Not To Be Crossed: Part One

2010-06-30T13:59:00.000-07:00

Transposer's Note: This first tale concerns a subject that crops up in a lot of the Archivists' early tales, a man named Darryl Cross. Cross was a worker of eldritch forces from beyond the veil of mortal existence. These wise people, who I shall be referring to as magi, came from all corners of Mathis. Their conduct was dictacted by a worldwide organization known as the Mage's Guild. For decades, Cross worked for this Guild as a Threat Response Agent. In certain cases where local governments couldn't (or wouldn't) handle a situation with am eldritch bent to it, the Guild would send out an Agent to examine the situation. This Agent would then either solve the trouble themselves, or alert the Guild that further assistance was needed... and THEN solve the problem.

My (and now your) guide to this first tale was (and is) Arthur Hollister. Hollister was Cross' apprentice in the ways of the the eldritch and of the Guild devoted to their protection.

---

It was a dark and stormy night.

Damn me, but that's a cliché way to start a story, isn't it?

But it was. A miserable autumn's night in the middle of the frontierlands. And not the "just over the mountains" part of the borderlands that was only slightly less tame than the heart of the Empire. We were far closer to the front of the Draconian border than I ever cared to be.

So it was not only a dark and stormy night. It was a dark, stormy, grimy, terrifying night. But we wre only an hour's ride to our destination, and Darryl wasn't about to stop. We were badly needed. We were always badly needed. The Threat Response Service wouldn't exist if it wasn't necessary, after all.

You see, governments back then had trouble containing certain incidents involving the eldritch. Mostly the Empire and Milasia, but sometimes things boiled over in Al'Masad, or there'd be an uproar in Rubica. As far as the Guild was concerned we weren't protecting countries, but the world. That's why we remained an international overwatch organization. If a country wanted Guild protection, they followed the Guild's rules, and that meant passing laws restricting eldritch item trade and banning dark magics.

The Rosel Empire always played by the rules. That's why the Guild liked the Empire. Consistency. Al'Masad was fairly consistent as well, but not as many eldritch incidents occured in that part of the world. With Milasia, whether we got trouble depended on which House was in power at the time. Rubican temperment towards the Guild changed nearly every generation, thanks to the the tumultuous nature of Rubican politics. Bubaria tolerated our presence... barely. Dracony had no representatives in the Guild, and their violent opposition to trade and diplomacy from other nations prevented us entry into their lands. And Khyyran Rhee... well, the less said about Khyyran Rhee the better.

Little of that mattered at the moment, though. Our destination was Elkhorn, a Roselian frontier town. Like I said, it was uncomfortably close to Draconian colonial holdings... and given that the Empire was at war with Dracony, the tension was palpable. Apparently, however, it wasn't dracon incursion that plagued the hamlet of Elkhorn... it was kurods. Kurods were doglike creatures that come to knee-height on your average human. They were small, and not particularly vicious... usually. They kept to themselves, residing in the Low Places and taking their keep from the other Lowdwellers.

Elkhorn had, for some reason, attracted the ire of the kurods, and were slowly encroaching on the village. Reports that had reached us along with the call for aid told a grim tale; several hunters has been wounded or slain in the forests surrounding Elkhorn, including most of a band of adventurers seen in the area as of late. It was up to Darryl and me to determine the reason for the kurod incursion and (if it proved to be eldritch in nature) put a stop to it, before any more fell.

As we rode into Elkhorn, the wind howling about us, our clothes heavy with rain and mud, we kept a studious vigil. Cross was forced to take off his signature plumed hat, truly a testament to the storm's wrath. We spied, down the road and a short ways past a few simple homes, a stable, and checked our horses in, to the mild irritation of the stablemaster who had no wish to be out in the rain. We couldn't blame him a whit: we were eager to be out of the sog as well.

Cross and I, with the direction of the stablemaster, made our way to our accommodations for the eve; the local watering hole, the Lucky Arrow. The Arrow's keeper was a lady by the name of Margaret. She didn't bother us with much words, taking note of our sodden and beleaguered state, and quickly offered us floor space by the hearth to rest and slumber. Another man already lay there, wrapped in furs and smelling of rotgut. We gratefully took the space, regardless.

The time for talking would come at dawn, and we would make sense of Elkhorn's woes then. For now, we made our nightly preparations, and set ourselves to slumber.

~~~~~~

Dragons died in eons long past. But a Claw remained.
Five talons, sharpened and ready to snatch, to catch.
Anger and cunning, guile and honor, care and impulse.
It loomed over the world, its actions controlled from far away.
The orders of its forgotten master set it to beat the hound.

The image haunted my dreams. A dragon's claw, its scales resplendent, brought its unsympathetic force down to bear against the hound. I watched as though far away, and I could not bring myself to come closer. As its beating became more emphatic, my anger rose. I lunged forth, but could not come any closer to the dragon or the victim of its wrath. I ran forward, helpless as the houund let out a final bay. The dragon ripped the corpse of its victim, searching greedily for the richest morsel. As my anger reached its peak, and I came no closer to where the terrible deed had been wrought, I fell to my knees and wept, helpless.

