Irobu's Odyssey of Deceit Chapter 1: Lingering Legacy

Fry these scum.

It’s too dangerous. I won’t be able to escape any mishaps, Irobu Vikria rejected. “Back off wretches, or you’ll regret it,” she instead threatened, retreating further into the garbage filled alley. Clad in a travel stained woolen robe, the adolescent girl was staring down the pair of thugs advancing down the grimy alley after her. A motley assortment of rags covered their pallid skin; their faces were set in devilish and toothy grins.

You won’t be able to escape period if you don’t cast a spell.

“Come on love, there’s no need to be nasty,” one of the rag-adorned miscreants coaxed.

“Aye, that’s right. Just give us your pack and we’ll be off. It’s nothing personal, anything Sanusite related fetches a pretty pen—” his female partner explained.

“Last warning: leave now or this cesspool will be your grave,” Irobu interrupted. Calmly, she produced a dagger from her leather travel pack and pointed it at the would-be thieves. The steel blade glinted in the shadows.

“Oi, look at that Dun, she’s got a knife! Are you quaking in your boots?” the first thief mocked.

His compatriot drew a larger rusted knife and brandished it in the air. “Don’t make this ‘arder than it ‘as to be. There’s nowhere left to run.”

That assertion was confirmed when Irobu’s pack pushed against a firm wall in the gloom. Fine, we’ll do it your way, she at last acquiesced.

We’d be far more efficient if you’d listen to me the first time I propose something, foolish Irobu.

Hush, demon. Tell me the spell.

And so Thrun detailed a series of words and gestures he claimed would create a ray of boiling hot steam. Irobu followed his instructions while her stinking assailants crept the final few meters towards her; the lead bandit menacingly dragged her dagger against the stone wall during her approach. Greed distracting her from listening to the strange words Irobu was speaking, the knife-wielding bandit mercilessly lunged at the trapped Sanusite. Her wicked blade never connected, however. Instead, a cloud-like jet of vapor rocketed forth from Irobu’s index finger and washed over the attacker. The female thief tried to withstand the barrage, but ultimately tumbled backward and screamed. Having served its purpose, the jet vanished. The other miscreant’s eyes went wide as he looked from Irobu to his fallen friend. He promptly helped her to her feet when Irobu began speaking once more. They frantically hobbled away from their former prey; the knife-wielder howling all the while. Notwithstanding their frantic pace, a shout resounded down the cramped passage.

“Stop thieves! Let this poor woman be!” a deep voice commanded.

Immediately giving up on escaping to the streets, the robbers spun around and scampered back a few meters. Simultaneously, Irobu ceased her incantation for fear that this new voice belonged to a watchman. She next felt something crawling up her ankle. Bending over, the young Sanusite raised her robe and squished a black spider climbing up her leg. Before she had stood back up, another bug crawled over Irobu’s other ankle. Again she dispatched it mercilessly, though she noticed that a wave of spiders was scurrying between her legs. Cringing, Irobu jumped forward and spun around. Hundreds—if not thousands—of small, sable spiders now coated the walls at the end of the alley; many of them appeared to be advancing towards Irobu.

Guess we found the mishap, Irobu remarked with disgust.

Could have been worse, though it’s time to leave. Many of them appear poisonous, Thrun warned. Already planning to, Irobu retreated from the impending horde of arachnids. In the meantime, the criminal duo had unearthed a sewer grate from the refuse covered ground. A scraping sound filled the alley once the criminals spotted Irobu striding towards them, and with that, the ne’er-do-wells disappeared.

Savages, Irobu spat as they scrambled into the sewers. Letting them go, the young Sanusite studied the new figure approaching her. This was clearly a burly man; he wore rusty maille and held a substantial hammer. Great, more of these simpletons, Irobu remarked sarcastically.

“Mi’lady? Are you alright?” the noble gentleman asked.

Irobu nodded, put away her dagger, and pushed past him. “You’d best leave the alley,” she advised as she made for the streets.

“Wait a moment, Miss! Are you hurt? I heard a scream!” the gentleman blurted, scrambling after Irobu.

