Something Fishy (Jaezred) 13/8
Aug 22, 2019 17:24:47 GMT
Milo Brightmane, Stedd, and 2 more like this
Post by Deleted on Aug 22, 2019 17:24:47 GMT
Jaezred ladled some soup from the small pot hanging over the kindle into a zurkhwood bowl, which he handed to his young cousin, Igrainne, sitting on the grass on the side of a hill. She looked down sceptically at the stew—chunks of white fish and tomatoes swimming in a reddish, mildly thick broth with a generous helping of wild herbs—then back at him. “Er, what fish did you say it was?”
“Ixthusrun,” he said as he poured one for himself. “It appeared to have been the giant form of something surface-dwellers call an anglerfish. Don’t be shy, have a taste.”
He sat down at her side with his bowl and scooped a spoonful into his mouth. The broth was sour, as expected, but not so much as to overpower the fish, which, although not as fresh as he hoped it to be, was soft on the tongue, and it warmed his chest nicely. Beside him, Igrainne let out a hum of approval. He mentally gave himself a pat on the back for a job well done.
“Ssho, wheuh ‘xactly didya find thish giant angluhfish?” the half-human girl mumbled with a half-full mouth.
Jaezred frowned at her undignified manners, but answered nonetheless, “I happened upon the opportunity to visit the Sunset Spine mountains the other day. There was talk of a tribe of seafaring surface elves called the Galavir living somewhere in there, and I wanted to see them for myself. Experience their…primitive culture.” A cool breeze gusted through the valley, causing the meadow to ripple in its wake. “They’re a peculiar people, the Galavir. They told us this story about how they were once tricked by a giant creature called a Marid into binding their souls to a lake so it trade their life stories as currency, and recently, some of them made another blunder in their bargains and was turned into fish! The chieftain of the tribe sought help from some mercenaries out of Daring Heights, for which they seemed to have mistaken me. As I said, I was merely there to sightsee but in my travels, I have learnt that in order to indulge in a foreign culture, one must earn the people’s welcome. Lest he finds spit or urine or other unhygienic fluids in his meals.”
“Hm. Probably not undeserved,” Igrainne murmured under her breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“I thought so. Anyway, as I was saying, I condescended to assist the Galavir in their predicament, along with the other mercenaries. We were led into the former residence of the late Marid, where scouts from the tribe have been scavenging. We met this…I truly don’t know what she is, a water witch, perhaps? Called herself Madame Undertow. She explained that the elves were trying to activate this statue, blessed by the magic of a goddess of some sort, Umberlee, to conjure an endless supply of fish for the village. The witch offered to help them activate it in exchange for a favour—to slay the ixthusrun dwelling in the Elemental Plane of Water and retrieve its lantern for her. They refused her aid and attempted to manipulate the statue themselves, and that was how they were turned into fish. Got what they deserved, really.”
“So you went to the Elemental Plane of Water?” she asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice.
“Indeed. A vast limbo of endless water, it was. We were able to locate the ixthusrun and I helped kill it with my magics. Those adventurers would have been absolutely helpless if it weren’t for me and my Faerie Fire spell. Lolth tlu malla; jal ultrinnan zhah xundus*,” he muttered quickly, as if in prayer. “They were bafflingly stupid, even by surface-dweller standards. There was one that resembled a red-feathered chicken who kept firing off firebolts in water. Now I can see where the phrase ‘bird-brained’ came from. Ha!”
“Hold on…are you talking about Bones?”
“Yes, that’s what the bird called itself. Ate fish whole, bones and all. Disgusting…Oooh, so that’s where it got its name from.”
“Who else did you travel with?”
“A unpleasant party of ruffians and cattle, as you would expect. Well, I suppose two of them were not absolutely terrible. This darthiir** half-breed who lent me his smoked lens goggles and this blue-skinned devil-spawn who summoned a balgura during the altercation. I saw her push a fellow mercenary, this young human boy waddling around in heavy armour, out of the boat in the Elemental Plane of Water. That was amusing.”
She chewed and swallowed a spoonful of stew as she contemplated. “Okay, so that’s Traavor, Stedd, and…Serpentine? In her tiefling form? That’s unusual.”
“The worst of them was this red-bearded shield dwarf. Kept hurling abuse at me for no apparent reason, even after I saved their lives from the ixthusrun and the sharks that came after. Come to think of it, I believe I detected a Marches accent in his speech.” Jaezred chuckled darkly. “He must still be bitter about their glorious victory. Sad little man. The next time I see him, I ought to put him in his place like Matron Baenre did with his compatriots.”
