, and her  wide-eyed look certainly would disarm many men I’ve known.

Her skin is clear of any of the blemishes or marks that so decorate Senca’s features. Wheat coloured hair reminds me of a northern Italian and goes well with her grey-blue eyes. The breadth of her shoulders isn’t as firm as Gaius or Titus, but it’s clear she’s no stranger to the centurion armour she wears or the gladius at her side. Two Prestige Classes, though none above Tier 3: High Priestess, High Sage, with Ranger and Scout I wonder what she’s going for next.

“Releasing them is a good idea, we could likely recruit a few Mountain Elves, perhaps Rangers with experience in the far north,” suggested Inger. “They’d be more useful compared to Legionnaires, less need of rest, and less inclined to grumble about lack of sex or beer.”

The Norse Priestess is a solid beauty, like watching a mass of glacial ice reflecting sunlight above a pristine ski run. Knowing that while it stays still it’s beautiful but if it falls towards you best be swift on your skis. Her skin and hair are both ice white, so she’s either a near albino, or there is something mystical at play. With her square chin, straight nose, and wide grey eyes, she looks like someone took Gry Bay, and blenched away all colour except her gaze.

“The Elves interested might not be orderly enough for the wards-“ said Senca, and I look the priest of Vulcan over again. His features aren’t the classic roman like Titus possesses, instead he hit every branch of whatever ugly tree he fell from. Then went back and head butted it a few times for good measure. With a wicked witch chin, moles and all, a vulture hook of a nose, plus features that have been scarred and burnt.

Most of the scars look like they were from bad acne, chicken pox, and molten sparks all rolled together, except for two blade strikes. The first cut his left ear apart, and another nearly claimed an eye. That cut goes from his jaw line straight up his face: bisected his lip, clipped a piece from his right nostril, before cutting into the bone beneath his eyebrow. If anything, the scars soften the irregularity of the rest of his features, making him more human.

He looks like someone central casting would send if you asked for a villain, yet he tastes as clean as pure silver.

“High Smith Senca, it actually might be better, not worse,” Gaius interrupts, and as Senca looks his way I see yet more scars beyond the cropped ear.

“Explain Gaius, and since we’re going to be working together for a decade, I’d suggest we forgo procedures for these and future discussion.”

For an ugly cuss he makes sense, which is amusing given the sound of his name.

“The wards will focus the Order present to help stabilise the rift and the work. Too much Order leaving once the wards are in place, will destabilise both. If the Elves we hire are independent types, they’ll be able to come and go without issue.”

“If we can’t leave the wards, how will we be fetching anything from the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice?” asks Martialis. I’ll given him credit for a sensible question, even if laced with a sneer.

“The inhabitants will come for the rift, especially during the colder months, to gain access to this world. We’ll also be able to pass through the rift as long as we don’t stray too far, but I’ll put protections in place,” Inger stated. It’s clear she’s looking to get in ahead of the fiery words I see Horatia mustering, and not chancing their eruption she directs her gaze towards Vitus.

This whole expedition is apparently about a sword for his Deity’s cause, but he’s yet to say a thing.

“I trust the word of Gaius and Inger that we’ll be able to gather what we need,” Vitus stated, and paused in thought. Glancing at Martialis, with an almost serene calmness he continued on, “With the Legionnaires left behind can you take us directly North, or will we need to travel the Shadow Plane?”

Vitus’ tone in no way matched what I expected from him, he was a massive bear of a man close to two-twenty centimetres tall. What I could see of his expression looked as if someone had chiselled him from stone, yet he sounded gentle in contrast to his appearance. Thin, hard lips, and a blade of a nose set in a large round face. It’s hard to make out all his features hidden by a thick beard and a mop of wild hair, yet his deep voice rumbles in a gentle tone. There was no bitterness or concern in his words, just a sensual vanilla that poured across the skin.

“With the numbers we have I’ll be able to set us in a large bay northwest from Stoneheart. From there we’ll either need to take the Shadow Ways or go along the coast,” replied Martialis after a moment of consideration.

“That’s nowhere near any Mountain Elf lands, but I can send a message to some I know; and provide them a means to join us.” Inger stated after a few minutes’ consideration.

“Make that arrangement please, Inger,” requested Vitus. “My things are ready. Is everyone else prepared to leave now, or shortly at least?”

There is an exchange of glances and shrugs at the question, but no one seems inclines to protest. Titus steps out to speak to the troops and from the excitement out there they’re certainly pleased to be given an out.

The last member of our merry band of mostly men is Quinctus, the only one who hasn’t spoken up during the discussion. A High Priest of Mors, the Roman Goddess of Death, hooded up and cowled as he is, I wonder if any realise how long he’s been, well, dead? The air tastes dry and stale around him, and screams of an Undead to me, but the others blandly ignore it. He smells of embalming fluids, smoking incense, and salt. Like Gaius, Quinctus is almost a blank slate and Analysis gives me nothing as to his actual classes, but I don’t need Analysis to tell when an Undead is nearby.