“I’m fine,” she stated dismissively when she at last escaped from the cramped alleyway. Throngs of pedestrians walked up and down the reeking avenue, while merchants loudly hawked their wares. Mule-drawn wagons trundled by at the center of the crowded lane; their drivers shouted at passersby and worsened the grating cacophony assaulting Irobu’s ears. She ignored these distractions and scanned the evening sky for any sign of the central castle, but the imposing facades of the dingy gray buildings blocked her view.

A child could have designed a better city, Thrun complained.

Indeed, Irobu agreed.

A few seconds later, the concerned citizen emerged behind her. “Ser Aydan Griffiths at your service,” he proclaimed, extending a callused hand at the adolescent who in his mind, he had surely rescued. When Irobu only stared at it, Ser Griffiths continued speaking. “I heard the scream of an innocent woman and knew that I had to intervene—with or without Buain. I’m glad I found you in time to save you.”

“You didn’t save me, I had it under control.”

“It sure didn’t sound like it, Miss…” Ser Griffiths retorted.

Rolling her eyes, she supplied, “Miss Irobu Vikria.”

“And so Miss Vikria, what business does a Sanusite have in Duncaster?” the knight inquired before Irobu could decide on a direction. Vaguely annoyed both at his presence and at her own inability to find her way, the young Sanusite scowled at Ser Griffiths. In addition to what she had gleaned previously, she saw that the man had an ugly, scar-riddled face and had a tonsure surrounded by silvery hair.

A paladin of one of the lesser gods, I see, Irobu determined. “It’s none of your concern, leave me be,” she rebuffed. Glimpsing the torrent of spiders scuttling towards Ser Griffiths, Irobu hustled along the busy street.

Ah, another zealot for you to bond with.

I’d never bond with that oaf. Silence, demon.

Ser Griffiths stubbornly followed in pursuit; common folk wisely moved out of his way.

“Please madam, at least allow me to escort you to your destination! This is a vile and dangerous place, as you have clearly seen. If anything were to happen to you on your travels I would only be further haunted.”

For Hekal’s sake, why won’t he leave me alone? Irobu carped.

Stop complaining and get directions from him, Thrun suggested.

At last Irobu slowed her quick pace and turned around. “I don’t need an escort,” she stated firmly, her fierce brown stare locking onto the knight’s slate colored eyes. “If you insist on being ‘helpful’, then tell me how to get to the Esteemed Sodality of Excursionists’ headquarters.”

“The Sodality headquarters, eh?” Ser Griffiths grinned. “I can do better than give directions, as I’m headed there myself to sign up! Thinking about enlisting?”

Irobu groaned to herself. Lovely, I suppose I’ll be seeing more of this oaf whether I like it or not. “Yes. Now let us depart before I pass out from this ungodly stench.”

“A wise plan, Miss Vikria. Follow along now, the sun will set soon, and these thoroughfares will be inundated with unsavory individuals,” Ser Griffiths advised.

After a brief internal deliberation, Irobu fell in line behind the knight, although she stayed a couple meters back to dispel any illusions that he was escorting her. Together they navigated through the winding thoroughfares on their journey to the center of the sprawling capital of the Freestate.

Unfazed by the distance between them, Ser Griffiths turned his head back towards Irobu a short while later. “So what drove you here, Miss Vikria? You aren’t one of those explorers are you?” When Irobu ignored the question, the knight stopped in his tracks and repeated himself.

“No,” she rolled her eyes, “the Sanusites haven’t dispatched explorers since the Holy Revolution. I’m here to train to eventually restore my family’s place in my home city of Gargam,” Irobu lied. Other common folk were swearing at the pair for blocking the road; Irobu had to jump out of the way of a waste bucket dumped from overhead. “Can we keep moving?”

“By all means. So what are you planning to train in? You don’t exactly have the build of a fighter…” Ser Griffiths continued his inquiries, shooting occasional backward glances at Irobu.

Refrain from divulging too much, Thrun advised. Who knows how many people are listening in on our conversation.

Did it seem like I was planning to? You sure state the obvious a lot for a ‘God-King’.

I know not what is obvious to your brainwashed mind—better safe than sorry.

Re-focusing on her surroundings, Irobu realized that Ser Griffiths was looking at her once more. “I’d rather not say at the moment, since I highly value my privacy. Regardless knight, your priority should be on leading the way, not interrogating me. You’ve led us into an assembly,” she stated, pointing to an unmoving crowd that blocked the road ahead of them.