Igrainne furrowed her brow at that and thought for a moment. Her jaw dropped open and a horrified look fell across her face when the realisation came to her. “Milo Brightmane?”
“He never gave me his name directly but yes, I’m sure that was it. A blacksmith, I think he was, like many of his brethren who revel in such dirty slave work. It’s a shame Baenre’s orcs didn’t wipe them all out. The world would be better for it.”
“Milo is a good man. And a friend of mine.” Her expression had suddenly morphed into a visage of rage, and Jaezred's heart nearly skipped a beat at the striking resemblance it bore with the one he had seen on Matron Mother Fiirnel’ther’s face several times before. He quickly calmed himself down with a deep breath, reminding himself that it was not her he was speaking to. Fortunately, the girl did not seem to have noticed anything.
“Not surprising that a filthy half-breed like you would consort with dwarves and the like,” he replied as coolly as he could. “After all, a traitor’s blood runs in your veins.”
With a shaky breath, she stood up abruptly and threw the half-finished bowl of stew onto the ground. “I’m ashamed to be associated with you,” she hissed.
“Oh, that’s rich!” He scrambled to his feet, brushing the grass off of his spider silk trousers as she began to walk away from him. “How do you think I feel? To be related to an apostate and a traitor and a half-breed? I am a Chosen of Lolth, for Abyss’s sake! But you don’t see me whinging about it because, as much as I loathe it, you’re the only family I have in this goddess-forsaken land, and the reverse is true for you. We understand each other better than anyone.”
“You don’t know me!” She roughly snatched her backpack from the ground, knocking over his in the process and spilling some of its contents. She slung it over her shoulder and started down a trail due east, turning her back to him.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Port Ffirst.”
“But I should be going back to Port Ffirst too and I don’t know the way!”
“Not my fucking problem!” she yelled over her shoulder.
As Jaezred stood there, gaping in disbelief at his cousin’s insolence, a strong gust of wind suddenly blew from behind him and carried in its draft a folded piece of lizard skin parchment out of his fallen backpack.
“No!” he cried.
Igrainne’s hand instinctively whipped out and grabbed the parchment before it flew off. Quickly glancing back at him with creased brows, she unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened when she saw an illuminated miniature of a beak-shaped cluster of large, towering stalagmites with house-like structures jutting out of them. It looked tall, grand, and wondrous. An Elvish inscription below the borders read: “Vandree compound, West Wall district.”
The ranger took a few steps back and wordlessly handed the parchment to him. With a final look of pity, she turned to walk down the trail once more, leaving Jaezred alone to close his eyes and press the page into his chest.
*Lolth be praised; all victory is her doing.
**surface elf, lit. traitor
“Ixthusrun,” he said as he poured one for himself. “It appeared to have been the giant form of something surface-dwellers call an anglerfish. Don’t be shy, have a taste.”
He sat down at her side with his bowl and scooped a spoonful into his mouth. The broth was sour, as expected, but not so much as to overpower the fish, which, although not as fresh as he hoped it to be, was soft on the tongue, and it warmed his chest nicely. Beside him, Igrainne let out a hum of approval. He mentally gave himself a pat on the back for a job well done.
“Ssho, wheuh ‘xactly didya find thish giant angluhfish?” the half-human girl mumbled with a half-full mouth.
Jaezred frowned at her undignified manners, but answered nonetheless, “I happened upon the opportunity to visit the Sunset Spine mountains the other day. There was talk of a tribe of seafaring surface elves called the Galavir living somewhere in there, and I wanted to see them for myself. Experience their…primitive culture.” A cool breeze gusted through the valley, causing the meadow to ripple in its wake. “They’re a peculiar people, the Galavir. They told us this story about how they were once tricked by a giant creature called a Marid into binding their souls to a lake so it trade their life stories as currency, and recently, some of them made another blunder in their bargains and was turned into fish! The chieftain of the tribe sought help from some mercenaries out of Daring Heights, for which they seemed to have mistaken me. As I said, I was merely there to sightsee but in my travels, I have learnt that in order to indulge in a foreign culture, one must earn the people’s welcome. Lest he finds spit or urine or other unhygienic fluids in his meals.”
“Hm. Probably not undeserved,” Igrainne murmured under her breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“I thought so. Anyway, as I was saying, I condescended to assist the Galavir in their predicament, along with the other mercenaries. We were led into the former residence of the late Marid, where scouts from the tribe have been scavenging. We met this…I truly don’t know what she is, a water witch, perhaps? Called herself Madame Undertow. She explained that the elves were trying to activate this statue, blessed by the magic of a goddess of some sort, Umberlee, to conjure an endless supply of fish for the village. The witch offered to help them activate it in exchange for a favour—to slay the ixthusrun dwelling in the Elemental Plane of Water and retrieve its lantern for her. They refused her aid and attempted to manipulate the statue themselves, and that was how they were turned into fish. Got what they deserved, really.”