~~~~~~

I woke in stages. Early mornings never truly agreed with me, but the offerings of reheated meats and leftover breads supplied by the lovely Margaret helped to assuage my typical foul temperament. Darryl had beaten me up... then again, what else was new? I had a feeling Cross had more than a share of cockerel in his blood. I smirked to myself at the thought; half-Al'Masadi, half-rooster.

"Perkier than usual, Arthur," Darryl commented. He took a bite of biscuit and gave me a thoughtful stare as he chewed. "I didn't think I'd see a smile from you for about, oh, another half-hour, at least."

"I was just picturing you as this brown cockerel," I admitted, "with a crest that changes colors every so often." He snickered. I knew he'd enjoy the image as much as I had. "So, have you spoken to the local militia head yet?" I asked. Typically, Roselian villages as small as Elkhorn had no real executive leadership, so the local militia captain would send out the call for the Guild.

"Nope," Darryl shrugged after swallowing another bit of biscuit. "I was waiting until you got up to do that."

"Mmmn." I took a bite of venison as I collected my memories of the night before. "I had a dream last night, master."

"So did I, Arthur," Cross smiled. "I dreampt I was trapped in a wet sack and was being swung around by a giant." I set down my fork with a frown.

"I'm serious, master. I think it might have been one of... those dreams."

He frowned for a short moment, but then he nodded slowly, concern evident in his expression. "What did you see, Arthur?"

I leaned in closer to him, trying to spare our hostess of the unpleasant nature of my vision. Once I had related my tale, Cross stroked his clean-shaven chin in thought, but ultimately did not comment. Neither he nor I usually cared to dwell on my dreams for long, but our superiors in the Guild did, and doubtless it would be Cross relaying them to them yet again.

We ate for a while longer in silence before our hostess spoke up, clearing her throat quietly. "Ah, pardon my intrusion on your meal, milords, but uh, Master Cross...?"

"Yes, miss?" Darryl said, smiling warmly.

"I was just wondering why -"

"-the plume of my hat has been changing colors steadily since you started paying attention to it?" Margaret's cheeks grew bright red with embarrassment as Cross finished her sentence, but he laughed the tension off. "I found this hat at a bazaar in Ha'ref, the day I got my Guild certification. As is. Paid all of two dinars and twenty fils for it, too. Er, that, ah, about seven denarii, I suppose," he calculated.

"How fascinating... I've never met anyone who's been to Al'Masad, let alone someone who's from there."

"Mmmm, I've been across the world and in every country that will dare have me, but at this moment, I cannot think of a finer place to be than right here, enjoying this fine breakfast, miss. You are an exemplary hand at matter culinary." Margaret began blushing again. "Unfortunate for us, then, that we cannot enjoy it a bit longer, but I assure you, we will be back later. Right now, we must meet with Captain Durham."

We bid our farewells to Margaret, and after securing our spare belongings in the tavern's ale cellar, we set off down the road a ways to Jerell Durham's home. Like most of the other buildings in Elkhorn, it wasn't much to look at; a simple stone hut designed to provide shelter from the elements and a certain amount of necessary coziness and nothing else. Standing outside, in front of the door, was a human man in his late forties, He was wearing the duty uniform of the Roselian Auxiliaries; an azure blue tunic, brown breeches, and dark brown boots, with a Imperial-issue longsword hanging from a scabbard at his side. on the sides of his tunic were two identifying symbols: the first was the image of two crossed longswords set in front of a shield colored blue and white; the second, a silver disc emblazoned with the symbol of a spear. There was no mistaking it: this was Jerell Durham.

Darryl shook the captain's hand the moment it was within reach, doffing his hat. "Captain Durham, I presume?" he inquired.

"You'd presume correctly, master magus," Durham replied. "And you are, sir?"

"Darryl Cross of the Mages Guild, and my apprentice, Arthur Hollister." I bowed politely to Captain Durham as I was introduced. "We're here in response to your furry little problem," Cross continued. "Might we come inside and ask you some questions?"

"Yes, please, Master Cross, Mr. Hollister, make yourselves at home." Durham said, opening the door and ushering us in. The hut was somehow even smaller on the inside than the outside had alluded; barely enough room for one person to live. Any coziness advertised from outside was conveniently forgotten by the inside. Darryl was offered the only chair, but he declined; thus Cross and I sat on the captain's bed while Durham took the chair.

"When did the incursions begin, Captain?" Darryl asked.

"They started a fortnight ago. We knew the kurods lived in a cave on the other side of the forest, so we made sure to avoid it. The kurods, in turn, didn't bother us. I'm concerned that something has spooked them out of their cave and sent them scrambling in our direction."

"How many have you lost?"

"They haven't killed any of the villagers, but they killed a few adventurers who investigated the cave. Only one of their group made it out alive. He said that the kurods near the cave have become militarily organized, on a scale unlike anything he'd seen. The ones in the forest terrorizing the villagers, however, don't seem all that organized at all; they've maimed a few villagers, but there's no reasoning behind their attacks."

"Mmmm... this adventurer who went to the cave and lived - where is he right now?"