“My apologies madam,” Ser Griffiths bowed his head slightly and gazed over the ring of people milling about. Reluctantly, Irobu took a spot beside the knight and went up on her tiptoes to peer into the center of the blockade.

A lopsided brawl was occurring within; four men in shiny maille surrounded a fifth man whose back was to Irobu. While the quartet bore the bird emblem of Duncaster on their well-kept armor, their hulking adversary was clad only in bloodied animal skins. As Irobu watched, the lone man frantically spun from guard to guard, which revealed that he held one of their comrades between his chained hands. The hostage’s face was beet red and was set in a mask of terror. Desperately, the captured fellow clawed at the chain digging into his neck.

How pathetic; even controlling their prisoners is beyond them, Irobu scorned.

Truly. And they outnumber him five to one.

“Let Harold… leave!” the hostage-taker demanded in a deep and heavily accented voice. His doe eyes darted around the shrinking cordon and his chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Put him down Harold, then we can talk,” one of the guards requested gently. “You’ll be able to return home to your grasslands and tend to your herds in no time.”

These are the kinds of savages whose encampments we saw on the plains; aren’t you glad we didn’t stop by their village?

I must admit I am, Irobu acknowledged. A rare instance of you telling the truth.

Briefly halting his paranoid spinning, Harold studied the speaker closely. He squinted his eyes and declared, “You…lying!”

And indeed he was, for the guard behind Harold snuck up and delivered a savage blow to the criminal’s head. Stunned, Harold stumbled forward and lost his grip on his hostage. This captured guard gasped for air and promptly rolled away from his assailant. Their friend safe, two guards grabbed onto Harold’s hands while their comrades roughed him up in retaliation. Some members of the crowd cheered for blood and others cursed the abusive watchmen.

This violent criminal deserves far worse than a simple beating, Irobu agreed with the first group. He should be made an example of.

Another rare moment when we are in agreement. Such behavior cannot be tolerated.

Nevertheless, the guards soon had their fill, and so they shouted at the impromptu assembly to disburse. The crowd quickly obliged for fear of suffering the same fate as Harold. Once traffic began to flow again, Harold and his wary escort wove between the freshly mobile carts and disappeared from view. Irobu and Ser Griffiths trailed after them on their path to the Sodality headquarters. Perhaps half an hour later, a large wagon ahead of Ser Griffiths turned into a side street, which revealed that Harold and his escort were still a short distance in front of the knight.

“Are you following that idiot?” Irobu shouted to Ser Griffiths over the din of the street.

“The criminal? No, though I imagine we’re headed to the same place,” the knight answered.

“Why is that?”

“Because convicts can enter the Sodality to escape harsh sentences, or at least that’s what the locals claim. They said I had to be mad to join willingly. Regardless, the Sodality sounds better than working for the corrupt magistrates or being an enforcer for shady businesses,” Ser Griffiths illuminated.

So that’s what Ser Robyn meant, Irobu pieced together. Blast it, what happened to the organization that was once the envy of the Mages of Qert?

Perhaps the Mages acted on their envy, Thrun hypothesized.

Her hopes sinking, Irobu asked, “How much farther?”

“We’re close now. A couple more turns and we’ll be on the central lane of the city, which’ll take us right to the castle,” Ser Griffiths laid out.

And so they went, striding through the streets as dusk fell over the urban landscape. Here the avenues were wide and spacious; perfumes and the smells of roasted meat replaced the stench of sewage. In addition, a variety of plants decorated the immaculate facades of the tightly packed houses, adding touches of emerald and crimson to the city’s primarily slate palette. This trend of increasingly flashy displays of wealth continued as the pair merged onto the main thoroughfare of Duncaster.

Brass fountains occupied the center of the expansive street, each depicted a different heroic figure that Irobu didn’t recognize. Grand halls, marble manses, and well pruned trees lined the gaudy boulevard, between which pedestrians walked briskly. More of the maille clad guards patrolled around and diligently scanned the passersby. These sentries saluted their brethren watching over Harold, the lot of which were still hurriedly marching in front of Irobu and Ser Griffiths.

It’s incredible that savages could create such a beautiful place, Irobu remarked incredulously.

Assuredly unexpected, but don’t forget the many miles of downtrodden hovels you traversed to reach this inner sanctum, Thrun reminded.