“So you went to the Elemental Plane of Water?” she asked, a hint of jealousy in her voice.
“Indeed. A vast limbo of endless water, it was. We were able to locate the ixthusrun and I helped kill it with my magics. Those adventurers would have been absolutely helpless if it weren’t for me and my Faerie Fire spell. Lolth tlu malla; jal ultrinnan zhah xundus*,” he muttered quickly, as if in prayer. “They were bafflingly stupid, even by surface-dweller standards. There was one that resembled a red-feathered chicken who kept firing off firebolts in water. Now I can see where the phrase ‘bird-brained’ came from. Ha!”
“Hold on…are you talking about Bones?”
“Yes, that’s what the bird called itself. Ate fish whole, bones and all. Disgusting…Oooh, so that’s where it got its name from.”
“Who else did you travel with?”
“A unpleasant party of ruffians and cattle, as you would expect. Well, I suppose two of them were not absolutely terrible. This darthiir** half-breed who lent me his smoked lens goggles and this blue-skinned devil-spawn who summoned a balgura during the altercation. I saw her push a fellow mercenary, this young human boy waddling around in heavy armour, out of the boat in the Elemental Plane of Water. That was amusing.”
She chewed and swallowed a spoonful of stew as she contemplated. “Okay, so that’s Traavor, Stedd, and…Serpentine? In her tiefling form? That’s unusual.”
“The worst of them was this red-bearded shield dwarf. Kept hurling abuse at me for no apparent reason, even after I saved their lives from the ixthusrun and the sharks that came after. Come to think of it, I believe I detected a Marches accent in his speech.” Jaezred chuckled darkly. “He must still be bitter about their glorious victory. Sad little man. The next time I see him, I ought to put him in his place like Matron Baenre did with his compatriots.”
Igrainne furrowed her brow at that and thought for a moment. Her jaw dropped open and a horrified look fell across her face when the realisation came to her. “Milo Brightmane?”
“He never gave me his name directly but yes, I’m sure that was it. A blacksmith, I think he was, like many of his brethren who revel in such dirty slave work. It’s a shame Baenre’s orcs didn’t wipe them all out. The world would be better for it.”
“Milo is a good man. And a friend of mine.” Her expression had suddenly morphed into a visage of rage, and Jaezred's heart nearly skipped a beat at the striking resemblance it bore with the one he had seen on Matron Mother Fiirnel’ther’s face several times before. He quickly calmed himself down with a deep breath, reminding himself that it was not her he was speaking to. Fortunately, the girl did not seem to have noticed anything.
“Not surprising that a filthy half-breed like you would consort with dwarves and the like,” he replied as coolly as he could. “After all, a traitor’s blood runs in your veins.”
With a shaky breath, she stood up abruptly and threw the half-finished bowl of stew onto the ground. “I’m ashamed to be associated with you,” she hissed.
“Oh, that’s rich!” He scrambled to his feet, brushing the grass off of his spider silk trousers as she began to walk away from him. “How do you think I feel? To be related to an apostate and a traitor and a half-breed? I am a Chosen of Lolth, for Abyss’s sake! But you don’t see me whinging about it because, as much as I loathe it, you’re the only family I have in this goddess-forsaken land, and the reverse is true for you. We understand each other better than anyone.”
“You don’t know me!” She roughly snatched her backpack from the ground, knocking over his in the process and spilling some of its contents. She slung it over her shoulder and started down a trail due east, turning her back to him.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Port Ffirst.”
“But I should be going back to Port Ffirst too and I don’t know the way!”
“Not my fucking problem!” she yelled over her shoulder.
As Jaezred stood there, gaping in disbelief at his cousin’s insolence, a strong gust of wind suddenly blew from behind him and carried in its draft a folded piece of lizard skin parchment out of his fallen backpack.
“No!” he cried.
Igrainne’s hand instinctively whipped out and grabbed the parchment before it flew off. Quickly glancing back at him with creased brows, she unfolded the paper. Her eyes widened when she saw an illuminated miniature of a beak-shaped cluster of large, towering stalagmites with house-like structures jutting out of them. It looked tall, grand, and wondrous. An Elvish inscription below the borders read: “Vandree compound, West Wall district.”
The ranger took a few steps back and wordlessly handed the parchment to him. With a final look of pity, she turned to walk down the trail once more, leaving Jaezred alone to close his eyes and press the page into his chest.
*Lolth be praised; all victory is her doing.
**surface elf, lit. traitor