"The sot's been staying in the Lucky Arrow for the past few days," the captain snorted. "I think he's trying to drink himself stupid. If so, he's nearly there."

I nodded and chimed in, "I guess that was the Arrow's other guest from last night."

"Probably," Captain Jerell vaguely agreed.

"How many men can you gather for a foray into the cave, Captain?" Cross inquired. The captain sucked his teeth.

"Why?"

Cross leaned forward and his voice became grave. "Captain, you can't expect two lone mages to be able to assess such a situation all on our lonesome, can you?"

"That's your job, isn't it, Agent Cross?" Jerell leaned on the title expectantly. Cross merely chuckled.

"My job is to investigate possible eldritch incursions into the mortal world. The only reason I'm out here is to assess the situation. If there is an eldritch incursion, then I will use my years of Guild training and experience to determine if I can handle the situation myself, or if I will have to bring my superiors in on the matter.

"If there ISN'T, then whether I help you is entirely my personal prerogative. Now, if there is no threat of eldritch incursion or misuse, and I decide that because I haven't gotten enough help from the locals, I'd simply be safer returning to the Guild... well, the real question is, do you think you can count on the Empire to sent reinforcements to your little hunting outpost?"

Jerell snarled. "I sent in a call to the Guild-"

"-yes, you did, and I am operating within Guild guidelines, which includes a little clause that states, and I quote: 'Should there be no sign of flagrant eldritch malfeasance, the Guild is free to retract their services with no repercussions from any governmental body.' In simple terms: if there's no-one misusing the eldritch, I'm free to just pack up and leave Elkhorn at the mercy of the kurods. Now I don't want to do that. But even a magus has limits, and one of those limits is manpower."

"You could call in any number of your little magus friends-"

"-so long as there's proof of eldritch misuse. If there's not a gaping rift in the fabric of time and space hear that cave, or some crazed sorcerer raising the kurods as his ensorcelled army, the Guild doesn't care. Now, if my apprentice and I go down there, and there's one of those problems, we'll take care of it. But if that's not the case, it'll be up to your militia to deal with anyway, so why not give them a little bit of a workout, mmm?" the captain frowned deeply as Cross continued, shaking his head. "Look, at least with us at your back, you'll have that much better of a chance, right? Now, how many men can you gather to take on the cave?

Jerell sighed. "Fifteen at the most."

"There, that wasn't that bad. I'll only need six of those fifteen, with the sixth being yourself. Now, how about the cave, how far's the trip there?"

"A day and a half."

"Well, go gather your force and meet us back here after the midday meal." Cross stood up and opened the door, motioning for me to follow him out. After we had taken a few steps away from the house, we heard Captain Durham utter a loud string of obscenities.

"Did you have to push him quite so hard, master?" I questioned.

"It was necessary. Captain Durham is in need of a tutor, my apprentice, on Lesson One."

"Ahhh, yes, Master." The Lessons of Pelonus the First were one of my master's favorite ancient works. Pelonus' first Lesson had been 'The true magus is first a teacher of hume. Meddle not in the affairs of another unless it is equivocally unavoidable, for if magus does not teach the common hume to overcome their own problems, humanity will never learn." It was the cornerstone of Cross' philosophy, the crown of his unique "hands-off" perspective to his job. Kurod incursions were the problems of a militia to face and defeat, while an eldritch rift was a magus' duty to seal.

At that point, however, we knew not what we truly faced. The future was as white and shapeless as ever. All we could do was charge forward, pen in hand, and write our destiny.

---

To be continued in Part two.

A greeting.

2010-06-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

To those who find this weblog, my greetings to you. My name is unimportant, but I suppose if it pleases you, you may call me Sudo Nim. (Plain 'Sudo' is fine, but please, don't call me 'Su'.) Who I am and what I do for a living are also needless questions.

I'm actually writing this weblog for someone else. can't honestly remember when first we spoke; our first true discussions took place in my adolescence, although I remember hearing his... its?... voice before even that. This acquaintance... or perhaps apparition... spoke of itself as an archivist, responsible for recording the great tales of another, fantastic world. I naturally dismissed its discourse as the delusions of a fevered mind, and set upon busying myself in other matters.

But eventually, I succumbed, and listened to one of the stories this Archivist had to relate. And another. And another, and another, and I must confess, a few more on top of that. The spirit's tales were... mesmerizing. Many had the flair of a fairy tale, but I could tell that this Archivist believed them to be the clearest fact imaginable. Now, several years after it began relating these tales, I am certain that this creature speaks tales of a world of fable, where monsters and heroes live... and die. This world is one I refer to in my transpositions as 'Mathis'

I have many tales to share, and am honestly at my wit's end as to what to do with the plethora of tales I have had entrusted to me. I am currently considering any outlet at which to get these tales into the written word... and spread as far and wide as possible. For now, however, this weblog will have to do. I am more than able to aceept any questions, comments, jibes or jackassery that you are able to dish out at me or my benefactor.

All that said, I hope you enjoy this weblog, and the stories told within it.

-Sudo Nim

Tales of the Archivist

Not To Be Crossed: Part One

A greeting.