“Look Miss Vikria, there’s Castle Fowther,” Ser Griffiths gestured to the far end of street.

Jolted from surveying her immediate surroundings, Irobu followed the knight’s outstretched finger. A milky-white fortress loomed betwixt the rows of verdant foliage. Bone-like spires soared over the adjacent monuments and trees alike, reflecting the final rays of sunlight. These towers took root in an equally pale keep that disappeared behind a lofty curtainwall.

By Hekal, Irobu gaped. A diamond surrounded by filth.

Don’t rush to judgement, foolish Irobu. Look how the outer walls bear stains and how one of the spires is missing its top, Thrun chided.

As much as she wanted to prove Thrun wrong, Irobu did note the central tower lacked the conical roof that topped the others. Furthermore, the high wall engulfing the castle was either drenched in shadow, or stained a mottled gray.

Well, it must have been a diamond at one point, Irobu posited as she hurried along with Ser Griffiths.

“Say Miss Vikria, they have anything like that back where you’re from?” the knight quizzed during their approach to the massive fortification.

“Indeed there is. The Council building in Sanusi is more impressive, as are countless other temples to Hekal. None of our monuments are in such a state of disrepair however,” she bragged. Ser Griffiths muttered something under his breath and nodded.

The castle’s decay was readily apparent as Irobu and Ser Griffiths, together with Harold and his escort, closed the distance to Castle Fowther. Exactly as Thrun had keenly observed, it appeared as though someone had shorn the cap-house from the tallest spire, and dowsed what remained of that tower in soot. Moreover, the curtainwall that surrounded the castle crumbled in numerous spots and was coated in grime. Looking more closely, what Irobu initially thought were brown stains were in fact boxes and barrels used to plug holes in the deteriorating outer wall. A rusted portcullis blocked what Irobu imagined was the intended entryway to the courtyard; a low-burning torch illuminated this gateway.

Right again, Thrun bragged. You should have known these barbarians couldn’t maintain something so magnificent.

Yeah, yeah, you’re right, Irobu admitted in the hopes of silencing the ancient king.

Still eyeing the decrepit stonework, the two prospective Sodality members joined Harold’s slew of guards in front of the portcullis. Suspicious and hostile stares were their only welcome. Seeking to break the ice, Ser Griffiths explained their intention to enlist in the Sodality, which only made the escort scrutinize Irobu and Ser Griffiths further. Several of the men raised their bushy eyebrows, while others squinted at these would-be Sodality members for any sign of a jest.

Finding none, Harold’s former hostage remarked gloomily, “It’s your funeral.”

The knight shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “So what’s he in for?”

“This fool was dragging two Sodality members straight across the plains. Broke their legs even. Magister’s charged ‘im with assault and attempted kidnapping, and so ‘ere we are,” another one of Harold’s keepers explained.

Curious about this new speaker, Harold turned towards the knight. Blood was caked on his arms and legs and one of his eyes was swollen shut. As Irobu tried to discern Harold’s age, his escort quickly shoved him to stay facing the castle. Ser Griffiths winced, opened his mouth, but ultimately sighed and looked away. A few minutes of awkward silence later, the aged portcullis rattled and began to rise. The jingling of chains and the creaking of wood filled the emptying streets. Once the steel barrier rose above Harold’s head, the five guards pushed him into the courtyard beyond. Irobu and Ser Griffiths proceeded in their wake.

A stone path led from the gatehouse to the keep, on both sides of which were overgrown tracts of grass. Rotted barrels and other debris littered the path and fields alike. Undeterred by the unsightly environment, the quintet of watchmen trooped onward with Irobu and Ser Griffiths in tow. This varied band was halfway across the sea of grass when the portcullis crashed down behind them. All three prospective recruits jumped instinctively, whereas the seasoned guards retained their composure. Once the reverberations had died down, Irobu heard the pitter-pattering of feet from the rear. A backward glance revealed that a short, gold cloaked figure holding a torch was scampering at them.

What the… Irobu blurted

Surely the gatekeeper, Thrun surmised.

Whomever this figure was, they ignored the castle’s guests and dashed for the oaken door that led into the keep. The escort let him pass, thus a few seconds later the door creaked open and the torchlight vanished. Harold’s escort and the prospective Sodality members completed their lengthy trek shortly thereafter and filed into the run-down fortress.

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